Tuesday, November 22, 2005

for later use, don't read please

Book 1—The Followers The Summoner’s Violin A Day Without the Sun There was once a world that was wedged between Time and the bosom of the Earth. It was a wound to the planet, having been created in the past to be used in the present, for the people of the future. In this world, there was a town that was cradled in the valley of a forested mountain range. Where the forest met the many little scattered houses, morning life was beginning to stir. A boy was sitting inside a little, ivy-covered, wooden hut. He was about twelve, with very frizzy hair and matching, forest-floor-brown eyes. Blues was his name, although it matched his looks terribly. He was sitting by a small desk that held a thick, green-glowing candle, the only source of light in his two-room hut. The morning was his favorite time, and he reveled in the peaceful silence of the sleeping town. On a perch by a glass-less window roosted a pale dove, head tucked beneath a light-brown wing. One of his eyes flickered open as Blues pulled out a large, leather-bound book from the shelf beside him; then, it closed again. The volume fell open to a marker about halfway in the middle when Blues set it down quietly on his desk. Although it appeared to be a dictionary at first glance, the words it listed were not words at all. The book was filled with strange expressions: words of power. It was a spell book. Blues opened one of the drawers in his desk, flinching as the wood squeaked. The dove’s eye opened again, shining with the neon light of the candle. It watched as Blues took a jar out of the drawer, before sliding it quietly shut. Behind the glass—almost made translucent by the many scratches—sat little wriggly creatures on leafless branches. These particular wills appeared no different from spiders; though wills usually had wings, Blues needed to ensure that they would not fly away, so he deprived them of their flight. Uninterested, the dove’s eye closed. In a practiced motion, Blues quickly opened the top and caught an extremely fat one by its leg. Holding it above his desk, he single-handedly screwed the top back on and set the jar beside the candle on his desk. The captured will wiggled and swung itself around in circles by its leg until Blues placed it on the table. The little black creature scurried toward the edge, seeking escape, but its self-induced dizziness slowed it. “Stay here,” Blues whispered as he caught it by a different leg and dragged it back into the middle of the table. “Sorry about this,” he told it as, holding its body carefully between two fingers of his other hand, he tore the leg out. Then, wasting no time, he let go of both the bug and the leg. Almost subconsciously, he flicked his right hand. A long, thin, and completely black wand slid out of his sleeve, into his hand. “Reparium,” Blues muttered, closing his eyes to concentrate. No one would have noticed anything change visually, but those who had mage-blood and a trained ear would be able to hear a soft, far-away-sounding hum. It grew louder as the will froze, and a lump appeared where the old leg used to be. When Blues opened his eyes again, a new leg was in its place. “Thanks,” Blues said to the will as the hum of magic died. After he returned his wand to his sleeve, he screwed the top off the jar and dropped the will back in with its fellow insects. He replaced the top and rolled it back into the drawer. At this sound, the dove gave up on trying to sleep. He straightened up and stretched his wings. “Good morning, Jet,” the brown-haired boy told his pet. The bird yawned, fluffed his feathers, and took to the air. A gust of wind, created by his wings, made the papers on the desk flutter as he flew out the window. For a minute after, Blues gazed absentmindedly at the place in the darkness outside where Jet had disappeared. Then, he gathered a paper and pencil, and started to make notes. “Blues, breakfast time!” a familiar voice called from outside. It was his father. “Coming!” Blues stood up, blew out his candle, and slipped into his soft leather boots. When he stepped outside, he was somewhat surprised by how dark it still was; he had hardly noticed it in the comfort of his hut. The sky was not covered by thunderclouds, as he had expected, but by another kind of heavy, black haze that he had never seen before. A strange feeling stirred in the back of his heart, telling him that there was something wrong. “Dad, why is it still dark?” he asked, troubled. “I don’t know,” Blues’ father answered, shrugging. “I don’t have much experience with that topic. Rain would know.” Blues knew that his father’s magic concerned magical creatures, not weather. His sister, however, was a different matter. “Why don’t you call her by her real name? I find ‘TearCloud’ much prettier than ‘Rain.’” “Well, her being the mage and me just a wizard,” his father sighed, “calling her a lower-rank name makes me feel less... untalented.” “But you’re not just a wizard! You’re an archwizard! You should give yourself more credit.” Blues looked up at his father: a strong, smiling man, although age was slowly catching up with him. He had dark brown hair, like Blues, but it was streaked with gray. “After eating breakfast, you can go practice some spells in the forest,” he told his son, changing the subject as he lead the way up to the family’s main house. “Come to think of it, how’s your studying coming along?” “Fine. I think I’ll be ready for Welding,” Blues answered with a touch of excitement. “I can’t wait!” His father turned his head and smiled cheerfully down on his son. Blues returned the smile. “You’ll have fun there. I can tell.” “How big exactly is Welding?” Blues asked to keep the conversation up. “I heard it was a few hundred acres across, or something.” “Why do you ask? You’ve been there before.” “Yeah, but I’ve never seen the whole thing!” Mr. Corelli took a moment to think about it. “With my experience, I’d guess Welding’s about, well, say big enough to hold twenty metallic dragons.” Blues nodded in understanding; he was familiar with his father’s way to express measurements. Mr. Corelli was a dragon-archwizard, and it showed. The sweet, doughy smell of pancakes tickled Blues’ nose as he entered the main house. This lovely stone building consisted of a few rooms, mostly bedrooms for the younger kids who did not yet have huts of their own. The largest space was the dining room, where the family gathered to eat. The unpainted walls revealed that the building was entirely wooden. “Good morning, Mom,” he said as he passed a brown haired lady holding a large plate of pancakes, and he hurried to take his place. All of Blues’ siblings were already gathered around a large round table. The Corellis had a distinct sitting pattern: Mr. and Mrs. Corelli sat together, in seats close by the kitchen so that they could get more food. Lila (nineteen) sat on her mother’s left, beside Valsin (seventeen), Etude (fourteen) and his identical twin Symphony (fourteen), Blues (twelve), Melody (ten), Gavotte (nine), Musette (eight), and the youngest, Bourree (six). They all had brown hair and brown eyes, thanks to their parents. Mr. Corelli sat down, and Mrs. Corelli placed the plate in the middle of the table. “Enjoy,” she said with a smile as she sat down. The kids helped themselves and began to converse with each other. Blues took a pancake, spread strawberry marmalade all over one side, and rolled it up. He nibbled slowly, somehow not feeling nearly as hungry as he usually did. Blues didn’t understand what was bothering him so much. His eyes wandered to the window behind Lila. It was still dark. “Is something wrong, Blues?” his mother asked him. “You don’t seem quite as talkative as usual.” “No, I’m fine,” he lied. He waited in silence for everyone to finish eating, slowly chewing on his pancake to pass time. Then, excusing himself, he got up and left the house. Blues headed to the forest. Usually the sun would glow the sinister atmosphere out of it, but today it looked dark and threatening. He hesitated if he should really go in, but the mature part of his brain told himself that he was a baby to be afraid of the forest. Quickly, he pulled his wand from his sleeve. He pointed it at himself and, concentrating to keep the spell as quiet as possible, pictured flames, a square, and the light mage-knot in his mind. After a whisper of magic passed, Blues slipped his wand away again. His body now glowed the same soft green color that the candle in his hut did. Lighting himself a way into the forest, his magic somewhat dampened his fears. His fingers stroked the soft wood of his wand. He wasn’t going completely unarmed into the dark. With a little chuckle, he considered the irony: a shadow-blood afraid of the dark. But, then again, shadow needed light. Strange, he thought when not even a will crossed his path. Usually the forest was flooded with creatures, from fiery Rocs to gentle Eohorns. Where is everyone? He walked further into the forest. He listened hard every time the wind rustled the leaves overhead. A twig tickled the back of his neck; he spun around and around, shivers running down his spine. All he wanted to do was try a spell, and get out. A part of him desired to run home, back to his cozy house. Yet, he kept walking deeper and deeper into the forest, as if a magnet was pulling him in. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Suddenly, Blues noticed the ground beneath his feet had changed. His eyes left his glowing feet and he looked up. His breath came faster, and his mind seemed to quiver as it programmed what he saw. He had walked into a clearing, where the remains of a circle of scorched tents stuck out like the ribs of an animal long dead. In the middle was a large fire pit, from which thick black clouds were billowing. It looked as if the fire had blown up. Fear swamping all judgment, Blues turned to run. But his shock was broken by something in his mage-hearing. It sounded like a plea for help. The source was near, but Blues had never even heard of anyone using mage-sound to ask for help... There is someone in the fire, Blues decided. Hardly hesitating, now that he had his mind set to the cause, he approached the fire, whose clouds covered the sky and created the darkness. He half-expected to see the shadow of a person lying in the ashes, but as he came closer, he saw the outlines of a bird. A bird? Blues’ heart twisted with pity. Who would dare to do this? he wondered, shuddering at the cruelty. He reached into the swirling smoke to grab the creature, forgetting the risk of any dark magic it might possess. The fire was moderately cool, but as Blues’ groping fingers touched the quill-covered body, he thought he had brushed living fire. Yelling with surprise and fear, he tried to pull away, but then the body became cooler, until it was nearly too cold for any bird or living thing. Desperately hoping that it was still alive, Blues pushed his hand under the bird’s chest and lifted it out of the smoking ashes. The roc-sized baby was covered in black dust, so he carefully used a hand to brush some of it off. Beneath the ash was the sweetest bird Blues had ever seen—gold skin covered in spiky quills that would someday turn into red-and-orange feathers. A violet crest crowned the head of the chick. It looked up at him with wide, turquoise eyes, and opened its hawk-like beak in an attempt to make a sound, but none came. “Shhh, I won’t hurt you. I’m Blues. You’re safe with me,” Blues told the bird, attempting to be reassuring while his own heart knocked like a drum in the inside of his skull. The big, thoughtful eyes closed, and the head hung limp against Blues chest. “Oh no, please don’t die on me!” He stroked the crest with a finger, wanting the eyes to open, but they didn’t. The body became colder. “Please don’t die, you haven’t even lived yet...oh no, no, no.” Blues looked around desperately for something to wrap around the bird, but he found nothing but his own black robes. He hastily pulled it off himself single-handedly, wrapping it around creature, careful not to pull it too tight. Thankful that it was a warm summer morning, his mind seemed too numb to wonder about what people would think when he returned home. He turned on his heels, and ran. He ran so fast that he felt his heart was going to explode. The bundle he clutched to his bare chest was becoming colder. Finally, between the trees, he could see his hut. A blonde-haired man in bright orange robes was walking near it; Blues knew he had seen those colors before. But there was no time to be spent recognizing him. Before he knew it, they were face to face. “… There’s a camp… in… the forest. I found her in the fire,” Blues gasped, with his last bit of energy, holding out his burden to the man. Just as he took it, Blues fell on the hard gravel road and fainted. Falamarana Fala awoke in a little room with white walls, and no windows. There was only a door, a bed, and a mirror. For a moment, she felt confused and disoriented, closing her eyes to remember what had happened. The first thing that came to her mind was the Olgers, who had adopted her when she was six. She had an older brother, William, and a pair of caring parents. But Fala’s home in Vermont also brought along painful memories of her pets and her beloved violin. And, before that… there was Summer. They had met in the orphanage. The redhead could have been Fala’s sister, except that she was a week older. Summer used to play violin. Fala wouldn’t be surprised if she had grown up to be the best violinist in the world. Sound was nothing to her, only music. The next thing she could remember was Chili, her Western Rosella. He was only a small chick when she got him, found in a box addressed to her. He was a beautiful little parrot, with blue, green, black, and yellow wings, a green-blue tail, a red chest, and a yellow cheek patch. Bitterly, she remembered that he was gone—escaped through an open window. Slowly her memory pieced together what had happened. Fala had been asleep when she felt a pair of impossibly big arms pick her up. Startled, lost between dreams and life, she tried to scream, but the kidnapper stuffed her mouth with cloth. She was stuffed into a sack that muffled most sounds, but Fala thought she could hear the voices of men quietly conversing around her. Finally, after dreamy days of rough travel, she felt flames licking at her body. She watched as the fire roasted the bag, screaming out in anger and fear. It took her a few seconds to realize the blazing inferno that closed over her head didn’t seem to hurt her. But when she wanted to move, her body felt strangely different, yet familiar all the same. Her fingers had fused together, and the arms they were attached to were sprouting feather-quills. Her feet were clawed. She was a bird! A bird immune to fire. Fala had read about Phoenixes, but that was in fantasy books. Surely, she had been dreaming… but then how did she get here? Forcing herself back into her memory, she mildly recollected that a boy had pulled her out of the fire... Blues. She remembered a sea of violet, and darkness, and anger. His arms were comforting.... holding her from a black abyss from which she could never return. She opened her eyes again and examined her fingers. They were human. Pushing herself up, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Her whole body was the same as it had been before the fire. Her blue-green eyes reached the anklet that her grandmother had put on her when she was a baby. It was made of beautiful silver, with tiny jewels of many different colors embedded into it. One huge, violet stone was encrusted in the front. The anklet was a handbreadth wide, and had no lock to take it off. Her grandmother said that she would find it in time. Ava. She could barely remember her—the time she had spent with her grandmother felt like a long, wonderful dream. The single most vivid image Fala had left of her was her eyes. Ava had terrible, fantastic blue eyes that were filled with sky. She had shown Fala how to read the four poems engraved in the anklet, but had never told her what they meant. But there was no time now; Fala had to find out where she was. The redhead slipped out of bed, bracing herself for the cold floor beneath her bare feet. To her surprise, the wood was comfortably warm, as if a heat panel was underneath. She made her way to the lone mirror, and faced her own reflection. Fala was a tall, twelve-year-old girl, with unruly, thick, orange-red hair that came down to her hips because she had never cut it. Her arms were flecked with scars, some that she had since before she could remember. Others, she had gotten from climbing mountains, her favorite pastime. Fala was still wearing the remnants of the pajamas she had on from the night the kidnapper had taken her. Staring into the mirror, she spotted something else. A folded-up robe lay at the foot of the white bed. It was light violet in color and made of a strange, silken material. She hesitated, but felt embarrassed walking around in her dirty, torn pajamas. With a quick check that the door was locked, she changed into it. Its color made her hair look still redder as it fell over her ankles in graceful curves. Feeling very comfortable in her new clothes, she unlocked the wooden door, opened it, and entered a hallway. Well, a kidnapper wouldn’t leave the door open, she thought, stilling some of her fears. The walls of the hall were white, like the room she had just left. There were many other doors on the right-hand-side, making it look much like a hospital, but it lacked the strict stench of antibiotics. She started toward a lonely door on the left, which she guessed led to outside. But just then, the door next to her own opened. Out stepped a boy with frizzy brown hair and long-sleeved robes that resembled her own, except that they were black. “Hello Blues,” she said as he also turned in the direction of the door at the end of the hall, not seeing her. Blues jumped, his right hand seeming to squirm up into the sleeve until he realized that there was no threat meant. “W-who are you?” he asked, questioningly. He was sure he’d never seen this girl in town… and why was she wearing violet robes? “I’m Falamarana, but most people just call me Fala,” she answered, smiling kindly. “How’d you know my name?” “You just pulled me out of that fire.” Blues gave her a strange look. “No, it can’t be. That was a bird.” Fala suppressed a sigh. As if saying it aloud would confirm her suspicions, she tried to reconsider the fact that she could feel the truth of it somewhere deep inside her. She knew that there was no other answer. “I was the bird.” Blues frowned. Fala couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “But you’re a person now,” he stated simply after a moment. “Yeah. I don’t know, turning into an animal is not really a common talent, is it?” she joked, but Blues only shook his head thoughtfully. Seeing that Fala was watching him, he continued. “You mean... you were a person to start with?” “Yes.” “Do you have mage-blood?” “What?” Fala was taken aback: what kind of question was that? What was he talking about? “She has much besides,” said a new voice. A short, long-legged man stepped into the hall. He was wearing orange robes, and had a youthful, smiling face with straight eyebrows that lined kindly, gray eyes. His hair was an odd blonde color; it seemed to have a slight green tinge to it. Blues recognized him immediately as the man he had given the bird. But his name still escaped Blues. “I’ve seen you before somewhere...” The boy started, squinting in the attempt to resurrect old memories. “I’m Predicus,” the man said, his eyes twinkling. Fala noticed that he held himself differently than anyone she had ever seen: lightly, on the edge of his toes, perfectly balanced. Blues’ face lit up in comprehension. “The Welding Watcher,” he completed. Predicus nodded, smiling amiably. “What’s that?” Fala asked. This whole thing sounded very strange, indeed. “Explain later, Blues. I’m in a hurry. Could you show Fala around a little? Go to the Three Walls before you do anything else. You can show her more in the morning. “Fala,” he continued, turning to her. “You might want to use Jet to send a letter to your parents, so they don’t worry about you. If they want to see you to be sure, tell them to send a date when they can come to visit. “Blues, I need a private word,” he added suddenly, beckoning toward the door of Blues’ room. As soon as it closed behind them, Fala pressed her ear against it. Deep inside the room, she could hear Predicus speak. “Fala is the Warden,” he said, strangely cheerful. There was a deep silence before Blues responded. “No way.” “She has the Ring. The Legend is true.” Fala didn’t hear anymore. She had suddenly noticed that she was eavesdropping, and that was not the right way to find out the truth. But she couldn’t stop her thoughts. So this all had to do with a ring, but which? Fala never had a ring, other than the one around her ankle. If it was the one, why was it so important? She knew no more than that she held the title of the Warden. Predicus left silently and briskly, leaving behind Blues and Fala in the hall. Blues looked at her with curiosity, but he seemed shyer, also. After a minute of quiet, Fala finally managed to speak. “So, what is a Welding Watcher?” she asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Huh?” he started, caught off guard for a minute, his thoughts lost elsewhere. “Oh, Welding is a place where you learn to use magic.” “So it’s like a school?” “It is a school. Except on weekends, apprentices walk around in Welding and go to whatever lessons are available. The teachers are none other than some people from the village. Of course, there are certain requirements and that stuff, you know…” His voice drifted off. “We’re actually in Welding right now,” he added. Fala imagined a large school building, with a bunch of classrooms with schedules on the doors. Kids walk down the halls in friend-groups, thinking and talking about the next class to go to. But magic... what’s up with that? Magic doesn’t exist. And who were apprentices? Was she going crazy? Fala stepped outside, and had to delete the picture from her mind. Welding was nothing like a school. It looked more like a neighborhood, surrounded by a huge, red brick wall. In the middle was the largest building—made of stone—with a tower on one side. A few of the huts were larger than others. Some were taller, round, or very colorful. The whole place was strangely deserted, empty of life except a few lonely doves, cooing to themselves upon the multi-colored rooftops. “C’mon,” Blues said. He didn’t seem very surprised at Welding; obviously, he had been there before. He ran dutifully to the nearest section to the wall. “Where is everyone?” Fala questioned, slowly following. “Home. Summer Break. But not for long,” Blues shot her a glance. “School’s starting in a couple weeks.” “Yeah, okay…” “You’ll be going, too.” It wasn’t a question. “What?! But… I don’t know magic!” “Well…” Blues flicked his right hand, and was suddenly holding a black wand. Fala was so surprised by this move that she, literally, sprung back three feet. “… Someone is going to have to teach you.” “Ahhh…” Fala looked at the wand skeptically. This was too weird to be a dream. “Relax! I’m sure we’ll get you to catch up in time!” he exclaimed. Trying to convince herself that this Rowling-world-turned-real was not just the offspring of her imagination, she said hesitantly, “You’ll teach me—“ “I never said that!” Blues interrupted, blushing slightly. But he had to rethink quickly, before he answered: “Although I do think that is what will happen.” For a second, their eyes met. They stared at each other; spellbound by something neither of them could explain. Finally, Fala broke the silence: “How do we get out?” she asked stupidly. Blues’ face turned pink and he looked away, embarrassed. Fala did her best to ignore it. There were absolutely no doors in the wall as far as she could see. “Step back,” Blues said, quickly covering his momentary awkwardness, raising his wand against the wall. Fala did as he asked. “It’ll be your first lesson. To get in and out of Welding, we do this.” Putting his wand to the wall, he pulled it down to the grass, never leaving the surface. Then, he backed away and he drew an archway in the air. At the joining point, he held his wand still until the wall simply disappeared. Blues slipped his wand back up his sleeve, and he walked through the arch as if he did it every day. After a moment of hesitation, Fala ran through after him. Once she was outside, the wall reappeared. She looked back at it several times to persuade herself that she had just seen real life magic. Stop it! she told herself. You’re not dreaming! The world is not what you thought it was... accept it!! Only then did she notice that they faced a little town, separated from them by a clearing. It took her a while to sort out the many family-neighborhoods of houses. “Welcome,” Blues said, “to WillowWind. The city of the Wind-mage.” The Three Walls Fala’s head seemed to be pounding with questions as they walked along the web of gravel and dirt paths. How Blues knew which turn to take, she had no idea. Wanting to break the awkward silence that stretched between them, she decided to speak up. “How does your society work?” she asked, trying not to sound like she was prying. “What do you mean?” Blues responded, watching the passing houses. Fala had a feeling that he was looking anywhere except her. “Well, don’t you have leaders in this town? Someone to keep the peace?” “Yeah we do, but it’s kind of complicated...” “Try me.” “All right,” Blues paused, gathering his thoughts. “Our highest rank consists of the mages, who are the most powerful in their magic. Below them are magicians, kingwizards, and, still lower, are the archwizards. There are always three magicians to a mage, three kingwizards to a magician, and three archwizards to a kingwizard. You do the math… that’s one mage, three magicians, nine kingwizards, and twenty-seven archwizards to each kind of magic. Those are all the high ranks over wizards and witches. We are apprentices—wizards-in-training basically—and small kids are just children.” “There’s more than one kind of magic?” Fala asked, surprised. “Yeah, there’s many,” Blues took a breath, watching the ground. “There are eight major elements of our magic— fire, water, earth, air or wind, shadow, light, creatures, and plants. This means that there are also only eight other villages on this world—one for each element and mage. WillowWind is the wind-town; the wind-mage lives here.” They walked along for a few minutes in silence. Since the path was made of hard, often pointy gravel, Fala had to resort to walking on the grass beside the road for the sake of her bare feet. After striding along in this fashion, it was Fala, once again, who broke the quiet. This time, with a question regarding wands. “Most wands are related to the main elements,” Blues explained. “This allows the wielder to do some more complicated magic that is related to the element. The color of the wand depends on its element, too. I have a black shadow wand. There are also water wands that are blue, fire wands that are red, the earth wands that are brown, light wands that are white, wind wands that are gray, animal wands that are yellow, and plant wands that are green. Then, there’s a few multi-color ones for people with color-magic and the like. Mind you, there’s only a few wizards with magic other than the eight.” He paused, considering what else to say. After a while, he added: “We actually don’t need wands, but they very important when you are learning magic to direct your spells at what you want. Also, rumor is that a wand can get so saturated with magic and can become so closely connected to the wielder that breaking one can actually kill whoever it belonged to. That’s why we never give up our wands, even if you no longer need it. A wand is buried with its master.” “That makes sense.” “Sounds like you guys are talking about very morbid stuff,” said a voice behind them. Fala spun around, surprised, but Blues looked nearly as if he had been expecting it. The speaker was an old, wrinkly man with smiling, dark eyes and curly gray hair. He stood outside a European-style house, which seemed to be one of the few single homes. It was not connected to other small huts, so Fala assumed that he must be single. He wore impressive robes that included every color of the rainbow. “Oh, hi Eric!” Blues exclaimed. “A violet-blood?” he asked, sounding as surprised as Fala felt. “Who’s this?” “I’m Fala,” she said. “Mmm. We get even less violet-bloods around here than color-bloods.” “Uh, what?” “Eric is a color-blood,” Blues explained. “He makes pictures and color using his magic. Color-bloods are really rare. We’re lucky to have him.” To Eric he said, “Will you teach art this year, too?” The old man chuckled. “No, not this year. Reeba’s taking over from now on. He’s a good kid; he’ll teach you well.” “Reeba, huh? The new guy from DarkChasm?” “Yup, that’s him. Predicus had to import him from all the way up there. We’re out of color-bloods down here.” “You know Predicus, too?” Fala asked, surprised. Come to think of it, she thought, just about everyone seems to know each other around here. “Predicus?” Eric laughed. “Yeah, everyone knows Predicus! At least in this town. He does so much for us; it’s hard to imagine life without him. He has been around here since as long as I can remember…” “Well, speaking of Predicus,” Blues interrupted. “We’d better get moving. We have to go to the Three Walls and home before dark.” “Okay, I won’t hold you up any more,” Eric smiled. “Nice to meet you, Fala! I’ll see you around!” “Yup, see ya!” said Blues kindly. Eric waved them good-bye from his house as the pair of them went on their way again. The Three Walls were indeed walls. It looked like a giant had started to build a fort on the side of the mountain, but had given up soon after starting. Little stores were built right inside the huge, red bricks. As they drew closer to them, it began to resemble an alley. Blues seemed pleased that they came across few people on their road up the slope of the mountains. Fala also noticed that she drew many curious glanced from the few passers-by. “Let’s get you a descent wand first,” Blues said as the gravel roads turned into stone-paved ones. He walked to the shop nearest to them. In the window was a pillow with a beautiful, shiny-looking wand displayed on it. As she drew nearer to it, however, Fala noticed that it was covered in a blanket of dust. “Good evening, Blues. Who do you have here?” said a very joyous voice from the corner of the shop as they entered. It did not take long for Fala to see that all the wands were sorted into sections. The water wands were mostly dark blue, but some were lighter in color. The fire wands ranged from a red that was almost pink, to a nearly brown color. “Hello Mr. Argot. This is Fala,” he said back. An elderly man strolled out from behind a shelf. He had gray hair that was probably black once. “It’s actually Falamarana, but you can call me Fala. Nice to meet you,” Fala said politely, and shook Mr. Argot’s hand. “Very strong hands you have, Fala. Fire may be the best choice for you.” He pulled a blood red wand from one of the many shelves. She held the wand for a few seconds, and then Mr. Argot pulled it away. What if I’m not a witch, she thought anxiously. Oh hell, what if this whole thing isn’t real after all?! “What’s in the wands?” she asked, attempting weakly to start a conversation. Mr. Argot looked up at her, surprised. “Why should there be anything inside them?” he commented, chuckling to himself. “The wood is the only part that would transmit magic, so as long as its grain is coherent enough, anything is fine.” “Oh.” One after another, Fala tried all the wands, starting with just one of every element, and then going to more individual ones. But none seemed to work. After a while, she had started to doubt her own attempts at convincing herself that she was a wizard—or, rather, an apprentice. “I don’t know,” said Mr. Argot, scratching his head. Not one of any of the wands had worked for her. “This has never happened before.” “Don’t you have others?” Blues asked nervously, who had been watching the process patiently. “I have one more, but I doubt that will work either.” “Just let me try it, please,” Fala spoke up. She really wanted a wand. If Predicus said that she was a witch, then she had to try. If this works, she thought, then it will prove everything. “Well... I suppose so,” Mr. Argot said. He walked to the window, and blew the dust off of it. Gently, as if he were afraid it would crumble in his hands from age, he lifted the wand off the pillow. As he carried it closer, Fala could really see the beauty of it. It was silver, polished smooth. The handle had three rubies encrusted in it, and the rest of it was covered in emeralds. The diamonds were tiny and perfectly crafted, so that not a single corner stuck out anywhere. A single thought crossed the redhead’s mind: it was like her anklet. She took it from Mr. Argot’s outstretched hands, her hands closing over the rubies on the handle. If she didn’t know they were there, she wouldn’t have been able to tell from holding it alone. The entire handle seemed to fit her hand as one. The wand was awoken from its long slumber. Suddenly, the emeralds started to glow in a warmish, turquoise color. Sparks began to fly from the rubies beneath Fala’s fingers. They burned scars into her hand—she wanted to let go but she couldn’t. Her ankle suddenly seared with pain. The anklet seemed to tighten; the silver felt as though it was roasting the flesh between it. The pain spread until her body felt submerged in fire. Fala wanted to scream, but she only managed to do it with her mind and heart. She tried in vain to stretch her senses—make her roar of anguish heard to the world as her body burned. Then, suddenly, she felt although all her energy had been torn from her. Fala crippled to the ground, unconscious, the wand held limply in her hand, and naked—the clothes having been burned away into nothingness. Both Blues and Mr. Argot had their hands clamped over their ears and their eyes pressed shut. As the terrible reverberation faded from the air, they opened their eyes and let their hands drop. Blues, shocked, ran forward to Fala’s side. From the stand of wands beside him, he pulled a blanket that was used to keep dust off the wands and covered her exposed body. The blanket, spelled against destruction by heat to keep it from catching when the fire wands it protected acted up, did not burn away like her clothes had. When his skin brushed hers, however, he pulled back quickly. Falamarana was burning such heat that Blues could see the air around her. “What happened?” he asked Mr. Argot. “I don’t understand,” the old man croaked, “I thought only the Ring Warden could work the wand.” Blues did not respond, but he gestured at Fala’s ankle, where the heavy anklet pulsed its raw energy through the ruby and the emeralds. Mr. Argot looked at him with questioning significance. “Did you know?” he asked. After a pause, Blues nodded. “Predicus told me.” Mr. Argot sighed in response. “I’d better go and get Fala some clothes. I also believe I will need to explain to a whole lot of people what the noise was.” Blues nodded, having been hoping that Mr. Argot would leave. As the door swung shut, he reached over and put his hand on Fala’s shoulder. At first, the pain was unbearable—Blues felt as if he had pushed his hand to a hot iron. He fought the urge to pull away, and gently shook her. At first, there was no response, but then Fala’s eyes flickered and opened, peering straight up into Blues’. He started in surprise, fighting the instinct to pull back when he saw how she had changed. In her eyes, the places that were supposed to be black and turquoise, it had changed to a wild, incandescent blue. “What happened?” she asked in a weak voice, echoing Blues. “I think you lost control of your own power, and then it… turned on you.” “Why?” Blues thought for a moment, attempting to straighten out the most reasonable response. “Because you have too much.” Fala lay still for a moment. Then, seeming to remember something, she turned so she look right at Blues. “The man—Mr. Argot—where is he?” “He has gone to get you some clothes. And to tell people not to worry, with all that noise you made.” “Noise?” “All magic makes a sound. Stealth is one of the hardest things to learn in Welding—to keep magic quiet. You don’t hear it in your ears, you feel-hear it in your blood. Mage-ear or mage-hearing is what wizards call it.” “Did I cry so loud?” He nodded earnestly. “Anyway, the strange thing is that people with mage-blood can’t use mage-hearing to call or communicate through. Back in the fire, you did just that. You have more than just mage-blood and a huge amount of energy. No wizard-body would be able to have as much power as you do and manage to survive.” “Okay, you’re winding me up! Just tell me what you want to say.” “You have to be really, really careful with your magic, since you have a different kind of magic in your veins than just mage-blood. If you lose control of it when it has grown... it may not just be the last thing you do... it may be the last thing everyone does. Be careful.” “Nice speech,” she said, unable to accept his words. “No Fala, listen. I’m not kidding,” he turned so Fala’s eyes were once again looking straight into his. He jumped away from the surprise of what he had just seen. The incandescent blue had changed into yellow. Noticing his seriousness, however, Fala’s disbelief faded along with the color of her eyes, which turned to dark purple. “What?” she asked. “Your eyes… they change color!” “What do you mean? Is there a mirror here somewhere?” she began to get up to look for one, but realizing that she was naked, collapsed back to the floor. “I hope Mr. Argot comes soon. I can’t stand laying down for long if I’m not asleep.” After that, there was a moment of quiet that was broken by Fala shifting her weight and stretching out her arms that had seemed to have gone strangely limp, as if all the energy had been vacuumed out of them. But, somehow, she did not feel altogether weak—quite in the contrary, she felt strong. Powerful. The wand that was now hers lay on the floor, smoking slightly. She picked it up gingerly and rolled it between her hands. This time, it was Blues who decided freely in helping Fala understand the magic she had long been isolated from. “Would you like me to do some magic so that you can hear it?” he asked tentatively. “To mage-listen? You have probably never heard magic before, right?” “No, I don’t believe I have,” Fala replied. “Is it hard?” Blues flicked his right hand and caught his wand while simultaneously shaking his head. “The biggest mistake most beginners face is trying too hard to hear. I don’t know how hard it will be for you if I’m the one your trying to listen for...since I’m a shadow-apprentice.” “What does that have to do with anything?” “Shadow-magic is the quietest magic of them all—meaning it is the easiest to use stealth with. It will be harder for you to hear me doing magic, than, say, my sister Lila’s magic, who is a wind-wizard.” “I’ll give it a try,” Fala said, determined. She closed her eyes and relaxed her face to concentrate. “Tell me when you hear, and I will stop the spell, okay?” Fala nodded. Blues took several steps away, considered for a moment on what spell to cast, decided on the easiest one he could think of and began. It was the mind-spell that would create warmth. He filled his mind with red and orange flames, tying off the spell with the symbol of a mage-knot, and directed it to his wand. He kept his mind more open than he usually would, since he was not concentrating on being quiet. Carefully, he let himself drift into the river of black magic, the hum vibrating in his ears. He saw Fala open her eyes and tip her head to one side. It was a strange feeling to hear magic. Fala’s body somehow seemed to be hearing a humming sound, until she reminded herself that her body couldn’t hear. She tried to pull her senses deeper into the tone, letting the current of black magic open her to a new world. Suddenly, the air was filled with music, hums and whistles of different pitches. The black river was not the only one—there was red and white and blue and yellow and green and gray of all shades. All the colors except for one. “Purple,” she said aloud, and Blues broke the spell. She looked at him as his sound was cut off, leaving behind some of the others. “Why is there no purple magic?” Fala asked. “Violet is a neutral color—it is not connected to a certain magic.” “But isn’t violet the most powerful color in the spectrum? If there is no violet magic, does that mean that when someone ends up with it, he or she could be more powerful than all the other mages?” Blues nodded soberly. It was then when a question fell upon her tongue, and Fala made a horrible, unbelievable connection. She dreaded the answer that she knew would come, and, still, she couldn’t help but ask it: “What about my magic...what color is it?” “Violet.” Fala didn’t know what to say anymore. She had listened to Blues’ earlier comments, but they did not sound as real as when he had finally admitted to her being more powerful than mages. And mages were like the kings of magic by the sounds of it, worshipped by the people who ranked beneath them. The door to the store opened and Mr. Argot entered, arms full of clothes. He put them down at Fala’s feet and then looked up at Blues, who asked, “Were the people hard to reassure?” “Sort of...but I just told them that it was an untrained apprentice,” the old man answered, sounding remotely less cheerful than before. In fact, he sounded old and weary. “I’m sorry,” Fala told him with gray eyes. She found it hard to meet his gaze, and so exchanged one with Blues. “Um, we’d better wait outside,” Blues said, and led Mr. Argot from the store. As soon as the door closed, Fala sprung to her feet, or tried to, and began to pull on the clothes while leaning with one hand against a wand-shelf that, thankfully, also blocked the view from the small window. She was also grateful that the muscles in her legs returned quickly, so she could pull on the new robes with both hands. As soon as she was fully dressed in violet, she reached down and picked up her wand. A spark flew as she held it, but nothing else happened. She could hear the magic around her still, and she could feel the somewhat familiar tone of Blues close by—just outside the door. She hesitated on where to put her wand, and decided to simply leave it in her hand. She used her other hand to open the door and let herself out. Blues was, indeed, just outside the door, along with a anxious-looking Mr. Argot. The frizzy-haired fellow had his back turned away from the door, so he did not realize that Fala was right behind him until she tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Argot, on the other hand, saw Fala exit his shop, and he lowed his eyes to the ground as if he was paying her respect. Blues cried out in surprise when she poked his shoulder, springing into the air. “Don’t do that!” he complained when he realized who it was. “Sorry. I guess I’m just good at sneaking up on people.” “Chance is I’m just ignorant,” he said, watching her eyes turn to gold as she chuckled. “Well, you won’t be good at hiding your feelings with those eyes.” “What? Oh yeah. Well, I guess I’ll get used to it.” Blues shrugged. “You might not have a choice.” “Yeah. But you’ve got to get used to it, too.” “Good point.” Mr. Argot, watching them talk, had a very stunned expression on his face. It was as if he had forgotten that, although Fala was more than just an apprentice, she was also still a person. He overcame some of his fears and gained enough certainty to speak. “I see you will be well off, then,” he noted, attempting a kind smile. “Hang on… what’s this wand’s specialty anyway?” Fala questioned, almost surprising herself. She held it up; it was still throwing sparks. Blues swiftly used his hand to lower hers. “Be careful where you point that thing,” he said, and he gave her a very stern look. Fala’s eyes turned dark. The wand hissed. “I don’t know,” the man answered honestly. “I think that it’s something you’ve got to figure out for yourself.” Fala could never forget that day, even if it consisted nearly entirely of walking around the Three Walls. Blues showed her around and introduced her to all the storekeepers. It took her a while to get used to the fact that there was no money involved. As Blues had explained, currency could be easily recreated via magic. She got a few books, paper, pencils, pens, a cloth bag, shoes, and she was tempted to get a rabbit. The menagerie had all the animals you could think of: dogs, cats, toads, birds, snakes, bunnies, lizards, fish, spiders, rats, mice, kangaroos, ponies, monkeys, ferrets, and bats. The store was so huge that Fala could only guess how the wizards had fit it in the Wall. Most all the other shops only had books or clothes. Still, they toured each one of them. Fala was mostly interested in the shoes, because they resembled socks made of leather. Moccasins. Getting used to the effect her eyes had on others was undoubtedly the hardest feature for her. When she had lived in the orphanage, she had always wished for the attention that she now dreaded. Perhaps for one of the first—but not last—times in her life, Fala wanted to be normal. Despite it all, the time flew past. By the end of the day, Blues and Fala had gotten so used to being around each other that they felt they had known each other for the whole of their short lives. “We better get home,” Blues said when the sun was beginning to fall upon the mountains. “It’s getting dark.” “Sure,” Fala agreed. “My feet are hurting. They should pave these roads or make the shoes harder.” “You get used to it quickly. The gravel is rounded at least, so it doesn’t pierce the soles.” “Yeah,” Fala nodded in agreement, her eyes a comfortable bluish color. She shifted the weight of one of her bags, thankful that Blues had the other. “Don’t forget to write to your parents. Jet hasn’t had anything to do for a long time,” Blues reminded Fala. “Who is Jet anyway?” “He’s my mail pigeon.” “Male or mail?” Fala asked. Blues glanced at her, confused. “I mean: male as in a guy or mail as in M-A-I-L?” “Oh,” Blues laughed. “Well, both, I guess.” They chuckled for a little while, happily watching children play in their yards and listening to family life both outside and inside. Occasionally, Blues would meet someone he knew along the way—there were few that he didn’t recognize—and he would introduce them to Fala. Not one of them failed to acknowledge Fala’s eyes, or her magic. The further they walked and the lower the sun sank in the sky, the quieter it got, and the houses began to thin out to trees and forest. They walked the rest of the way to Blues’ place quietly. Fala took in all the new surroundings. The many huts, the maze of paths, and the lack of cars. All she could hear was the voices of kids and parents, the cooing of the doves who were roosting on the sea of roofs like pale boats, and the gentle crunch of their own footsteps. But as Blues’ little vine-covered house came into view, Fala suddenly a very important fact. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” she asked. “In your own hut, of course. You can move in as soon as we build it.” “When we build it?! That’ll take forever!” “No, because there’s a mind-spell for creating houses,” Blues said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a little bit complicated though. I’ll have to feed you the spell and then combine both our energy to work it. Otherwise, I would loose too much of my energy or you would blow up the whole street and the universe parallel to this one.” Fala chuckled, her eyes blushing gold. “How can I “feed” you my magic?” “It’s easy: just reach inside yourself and find your blood inside. Then, you just pull on the part of it that is your mage-blood.” “Right. And how are you supposed to find that?” “Just trust me—its easy to find.” Fala still had trouble believing him. After all, she’d only known him and her magic for a day. They had reached a little plot of land next to Blues’ hut that was occupied by two huge trees of a species that Fala did not recognize. They looked most like maples, except that they were naturally hollow down the middle, opening on the bottom. “Get your wand out,” Blues said a little lazily. “I like to keep mine up my sleeve,” he added, as he saw Fala dig hastily through her heavily laden bags. In a motion Fala had become familiar with, he used the same hand to slide his wand out of his sleeve with a flick of his arm, catching it with that same hand. After a five-minute wait for Fala to gather the wand, both of them stood by the trees, pointing the wands at them. “On three,” Blues said. “Oh, and we need to have contact for it to work, by the way.” He seemed too shy to take Fala’s hand, and so covered for his awkwardness by putting her hand on his shoulder. “One.” Fala shivered with a strange emotion—excitement, nervousness, and fear all at once. She had a wand and magic, but would they work? “Two.” She squeezed her wand tightly, preparing herself to hand power to Blues. “Three.” Silence. Fala plunged her mind into her body, searching for something she did not know the form of. She seemed to send a kind of radial energy though herself, wondering where her magic was. The answer was much easier than she had expected—as it turned out, purplish light raced along in her veins. It burned in her mind’s eye, awfully bright. Then, remembering the task at hand, she pulled at the light. Gradually, it stretched, becoming darker in color and brighter in magic. She found Blues’ dark river, and thrust her magic into it. She was sucked down a whirlpool of colors, images, words, and symbols that rushed past too quickly to comprehend. Blues had said that this spell was a little bit complicated. Crazy guy, she thought. I mean... this mess is not “a little” complicated! Blues read the spell the way he and his father had a year before. It was a lucky thing that he had saved it on his wand or he would have probably forgotten parts. He got to the part with the trees, quickly decided to let them live but in a slightly different form, and closed the spell with the construct mage-knot—a square with a line dividing it down the center. He was surprised when, instead the melody of two magics coming together to work a spell, a roar and crash as loud as an explosion erupted in his mage-hearing. He swore aloud as its sound eventually faded. Not because the house had two trees growing out of it; that was of his making, but because children everywhere were crying and their wizard parents yelling in surprise and fury. “Can’t you try to be more civilized?!” a man yelled at them. “Stupid apprentices! I would expect my children to be more quiet—and they’re aren’t half your age!” a mother complained loudly, attempting to quiet her even louder five-year-old. “I’m sorry... It’s just... My friend doesn’t know that...” “I don’t care what you don’t or do know—I WANT QUIET! I’ve been working all day and now you expect me not to be able to sleep until past midnight when the children have overcome their scare?!” the man yelled back. Fala’s eyes watered. It had just been her first spell and it had worked so well; now, why could she not enjoy the fact she had created a house successfully? She pulled away from Blues, wishing that she could disappear. “I’m sorry,” Blues told her quietly. “No, no. It’s not your fault.” She turned to the woman with the screaming child with very, very pale eyes. Pale violet eyes. The poor child opened its eyes and saw Fala. The eyes—dark hazel—did not close. Fala stretched with her mind and soul into his. His mind was so simple and gentle. The only reason she had a grip on it was this noise—he hated it, and the darkness was her foothold. In her own sadness, almost subconsciously, Fala replaced the memory of the noise with soft, comfortable, warm light. The boy’s cry faltered. The light stretched into the darkness within minds of the mage-blood babies and children all around, stilling their fears and returning them to their usual selves. Blues was surprised and terrified when Fala locked eyes with that boy. She was silent and still. The boy froze, his cry stopped, but he remained in the same position. Then, cry after cry, the noise disappeared into eerie, stretching quiet. Deciding that he had to do something, Blues tapped Fala on the shoulder. He immediately regretted it—his finger pulsed with pain after, even if it did not seem otherwise hurt. It did do some good, however, in that it broke his friend out of her mental wandering. It seemed to have the same affect on the boy in the same way. He looked up at his white-cloaked mom and began to twirl the soft fabric between his fingers the way young people do when they are bored. Fala turned to look at Blues, her eyes a confused green. He shook his head at her. “Don’t ever again until someone allows you. A mind has the right to remain private, even if it just a child,” he whispered, his voice a shaky croak from what he had just experienced. Mind changing was far more than impossible. It was terrible and illegal to any, human or animal, mind. Fala had proved—once again—that she was more than dangerous. But she was also still an apprentice. She was young. “Anyway, I guess you blew up the universe parallel even if we did worked together, so what was the point?” Blues began weakly, hoping to cheer her up a little. “Yeah, well, at least I have a home now,” she responded, strangely appreciative of his attempt to comfort her. “Yeah, I guess so. How do you like my extra touch?” Blues questioned. It was hard not to miss his “extra touch.” The house was slightly larger than Blues’ was, and the trees had not disappeared. Quite the opposite—the bottom parts of the trees had joined to become the house, causing it to appear as though it was very old from the outside, due to the fact that the bark had only stretched to fit the new shape, but it had not altogether disappeared. Nesting birds complained loudly at the two, obviously not thankful for the new addition. The two glassless windows appeared to be little more than too wide cracks in the wood, and the tops of roots made the ground around the building look very uneven. “I though you might like the greenery,” he added, scanning his work with satisfaction. “I will,” Fala answered, enjoying the fact that the trees did not need to die. Her eyes had turned a comfortable blue again, although, Blues noticed, the edges were still light violet. “I’ll call you when its dinnertime,” Blues said, deciding to leave her alone for a while. He reflected that it must have been a very stressful day for her. “And watch what you do with that stick,” he added, motioning to Fala’s new wand. Then, he entered his own hut and left her standing outside by herself. Slowly she gathered her two bags, and kicked the bark-covered door open. From the doorway, the hut looked like the most perfect bedroom she had ever had. By the wall across from the door was a large bed with cloud-white cover. There was a bedside table of wood. In the corner diagonal from it was a huge shelf with a desk built into it. There were two doors on the left wall area. Right in front of her was a large, fluffy, comfortable-looking couch against the wall. The ceiling caved up into two sections—the inside of the trees. After a minute of staring into her new house, Fala placed her book-bag next to the shelf, and closed the door. The hardwood floor seemed to be warmed invisibly, like in the hospital. She went to examine the other two doors, one of which ended up to be a closet; the other was a large bathroom, complete with toilet, sink, a counter topped with gray marble, and a shower. Fala spent the next hour arranging everything as the sun sank so that it shone past the windows. The first things she organized were the books, followed by her clothes. Her robes were all purple; mage-bloods were expected to wear the corresponding color to their element. Once she was satisfied with the arrangement, she set her spelled candles in their proper places beside her bed and on her desk. “Fala, its dinnertime!” Blues called from outside. Fala quickly slipped into her new leathery shoes, and joined Blues to the short walk to the larger house. “Yeah, I love it. It’s really cool,” Fala replied. He smiled self-consciously, blushing a little. Once again, the redhead pretended not to notice. She didn’t know it, but her eyes were deep blue, revealing her own emotions, also. Dinner was very odd. Fala, who grew up in a four-people family, found it difficult to accept that there were eleven people in a family. She sat next to Blues, where one of the twins had immediately brought a discussion. He was most like his mother in appearance: thin-faced, pale-skinned, long-nosed, skinny, straight haired and smiling. “Hi, who’re you again? Blues told me your name, but I’m just not very good with names,” he said. Fala looked at him with green eyes and asked the same question: “What’s your name?” “I asked you first.” “I’m Falamarana.” “How do you expect me to remember that?” he joked. “Call me Fala. Most people do.” “I’m Etude. It’s nice to get to know you—“ he cut himself off as Fala’s eyes paled to gold in response to his name. “Whoa. What the--” “Mind your language, young man!” his mother shrieked from across the table. Fala turned to her, and got the same response, although Mrs. Corelli tried to hide it slightly. Symphony leaned over past his twin. “Dude,” he said, accidentally dipping the yellow sleeve of his cloak into his bowl of soup. “What?” she asked confused, as her eyes turned gray with frustration. “Hey guys, get used to it,” Blues filled in, wishing he had told them of Fala earlier. “Was that you, before, BabyBlues?” Blues’ oldest sister, Lila, asked. She was a delicate-looking, pale-skinned lady, with a beautiful face framed with shiny brown hair perched neatly on a skinny neck. The gray robe she wore made something about her feel young but very wise—like a wizard that you can see in films. Fala was somewhat jealous of her—her own stocky arms, tan skin and unruly flames of hair could not match up to Lila’s beauty. “What do you mean, LovelyLila?” he returned the question, Fala silently agreeing with her nickname. “Earlier,” said her next-to-eldest brother Valsin. Like Blues, he had the looks of his father: frizzy brown hair and dark eyes. Unlike his younger brother, however, his voice was quieter and deep—silky-sounding—and his eyebrows were thicker. “The noise.” “I was wondering about that, you know,” his father remarked. “What noise?” was Bourree’s comment in her small, six-year-old voice. Fala’s eyes turned light blue in guilt. Bourree had been one of the children that she had quieted in her mental wandering. Luckily, nobody seemed to have any interest in her words. This brought up a question in her mind, regarding what Predicus had said about her, but she never asked it. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve heard anything that could have matched up with it since TearCloud was experimenting with her magic,” Mrs. Corelli said. “It happened twice, didn’t it?” Valsin asked. “That’s right,” said his older sister. “I’m sorry,” Fala admitted. “I’m no good at being quiet.” “We’ll teach you, don’t worry,” said Etude, now more sober than before. “Blues won’t be much help to you though—he’s quiet naturally, the shadow-blood. I want to know were his magic came from.” It was then that Fala realized that the family was basically gray—Valsin and the girls were all wind-bloods—and yellow, for creatures. Blues was the only shadow-blood in this group of people. “What about you, Fala? Where’d your magic come from? It’s never happened before—to have violet magic,” said Symphony. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I never knew anyone in my family besides my grandmother. And I haven’t seen her in years.” “That’s sad,” said the girl beside Blues, Melody. She appeared to be more like her father, although the long nose came from her mother’s side. Fala said nothing. The truth was that she had not thought about Ava, her grandmother, in a long time. All that Fala could recall about her was her name, her gray hair, and her stunning eyes. “What about your parents—don’t you remember them?” Fala shook her head. “I never knew them. A family adopted me, though. I sure hope they’re not worrying too much.” “I would worry if one of my kids went missing overnight,” said Mrs. Corelli, and from her tone Fala could tell that she was scared of such a thing. “Fala will write them a letter, by Jet,” Blues filled in. “I’m also sure that Predicus will let them visit sometime. If they’re not too frightened, that is.” That stirred a smile to Fala’s face. If William could see where she was now, he would be more than jealous. “They can visit? When? How?” she questioned, excited. “You’d better ask Predicus that,” said Mr. Corelli. “I’ve only used the Subterranean Gates a few times myself.” He gulped loudly. “The feeling it gives me lasts a while.” “What are those?” “They spin you around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and around, and then they spit you out in a world inside or outside of the one you were in before,” said Etude. “I liked the experience, myself.” After his answer, Fala asked no more questions. The answers she got, apparently, got her intellectual status no higher. Besides, she was tired and her brain seemed to be deflating gradually. “Okay children, time for bed,” Mrs. Corelli said. “But I have to show Fala my stone collection,” Etude wined. “Tomorrow; I’m sure she has had a very busy day.” Fala felt a rush of gratitude toward her. She could already feel her eyelids droop. Back at her new house, Blues gave her a cage with a light brown dove in it. “Jet can find your parent’s house, but he will return only to me, so I will have to give you the returning letter,” he said. “Also, he won’t fly at night, so give him your letter in the morning. Hide it, by the way, or he will send it off before you’re done.” Bidding him a good night, Fala took the cage and set it on her desk. The bird, a lovely white-and-brown speckled ring-necked dove, dozed off from the comfortable heat of the room as she wrote her letter. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Olger, So yes, I have been kidnapped, but it is not as bad as it sounds! I have traveled into a strange village named WillowWind, where I have learned that I am actually a witch. The society is complicated and all I know right now is that there are kids, apprentices, wizards, archwizards, kingwizards, magicians, and mages. A very nice family of eleven, with a last name of Corelli, has “adopted” me. DO NOT WORRY, I AM SAFE HERE!!! If you would like to come visit me, please send a date of the week you have vacation. I will try to keep in touch. Love, Falamarana PS: The dove’s name is Jet. He belongs to Blues, my new friend and the fifth kid in his family. Fala decided to leave it at that. She didn’t want to scare her guardian parents with too many details, so she decided against telling them about her being the “Warden” or whatever. She didn’t want to make them worry about her. She took Blues’ advice of hiding it, and so stuck the piece of paper under her pillow. After taking a hot shower and grooming her hair with much difficulty, Fala sat in her new bed, reading a book titled Dictionary of Word-Spells. As she read, she attempted to memorize as many spells as she could. Blues had told her that most of the more basic spells could just be picked up as others use it, but she still felt that she had many years to catch up on. She scanned though most of the first few pages, stopping at spells that she thought would come in handy. She quickly memorized Abzect, which could free an object from another and the spell’s opposite, Zect; Acmirila, that was used to break objects into pieces as desired; Algue, which closed and locked until the counter spell was spoken (Delgue); and Benegro, that helped objects get bigger. But, slowly, Fala’s eyelids began to drop, and she laid the book on the bedside table. She practiced slipping her wand from her sleeve a few times, but with little success, and as soon as she knew the wand was safe by her arm, she blew off the green flame and fell asleep. The Burden of Violet Magic Fala was dreaming. She was sitting in a blooming meadow of flowers. There was a soft, fragrant breeze in the air, and there were white clouds in the sky. Then she heard footsteps, and looked up to see a gigantic, beautiful horse. The sun shone off his black pelt, and his silver mane glittered. He had deep, loving green eyes. But he also had a deadly red horn spiraling from his forehead; a hint of danger. She jumped to her feet, strangely happy to see him. “Adenel asked me to bring you away, to safety,” said the unicorn. He came to her, and she jumped up onto his broad back. Fala could feel his powerful, rippling muscles working beneath her as he carried her away. But suddenly the meadow was gone, and the world turned dark. The unicorn stopped and she dismounted; when she looked back to him, he was gone. She walked along the sandy, dark earth, eyeing the colorless sky. She came upon a ditch in the earth, and there lay a large, electric-blue egg. Uncertain whether she should go down to look at it, she hesitated. In that moment, the sky across from her erupted in flames. It was a bird. A monstrous, colossal bird with a body of flames and yellow eyes. Fala cried out and tried to run, but she slipped in the sand and couldn’t get back up. She struggled to get away, only to be swallowed up by darkness. When she awoke, Fala could not remember the dream. She could only remember the darkness, and a horrible silence that was not even broken by the sound of a heartbeat. She heard Blues outside. “Fala, it’s breakfast time!” his impatient voice cried from the door. “Just a sec,” she yelled back. She quickly changed and was surprised that her wand was still in her sleeve. But all of the little jewels had turned green. And strangely enough, her anklet jewels’ had also changed color to match, except for the big violet one. A strange connection seemed to connect the two together. When she was brushing her hair, Fala realized that the color changed like her eyes, depending on her mood. When she returned into her big room, she was greeted by a friendly coo coming from the cage on her table. Jet stood on the table before his door, twinkling his eager eyes up at her. Some smart beak had unlatched the cage’s door, and it stood wide open. She now understood why Blues had told her to hide her letter. She retrieved the piece of paper from under her pillow and held it before the bird, wondering what to do next. Fala noticed that there was a little metal ring around Jet’s right leg. Connected to that was a small tube with removable rubber tops on each end. She had plenty of experience with birds because of Chili, but never had she tried to put a letter in a tube on a dove’s leg. Luckily, Jet seemed to have plenty of knowledge about his job. He seized the letter out of her hand, and glared at the receivers’ name at the top. Then he hooted twice, and began to roll it up to fit perfectly inside the little metal tube, careful not to put dents in the side from his beak. She watched in amazement as he stuffed it neatly inside the tube, peered at her in happiness of his job that he knew so well, and let her pet him a few times. Then, with a flutter of brown-white, dutiful wings, he launched himself out of the window and was gone. “I’m here,” she said, as she finally stepped outside. The sunrise gently colored the dark treetops, almost like a glaze for cake. Jet was nowhere in sight. “We have to wake Etude, too,” Blues said halfheartedly. “Jet likes you, by the way.” When she met his eyes, Fala could not help but smile. His hair stuck up in a strange angle on one side, revealing what side he laid on to sleep. Nevertheless, he was fully dressed, and sounded nearly as awake as she did herself. They walked down the path in silence until they reach a shabby hut with a straw roof, which was very sparkly and pretty with dew. Everything was very peaceful, until Blues kicked the wooden door. “It’s still too early,” Etude’s voice groaned on the other side. “You’ll miss breakfast if you don’t come. It’s waffles today.” “Waffles?! No way, you’re just lying to get me out of bed!” “Yeah, I am, but you know how Mom is when you don’t come to breakfast!” Etude groaned. Blues held a funny, evil grin on his face. “That’s one way to get him to wake up,” he said to Fala. Her eyes turned yellow. Breakfast turned out to be cereal. The table was stacked high with all different kinds of them. Apparently, each of the Corellis claimed to have their own, special favorite flavor. Fala tried Blues’ and found it surprisingly tasty. It was most like Apple Jacks, but there was something about it that was simply more natural. The milk, also, was more pure. Right after breakfast, when everyone was going in different directions, it was show time. “Do you want to see my rock collection?” Etude asked her as they walked away from the main hut. “I’ve got a weird orange one that can burn holes in clothes, and one that never cools down...” “Etude, will you do us all a favor, and shut up,” Fala finally said after listening—or pretending to listen—to him for five minutes. Blues looked at her with surprise and a smile, and was met by dark yellow eyes. “What’d you say? Um, there’s a blue one that has black stripes that I found in the forest once...” Her fingers started to itch. Etude would be a good guinea pig. She closed a fist on her power, thinking of huge, soundproof walls. “Algue,” she said quite suddenly, but quietly and calmly. The yellow-green wand slid into her hand, but she was unconscious of it. Her entire concentration was on the magic she was releasing. The fist tightened as Fala willed with all her strength that the spell would be quiet. The crying children popped into her mind, and so she poured all her energy into dampening her magic. She was generally pleased with the results: “And then I tried to put it under wat-ummerfm,” where Etude’s last words. Her magic was still loud—a rumble in the ground and a wavering tone. Much louder than Blues had been the day before, but it was a start. Blues and Symphony cracked up in laughter and applause. After overcoming the shock and weakness that came with having put so much energy into the magic, Fala joined in, too. Etude scowled and looked at her, amazed. Her eyes were dark blue. “Don’t mess with me any longer!” she told him, to his displeasure. “Especially when you forgot your wand.” She knew why his hand groped in his sleeve, looking for something that should have been there. From that moment, Fala found a sudden new freedom with her wand. She was proud, knowing that she could do magic. And, with practice, much more. “Let’s visit Greg,” Blues said after a lunch of pasta. His hair not sticking up anymore, due to the fact that he had shoved his face under the sink after having showed Fala a mind-spell that was difficult to keep under control, especially for a shadow-blood. It had been transfiguring a Will to a piece of candy (that was never eaten). “I guess so,” she said back. “He’s a friend of yours, right?” “I guess so,” she said back. “He’s a friend of yours, right?” Blues nodded. “I think you will find him quite agreeable. He’s a light-blood. A lot of people think that we would be the biggest enemies due to the fact that he is light and I am dark, but we are the best of buddies! Anyway, without light there is no shadow.” They walked off in the direction of the Three Walls, but then followed a road that branched off the main one. They did not need to go far until they reached Greg’s hut. It was neat from the outside—small and formal, with white plaster walls and a red roof. However, though it seemed stiff from the outside, the inside was very much the opposite. Even if Fala only saw a small part of it as Blues’ friend came out, she could tell that it was stacked to the top with books, candles, and a variety of plastic-looking items. Greg was a black haired boy whose white robe was so mismatched to his tan skin and dark hair that it was horrible. When Blues knocked, he came out with curiosity on his face. “Hey, how about that! Blues got himself a girlfriend!” he said with a laugh. He was not the smiling kind as was Etude and Symphony, but he seemed rather content to look at life through a more relaxed and curious way. When he laughed, it reached the core of his dark eyes. Blues blushed and quickly explained who Fala was. “Nice to meet you, Fala,” he said, shaking her hand vigorously. “It’s interesting to see a violet robe around.” “Yeah, well,” Fala sighed, “it’s not all so easy, to tell you the truth. I didn’t even know I had mage-blood until yesterday, and I’m not sure what to make of it yet.” “Just be careful were you point your wand, and you will probably be all right.” “Blues told me that same thing.” “I’m not surprised.” “Nobody’s been surprised, except when I tried my first spell,” she muttered. “It was you yesterday! I should have known,” he commented. “I must admit that was pretty scary.” Fala was silent and lowered her eyes, knowing that they were changing color. She did not want the same response at her as Blues’ siblings the day before. Greg, however, seemed to be one of those people that noticed small details, and her eyes did not out-glance his. “Wow, your eyes change color!” he noted, surprised but still calm. Fala’s heart sank, but not nearly as much as the day before. Blues’ friend, at least, knew how to keep a girl’s self-esteem up. She looked back up at him, with dark blue eyes. She found that his were dark brown and gentle. A dreamer’s eyes. Blues tugged her hair sharply to keep her from wandering again. She squeaked like a mouse and jumped away from him. “Ow!” she exclaimed. “What’d you do that for?” “You known why I did that,” he challenged quietly. Fala knew, of course, and she was ashamed. Her now-neon eyes looked back at Greg, her mind blocked securely from his. Very much to Fala’s content, he did not ask about Blues’ action. Instead, he changed the subject. “Do you want to see SillyColor? I only got him two days ago and I wanted to show him to you, Blues, but I was told that you were ‘indisposed.’ We can go see him now, though, if you have the time.” Blues answered with a “Yeah, sure,” and Fala nodded vigorously. Greg began to lead them around his house, were a very strange structure occupied a grassy pasture. It was very tall—too tall to look in place. “I need some help with him,” Greg said as they walked toward it. “He needs to stop growing before I get in trouble with our neighbors. They say he will eat away all the trees in WillowWind. If you ask me, they need a reality check. Anyway, I was hoping that I could lend you some energy to do that spell. If only he wasn’t so young, then I could do it myself.” “I’ll lend you mine, sure,” said Blues. “I don’t know about Fala, though. Her magic is.. um... ” “Can I try?” Fala put in, thinking of the successful spell she used against Etude that morning. “If you help me keep it quiet, I think I can manage.” “Well...” “Let her try, for the lesson’s sake. It’s not like she tries to make her magic loud,” Greg noted. Blues, hesitantly convinced, nodded in agreement. In the pasture, lazing in the shade of his relatively new home was SillyColor. Fala had to smile when she saw him—or rather, his color. He was a very pretty, very young giraffe. His body was bright, pastel blue with yellow spots. “I find his name quite right,” Fala told Greg. “I know,” he commented, “it did not take me long to think up. “I can tell.” “So will we get started before he wakes up and starts to run away?” Blues put in. “You’ve got the spell in your wand, right?” “Of course,” Greg said. “It’s rather simple; just draining when it comes to energy.” “Fala, you’d better hand your magic to me and then to Greg, so that I can help you keep it quiet.” She pulled forth her wand and put the same hand onto Blues’ shoulder, as he put his, holding his black wand, on Greg’s. Greg, then, directed his own white wand at the resting Silly. “So on three!” Greg said, as Blues had the day before. “One.. two.. three.” Again, Fala found her purple magic and shoved it into the blackness of Blues’. This time, she held tight on its power, hoping to keep it quiet. She could feel Blues doing the same, but as he put energy into her magic, she began to feel a resistance somewhere inside hers. She fought it, and almost had it under control again, when she felt Greg’s white magic bleed into the mix. Then, the anklet burned hot and pulsed, tight against her skin. Fala felt something happen then that was similar to when she had gotten her wand, but it was different at the same time. Instead of feeling pain, she felt anger, that was not her own. But it dominated over her. Fire burned in the inside of her eyes and mind. Not wood-flame, but the inferno of raw energy. The hand holding her wand began to burn. Her skin curled into ash. Blues felt Fala’s energy take a funny twist, and so he looked at her with his real eyes. Something was spreading everywhere on her—heat? In any case, he used his left hand to shove her away before it could jump to him and Greg. Her hand left his shoulder—having burned a hole in his clothes. All the while, he was giving his magic to his friend, hoping that the spell would come to an end. The anger did not stop when she felt Blues knock her away from him. His connection with her was broken. She could not understand herself, and why she was living someone else’s anger. It was weird—and cruel. She writhed on the ground, burning the grass but not knowing it, and screamed with anger and the white-hot pain that came with it. She did not know when darkness came to eat her. Greg’s spell closed like a slamming door when the mage-knot was complete. Blues sagged to the ground with his ears ringing from the noise. Fala’s noise. He was exhausted from trying to dampen it and finding that his strength was just sucked into it. Greg sat on the ground beside him with the same expression. Silly was still resting—unhurt and not bothered by the noise of magic that he could not hear. Fala was in a terrible state. She lay sprawled on the ground, with the grass yellow and dead around her. The violet robe was, again, destroyed. Greg saw this, and so used the reserved, last-resort energy in his wand to transport one of his own robes for her to use. He gave it to Blues and stumbled away, shaken inside and out by the over-exertion of his magic. Blues could hear as his friend gagged and vomited, trying his best to ignore it for fear his own stomach would start to protest in response. As much as he wanted to, Blues did not throw the white robe over Fala. She was too hot—even Blues could not get very close. Instead, he busied himself on looking innocent and hoping that the parents to those many crying children would not hunt them down. He noticed as Greg’s awful retching stopped. “Are you all right?” Blues asked, to find that his own voice was dry and raspy. “Yeah.” Greg tried to avoid looking at Fala when he crawled over to Blues. But this became hard as something caught his eye. “She’s the Ring Warden, isn’t she?” he asked. The Ring they were speaking of was not hard to miss—it glowed red and purple, throwing sparks of many colors. Blues nodded, with a pained expression on his face. “I feel sorry for her,” Blues admitted after a moment of silence. “It was supposed to be a glorious title, to be greeted with gratefulness and joy. I can’t feel either.” “She’s only a girl,” Greg agreed. “It’s unfair. We know nothing more than a legend, and she knows even less than that,” Blues handed Greg’s white robes back to their rightful owner and started forward to the naked girl. Sweat broke out on his head when he sat beside her on the parched grass, from the heat. He was afraid, but reached out and nudged her shoulder with a finger. When he touched the living fire, he yelled out and scrambled back, his finger throbbing like he had just touched a hot stove. “Hot...” he muttered. “Too hot, too hot.” Greg was silent and laid down in the grass. He did not care anymore that his white robes were now also green. He just closed his eyes and slept. Blues wondered if he could do the same, with a finger red and aching with shock and pain. His doubts began to fade as his brain began to shut down. He slumped down beside Greg, without a thought for what they would say if they were all found together in such a state. He was being carried in the big arms of his father. That he remembered, before he passed out again. “Blues? Are you okay? What happened?” That was the sweet voice of his eldest sister. She was sitting on the side of his bed, in his own hut. She was wrapping his hand in a bandage and using her magic to let air come through. It hurt dully as he tried to move his fingers. As he felt the pain, he recalled quickly the only one way that he could have gotten hurt: Fala. “Fala,” he said aloud, his voice demanding. “Where is Fala?” “They could not bring her anywhere,” answered Lila. “She is too hot. So she lays outside where we found her.” Blues was suddenly wide-awake. Fala was outside. In the night. “Is someone watching her?” “Predicus is there. Even he cannot wake her or get near her. We are worried, Blues.” She sounded troubled. “Dammit!” he exclaimed. He hurled himself out of bed and ran out the door before Lila could do anything. He ran into the night in his pajamas, ignoring the weakness that was beginning to crawl up on him once again. He thought only of Fala. Cutting between the different houses and praying that the inhabitants would not notice so late at night, Blues did not slow down. How many days it had been, he could not tell. Fala was in trouble. Predicus was there, sitting against the fence in his usual orange robes, reading by magic-light. He heard and saw Blues coming, and snapped his book shut. He opened his mouth to say something, only to have his words slip away as the boy ran right up to Fala and shook her—the bandage on his hand burning away into nothing. Blues took her pulse, not accepting the fact that he could not find one. Her chest did not rise or fall. But he did not accept that Falamarana was dead. “Dammit, Fala! Don’t do this!” he yelled at her through tears and his burning hands, now sprouting flames. “We need you! Me and Greg and everyone else.” His palms began to shrink as the flesh was roasted away. But he did not move them. “Come back, Ring Warden.” He got no response. “Falamarana!” The girl lay there, and the boy’s hands were nearly gone from her heat. Yet, he cried not for the loss of his hands, but for the loss of a legend. He was certain now that the world no longer had a future. It would die like Fala. “Wake up,” he cried, more quietly. “Please wake up!” His tears fell on Fala—hissing and turning into salt crystals. She did not stir. By this time, Blues had no more hands. All that was left was a stump of arms that were burning away so quickly that it was almost like they were melting. Fala was dead. He had failed her, and deserved to go with her. “Am I not a shadow boy? Why can shadows die?” he whispered to the night. The darkness was complete. Predicus seemed to have left, and the candle with him. Blues was numb to the pain in his arms, and waited for the end. Two, too-hot hands, glowing violet, closed on the stumps of his arms broke the darkness. He squealed in surprise, only to find that he did not have his wand to make light with. The hands tightened. The shock slowly leaked out of Blues’ brain, and he realized that he could feel his fingers again. He put them on Fala and met super-hot skin, but he did not burn. “Blues,” said a voice from under his hands. “Is that you, Blues?” Fala remained hot, but Blues could lift her. She was either very starved or he was very strong, but he carried her lightly with one arm holding her legs and the other her back. He found no shame in it; his feelings seemed to have been burned away like his hands had been. Fala was alive, and that was all that mattered.

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