CONTENTS

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

PROSE

BULLET  // Stephen Kearse

A bullet is a combination of surface area, velocity, and surprise, and pilot Charlotte Jones is flying one right at a densely inhabited planet.

MAGICIAN’S TRIAL  // Sarah A. Macklin

Sixteen year-old magician Liz has just one more test to pass before she can be considered a full-fledged sorcerer. Will she overcome the physical, spiritual, and magical challenges in the birthplace of humanity, or will she succumb to the wiles of Doubt, Panic, and Pride?

PEDALING  // Tuere T. S. Ganges

For a group of teens looking for a place to come home, a small out of the way town reveals more about human nature than they expect.

SAUDADE  // Nelson Rolon

They’re an odd couple: Vida is a fugitive refugee, and Menino is a normal student on the run from his own demons. Can the pair figure out the secrets of Vida’s mystical family heirloom before they are ensnared by the forces hunting Vida down?

POETRY

OCTOPUS  // Martha Darr

BLACK RAPUNZEL  // Doxa Zannou

EXTRAS

INDIE SPOTLIGHT  // Antoine Bandele

THE KISHI

THANKS

October 2018

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

Welcome to issue eight of Fiyah Magazine of Black Speculative Fiction.

As always, we would like to thank our staff, readers old and new, contributors, and everyone who believes in our magazine. This work doesn’t happen without you, and without you, there are fewer reasons to do the work.

This issue’s theme is Pilgrimage and hoo boy, it’s a heavy one. Is there any theme more salient to the global black experience that Pilgrimage? Our entire existence has been framed by journeys, trials of faith and learning, deadly hazards, and evolution.

The overarching concept of a pilgrimage applies to Fiyah  Magazine as well. We began as a call to action, a way to address disparity. But over our journey we have grown and changed. As we now enter our third year of existence, we have to stop and recognize just how far we’ve come. We’ve gone from a plucky upstart to a true force for inclusion and diversity within speculative fiction. We’ve pushed the envelope on what it means to be a magazine focused on elevating the voices of black writers of speculative fiction. We’ve directly impacted the lives of hundreds of writers, readers, artists, and reviewers. And we’ve been recognized for the quality of our work  and our fantastic presentation .

This recognition, while affirming in the moment, is not why we keep pushing. We keep pushing because, despite incremental change in the field of Science Fiction and Fantasy publishing, there is still a long way to go. There are still black writers out there who feel like they must temper, or, worse, silence their true selves in order to be successful in this industry. There are still black writers out there who are being told that they’re too black, or not black enough, to have their work taken seriously. There are still black writers being outright ignored and dismissed. And our mission, the reason we took our first step on this journey, is to clear the path for these writers, to give them a gentle, loving shove into the world because their work and their lives matter.

In this issue, the work continues. Our cover art comes from Edge, and honestly, it is completely stunning. Our fiction for this issue is similarly so. Stephen Kearse’s “Bullet” is the tale of a pilot with a mind-blowing mission that takes them through the stars. Sarah A. Macklin’s “Magician’s Trial” is the story of a young magician and her quest to overcome the driving forces of sentient existence to become the sorcerer that she was always meant to be. Tuere T.S. Ganges’ “Pedaling” is a tale of persistence, acceptance, and resistance at the end of the world. And Nelson Rolon’s “Saudade” explores the complexity of an interstellar diaspora, and legacy in the face of loss.

Our poetry offerings for this issue are Doxa Zannou’s “Black Rapunzel” and Martha Darr’s “Octopus.”

As always, we appreciate you, dear reader, and we want to thank you for your continued support of Fiyah Magazine. Now grab your pack, don your best reading equipment, and strap in for the journey.

We hope you enjoy the issue.

Executive Editors: Justina Ireland + Troy L. Wiggins + Brandon O’Brien

Acquiring Editors: Brent Lambert + DaVaun Sanders + Danny Lore + Kaleb Russell

Layout: LeKesha Lewis

Cover Artwork by Edge

BULLET

By Stephen Kearse

284 Days

Bullets are the ultimate union of surface area, velocity, and surprise, capable of reaching and penetrating anything within their trajectory, provided that all the proper conditions are met. Wind, obstacles, and precipitation are not ideal conditions, but they can be overcome as long as you can recalibrate the bullet’s trajectory, which is my skill.

It’s not supposed to be my skill because I was trained as a pilot - and because bullets are only supposed to have one trajectory. But when the economy changes, your resume has to change too. Hence my current predicament: navigating a 6 mile-long, 80 feet-wide, 40 feet-tall bullet through unbridled, unending space. Yes, not a rocket or a missile, a goddamn bullet. There’s no warheads or bombs on this spacecraft. Its payload is only me and the mission.

I guess that in some sense, I am still a pilot, but my mission briefing, which constantly loops in my head, insists that I’m something much different. “Captain Charlotte Jones, you are the Task Order Manager for Operation Ballistic Unit of the Last Livable Earthen Territory. Your assignment is to terminate Terrar, home of the human colony that destroyed the Earth. The memory of Earth and Mercury’s people depends on your success.” My commanding officer was the speaker, but you can always tell when an intelligence penned a briefing. (Or an acronym.)  

I was deployed a little over a year ago. No one came to my launch other than my BULLET team members, but that’s probably for the best. Genocide shouldn’t draw large crowds.

I was raised in a world where we navigated skies and space to connect people, not to sever connections.  But this mission doesn’t really contradict that world because the connection between Terrar and Mercury is biological at best. And when has mere biology ever stopped humans from killing each other?

According to the BULLET geologists, my arrival will be swift and furious, almost painless. The bullet will enter Terrar’s Western Pole and exit at the Eastern pole, shattering the planet’s core and unleashing unfathomable forces. The winds and shrapnel from the mantle exploding will instantly kill all of the terrestrial population, approximately forty million people. The seventy million inhabitants of the planet’s vast floating aviaries will die seconds after as city-sized chunks of land are launched into the atmosphere at mach speed. All this in 6 minutes. It’s a lot .

If I think of myself as a mere transporter, this gig isn’t so bad. Two years of relatively low-stress piloting for an amount six times my annual salary. No layovers, no refueling, no passengers, no audits.  There’s not even any traffic because I’m taking the long route, an uncharted path that goes the opposite way of the still-active Terrar-to-Mercury trade route. I didn’t even know space had opposite ways.

This is basically a paid vacation, I tried to convince myself when I first accepted the assignment. I’ve brought along books and movies and music and photo albums and workout videos and video games and three packs of ink pens and sixteen legal pads, everything I thought I’d need to keep my mind focused on the mission and not its externalities. Yet even when I was packing up my apartment, I knew that I needed this laundry list of distractions precisely because unless you’re counting my payout, there are no externalities. This mission is straightforward. I’m piloting a bullet, after all.

Throughout my training I withheld my ambivalence from the rest of the BULLET team, telling myself I’d fully commit to the mission only after I considered all the solutions. My consideration period lasted a lot longer than I expected. I’d been deployed for a year before I thought up a viable alternative: Crash the damn bullet into a star or a planet that isn’t Terrar, duh. I executed the idea literal minutes after thinking it up.

It failed just as quickly. I was told I’m the pilot, but the auto-pilot, which is only supposed to navigate when I am tired or exercising or sleeping or just uninclined to pilot, avoids impacts with all large objects that lack the precise dimensions and gravitational pull of Terrar. And even more helpful, it automatically recharts our course if we stray off path for more than 30 minutes, and let me tell you, it takes a good minute to drive into a heart of a star. So I can’t even turn around or heroically drift into oblivion. Since I turned kamikaze, I’ve skirted the edges of stars, but I’ve never touched them. No matter how many times I alter the trajectory, it will always be asymptomatic, headed toward its self-defined infinity, Terrar.
My real role here is just to help the auto-pilot navigate tight corners. Twelve years in the fleet and I’m still a damn co-pilot.

I’ve considered suicide, but the bullet would remain undeterred and I would have spent a year alone for nothing, something I could have done back home, with access to whiskey and the netverse. I’ve also considered and attempted sabotaging the controls, but every dimension of the ship has been streamlined. My console looks like a arcade cabinet, sleek and functional, its infrastructure completely opaque. I hate minimalism.

Four years of training and two years of solitude all for six minutes of revenge. My life sounds like that old Metroid game we used to play in flight school. It was primitive compared to the VR I grew up with, but something about its constraints appealed to us cadets. It was a single-player game, but on weeknights, after punishing hours of zero-grav training and elec engineering we’d hit the local netverse server and queue up the Librarium’s emulating suite, taking turns playing on the same save file. Samus Aran, Metroid’s main character, was defined by her constant solitude. Down corridors, up elevators, over traps, she was always utterly alone. But she never seemed lonely. Silently she stalked through the hulls of abandoned ships and the ruins of extinct civilizations, her curiosity and her bravery inexhaustible. Pirates and aliens and creatures accosted her at every turn, but her back never bent, her shoulders never slouched. I never questioned why we chose this rudimentary game over all the VR simulators, and I didn’t need to.

I keep hoping the Chozo, Samus Aran’s sapient alien benefactors, will appear and solve my dilemma, or at least give me a life-sustaining battlesuit, but I think that’s just the craziness slowly taking over. Or just my nagging regret at having left behind all my emulators.

A few weeks ago I was feeling lucky. Allow me to take you through the surveillance footage. Oh yeah, everything I do is recorded. So when I return home they will know all about my glorious life of mutiny. (This used to make me anxious, but anxiety makes me gassy, and in space smells don’t go away. So I deal.)

Back to my lucky day. Taking control of the bullet, I nosedived toward a system of clustered planets that were radiating glorious hues of amethyst. Picking a planet, I named it Hearse 147, steering toward it and hoping that unlike its 146 predecessors, it would actually live up to its name.

17 minutes until impact. Gravity tugged at the spacecraft as Hearse 147 drew me in, beckoning me to its surface. Purple clouds wispe past as I careened toward the planet’s crust. The wind collaborated with the bullet, escorting me. Are pallbearers always this silent? I remember wondering. After 146 attempts, I felt that I should know this, but I never found an answer.

9 minutes until impact. The planet was beautiful. There were no life forms, but even the planet’s sheer matter felt worth preserving. The windstream remained silent, but the stones it escorted alongside me lightly pelted the bullet on all sides, a cosmic rockslide. I remember it as being strangely calming.

6 minutes until impact. Land abruptly appeared, expanding into view like butter melting in a hot pan. By this point I could literally count how many times I’d been this close to death, but the proximity still rattled me. I drooled, sweat, cried, farted. The point of no return felt so near. Just a few more seconds and the autopilot would have had to defy physics to stop our descent. The seconds tumbled by. Mere meters separated me from the bliss of oblivion.

But before my body could finalize its expulsion of gases and liquids and life, the auto-pilot calmly commandeered the bullet, swerving back onto a collision course with Terrar.

Gotta love home movies. 284 days until impact.

282 Days

I’ve decided that it is too morbid to continue associating entire planets with death, especially since so far they have all done nothing but affirm life. Not my life, or the lives of the people I’m poised kill, but some life. Somewhere.

More importantly, I only know what a Hearse is from watching movies.

234 Days

I’ve spent the last few days reviewing the mission background. I know all this shit by heart, but I suspect there’s something I’m missing. (I’m also fucking bored.)

This is what is known: Terrar destroyed the Earth. On April 21, 2161, at 17:06, the Earth’s moon was pulled out of orbit through unknown technical means and was propelled toward Earth. At 17:32, It made impact in the Northern Hemisphere, putting a 2037 mile-long dent in the Earth’s mantle and causing worldwide earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and flooding, as well as the disintegration of the moon. You got that, right? The fucking moon disintegrated. There were 1482 confirmed casualties, all of them incurred by the Remnants, a religious group that believed that humans were only meant to live on earth and refused to migrate to Mercury or Terrar during the mass migrations of 2052. On April 23, Terrar’s government announced that it arranged the “demolition” of the Earth as part of a plan to clear debris obstructing the Terrar-to-Mercury trade route. On April 24, the Julian Administration, the leaders of Mercury, corroborated this announcement. At the time the casualties were unknown. Public support of the demolition was favorable. Among Mercuites, 86% of those surveyed supported the decision. 4 months later, a whistle-blowing investigation by the newspub Stepmother Jones revealed that the Remnants’ casualties were negotiated as a term of the demolition. The investigation showed that the Julian Administration had accepted those terms, but it managed to convince the public that Terrar’s government had stepped out of line. The public believed it: 94% of surveyed Mercuites viewed Terrar’s actions as an act of war.

After the November elections of 2162, the Julian administration was succeeded by the Tusk administration, which ran on a platform of cosmic vengeance, economic autonomy and planetary isolationism. On January 3rd, at the 2163 Administrative Inauguration, the Tusk administration announced its first executive order, effective immediately: Mercury is at war with Terrar. The Terrar-to-Mercury trade route was closed the next day and the BULLET team was formed a month later. Terrar has never formally acknowledged the act of war or the closure of the trade route. Trade to Mercury continues, illegally, but the Tusk Administration does not enforce its ban.

I’ve flown the route a few times, both before and after the demolition. It’s a fun ride. I mostly transported fresh produce, so I always got the leaner ships because they fly faster. The Solar System’s asteroid belts always guaranteed a good time, especially if I was paired with a lazy captain. They would let me take the reins whenever we were out of reach of mission control. It cracked me up how they’d sleep through my loop-de-loops and nosedives. I miss those days. Even when I started making illegal trips after the ban, the fun outweighed the stress of avoiding getting caught. And strangely, the flight skills I developed while flying without radar and constantly getting lost were the ones that made me the top candidate for the BULLET team.

As much as I hate the nature of this mission, I can’t deny that this - space, recklessness, solace - is what I know. What I don’t know is how to save Terrar.

176 Days

Maybe I shouldn’t have always slept in the isolation chamber. We were supposed to learn how to spend days alone, in case of accidents or tragedy or fuel leaks. I did all the readings in class, but when it came time to be in the chamber, 4 days a week at random intervals, I never willed myself to stay awake. There were no cameras or recording devices in order to emphasize the absoluteness of our isolation, but I just took it as solace. No devices were allowed and the harsh lighting and noise were designed to prevent sleep, but I’m a Mercury girl, born and raised. Geologically, Mercury has three days a year, none of them distinct but all of them defined by the omnipresence of the Sun. The terrarium completely blocked off the sun for the sake of our eyesight and rad levels, but you could always feel its monstrous presence, its flares and tempests raging even as our solar panels tamed their energy for industrial use. It was like living next to God.

It was also like living in a cradle, with God as your rocker. I wish they had caught me sleeping.

162 Days

There was too much on my personal hard drive for them to filter what I brought along, but knowing that they wanted to know what I was bringing made me hold back. I’ve got a decabyte of personal space and there’s not even a byte of porn. What the hell was I thinking? There’s some nudity in some of the movies I’ve got cached, but it’s just not the same. Rom-com sex is always so cheerful and hopeful, like people taking a new aerobics class. Drama sex is too high stakes. Every thrust, every neck twist, every exposed crevice somehow propels the plot. It’s almost like directors don’t think that plain old fucking could be dramatic. They’ve got to ramp it up by giving every body part some kind of meaning.

Action movie sex almost does it for me, but it’s never edited properly. The camera lingers a lot, but the bodies are weird fragments. Chests, backs, torsos, faces swirling into a sweaty blur. It’s basically just like porn, but not fully committed. Sex in action movies is always sweaty, but the work up to that sweat is never there. I’m all about the work.

119 Days

I saw a supernova today. Of course, it happened thousands of years ago, so I just saw the light from the supernova. But it was a sight.

I wonder how long it will take the light from Terrar’s explosion to reach Mercury?

76 Days

I once took a class on star cartography. Incredibly fucking boring, but those nerds knew what they were doing, apparently. Weird to think that such an unpredictable place can be so predictable. There’s supposed to be comets the size of planets out here, asteroids the size of planets, asteroids that are  planets. But I just keep on cruising. All because of math. Or what’s referred to as math. When you’re at the point where you can determine an object’s trajectory over millions and millions of parsecs, can that even be considered math anymore? It feels more like magic to me. What a waste of talent this mission is. We could have made water from fire, or achieved some other miracle, like peace.

35 days

When the bullet hits Terrar, the escape pod sequence will activate and I’ll have 4 minutes to board it and head back home. I’ll actually be able to pilot the escape pod, but I don’t think I’ll want to. Not after this.

I keep wondering, does the money hit my bank account as soon as Terrar is destroyed? Or will someone have to take out a checkbook, get my routing number, calculate the tax rate, and walk to the bank? There’s a difference, I swear.

9 days

In Star Wars, another flight school classic, foiling evil plots always comes down to technical sabotage. Destroy the shields, explode the generator, shoot at the power supply, shoot the legs. War as logistics, strategy as hitting the chokepoints.

It was always funny to me how obvious the evil was, the goals so clear, the genealogies so traceable.

0 days

Bullets are the ultimate union of surface area, velocity, and surprise. Space travel is the ultimate union of math, engineering, and design. Genocide is the ultimate union of imagination and hatred. The bullet unites with Terrar.

The escape pod jettisons me out of Terrar’s orbit. Or rather, what is left of Terrar. The pod is the size of a camper, but it feels massive, as if I have shrunken. There is something horrifying about the lack of gore or bodies or bones or sound. There is nothing but dust and wind and light, elements unwed.

Terrar’s dust pelts the pod for hours. It sounds like rain and thunder combined, fluid but deafening. I’ve never heard real rain or thunder, but the words still feel real.

I retreat into an artificial quiet, focusing on piloting.

A realization slowly seizes me as my mind reviews my briefing. The memory of Earth and Mercury’s people depends on your success.

Suddenly, I know. Terrar fired its own bullet.

1 day

I’m a pilot again, but now I have no destination. I could confirm Mercury’s destruction, but Earth’s death disrupted all it’s neighbors’ orbits, so there’s no telling how fucked things have become with two planets gone from the Solar System. Or maybe that’s just an excuse. Even if Terrar’s bullet missed or was poorly engineered or was never fired, could I really call Mercury home again? As a species we overcame extinction by mastering its dispensation. Our legacy is bullets and dust, and I am the progeny of that foul congress. I don’t need a homecoming to show me who I am.

The pod has 3 years’ worth of supplies. I don’t know where I’ll go, and I don’t know if humans deserve to be there, but I feel compelled to go on, to be a bullet not in deed but in motion.

Throughout this mission I wondered why genocide was so easy to design, to order, to implement, but I have stumbled upon a harder question. Why is genocide so easy to live with?

I have a lifetime to deliberate.

—END—

ABOUT STEPHEN KEARSE

Stephen Kearse is a critic and reporter. In The Heat of the Light , his debut novel, is forthcoming from Brain Mill Press.

MAGICIAN’S TRIAL

By Sarah A. Macklin

Liz expected the birthplace of humanity to be a little more impressive. She shifted the heavy pack on her back, looking around the Great Rift Valley with a pout. Her enthusiasm for the trip had evaporated on the string of plane rides from Atlanta. Her watch and Gameboy were handed over to her mother somewhere over the Sahara, leaving her bored. Her mother stood before her, hands clasped, smiling proudly. Liz studied the landscape. Goosebumps pebbled her arms. Her pout dropped into a frown. This wasn't a vacation. This was a lesson.

"Welcome to the birthplace of humanity, Lizette," her mother said, sweeping her arms around. "It was here that our ancestors first learned to harness the elements, commune with the spirits, capture the wild energies, and conquer the aspects."

"Was the birth of humanity messy?" she asked with a grin.

"Liz," her mother said in a low voice. "This is an important day. I'm so proud that you've made it this far."

"Well, I made it through the plane ride," she grumbled.

"Bastetta Lizette Marie Hamilton." Liz winced. Not her whole name, power name and all. The look on her mother's face killed any other complaints. "We can go back home and have your sorceress trials another year."

Liz's jaw dropped. She squealed, running over. She threw her arms around her mother's shoulders. "You're kidding?"

"You've more than earned it, baby. You've excelled at every lesson." She took a hand, fluffing Liz's short afro. "You're even more skilled than I was as a teenager. I can't believe the things you've already grasped."

Liz released her mother and broke out dancing. "So," she began between steps, "when do we get started?"

Her mother rolled her eyes playfully. “So can I get your attention?"

Liz stopped dancing. Her mother swept a hand out over the landscape again. "Here, the barrier between the physical and the spiritual world is at its thinnest. Here you will learn the last aspects that you need to become a full sorceress. After this, I will have nothing left to teach you.

"You'll be able to travel on your own, as you wish. You can deal with any level of spiritual disturbance. You could open your own shop if you wanted." She wiped a tear away from her eye.

"Mama," Liz groaned.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm just so proud of you." Her mother cleared her throat. "Lizette, you will journey through the valley and deal with it's dangers. You will have to learn which aspects you need to take with you, which you need to need to leave behind, and which you need to kill. These decisions you must make on your own. Choose wisely and you'll make it out safely."

Liz looked to the grassland, biting her lip. "How... how long is this gonna take?"

"As long as you need." Her mother paused, sweeping her locs over one shoulder. "I won't be there to help you."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes, so please be careful. I can't say any more than that. But I can tell you that you'll need to use everything I’ve taught you."

Liz nodded, then froze. A figure stepped out from behind her mother. Her eyes widened as she watched an older version of herself smiling back. Her clothes were fine, eclectic but fashionable, befitting a modern sorceress. Her short hair fell in loose curls, a style she'd never considered. Older Liz cocked her head, giving the crooked smile her mother hated. Then she walked away into the wilderness.

Liz realized that her mother was gone. She took a deep breath. This was it. This was her trial and she had to succeed. She smirked. Who was she kidding? She was going to pass this no problem, just like all her other tests. Liz adjusted her pack once more and began walking.

∙∙∙

Worry set in as she walked, especially as the sun crawled across the sky. It would be night sooner than she thought and without her watch, she had no idea what time it was. She looked around. Would animals emerge during the night? Or, since this was a magical land, would there be something worse? She shrugged her pack higher on her shoulders. Doubt pricked her.

"Are you sure you can do this?" a small voice said nearby.

Liz stopped, looking over. A young woman with dry looking bantu knots sat on a rock. Her ash gray eyes were full of a sorrow that threatened to overwhelm Liz's senses. Even the woman’s clothes were a dusty, ashen color that gave her skin a dull look. Liz had seen enough spirits to know one on sight.

"I'm sure." Liz replied, gifting the spirit with a half-felt smile.

The woman rose and stepped closer. "But are you sure? You’re out here alone. You've always had your mother by your side. Are you sure you can do this?"

Liz hesitated. Could she do this? She felt her heart flutter. What if she didn't? Would she be just a magician, under her mother's supervision forever? Sure, she was gifted at her art, but what if talent wasn't enough? She bit her lip.

The ashy woman stepped nearer. "Perhaps it would be best to stop now. Surely you could take the trials later." She put a hand to Liz's back. "Study more. Work more. Maybe you'll be ready to conquer it next time."

Liz contemplated having to face another long year of study before even getting the chance to try the trials again. She saw her mother's disappointment and took a step forward. "I'll never know if I can make it if I don't try." She pushed herself away from the strange woman, looking back with a smile. "Nice try, Doubt."

Doubt frowned and followed her. "But what will happen if you don't pass?"

Liz laughed. "But what happens if I do? That's a pretty dope reward."

She continued walking, a pouty Doubt following her. The aspect loomed closer to her when she began to question her abilities, but Liz quickly pushed those thoughts away. She wasn't going to let some ashy apparition stop her from becoming a sorceress.

The sun began to set and Doubt still tagged along. Liz threw annoyed looks over her shoulder, but the aspect didn't seem to be bothered by them. Every time Doubt tried to speak, Liz responded with a resounding "Nope!" As night grew closer, she began to wonder whether she should keep going when she saw the vision of herself standing farther along.

The vision smiled at her. "You should probably stop. It's getting late." She looked up at the sky, adjusting the sleeves of the incredible ankara print blazer she wore. Liz took in every detail of the fine material. "You'll be fine," her future self continued. "If any wild animals happen by you'll be able to take care of them. You're more than capable of handling a few creatures."

Liz looked back to Doubt with a confident smile. "See! I'll be fine." She turned back but her future self was gone. Smirking, she set out to make camp for the night. The evening was full of caws and growls she'd only heard in nature documentaries. She had to admit, being here in nature was cool. She gathered enough small twigs to make a fire, casting barriers to keep the flames from reaching the surrounding brush.

Liz was starting to settle in for the night when she heard quiet footsteps nearby. She looked over, expecting to see Doubt but the dusty aspect was sitting, looking into the night with a forlorn expression. She concentrated, closing her eyes to focus on the direction of the sound. Liz turned to her right, her hand working to cast a spell of discernment. A pair of women were revealed, twins, nearing the camp. They held hands, looking at her with odd smiles.

"Good evening," they said in unison, stepping into the circle of her camp.

"Good evening," Liz responded, rising cautiously.

"We are very pleased to meet a new sorceress-to-be," one of them said, her smile widening. Her afro was immaculate. Across her chest hung a collection of chunky pearl and wood bead necklaces. At least one ring sparkled on each finger and a wealth of bracelets ringed her forearms. Her gown fell in rich folds of deep blue and purples.

"It's been ages since we've seen one," the other added.  Her afro rose in random spikes and she wore a sparse, haphazard collection of jewelry. Her entire ensemble seemed to have no rhyme or reason. The woman laughed nervously. "We thought we'd never see one again."

Liz took in the pair, her mind working. She glanced back at Doubt. She took in their eager smiles. Were these other aspects or something more sinister? Or both? She bit her bottom lip. "Please, feel free to share my camp. I got some food. It ain't much but it's more than enough for all three of us."

The glamorous one shook her head. "We have no need of food, but we'd be happy to share your camp."

They came closer, still holding hands, and Liz felt her unease bloom.

"Are you sure you should have done that?" Doubt said from her distant seat.

"Quiet," she hissed over shoulder. Then, to the two women: "Who are you two?"

They giggled, which did nothing to calm her. The glamorous one scanned the ground, picking up a large beetle that scurried by.

"We are Pain," she said, crushing it between her fingers.

"And Panic," the disheveled one finished.

Liz felt her heartbeat quicken. These two were dangerous. She scrambled through her memories for her teachings about them. Fear settled in her. Her mother said that sometimes there would be pain. She felt Doubt moving closer and tried to will her away.

"I'll have to ask you two to leave," she managed. "Please."

Pain considered the crushed insect before tossing it away. "No. You will come to respect us."

Hands caressed her cheeks. She gasped at the realization that Panic was behind her. "Besides,” the aspect murmured, “you have already let us in."

Liz’ heart thundered at the tender touch of Panic. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to struggle against the grip of panic within her. Pain took her time sauntering over, watching Liz's futile attempts at struggle.

"It's been so long." Pain breathed, biting her lip. "So, so long." Liz had sunk to the ground; Pain knelt over Liz and plunged a hand into her stomach.

Liz screamed, her cry echoing into the night. Her mind reeled. All she was sure of in the world was Panic's fear inducing strokes and Pain's grip on her body and soul. She wept for her mother, praying that the trial would end. She wanted to go home. Anything to stop this.

"Isn't this exquisite?" she heard Pain’s voice faintly through her distress. "Pain can be so brutal. So raw, yet so beautiful."

"She makes the most beautiful faces as she panics," Panic said, gently stroking her face again. Liz realized her head was in the aspect's lap.

Pain licked her lips and took her sister's hand with her free one. "You see, when you feel pain, you panic."

Panic wiped Liz’s tears away. "And when you panic--"

Liz pulled together all the strength she could and grabbed Pain's wrist, pulling. Pain responded by closing her fist. Liz let go. The shockwaves of agony were unbearable. "When you panic, you make decisions that will cause you pain."

Panic leaned down, her nose almost touching Liz's. "Look sister," she said with that wicked smile. "This one is blessed by Bast."

Pain made a mocking pout. "Will you use the goddess to cast us off?"

Liz ground her teeth. "I don't need Bast... to deal... with... you!"

The aspects laughed. Panic stroked her cheek again. Pain ran a finger down her sternum. "Then let's see how you'll win this on your own," they said together.

Liz didn't know how long she laid there, writhing in pain. Fighting got her nowhere. She tried to cast a spell, any spell, but she couldn’t focus.

She was going to be a failure.

Her mother’s words from her lessons came back to her. Sometimes there will be pain. Liz picked that night, that memory from the calm of her mother's conjure room to anchor her thoughts. She slowed her breathing, accepting the pain. She concentrated on her left hand, writing out the symbols for the spell in the dirt beside her.

A bright pink bubble burst up from the ground, throwing both aspects backward. Liz took a moment to catch her breath, clutching her stomach to disperse the lingering agony. Pain and Panic scowled at her as they rose to their feet.

"Sometimes there will be pain," she began, remembering the rest of her mother's lesson, her hands at the ready, "so there's no need to panic."

The twins began to close on her again. Liz moved her hands in tight circles, casting barriers that called on the power of the churning deep earth to strengthen them. She called upon the strength of her ancestors and their determination to reinforce her own defenses. Liz took a deep breath and thrust her hands out and her barrier tripled in size and strength, a relentless golden wave that pushed the aspects away until they disappeared.

She stood in the middle of her camp, legs trembling, waiting for their return. She looked to Doubt, who gave her a sullen look. Liz prayed another attack didn't come. When none came her legs finally gave out and she collapsed beside the fire.

∙∙∙

Liz woke up with a jolt the next morning, the sun assaulting her eyes with the ferocity of a hangover. She rubbed her eyes, hoping she wouldn't open them to more hostile spirits but only Doubt lingered. She sat up, her stomach still tender from last night's encounter.

Doubt turned gray eyes to her. "Are you sure you don't want to give up?"

Liz grumbled and dug out the preserved food in her pack. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

She gobbled her breakfast and started on her trek again. She felt more hopeful as the sun began to rise over the distant highlands. Pain and Panic were conquered, banished. She was ready to take on whatever aspect showed its head next. She glanced back to Doubt who followed at a distance and smirked. The apparition was finally learning her place.

It was mid-morning when Liz noticed a figure lying in the grass. She slowed her pace. As she neared the person, she realized it was a teenager on the ground, braids splayed around her head like tree roots. Liz paused a few feet from her. Her mind raced, trying to figure what aspect this could be.

Doubt stopped right behind her and Liz felt her breath on her neck. "Will you be able to handle this one? If you can't, you could die."

Liz took a large step away from Doubt, coming to stand next to the girl. "Hey," she said stooping down. "Hey, are you... are you okay?"

The girl opened her eyes and looked up at Liz with a smile. "Good morning." She yawned, then settled back in to sleep.

"Oh, she'll never get up."

Liz looked to her left to see a young girl in a loose tunic peering down at the teenager. She smiled up at Liz, top front teeth missing. Liz nodded. "Um, good morning."

"Good morning," the girl responded and began to transform to an older young woman. Liz turned her head as the tunic tightened around the girl’s—woman’s—new form.

"She'll never get up," the young woman said, chuckling. She danced her way to the other side of the teenager, shifting to an older woman. She took a foot and jostled the sleeping girl. "She doesn't like to move. Me, on the other hand? I can't seem to stop."

The realization hit Liz like a lighting bolt. "You're Change." The aspect nodded, shifting to a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her knots. "Then you must be one of the aspects I'm supposed to befriend."

She looked away again as the aspect shifted back to the curvy young woman. She extended a hand to Change, trying to keep her eyes on the aspect’s face. "Will you please come with me?"

Change considered her hand, staying still for just a moment. "I think not." She rushed off, running away before stopping to look back with a laugh.

Liz took a step to chase after her and promptly tripped over some unseen snag. She cursed, spiting dirt out of her mouth. Looking back to see what had tripped her, she saw the teenager hugging her ankle. Liz pushed herself to her hands and knees, trying to pull her ankle free but the girl held her calf now. "Let go!" Liz demanded, trying to shake the clinger off.

The girl shifted, holding firm. "So comfy," she yawned.

"Looks like you have a problem," Change said from in front of her, a little girl again.

Liz grabbed for Change and once again Change eluded her grasp, dancing far out of reach. Liz struggled to her feet, determined to catch Change and force her, if she had to, on this journey. She tried to kick free of the aspect holding her, but the spirit’s delicate-yet-firm grip tightened, threatening to take Liz down again. Change was dancing her way back over as the middle-aged woman.

"Wait. If you're Change…" Liz said, looking down to her clinger-on, "then you must be Stagnation." She looked to the sky, releasing a sigh. "Shit."

Change danced closer and Liz lunged for her, missing and almost falling again. She caught herself and pulled her weighted leg along, dragging Stagnation with her. The aspect seemed unbothered by the rough treatment, only moving to readjust her grip.

"These two may be too much for you," Doubt said.

Liz scowled at her follower. She dragged Stagnation along as she tried to capture the ever-moving Change. She waited until Change shifted to her young girl form, thinking that would make her easier to capture. She waited until she shifted to the elderly woman, thinking her slower pace made her a better target. But Change would only shift to one of her other forms and spin out of her grasp. Meanwhile, Liz’s leg grew sore and tired from the dead weight of Stagnation.

Liz stopped to catch her breath. Chasing this aspect wasn't going to work, especially not with Stagnation hanging on to her so tightly. She had to think her way through this.

"Hey Change," she called out. The aspect glanced at her as it pirouetted around. "What can I do to get you to stop?"

Change laughed, changing into the little girl and hopping along. "I can never stop. Will never stop."

Liz's mind worked, poring over a dozen scenarios. "Then... can you teach me to change like you do?"

Change paused for a moment, looking to Liz in confusion. She danced to the left, coming a bit closer and shifting to the middle-aged woman. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've become so many forms and you change so easily. I mean, I'm just a human. I'm born with this one form. I'd love to be able to change like you do."

Change skipped her way nearer. "Silly girl," she said, changing into the curvy young woman. "It is because you have that one body that you're so limited."

Liz licked her lips. "But, there are spells that can change the form of so many things. Can't I change myself?"

"If you embrace the elements of yourself that you can change you will find yourself a new creature." She spun herself close enough for Liz to touch. "In those things, you are only limited by your mind."

Liz caught her arms with a crooked smile. "I guess you're right."

Change looked surprised, then pleased. "Very good. You have embraced change." Then, to Liz's surprise, Change leaned in and kissed her.

Her knees went weak for a moment, but she concentrated to pull herself together. She felt Stagnation's grip lessen and she stepped free of her.

"Let's go." Liz said, taking Change's hand. The aspect shifted back to a little girl and skipped beside her. Liz looked back to Doubt with a smirk, satisfied to see Doubt scowling back at her.

∙∙∙

Change tried to surge ahead, but Liz held her hand firmly. She shifted to her girl form, a little younger this time, pouting her displeasure.

"Nah, I'm keeping you close," Liz said, smiling.

"This is boring," Change whined. "I want to run."

"You promise not to run away?"

Change shifted into her young woman form, pausing. "Yes."

"Ha ha. Nice try." Liz laughed at the aspect's frown.

"Do you really think you can keep her in check?" Doubt asked.

Liz looked back, squinting against the afternoon sun. "Are you really still on this same mess?"

Doubt had been quiet for most of the day, staring at Liz. Her gaze constantly burned into Liz's back. She didn't have her same uncaring, sorrowful look now. No, now she sported a frown. Liz looked back again, taking in Doubt's expression. It was rather satisfying.

"Are you sure you can complete this trial? You've already wasted half the day."

Liz rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on Change's hand as she tried to dance away again. "Look, you've tried. You've failed." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the image of her older self walking along with them. "I'm going to succeed and there's nothing you can do about it."

Doubt was silent for a moment. "Are you sure? What if Pain and Panic return?"

Liz skipped a step. What if they did return? What if they ambushed her tonight, seeking revenge? Liz shook her head. She was sure that she'd banished them. Even if they did return, they wouldn't have the same power. "If they come back, I'll defeat them again."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Are you truly sure?"

Liz spun on her. "I'm sure, damnit!"

Doubt opened her mouth to speak and twitched in pain. "No," she whispered before turning her attention back to Liz. "What will happen if you meet an aspect that's stronger than Panic and Pain?" Another twitch. "What...what will you do then?"

Liz took a step toward Doubt. "Then I'll beat them too."

"How can you know that?" the aspect asked, wheezing.

"Because if there is one thing I know, it's that I'm going to pass my trials," Liz shouted.

Doubt staggered backwards, hand clawing at her chest. Liz backed away at her painful swaying, pulling Change with her.

"No, no, no," Doubt moaned. "No, she needs me."

A fine crack crawled up Doubt’s neck, light spilling out. Her body convulsed, and fingers burst from her chest, tearing the crack apart. It widened and an arm pushed out, then another. Doubt's body arched backward, helpless as another figure pulled itself from her core.

Liz watched, stunned, as the woman stepped onto the ground, Doubt's body gaping open behind her. She wore simple robes of pale yellow, a series of bracelets on her arms, and beads in her graying locs. She brushed out her skirts and looked up to Liz.

"I am glad that you have worked past your doubts," she said in a grandmotherly voice. She walked over to Liz and hugged her. "I am Surety and I am glad to finally meet you."

Liz wrapped her free arm around Surety. "I'm glad to meet you too."

The older aspect nodded to Change, who waved in her little girl form.

"Shall we continue?" Surety asked her, taking the lead.

Liz smiled. "Yeah."

They took a handful of steps before Liz heard behind them, "Are you sure you can trust her?"

She looked back and Doubt was struggling to get up. The aspect's eyes were fixed on her as she pushed herself up on one arm. The great hole in her form was pulling itself together. The two sides of Doubt's mouth struggled to repeat the question: "Are you sure you can trust her?"

"Hell of a lot more than I can trust you." She looked to Surety, who nodded with a smile.

Liz felt completely confident for the first time since her trial started. She had conquered Pain, Panic, and Stagnation. She had embraced Change and Surety. There couldn't be much left.

"Your trials should be over soon," Surety said, glancing at Liz. "You've overcome so many obstacles."

Liz nodded. "Do you know if there are any other aspects that I'll have to face?"

"Every sorcerer's trial is different. Some may have many to face. Some only a few. Some attract other spirits. It's hard to tell, but I'm sure that you will conquer whatever may come."

Liz felt something nagging at her as they continued to walk. "Were you waiting for me inside Doubt this whole time?"

Surety's face tightened a bit. "Doubt and I are connected. I was inside of her, but only because you had not found your surety yet." Her reassuring smile returned. "But don't worry about that now. If you are sure of your path, you can easily get through any trial."

Liz nodded.

"Are you sure you can trust her?"

The trio turned to see Doubt struggling behind them. Her steps were uneven, a burden. Liz felt a nagging feeling come up and looked over to Surety who stared unsmiling at her counterpart.

"I see she still holds on," Surety said flatly.

Doubt looked to Liz, her eyes holding on to her. "Where is she leading you?"

"Your questions always get in the way," Surety snapped. "We are headed to the end of the trial so this young sorceress-to-be can move on."

Doubt never stopped looking at her. "Is this not your  trial?"

Liz looked to Surety and her reassuring appearance. "I think I'll take the lead."

Surety turned back to her and the smile returned. "I'm sure you know what's best. Please lead the way."

∙∙∙

The sun dropped lower in the sky causing long shadows to stretch across the ground. Liz kept her hand firmly on Change. The aspect was growing more docile, but she didn't trust her enough to let her walk on her own just yet. Surety walked to her side, lending encouraging advice about their direction every so often, but Liz wasn't sure she liked this aspect as much anymore. Doubt still followed behind them, her steps growing stronger, the tear in her body long since closed. Liz sighed as she chewed on her dinner. It was almost her second night here and she was completely fed up with the birthplace of magic. When would this trial be over? She literally had Change, Surety, and Doubt in tow. Wasn't that enough?

Liz saw someone standing in the distance. For a moment, Liz though that the figure was her mother and her face lit up, but as she grew closer she realized that it was someone else. They were still too far off to see clearly, but she could tell they were waiting. "Who is that?" she mused, half to herself.

"Wisdom," all three of the aspects answered.

Liz nodded. This had to be the end.

"I can't believe you're still going through with this stupid trial." The future image of her appeared from the corner of her vision. "My god, you're too good for this." Future Liz stopped directly in her path to Wisdom.

Liz licked her lips. "But don't I have to pass the trial to, well, become... you?"

Her future self laughed. "There are other ways than Mother and her old ones. Look, she already said she has nothing else to teach you. Isn't that proof enough that you're a sorceress?"

That was kinda true. Liz tried to look around her to Wisdom but her future self blocked the view. "Don't I need Wisdom if I'm going to be a good sorceress?"

Future Liz waved her younger self off. "Wisdom is overrated. As long as you have your knowledge, ability, and power, what more do you need? You're a prodigy. You know it. You don't need a trial to prove you're ready to be a sorceress."

"But... mom went through a lot to bring us here."

"Are you going to forever hide behind mommy ?" The apparition rolled her eyes deeply. "Come on, Liz. Don't you want to be your own woman? Make your own rules? In two years you'll be an adult by regular law as well. Aren't you ready to taste that?" Future Liz took a slow turn, showing herself off. "Aren't you ready to be the best you you can be?"

Liz took in her adult version. She could admit that she was envious. This vision was beyond what she thought she'd be like as a full-fledged adult. She was impeccable. The poise, the confidence, the pure swagger this version exuded was everything Liz wanted to be. She didn't want to be some conjurer in a muumuu spending her days locked away in a musty backroom. She wanted to be out in the world, living, thriving.

She took in her future self again. "If I don't finish this trial, how will I be recognized as a sorceress?"

"You ask too many questions," future Liz sighed. "What does it matter if you go through some trial? You have the power. Trust in your abilities and people, magicians and normals alike, will respect you on sight."

Liz rolled over the idea in her mind. She wasn't so sure she was quite enamored with the idea of becoming a rogue magician. She knew she was incredible, probably the best magician in a generation, but she'd always worked with the goal of earning the title of sorcerer. To push it off now seemed like a waste.

"No," she said after a moment, "I'm going to finish the trial."

She moved to continue on her path and her future self stepped directly in front of her.

"No. I don't think so." Future Liz looked down on her past self. "I'm your future self. Don't you think I'd know what's best for you?"

Liz stared at her as her mind worked furiously. What... what she said wasn't right. "That's impossible. You can't be my future self. The future isn't set."

Her doppelganger growled and struck her in the chest. Liz felt the magic in the blow and she was thrown back twenty feet. She rolled to her side, propping herself up with an elbow. Liz struggled to catch her breath. She looked around for the other aspects, but they'd disappeared. Future Liz advanced on her younger self, both hands glowing with spells.

"You little bitch," she said, her lips drawn taut. "I can get you everything and you refuse me. Me! I am the best of you. All of the potential you have now will be fully realized if you give in to me."

Liz pushed herself to her feet as quickly as she could, watching the patterns her future self's fingers were moving in. They were such subtle movements, even more subtle than her mother's spellworking. She took in the imposing figure of her future self, the hair, the clothes, the power crackling over her, everything she wished she could be. Everything she knew she would be. "You... are Pride."

Pride whipped a hand across the air horizontally and an arc of fire burned through the air. Liz whipped her hands around frantically, trying to erect a barrier. The shield formed just in time to block the fire and the second spell Liz hadn't even noticed had been cast. They both pummeled her shield, staggering her. Liz ran to the side, pulling her barrier with her, trying to watch the ground in front of her and Pride's hands.

Pride brought her fingers together and pulled them apart, forming a bright green spell circle in front of her. Liz reinforced her shield immediately. A thick bolt of lightning branched out from the circle, cracking the air. It hit her shield with the force of a freight truck and Liz stumbled back but held her balance. She worked to steel her mind against the panic she felt rising. She couldn't stay behind this shield forever. She looked at the brush around her, searching for anything she could use against the aspect.

Another bolt of lightning slammed into her shield. Liz's hand ached from holding the shielding spell in place. She brought her other hand to her side, casting the spell down her leg and into the earth. Her connection with the earth was rekindled and she reached out to the plants surrounding her enemy. The spindly bushes around her grew up, branches snapping out. Grasses tripled in height, wrapping around her Pride’s legs in thick ribbons. Branches latched onto the aspect’s arms, pulling them down and breaking the circle. Pride struggled against them, her sneer still ferocious. Liz broke her shield and ran at the aspect.

"Do you really think this will hold me?" Pride snarled. She snorted, burning the branches away with a flash of flame. Her hands free, she turned her attention to the grasses holding her legs.

It was all the opening Liz needed. She scooped up the first rock she found as she ran, throwing it toward Pride. Pride looked up just in time to get struck in the forehead, head snapping back. Liz moved her hands in furious circles, calling on the strength of the Maelstrom and Behemoth. Winds straight from the worst monsoon swooped down and struck Pride, throwing her several feet away. Liz traced symbols across her chest and she sped up, reaching Pride quicker than the aspect could recover from the blow.

Liz jumped on Pride, landing with both knees on her stomach. Without hesitation, she raised a fist brimming with the energies lent to her by Behemoth and punched Pride across the face. She wasn't prepared for the magical shockwave that hit her in return. Liz flew away from the blow, skidding to a halt, rocks tearing at her back. She looked over and saw Pride struggling to get up as well.

"You'll never be rid of me," the aspect slurred between bleeding lips. She slowly pushed herself up and was on her feet before Liz regained the strength to sit up.

Liz concentrated through her pain. She couldn't keep fighting like this. She could already see Pride's fingers moving again, preparing something big. She had to cast before Pride could get her spell out. Liz sunk into her mind, calling to the one power she'd thought she'd never have to invoke. The one she was named after. The image of the great lion headed goddess formed in her mind.

I finally hear from you, namesake, she heard.

Liz felt the disdain from the golden eyes of Bast. I need your help, she said sheepishly.

Of course you do,  Bast replied, examining her claws. She studied Lizette for an excruciating amount of time. The examination was uncomfortable, but Liz knew she deserved it. A small smile finally formed on the goddess's face. She raised a hand toward her. Go, my namesake, and conquer your enemies.

Strength surged in Liz, enough strength to get up, locking Pride with her gaze. Pride stared back, a wild expression on her face.

"You will fall to me," the doppelganger ground out.

"I am Bastetta Lizette Marie Hamilton," she began, a lion's growl overlaying her voice, "and I'm not losing to you or anyone else."

She threw her hands forward, fingers weaving through the air at a speed that surprised her. Pride tried to conclude her spell but couldn't beat Liz's casting. A roar echoed out across the plain as a ray of light, golden and warm, burst forth from Liz's hands. It hit Pride full body, engulfing her. A scream of agony pierced the roar, lasting for what seemed like an eternity.

The beam finally faded away and with it the extra strength Liz felt. She locked her knees for a moment to stop herself from falling. Pride's smoking body fell to the ground. Liz approached her cautiously, hands ready in case of attack. Pride was burned nearly black, her eyes wide open and mouth frozen in a scream. Liz kicked her in the side but got no response.

She let out a breath, staggered, and tripped over a rock, but was caught by the three aspects she'd befriended. Liz looked ahead: Wisdom still waited. She gestured for them to give her a second and sat down. Surely Wisdom could wait while she caught her breath.

∙∙∙

Wisdom smiled at Liz when she approached. The aspect looked like her mother and grandmother but, somehow, managed to not  look like them at the same time. Wisdom nodded to her fellow aspects before looking at Liz.

"You have done well, young one." Her voice spoke of her volumes of knowledge and insight. "You have persevered through so much on your journey. Do you think you are ready for wisdom?"

Liz glanced to her new companions before answering. "Yes. I'm ready to finish this."

Wisdom raised an eyebrow. "You are sure of yourself?" Liz nodded. "Are you sure you won't let pride get in the way of receiving true knowledge?"

Liz glanced back to her scarred battleground. "I have defeated Pride. You cannot be prideful. It will lead to... ruin."

"I know that you are powerful and skilled, but will you listen to the wisdom of your elders to shape your own?"

"Yes."

Wisdom nodded. "Will you recognize the difference between true wisdom and a sure opinion?"

"That is why I have Doubt."

Wisdom's face lit up at her answer. "You have answered well, young one, blessed of Bast." She took both of Liz's hands, squeezing them gently. "You will gain your own wisdom with life and experience, but you have accepted your need of it. Let us take you on to the end of your journey."

Liz let herself be led by Wisdom. She looked to her sides. Change and Surety walked with her. She didn't have to look to know Doubt trailed behind them. Her gloomy presence was like a tickle along her spine. They continued for a while before, suddenly, she stood before her mother.

Her mother stared at her, hands clasped in front of her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "Oh god, Liz. You did it." Liz found herself crying as her mother rushed her, throwing her into a hug. The aspects stepped aside for the reunion. "I'm so proud of you."

Liz wiped the tears away. "Thanks, mama. I couldn't have done it with out you teaching me."

Her mother pulled away from her, trying futilely to fix her face and look strict. "Now, what did you conquer?"

"Pain, Panic, Stagnation, and Pride," she answered, jokingly snapping to attention.

Her mother chuckled. "And what did you befriend?"

Liz looked to each side of her, but it was clear that her mother didn't see them. The aspects that followed her on her journey smiled warmly. "Wisdom, Surety, Change, and... and Doubt."

"And why did you befriend them?"

"I need Wisdom to make the right decisions. I will need Surety to make quick and decisive choices. I will need Change to see new ways. And I will need Doubt to make sure I'm not letting the others lead me astray."

Her mother threw herself on her again, blubbering in Liz's ear. "You got it. You got it. Oh baby, I name you a sorceress now." She pulled back, keeping Liz at arm's length. "You, Bastetta Lizette Marie Hamilton, are a full-fledged sorceress. You answer to no one but yourself in all magical matters."

Liz looked around. "Is that it?"

Her mother laughed. "What do you mean 'is that it'? Were you expecting Bast to come down and brand you herself?" She pushed Liz playfully. "Get outta here."

"So, can we actually get outta here? I'm ready for some real food."

"Of course, baby," her mother said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "We'll make a portal to Nairobi. An old friend owns a restaurant down there. His food is, what do you kids say, slammin'?"

Liz looked aghast at her mother. "No, ma'am."

Her mother laughed and kept speaking of the feast they were going to have tonight. Liz looked back and saw her aspects waving goodbye as they began to disappear. She felt a little bit lonelier without them by her side, but she could tell they were with her in the spirit plane. She was about to turn back when movement in the brush caught her attention. Pride's body rolled over in the distance. She watched, eyes wide, as it rose to its knees, its lidless eyes fixed on her. Pride’s charred lips cracked as she mouthed, "You will never be rid of me."

"Is something wrong, Liz?" her mother asked.

Liz scowled at Pride before turning back to her mother with a confident smile.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing worth worrying about."

—END—

ABOUT SARAH A. MACKLIN

Sarah A. Macklin is a fantasy writer based out of a sleepy town in South Carolina. Not much happens there which leaves her with plenty of time to think up stories full of magic and women who don't follow the rules. When she's not writing, you can find her at her drafting desk, her sewing machine, or in the kitchen.

PEDALING

By Tuere T. S. Ganges

“Trini look!”

My girlfriend, Beatbox, squeezed her handle brakes and stopped. We all followed suit and she pointed to smoke billowing over treetops in the distance.

I nodded. It was a hopeful sign. The smoke was light grey and steady. It wasn’t a house burning. It was most likely someone cooking dinner. I put out my fist for my tribe to touch with their own. All eight fists together formed an octagonal hole in the middle.

“May the next town welcome us in, take heed to our warnings, and be the new home we need.” I let the words flow from my mouth and out into the universe.

“Ashe,” we whispered in unison.

“So be it. Get to it!” I pushed my fist into the air and motioned for the tribe to ride towards the smoke.

We’d been pedaling for weeks. We’d seen some abandoned towns and we’d been dismissed from towns that refused to believe the horrors we knew were coming. They only saw teenagers: a mouthy, black 17-year-old girl and her band of colorful friends on bikes.

The road we were on used to be a four-lane highway. Cars stopped traveling on it years ago after the uprising wiped out banks, docks, and energy plants. Some people could get enough power from solar panels to keep electric scooters going, but you can imagine the target one would have on his head riding on one of those.

Every now and again, we’d roll by an abandoned automobile that had been stripped for parts. Less often, we crossed people or off-roads that led to towns. We approached each with extreme caution. These are not friendly times. About a week ago, we crossed paths with a family of four: mother, father, 10-year-old son, toddler daughter. They smiled like they were happy to see us, but we’ve seen that before.

“Yoshi,” I called back over my shoulder. “You’re up.”

Yoshi nodded, pulled his sword from the sheath we sewed onto his backpack, and pedaled ahead of us to circle the people ahead.

The rest of us caught up. “You won’t find much food back that way,” I said thumbing behind me. “There’s a town with a few houses with mason jars on the shelves. But, traveling with them on foot?” I pointed to the littlest child. “It’s too far for you to make it.”

I suddenly got a feeling to run away. Mom always said to trust my instincts. Beatbox was already rummaging through her backpack for something to give the little girl to eat. Yoshi’s sword was sheathed again. I fought that annoying girl-nature thing that made me not want to offend anyone.

“But…good luck!” I smiled and motioned for the team to roll out.

Beatbox’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Her hand was inside her bag, probably gripping a smashed protein bar or something. I knew it made her look like a target as one person who certainly had something to eat. I took a quick breath. It felt like the end.

“Drop the bag!” The mother pulled a handgun out from behind her and aimed it at Beatbox.

“Oh my God!” Beatbox gasped.

“Don’t!” I put up my hand. Not towards the mother or Beatbox, but towards my cousin, Sauce, at my right side.

Slowly, he let go of his gun that was holstered under his armpit. But he kept his hand ready to go for it at any time.

“Babe, give her what you planned on giving her.” I gave Beatbox a reassuring nod. I wasn’t sure of anything. “Ma’am, no one needs to get hurt.”

As Beatbox pulled what turned out to be a candy bar from her bag, I could feel the family’s attention focus on what was probably the first piece of food they’d seen in days. I made the signal and my tribe pulled their weapons.

“You can have the candy bar,” I said, calling their attention to the turned tide. “Put your gun away and let us get on our way.”

We could tell the stories of the abandoned towns. Some looked peaceful. Like all life had been swept up in the rapture. The houses sat quiet and in-tact. Closer inspection revealed empty cupboards and closets. There was no rapture, there was an exodus. Those towns realized they couldn’t live without supermarkets, schools, and salons. The residents didn’t think this little uprising in the government would affect them, until it did. So, they packed up and moved, probably not all at once. Some thought about going to live with family and friends that had lots of land and knew how to catch, clean, and cook fish. As odd as they once thought people were to have well-water and outhouses, they went about kissing ass and asking for shelter. “My bad,” they probably said, “can we crash with you?”

And then there were the towns abandoned by force. Rare buildings stood out from all the ashes. Battles were fought there. Charred house foundations on some streets told the tale of large homes, separate from the smaller foundations clustered together on other streets farther off. The rich tried to lock themselves away from the poor. The poor could only stay hungry, quiet, and law-abiding for so long. Some father couldn’t take the sunken faces of his children. He probably banged on an illustriously carved wooden door and begged for food. Did the door ever open? Was he handed an apple with a mushy, brown patch on the bottom? How was he supposed to feed his family with swallowed pride? “I hope you burn in hell!” he may have yelled as he took his lighter to the dried shrubbery no one dared care for anymore. Sprinkler systems would have gone offline when the internet was destroyed. Water hoses would have been removed so they wouldn’t invite outsiders to come get thirst quenched. The landscaping homeowners once prided themselves on, would have gone up in flames in seconds and the flames would have spread seconds after that. They had to come out then. And then? Looting. Fighting. Killing. Burning.

We kept riding through those towns. No need to stop. There was nothing left.

The smoke in the distance was the first sign of humanity we’d seen since we’d crossed the family of four. As we got closer, I didn’t feel relieved. I had that gut-feeling like this wasn’t the happy ending we’d been hoping for.

“Hey, I think we’re close enough to check ‘em out.” I pointed at a tree off the side of the road.

We pulled our bikes and packs under the tree. Los, short for Carlos, swung his binoculars to his back and started to climb. He was 19, short and muscular. Los ran away from his sixth foster home when he was 14 and found work with Beatbox’s grandfather who saw a bit of himself in the kid. He was also Beatbox’s ex-boyfriend but we all got along considering our lives depended on each other. Beatbox’s grandfather was killed for his land before we left our once peaceful town that had been taken over by young white thugs with guns.

“Do you see anything?” I called up once he settled and started looking through his binoculars.

“Yup. It’s a little city. People are walking around. They kinda look normal.”

Normal?  I thought to myself and immediately felt a chill go up my spine. Dammit, I gotta go up there.  

Climbing trees was not my jam. I was okay with wobbly ladders and boards nailed to tree trunks to get up into hunter’s perches and treehouses. Gripping them and propelling myself upwards using my own hands and feet was a problem.

Check this out, Trini. I remembered the back of my mom’s head with an aura-like glow coming from the computer screen she was facing. I was in my playpen, which I was too old to be in, but it was my favorite spot filled with my favorite things. She swiveled her chair around to face me and show me the computer screen.

If you ever have to climb a tree to get away from zombies, you gotta hug the hell outta that thing, okay? The tree, Trin, not the zombie. You wrap your little arms and legs around the trunk super-tight. Now, the thing to remember is to always have three of your limbs anchored at all times. What I mean is this: squeeze the tree with your legs and feet and one arm, reach up higher on the trunk with your other arm. Pull yourself up lifting one limb at a time. Like this.

She pantomimed squeezing a tree and pulling herself up. One hand, curved the arm, pulled up one leg and curved that too. Then the other hand, other leg, etc. Now, your turn. I’ll be the tree. She pulled me out of my playpen and let me climb up to her waist on my own strength. Good girl! You can do anything! If you ever have to climb a tree and you feel scared, just pretend I’m the tree. And when you get to the top, I’ve got a hug waiting for you!  She put out her arms and waited for me to climb up to her chest. Then she hugged me, showered me with kisses, and danced around the room with me in her embrace.

“Here I come.” I took a deep breath and hugged the tree trunk.

“What?” Los called down.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy hugging my mom, pulling myself up, ignoring how rough her clothes felt on the bare skin of my inner arms.

When I got to the branch Los sat on, he helped me steady myself until I was sitting next to him. He handed me his binoculars.

“Thanks.” My heart was racing. The climb was strenuous. The thought of falling even more so. But, there was also the pending fear of what I’d see. In the state the country was in, “normal” was bullshit.

I focused on the area Los directed me to and saw the small city. There were streets, stores, duplexes. People were walking around like they had places to go, work to do, or fun to be had. No one looked hungry or disheveled. Shit, they do look normal. But then it dawned on me. They all looked alike. Everyone was white and blonde. Not a brunette, Asian, or African in sight.

“What a minute,” I whispered.

“What?” Los whispered back.

“Here,” I handed him his binoculars, “look again.”

He pulled them to his eyes and focused on the town. “Okay, what’s wrong with them?”

“What do you notice about them?”

He thought about it. “I dunno. They just look like they’re living their lives like we used to do.”

“What else do they look like?”

“I dunno. White people.”

“Right, Los. They’re all white. You see any Latinos?”

“Nothing but my own eyeball in the reflection on my lens.”

“No black people. No Asians. Man, nobody has brown hair! That shit ain’t normal.”

Los nodded. He handed the binoculars back. “So, what’s the move?”

I scanned the city again. “I’m not sure yet.” I minimized my view and looked for neighbors. There were a lot of trees around the place. No roads other than the main one leading in from the highway. Maybe I just couldn’t see far enough. I started looking on the other side of the highway and caught a glimpse of light. It was like the sun reflecting off glass.

I magnified the area until I figured out what the glass was. It was a telescope. And it was looking at me.

“Oh snap. Somebody’s watching us!”

“What? Where?” Los tried to grab his binoculars back, but I held onto them.

“Wait.” I focused a little more and saw a brown hand waving at me excitedly. “They’re waving.” The hand stopped waving, left the telescope and came back with a cardboard sign. “They have a sign. It says HELP.” I pulled the focus back a little more. The person was a black boy, maybe 12 or 13 years old. “It’s a kid.”

I gave the binoculars back to Los who was great at figuring out the distance and direction of things. “He’s not too far off from the city of whiteys. I think we can get to him before dark.”

“I bet he knows everything about that normal  little town.”

Los nodded.

“Now, how am I going to get down?”

He laughed and guided me down to the ground safely. We pulled the tribe together for a huddle.

“So, there is a city with people that seem healthy and civilized. But, they’re all white with blonde hair. Like all of them. No offense Danny.” We turned to Danny, the whitest one of us. He was 15, like my cousin Sauce. Just as tall as he was, too, 6’4”. His complexion was pretty light and his hair bleached blonde naturally every summer. His grandmother was German, his grandfather was African American. With the multitude of shades my family members were, I wasn’t raised to play the paper bag game. But, you can tease friends about stuff like that. Let someone from outside the tribe say something though, uh-uh, no way.

“Ha…ha…” Danny exaggerated and gave the “what-ev” sign. He hated being teased but he knew we loved him. He lived next door to Sauce. The same people who killed my aunt, Sauce’s mom, killed Danny’s dad when he came over to investigate the broken windows, bullet holes, and blood he saw when he walked by. It made him and Sauce a different kind of blood brothers.

“Well, the point is, that’s too freakin’ weird, ya know? What’s up with that?”

The tribe nodded in agreement.

“And then, we spotted a black kid in another tree. He was looking at us and held up a sign that said HELP. Los thinks we can get to him before dark. I get the feeling that we need to help him and leave Whiteyville alone.”

“So be it,” Sauce said, putting out his fist.

“Get to it,” I said meeting his fist with mine.

Sauce and I were more like siblings than first cousins. He was two years younger, a whole head taller, and had been much quieter since his mother was murdered by the gang that took over our town. When Sauce spoke, it meant something.

We walked our bikes and stuff back to the highway and started riding.

Los, Sauce, and I lead the way. The other five followed along. We knew to keep our chit-chatting and shit-talking low. We’d been ambushed before and fought our way through it. We’d been vigilant ever since. Something about a kid being out there alone resonated with each of us. We were all orphans, but we had each other. But for the grace of God, it could be any one of us with that cardboard sign hiding out in a tree.

The sky slowly turned pink as the sun began to set. “He should be around here,” Los whispered.

I got off my bike and set the kickstand. My instincts said it would be safe to call out for the kid and I was learning to trust my instincts more and more each day.

“Hey kid! Hey kid!” I yelled. Then we all held our breath and waited.

A minute later, we could hear the rustling of footsteps on dried brush in the wooded area off to our left.

Yoshi pulled his sword and Sauce grabbed his piece. Beatbox was ready with her slingshot. Danny had a crossbow. Los had his hunting knife. The other two of our tribe was Rianna, a 14-year-old girl who had a crush on Sauce and a baseball bat; and Flow, a black and Native American 16-year-old with sick rhymes and a machete. My instincts told me, “be cool,” so I didn’t pull my handgun. I put my hands out to signal for the others to wait.

A moment later, the boy I’d seen earlier surfaced. He was too thin. He had dark circles beneath his sunken eyes. His lips were crusty, but he was smiling.

“I knew you’d come!” He said. He rushed to me and hugged me like I’d just saved his life.

I patted his back while I looked over my shoulder to Sauce and bulged my eyes as if to say, “what the hell is this?”

The boy finally pulled away as he realized how crazy he must’ve looked treating a stranger like a long, lost relative. “I’m sorry.” He tried to smooth out his stained white T-shirt and put out his hand for shaking. “My name is Lee. Thank you for coming.”

“Coming?” I asked. “Dude, where are we? What’s going on around here?”

Lee took a deep breath. “Just down the road is Barron, where I’m from. I had to run away. But, I need help going back to save my sister. Before I left, Nana said you’d come. She said you’d help me.”

I had nothing to say at first. Who was this boy and who was his nana? “How old are you?”

“What day is this? Do you know? My birthday is August 17 th . If that day past, I’m 13. If not, I’m still 12.”

He threw me for another loop. We hadn’t thought about the date for months. It didn’t feel hot enough to be the middle of August. However, the planet had gone just as crazy as our country, it could snow on the 4 th  of July. “I’m just going to say you’re 12. I don’t know. But, hey, what do you mean your nana said I’d come?”

“She dreamed you. Mama was trying to get us out of Barron, but they kept doing stuff, like blocking the roads, and watching our house. All of us couldn’t make it out. Then Nana had a dream that I would be out in the woods and some black girl on a bike was gonna save me. So, Mama changed the plan. She started putting stuff in our car, which ain’t runned in a while cuz no gas, and had them trying to figure out what SHE was doing. Meanwhile, me and my sister went running out the BACK. My sister is older but I’m faster. I kept running and didn’t look back like Nana said to do. My sister never catched me. I kept looking and waiting, but she didn’t come. I got up in these trees with my telescope…”

Lee started to cry. I turned to look at my tribe. We were all confused.

“I saw her…they had her…”

“Who’s they ?” I asked. I thought about what we’d spied through the binoculars. Those people creeped me out. I just knew they took the boy’s sister.

“Allan’s troops.”

“Who the hell is Allan?” I grew impatient very quickly. I figured Lee hadn’t been in school since the uprising. I know I hadn’t. But, he probably never got to any persuasive writing lessons yet. This was going to take a while and it was starting to get dark.

Lee nodded, seeming to realize none of us knew anything he was talking about. “Allan is this guy who killed Mayor Chen and said he was Barron’s new president. He said only white people are people and everybody else isn’t human. People started fighting, but Mama said he must’ve been putting his plans together with his friends for a long time. They beat the shit outta a lot of people. Killed a lot of people. Then, all the white people who fought with Allan became his troops and they wouldn’t let anybody else do anything, go anywhere.”

“If they only wanted white people around, why care if black people tried to leave?”

Lee got quiet. His eyes welled-up with tears again. “Miss, I told you. Allan said everybody who ain’t white, ain’t human. We’re all animals to him. Cattle.”

“Cattle?” I got chills. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.

“They took the bodies of some of the people they killed in the battle, and…and…” Lee took a deep breath. I did, too. “…and…they cooked them out in front of the post office.”

He said what I was afraid to hear.

“No fuckin’ way!” Rianna interjected.

I looked at Sauce. I believed the kid. I just didn’t want to. Sauce stared back blankly. Then he nodded. We’d had our own run-in with the devil, saw the cold shit he could do. Plus, American history was enough to remind anyone how easily a group of people could be dehumanized. I bet Allan and his troops were so sick in the head, they don’t think they’re cannibals.

“Gives a whole new meaning to ‘dark meat’,” Yoshi just had to make a joke. It was his defense mechanism, I know it, but this time, I wanted to punch him in his throat.

“Yosh,” Sauce sighed, “walk away.”

Yoshi knew he crossed a line. He pushed his bike into the woods. It was time to find camp for the night. I doubted anyone had an appetite after what we heard. He’d clear a spot for us without making a fire pit this time.

“They don’t eat them every day,” Lee whispered. “They keep them in the barns. My sister is in the green one.”

Sauce and I locked eyes again. We needed to do something.

“It’s getting dark. Where do you sleep?”

Lee found ways to sleep in trees, tying himself to branches. He told us about the berries he knew were safe to eat but hadn’t had much else. He was afraid to go anywhere. He needed to be close. He lived on the hope of saving his sister, maybe seeing his mom and nana again, and the black girl on a bike showing up.

Sauce and I gave him some of our portions of the food we had in our packs. I had to make sure Lee ate slowly or he’d get sick. He slept on the ground in between of Sauce and me. By the sound of his snoring, it was the first time he’d had any real rest in ages.

“We aren’t really trying to go save those people, are we?” Beatbox whispered.

As always, we slept forehead to forehead, hand to hand. “I don’t think I can live knowing we left them behind without trying.”

“Trin, I don’t want to be eaten by no white dude.”

“Me neither, B. I just know I wouldn’t want to be squished into a barn with a whole bunch of people while waiting to be eaten. Can you imagine what they must be thinking? They know nobody is coming to save them.”

“Why does it have to be us?”

“I don’t know. His nana said I’d save them.”

“No, his nana dreamt you’d save HIM. That’s what he said. We can bring him with us. Nana would approve.”

I knew she was right to some degree. However, Beatbox was an only child and she didn’t have any cousins her age to have that familial bond. If Sauce was in that barn, I’d do whatever it took to get him out. Lee wasn’t going anywhere without his sister. “He won’t come with us. We can’t live here.”

“How are we going to save his sister? The others?”

“I don’t know, B. Maybe I’ll have a dream too.” I closed my eyes like I wanted to sleep. But my mind raced through plans and ideas. We knew nothing about Barron. How could we sneak in and out with a barn-load of people?

The next morning, everyone was hungry again. Los, Danny, and Yoshi went in search of the stream Lee said wasn’t too far off. He’d never been fishing, and it never crossed his mind to try to catch a fish for his own survival. That really worried me. Would he be able to give us the information we needed to save the people of color of Barron?

Sauce had more patience with Lee than I did. He got an idea of where the green barn was. He got an idea of how many people were being held there. He got an idea of how many people guarded the building.

Lee told us Allan’s troops had a lot of guns. Militia motherfuckers,  I could hear my mom in my head again. Bastards stocked arms for years just HOPING for the day they could shoot niggers for sport. If you get caught up with those dudes, Trini, you gotta APPEAR bigger with more guns. You need smoke, you need fire, and you need something loud. Make ‘em look one way while you run the other.  It all sounded like something she’d said before. But, she had no idea I would be trying to save a bunch of people.

I thought about firecrackers as distraction plenty of nights before I ever had to fight for my life. I always had some on me and so did my tribe. They sound like firecrackers to some, and like gunshots to others. Militia dudes would know they’re firecrackers…unless there was something else happening. You need smoke, you need fire.

“We can’t go in there in attack mode. We can’t be seen. We need everybody running one way while we get them out the other way.” I paced back and forth while Sauce, Beatbox, and Lee watched me. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t see getting out of Barron without there being casualties. “Lee, I need you to be prepared that we might not save everybody.” I nodded and waited for him to mirror the gesture. “We’re going to get as many to safety as we can, but if Allan’s troops start shooting, it’s everyone for self. Okay?”

“What about my sister?”

“If she can run faster than most of the others, she should be fine.” It was cold to say, but from what I understood, the barns had people of all ages. The one thing my mom taught me was that mothers put their children’s survival over their own. It’s why Lee’s nana told him to run and not look back. I was also positive the people in the barns were waiting to die so any chance to run and possibly get away would be better than sitting around. Once given the chance, the younger and able bodied would probably haul ass, gunners would mow down the stragglers pulling up the rear. A lot of people would die but it would buy us time to get most to safety.

The guys came back with a few fish from the stream. They said the stream wasn’t that far away and gave Lee a sad look for starving. But it occurred to me that all we needed to do was get people to the stream. If Allan’s troops came hunting them, they might have dogs that would lose the sent at the water. If they could relax, people would be able to swiftly drift with the current. If anything, the stream gave us some direction instead of opening a barn door and have folks running around aimlessly.

After everyone had food, I explained the plan. Danny would shoot flaming arrows onto the post office rooftop. Once Allan’s troops headed towards the fire, I’d run to the barn with Sauce and Yoshi. Sauce would work on the lock and chain. Yoshi and I would set up the contraptions we made of two t-shirts filled with dried leaves and firecrackers. My spot was the shed off the side of the green barn. Yoshi would set his near the rusty old tractor. Danny would keep watch, fully prepared to shoot flaming arrows at our contraptions. If all went well freeing people from the green barn, we’d try to make it to the red barn and set them free as well. “We can’t risk both barns at the same time.” I directed my words to Lee. He had to know we couldn’t save everyone.

“Why not? I’ll go to the red barn while Sauce is at the green one.” Lee was defiant, honorably so. He was right. If we spread out, we could reach the red barn too, but it meant putting more of my tribe in harm’s way. I just wasn’t ready for it.

“I’ll help,” Beatbox said.

“Me too,” Flow put out his fist.

Beatbox and the others joined his fist with their own. I was the hold-out. I lost myself in Beatbox’s eyes. “I’m afraid.”

She nodded, “We all are, Trini. But you know this puts more people out and running. More targets, more chances for survival.”

“And that’s if they look at the barns at all, Trin,” Flow said. “There IS a chance they’ll be too busy fighting the fire to think anything about the barns.”

True, but when has anything been that easy for us?  I thought it but didn’t want to dampen the spirit of hope. Negative energy fucks stuff up. I met their fists. “So be it.”

“Get to it,” they responded.

I gave Beatbox a silent gaze that I hoped screamed volumes. Like, I can’t lose you. I love you. Stay here, let someone else go.

“I’ll be okay, Trin.” She answered my telepathy.

“You better be.”

Los and Lee climbed a tree and let us know when things seemed clear enough to move in close. We edged closer to Barron and waited for Danny to feel confident in making the shot.

“Hu-man up!” Danny said and we all braced ourselves to run. We wrapped the tips of Danny’s arrows with strips of old cloth drenched in lighter fluid. He lit the first one and sent it sailing across the courtyard. He hit the target and quickly repeated the action to speed the process along.

It took longer than expected for fire to spread over the rooftop. Then it took longer than expected before anyone noticed the smoke or flames.

“Should I shoot another one?” Danny whispered.

“Fire! Fire!” Someone yelled in the distance. Then, we could see everyone start to run towards the post office.

“Now!” I urged everyone to get going to the planned destinations.

I dropped my distraction contraption by the side of the shed and ran towards the green barn. Sauce was there beating on the chain around the barndoor handles with a large rock. A moment later, Yoshi was by our side.

I heard voices stirring inside. “What’s happening?” “Do you hear that?” “Oh God! They’re coming for one of us again!”

They had no idea we were trying to save them. How many times had they heard the chains rattle? Did they have to watch the people they’d spent every second of every day with get dragged off? Could they watch? I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t look away if it was me. And if we yelled for them to be quiet, there was a chance it could be me, any of us, Beatbox, Sauce. Shhhh , my inner thoughts tried to soothe them.

Sauce finally broke the lock off. We threw the doors open and got assaulted by the smell of human waste and body odor.

“Come on! You gotta run to the stream!” I yelled once inside. But no one was moving. “Come on!”

“We can’t,” a girl’s voice responded. “We’re in cages!”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the barn and my heart dropped. No one planned on people being locked in cages like animals…even though we knew Allan and his troop’s logic was that these people weren’t human, but cattle.

Each cage was about six feet cubed. Anyone Sauce or Danny’s height would never be able to stand fully upright, never be able to lay down and stretch his or her legs. Not that they could recline at all. At a quick glance, it looked like there were at least ten people in each cage. No chairs or pillows. They must curl up and use each other as cushions. And…take turns for whose head would rest closest to their toilet spot. I couldn’t see any buckets. Damn.

“Check by the door!” The voice came from behind me that time. An older woman.

“Shit!” Yoshi gasped. “There are a lot of cages!”

Where my eyes first focused, I could make out two rows of four cages. Eight over there. Another eight was on the other side.

I fumbled around for a key on the wall by the door. Sauce went for as many locks as he could with the big rock. Yoshi pulled his samurai sword and hacked away as well. By the time I got to my second lock with the key, everyone was out and hauling ass for the woods.

When we got out of the green barn, we could see that no one was coming out of the red one. “Beatbox,” I whispered. I could feel my body running to the red barn, but I felt like I was watching myself from the clouds.

I didn’t know that Sauce wasn’t far behind me, or that Yoshi passed by me already. I just pushed myself to the barn doors that were wide open. Once there, I fell back into my body and could hear again. I heard Beatbox screaming.

No-no-no, no-no-no,  my inner voice cried. I told her not to come. Why did I press to save these people?  Nothing mattered if I lost her.

Yoshi grabbed me before I ran in. He put his hand over my mouth and whispered, “wait.” His other arm crossed my chest and I could feel my body shuddering within his embrace.

Get it together, Trin.  I was no good to anyone if I acted in my emotions, but it was so hard to be everyone’s rock all the time. Cry later.  I calmed myself and Yoshi let me go. We peeked in through the cracks in the wall. A tall blonde man had Beatbox in a headlock. Flow was unconscious on the floor. Another blonde man was opening a cage. He had a cattle prod in his hand. It was aimed at the people inside to keep them back. He was about to put Beatbox and Flow in that cage. I couldn’t let that happen. I’d rather die.

Sauce caught up. He had his gun in his hand. I pulled mine. Yoshi’s sword was ever-ready.

“Ready?” I whispered.

Sauce and Yoshi nodded.

I ran inside the barn. “Let her go!” I aimed my gun at the man holding Beatbox.

Sauce aimed for the man with the cattle prod. Yoshi didn’t enter. I figured he wanted to come in unseen.

“Well, well. It seems we have a few more strays,” Cattle Prod said pointing at me. “This one will need some breaking before joining the herd.”

I wanted to shoot him, but I couldn’t risk the noise alerting others. The blondes didn’t seem to care about our guns and I didn’t know what to make of it. I just knew I needed back-up. Trini, you gotta APPEAR bigger .

“Hey, people in the cage!” I hollered over Cattle Prod’s shoulder. “He can’t shock all of you at the same time.” The cage door was open but none of them tried to move. In my mind, I was in the cage, pushing others in front of me towards the cattle prod. Did these folks want to survive or not? Were they really so broken?

“Only people I see are me and Steve.” He said with a tilt of his head to the guy holding Beatbox who chuckled. “You talking to the animals, animal?”

“You guys know I’m right!” I pressed on. “You are not cattle. Get out of those cages and give this bastard what he really deserves.” I felt breathless but, I couldn’t let my voice waiver. We really were bigger. “Trample that motherfucker!”

Cattle Prod laughed and turned to the caged-in. He, thankfully, underestimated them. They rushed and pushed out of the cage and knocked him to the ground.

A girl about Lee’s age grabbed the cattle prod and turned it on. She aimed it for the blonde’s groin. “Who the little beast now?” She shocked him full blast. “Huh? Huh?” She started to cry and shocked his balls again and again.

Cattle Prod shrieked like a pig in pain. I looked at Sauce, that was enough noise to send others our way. We had to move but not without Beatbox.

The other blonde, Steve, tightened his grip around Beatbox. He dug his fingernails into her flesh. “I’ll wring this chicken’s neck!” He shifted his weight with nervous tension. He stole glances at Cattle Prod who was then getting his head smashed by another girl’s foot. “Don’t come closer.” Steve pushed his nose into Beatbox’s curly hair and sniffed her. “She’s my dinner!” He pushed harder on the side of her head.

Beatbox whispered, “I love you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

But then, Yoshi appeared behind Steve. The blonde’s face went blank and he let Beatbox go. As the two separated, the blonde fell forward putting Yoshi in full view. His sword dripped with blood.

Beatbox leaned over Flow and started to slap his cheeks to wake him up. Sauce, Yoshi, and the girl with the cattle prod worked to free the others.

“Run for the woods! Head for the stream!” We yelled as each lock was broken.

A series of pops went off. Danny set off one of the distraction contraptions. People were coming.

We got the last out of the cages and started to drag Flow out of the barn.

“You’re too heavy, Flow!” I yelled. “You gotta pull it together and run! Come on!”

Flow staggered. He wasn’t going to make it. Sauce heaved him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and started running. Danny set off the other distraction.

“Go! Go! Go!” I yelled and ran.

Even with Flow over his shoulders, Sauce ran faster than some of the older people we’d freed.

“Thank you,” one woman said as I ran by. She was barely jogging and I knew it was the fastest she could move. As if she knew I hated running by her, she said, “Please save our children. Run faster!”

And I did.

Most of us made it to the woods before we heard the machine guns. My mother’s voice returned. Run and don’t look back!  I kept running. Just survive, Trini. Live!

Lee, Los, and Rianna met us at the stream. Lee’s sister was there, and they were crying and hugging each other. Others thanked us for helping and asked what to do next.

“Follow the stream until you get someplace safe. Swim if you can. They’ll be coming,” is what we told them.

My tribe and I got on our bicycles and rode along the bank the best we could. We kept watch over Flow who was getting better. I just wanted to get to safer ground before taking a break and tending to the knot on the back of his head.

Hours later, we reached a clearing. It was a rocky beach where the stream met up with the river. “I think we can crash here for a while,” I said.

“They’re not coming for us,” Sauce said.

“You think?” I asked.

“You think they can round people up and shepherd them back to Barron? Maybe a few. Won’t get ‘em all. We’re further along than them. It was hard enough dragging Flow around for as long as we did and that’s one dude. They aren’t going to waste that time and energy on us. We did good today. We saved a lot of people. And this is a great spot to settled down for now.”

I looked around. We could fish. We could wash in the river. Maybe boil water for drinking. We’d need to build shelter and develop some kind of security system. But, storms, high tides, winter? Plus, I didn’t agree the cannibals weren’t coming for us though it made sense they’d need time to regroup before they did. I just wasn’t sure we were “home” yet.

“I’m tired, Trin. I think this is it.” Sauce looked exhausted. More so than usual. It wasn’t only his body that needed a break, his spirit needed one, too. And I needed him.

“Okay, cuzzo. Let’s make it happen. Where can we build some shelter?”

Sauce looked around and explained why the area he chose would be the driest and warmest for the evening. He put out his fist and waited for mine, “So be it.”

I put my knuckles to his. “Get to it.”

We made a place that would get us by for now and I took the first watch to make sure it would.

—END—

ABOUT TUERE T. S. GANGES

Tuere T. S. Ganges lives, writes, and teaches in Baltimore. She is the proud mother of two, almost grown, children. She teaches Secondary English for Baltimore City Public Schools. Her work has appeared in Wigleaf, Linden Avenue, Referential Magazine, BlackSci-Fi.com, and Baltimore Child; on stage in In Full Color, Listen to Your Mother, and Whistle in Mississippi: The Lynching of Emmett Till; and has appeared or is forthcoming in the Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia E. Butler, Pyroglyphics Studio & BlackSci-Fi.Com Presents: The Scribes of Nyota, and Bikes Not Rockets anthologies. Her books, Ancestral Calling, Wilted and Other Stories, and Sali at Seven: The seven deadly sins of a second grader are available on Amazon. She also writes Urban YA Lit under the pen name, 2EG.

SAUDADE

By Nelson Rolon

The cardboard sign read, “HOPELESS, ME AND MY SISTER NEED MONEY FOR SHUTTLE BACK TO VENUS.” The word “hopeless” should have been “homeless” but because Vida couldn’t write in Hangul, she dictated the words to Menino instead. She blamed the mix-up on her outdated translator, which began acting up ever since she arrived in Seoul.

“People will get it,” Menino argued as the escalator descended to the first level of Chungmuro Metro Station. “You’re desperate and embarrassed, and you’d rather be dead than ask anyone for help.” He walked over to a nondescript corner, took his seat on the immaculate tiles, and held up their sign. “The bigger problem is that no one will believe a Korean boy and black girl are related.”

“‘Black’ isn't a country,” Vida said.

“It is for us,” Menino answered. “Look around you. You’re alone.”

She didn’t have to. Blacks mostly appeared in Hollywood films dramatizing why many of the brown people had left Earth. Their histories were scripted as tales of intrepid, star-crossed minorities pioneering the empyrean sea. There was no mention of the ballooning economic disparity, and strongmen’s desires for an Aryan state of nature, that caused World War Three. Characters failed to remember how the United Nations, interested in conserving Earth’s resources, offered mega-corporations and billionaires subsidies for taking asylees off-world to be used as cheap labor. No one discussed the revolution of Brazil’s negro class, and how attempts to replace them through automation would free up real estate for developers seeking to house wealthier, whiter asylees. The fact Vida was in Seoul at all granted her instant and irrevocable fame, which was great for attracting audiences, but terrible for hiding.

“Please hurry up,” Menino said. He leaned in closer to their sign until his face was hidden. “You know I live up the hill. My parents could walk by anytime.”

“Don’t start,” Vida warned. She pointed at the cinema across the station, which audiences began to leave as they headed for the subway platforms below. “The last matinée just ended, and I need that crowd. Shut up and sit there if you don’t want to be dead weight.”

Vida walked away and went for a clearing. She began playing music from her wrist terminal. Her hips swayed rhythmically as she mimicked the dance of Romani descendants on Venus. Crowds formed around her with little effort; as Vida predicted, the sight of a Venutian following the premiere of another diaspora film was a good move. Despite the June heat, she veiled her face in a silk scarf, which added to her allure.

With a sizeable crowd in place, Vida sought the wealthiest-looking person to engage. Standing out almost as much as she did was a pink-faced, khaki-wearing, profusely sweating, balding white tourist beside his wife. He wore a gold mechanical wristwatch with diamonds in the bezel—a relic so rare one only saw them in museums or junk bazaars. Vida approached and removed his sunglasses. His beady eyes were drawn to her exposed midriff and long legs like radiation to a blackbody.

She sealed the deal by leaning forward until their noses touched, which left him slack-jawed; his spouse was less than pleased. Vida quickly took a step back—for dramatic flair, of course—and then raised her arms and snapped her fingers. The jewel around her neck lit up, and the man's outfit transformed before his eyes. His pedestrian clothes were swapped for a flourishing pink dress. Its low neckline exposed his shoulders and revealed unsightly blonde chest hair. A corset dug into his rotund abdomen, while a crinoline cage rounded him out in the rear.

Clearly displeased with his new Victorian fashions, the man blushed in silence. His wife was the first to laugh, and the audience followed in suit while recording every moment on their terminals.

“Tip, please?” Vida said innocently.

The tourist grumbled something her translator couldn't process. His wife slapped him upside the head and forced him to transfer credits over to her terminal. The chime of a successful payment made Vida’s heart flutter. She restored the man’s clothes with the snap of her fingers.

The show now over, the crowd fled downstairs at the announcement of an incoming train. Vida waved them off, removed her scarf, and wiped the sweat from her neck. She walked to Menino, whom she had earlier spotted chuckling along with everyone else. Compared to his usual stewing in unwarranted jealousy, mirth was a good look on him. She'd told him that foreplay with audiences was just part of the business, but the point never seemed to stick.

“I think we’ve made enough to finish the repairs,” Vida said. She exposed her sharp-toothed grin, which used to make Menino flinch. What could she say except that dental mods were cheap back on Utopia Planitia?

“Can we get some burgers?” Menino asked.

“Are you hungry again? If you want a free lunch, go back to school.”

“I made the sign!” Menino said as he stood up in protest.

“And you fucked that up,” Vida said. “You can dance next time if you want burgers.”

As Menino went on about his insatiable hunger, Vida’s attention wandered. There was chatter across the station. Moviegoers and commuters backed away from the escalator she and Menino had just come from, making way for a shadowy figure descending. For an instant, Vida mistook it for a dog. But its long whiskers came into view followed by its coiling tail and spindly fingers.  

It was a rat. A giant fucking rat.  

“Menino,” Vida said to the droning boy. “Shut up.”

He turned to see the creature.

“Oh,” he said, “I forgot you’re scared of dogs.”

The rat’s nostrils flared and sucked in the stench of summertime humans, sifting for a unique chemical signature. It turned to Vida. With a blink, its vapid black eyes changed to bright blood red, and it let loose an ear-shattering snarl.

“That’s not a dog!” Vida yelled. She yanked the boy by the collar and sprinted for the subway tunnels below. She felt the biomorphic beast racing after them in vicious pursuit. Its scraggy body would grow into a sleek obsidian monstrosity, limbs rippling and exploding and reforming in sinewy masses.  

It didn’t take long for Menino to outpace Vida. As they came upon the turnstiles she watched Menino pay the toll, and then he politely moved tourists and elderly Koreans out the way while running through the underground convenience marts. Vida, less concerned with being a good citizen, barely hopped over the turnstiles and shoved as many people as possible to the ground.

Looking back, Vida saw the rat—now three meters tall—uproot the turnstiles and toss them aside. While Menino zipped downstairs to the platform, Vida grit her teeth and cursed her rapid fatigue. Without thinking—or perhaps thinking she was still in outer space—she tried leaping downstairs in a single bound. She twisted her ankle as she landed and dropped to the floor.

Menino turned back.

“You okay?” he asked. “Be careful, you’re still not acclimatized.”

Vida brushed him off and hobbled away as fast as possible. Never far behind, the rat possessed even less grace as it tumbled down the stairs, knocking clueless commuters away until it crashed through a concrete wall.  

It was around 4:30 in the afternoon. The subway platform was saturated with people waiting for the 3-Train. The sight of that rodent sent everyone into frenzy, and Vida and Menino braced themselves for the rush of bony elbows and bulky backpacks. For passengers on the arriving train, the chaos at Chungmuro gave them no reason to exit.

This was really fucking bad.

“Get on the train!” Vida shouted to Menino as she fought against the tide.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Saving your ass!” Vida watched the rat recover from its impact. It kicked up dust and debris as it plowed through bystanders and ran straight for her. Vida knew she’d never make it on her throbbing ankle, so she squared-up as best she could. She planted her feet, bent her knees; this summoning would require all her focus. She endured the tide of rushing humans until finally seeing an opening.

Vida began, circling and swaying her arms like her father had every time he used the necklace. It was a power barely understood, and hardly under her control. Time trapped her within a bubble as the rest of the station froze. The temperature dropped. The air grew charged and heavy. The surrounding space began to warp, and photons twisted like paint in water, tearing apart with a thunderous noise. From this tear emerged a rusted two-meter steel cube. It hovered centimeters from the ground on one of its vertices. It was delicate and phantasmagoric.

Vida frowned at the sight of this.

“Really?” she sighed. “Tony Smith? Right now?”

The die tipped over a bit as if to frown back.

“Whatever,” Vida said, “just make it work. I’m tired and my foot’s killing me.”

The sculpture straightened up. It slowly rotated on its vertex and picked up speed with every spin. Vida could never predict what the esoteric sculptures would do. The safest bet was to get out the damn way.

“What the heck is that?” Menino asked.

Vida spun around and noticed him cowering behind her. He stared ahead at the neon nebulae within the closing tear.

“I told you to get on the fucking train!” she yelled.

But it was too late to scold him. Their time in warp space was up, and the shouting and rampage on the platform returned. The revolving cube launched ahead with impossible speed and smashed the rodent pursuer into the wall. Its body was shredded and strewn about by spinning steel edges. Vida grabbed Menino, shoved through the crowds and squeezed into the departing train.

They were welcomed with groans from sympathetic but already squished passengers. Vida took a seat on the floor and leaned on the exit doors. Her breathing grew labored. The pain in her ankle was subsumed by numbness in her hands and face. Menino stood above her and tried striking up a conversation, but she couldn’t hear him because her translator flooded with a hundred conversations taking place at once. Its quantum computing couldn’t express their fright or convey all the nuances of their relieved sighs and reassurances to one another. She envied these people and their familiarity.

Menino crouched down to Vida.

“I told you not to exert yourself,” he said.

As she was too tired to speak, Vida offered him her middle finger. No need for translation.

∙∙∙

After disembarking for Menino’s burgers and then visiting Vida’s favorite patbingsu shop, they walked to the Black Light District of Itaewon. The BLD felt like a foreigner’s impression of Seoul, a blend of hyperkinetic Myeongdong and bohemian Gangnam. Gaming cafes ran beside idol-themed strip clubs in a fantasy fit for incels. Menino sometimes would hit up the arcades for Street Fighter, and Vida would cheer him on after a couple beers to distract the other players. But overall, she hated the place because she wasn’t a nerd.

The BLD was also the only place that would service her ship.

Menino spotted Ji-Hoon inside his open garage at the other end of a street too narrow for car traffic. The man was watching his favorite interactive program, Days of Your Lives, on an obsolete LCD television. He should have been fixing Vida’s starfighter, the Abelha Rainha. Only half the scorch marks on the left wing had been welded over and painted, which left no doubt in Vida’s mind that he hadn’t begun the engine repairs.

Ji-Hoon looked behind him as the pair came within earshot. He raised his hand, which held a silver Saporro beer can, as if to say “hello.”

“I got one more if you want,” he said. He reached into his mini fridge and tossed Vida a can before she could answer.

“This better be free,” Vida said. She cracked it open and took a swig. It tasted like shit, so she gave the can to Menino. He took a sip and pinched his nose so he wouldn’t gag.

“You ever gonna upgrade to a wallscreen?” Vida continued. “I thought the idea was to have actors talking to you.”  

“Maybe when you finish paying me,” Ji-Hoon said, “I could afford one. But for now, I have to enjoy my program without the 4D sensorium. Instead of the actors talking to me, I watch them talk into empty rooms with green screens.”

“I’m so sorry,” Vida said flatly.

“Your starfighter’s almost done,” Ji-Hoon said. He stood up from his lawn chair, placed a hand on his stomach, and let loose a belch. “I know you don’t give a shit about the excellently produced, well-scripted modern masterpiece that is Days of Your Lives."

“Wow, you’re perceptive.” Vida swiped through several windows on her terminal. “We’ve got your cash. Went through hell to get it.”

“Yeah,” Menino chimed. “We fought a giant rat.”

Ji-Hoon looked to Vida. He was clearly puzzled.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Menino answered for her.

A smirk cracked Ji-Hoon’s face. “Badass-space-pirate Vida is scared of rats?”

“And dogs,” Menino added.

Vida finished transferring her funds. She crossed her arms and glared at Ji-Hoon. “Is that enough money for you?” she asked. “I’d like to get off-world by tomorrow.”

Ji-Hoon checked his account. He whistled in astonishment.

“That’s it?” he said. He finished his beer and tossed the can to the trash can across the room. It missed and landed on the ground. “You can forget about me finishing that paint job, or even the hull repairs. This won’t even buy that wallscreen I’ve been after. You know, the one with ambient soundproofing?”  

“I swear to Virgin Mary,” Vida said as she rolled her eyes. “You said you were almost done. What about the engine? Can I at least fly?”

“I need more money for the power couplings,” he said. “Get me that by tomorrow and I’ll order them, I promise. If you’re that desperate to go off-world, I know guys that’ll smuggle you out.”

“You’ll get your money,” she answered in her most polite voice. Slavers were the only “guys” that transported penniless women, a fact Vida was sure this hack-job mechanic was ignorant of.

“Just chill out,” Ji-Hoon told her. “It’s not like I can find parts for a Stinger down the street. That rat’s not gonna get you—”

“Can you ship those parts overnight?” she interrupted.

“Yes,” Menino said, “Ji-Hoon can do one-day shipping. He would love to do that. He does it all the time.” Menino could see the veins Vida’s neck throbbing. Her fists were balled up. He, too, had once told Vida to “chill” and quickly came to regret it.

Ji-Hoon took the hint. “I mean, I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything.”

Even though harming this man would bring her great pleasure, Vida did not punch him in the face. She thanked him for his work and motioned to leave. Shopkeepers were emerging from their daytime slumber while gamers patiently waited in line for first dibs at the machines. Vida needed to leave before Menino suggested they stay.

“You never told me how you got this ship,” Ji-Hoon called out to her. “Did you fly for the Emperor?”

"Not me,” she said. “My father did.”

Vida walked out into the alley. Menino lagged behind.

“Are you coming?” he asked Ji-Hoon. “If you promise to stop being rude, Vida won’t mind.”

“No way,” Ji-Hoon said.

“Are you ever going to leave this room?”

“No way.”

“Are you a recluse now?”

“Probably.” Ji-Hoon had gone back to watching his show. Menino threw his empty beer can at Ji-Hoon’s head but received no response.

Menino caught up to Vida as she descended the cement stairs just outside the garage. The stairs led to a winding path that separated Itaewon from the Han River. The pair walked in silence for a bit. Vida watched the river-people rafting in and out of their mostly submerged buildings and over the scintillating sunset waters. Like most of the diaspora children, she’d always wanted to visit Earth even though the brown people put all that effort into escaping. A little air pollution and global warming wasn’t going to stop anyone.

“Ji-Hoon can be rude sometimes,” Menino said. “But you two antagonize each other, you know.”

Vida sighed. “Stop talking, Menino.”

“Sorry,” he said. “So, this woman is looking for you? Cachorro Louco? And we just killed her pet rat? Is it really a rat?”

Vida sat down. She removed her red Converse and placed them at her side as she dipped her feet into the water. It had been a long day. She didn’t care that the road was too narrow to sit on, which forced the horny BLD clientele to squeeze by single-file.

“She should have found me much sooner,” Vida said. “She probably went through official channels for clearance.”

Menino sat beside her. “Are we going to fight her?” he asked. “You killed that rat pretty easily.”

“It’s not dead,” she corrected. “And fighting Cachorro Louco is stupid. We just need to get out of here. I need more money.”

“Yeah. I forgot that cardboard sign back at Chungmuro.”

Menino was still dead weight. One solution had come to Vida a while ago, but she’d settled into this hustling routine with him and didn’t have the time to explore it. She’d refused to consider the idea unless things became desperate; a near-death experience by a large rodent seemed an appropriate occasion.

“Maybe we can try something,” she said. For the first time in years she removed her necklace.

“Is that really oridium?” Menino asked with wide eyes. He marveled at the necklace, its hypnotic core swirling with all the colors in the universe. “Isn’t possession…a capital crime?”

“Yeah, if they ever catch you.” Vida slipped the necklace over his head. She wondered if she were cosigning Menino to a fate he wasn’t ready for. “You might need to use this if some serious shit goes down.”

Menino offered a puzzled look.

“I don’t know if my translator wants me to interpret your words literally, or metaphorically,” he said.

“Emotionally,” Vida said with a smile. “This necklace emits Hawking radiation. When I summon matter, I’m not creating it. It’s being pulled from someplace else. And I don’t entirely have control over what it summons.” Which objects emerged from the necklace seemed subconsciously chosen, although Vida’s father always pulled out practical things. Maybe the stone had favored him.

“Yeah, I remember,” Menino said. “Why is it so warm?”

“That’s the radiation cooking you alive.”

“Okay…” Menino stared at her. “How do I use it?”

Vida held her breath and then crossed her arms. She hadn’t planned this out at all. “It’s situational? ‘Reactive’ is a better word.”

“So I need to be in danger?”

“No, no, no,” Vida said. “Um. Close your eyes. Imagine I’m kicking your ass at Galaga."

Menino cringed. “How old are you?"

Vida punched him in the arm.

“Fine, Street Fighter," she corrected. “Whatever.” She grabbed Menino by the shoulders. “I’ve beat your ass ten times tonight. I won’t stop auto-blocking, and I love to spam.”

“You can’t auto-block anymore,” Menino said. “They took that out last game.”

Seeing the shift of colors in the gem, Vida kept at it.

“Cool," Vida said. "There’s no auto-blocking. I’m just really good at blocking. You hit me with a light punch, medium punch, heavy kick. Then you tilt the joystick and shoot a kamehameha!”

Menino opened his eyes.

“You mean a hadouken?”

Vida stared at him.

“Dude, that’s not important. How does it make you feel?”

“I feel like you had a boring childhood,” he said. “Especially if you were playing Galaga." Menino clutched his stomach as it groaned loud enough for even Vida to hear. “Can we go eat?”

“My childhood was just fine,” she said. “More fun than anything you did here.”

Just her luck. Of course Menino couldn’t use the necklace and even if he could, it would take too long to teach him. Vida considered stealing a ship, but Incheon Spaceport had too much security. She was out of time.

Vida grabbed her shoes and walked down the road barefoot.

“Where are we going?” Menino asked.

“I gotta get a drink,” Vida said, “or five, or ten. Hopefully, I’ll drink myself to death.”

“Great, let’s get some wings.”

Moments later, they heard thunder in the distance. The slight breeze that was relieving the scorching heat stopped. The waves lapping against the road froze in place. Clouds ceased their slow crawl in the sky.

“Is it supposed to rain?” Vida asked.

“No?” Menino said. They spun around to see a time rift twenty meters or so behind the boy. A hideous buzzing sound preceded the appearance of a giant wasp bursting forth. It soared on oversized, blue wings and fired lasers from its mouth. And it flew straight for them.

“Jesus Christ!” Vida tackled Menino into the river. The water nearly boiled them alive as lasers broke the surface. They remained submerged while the wasp circled overhead. Vida squeezed Menino tightly to avoid sinking, until the wasp went off into the distance.

Menino shot back up with a broad smile on his face and climbed back ashore.

“Did I do that?” he asked.

Vida couldn’t answer. She was too busy keeping afloat and gasping for air. The boy extended a hand and helped her back to land. They sat there for a minute while she recovered.  

Menino couldn’t take his eyes off the gem. He cupped it in his hands like a closely guarded secret. “That was a Galaga ship,” he said aloud.

Vida nodded but couldn’t hear him. There was still water in her ears.

∙∙∙

Cachorro Louco made her way down the platform stairs. The steps were partially collapsed, and a handful of civilians sat upon them while being treated for minor injuries. At the landing she could see what was left of Algernon, though it took her a minute to comprehend what had happened. Chunks of its black flesh were thrown about the subway and splattered against the walls, while the rest of the oridium creature was pinned by a large steel cube.

Vida, it seemed, had become quite the summoner.

A couple of paramedics struggled to free a woman pinned under rubble. They noticed the bounty hunter and asked for assistance. Cachorro Louco possessed broad shoulders restructured to accommodate even more imposing cybernetic arms. Lifting concrete debris would be no trouble at all. . She stooped down to the woman in distress.

“Did a foreigner do this?” the bounty hunter asked. “A thin woman with curly hair and black skin?”  

The woman nodded in affirmation.  

“Thank you very much,” Cachorro Louco said. Her terminal identified which debris was safe to lift and she tossed slabs of concrete aside like pebbles. It was a rare interlude; unless the natives got in her way, or were of use to her, noninterference was always preferred. There were too many countries, colonies, and customs to hold kindness in any regard.

She noticed pieces of Algernon rolling across the floor in dark blobs. They crawled over people and debris and gathered by the cube, which the blobs had dislodged to unpin the rest of the carcass. The masses congealed and morphed until it resembled the formerly dog-sized rodent. It wagged its tail as if nothing was wrong at all.

“It’s not like you to get killed,” Cachorro Louco said to the rat. “Now you know not to rush in by yourself.” She went to her terminal and began memory synchronization: the Hawking trail to Chungmuro, displayed as a loose cloud of floating lights, burned bright upon seeing Vida. She had a teenager in tow who was likely ensnared by false promises of adventure.

Cachorro Louco hadn’t seen the girl, now a nineteen-year-old woman, in at least two years. In that time, rumor spread of Vida’s viciousness; she was inspiring upstart teens all over the system—kids from the bottom of the scrap heap who were forced to grow up in an age of accelerated expansion. Spotting Vida’s obnoxiously yellow vessel while docked at Noctis Base had been fortuitous.  

And now she had a weak spot.  

“Ma’am,” someone behind her said. “This is an active crime scene and you’re tampering with evidence.”

Cachorro Louco ended the playback and turned around to see several officers had arrived onsite. The one who addressed her was a small man with a small voice and a small presence. His rank was sergeant.

“Were you and this...rat involved in this attack?” he asked. His knees shook ever so slightly. One hand rested on his TASER, which wouldn’t be effective against her no matter how much voltage it contained.  

“I’m here on behalf of the Venutian Empire,” Cachorro Louco said. “I have full immunity.”  

“That may be,” the sergeant said, “but you don’t have jurisdiction here. Do you have identification?”  

“The girl is mine,” she said. With a tap of her wrist console, she transmitted the footage to the officer. “I can’t promise to bring the boy in alive.”  

Cachorro Louco watched the tiny man size her up. She was tall enough to cast him completely in shadow. Her neck and chest were covered in white Special Forces tattoos that contrasted her obsidian flesh. Titanium arms bulged with fiber optics and copper muscles. Venus wasn’t the only world to engineer military cyborgs, but few nations could match the ferocity of their warriors.

“I’m really not worth arresting,” Cachorro Louco said as she sensed everyone’s apprehension. She pointed to her shoulder-length dreadlocks. “My hair releases poison if I’m in danger.”

The sergeant stared at her.

“Really?” he asked.

“No, you fool!” she said. Haughty laughter echoed throughout the tunnel as she made her way back up the stairs. “Should you find the Venutian before I do, give me a call.” The warrant for Vida’s body was good dead or alive; after having to chase her down to this planet, killing her wasn’t out of the question.

The sergeant offered no resistance. When the bounty hunter was gone, he watched the video she had transferred to him.

“Should we follow, Sergeant?” one officer asked.

The sergeant raised his hand. His officers fell silent.

“113 to dispatch,” he spoke into his radio.

“Go ahead,” the dispatcher said.

“Put out a call to the embassy. We need the Commission.”

For such a meek kid, Menino had an eye for choosing bars. He went straight for the seediest hole-in-the-wall establishments where his parents would never think to find him. He’d probably seen them on the way to school or heard about them from his peers. A boy like him, however, never had the courage to enter bars until Vida came around. That night she was having a hell of a time taking bets on the aerial dogfight championships. The broadcast was on all wallscreens and the Korean squadron, typically the underdogs against the U.S. team, was kicking ass.

“We’re down to two pilots, boys,” Vida said to a group of American soldiers at the barstools. At the rate they were drinking, it wouldn’t be hard to fleece them before the end of the night. “It’s Cheong and Simmons, Korea versus the U.S. I can put you in for 50,000 credits each.

“They’ve already made their bets,” Vida continued as she pointed to a group of local gangsters across the room, the Sons of Sejong. “Cheong beats Simmons in under five minutes with seeker missiles. You gonna let them talk shit about Team U.S.A.? Didn’t you guys invent airplanes?”

That riled up the drunkards, although her terminal had trouble translating their slurred words and backwater accents.

“We match gamble because Korea team is feces,” their commanding officer said. “And after victory, you can show us pleasure time at base, Hot-and-Taut Venus.”

“Sure, sure,” Vida dismissed. “Whatever you want. Sex ’til your dicks fall off.” As flattering as the offer was—and Vida wasn’t sure it was an offer—the plan was to sneak out with all the bets and finally pay Ji-Hoon.  

At the other end of the bar, Menino stared down a half-liter glass of beer. Vida told him not to get it, but he did anyway. Now he couldn’t drink any more of the bile. She slid into the chair beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders while starting her sixth pint of Cass. Her hands were greasy with oils from garlic-fried chicken.

“You having fun yet?” Vida asked.

“You said you’d finish this for me,” Menino whined.

“No,” she said. “No, no, no. You have to finish it now, or you lose all those cool points you got earlier.” Vida pushed the glass with her own until it sat in his hand. “That Galaga  shit was badass.”

Menino sighed heavily. “You better have some mean hangover cures on Venus.” He closed his eyes, raised his glass, and gulped, and gulped, and gulped. Beer ran down his chin and throat until the mug was empty.

“Way to chug, Menino!” Vida slapped him on the back, as proud of him as she’d ever been. “I promise not to make fun of you for the rest of tonight.”  

He cupped his mouth, holding back a rush of vomit.

“Never again,” Menino said.

“That’s what I used to tell my father,” Vida said. “Look at me now! Another alcoholic dirtbag.” She raised her pint to the ceiling. “Rest in peace, you piece of shit.” She drank half of it before coming up for air, then tried refocusing on the broadcast. Her father did love competitive dogfighting.

This year the championships took place over Acidalia Planitia. With all the other pilots tagged out, Don Simmons faced off against Heong Cheong in a ferocious stalemate. Cheong fired two missiles, but Simmons deployed flares and successfully lead them astray. Still in Cheong’s sights, Simmons attempted to break left; the Cockpit Cam revealed Simmons crushed in his suit as a result of massive G-forces—the best part of flying, as far as Vida was concerned.  

The screen returned to a wide shot of the aerial arena where off in the distance, one could spot the domed colonies of Mars. Everyone in the bar sat up as Cheong countered the break with a barrel roll and corrected his angle of attack. After that, Simmons was easily clipped by machine gun fire.

“Ha, fuck you, Simmons!” Vida yelled, showering the bar in saliva. “America sucks!”

Menino shut his ears to the noise. Amidst the excitement Vida grabbed her young, slightly intoxicated friend and tried helping him to the exit. The two hadn’t left the barstools when the Americans approached them, red-faced and frowning.

“Fucking Korean team wins!” the commanding officer said. “Never not cheaters, are they? We win next year. Please transfer our credits for more beer.”

“Excuse me?” Vida asked, feigning offense. “You guys lost. You don’t get this money back.”

“You are wrong, loose woman,” the man said. He grabbed ahold of her forearm. “We bet against Korea winning with missiles. Korea use gun, not missiles. We are winners.”

Vida cast his hand off her.

“We’re not doing this tonight, colonizer.” She looked to the bartender and hoped he would shoo the Americans away or something. He was too busy cheering along with others in the bar to notice.

“Make no trouble, female dog,” the officer said while petting her curly hair. “You come back with us to base for relations.”  

Before Vida could punch him in the face, Menino shoved him.

“She’s not interested, white man,” the boy said.

In response, another American grabbed Menino from behind and locked him into a chokehold.

“Jesus, Menino,” Vida mumbled. “Why would you do that?” She told the boy to close his eyes while she raised her half-empty pint—and smashed it into the assailant’s face.

For the burly gangsters on the other side of the room, who had alcohol in their veins and earnings to collect, the sound of shattered glass was reason enough to start a fight. Their nano-ink dragon tattoos spread flames across their skin in reaction to adrenaline. They rushed at the Americans and tried tearing them away from Vida and Menino.

Now free, Menino lunged for the American officer and tackled him to the ground. Vida had neither the stamina nor the coherence to fight, so she wasted little time kicking men in the nuts. Maniacal laughter escaped her lips.

But she got the sinking feeling that Menino needed her help. She dropped to the floor, dodging haymakers and elbows until spotting the boy biting the officer on the arm. Vida removed her scarf, wrapped it around the man’s neck from behind, and then hooked her legs around his waist. He thrashed around and slammed her onto the floorboards. She hung on even as the scarf began to tear.

“Menino!” Vida yelled. “Get him!”

The bloody-nosed kid sat up and kicked the American in the face; the heavy man grew limp in Vida’s embrace. She shoved him off.  

“How do we get out of here?” Menino asked as he helped her up.

Without a good answer, Vida thought to use her magic.

A half-second later the room rushed past as she flew in the air. At first, she thought it a dream in the midst of her passing out. Her body catapulted through a window and slammed onto the street outside. She was greeted by a starless sky. Debris fell like rain.

And then tremendous nausea came. Her throat filled with stomach acid, so she turned over to dry heave. No one vomits in their dreams.

“Are you alright?” someone asked her.

Vida looked up to see the gang leader. She swatted the woman’s hand away, grabbed the closest wall, and helped herself up. There was a crowd of onlookers staring from down the block. The Americans were splayed on the road in all manner of disarray. Menino sat up against the wall and held his head in his hands, but otherwise he seemed okay.

Where the bar had been, there was now a massive Moai head bursting from the walls and ceiling. It shot through the floor of the second story ramen shop; noodle-eating patrons slid down the Easter Island sculpture, as its surface was sleek with water from burst pipes.

“Where the hell did that come from?” the gangster asked.

Vida walked over to Menino as another gangster helped him up. The kid turned to her and smiled through bloody teeth.

“Can we go home?” he asked.

Vida wanted nothing more than to leave. Several Sons of Sejong stood in her way, however, bruised and banged-up but ready to kick her ass. In spite of her tipsiness she normally would have fought them off, and her failure to acclimate simply meant she’d have to be creative. But with Menino in tow...

“Sorry for the trouble,” Vida said to their leader while transferring back their gambling share. For a moment she considered giving the Americans’ share to the barkeep, but it would never cover the costs of rebuilding, so she kept it.  

The gang cleared the path to the back alleys. Vida grabbed Menino’s hand. They stumbled down graffiti dreams, walls splashed in strobing neon and darkened by bitter shadows, carcinogen and college kin vibing in hookah dens to “The Girl from Ipanema” as it echoed through the Deadalean streets of Hongdae.

∙∙∙

The air that summer night seemed to boil just like it did on like Venus. Or maybe Vida’s lungs were burning due to their shriveled and weakened state. To be honest, it had been so long since she was on Venus that her knowledge of the place was reduced to trivia. Was Venus hot? Yes. Was Venus a slum-kingdom and blemish upon the Chocolate Diaspora? Certainly. Did everyone there regret leaving Earth and Mars? Without a doubt. Her recollections felt like stories read in a book or flashbacks from a movie. That old life and that old Vida were but dim reflections in a mirror.

Vida and Menino sat at Mojeon Bridge. She waited as he projectile-vomited into the shallow stream. Although she would never admit it, Vida was equally tired, and breathless, and intoxicated. It was a level of misery she’d come back from before and would look forward to again.

A couple of college girls some meters away dipped their toes into the current only to quickly withdraw when chunks of hot wings touched their feet. Vida laughed and yelled obscenities at them until they left. They’d be fine by morning: soon there would be resumés to submit, careers and families to juggle, and retirement to look forward to. It was a life wholly alien.

“You feel like a man yet?” Vida asked Menino as she slapped him on the back.

“I think I’m dying,” he said. He snorted and spit his lingering vomit into the water.

“Being a man means choosing how you die,” she said.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot about Vida the Drunk Philosopher.” Menino wiped snot from his upper lip.

“I’m serious. Things don’t get easier once we leave the planet. Mars is alright if you like dictators. But the rest of the system is full of trash—people like those imperialist Americans and those Hongdae assholes. Giant fucking rats and bounty hunters. People like me.”

“I know,” Menino said. He took a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. “I know, but I can’t do this every night. I’ll come along to make sure you survive. That’s all I’m good for.”

The longer Vida watched Menino gag the more exhausted with him she became.

“If that’s going to be your attitude, then stay here. Like I said, I don’t need dead weight.”

But she did need him, or whatever was inside him that activated her necklace. She didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t know it was there. They didn’t know anything about anything.

“When’s the last time you called your parents?” Vida asked.

He tossed his tissue into the stream.

“What?”

“Home,” she said. “When’s the last time you called home?”

“Not since I met you,” Menino said. “You’d threatened to kill me if I did.”

“I’m clearly not gonna kill you, dumbass.”

Something nagged at her hazy, drunken subconscious. Perhaps it was that other Vida whose childhood was just beyond the reach of memory.

“You don’t want me around anymore?” Menino spat again into the water. “I was joking earlier. I can be useful.”

There were some things that stuck with Vida. She knew home had been the volcano favelas where greenhouse gases baked people alive. Home was where she browsed the library archives and dreamed of attending the university. She was going to be the first artist on Venus.

“I can call my parents,” Menino offered. “Is that what you want?”

After her father’s treason, the Abelha Rainha became her home. The radar ping was her morning alarm and her evening lullaby.

“I’ll call them if that will make you happy,” Menino said. He putzed around with his terminal.

No one chose to live in a starfighter.

“Go home, Menino,” Vida said as she grabbed his wrist to stop him. She squeezed until he squirmed away in discomfort. “Hug your fucking schoolteacher parents. Live your middle-class life. And don’t fall for the first girl that gets your dick wet.”

Menino frowned.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Vida rose from her seat. She stretched. She yawned. Despite her exhaustion, it was too hot to sleep at the usual spot under the bridge. She thought about visiting the bars a few blocks from City Hall, as she desperately needed some soju. This scene had grown too sentimental for her.

Menino began to follow. He seemed feverish and wobbly.

“You’re an asshole, Vida.”

Vida cocked her head back.

“Really? Tell me more.”

“I didn’t have to help you,” Menino said. “You didn’t know a damn thing about Earth, and I showed you everything you wanted to see. You said we could leave this bullshit city together. I believed you.”

Vida stopped walking. She turned to face Menino. He approached and stopped just shy of kissing her.  

“There’s nothing out there for you,” Vida said. She pointed to the blank sky. “That’s my world. My blackness. You can’t go there.”

“Your father,” Menino said. “Did this bounty hunter—”

Vida shoved him away. Already off balance, he quickly fell backward and landed on his ass. She continued walking to the pubs and clubs where she fought off her ennui with pulsating music and debauchery.

∙∙∙

Ji-Hoon, always having been a light sleeper, stepped out from his garage and into the humidity of 4 A.M. Seoul. He watched shuttles depart Incheon Spaceport across the river. Their ion engines traced blue-white streaks against the dark stratosphere and into tar space.

Going to space wasn’t all that rare, and international flights were entirely conducted through hypersonic shuttles dipping in and out of the atmosphere. When Ji-Hoon was training for the Jovian colonial expansion, he had been stationed at Noctis Base on the moon, which many people saw as the true point where citizens became cosmonauts. He and a group of young, stupid, intrepid adults prepared to leave their families behind for the sake of mankind’s future.  

Ultimately, Ji-Hoon didn’t qualify. He’d never see those crewmates again.

He didn’t care.

The pitter-patter of oridium claws against the street broke Ji-Hoon from his trance. A rather large black rat emerged from the shadows in the alley. Startled, Ji-Hoon jumped out the way as it walked through the open garage. It sniffed at the Sapporo can Menino left behind earlier.

“Are you with Vida?” Ji-Hoon asked while cautiously approaching the beast.

It failed to acknowledge him, but a low growl vibrated through its chassis.

“You know Vida?” said someone out of view. A different set of footsteps sauntered in from the unlit alley—a human this time, or someone who had once been human. Her steps were heavy, and her aura was odious. She hardly glanced at the mechanic before noticing his ship hidden beneath a beige tarp.

“Vida doesn’t live here,” Ji-Hoon said. “And I don’t know where the hell she is. Leave your number or something. I’ll call if she stops by.” He reached for the long wrench in his rear jeans pocket.

“She’s got something I need,” the woman said. “It’s a necklace housing a star gate. You’ll help me find her, and in exchange, you can pawn off that Venutian starfighter.”

It was an empty gesture: Ji-Hoon knew there was a bounty out for the ship. No one would buy it for parts when they could rat him out instead, but without leverage to keep the empire from reneging, no one would ever rat him out. He was stuck with hot merchandise.

“I don’t know where that girl is,’ he said. “The only thing I want is her money.” Ji-Hoon removed the wrench from his pocket. “Now get the hell out my shop.”

The woman snapped her fingers. The rat lunged at Ji-Hoon. He swung his wrench and whacked the animal; it flew into his workbench, knocking the unit over and spilling screws and washers over the floor.

“Why pick a fight with me?” the woman said. “You don’t seem the type to fall for Vida’s tricks.” After some silence passed, her eyes lit up as if the answer was staring her in the face. “Oh. You’re protecting the boy.”

The mechanic cocked his arm back for another swing. The woman shielded herself with a metal forearm, and Ji- Hoon dropped his wrench as his wrist dislocated. He was then blindsided by the rat as it slammed into his ribs and knocked the wind from his lungs. He crumpled over the television set; both fell to the ground with a crash.

Ji-Hoon knew his lung was punctured, but he’d be fine. He’d scrapped with the worst assholes in Korea and always came out on top. Last month he lost a couple teeth to the Incheon Road Sharks. The month before that the Sons of Sejong took his pinky toes as repayment for defaulted loans. And years ago the Busan Bitches—he’d never fuck with them again—tossed him onto oncoming traffic, which left him in a coma so long he had no recollection of why they hated him.

In any case, a giant rat and cyborg woman was a welcome change of pace.  

“I don’t know where those kids are,” Ji-Hoon said while coughing up blood. He spat at the bounty hunter. “Fuck you and that rat you came with.”

Ji-Hoon tried standing up. He was still ready to break necks with his wrench. The bounty hunter kicked him back down and fractured his sternum. She followed up with a stomp from her boot that pummeled the muscles and bones in his forearm. The rat’s tail wrapped around his mouth to mute the screams.

“I don’t normally hurt civilians,” the woman said, “but you’re quite the troglodyte. If you happen upon Vida, tell her that this was her fault.” She lifted her foot and scraped her sole against the ground to clear the blood. The rat followed her back into the darkness.

Ji-Hoon lay still as his body numbed in shock. The spaceport launches seemed so muffled, so far away now. He suddenly regretted not finishing aeronautics school.

He turned his head to the television beside him. Images of a missing child filtered through broken glass and spilled ink.

“Tae?” His brother’s face was a bit chubbier in the picture, but the tired brown eyes and spiky hair were unmistakable. He’d never said anything about running away from home. It had been two weeks since he was reported missing—about the time he walked into the shop with that femme fatale on a humid evening like this one.

∙∙∙

Miles of suspended electrical wire cast a net over the city and powered LED street lamps so bright that night and day were at times indistinguishable. Circadian rhythms were a relic from before the second space race. Menino drowsily sneaked through the serpentine backstreets where light was scant. He passed the occasional caravan of corporate drunks shouting about the Korean aerial victory. They’d point to him and utter incoherent cheers. He looked away for fear of being recognized.  

He opened the camera app on his terminal and poked at a face unknown to him. He’d probably lost a good ten pounds, and dark circles had formed around his eyes from little sleep. Vida spent nights regaling him with tales of her dad pushing oridium-q32 on the Martian streets under King Orion’s nose. She told of times her father won Mexican standoffs against pirates mining the asteroid belt. Her father would have hated him. Menino was sure of it.

Red and blue lights caught the boy’s attention. A block away some officers pulled over one of the rowdy groups and told them to keep the noise down.

Menino picked up the pace.

Home was just around the corner. From the bottom of the hill, he could already see Dongguk University where his parents worked. In an age where job transience was the norm, they’d toughed out administration changes and pay cuts long enough to earn “pity pensions.” Firing them was now illegal because the government refused to pay medical expenses related to mental distress.

Sending Menino back was the right move. There was nothing for him out there in Vida’s black skies.

His residence was one of the only freestanding two-story homes in the city, sandwiched between high-rise apartments. Menino went through his contacts list and found his mother’s number. He’d missed seventy-two calls from her in the time he was off the network.

He dialed. Her terminal rang, and rang, and rang. It was almost five in the morning, and she would be at work shortly.  

“Tae?” she answered.

“Hey, mom,” Menino said. The name was now foreign and odd.

“Tae!” Mom shouted. “Oh, my…” A long silence followed. He could hear her sobbing, and that was enough to make Menino cry, too. Shortly she would wake Dad. Once he came to his senses, his voice grew louder and bickering ensued. He eventually synced onto the call.

“Were you kidnapped by those Busan girls?” his father asked.  

“No,” Menino said. “I’m still in Seoul.”

“So where the hell have you been?” Dad pressed.

Menino hesitated. From across the street, he saw the light switch on in his parent’s room. Silhouettes scrambled behind white curtains. He could hear them shuffling and prepping to cruise the urban jungle in search of him.

“Did you run away?” Mother chimed in.

“No,” Menino said. “I’ve been out with a friend.”

“We spoke to your friends,” Mom said. “None of them knew where you were unless they were lying to us and the police.” His father tried to speak, and another argument broke out until Mom shouted for Dad to shut up. “Just come home, okay? Everything is fine here. We’re not fighting anymore, things are different.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Menino said. “I just didn’t want to be home.”

“What?” Dad shouted. His intensity distorted the audio and left Menino’s ears ringing. “Were you with Ji-Hoon?”

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked. “Where are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

The boy looked up at the wire mesh sky, where the first hints of navy and indigo dawn shone through. Even though it seemed a siren song, something beyond Earth continued to lure humanity away. It planted nausea and anxiety in Menino and had probably done the same to his brother years ago with the promise of curing a restlessness at the bottom of their mundane souls.  

And that song had saved Vida’s people.

Menino remembered the warmth of her hands as she placed the jewel around his neck, which allowed him to summon the world with his willpower. She taught him to live for himself because that’s what the harsh vacuum taught her.

He placed a hand on his chest.

He still had Vida’s necklace.  

And Cachorro Louco was coming for her.

“Shit,” Menino said.

“Tae?” his mother asked.

“Vida’s in trouble,” he said. “I’ll be back later. I promise.” She needed him one last time, or maybe for the first time—yes, definitely the first time.

His parents stopped shuffling in the window.

“Vida?” his mother said. “Who is that?”

“Tae!” Dad shouted. “Get your ass back home!”

Menino stepped away from the street lamps and hid in the awning of a grocery store. In the same moment, his parents pulled the curtain to look outside. His mother’s face had changed, too: they now shared the same hollowed features and sunken eyes, but Mom never asked for them.

Menino hung up before his resolve could crack. He slipped away into the streets once more. He opened his terminal’s net browser and searched for works of art he thought Vida would like. Lacking words to express his anger and elation, he would show her through one masterpiece at a time.

Because he wasn’t looking ahead, Menino crashed into a moped parked outside the 24/7 deli. He and the bike fell to the ground. A side mirror snapped off and cracked against the pavement while the kid skid across the concrete, bloodying his hands and knees.  

Someone stepped out of the store holding coffee and a bag of Honey Tong Tongs.  

“What the hell are you doing?” the man asked.

Menino saw the radio on his waist and the baton beside it. A badge was pinned to his shirt.

“You alright?” The officer placed his goods on the ground, approached Menino, and extended a helping hand. “What’s the rush? You training for a track meet or something?”

“Yeah,” Menino blurted out. “I can pay for the mirror—”

“No,” the officer said. “The precinct can take care of that. Just help me pick this up. And pay attention next time.”

“Yeah,” Menino said. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.” He assisted and then rushed off again, eyes still fixed on his terminal. He was halfway down the block before he heard the officer’s radio mention a missing teen in the area.

∙∙∙  

With each thump of the subwoofer, her woes shed like dead cells. Every pass of the strobing lights wiped her spirit clean. She sank deeper into the worn leather couch and was absorbed by the room and everyone in it. She watched dancers touch skin-to-skin, hand-to-ass, thigh-to-crotch, teeth-to-flesh, and saliva-to-blood. She smelled their oxytocin and tasted twisted pain and passion in their sweat.

“Jesus,” Vida said while twirling the inhaler in her hands. “What the fuck is in this shit?”

The man who offered the drugs wouldn’t say. He wasn’t listening. They’d met at the bar not long ago and since then, he’d bestowed her neck and collarbone with more kisses than she’d ever care for in a lifetime.  

“Okay,” Vida said, “Get off before you give me herpes.” She punched him in the face. The man was beyond coherent and unwilling to back down.

“So,” he slurred, “is it true that cosmic radiation gives you two pussies?”

Vida thrust a knee into his stomach. A woman on the couch shoved a foot into his pelvis. He whimpered and fell back. The intoxicated masses trampled and tripped over him.

“I’m sorry you came to Earth to see that,” the other woman said. “Unless you came here precisely to meet trashy men. I’m not going to judge you. We all have our kinks.”

“Oh yeah?" Vida said. "What’s yours?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly boring, trust me. Sometimes I cosplay, but everyone’s doing that now. You don’t seem the type, though.”  

 “I’ve been in the BLD so long that I’d seriously consider it.”

 The woman stared at Vida for a bit with dreamy eyes and a sensuous smile. “Let me buy you a drink. I can tell it’s been a rough night for you.”

Vida laughed and shook her head, ashamed of being so transparent. “I’m flattered, but you found the right person at the wrong time. I’m here to siphon credits from everyone drunk enough to offer them.”

“Did you get some?” the woman asked. “From that guy, I mean.”

“I left him enough for the cab ride home.” Vida clumsily went for her terminal and displayed the credits in her account. She had more than enough for the power couplings, and maybe some for a stay at a hotel. There would be too many cameras and security guards, and too many people put at risk. But these could easily be her last hours on Earth. A cold shower and clean sheets were well-deserved, right?

As a side effect of the drugs, Vida nodded off into microsleeps. She dreamed of being shot out the sky by Cachorro Louco’s shuttle. Smoke filled her brittle lungs and burned her eyes. She was subsumed by roaring blue ocean and crushed by its pressure. She screamed for help until her vocal chords tore apart one fibrous strand at a time.

The inhaler dropped from Vida’s hands, and the sudden loss of its weight startled her awake. It fell onto the miserable man on the ground. He had fallen into a deep sleep some time ago.

The club was now too loud and busy and bright. It wasn’t dark enough for Vida. It wasn’t dark enough at all. She quickly stood up and thanked the woman beside her.

“Take care of yourself, Queen,” the woman said to her. “Because no one else will.”

Vida fled to the boulevard. She was alone once again stumbling about in the machinery of night while passing outdoor lounges, which lead to savory barbeque drifts and bass that vibrated the concrete, until she returned to Mojeon Bridge. The Abelha Rainha  would be dark enough, and quiet enough for her to rest in. She could curl up in her cosmic cradle and inhale the dust and cologne of her ghostly father.

But she would have to wait until nine o’clock for Ji-Hoon to open the shop. She took a seat on the ledge to watch the first bands of sunlight split the inky sky. She and Menino had done so every morning before napping ‘til noon.

“That fucking kid,” Vida mumbled to herself as the exhaustion of another twenty-four-hour romp hit hard. “Such a nerd.”

She nodded off again. Her head dipped forward. The thought of dropping into the shallow stream below no longer fazed her.

Someone grabbed Vida by the shoulder before she could fall. Their hand has heavy, cool, and metal.

“Where’s the boy?” her savior asked.

Vida looked over her shoulder despite knowing who it was. She should have felt Cachorro Louco approaching; stealth wasn’t the priority of a 300-kilogram Amazon. Algernon leaped onto the ledge soon after and stared at Vida. Surely he was begrudging their last encounter.

“Did he leave?” Cahorro Louco said. “I thought you two were an item, or that you’d at least made him into a pet. Were you too much for him to handle?”  

“Leave him alone,” Vida said.

“No, no, no.” The bounty hunter placed both hands on Vida’s shoulders and leaned into her. “You singled him out because he’s useful.” She glanced at Algernon still snarling away. “We’ve already been playing tag for years. Don’t drag this out by making me find him—or even worse, letting Algernon find him. You don’t want that.”

“It’s not that deep.” Vida rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “When I crashed in the river he jumped out to save me because you know there ain’t no fucking water on Venus. And then, after years without activity, the necklace summons the Burghers of Calais. They pulled my ship to land.”

“Ah. You think this boy has an affinity for oridium.”

Vida nodded. “How else do I explain it?”

Cachorro Louco shook her head. She offered a brief sigh as if responsible for Vida’s ignorance. “In order to manipulate matter, activated oridium needs a host with immeasurable will-to-power.”  

“So?” Vida asked. “He’s got willpower?”

“No, you fool. You do.”

Vida’s heart throbbed in her ears. Her body shook with fight-or-flight. The sun mocked her with its warmth while her body broke into cold sweat.

“Your raison d’etre,” Cachorro Louco continued. “Maybe you had forgotten your self-worth. Maybe you were lonely out there among the stars, where everyone claws for survival in the sea of dark matter.”

Like most of Vida’s memories, the last days spent with Father came in waves; it was hard to remember anything at all when rest only came between naps. But she couldn’t forget Cachorro Louco tracking them to Ceres. The bounty hunter needed one punch to end the fight, puncturing Father’s chest in a burst of blood and bone. It was only much later that Vida realized he’d gifted her, his petulant child, with a necklace she couldn’t use because she didn’t see the use.

Cachorro Louco acknowledged her sin with a simple grunt and nod.

“You should stay with the boy,” she said. “Assimilate with these people. They’ve already welcomed you, a celestial daughter of Ham, into their fold. You’re a goddess among insects.”

“The food makes me sick.”

The bounty hunter shrugged.

“Or flee to the motherland. Your ancestors are Brazilian, right? I’ll join you once I collect my bounty. It’s a fitting end for people like us. We never rest long enough to remember where we’ve been, or where we’re from.”

She sighed before spinning Vida around, reaching for her throat, and tearing off her scarf.

Vida looked down. The necklace was gone.

“Where is it?” Cachorro Louco asked.

Menino. That fucking kid still had it.

Vida punched the woman in the stomach as hard as she could. Cachorro Louco released her and Vida fell backward off the bridge. Out of habit she motioned to open a ripple in space-time, but nothing happened. She managed to land upright, and then pain shot through her already sprained ankle. There weren’t enough expletives in the world to express her agony.

Algernon quickly dropped from the bridge and splashed into the stream to face her.

“Leave her!” Cachorro Louco said.

The rat, snorting in disagreement, stayed put.

Vida climbed out of the water and ran up the slope to reach street level. With her ankle swelling by the second, she knew she’d eventually collapse. Her best bet was to go underground and ride to Ji-Hoon. Or she could abandon the Abelha Rainha  and catch a train to Busan where no one would recognize her. Or there was always the chance the embassy would accept an asylum claim—no, not a chance. She’d caused enough problems in Korea.

There was also Brazil, the bosom of the diaspora children. Getting there would be difficult, but Vida was sure she could do it. She could get a job selling shaved-ice or fruit by the beach and use the money to rent a room from a grandmother whose kids never stopped by. For breakfast, Vida could make her coffee in the morning—black, strong, almost undrinkable, like every old person liked it. And before dinner, they would pray in front of a poster of Jesus the old woman found at a bazaar sale, but Vida would notice it was actually Liam Neeson from that turn-of-the-millennium space opera, and she’d keep the secret to herself because deep down Vida was a good person.

The closest subway station was past Gwanghwamun Square where the statue of King Sejong overlooked the presidential palace. Even at that early hour, the streets were filled with commuters whose eyes and ears swallowed newscasts and net dramas. Their terminals warned them to avoid Vida as she sped by. Everyone moved out the way in unison without ever stopping to see who she was. She was fine with that. She didn’t want her arrest to be a system-wide spectacle.  

The pain in Vida’s ankle soon overwhelmed her. She lay down, hoping to rest only a short while. The crowds, jolted from their distractions, paused to look. Many likely recognized Vida from her subway shows; she undoubtedly had stolen from some of them. For a few weeks they were her neighbors, her baristas, her fellow commuters, her patrons, her dance partners, her drinking buddies, her haters, her admirers, her fetishists. Vida never cared to know a thing about them.

With police headquarters only down the street, it wasn’t long before sirens blared across the plaza. Officers established a perimeter and tried helping Vida up until they noticed Cachorro Louco and Algernon approaching at a leisurely pace.

“Aren’t you tired?” the bounty hunter asked. “Rather than learn from your father’s mistakes you follow in his stead. I won’t let you further embarrass yourself or our people.”

“Fuck you,” Vida said.

“Where’s the boy?”

Vida didn’t know. Menino was back in the fold now and would be comfortable with that solidarity. She would continue running away: she was the descendant of a slave race still seeking solace in the sea of stars and dark matter.  

“I truly am sorry,” Cachorro Louco said. “We’ll find him together.”

She whistled to Algernon. At first, the rat paced around to ward off the police. It needed room to transform into the diatom-shaped shuttle that haunted Vida’s dreams. But before it could transform, Algernon froze in place. Its hairs were raised as if catching something that flew in with the breeze.

Vida could feel it, too.

Cachorro Louco regarded her terminal as it blared with high-pitched urgency.

“That fool,” she said. “He came right to us.”

People grunted and grumbled as someone forced their way through the crowd. Vida turned around to see what it was. The sight of her naïve sidekick clearing a path brought a smile to her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked.

Menino smiled back at Vida. “She’s not leaving with you,” he told Cachorro Louco. He held the necklace in his hand for all to see.  

The bounty hunter threw her head back and laughed.

“I like you already,” she said. “I really do. But your libido’s not enough to stop me.” As she approached the boy, some chatter rose among the crowd about who he was. More officers arrived to tighten the perimeter. Some called out to Menino by name.

“Libido?” Menino asked Cachorro Louco. “You think I like Vida?”

“Don’t you?” she said.

Menino blushed. He turned to Vida.

“I hate you,” Vida said to him.

He nodded and offered his biggest grin.

“I hate you, too.”

A star gate crackled behind him. Because Vida sat outside of the rift-space, she barely caught a glimpse of the oncoming stampede before hobbling out of the way. In that second an army of terracotta soldiers poured onto the scene with swinging swords and javelins.  

At this point the human crowds scattered. Algernon gathered its wits and whipped around the plaza to combat the warriors, chomping their limbs off and tackling through their chests. The officers unbuckled their batons and defended themselves instead of striking back. Inevitably, the soldiers’ sheer numbers would compensate for their lack of durability.

One of the cavalrymen mowed through the crowds at breakneck speed. After whacking a few officers out of the way, he scooped up Menino and hoisted him onto the saddle. The warrior man changed course and charged to Vida, who hadn’t gotten very far.

“Come on!” Menino reached out to grab her.

Cachorro Louco, unperturbed by all the commotion, was two steps ahead. It took little more than a swat from her cybernetic arms to crush the brittle terracotta resistance. As the horse approached Vida, Cachorro Louco cocked her arm back and swung for the horse’s head. The mare and mounted rider crumbled under her immense force and Menino flew forward. He smacked right into the bounty hunter’s chest.

She peeled the boy off her lifting him into the air. “All this potential is—”

An arrow struck her on the temple only to break into dust. The bulk of the army congregated to her. One figure repeatedly stabbed her in the ribs, so she flicked him in the forehead, causing his face to explode.

“All this potential,” Cachorro Louco resumed, “is wasted on a boy and his unrequited love.”

Menino shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “Vida just owes me a trip to Mars.”

He found Vida in the crowd and tossed the necklace. She hopped on her good leg and snatched it from the sky. Cachorro Louco threw Menino to the ground and then turned to face her.  

Vida felt the oridium’s energy surge through her once again. Despite not knowing what the necklace would summon, whatever emerged would have to suffice.

A new rift opened and unleashed a heat wave that smacked Vida in the face. Whipping sands burst forth to blot out the sun. Vida was knocked off her feet and crouched into a ball to shield her body. Through squinted eyes, she made out a human figure stepping forth from the rift to tower above the plaza. Gradually she saw its ibis crown, braided hair, and limestone body. She was beautiful.

“Wow,” Vida said while spitting sand from her mouth and rustling it from her curls. “Queen Nefertari, it’s nice to meet you. Would you help me kick some ass?”

The queen rolled her stone eyes. She took one look at Cachorro Louco.

“Yeah,” Vida said, “her ass. Kick it.”

Algernon, who stood some meters behind Vida, shook free from a mound of sand it was buried under. The terracotta soldiers proceeded to strike but with a shriek, Algernon's body grew another four meters to match this new foe. The little clay men were inconsequential; the rat swallowed them in a single bite.

Vida crawled out of the way before Algernon charged at Nefertari. The queen took a step forward, thrust her knee at the rat, and nailed it in the jaw so hard that Vida felt the impact in her chest. Algernon dropped to the floor but quickly latched onto Nefertari’s shin and bit down until it began to crumble.

“Poke ‘em in the eyes!” Vida shouted.

The statue took Vida’s advice and shoved her thumbs into its eyes. Algernon yelped as it released her leg. In that split second Nefertari jumped over Algernon and grabbed ahold of its tail. Pivoting on her good leg, and nearly stomping on the people below, she spun the rat in circles, throwing it clear acrosss the plaza where it crashed into the façade of the performing arts center. The rat broke through one of the massive support columns and was buried underneath the falling stones.

Queen Nefertari turned to Cachorro Louco. The bounty hunter seemed so small and pathetic.

“Go ahead,” Cachorro Louco said. “‘What a cage is to wild beast, law is to a selfish man.’ All you’ve done is continue your march to misery.” Her eyes were focused on something off and far away.

Menino dusted himself and ran over to Vida. Seeing that she couldn’t stand, he sat beside her.

“Did I do alright?” he said.

Vida shrugged dissatisfaction. “Clay fighters aren’t too tough. I’m telling you, Galaga  is your thing. Stick to that.”

Noticing that Menino was also distracted, Vida looked up to see what the commotion was about. Three small shuttles were descending upon Gwanghamun Square instead of heading for the spaceport miles away. Their chrome-painted exteriors reflected the rising sun. To Vida, they looked like angels coming for the rapture.

“Who are they?” Menino asked.

“The law,” Vida said.  

The police officers, who couldn’t do much about the chaos to begin with, no longer had jurisdiction and backed away for the landing party. The remaining clay fighters kneeled on the floor and awaited their next orders. Queen Nefertari sat on King Sejong’s lap. Cachorro Louco went to Algernon to soothe the bruised beast. Menino spoke to Vida and explained his theory that the electrical street poles and their dense wire weave were metaphors for his feeling trapped in Seoul. For once, she humored him. She said that after her release from prison, they really would go to Mars for the aerial combat championships.

Truths and lies didn’t matter anymore. Vida didn’t plan on seeing him again.

∙∙∙

Three months passed.

Coverage of the event spread throughout the solar system, though no one could explain the wizardry that pulled both Emperor Qin’s clay army from China and Queen Nefertari from the facade of Ramses II's tomb. The recent theft of international art objects, in fact, seemed to congregate in the city of Seoul. Rumor spread that Korea had insurgents planted in museums around the globe, or that one of the country’s gangs had finally made it to Japanese Yakuza or Italian Mafia levels of success. The Sons of Sejong, who were present for the Moai sculpture disaster at Hongdae, happily took the credit.

Web images of the Korean and Venutian teenagers made the news cycle for a week and then vanished. Although there were dozens of independently recorded videos of the couple that fateful morning, most regarded the incident as a film PR stunt. The last time oridium was a serious problem was during the Sigma Rebellion where Martian King Orion waged war against Earth for control of the colonies. That was forty years ago: oridium mining had long since been outlawed, although drug runners always had cheap derivatives on them. But there wasn’t enough to create giant monsters or superhumans anymore.

The implausibility of that summer worked to the benefit of the United Nations Extraplanetary Commission. No suppression or smear campaign needed to be issued. The Korean government agreed to ignore the thousands of reports flooding police precincts until eventually, people stopped talking about it. The Commission could spend its time figuring out what to do about a rogue bounty hunter, a nightmarish rat, a dejected mechanic, a wayward teen, a misguided pirate, and a necklace made to fulfill some unknown but highly illegal purpose.

By the time Menino was released from custody, summer vacation had come and gone. His life would return to an absurd normalcy. Seeing a regular therapist and attending cram school were small prices to pay for the trouble he’d caused. On his first day back to the academy, his peers marveled at the fact he was still alive, and not at all dead or abducted by black smugglers. Menino wasn’t at liberty to discuss what he went through, so he told people the truth: he had been kidnapped and was rescued by the police. His abductor would go to jail for a long, long time.

Menino sat in the back of his math class that morning. His buttoned-up shirt and black tie literally and figuratively choked him. There was discussion of imaginary numbers, but like most students his attention span was so dreadfully small that he tuned out minutes later. His focus fell upon shuttles zooming over the city. The few aircraft still powered by carbon fuels left contrails that dissipated into the ether.

He never did get to fly in the Abelha Rainha .

The Abelha Rainha …

Something about the name stuck with him.

“Tae Kyoo Cho?” the instructor at the front of the classroom called. “Would you simplify the equation?”

Menino looked at the projection on the wallscreen.

“I’d prefer not to,” he said.

The classroom turned to Menino. He smiled at his audience. He suddenly remembered what that “something” was. He rose from his seat and walked out of the classroom, and then out of the school.

∙∙∙

The blaze of summer sun lingered into late September. A rare breeze made its way through the Black Light District. The day drunkards and NEETs spread their arms and lifted their shirts to cool their sweaty stomachs. The usual stench of vomit and urine were carried in the wind and filled Ji-Hoon’s garage. He took a break from changing tires on his yellow moped, reached for his mini fridge, and pulled out a Sapporo. It would certainly dull the pain in his hand, which made it impossible to work for too long.

The surgeon told him the pain was psychosomatic, and that he would eventually forget his forearm wasn’t the real thing. The faint clicks and whirrs of aluminum bone and artificial tendon would become background noise. The sensitivity in his hand would pass after callouses formed. The important thing was to keep doing regular activities: return to the garage, fix vehicles as they came to him, and ignore the blood stain on the floor. On the positive side, he could call himself a cyborg, a real trans-human, more so than the people with microchips and terminals in their skulls. Those were old hat.

Without a television—he was still saving up for a wallscreen—the sounds emanating from his arm seemed even louder. He missed the incessant chatter of his soap opera stars. Now, the only other presence in the room was the elephant hiding beneath its beige tarp.

“You still have it?”

Ji-Hoon turned around and was surprised to see his brother. Menino leaned on the doorway with his black tie undone and his white uniform damp. He dropped his backpack on the floor.

“Yeah, they must have overlooked it,” Ji-Hoon answered. “Or Cachorro Louco never told them it was here.” He checked the time on his terminal. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Can I have a beer?” Menino asked.

Ji-Hoon tossed a can across the room. The boy caught it, cracked it open, and took a swig. He still pinched his nose when he drank.

“Sorry about your hand,” Menino said.

Ji-Hoon got another drink for himself. “Don’t worry about it. I just need a few more months of rehab. Why aren’t you in school?”

“Because I remembered the Abelha Rainha."

“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” Ji-Hoon asked.

“You called the police, right?” Menino noticed the bloodstained floor. “On me and Vida?”

“I think your downtown brawl was why they showed up.” Ji-Hoon walked to the suspended ship and yanked the tarp down. It kicked up dust and aggravated his allergies. He had replaced the burned hull plating. The entire vessel was retouched in yellow and black metallic, and he even repainted the name on the fuselage. It had been good practice for his new hand. “Vida was never going to stay. Not for you.”

“That’s why I liked her,” Menino said. “She didn’t need me. I had to make myself useful.” He climbed up the ladder leading to the open cockpit and sat in the pilot’s chair. “You can fly this, right?”

“I doubt it. Maybe.” Ji-Hoon resumed repairing the moped.

Menino saw that a map of the solar system was projected onto the cockpit HUD. A blip close to Jupiter blinked on and off.

“You almost went to Jupiter,” Menino said. “Is there a prison there?”

“Yeah,” Ji-Hoon said. “Trojan Station. Biggest supermax in the system.”

“Is this ship is tied to her biometrics? I think that’s where they’re taking her. Do you know?”

“Do I know where Vida is? Why would I know that?”

“I thought you might have overheard during the trial,” Menino said. “They sent me home early.” He looked around the shop. Aside from the one moped being repaired, business was slow. “Are you busy?”

Ji-Hoon stopped to stare at the boy. “I’m not flying that ship, Tae. I don’t even have my license anymore. You’ll have to manage a long-distance relationship.” He finished his beer and went for another.

Menino leaned out of the cockpit and glared at the mechanic. “You used to be cool.”

“I’m still cool,” Ji-Hoon said with a hint of annoyance. “I just have responsibilities now. Why didn’t you tell me you ran away?”

“Because I know you don’t care.” Menino stretched his arms, outlining the bounds of the garage kingdom. “This keeps you busy all day? Hiding in your cave and fixing shitty mopeds?”

Ji-Hoon grew red in the face. “Vida wasn’t here to play house with you. She thought you were a conduit for her necklace. I’m not going to fly half a billion kilometers so she can tell you that to your face.”

“Then I’ll fly there myself.”

“You want to do Vida a favor?” Ji-Hoon said. “Leave her alone. Finish school and go to college and live the life she never had. That’s how you’ll make her happy.”

“You know,” Menino said, “she said the same thing. But you’re both hypocrites. You came back from training and all you’ve done is rot in this garage and act like a jackass.”

“And I have every right to do that!” Ji-Hoon shouted. In a fit he threw his drink at his brother. The can struck the ship, punctured, and sprayed beer mist into the air. “No one asked for your opinions or your help, Tae. Go home and get the fuck out of my face.”

Menino climbed out of the cockpit and made his way to the exit. “Vida doesn’t need to ask for help,” he said. “She’s my friend, and I’m helping her because she’s a person. But you don’t have any friends. I don’t need you telling me how to be one.” He walked over to the trash bin and spilled its contents over the ground. There were rags soaked in black grease, and cans that rolled throughout the room and into the alley outside.

Menino picked up his backpack and left.

Ji-Hoon lifted his motorbike and continued working. The afternoon was unusually quiet, and although he could no longer hear the mechanical sounds of his hand, the low ping of the Abelha Rainha ’s console rang in his ears for the rest of the day.

—END—

ABOUT NELSON ROLON

Nelson Rolon was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York and currently works in Albany as a nonprofit grant writer. He has an MFA in Television Production from Brooklyn College, where he also met his wife, Sara. He has two cats, Vanta and Muta, who never let him sleep. Saudade is his first professional publication. Follow Nelson on Twitter @oldmannelson and at nelsonrolon.com to discover his love of anime.

OCTOPUS

By Martha Darr

I know someone

who believes 

she might be a princess   

under a spell

Beautiful black

the color of sable

deep brown eyes

gently flowing limbs

She will not stay in the ocean 

with La Mère: Mother Sea

Ruler of our kingdom

Keeper of secrets

Each night I see her

wearing a crown

of seagrass moss gold

above a mantle of rainbow

Wandering the surface of the waves

arms spread wide

waiting for change

at midnight   

∙∙∙

ABOUT MARTHA DARR

Martha Darr is a poet and literary translator who speaks several languages and has a PhD in the Humanities. She has taught courses on Black Oral Tradition, Creole Languages, and African Diaspora Cultures in the Americas. Some of her writing appears in Exterminating Angel Press Magazine, Journal of American Folklore, and a bilingual anthology Knocking On The Door Of The White House: Latina and Latino Poets in Washington, D.C.

BLACK RAPUNZEL

By Doxa Zannou

At 10, the Grimm brothers, Jacob and Wilhelm,

read you bed time stories about

Snow White, Cinderella and Rapunzel—

white, blonde, skinny princesses

that inspire you to

you wash your skin with lemon each night

so it can fade, lighter.

And you tell your Mom you do not want

cornrows anymore. You want

a perm. And you want to dye

your hair blonde.

Your mother laughs and tells you

to stop dreaming.

You tell her you are wide awake.

The Grimm brothers come back

another night and tell you

there is a way to become

a princess but it will not be easy.

You whisper that you will do

anything they say.

They tell you to wear

your best dress and come with them.

They nod at each other,

their crinkly faces silver

In the moonlight.

You ask them where you

are going because your Beninese

passport has expired but they say shh,

ask no more questions.

20 years later, you are under  

the same moon, sitting by a single

window in a tall, cement tower.

Outside, the green fields stretch

away from you, taunting.

You do not remember the last time

you ran under an open sky.

The Grimm Brothers left you here

and said all you had to do was wait

for your prince charming to come,

and you would become a princess.

They put you in a nice, furnished room.

You didn’t have to cook or clean the

house or do homework or

mash tomatoes on stone for hours

or sweep the sandy yard, water the plants,

or wash your own clothes by hand

every Saturday. So you stayed.

It was a good deal.

For the first week.

When you asked to explore

the land, they had burst out laughing.

Oh no, little girl,

there is no leaving now

unless…you do not want to be a

princess anymore? You

stopped asking after that.

Now you look outside,

and lean as far out as you can without

toppling over. The rush of

hooves is all you want to hear.

He must come, he will come

and when he does, you will be ready.

Your blow dryer and flat iron

lie at hand, on your desk.

Your hair is long but it will not

be able to fall down the tower unless

it is stretched out. And even then,

you know it will not be long enough.

but who cares? Your prince

will be ready.

Another year goes by.

The same routine.

Hair straightened every other week

glossy and blonde

as you sit by the window.

Some nights you want him

so bad you hear the hooves

thundering in. But when

you look, it is only the trees

bristling in the breeze.

You are so tired.

You miss your parents

and your sisters.

You wonder if they know

what happened.

You brush your hair

and hate the fact the bristles

don’t snag on a

recalcitrant curl. Your hair

is so dull and flat.

You are tired

and for the first time,

you want to leave more than you

want to stay.

But there is no door;

no staircase, no way out of this room.

And your hair is still not long enough

to reach the ground of the tower.

So you climb the window’s ledge

stare at the moon, take a deep breath

and jump.

Maybe if your bones break

you will find your way back home.

∙∙∙

ABOUT DOXA ZANNOU

Doxa Zannou is from Benin, West Africa. She earned her Bachelor in Creative Writing and Psychology and aspires to be a writing therapist. She loves to write poems, essays, and short stories about human nature and peculiar human experiences.

INDIE SPOTLIGHT  

The road to publication is not easy for anyone and comes with a number of hurdles. For black writers, these challenges are multiplied and because of institutional issues, the path seems almost impossible. But the resiliency of black folks always finds a way and for many black SFF writers that way was in the form of self-publishing. At FIYAH, we do not snub our noses at those writers who chose this path. We salute them because they have decided to embark on a journey by themselves that in traditional circumstances would involve a team. So we wish to acknowledge those black indie SFF writers out there working hard and dropping a good product.

This issue’s feature is Antoine Bandele’s THE KISHI:

AN AFRICAN FANTASY INSPIRED BY THE ANGOLA FOLKLORE OF THE KISHI!

The Kishi—shape-shifting demons who lure young women to gruesome deaths.

They can’t be real, can they?

Something has slain a villager, and the locals point their fingers at Amana, a pacifist monk running from his dark past. But Amana knows there’s something else, something much darker, lurking in the village. Can he save the village, his name, and his principles? To save one would mean the sacrifice of the others, if he has the strength.

The first chapter lies in the pages that follow. Visit our website to read an interview with the author and support the work by purchasing it at the link below.

PURCHASE HERE    |   INTERVIEW

THE KISHI

By Antoine Bandele

Chapter 1

The Man With No Name.

Everything about him was perfect.

He danced like a leopard, and sang like a nightingale. Though sweat dripped down his muscles, he smelled as fresh as fruit. He was well-mannered and considerate to man, woman, and child alike. Everyone loved him. And that laugh! So infectious. It lit up the surrounding space, casting a perfect aura around his head. This man truly had no flaws.

Yet Imani did not know what he looked like, nor did she know his name.

It had been several hours since the festival had begun. The village celebrated a visiting nation—the Ya-Seti if Imani had heard the soldiers correctly. She’d lost all sense of time. It felt like only a few moments since she had sneaked away from home, slipping out her window, her mother and father none the wiser. Imani thought she had woken them when she crushed the bean plants underfoot. She had cursed at herself, tiptoeing around the other plants as she walked the never-ending farmland.

Imani had never been to the Great Village of Bajok, at least never to its central festival grounds. Her father only let her go to the outskirts to trade their harvest every so often.

“No need to intermingle with this sort,” her father had said one day at the market. “This village is becoming more and more … ambitious. Look at that hut there; it’s twice, no, three times as big as ours. What’s the need for it?”

It didn’t matter to Imani. All she cared about was what the village would have in store for  her . The Great Village stood atop a small plateau, surrounded by a mud wall five times as tall as a man stood. Her father was right—the huts were grand, even more so at the village’s central grounds. Some of the huts stacked one on top of the other, rising high. The Great Village dwarfed her family’s farm at least ten times over.

The festival’s sights and sounds overtook Imani. There was a drum circle, in which men fought while holding hands in some strange ritual. Their faces were bloody from the combat. Women laughed as they twisted and turned to the beat of the drums. They all wore long blue skirts with white tops.

Imani knew their tops represented the glow of the two moons and that the blue bottoms signified the rivers and oceans. As the women danced, they looked like tiny moons shifting the waters of the world.

The villagers were beautiful, all of them. It seemed like they all had eyes of golden brown, and their skin was flawless. Perhaps it was the energy in the village that made them so beautiful. Each woman wore a wide smile, and the men’s laughter was alluring.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” her friend said when she found Imani in the throng of villagers. Like Imani, Yejide wore a blue skirt with a white top.

“It doesn’t look this big from the markets.” Imani didn’t want to take her eyes off any of it, but the sight of Yejide’s teeth made her wince. “Did you use the licorice root like I told you to?”

Yejide stopped smiling, covering her mouth. “I was so excited I forgot.”

“Here, take this.” Imani offered Yejide her own root from her skirt.

“Thanks,” Yejide said as she cleaned her teeth. White teeth didn’t matter much out in the farmlands—at least, not most of the time. It was an honest mistake. But if Imani were to blend in with the villagers, she couldn’t have her friend walking about with yellowed teeth.

A man in a large mask pounded the ground in front of Imani as Yejide used the root discreetly. At first, the man stomped slowly. Imani scrunched up her face as though she smelled a nasty odor. She’d had many suitors before, and no man had yet impressed her. But something about the way this man moved caught her attention. He rolled his hips in a rhythmic circle. The reflection of the festival fires flickered atop his chest as he held out a hand. Imani could not take her eyes off that gyration; it was … hypnotic.

“Thank you,” Yejide cut in. “But we are dancing together.”

In truth, neither of them had been dancing. Yejide tried a simple two-step to sell her lie, but that did not deter the man. Nor did it deter Imani.

Imani took the man’s hand and mimicked his tempo. They danced atop the soft ground. Imani’s heart pounded under her breast, and her breath quickened, though from the dancing or from the man, she couldn’t decide.

Yejide would not be left out and went to find a man of her own, pulling an eager participant from the crowd. She and her new partner danced in circles around one another. But Imani took no notice, her attention locked on her own cohort.

“Feel the rhythm of the sister spirits. Let your arms take up your skirt and move them like the moons shift the waters,” the man said.

Imani lifted her blue skirt; she at least got that part right. The custom of these festivals was to wear such things. Yejide did the same with her partner, mimicking Imani. Both did their best not to attract the wrong attention. A pair of farm girls had to look like regular villagers.

But Imani couldn’t get the dance right. Her partner, however, was perfect. His moves represented the spirits of the earth. He stomped the ground as though to call the elemental spirit Himself. Imani watched him, letting the man’s own dancing spirit fill her.

“That’s it. Relax. Follow the drums; they will guide your feet.” He gave her a full smile—it was all she could see through the hole of his ceremonial mask. His teeth were straight and as white as the moons. Imani hopped and skipped like the waves of the ocean.

“You see that? You’re a natural.” The man stomped his feet again. Thump, thump. “Now turn around me.”

Imani did as he asked. Like the other women, she twisted around him like water crashing around a rock. The singers in the drum circle sang their hymn.

This is Esowon; this is Esowon.

Water over rocks, this is how it starts.

Water’s the hands of the painter.

Rock’s the canvas of the artist.

“You’re not from the village, are you?” The man turned on his heel and clapped twice.

“That obvious?” Imani’s cheeks went red.

He shrugged while holding the tempo of the drums. Imani bit her lip; he never missed a beat.

“Strictly, I’m of Bajok, but I serve as a farmhand.”

“Your beauty is wasted on the beans,” the man said, voice muffled by his mask.

Imani blushed. She turned away, feeling silly. What had come over her?

“You don’t have to be bashful.” The man pulled her chin back up with his finger. His touch was gentle. “Come, drink with me.”

The man guided Imani by the small of her back. Yejide looked over her partner’s shoulder, keeping a close eye on Imani. When Imani met her friend's eyes, the stupor she’d felt during the dance left her.

“Wait, I can’t,” she said. “My friend—”

“Can join us if she likes.” The man flashed a smile. He waved a hand at Yejide and her dancing partner. Yejide waved her skinny arm back, beaming as she skipped toward them.

“I was offering your friend a drink if you wanted to join—”

“We’d love to! Right?” Yejide turned a hawk-like gaze toward her partner, who shrugged.

The group drifted from the drum circle, where others still danced, kicking up the soft dirt in a whirlwind. To Imani, the dust clouds and the fluttering blue dresses reminded her of the stories her mother had told her.

“This is how the world was created by the Gods,”  her mother had told a young Imani while dancing at their farm. Her movements had been like magic.

As they moved toward the drinks, the man kept the beat of the drum with his steps. When they approached the jugs of wine, his sweat had already dried.

“Have you had our palm wine before?” He grabbed a jug.

“My father only lets me have some on our first harvest.” Imani clutched her wrist. Why was she so nervous?

“You can have as much as you’d like here.” He turned to the man watching over the wine. “Isn’t that right, friend?”

“Fine by me. The Chief says we can drink our fill today,” the wine man said, swaying dizzily. He’d already had his own taste.

Yejide was slow to drink, but her partner took a generous swig from the large jug.

“It’s so … sour,” Yejide said with pinched eyes.

Imani drank as much as she could until it burned her throat. “What is all this?” She pointed toward the festivities.

“You see there?” The man nodded toward the far end of the festival grounds. “That’s our Great-Chief and the Kor of Ya-Seti.”

“The Kor?” Imani tried to follow the man’s gaze.

“The ruler of the Ya-Seti. And the Kor’de is his ruling-wife. They come far from the east, almost to the Sapphire Seas.”

That’s a long way to travel, Imani thought. Through the mass of the villagers’ waving hands and turning bodies, she found where the royal men sat. The Great-Chief was there, wearing his ceremonial mask of war. She’d never seen him so close before. He was the primary reason for their prosperity. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a warrior through and through, the strongest of all the men in their village.

Next to him sat an impossibly old-looking man. His skin was wizened beyond belief, hair grayer than a sheep’s. Yet he wore a golden crown twice as tall as his head, and glistening around its brim were two silver snakes. A gold sash sat atop the elaborate white silks that stretched from his torso down to his heels.

Next to the pair were two war elephants, also decked in gold. One had gold chains falling from its tusks; the other, an entirely gold mask. Each elephant carried a cart on its back, in which a trio of archers was perched.

“I didn’t know there was so much gold in the entire world,” Yejide said, her mouth wide in disbelief.

“It’s a big show, really. They want to make a good impression on the Chief. And we want to make a good impression on them—is the drink too sour? I can get you another.” The man pointed at Imani’s drink. She blushed and took another sip. Already her skin tingled from the wine.

“You see, they want to marry off their daughter to the Great-Chief’s first son. This is all a show of respect.”

Imani looked at the young woman sitting next to the visiting Kor. She was gorgeous with her long neck and smooth skin. Like her father, she wore long white silks, but her head was draped with a silver headpiece.

“She’s the bride to be, I assume?” Imani nodded to the woman. “She’s beautiful.”

“For a Ya-Seti. The best women are right here in Bajok.”

Imani blushed again—she needed to stop doing that. Yejide was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

Before Imani could give her friend a look back, a small girl brushed against her leg. She was crying.

“What’s wrong?” Imani knelt.

“The boys won’t let me play with them,” the girl sobbed.

“Don’t worry; we’ll play with you,” the man said before Imani could respond.

He swung the small girl atop his shoulders and danced again. The girl squealed with joy, holding on to the man’s mask.

Imani smiled. Watching him dance with the girl warmed her heart. Something unnatural within her made her want to join him. She downed the rest of her wine and trotted up to them, taking the man’s hand and holding on tight.

“Well, come on, let’s go.” Yejide grabbed her partner's wrist.

After a few dances, the little girl ran off to her mother and brothers with a beaming smile. Imani and the man went along with her to where her family was sharing peanut soup and fufu . The little girl gave the man most of hers, and the man gave his share to Imani. The dish would have been too hot for her if the fufu had not absorbed most of the spicy soup.

Yejide still danced with the other villagers. Imani was not sure how she had lost her friend, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, her attention locked on the man.

She smiled as he told jokes to the family. Even though he laughed at his own jokes, she couldn’t help but chuckle herself. Her sides were hurting when the village shaman cleared the drum circle.

“Brothers and Sisters of Bajok!” the shaman bellowed with a staff in his right hand. The village went silent. He wore a large headpiece made of palm and twine. A jeweled crystal covered one of his eyes, and his shoulders were draped in straw. One of his shoulders was plastered with a small ceremonial mask. Imani couldn’t tell what the face was, but she assumed it represented Deh’ala, the Gatekeeper spirit. Besides that, the shaman wore nothing else save for straw that covered his manhood and ankles. His body was painted bright blue with a few white streaks across his face.

“Let us welcome our brothers and sisters from the far lands of Ya-Seti!” The audience tapped their chests lightly, but the shaman shook his head. “That will not do. How will the spirits know of this union with such silent tongues? I say again, let us welcome our family from Ya-Seti!”

This time, the crowd pounded their chests so hard Imani could feel them through the ground. She joined in on the gesture, driven by the sheer energy emanating from the village. With the last round of cheers, wisps of smoke swirled from the fires surrounding the drum circle.

The shaman waved a hand, and the drummers of the circle came to his side. For a moment, it was silent as the crowd waited for the shaman’s next move. He placed his hand in the soft dirt below, lifting it as though he were holding a newborn child aloft. He clasped his hands together and shook the sand. The drummers thumped on their hides, keeping the shaman’s beat. This was important if they were to manifest the spirit—both shaman and drum had to be in unison. He turned in circles, shouting in the language of the Old Spirits. Imani could only make out some of the names, such as Deh'ala.

After a few moments, the shaman cast the sand, pinch by pinch, into the fire pits surrounding him and his drum circle. Each fire went out the moment earth touched it. For what felt like an eternity, everything was dark. Only the stars lit the village circle. The shaman, the drum circle, the entire village, and its visitors remained still and silent.

And then, fire and rock surged twenty paces in the air.

It was stark white and bright as day—like no fire Imani had ever seen. Spirits shot out from these white flames. Imani couldn’t put the names to the shapes, but she felt their power within the circle. A few strides away, a woman shouted in joy. A few yards from that, a frail elder jumped up and stomped the ground like a newborn zebra.

“Spirits of Bajok! You have blessed us with your presence here! Is it assumed this marriage paints itself in Ula’s stars?”

Imani turned to the man she’d spent all this time with, but he was no longer there. The little girl and her family remained, enamored with the sights that flickered before them. But where had the man gone? She didn’t even know his name, or even worse, what he looked like. She stood, and another brilliant light flashed above the shaman.

“Ula! Great Spirit of the Cosmos,” the shaman began as a great wisp in the shape of a woman floated down in front of him. “Please, will the First Son of Bajok and our new sister of Ya-Seti join us!”

From the grand stage, the bride and groom-to-be stepped down to join the shaman and the spirits. A villager handed the Ya-Seti Princess a ceremonial mask. The First Son wore a large black mask with white markings, not unlike the man Imani had enjoyed her night with. Like the Great-Chief, the First Son also wore an elaborate headpiece—though less prominent, of course.  The Princess now wore a large white mask with holes for her eyes. The markings on her mask were swirls like small suns.

“Please, young ones, sit among our spirits and ancestors.” The shaman waved an inviting hand to the surrounding space. They sat next to him without protest. “Please, Great and Powerful Ula, tell us if this is the right path for these two young souls!”

The spirits shifted and coiled around the pair, some passing straight through them. Goosebumps protruded from their skin. Imani swore she could feel them, too, as though the judgement of the spirits did not pass only through the would-be Chief and his future wife, but through the entire village. Were the spirits asking if the village approved of this marriage, as well? Imani knew nothing of the Great-Chief, his son, or these foreign Ya-Seti. She would have to entrust the decision to the spirits and ancestors.

The marriage spirit called Ula spoke. The voice was unlike anything Imani had ever heard. It was neither human nor animal; it was … alien. But the shaman, a vessel between the spirits and the mortals, translated.

“ The man. The woman ,” the shaman began in a distorted voice. His eyes were stark white, and the jeweled crystal shone violet. “ Match, they could be. But this village still carries dark spirits and unnatural demons .”

“Tell us where these demons are, and we will cast them away!” the shaman proclaimed in his own voice again. It was strange how the shaman could go from speaking in the spirit’s voice to his own so quickly.

"These demons are difficult to see. Neither mortals nor spirits. Our vision does not see them clearly. Be wary, Children of Bajok. ”

The Great-Chief stepped forward. “Impossible; we rid our village of those vile beasts ages ago!” Because he didn’t have his mask on, his red, flushed face could be seen openly.

“Our Chief speaks the truth. We have no—” said the shaman.

"Something dark remains!" the spirit shouted. "This marriage cannot be claimed. ”

And then the white plumes crashed back into the fire pits. For a moment, the village was sheltered in darkness. Bajok and Ya-Seti alike were hushed. Slowly, the fires rose again to light the drum circle. The villagers of Bajok all looked to their Chief, who was still red-faced. The few Ya-Seti looked to their Kor. He remained unmoved.

“The Ya-Seti are demons!” one woman shouted from across the circle.

One of the foreigners shouted back in a language Imani could not understand.

“Leave! We don’t want you here!” another villager cursed.

Another Ya-Seti, a handmaiden by the looks of her, clenched a fist and scowled.

“Silence!” the Great-Chief bellowed. “This is not how we treat our brothers and sisters from the east. These dark spirits remain our own. The Ya-Seti have nothing to do with it.”

The Great-Chief looked to each person from his village, the powerful eyes of a father. There was a reason he was their leader. “It was my belief these demons were gone, and we’ve yet to see evidence they have returned.”

“What about those dead girls?” one villager said.

“Those were animal attacks!”

“The spirits don’t say that!”

“The spirits didn’t say anything at all!”

Imani looked for the man again. What was his damned name? The shaman raised his staff, then struck it against the earth. The dirt cracked. Dust rose and fell.

“You dare speak against the Great-Chief?” he shouted. His blue skin lit up as he spoke.

The clamoring voices settled.

“If these demons have returned, it is my obligation to destroy them again,” the Chief continued. He pointed his large finger at the villager who had shouted out of turn. “Those girls died to animal attacks.”

Silence.

“I trust that the people of Bajok will keep us safe during this time,” said the Ya-Seti bride-to-be. “In my homelands, we are often tested like this. Not by our ancestors, or our spirits, but by the elements and our own enemies. My father, our Kor, has taught us that men should be given the chance to prove themselves before we cry out against them. Are these festivals not held to cleanse the village of such evil spirits?”

“They are,” said the Great-Chief. “And thank you, young Shanaki. Already I can see you will prosper within our great village.”

“All due credit to my Kor-father.” She gestured to the old man gracefully who returned her nod slowly.

“So, should we not continue this cleanse?” Shanaki asked.

“Indeed, we should! Drummers!” The shaman gestured to them.

Once again, they pounded their hides and sang beautiful melodies. But it wasn’t enough. Though the village went back to eating, drinking, and dancing, the feeling wasn’t the same. There was an air of darkness.

Imani looked for the man again but couldn’t find him anywhere. She turned to the young girl she had played with earlier.

“Have you seen the man I was with?” Imani asked kindly.

The little girl shook her head, braids flying to and fro. Imani kept looking. He was no longer in the dance circle. None of the men in masks were him; they didn’t dance as smoothly as he had.

She returned to the man serving the palm wine, but he had not seen her suitor either. Imani even went over to the fighting circle, but he wasn’t there.

For a moment, Imani thought she’d never find him again. Maybe he had been a figment of her imagination. But no, he had played with the girl, and the wine server remembered him well enough. And Yejide! She had stepped between them before they’d parted ways.

Maybe she’d made a bad impression. Perhaps he was off with another beautiful girl, dancing and sharing fruit with her instead.

“Does your father know you’re here?” a voice behind her said. Imani frowned. It was Nanga.

“That’s really none of your concern.” She turned around to face him. He was a Bajok warrior with broad shoulders and a chiseled body—but a terrible attitude.

“Seeing as my job is to protect Bajok with my life, I would say it is my business.” Nanga crossed his arms, his spear clutched in one hand. “I won’t tell your father if you give me a smile.”

Imani scoffed. “You are ever the charmer. It’s a wonder you haven’t married.”

Nanga only smiled. This was the type of man Imani had hoped to avoid, the kind of suitor that made her cringe. She needed to find a way out.

“Thank you, Nanga. I was looking all over for her.” That voice … It was the man! That graceful man. Before she turned, she knew it was him. He smelled of sweet desert flowers just as before. But how could he? He had been dancing and sweating all night.

He still wore that mask, though. She’d have to fix that as soon as she could.

“I was speaking to her first,” Nanga interjected.

“Shouldn’t you be on the northern edges of the village?” the man asked. Nanga dropped his head. Something was wrong. Nanga never backed down so easily.

Nanga’s frown twisted further down his mouth. Imani felt something in the air. It was intangible, but it ran through her like a dark cloud. “Yes, I guess I should go back to my post.” Nanga turned on his heel and left.

“Sorry about all that,” the man said, touching Imani’s shoulder. The sensations she’d felt before evaporated. The man felt so warm, so … right.

“Let’s leave here, now.” Imani took his hand and started away from the festival grounds.

“Imani!” It was Yejide. She had lost her partner. “What are you doing?”

Imani stopped. The man took a polite step away, though he stood close enough to listen.

“We were supposed to leave together.” Yejide’s eyes were sharp but hurt. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing at all,” Imani said, though she had a hard time keeping her balance.

“You’re never like this,” Yejide said. She stepped in closer to whisper to Imani. “What’s so special about this one?—Well, I get it: nice body, kind, affectionate, and his face—Wait, we’ve not even seen his face! We don’t even know who he is! It’s like the story of Ife…”

“Well, I guess I’ll find out,” Imani answered.

“By yourself?”

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“Your father would not approve.” Yejide crossed her tiny arms.

“Good thing he’s not here,” Imani shot back. “Your father wouldn’t approve of you being here, either.”

“It’s a bad idea, Imani, that’s all I’m saying. Something feels wrong about that man.” Yejide stole a glance at him. He waited patiently, tapping his feet to the beat of the drum like he had no care in the world.

“Well, I have a good feeling about him. I can’t explain it.” Imani turned to the man. She couldn’t wait anymore. She needed to be with him now. But why? Yejide was right; he was a bit too  perfect.

What’s wrong with that? Imani thought. That’s what they were looking for in the first place, right? Yejide is just jealous.

“Just trust me, okay?”

“No!” Yejide shouted, tugging at Imani’s arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Let go of me!” Imani pushed back. “You can’t keep me from him! Just because no man wants your skin-and-bones doesn’t mean I can't have any fun.”

Yejide’s eyes watered. They had been friends for years, and Imani had never raised her voice at Yejide. Everything felt wrong, yet the man felt so right. What was happening to her?

“Is everything okay?” said the man. When he placed his hand on Imani’s back, she forgot all about her worry and how she had hurt Yejide.

“Let’s go.” Imani grabbed the man again.

“Are you sure everything is fine?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to the now crying Yejide.

“Everything is perfect,” Imani said. “Hurry, before someone else stops us.”

It did not take long for Imani and the man to cross the outskirts of the village. The sounds of the drums went from loud thumps to indistinct pats. Imani stopped near a riverbed.

“Any farther and the beasts of the night will find us.” The man chuckled.

“I’m with you; you’ll protect us,” Imani answered.

“You haven’t even seen me fight.”

“I don’t have to.” Imani still clutched his hand. “Why do you cover your face?”

The man’s laughter subsided.

“Are you…” Imani whispered.

“Ugly? Disfigured? Both? No, I’m just—”

“Let me see your face.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m trying to be good.”

“Good is for the priests and the shaman. I want to see your face.”

The man shook his head at first. But after a short while, he agreed. He turned away from Imani as he removed his mask. His head was covered with well-maintained locs that flowed down his shoulders—though the sides of his head were bare.

Slowly, the man showed his face, the light of the moons shimmering atop his dark skin. Imani was first taken by his eyes. They were a golden brown, like the other villagers, but they were … moving? No, they couldn’t be. The inside of eyes didn’t move. But they were more beautiful than any sunrise Imani had ever seen.

The man’s skin was too smooth to be real, no blemishes, no wrinkles, not even the dark shadow men had around their cheeks. His nose was a perfectly round shape and his lips …

That smile. His perfect teeth lit up brighter than the moons. Imani thought she heard music, but there was no music at all. She could still see the lights of the village in the distance, but the music was too far away to hear. No, this music came from him. It was that infectious laugh again. It was almost like a song.

Imani could have sworn she’d seen his face before. She just couldn’t place it.

“I’ve seen you on the plains before … what’s your name?”

The man answered, but Imani couldn’t hear the response. His beauty confounded her mind. She was drunk on more than palm wine.

Before she knew it, the man’s lips were on her neck, softly pecking. He moved his mouth down, lifting her shirt, his tongue lightly brushing her navel. Imani’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. She’d felt nothing like this before.

Imani touched the man’s face and pressed it against her own, tasting his sweet mouth, tracing his lips with her own. She let him touch her throbbing breasts as he kissed her harder and harder. Imani didn’t mind. She wanted him to bite, wanted him to let her bleed. Imani’s hands went to the back of the man’s hair, but she felt something odd.

Where she expected to find smooth and soft skin was a growing lump. She could have sworn she felt—no it couldn’t be—a nose? A snout, even?

The man’s kisses were too hard now; his gentle love bites were more than painful.

“Slow down.” Imani pushed him with her free hand.

But he wouldn’t stop. He pressed his jaw harder against her throat. Her hand on the back of his head was being engulfed by—teeth?

“What is this?” Imani’s heart pounded harder. Before she could pull her hand away, there was a crunch. Pain shot down Imani’s arm. It didn't make sense—the back of the man’s head had bitten Imani’s hand. Yet the pain was real. Imani screamed but was silenced by the crunch of her own neck.

Then she fell.

The young woman looked to her hand that was no longer there, replaced now with a bloody stub. She tried to scream again, but she had no throat. Terror filled her now. The man towered above her—no, not a man, a beast. A dark spirit. A demon.

The man was now on all fours, but his joints were impossibly crooked and bending backward. The back of his head was no longer his back but his front. Peeking through the part in his locs was the face of a hyena, cackling and laughing; the same laugh that had sounded so beautiful just moments ago. Its mouth was matted with blood, and it was salivating.

The last thing Imani saw was a bloody maw enveloping her face.

∙∙∙

ABOUT ANTOINE BANDELE

Antoine Bandele is an Amazon Bestselling author of African Literature. He lives in Los Angeles, CA with his girlfriend, where he produces work on YouTube for his own channel and others, such as JustKiddingFilms, Fanalysis, and more. During the summer he is a camp counselor. Whenever he has the time he’s writing his debut series: Tales from Esowon.

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Gumroad, Kwesi Jawahir, Imani Josey, Cecelia Larsen,

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