The Other Side
Chapter 3: Introduction to Theology

The room was full of the most important people in the world…and then there was Violet.

There was the monarch of Atlas Isle himself, His Royal Highness King Cecil the First. There was Lord Algernon, the Minister of the Right Hand, and Lady Priscilla, the Royal Treasurer, who also held the much less glamorous title of Violet’s mother. There was Sir Silver, the Captain of the Royal Guard, in attendance because his mental prowess easily matched his combat abilities. And then there was her: Violet Haraka, an insignificant twelve-year-old girl, who’d been badgering her mother to bring her here all day but was now starting to wonder if this whole thing had been a bad idea.

She concentrated on controlling her breathing. Think logically, she reminded herself. What reason could you possibly have to feel anxious about this?

Certainly it wasn’t her surroundings that were making her feel this way. She’d been in the throne room dozens of times before, and it was no more imposing now than it had ever been; there were the same richly paneled walls surrounding the same plush carpet, with the same ornate wall sconces casting light on the elaborate gilt throne. The people in the room were mostly familiar to her, too – obviously she knew her own mother, and Lord Algernon, a middle-aged man with a wisely creased face, had always made a special pet of her and sometimes even doted on her more than her own parents did. She didn’t know King Cecil all that well, but after attending his coronation and a couple of other high-profile events, she could confidently state that he was too much of a novice at his job for her to be cowed by him. The only person in here who was mostly a stranger to her was Sir Silver, who hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion, wearing his typical Royal Guard uniform plus the metal mask that she’d never seen him go without. Its blank eyes were a little creepy. But she knew that he wasn’t what was unnerving her, not really.

No, she concluded, it wasn’t anything strange or new that had stirred her up, but rather the circumstances of this meeting. All of these powerful and important people had gathered here to discuss the worsening state of the kingdom, and she had begged her mother to be included, desperate to hear the truth instead of sugarcoated newspaper reports. Well, now she was here, and not only did she feel out of place, but also as insignificant as when she stood gazing up at the night sky and contemplating the vastness of the universe.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Lord Algernon. He stood beside the throne on a small raised platform, and King Cecil was seated next to him, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Thank you for your attendance this evening. I understand that it is difficult to gather when I had to call you all here so suddenly, much more suddenly than I would have liked, believe me, but your cooperation is greatly appreciated. I’ll allow His Majesty to explain the urgent matter that has brought us here. Sire?”

King Cecil heaved himself off of his throne, a fat man whose bulky robes made him look almost spherical. His beady eyes surveyed the meager audience, resting for a few seconds on the secretary in the corner, whose pen was poised to transcribe every word out of the monarch’s mouth. This wouldn’t be a formal prepared speech, Violet knew; even royals tended to speak a bit more candidly when they were among their peers.

“Thank you, Lord Algernon,” began King Cecil. “And, ah, good evening, all. I’m sure that many of you are wondering why we called you all together to discuss the state of current affairs, now of all times. Well, it’s taken us a few hours to confirm the reports we got earlier, but now I can say for sure that, ah, there was…there was a demon attack on Atlas Isle yesterday morning.”

The throne room rustled as its occupants made various subdued movements of shock and horror. Even Sir Silver stood up a little straighter, his entire body tensed. Violet covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hide her shivers as an icy feeling flooded through her. There had been a demon attack?! Here, on Atlas Isle?!

King Cecil’s arms hung stiffly at his sides as he continued. “The attack occurred at a coastal farm, about a day’s journey away from Cumula City. I’m sure that we are not in any immediate danger, but it would be wise to…to be prepared for anything.” His hands came together and lay twisted on his wide stomach.

Lady Priscilla grasped Violet’s arm, as if a demon was going to burst into the castle right now and snatch her daughter away from her. “How terrible, Your Majesty!” she cried.

Lord Algernon vied for eye contact with Sir Silver. “The Royal Guard can be organized to defend the city from the possibility of future attacks, correct?”

“Just a moment, my lord,” said Sir Silver. Everything below his nose was left exposed by his mask, but his lips always moved in a restrained, rigid way that made them look just as fake as his sculpted facsimile of a face. “What became of the demon? Is it still running free?”

“Oh! Ah, no, no it isn’t,” King Cecil assured him quickly. “Somebody stopped it.”

“Somebody,” repeated Sir Silver. His mouth hardly moved to form the word. “Who’s ‘somebody’?”

“We don’t know,” admitted the King. “The farmer said it was nobody that she recognized. Not one of your people, we know that for sure.”

That was a given, thought Violet, considering that the Royal Guard never left the boundaries of Cumula City. While Sir Silver’s face remained impassive, she had the feeling that he considered the king’s comment to be foolish…and maybe it had been, but King Cecil was so new and seemed so flustered that she felt a little sorry for him.

“Pardon me, Sir Silver,” interjected Algernon, clearly eager to alter the track of the conversation, “but you haven’t answered my question yet.”

Sir Silver dipped his chin. “I can certainly increase the number of guards around the border, but I must warn you, few of my soldiers have any notable experience fighting demons. I do, of course. But I am obligated to remain at the castle and protect His Majesty.”

“Then we’ll establish a messenger chain so that you can be contacted quickly in the event of an emergency,” responded Lord Algernon.

Sir Silver nodded again.

“It seems to me,” proclaimed Lady Priscilla, “that we must figure out how this demon was able to attack Atlas Isle in the first place. Why now, of all times?” She stood straight with her head angled upwards, as if she had said something important and profound instead of merely obvious.

“Actually,” started Violet, before catching herself, but it was too late – everyone’s eyes were suddenly upon her. Even Sir Silver stared straight at her with the blank, unreadable eyes of his mask. Her skin prickled all over, and her cheeks tingled icily, as if she were blushing cold instead of hot.

“What is it, Violet?” prompted King Cecil in a surprisingly kind voice, and Lord Algernon nodded at her encouragingly. She took a preparatory breath.

“It’s just that…I’ve seen some of the reports that Mother brings home, and they all say that the crops didn’t grow very well this year. Not that we’re all going to starve or anything, but it’s still a big difference from how things usually are. And the weather – there’s been less variance in the weather lately, less rain, more even temperatures. I saw that report too. So I was thinking that if a demon attack happened at the same time as everything else…maybe it’s all related, somehow?”

Her ideas sounded feeble to her ears, and while she was usually eager to share her thoughts and prove her intelligence, the fact of where she was right now made her wish that she’d kept her mouth shut. But then Sir Silver turned towards the throne and said, “Is this true?”

“Is what true?” asked King Cecil warily.

“That there have been crop failures. That the weather is becoming more moderate.”

“Yes, all of that is true,” said Lady Priscilla, as if pronouncing a confession. “But we’ve been trying to keep it from getting out to the commoners. By the way, Violet, you really shouldn’t be going through my papers…”

“No one informed me of this,” stated Sir Silver.

King Cecil’s flabby face folded into a frown. “It isn’t your jurisdiction. You’re the Captain of the Royal Guard, you have nothing to do with agriculture.”

“And we’ve been trying to keep it from getting out to the commoners,” repeated Lady Priscilla.

“I,” said Sir Silver, “am not a commoner.” His neck turned a full circuit of the room’s occupants, from Violet all the way back to King Cecil. “And I feel that I should have been informed of this, because this pattern of activity is one that I am intimately familiar with. A blight on the harvest…seasons changing less and less…demons attacking populated areas. Does that remind you of anything at all, Your Majesty?”

For the first time, Sir Silver’s voice was not completely apathetic – the faintest note of agitation was audible in his words. Violet tucked her arms against her stomach, thinking that if the unflappable Captain of the Royal Guard was worried, something must be seriously wrong.

King Cecil, on the other hand, almost seemed more concerned with the perceived insult to his authority. “Atlas Isle,” he declared, albeit in a rather doubtful voice, “is under divine protection.”

“There is no such thing as divine protection anymore,” replied Sir Silver. “The gods used powerful magic to defend this place, and it has continued to serve us for many years after their demise, but magic is a finite resource now. We should count ourselves lucky that this child saw the pattern and has given us forewarning. Our defenses are running out, and it’s best to begin preparing.”

King Cecil’s lips looked as if they were trying to retreat into his increasingly pale face.

A worm of fear twisted in Violet’s belly. As a lifelong resident of Cumula City, all she had ever been told was how lucky she was to be living in a safe place, to be free of the lawlessness and famine that plagued the rest of the world. Later on, what she’d learned about her home from her readings had made her concerned, to say the least, and yet she had never truly considered this eventuality occurring within her lifetime. Everyone here, including herself, was used to living a life of relative luxury. Would they even be able to survive once hardship descended upon them all at once?

Lord Algernon’s eyes moved so fretfully that she knew he must be having the same thoughts. “Your Majesty, I hate to say it, but I do believe he’s right,” he murmured.

King Cecil knew it already. It was all over his face. Finally he managed to say, “If this is really true, it means that we’re in a state of emergency from here on out. Algernon, you and I need to discuss…all these things. You too, Lady Priscilla. The economy and possible rationing fall under your responsibilities. And…you two…”

His gaze flicked between Sir Silver and Violet, and he didn’t seem so kindly anymore. He’s mad at us, thought Violet. Or at least, he’s upset, because we told him something that he didn’t want to hear.

“Sir Silver, you need to start organizing the guards to defend us against demons,” said the King curtly. “Right now. Immediately!”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” replied Sir Silver.

“And Lady Priscilla, it’s past your daughter’s bedtime. She should really be leaving now, shouldn’t she?”

“Of course, sire,” agreed Lady Priscilla. She curtsied deeply before turning around. “Violet, please do as the king says. Your father will be waiting back in our quarters for you.”

Violet nodded in resignation. As an afterthought, she grasped both sides of her skirt (she was wearing her court dress, though it looked as drab as a potato sack compared to all the finery around her) and mimicked her mother’s curtsy before hurrying out.

In the hallway, she lingered by the door, but even if it hadn’t been flanked by a pair of ever-present guards, the thick wood served as effective protection against eavesdropping. After another moment, the door opened just enough to allow Sir Silver to step through. Both guards immediately bowed to him; he lifted his hand to signal them back into their positions.

“Good evening, Miss Haraka,” he stated.

Violet, who had not been expecting him to speak, started slightly. “Oh, uh…good evening.”

He paused, and she was certain that the eyes behind his mask were scrutinizing her, but she merely looked right back at him. She’d always thought of him as a tall, intimidating figure; now, for the first time, she examined him more closely and realized that he was fairly small compared to many of his soldiers. He was muscular, but in a wiry sort of way, and was dressed identically to the rest of the Royal Guard except for his cape and – of course – that mask.

“I wanted to thank you for revealing that information,” he finally said. “I had suspected the truth already, but if it weren’t for you, it might have taken weeks more for me to get a straight answer.”

She sighed, the King’s reaction still fresh in her mind. “I’m afraid that I just made more of a mess of things…”

“Don’t say that.” He took a single step forward. “It isn’t your fault that this is happening. You merely pointed out something very important.”

“King Cecil didn’t seem too pleased with me.”

“King Cecil is a fool.”

Violet shifted uncomfortably at this cold, matter-of-fact assessment. Insulting the King bordered on sacrilege, but Sir Silver clearly had no qualms about doing so. “He…hasn’t been the King for very long. I’m sure he’ll get better as time goes by.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” He glanced down the hall without much apparent interest. “King Dromedor made many foolish decisions during his reign, Miss Haraka. Too many. But we are running out of time to be foolish. I’ve seen firsthand what happens to a city when the numbing sets in, and believe me, the effects of every bad choice will end up magnified.”

He turned as if to leave with his ominous remark still hanging in the air, but Violet’s curiosity had been piqued, and she wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. “Hold on a second!” she exclaimed.

He faced her again. It was hard to tell with his eyes hidden from sight, but she thought that she could read signs of interest in the position of his mouth. “What is it?”

“Is there anything I can do?” She lifted her chin a little higher. “Or that anyone can do? To stop the numbing from happening, I mean.”

A moment of hesitation; then he shook his head. “No. It would take a miracle to stop it, and miracles do not happen anymore. The best we can do is damage control. It is difficult to keep on living once it happens, but despite what you may have heard, plenty of people beyond the island manage it every day.”

“Really? Do you know that for sure?”

“Of course. I have witnessed it myself.”

Violet had seen him in the castle virtually every single day of her life, so he couldn’t have left Atlas Isle for any sizable period of time in the past several years – meaning that he was making a reference, as he sometimes did, to the vague time before he had served under King Dromedor and King Cecil, when he had battled against demons in the Thirty Years’ War. Not for the first time, she reflected that he must have been older than he looked.

“Still,” she pressed. “What if there is something we could do? Something that we’ve all been missing? Lately I’ve been reading every book I can find about the gods. They would have been powerful enough to heal the world, and I keep thinking that maybe they left us some clue about what to do…”

“I won’t tell you that you’re wasting your time,” he said. “History is important, and it’s good to see that there are still people who care about it. But we cannot rely on the gods to help us out of this predicament, Miss Haraka. That is one thing that I know for certain.”

And before she could ask him how he could be so sure, or what exactly did he knew about the gods, he turned and strode away with brisk finality, his cape flowing behind him.

Lady Priscilla wasn’t home when Violet went to bed that evening, and was still absent the following morning when she woke up. Violet wondered if her mother had been holding counsel with King Cecil all night, or had simply left very early this morning. Then again, she was up pretty early herself, owing to Teo’s signing lessons.

The Haraka family consisted of four people: matriarch Priscilla, her socialite husband Geoffrey, their daughter Violet, and their adoptive son Teo. About a year ago, Teo had been discovered wandering around Cumula City – a homeless, nameless foundling not more than two years old who’d mysteriously left absolutely no trace as to where he’d come from. Violet’s parents had ended up adopting him, and Violet had adored him ever since then, devoting plenty of her free time to being a good big sister. The thing about Teo, though, was that he was mute. So every day, a hired tutor came to the Haraka quarters to teach him sign language.

Violet always tried to attend his lessons before school. It was important to her to be able to understand him; she didn’t want to be like her mother, constantly asking Geoffrey for a translation just to be able to speak to her own child. But this morning, Violet found it impossible to concentrate. She watched Teo’s pudgy toddler fingers waggling in the air, heard the tutor’s voice droning on and on, but the previous night’s events remained obtrusively imprinted in her mind. So before long, she gave up, gathering her books and heading for the equally unengaging lessons of Cumula City Primary School.

One short walk through town later, Violet sat adrift in a sea of chattering schoolchildren. The marking period had started just a few weeks ago, after an extremely short summer break – its length depended on how well the planting season had gone, and she knew from her parents’ worried murmurs (and from sneaking peeks at reports) that there hadn’t been much to harvest this year. There could be no doubt about it: the blight that had affected the rest of the world for decades was creeping up on Atlas Isle. It was less dramatic than it had been in other places, more insidious. But it was happening nonetheless.

She listened as well as she could to the multitude of conversations around her, but no one was talking about the catastrophe at all. Of course, the monarchy was trying to hide it, but was the entire city – the entire kingdom – too stupid to see something so obvious?! Even the teachers, who at least had the good sense to look worried most of the time, never said anything! Why did it feel like she was the only one aware of the danger?

Mrs. Moshida walked in. The class continued to blabber on cheerfully, until somebody noticed that their teacher wasn’t alone, and then more and more students noticed and the babble receded into conspiratorial whispers. Violet, of course, had seen the newcomer immediately, and she sat up straight with her eyes fixed on the front of the room. The kingdom’s only magickai was here. It was Magickai Malena herself.

Mrs. Moshida scraped three words onto the blackboard with a piece of chalk: INTRO TO THEOLOGY.

“Class,” she announced, “today we’ve got a special guest joining us for our lesson, so please be on your best behavior. Let’s all give a warm welcome to Magickai Malena.”

The air thrummed with reverent applause. Magickai Melena smiled and bowed slightly, but said nothing.

“Who can tell me what ‘theology’ means?” asked Mrs. Moshida.

Blank silence followed, causing Violet to bristle involuntarily. How could so many people be so ignorant?

“It must be the study of Theo!” quipped Grady Sigerson, and Theobelle Drew, a shy girl who was the polar opposite of class clown Grady, blushed as the other students tittered.

Violet rolled her eyes, thrust her hand into the air, and declared without being called on, “Theology is the study of the gods.”

“That is correct, Violet,” responded Mrs. Moshida, and the expression on her face indicated all too clearly that she’d noticed the uncomfortable silence now stifling the room.

Atlas Isle was an extremely multicultural place – it had always had a reputation as a melting pot, and they’d taken in refugees from all over the world until fairly recently – but students of almost any background would have had a predilection against saying the G-word. It wasn’t taboo, per se, just considered unlucky; but Violet thought of herself as well-educated enough not to harbor any such ridiculous superstitions. She was relieved to see that Mrs. Moshida didn’t seem especially fearful, either, although the teacher did look rather weary.

“The study of the gods,” she repeated, addressing her class. “Many of you will only have heard of the gods through vague references in your history classes. We try our best to keep you from hearing the worst of it when you’re young…but you’re sixth-formers now. You’re mature enough to handle the truth.”

“How much of the gods can there really be to study?” called Grady from his seat in the back. “I mean, they’re all gone!”

“So is the past, young man, yet still we study it.” It was not Mrs. Moshida who had spoken now, but Magickai Malena, and the old-fashioned robe concealing her feet made her seem to glide forward. The trinkets suspended from her ears, wrists, and throat glittered in the yellowish overhead lights, and although she had spoken softly, she seemed to know that she didn’t have to raise her voice in order to capture everyone’s attention.

“Theology,” she continued, “much like magic, is a dying art. In fact, the two fields are quite interconnected. But since magic is not something that everyone can learn, we shall have to settle for teaching you theology on its own.”

With that, the magickai turned to the blackboard and began to write, her chalk dancing daintily against the gritty surface. She sorted her words into a list that was almost a diagram:

CREATION – DESTRUCTION

LIFE – DEATH LIGHT – DARKNESS

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

ORDER – CHAOS THOUGHT – FEELING PAST – FUTURE

WILLPOWER – INSTINCT HEAT – COLD LAND – AIR

FEAST – FAMINE BEAUTY – UGLINESS LUCK – FATE

“These are the principal gods,” explained Magickai Malena. “We don’t know for sure how many lesser gods there were – there may have been an infinite amount, for all we know – but these are the ones that definitely existed at some point. Their names tend to vary across time and cultures, so for the purposes of theology, we sort them by their domain, which means ‘what they were in charge of.’”

Ms. Moshida made a discreet hand gesture at the class to silently indicate that they should be taking notes. Violet was already copying the list of principal gods into her schoolbook, even as the classroom rustled with students rummaging for paper and pencils. She had seen similar diagrams before in various books, but it never hurt to have inside information…and when it came to theology, a magickai was as close to an insider as it was possible to get.

Three seats away, Chay Baleta raised her hand. “Excuse me, Miss Magickai, ma’am? If the…um, the gods all had a lot of different names, then how do you know which ones were which?”

“Good question.” Magickai Malena nodded approvingly. “It’s all about their domains that I mentioned before. Every god had certain powers, and would show themselves to us mortals in specific ways that corresponded to those powers. By compiling eyewitness accounts, theologists have figured out a fixed set of principal gods, but of course there are some descriptions that can’t be matched exactly. That’s another reason why we can’t say for sure how many gods there were.”

She touched the top of the list.

“Now. In the beginning, there was nothing, save the potential for existence. And from that potential came the first gods, the fundamental tenets of everything: Creation and Destruction, who shaped and re-shaped the universe.”

“Then who made Creation and Destruction?” demanded Grady challengingly.

“The gods are not as mortals,” responded Magickai Malena in a grave voice. “They did not need to be made. They have always been.”

Violet noted that this answer was pure evasion; she’d already encountered several books debating the origin of the gods, but that subject was probably a bit too complex for an introductory class. At least Grady had shut up for the time being. Violet continued listening as Magickai Malena moved her hand downwards.

“Next came Life and Death, allowing mortal creatures to arise, and Light and Darkness, setting the tone of mortal life forevermore. Together, they made our world, and then us. And soon others came along to add to their creation.

“Some gods affected the form of the planet. Others impacted us, the people. And still others changed the structure of life itself. The story goes that all of them spent many centuries fighting, each god trying to seize more power, so that they might rule and overthrow the others. But eventually, each found their calling, and they settled into a hierarchy where they were at peace with one another…for a while.”

Even the dullest members of the class seemed to recognize this allusion, and a stale, somber feeling saturated the air, like the atmosphere at a funeral.

Magickai Malena’s eyes swept over the rows of cowed students. “None of you are old enough to remember what things were like before. Back then, shrine ceremonies were not a mere weekly ritual, but an actual opportunity to speak with the gods and have your prayers listened to. Many people had a touch for magic, and they sold spells and good-luck charms at the market, so that anyone could change the course of fate. Of course, there were magickai too, and they were ten times as powerful as I am now. And Atlas Isle, the land of the gods, was the most wonderful place to live – especially right here in the capital city. Everything was so miraculous in those days.”

Violet realized that not even Magickai Malena was old enough to have seen those bygone times in person – the gods had vanished eighty years ago or so, and she was no older than fifty. But the magickai before her, her mentor, would have told her all about it. It must be particularly demoralizing to live in a withering world when you were magically inclined and knew everything that you’d missed out on.

She caressed a time-encrusted pendant around her neck before continuing.

“It all stopped so quickly. One day, when shrine services were held, the gods did not speak to anyone. It was very odd. We called to them, we made offerings, yet still they remained silent. A time of great confusion began, but life went on as before, at least at first – in fact, things on Atlas Isle haven’t changed too much since then.”

She sighed. “The rest of the world was not so lucky. Little by little, the natural order of things began to crumble without the gods’ influence. The seasons no longer changed; rain and sun both disappeared; crops ceased to grow. Even the people in many places became so lethargic that they might as well have frozen where they stood. Those who kept their wits fled here.”

They used to, thought Violet, but they can’t anymore. The kingdom had been closed to refuges since around the time that she was born. King Dromedor had ordered the last stable bridges destroyed, partly out of a suspicion that the foreigners might somehow bring the blight with them, but mostly due to the fear that he would no longer be able to feed his own people. Now no one could get in…or out, but really, what need was there to trespass in the dismal world beyond the island?

“I’m sure what you are all wondering,” said Magickai Malena, “is – why did the gods disappear? Did we anger them in some way? Did they simply lose interest in us? Well, it’s been many years since then, and we now have reason to believe that the gods are gone forever. Dead, or…perhaps destroyed would be a better word. At first, it seemed impossible. What could be powerful enough to get rid of the gods? Nothing was stronger than they were…

“But in the end, it wasn’t about being stronger, it was about being equal.”

She turned to the blackboard abruptly, making a few swipes with the chalk. When she turned away again, three names had been circled: Destruction, Darkness, and Death. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“The gods must have begun to fight amongst themselves again. And if these three didn’t start it, then then they certainly finished it – or so we theologists have come to believe. We’ll probably never know for sure what happened, but this is the only theory that has ever made any amount of sense. Destruction, Darkness, and Death all formed an alliance. Death made the other gods able to be killed, Destruction got rid of them once and for all, and Darkness–”

The girl who sat behind Violet, Jessa Wortensky, raised her hand timidly. “Excuse me,” she piped up. “I thought…um, with the way you drew all those lines, I thought you meant that those were all one god. Like, the god of Life and Death, the god of Light and Darkness…?”

“Oh!” Magickai Malena blinked. “Oh, no. I’m sorry if I was unclear. Each of these pairs indicates two separate gods, but they were…bonded in a way that is difficult to describe. Each god was linked to their opposite. I’ll come back to that in a moment.

“But as I was saying before, Destruction, Death, and Darkness formed an alliance to overthrow the other gods. There remains some question as to which one of them was the leader, if indeed any of them were, but my personal belief is that it was Darkness. Because Darkness’s domain was not only the shadows of the night, but also the shadows within all of our hearts. A god like that couldn’t help being tainted with evil.

“So the dark trio must have succeeded…but in doing so, they sealed their own doom. There can be no darkness without light, no death without life, no destruction without creation. By getting rid of their supposed rivals, they also caused themselves to disappear. And we mortals have been feeling the effects ever since.”

Silence settled over the classroom, the students needing time to let all of these facts permeate their skulls. Violet stared down at her notebook, which she’d scribbled into a disorganized mass of words, slanting untidily across the page. Magickai Malena had given a good comprehensive overview of the history of the gods; yet Violet was still stuck feeling like she had a lot more questions than answers. Such as, why had a power struggle suddenly broken out after thousands of years of peace? Why did the gods all disappear so suddenly – shouldn’t there have been some warning before they were gone? What was this connection between opposite gods, often mentioned in literature, but never fully explained? And what was the point of asking any of these questions when no one alive really knew the answers?

But she raised her hand anyway, and when she was called on, she heard herself say, “What about the demons?”

“What about them?” asked Magickai Malena.

“How do they fit into all of this? And why did they start attacking us after the gods were gone?”

She rested one fingertip against her chin. “A story passed down among the magickai says that demons were created by magic users trying to stretch their powers. Because they were mere mortals, their creations came out heartless and misshapen, and the gods were forced to destroy the creatures. That is why we were warned never to play a gods’ game.” She sighed heavily. “Not that I am strong enough to even attempt such a thing.”

“But there isn’t really enough magic in the world for anyone to do it, right?” pressed Violet. “So why are there still demons at all? Where are they coming from?”

“I suppose they simply run rampant without any gods around to stop them,” replied Magickai Malena doubtfully.

That’s not an answer. But is she lying? Or does she just not know?

Mrs. Moshida cleared her throat. “Violet, I’m sure that you have some very…advanced questions, and I always love to see your thirst for knowledge show. But perhaps that would best be left until after class, if Magickai Malena is willing…?”

Magickai Malena frowned, fishing a battered pocket watch out of the thick tangle of chains ringing her neck. “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, but it will have to wait until another day. I’m afraid that I’m due at the castle for a meeting with King Cecil in less than an hour.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Moshida’s shoulders bowed inwards, making her look like one of her own pupils being reprimanded. “I certainly don’t mean to intrude on your time. We’ll let you get going, then – wouldn’t want to keep His Majesty waiting. Class, what do you say to our special guest?”

A chorus of mismatched “thank you”s rang out, two dozen voices all jumbling together. Violet’s was not among them.

“It was my pleasure,” said Magickai Malena, smiling feebly. “And miss…Violet, was it? You are more than welcome to stop by and ask me your questions. Do you know where my shop is?”

“Oh yes,” Violet assured her. “I know where to find you.”

But she wasn’t sure if she’d actually do it or not. She suspected that Magickai Malena couldn’t tell her anything that wasn’t transcribed in some dusty corner of the castle library, and Violet had always preferred the less social approach to research. On the other hand, she might try to arrange a run-in with Sir Silver at some point, to see if he was knowledgeable in more than just combat or if he had been hinting into the void last night.

No problem in this world was unsolvable – she’d believed that as a little kid, and she still believed it now, on the brink of becoming a teenager. She did think, however, that not just anyone could solve certain problems. She didn’t know if the king could deal with this particular dilemma, or if her mother could, or even if Sir Silver could, but there had to be somebody somewhere who was up to the task. Surely at least one other person felt the same drive to fix things that she did, and she had to find that person before it was too late.

And if there was no such person? She’d work hard and do it herself, young age be damned. One thing about having busy parents: it had made her realize the merits of doing things for herself.

Violet had planned to get home quickly that day – her father was due to attend some kind of committee meeting, and her mother would be working all day, so she was needed to look after Teo – but on her way back to the castle, she noticed that a lot of people seemed to be staring at one particular storefront. Of course, she had to stop and figure out why; maybe the shop had just gotten an import of some rare product that had caught everybody’s eye, or maybe there was a nearby gray patch or demon footprint or some other sign of impending disaster. It never hurt to be aware of what was going on in Cumula City, especially at a time like this. She stepped into the shadow of an awning across the street and peered over, and something nearly as bizarre as a demon awaited her gaze:

It was a stranger.

Standing in front of a nondescript produce stand was a plump woman wearing travel-coarsened clothes. Her hair, a pale blonde color that almost glowed in the sunlight, was gathered at the back of her head messily, and she wore a cape, something that hadn’t been fashionable for at least thirty years. Atlas Isle was full of immigrants, and this city was large enough that only someone with a photographic memory would have been able to recognize every resident, but this particular woman extruded foreignness from her body in a way that had captured everyone’s attention. Something about her was bugging Violet, and apparently she wasn’t the only one who felt that way, yet she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. Slowly, she sidled up to the produce stand in a way that she hoped was nonchalant, pining for a better look.

The strange woman was examining a display of apples. Her eyes, which looked both watchful and guarded, were a rather appealing shade of yellow, set in a chubby face that contrasted oddly with her sharp nose and chin. Something about her was off, something beyond mere physical characteristics…but what was it?

Suddenly, she turned her heard towards Violet. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Violet did her best not to jump. “I’m…I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been staring at me nonstop for a couple of minutes.” The woman’s expression hadn’t changed even slightly; she regarded Violet as if the girl were just another apple for sale. “Do I have something in my hair or what?”

“Uh, no.” Violet forced her gaze to one side, and she sensed rather than saw the woman’s amusement at this expected reaction. “I was…just curious. You aren’t from here.”

“No,” agreed the woman. “Is that really so strange?”

“Well, yes, because Atlas Isle is all closed off, so most people don’t even bother trying to come here.” Violet frowned, letting herself make eye contact again. “How did you even get here?”

The woman smiled, a flash of teeth quickly appearing and disappearing.

“I flew here.”

“No, I mean seriously.”

“Seriously.”

Violet’s frown darkened, but the woman’s teeth were out again, glinting in a self-assured grin. Normal teeth, but something about that smile made Violet think that they should have been pointed, ever so slightly.

That was what was bothering her, she realized: this woman was almost completely opaque, but not quite. Little hints of both danger and friendliness kept springing from her, like a dish seasoned with both sugar and ghost pepper. She was sending out mixed signals that never quite added up or cancelled each other out, and that was a hundred times more disconcerting than if she’d just seemed emotionless or flat-out menacing.

Violet shook her head slightly. “You have a weird sense of humor, Ms. …”

“Chuva,” the woman supplied. “And so I’ve been told.”

“You have?”

“Yes. By you, just now.” And she laughed at her own awful joke, which at least made her seem a little more normal.

Violet relaxed a minuscule amount. “I guess however you got here, you’re here now, and that must have taken a lot of work. You must be looking for a better life, right?” Because if you are, I don’t think you’re going to find it here…

“Actually, I’m looking for something a little less abstract,” said Chuva. “There’s a friend of mine who probably lives here. You wouldn’t happen to know of anybody named Silas, would you?”

“I don’t think so.” That wasn’t a common name; Violet was sure that it would have stuck in her memory if she’d heard it before. “What’s the last name?”

“Does that matter?”

“Probably not, but I thought I might as well ask.”

Chuva shrugged, then reached up to tuck a few flyaway hairs behind her ear. “It’s Silver. Silas Silver.”

Violet blinked. There must have been a few dozen people in Cumula City called Silver, either as a first or last name, but one person sprang to mind immediately.

Still, that didn’t make much sense, did it? Sir Silver was probably in his mid-fifties at least, which would make him nearly twice the age of Chuva, who looked about thirty. Why would they know each other, especially given that Sir Silver had lived here for over two decades, while Chuva had just arrived today? But then again, Chuva could have been older than she looked, as Sir Silver most definitely seemed to be. If that was the case, then she might have been here before. And they both wore capes, and they both set off all kids of weird alarm bells deep in Violet’s mind.

Maybe the connection wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

“Actually, I might know who you’re talking about,” said Violet cautiously. “But I’m not completely sure.”

Chuva’s face lit up, and all sorts of eager questions began bubbling up in her eyes…only to be interrupted by a jumble of shouts, as sharp and piercing as knives thrown carelessly into the air. Screams in every tone of voice rang out in the distance, coming closer with every passing second.

“What the void?” muttered Chuva, trotting into the street, and Violet followed her with a chill sensation.

People were emerging from houses and shops on both sides of the road, and two passing chariots were halted by the influx of foot traffic. Chuva stopped a particularly alarmed-looking man as he was rushing by. “Do you know what’s going on?” she demanded.

The man shifted his weight from foot to foot, ready to take off running again at a moment’s notice. “There’s a demon!” he gasped. “Right at the southern border!”

“What?!” She snatched a fistful of his sleeve to keep him from getting away. “Are you sure?!”

“Everyone’s saying it! Some people have even seen it, and the Royal Guard is out there getting ready for a fight!” The man trembled. “We should be far enough here to be safe, but I’d head north if I were you, just in case–”

Chuva released him, shoving him away with the same disregard that she would have used to dispose of a food wrapper. Her bangs had cast an almost unnaturally deep shadow across her face. “Shit,” she hissed, before starting to jog down the street.

Violet, who had become paralyzed with an overwhelming blend of emotions, remembered how to move again just in time to hurry after Chuva. “Wait, miss!” she cried. “That’s the wrong way! You’re headed straight for–”

“I know!” snapped Chuva without so much as a glance over her shoulder. For the first time, Violet noticed that she was toting a battered leather shoulder bag, which was now banging against her thigh as she ran. “I need to get to the border and see if there really is a demon there!”

“But why?!” panted Violet. “If there is, the Royal Guard can handle it!”

“Don’t be so sure, kid! Demons aren’t like other enemies!” Chuva was scowling, her yellow eyes fixed on the horizon. “It takes a lot more than just uniforms and shiny weapons to beat them. And it might be my fault anyway!”

“What?!”

“It could be the demon that I fought the other day but didn’t finish off!”

Violet had a flash-in-the-pan recollection of last night’s meeting, when King Cecil mentioned that a mysterious somebody had stopped the demon attack two days ago. So that somebody had been Chuva? Although perhaps she hadn’t really stopped it at all…

More breathless seconds of running passed, and they soon had to weave their way through throngs of terrified people fleeing in the opposite direction. Chuva slowed from a sprint to a fast walk, her worn leather soles slapping at the ground urgently, and she glared when she noticed Violet tagging along. “Why are you still here?!”

“I need to see what happens!” proclaimed Violet.

“Like void you do! Little kids and demons don’t mix!”

“This is my home!” she insisted. “I have a right to see what happens to it! Besides, what kind of person are you, to rush into battle against a demon and think you know better than the King’s soldiers?!”

Chuva clenched her teeth. “I’m not here to babysit. If you want to throw yourself right into the line of danger, that’s your call. But don’t expect me to stick around and cover your ass!”

So saying, she took off into the thickening crowds, shouldering aside anyone who blocked her path.

Violet almost decided to turn around. Her parents would be worried about her by now, and besides, her position as the child of court-dwellers guaranteed that she’d get to hear about what had happened later. But despite what her common sense was telling her, she felt more curious than afraid. She didn’t have to get anywhere close to the actual fighting, she told herself – she’d just find a good vantage point where she could watch. It would be pretty safe. Safer than Chuva’s approach, at the very least.

Choice made, she turned down a side street and hurried on her way. This route would take a few extra minutes to travel, but she wouldn’t have to deal with as much foot traffic.

Ten minutes later, the alley that comprised the final leg of her journey opened up into South Broad Street. Just a few short rows of cottages now stood between her and the edge of the city; the tallest building in this area was the watchtower, where Royal Guards theoretically watched for any threat that might approach Cumula City from a distance, and actually spent countless hours of boredom waiting for their shifts to end. If anyone had been up there today wishing for some excitement, they’d gotten it.

The watchtower was empty now, and not too far away, Violet heard monstrous growls and the high-pitched clatter of steel blades. She weaved between the people who were brave enough to stand around and gawk, and when she reached the deserted watchtower, she grasped the ladder bolted to its stone exterior and started to climb. She almost certainly wouldn’t need to go all the way to the top in order to see –

There! At the end of a residential street, half a dozen figures swathed in the blue-and-purple Royal Guard uniform were slashing at something much less identifiable. Her breath stopped when she saw it. The thing – the demon – was as big as a whale, and resembled one, to an extent, if a whale had been mainly composed of oil and rotting seaweed. It had four appendages that were partway between fins and mangled, misshapen legs, which it was using to dodge the soldiers with surprisingly nimble movements. A muscular tail lashed at anyone who tried to charge it from behind.

Mere moments later, she spotted Chuva racing into the fray, recognizable at this distance only by her cape and blonde head. She had left her bag behind somewhere, and now there was a sword clutched in her hand, a pitiful little toy compared to the Guards’ weapons. Violet felt a knot twist in her stomach. This did not look promising.

Two of the soldiers tried to stop Chuva, but she shoved them both back, and they had no chance to protest before the demon was on all three of them. With a battle cry that was just barely audible from the watchtower, Chuva swung her sword towards its head in a slow and easily anticipated arc. The demon reached out to snatch up the sword, and her along with it…

At which point she revealed her true speed by ducking beneath its outstretched arm and jabbing upwards into its soft underbelly. Its roar of pain vibrated the air even all the way back at the tower; it must have been deafening to the combatants. Sure enough, Chuva recoiled instinctively, then tried to get in a second strike. But she’d missed her opportunity. The demon lunged and forced her and the soldiers to scatter.

However, another Royal Guard had sensed an opening, and chopped at the monster’s tail while its attention was diverted. Blood sprayed into the street, a gusher that looked like a mere red-black smudge from Violet’s vantage point, and she knew that at least part of the tail had been completely severed. The creature shrieked and flailed, letting its guard down in its moment of weakness, and the soldiers darted in to attack its legs, feet, and heaving flank. Instead of joining them, Chuva took a step back. Her body stance suggested concentration, not surrender. She must have been planning her next move, or preparing to try another feint, or…

She made a broad gesture with her hand, and an unnaturally precise jet of purple smoke blasted into the demon’s face. Violet’s eyes widened, and she pressed herself closer to the ladder. Was that magic?!

Whatever it was, it took effect immediately, leaving the demon growling and warbling oddly. It reeled on its feet, circling itself as if it no longer knew where to look; the smoke had confused it and greatly lowered its defenses.

That was when Violet heard the tromp of footsteps somewhere below her, and she looked down to see ten more figures approaching the battlefield. Nine were ordinary soldiers, but leading the formation was Sir Silver himself, sword drawn and cape flapping like a hero in a fairy tale. He’d never liked the commoners getting mixed up in any kind of trouble, so what would he do when he saw Chuva?

The demon seemed to sense that a new threat had arrived, and it flailed towards him, still muddled from the smoke attack. His warriors all prepared to charge, but he halted them with a raised arm before darting forward to face the creature on his own.

Man and beast were on each other now, the demon brutish and unsteady, Sir Silver quick and methodic. He made up in agility for whatever he lost in strength, and his sword, which was a curious golden color, slashed like a beam of light solidified into metal. He was mesmerizing to watch, but when Violet took her eyes off of him, she noticed that something else was happening.

Chuva had reentered the battle, and as she and Sir Silver continued to fight, they appeared to…to synchronize. They had each taken up a position on either side of the demon, and they fought as if watching one another’s every move, even though they hadn’t so much as looked at each other yet. It was more than simple mimicry. Sir Silver’s movements were graceful and flowing, Chuva’s were harsh and efficient, yet they came together like two parts of a harmony, like they had fought together every day of their lives. One would fall back, the other would step in on offense; one would create a diversion, the other would strike just before the demon recovered its senses.

In fact, the demon’s movements were becoming more desperate by the second – it was still addled from the effects of the purple smoke, and the newfound duo of vicious warriors seemed to be more than it could handle. Soon its dark, scummy hide was oozing blood from a dozen places, and its cries became weak and rumbling. The other soldiers, for their part, were exchanging glances, probably wondering if they should risk throwing off their captain by joining the frenzy.

Sir Silver had gotten in a particularly ferocious strike, and now Violet heard the demon scream, rearing up on its hide legs. One of its limbs paddled at the air spastically, its foot severed at the ankle, spurting blood. Sir Silver drew back his sword, stabbing deep into the beast’s soft stomach…

And Chuva did the same thing from the other side, ensuring that the demon was completely run through. It went completely rigid, and a loud crackle rang out, like the sound of ice splintering as it thawed. As Violet watched, the whale-like monster turned dull gray, sported fissures in its slimy hide, and finally collapsed into a pile of ashes that scattered harmlessly around the street.

And as the last swirls of dust spiraled away, Chuva and Sir Silver were finally face-to-face, looking right at each other…

Violet leaned as far out as she dared. Seconds passed, and although she was too far away to hear for sure, the stranger and the knight didn’t seem to be talking. Just staring.

They know each other. She was looking for him – but why? Who is she?

Before she could even begin to guess at the answers to these questions, Chuva stepped forward and flung her arms around Sir Silver, and Violet swore that she could feel the confusion of the entire city saturating the air around her.

For three days now, Chuva had been confined to her bedroom, pacing with an uneven gait due to the way that her wings affected her balance. Outside the door, she would periodically hear her parents discussing whether they should withdraw her from school in favor of private tutoring, bemoaning the financial strain that their daughter’s affliction would place on the family, and wondering aloud if anything else was likely to happen with her in the near future. What never rated a mention was what she might think of the situation or if she should be allowed a say in any of their decisions. Tomorrow her enchanted cape would finally be ready, and she would return to the world, albeit as someone different than who she’d been before that fateful morning. Until then, she sat in her room, reading, and brooding, and adjusting to the abrupt change in her body.

When fully extended, her wings barely fit within the confines of her room, which had surprised her at first; she’d sometimes seen depictions of winged humanoids (mainly gods) in illustrations, and their wings were always proportionally much smaller than hers. Keeping them raised for too long was uncomfortable, like trying to hold out her arms until they ached, so when she wasn’t stretching, she left them either open but relaxed or folded neatly against her back. She wished she could do more than that. She would fly if she could, but fitting through the window was impossible, and trying to take a flying leap off of the bed had just resulted in her wings smacking painfully against the ceiling and her mother, alerted by the sound of the crash landing, coming to yell at her.

She was going stir crazy, and yet she dreaded the arrival of her cape, which would hide her glorious wings from everyone – including herself. Not to mention becoming known around Saint Valdez as that weird kid who never, ever took off her cape. Well, let them think whatever they wanted. One day she’d be soaring high above them – literally.

Sighing dramatically, Chuva flung away the book she’d been flipping through (princess imprisoned by evil queen in a dungeon; oh, how she could relate) and slunk over to her bureau, for want of anything better to do. She plunged her hands into the drawers, rifling around for some interesting object that might keep her entertained for a while. There was a small quantity of junk jewelry; a diary that she’d given up on months ago; clothes that she wouldn’t be able to wear again unless the backs were torn out, like the old blouse of her mother’s that she was currently dressed in. And concealed at the bottom of the lowest drawer, she encountered the cold, smooth lump of her starstone.

Chuva stopped and considered the starstone thoughtfully. She’d had it for three or four years now; one day she’d been walking along with her parents while staring at the ground, as children do, when she’d spotted something glinting and had grabbed it eagerly: a brooch with tarnished casing that held an opaque navy-blue stone. At the time, she’d been certain that it must be very valuable, a fragment of buried treasure or a rich noblewoman’s prized jewel, but when her parents had obligingly brought it to the local jeweler for appraisal, it had been declared “pretty but worthless.” She held on to it anyway, calling it her starstone when she noticed that there were flecks of silvery debris just beneath the dark surface, like stars in the night sky. And every day for a year, she wore it as a good-luck charm.

She hadn’t thought of her starstone since the day she’d carelessly relegated it to the bureau drawer, but looking at it now, she suddenly remembered Magi Corona. Hadn’t the magi stopped her in the marketplace once and asked to see her starstone? Why would Magi Corona care about a worthless brooch, unless it really was valuable…or magical? And those comments the other day about Chuva “smelling of magic”…

Excitement tingled in her belly. This felt true, it felt right – she had stumbled upon a connection!

Which way did the connection run, though? Was she a magical child who had been unknowingly drawn to some powerful artifact? Or was her starstone really the source of her abilities, the reason why she’d sprouted wings, meaning that anyone else could have –

Someone is here.

The thought, or rather the feeling, sprang into her head, not a bit gradually. Her starstone tumbled from her fingers. The instant that she was no longer touching it, the sensation stopped, but she knew what she’d felt: not a vague creeping feeling like somebody was watching her from a window or a dark corner, but something else, more solid and less threatening.

She had sensed, rather than heard, a soft and distant sigh.

Who is it?

Just like when she got her wings a few days ago, Chuva was more fascinated than frightened. She reached down and picked up the starstone again…

The foreign sensation sprang back into her. Suddenly, it was as if her consciousness had split in two, one half hers alone, and the other half…someone else’s. Someone who was with her now. She squeezed the stone and whispered, “Hello?”

Surprise fluttered through her mind – no, not her mind, the other mind, its emotions were inside of her somehow. And she heard with her brain rather than her ears as a voice echoed back to her, Hello?!

Chuva’s heart pumped rapidly; she was transfixed. “Who are you?” she demanded, keeping her voice down so as not to attract the attention of her parents.

I…I’m me. The voice seemed just as confused as she was. I’m Silas.

She plopped down on the floor, wings fluttering against her back, and began to probe at this new presence with her mind. Vague concepts slowly solidified into concrete knowledge, of a boy about her own age, one who was very far away indeed…

“I’m Chuva,” she said.

She could feel him pause. Then his voice came again, suspiciously: Are you real? Everyone says I have an active imagination, but nothing like this has ever happened before…

“’Course I’m real,” she answered. “I’m as real as you are.”

This is so weird. I can really hear you in my head! Like telepathy or something!

“Or something.” Hearing him was the least of what was happening, Chuva realized. She was also feeling his emotions, and sensing a bedroom much like her own where he was holding his end of the conversation, as if a part of her was him.

Can you see me? he asked, and somehow she knew that he was whispering.

“Kind of. Not really. Can you see me?”

No. But I can feel you’re there.

“Me, too.” She was communicating in a way that she’d never even heard of before, and a magical link had opened up between her and some boy that she’d never even met, all because she’d happen to squeeze an old brooch in her hand. She never would’ve thought that her starstone could –

Hang on, interjected the voice, Silas if that was really his name. Your what stone?

She frowned. She didn’t think she’d intentionally shared that with him, so he must have dipped further into her thoughts somehow. “Oh, just this brooch I have, with a blue stone in it. I call it my starstone because it has little speckles like stars…”

And you’re holding it?!

“Yeah, why?”

Because I’m holding a brooch, too – my sunstone! It’s yellow, though, not blue…

A rush of adrenaline, cool but enticing, caused her to shiver briefly. Maybe their connection wasn’t so random after all. “Silas,” she murmured, “this is a weird question, but…do you have wings?”

She practically heard his squeal. How did you know?!

“I didn’t! I asked because – because I got wings three days ago, on Lightsday! And I thought that maybe…”

It was hard to tell where her own awe ended and his began. I got mine four days ago, on Darksday. Almost five days ago, I guess, ’cause it’ll be midnight soon.

“Really? It’s the middle of the day here.” Chuva considered the conundrum. “So you must be all the way on the other side of the world!”

Wow. That’s far away. But don’t you feel so…so…

“Close?”

Exactly.

She gave her starstone a hard squeeze. “So do you. I’ve never felt so close to anyone before.”

A silence rang between them that was just as profound as anything that they had managed to say so far. Here they were, two children on opposite sides of the globe, sitting in similar positions while their very breathing and heartbeats aligned. They both held stones and they both had wings. They were almost impossibly close, yet they barely knew more than each other’s names.

“Tell me more about you, Silas.”

Like what?

She barely had to think about it. “Your parents. What are they like? What did they think when you got your wings?”

They were scared. All of us were, but my mama most of all. She kept squeezing me so tight it hurt. Then my papa ran and got the doctor, but the doctor didn’t know what to do, so they got the shama.

“What’s a shama?”

Someone who can do magic.

“You mean like a magi?”

I guess so? Anyway, she said that there was nothing she could do, but she’s making me a cape to wear that will hide my wings. I’m glad about it. It’s weird being like this.

Chuva frowned to herself. “I’m getting a cape too, but my parents are going to force me to wear it. And I don’t think that having wings is weird. I think it’s cool!”

But no one else has them…

“That’s exactly why it’s cool!”

Hesitation, uncertainty – definitely not her own. Then: Maybe you’re right. And besides, now I at least know one other person who has them. You!

Chuva smiled.

After that, time and the conversation both meandered. She lay flat on her belly, in the same dismal environment that she’d been in before, an unknown but probably unpleasant future stretching out ahead of her…but none of it mattered anymore. For the second time in less than a week, everything had changed within the space of a few minutes, and this time she’d been granted not wings but a kindred spirit.

They talked about him, and about her, and about nothing in particular. She wondered why her parents hadn’t come to ask her who she was talking her, if they were really so indifferent that they hadn’t noticed, or if she had perhaps switched her words from mouth to mind without noticing. She wondered if Silas would get in trouble with his parents for staying up so late. And she wondered, as the sun set for her and rose for him, are there other people like Silas out in the world somewhere?

Are there others like me?

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