Spectrum

by Samantha Mina

  “Sure. Their place is only a couple blocks from here. We can walk over, then take the metro home.”

  They got up and disappeared out the self-sliding doors.

  I stared. They were headed to the Link house. Right now. I slid from my seat and ran after them.

  * * *

  My understanding of the spoken Nurian word developed almost effortlessly, as days passed. It seemed like, all I had to do was position myself in public places—libraries, cafés, train stations, parks, streets, wherever—and listen to people speak, and over time, their words made more and more sense. Was this ability a facet of my magic, like my eidetic memory? Foreign language was an arena I’d never been exposed to before—Conflagria was mostly monolingual, save for the handful of dialects spoken by the gypsy tribes who lived all the way out in the Sand Dune Region, by the island’s northern shore, where I’d never ventured. So, until now, I didn’t know I could breathe in a tongue and breathe it right back out.

  I didn’t, however, have quite as much luck with absorbing the written Nurian language. Staring at pages of books didn’t do much for me. I could memorize the shapes of the letters easily, but couldn’t draw a correlation between them and the words people spoke.

  That is, until I snuck into the massive Link mansion and got my hands on some ‘special’ books. Books that were stamped as being on loan to the Chairman from the Second Earth Order itself.

  Sneaking in wasn’t even hard. Nurtic had mentioned when the Links were returning from their trip—August ninth—so, that day, I hid in the bushes by their garage and waited. Sure enough, by mid-afternoon, a long, sleek, black ‘flivver’—what Nurians called their wagons—pulled up and four people with big bags on wheels got out: a man with a fuzzy grey cloud for hair; a slender, platinum-blonde woman; a boy who looked about Nurtic’s age with a swirly, brown mop on his head (that was Arrhyth, I supposed); and a girl who looked a couple ages younger than Arrhyth, with long, dark-brown ringlets. Politically, the most powerful family in the world.

  Looking at them, I decided I wanted to be invisible. And, as the Links lugged their suitcases through their wide-open stained-glass-paneled front-doors, I slipped inside, right before their oblivious eyes.

  * * *

  I sat down behind the Alcove City train station and began to prowl through the books I stole. The first one I looked at had two titles, one in Nurian and one in Conflagrian: ‘The Conflagrian-Nurian and Nurian-Conflagrian Dictionary.’ It took me the rest of the day to read and memorize its contents. I paused only once, to dumpster dive for scraps of food. I used the pronunciation-guides to practice the words out loud. Night fell; nevertheless, I proceeded onto the other books, which were about grammar. Thanks to my eye-magic, I could read in the dark. By morning, I was literate.

  So, I went back to the National Library to research geology, determined to find out why days here felt insanely long. Sure enough, the first geo reference I checked confirmed the Earth completed a rotation in thirty-six hours! Frustrated, I paged through the book, and my eyes caught sight of the name of my country in a tiny footnote at the bottom of page one-hundred-eighty-seven:

  7 Upon its expulsion from the Second Earth Order on the 24th age of the 3rd era, the spectrally-dependent, totalitarian nation of the South Conflagrablaze Captive reacted to its rejection from the world in a rather unique manner. Charged for breaking twenty-four of the seventy original Isolationist Laws, the governing entity of the Fire Island, known as ‘The System,’ manipulated their ‘spectral web’ to make a day appear to its habitants to be only twenty-four hours.

  I stared, heat building in my scalp. I had to close my eyes and breathe deeply so I wouldn’t set the book on fire.

  * * *

  Now that I was literate, it was time to search for work. It felt strange to look for a job on my own. I was so used to being a pawn of the System, it took me a while to realize no one was going to hand me my food and fire, and tell me what to do and when to do it. I was completely on my own. For a brief moment, I actually missed the System.

  No. I knew I shouldn’t feel insecure and unprotected. I should feel free. For the first time in my life, I was in control. I was no longer Useless. The System didn’t throw me away; they uncaged me. Suddenly, I wished everyone back home could know what it was like to have such control. They believed they couldn’t survive without shepherding. I did, too, before my exile. Why? I didn’t understand how the System’s dominion was so absolute. How was I the first Useless to escape execution? How come no one before me saw through the corruption and tried to take action? Why did everyone believe so firmly the System never made mistakes? In mage history, there was no mention of revolution. Not even a skirmish in the paths. The population was completely docile. How? It made no sense. It was impossible.

  I did know one thing, though: July twenty-fifth of the eighty-seventh age was the day I was reborn. And, my real home was Nuria, now. No one else I met would ever hear of my past or learn I was born on an island where people were treated like scabrouses. Never.

  * * *

  I got a part-time job as a train conductor. It wasn’t the employment of my dreams, but it was enough to get me a night at the Motel Seven whenever it was too cold to sleep outside, and a few meals a week. I was a good employee. I owed that to my eyes—I used them to power the furnace. “She uses a fraction of the firewood we supply, yet she manages to maintain the biggest fires I’ve ever seen!” my boss, Mr. Eval, once said. The job had a few advantages, like free transportation. When my workday was over, I got off at whatever stop we happened to be at, and there was often a library or lab there for me to sneak into. The last perk was that I got to spend four hours a day in front of a fire, enjoying the warmth. Even as ages passed, I never really adapted to Nurian weather. In the summer, when Conflagria would easily reach one-hundred-forty degrees Fahrenheit in the afternoon, Alcove City only reached eighty-five or ninety. Wintertime was unbearable, with temperatures described by a word foreign to all magekind: ‘freezing.’

  During the winter in Nuria, soft white crystals called ‘snow’ fell from the sky. The first time I read about snow—months before I actually got to see it fall, in person—I grew very excited (I should’ve known better). Since I effortlessly memorized everything I read, I could still recite the encyclopedia entry:

  Snow consists of ice crystals formed around debris or other small particulates in the air when H2O vapor condenses at temperatures below 32oF. Somewhat melted particles frequently adhere together to form ‘snowflakes’ whose unique structures vary according to temperature and other key environmental factors during crystallization…

  Each day, I learned more. I spent every waking minute either working or studying. In four ages, I finished every non-fiction book in every public library in southern Nuria, and had spent considerable amounts of time invisibly snooping at research centers, universities and labs. At fourteen, I’d surpassed the levels of the top colleges. As far as honing my magic, however, I was totally on my own—Nurian literature on spectroscopy didn’t help. To an extent, Nurians knew how to manipulate the spectrum for their purposes—they had x-ray machines for medical diagnoses, for example—but they had no organic, biological ability to do so. They had to use external tools. Their bodies didn’t have electromagnetic fields in the visible portion of the spectrum; they were all Infrareds, and if they lived in Conflagria, they’d all be considered Useless.

  Although I had an eidetic memory, I began revisiting places of study, to make sure I didn’t skip over any material and to take a peek at new publications. And, I was able to give more time to my job, hoping to afford more food. In the summer, I slept in the street—usually, by the dumpster near my work. But, during the colder months, I had no choice but to sleep in the motel, skipping food to afford it. Malnutrition stunted my growth. At fourteen, I was still below five feet and weighed roughly eighty pounds. I knew it was spectrum that kept me alive. My body fed off of my aura.

  Sometimes, when I lay awake at night, hand
s numb and heart pounding against my ribcage as though in protest to my dropping blood-sugar, I thought of selling my crystal. But, whenever I took it out of my pocket, it would catch the light and sparkle in my eyes, and I’d feel my attachment to it overcome me like an ocean wave.

  Attachment to anything frightened me. But, I didn’t know how to make it go away.

  Cease Lechatelierite

  The subzero North Septentrion Sea was a bold, cobalt-blue, littered with icecaps the size of vitreous silica ships. I kicked my flippered feet and plunged deeper into the water, seventy white-suited bodies tucking their chins, cradling their weapons and following suit.

  I’d been a soldier since as far back as I could remember. Two ages ago, when I was fifteen, I was promoted to commander of the elite Diving Fleet, and the Trilateral Committee created a new title just for me: Leader of the Ichthyothian Resistance. My life’s purpose was to fight the mage armies who wanted to imperialize my homeland, the North Ichthyosis Island.

  Yes, that’s right. The barbaric, fire-worshipping, totalitarian state of Conflagria actually dispatched men to fight in the coldest place on Second Earth. While a student at Icicle Diving Academy, I learned all about our enemies, the Conflagrians, and the all-powerful ‘System’ that dictated their every breath and bowel movement. What a joke. Magefolk were like animals, shepherded by their government, astonishingly ignorant of their own nation’s fifteen-age war with Ichthyosis.

  I was six when the Childhood Program had me take ‘Mage Culture 101.’ When I learned of the oppression magekind suffered at the hand of the dictatorial System—particularly, the inhumane treatment and systematic execution of the ‘aura’-less—I was stricken with grief. After that first class, I had insomnia every night for a week. I would lie on my cold, cramped bunk, haunted by the idea of an entire country of men, women and children born into total subjugation. It was one thing to learn tyranny existed sometime in First Earth history—back when the human race was an infant of intelligence. But, to know there were people living like that today, in the seventh era of Second Earth, was too much to handle. I wondered, how was the System’s power so absolute? How come there’d never been a single revolution in Conflagrian history? The general mage population was impossibly docile. There had to have been a secret behind that. Slowly, as the course went on, my grief turned to anger. If the citizens of Conflagria couldn’t help themselves for some reason, why didn’t anyone else take some action? Why did the seven-hundred nations of Second Earth just sit back while the Joseph Stalins of Second Earth marauded around? Why didn’t anyone care that, somewhere on this planet, human beings were treated like property? The Conflagrians needed to be freed from the System.

  I confronted a teacher about it. One day, in the middle of class, I raised my hand and brought up the matter.

  My peers stared at me with cold eyes. Colonel Autoero Austere marched to my desk and placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was so firm, I could feel my skin bruise under his fingertips.

  “Have you learned nothing from the fall of First Earth? We may no longer be a part of the Second Earth Order, but we can still learn from their principles: no nation should ever meddle with the welfare of another. The wellbeing of magekind does not negatively impact our lives, so we do not bother with it.” My right arm was going prickly-numb beneath his impervious grasp. “Does the ignorance or oppression of the Conflagrian people affect the food on your plate or your bunk in the barracks?”

  My throat went dry.

  “I asked you a question, soldier!” he barked.

  I swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Then is it your duty to even sacrifice a salmon-bone from your dinner to the land of the enemy?”

  My entire right arm was numb, by now. “No, sir.”

  “If the general Conflagrian population ever became aware of this war, their loyalties may motivate an even stronger offensive. We actually learn from history at this academy, not repeat it.” He released his iron grip and stalked to the front of the silent class. “Lechatelierite, if you feel so inclined to save endangered species, perhaps you should join APO, not the military.”

  APO. The Animal Protection Organization. The tension in the room broke as everyone laughed. My cheeks felt as hot—not from embarrassment, but anger. I grunted.

  “What was that, soldier?”

  “I said, the Conflagrians aren’t animals, they’re people.” I realized I was standing. When exactly did I get to my feet?

  The silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a glacier-melting lance.

  “One more word and you’re iced. I don’t care if you have the highest test scores in the history of Icicle Academy. With that attitude, you’ll never gain command of a single diver in North Ichthyosis. Understood?”

  I stared.

  “Soldier?” Austere pressed.

  My comrades held their breaths.

  I wanted justice, but I wanted a shot at command more.

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  As ages passed, I began to realize the foolishness of my rebellion. I sped through the academy, my mage-sympathies slowly giving way to appropriate loathing of the enemy race, System and citizens alike. The Conflagrians were not to be pitied, but studied, analyzed and brutally countered. I was a fighting machine who wanted nothing less than the complete annihilation of all things magical. It was what the Colonel wanted me to want. It was what I did want.

  When I was six, I used to wonder about that. I saw little difference between the way the Childhood Program indoctrinated its soldiers and the way the System brainwashed the people of Conflagria. Now, however, I knew better. Now, as the seventeen-age-old commander of the Ichthyothian Diving Fleet, I realized the world was better without magical presence. Their problems weren’t my problems. They didn’t need to be helped. They needed to be destroyed.

  * * *

  Icy seawater fought against my movements as I dove deeper. The water pressure was intense enough to burst a human lung in seconds, but our ‘arrhythmic’ suits prevented it. Our suits were impenetrable as steel but fluid as mercury. My team of divers soared through the water, in formation, ready to strike. I used my visor’s zoom to help me locate the Conflagrian ‘dragon ship,’ seven-hundred yards below. I initially spotted it without my visor’s visual magnifications. My vision broke records, at the academy.

  “Units one through six,” I spoke into my helmet’s intercom. “To the vitreous silica. Buird, you’re in charge of that task force.”

  Inexor Buird’s name truly suited him. He was the most unrelenting, shrewd man in my fleet. I’d trust him with the Ichthyothian Resistance. He was my second-in-command.

  “Unit seven, you’re with me. I hope your oxygen-beads are full; we’re riding on the outside of crystalline shuttle seven.”

  A bead tank was the size of a single marble. However, enough oxygen could be compressed into each to breathe underwater for days at a time. “We’re penetrating the dragon ship and taking the pilots hostage. Surface-riders, be ready for the pass. Forty-five-degree launch.”

  My divers responded beautifully. My men were capable and my battle plans were always ingenious. It wasn’t cockiness, only the truth. How could those Conflagrian beasts with their hocus-pocus magic tricks even stand a chance?

  Interlude

  The Fall of Earth began at the turn of the second millennium, AD.

  By this time, the pan-American theory of ‘policeman of the western hemisphere’ slowly expanded into ‘patrol of the entire world.’ If there was a nation on the map suffering internal economic or political unrest or facing a dispute with a neighboring state, the United States was ready to reach around the globe with its mighty fist of democracy. The crutch on which this Great Policeman leaned was the military. War was no longer the necessary evil of international development, but simply a necessity. Rather than being the last resort, it became the go-to problem-solving strategy for all the afflictions and ailments plaguing the overpopulated world.

  Like a sprinkle of spri
ng rain that slowly progresses into a tumultuous summer thunderstorm, minor conflicts began to pop up across the globe with increasing frequency. Throughout the world, boundaries of individual dispute expanded until they touched corners, then overlapped, then blended so well, seams disappeared. If a nation had a rare or vital natural resource, everyone nearby would hover like fleas before latching onto its skin, piercing its flesh, and sucking it dry. If a small country was imploding, outside forces always dove in and escalated things into a grand, multi-state affair.

  An international nuclear-arms-race ensued. Each country cast a fearful eye across its boarders like frightened puppies peeking into neighboring yards. And, the only way to remain safe in the serpent cage that was the world was to continue increasing the volume of one’s own venom sacs.

  True disaster could only strike once. World War III lasted a single hour. It began at seven-twenty-five in the morning on December twenty-second, in the year ‘2100.’

  From space, the planet looked like a disco ball—scattered flecks of light danced across the globe. Or, it could be described as a shimmering crystal, sparkling in the white-hot sunlight. In truth, these points of light were nuclear explosions, each thousands of miles in diameter. Within sixty minutes, the sparkling sphere of ice seemed to ignite into scarlet flames. By the hand of man, the Earth ceased to exist.

  It was by the hand of the Creator that something new came to be, three thousand years later, giving mankind a second chance at life. He created this new earth void of plutonium, eliminating the possibility of nuclear weaponry. Then, He bestowed humanity with the gift of free will, and once again, watched as His flocks ran amok, twisting everything they had into tangled knots.

  The Second Earthlings had access to the complete history, science, technology, culture and art of their predecessors through the miraculous—indeed, it was protected by the Creator—survival of a three-thousand-year-old First Earth space station. The International Space Station had—also, miraculously—fallen like a meteor into the new Earth’s atmosphere and landed in the Briny Ocean where it was soon found floating only miles away from the shore of Nuria, a nation who possessed both the resources and intellectual capital to decode all of its information. Although the majority of the external structure had burned up in the atmosphere during it’s decent, all the computer chips onboard had—miraculously—remained intact.