Wings of Ebony Page 4

The other side is off the platform, thankfully, in a nearby building. The Binding building. No more crowds, no more stares. Just white walls, sterile like a hospital with a giant floor-to-ceiling picture of the Chancellor. His white eyebrows are slicked down, shiny, and his thinning white hair looks much fuller. His skin is still overly pinkish like he spends too much time in the sun or he’s really embarrassed permanently. Or both.

  Aside from the portrait, the walls are bare. Thin, long benches line the hallway and lockers are on the opposing side. Two swinging metal doors have STAY OUT written in bold blue letters. A pencil-thin woman with a literal nest of violet hair on her head scans a card on some sort of pad near the door and pushes through. Before her, Redheaded Girl went inside, and I could swear seconds later I heard screaming under the elevatorish music they have playing. Maybe I’m hearing things.

  I pound my head back on the wall. The rattling in my brain is calming in a way. What is Tasha doing? Where did that CPS lady even take her? Darkness wraps around me and I see my sister’s face on the back of my eyelids. She’s smiling, then crying. Her mouth widens and her nose thins. Her eyes stretch a little as her features morph into Moms’s. I roll my purple frayed necklace between my fingers.

  I catch sight of Bri strolling up, fidgeting with some metal gadget I can’t quite make out. But the way she’s biting her tongue, it seems dire.

  “You survive?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah, Zruki for sure. My build, my genes, it’s mine work for me. Plus, my parents are Zruki and it usually follows genealogy.”

  “So what do non-mine-working-Zrukis do?”

  “Those… would be…” She grunts, pushing one end of the metal into the other. “Ugh! Sorry, my PRI Modifier is out of whack. They’re Dwegini.” She shoves the metal thing in her pocket and I catch a half glance at it. It’s squarish with red buttons and a blue light on top. But one end is dangling and I don’t think it is supposed to be.

  “Dwegini?”

  “The others. They’re not built for mine work. They do administrative stuff, they’re entertainers, armed guards, they do medical stuff, research. Lots of magic theory research. Chancellor’s really into that. He keeps his supple-bodied folks working in the mines. That’s where the onyx comes from, for binding. My parents are both mine workers. Dad’s working on a side job to get us a bit more rations, and maybe even move to a larger unit. I think you call it a house? But my dad’s efforts haven’t really gone anywhere. I don’t mind sharing a room with my parents, and my brothers are so little, they don’t seem to care.”

  One bedroom? For all five (maybe more) of them?

  “And the floor really does feel good to my back… after a while. Plus, it’s free. Can’t complain too much.”

  The floor? Now, that I didn’t expect. “I don’t understand. People seemed relieved to be Zrukis. But you laid up in government-sanctioned housing?”

  “I mean, Zrukis may sound like the lower ranking in the hierarchy work-wise because its manual labor, but it’s an honorable trade, Rue.” She stands up straighter. “It’s critical to the function of Ghizon. Sure, it’s charmed dresses and artsy makeup, but it’s also rapid cell regeneration, cloaking, which has all kinds of uses, growth serums. I mean… this magic the Chancellor unearthed is brilliant.”

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  “All our protections here, the weapons Patrol use… all magic.”

  “Protection?”

  “Yep.”

  I sit up taller. “Tell me more.”

  “Oh man, there’s so much. And our magic only grows more functional as we continue to study it,” she explains, her eyes lit up. “Onyx is everything here. Can’t Bind people without onyx. And we do that. Zrukis. We’re kind of a big deal.” She bats another flyaway hair. “And at least we get Bound. There’s one more word in that old woman’s vocabulary.” She shudders. “Macazi. That means you’re casteless, not worthy of either and not fit to bear magic at all. They don’t even get units. It’s community housing for them, until they die off or who knows what. Rumor is they use them for”—she whispers—“trials… like for research. Zruki is not at all a bad gig.”

  The way she’s looking at me, I think I’m supposed to marvel at her designation. And because I want to try to be a decent friend to this chick, I do. “Oh wow, my bad. Well, congrats.”

  “Thanks. Our units are decent, too. Being only one room means less time cleaning, and it’s easier to heat and cool with Memi’s magic. The floor isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

  “No, y-yeah. I didn’t mean anything by that.” I’m just surprised that in a world with magic, people would live like they broke. Why does the Chancellor need a grip on things like that? Why not let people live freely, earning their way? What does he gain by giving them magic but controlling how they use it, where they work, their quality of living, making them work their way up the chain in their free time, on the slim chance they can find free time? I seen that before and that… that ain’t admirable.

  That’s suspect.

  “I know what you mean. Been there,” I say. Moms’s mattress got bedbugs once and we had to save up for four months to replace it.

  She stares a second, confused. “I can’t imagine Aasim’s daughter sleeping on the floor, but—”

  “Let’s be clear. I just met him. I don’t know him. So… just… chill out with all that mentioning him, please. My Moms raised me. Alone. And it’s not like this back home. It’s…” I gaze out a nearby window. The banners from the ceremony still flutter in the wind. A juggler flips colorful balls in the air using one hand and they burst into birds in every color and flutter off, while a crowd of admirers throws coins at him. “It’s just different.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter because once we’re Bound, it’s off to the dorm for a year of training. With our own beds!” She dances in place. “Oo! Maybe we can room?”

  “Maybe.” The thought of not seeing Tasha or home or anyone I actually know for an entire year makes me sick.

  She throws a salty look at her pocket and I know that noncompliant gadget is still under her skin. “What’s wrong with your thing?”

  “Oh my PRI Mod? It’s nothing.”

  “Rule number one of friends—no lies. Just keep it real.”

  She turns beet red. “Wait, friends? I… we… really? O-okay.” She pulls it out of her pocket. “I don’t usually get to show anyone because, well, it’s not magicked or anything. My parents think it’s stupid. Just some dumb particle rearranger I made.”

  It’s clunky and cold and I can clearly see the spot where one piece is refusing to slide into the other. I give it a push, just in case. No luck.

  “What does it do?” I ask.

  “It takes apart molecules and places them somewhere else.”

  “In English?”

  “My bag with my books is so heavy.”

  “Okay…”

  “I didn’t want to walk all the way from the quad, the dorm, back home just to drop them off between classes. So I made this thing. It shrinks the particles into tiny molecules, transports them through the air, and makes them reappear in my room.”

  “Uh, Bri that’s not at all dumb. That’s the coolest shit I’ve ever heard.”

  “Wait until I’m Bound,” she says.

  Another faint scream plays under the music.

  “I’m going to add some cloaking and locator spells to it so I can send and retrieve stuff any time I want.” She wears a silly grin. “I’ve been studying magic and more complex spells since I was eight, years before I could even think about being Bound.” She pats her stack of papers. “I’m ready.”

  Good, because the shit sounds painful. Am I ready?

  “Yo, foreal foreal. You’re smart. People back home get paid a lot of money to pop off some dope shit like this.”

  She narrows her eyes like she’s deciphering a code.

  Translation. “You’re really smart, Bri. This is impressive. And bump anyone who says different.”

  She
chews her lip, then smiles. “Y-yeah. B-bump?”

  “Bump.”

  “Bump them!”

  I smile. Can’t even help it. I turn the gadget over and over in my hands. “You can make anything? Like, anything anything?”

  “I’ll put it like this: I’ve never not been able to make something I tried to make.”

  “How long does it take you to make stuff like this?”

  “Depends. Why, what are you thinking?”

  Tasha’s face ripples in my memory. Her tears, the screaming when the CPS lady came and took her away. I rub the edges of Moms’s photo in my pocket.

  Travel. I wanna go home.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE EARTHY SCENT OF Ghizon hits me like a slap. Slate walls surround me, and a draft creeps through my cotton hoodie, chilling my bones. I land on the metal deck at the south end of New Ghizon’s Central District, staggering as I try to catch my balance. My head’s swimming. That transport spell makes light rail travel feel like snail speed.

  Great, I’m “home.”

  Patrol pulls me upright by my throbbing wrists. Sickness sloshes in my gut and breathing takes more concentration. I wish I could just explain why I did what I did. Get them to understand. But that’s foolish. My best bet is to get away from them first chance I get.

  Creaky aluminum lights bob overhead, swaying in the humid island air. An array of metals clank, suspended in the air, snapping and shifting together piece by piece, assembling themselves. The warehouse? They’re taking me through the warehouse? We push our way through the room, which feels like an auto hobby shop, buzzing with magic mechanics and maintenance crews. Patrol’s heels clack clack clack on the floor and my heart echoes their beat.

  The sounds of tinkering dissolve into a silence that would freeze a pot of boiling blood.

  Bystanders pause. Work halts.

  Despite my hazy vision, it’s clear: All eyes are on me. I want to ask what the hell they’re looking at, but I keep my head down, focusing on the woozy pulsing, which, thanks to Tasha’s water, is a bit better. Shouldn’t they be in class? Or somewhere besides here, gossiping, gawking? You’d think I’d be used to it by now. People tripped when I first showed up. A Ghizoni girl being Bound the same day as me even asked to touch my skin. Like, what?

  “Where to, Keef?” A pair of Patrolmen fall in line behind me, one at each side.

  “Straight to the Chancellor with this one.” Three guards escort me.

  Three.

  For saving someone’s life.

  Muted pounding beats in the distance. We push open the steel doors at the back of the warehouse and a dusky sky greets us. Outside, a cemented path twists and turns around the tall steel and glass buildings that make up the Central District of New Ghizon. It’s weird that they call it new Ghizon, when there is no old Ghizon. Colorful tents and food and craft vendors line the walkway as far as I can see.

  I scan for red square frames and unruly blond flyaways. No luck. She has to know my lack of a response means I got caught up… I hope. Where is she?

  Crowds of people move through the street dancing, arms and legs covered in multicolored stripes, while the ting of plucked strings ring in the air. Celebrating. Happy. Oblivious to the fact that my sister almost died today.

  Buildings as tall as skyscrapers loom on either side of the crowd. Their lacquered walls dotted with rows of windows stare like hundreds of peering eyes. The farthest building in New Ghizon’s Central District is my dorm-style hall. Oversized screens hang outside the residence dorms, the Infirm Ward, almost every tall building in the District, playing the usual images of the Chancellor, smiling and waving, on repeat.

  Always on repeat.

  To the west, Yiyo Peak, jagged and dotted with specks of glass, kisses the fading sun. Even its radiance annoys me. Thousands of homes shine like squares of polished glass dug into its jagged surface. Twinkling lights grow brighter, like a night sky plastered onto a mountainside. The brilliance should mesmerize, but each flicker is as comforting as candles on a grave.

  Banners slung from one end to the other without strings read ABDU YOI’FURI—DAY OF THE FOUNDERS. That’s right. That is today. Of course, of all days I could be arrested, I’m snatched up just as half of Ghizon takes to the streets to herald its founder. Their glasses clink, overflowing with fizzing drinks. “J’syon hi!” Good health.

  Today brings Ghizonis so much joy.

  Today brings me so much pain.

  According to Ghizoni history books, seventy or so years ago the Chancellor unearthed a glassy black stone in the isle’s fertile mountain, Yiyo Peak. He mined it for its “molecular properties” that make it “the perfect binder for magic,” whatever that means, and used the promise of magic to unite the isolated tribes living here. According to the two days of Ancient History class I actually attended, the clans jumped at the chance, sealing the Chancellor’s diehard loyalty from these people. They worship him for it.

  He was an asshole the first time he spoke to me, so magic or not, I can’t stand him.

  Random bouts of wooziness assault me. The effect of the chaser isn’t hitting me as strongly, or I’m getting used to it… I hope that’s not a bad thing. Patrol tugs again and reluctantly, I follow. Wherever they think they’re taking me… I have no intention of going. Running from Laws ain’t nothing new. I just need to get a moment of distraction—a second so I can get away. Where is Bri?

  She would be here, right? If she knows I’m in trouble, she’d come. I reach for my watch but the handcuffs are blocking it.

  Bu-Bu-Bum. Bum. Bum.

  Each pound of the drum sloshes my insides. The farther we go, the louder the music pounds. Each beat of celebration wedges the dagger deeper. I want to snatch those damn sticks out of the drummer’s hand and beat him with them.

  I catch his eye and the drumming stutters, then fades. With the sudden absence of music, heads turn my way in waves, a few at first, then more. The celebration comes to a near silent halt as I’m led through the crowd, hands bound. Like the entire city was waiting, eager for a glimpse of the brown girl who broke the rules. The crowd, a sea of faces with colorful hairstyles contorted in twisted shapes, whispers and points at me. Several have magicked faces and enhanced animal features. With magic at your disposal, I guess you get bored after a while and start experimenting.

  My feet are rigid as Patrol practically drags me. My mouth is chalky. Water. I still need more water. Patrolman tugs for me to walk faster and needling pain pricks my wrists.

  Moms raised a diamond. I straighten up and keep moving.

  The festival hums around us, the music pounding once again. The path ahead snakes between a short building with slate walls, the Amphitheater, where I was sorted—or not sorted, actually—and behind it, the Binding Ward, where they gave me my magic. I rub a thumb over my wrist, remembering. All this magic and power could do so much good back home, but they want to hole up here. It’s just so messed up.

  Justice Compound, the place where they take lawbreakers, looms ahead. They’re not putting me in some cell. Nope. Not happening. “Where is—” I say under my breath when a familiar face jets through the crowd, glasses perched on her pointy nose.

  There she is.

  Bri keeps pace with the guards, but she’s far back, so far it’s hard to see. She’s gonna flip when she hears her techy contraption on my wrist didn’t fail, and that aside from delivering the gift I was able to save my sister’s life. We knew a transport spell would tip the authorities. So being the smarty-pants she is, she hacked the mainframe and found some code for human geolocation that was already in there. It took a long minute, months actually, but she wrote it into a wristwatch. So I could be there for Tash. That’s what real friends do.

  Ride or die.

  Before I can tell her anything, first I need out of this sitch.

  As if Bri read my mind, she flips a silvery something high in the air and it dissolves, like it was never there. Seconds later, cold metal presses against my palm. P-R-I-
modifier or whatever she calls it for the win! Knew she’d come through.

  I fall back so the guards are walking in front of me and wiggle the key-shaped metal into my restraints. It’s awkward, but after a few tries the key slips into a hole and clicks.

  I keep my hands still. I have one shot to get away from under these idiots. I look for Bri in the crowd to give her a sign it worked. A smirk or something. But a myriad of disinterested faces is all I see. She’s gone. My wrist vibrates, but I can’t look. Not yet.

  I need a distrac—

  “Ling ling ling, ya’ling ling.” N’we dancers shimmy our way. The ringleader wears sapphire chiffon low on her waist and golden bells ting with each step. Coins fly at them from the crowd and Patrol’s practically salivating as the dancers rotate their hips, jiggling all the jiggly places.

  My chance.

  I drop the cuffs and jet, running like my life depends on it. And I mean, it might. My only hope is that I can get off these streets and hide away at Bri’s. Her parents are practically model citizens. Hiding away there, Patrol would never expect to find me. How long that’ll last, I can’t say. Long enough for me to figure out a way to get back to Tasha, hopefully.

  I breeze by a little too close to a merchant futzing with a tent and the whole thing collapses.

  “Shoot, sorry!” I don’t look back, hoping they heard me. I disrupt a line of feather trainers—animal masters who can compel birds to obey—around a huddle of people with fists full of coins, my kicks eating the cobblestone. Everything’s a bit hazy, but I push through it.

  “V’ja! V’ja!” Patrol shouts for me and I pound the dirt harder. Wedged between the slick buildings is a crumbling stone shanty that looks older than everything around it. It’s set back on the lot, with cracked walls and a roof half caved in. I slip into the narrow alley between it and the building next to it and crouch down low. Patrol’s voices grow louder, and I lean back, fully in shadow.

  “Which way? Did you see the girl? The human girl?”

  “I—I, no,” says a man sauntering by with a cane. “I didn’t see anyone.”