by Lisa McMann
Samheed hesitated as well. The boy’s sullen look had mostly worn off his face by now. “Mr. Today? You missed one. Where does that hallway lead?” he asked.
Mr. Today looked to where the boy was pointing, and then regarded Samheed carefully for a short moment. “Hmm,” he said, scratching at his electric hair. He wore a strange, curious smile on his face. “I’m surprised you can see it, Samheed.”
Magic and Art
Lani and Meghan made their way down the long hallway in search of their rooms in the mansion. Meghan’s door called out to her almost immediately, as it was located near the entrance to the balcony. After a quick exchange and a reminder to meet in the lounge later, Lani continued down the hallway alone. All the other new children had found their rooms as well by now, so the hallway was eerily silent.
Lani walked slowly past more statues, who nodded to her cordially if she looked at them, and bright square things on the walls—paintings, Mr. Today had called them—of all colors and sizes. As she neared the end, growing more and more concerned that there would be no door calling out her name, one burst open, and a smallish, yellowish, featherish figure emerged. Lani startled and nearly screamed, because it is one thing to see a magical creature when in the company of others, and quite another thing entirely to have one nearly upon you when you’re alone.
But it was worry for nothing. The feathery creature—its body might have looked like a platypus if it weren’t so feathery, and its beak was definitely parrotlike—seemed more frightened of Lani than Lani seemed of her. “Squee squah!” the creature cried out in a high-pitched voice.
“I beg your pardon,” Lani said, stepping back.
“I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon,” repeated the creature.
And Lani, feeling bold—after all, when you’ve been marked for elimination, everything else seems easy—bent down and held out her hand. “My name is Lani,” she said.
The creature waddled up to Lani, clamped its beak lightly on Lani’s finger, and then mimicked the girl, saying, “My name is Lani.” And then it erupted into a puffball of giggles and ran madly down the hallway, wings flapping, shouting, “Lani, Lani, Lani!” all the way to the end.
Lani watched in shock until the platyprot—for that is what it was—disappeared. If her name is Lani too, then how will I know which room is mine? Lani wondered. But the platyprot’s doorway didn’t beckon to Lani as she passed it.
Finally, Lani approached the end of what she had thought might be a never-ending hallway. “Good evening, Lani!” greeted the last door on the right in a very cheerful voice. The door swung open, and Lani walked inside.
And while several magical things awaited Lani inside her room, she was so overwhelmed and exhausted that it was impossible for her to do anything except sink into an overstuffed chair. Lani was amazed at its softness, for all she had ever known were harsh wooden seats and worn-out bedrolls on the floor. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment—it had been a very long day. Before anyone could say, “Jim the winged tortoise,” she was asleep.
Elsewhere in the girls’ hall, Meghan explored her room and was delighted to find that it was nearly as large as an entire Quill house, with a sitting area, a bedroom, and a lovely bathroom with pretty soaps, fluffy towels, and a bubbling waterfall bathtub. In the drawers and closets was everything a girl could ask for and infinitely more, since Quillens were accustomed to living in very sparse conditions. Here all the clothes were exactly the right size, and the styles and colors complemented Meghan’s personality and skin tone. The bed was not the simple rolled cot she’d known—this was soft and cushiony and raised up from the floor. The walls were decorated in soft, calm colors of blue and green that changed from bright to muted with Meghan’s mood and with the passing of afternoon into evening. It was simply dreamy.
Meghan didn’t know quite what to think about the spacious quarters, the design, the unusual objects that were placed about the room, yet she found the place utterly enchanting.
And indeed it was. Both enchanting … and enchanted. Her room had a large rectangular screen on the wall, like a black chalkboard, with information scribbled on it. It kept the time and alerted her to upcoming activities and events, and all she had to do to find out more about a particular something was to touch the word, or ask the board a question. If she didn’t wish the board to announce things randomly out loud, she just pressed a button called SHUSH on the board. If she wanted a snack and didn’t feel like walking all the way down to the kitchen, there was a corner of the blackboard that was marked PANTRY. If Meghan touched it, she could view the contents of the kitchen pantry and send something up by tube.
Ah, and the tube! Each room in the mansion was equipped with a large corner tube made of glass. An opening had been cut into its side. It looked like a very tall cylinder with a platform on which to stand, and a miniature blackboard inside offered the various destinations available at that particular time.
As Meghan explored her room, she found a stack of papers with unusual lines and markings on them; they made no sense to her at all, so she put them aside. She also discovered a basket full of long metallic rods and wooden sticklike things of various sizes, all containing small holes and tiny levers. Cautiously, Meghan touched a wooden stick, and then picked it up with both hands, feeling the solid weight of it. She rolled it in her hands curiously, pushed a small metal lever near the center and released it, and then peered into the hollow end, which opened up like a big O.
“An oboe is a musical instrument.”
Meghan whirled around at the voice, but saw no one.
“You place the other end in your mouth, and blow into it. Like this.” Meghan’s blackboard lit up, and a picture of a beautiful woman appeared. The woman wet her lips, then placed her mouth on the instrument and blew into it. She moved her fingers on the levers, and a lovely, mournful tune came out of it. “Now you try it,” the woman said, looking directly into Meghan’s eyes as if she were right there in the room.
“I—I—” Meghan looked at the oboe. She turned it around, and the woman in the blackboard showed Meghan how to hold it properly. Meghan copied the hand positions, and then wet her lips and blew.
“A little harder,” the woman encouraged. “And keep your tongue near it.”
Meghan tried again, and the oboe squeaked.
The woman smiled warmly. “Lovely. We’ll work on that a little each day. Until next time, then.”
The woman faded to black, and words appeared once again. Meghan quickly put the basket of instruments away when she saw that it was nearly time for her to meet her brother.
She gazed in her closet, somewhat overwhelmed by all the clothes that hung there, and after much consideration chose a pale green dress. Looking curiously in the bathroom mirror, she fussed with her hair. She stared at the clear box on the counter, clueless as to what the various ribbons and bows contained within were for. She picked them up and examined them carefully.
When it was almost eight o’clock, she went to the blackboard, not at all sure how to get to the lounge, but finding the word “lounge” in large letters written on the board, she touched it. The blackboard shimmered like liquid, and a face pressed through, as if it were wearing a black silky mask. The face smiled.
“Good evening, Meghan. My name is Evelyn, and I am your blackboard. To get to the lounge, please enter the glass tube in the corner of your room. On the miniature blackboard inside the tube, press the word ‘lounge,’ and you’ll be there in no time.”
“Um … thank you, Evelyn.” Meghan entered the tube, biting her lip nervously, took a deep breath, and pushed the word “lounge” on the small board. She didn’t even have time to close her eyes before the scene changed—it was almost as if her room became the lounge. She stepped out of the glass tube and looked at her surroundings.
The lounge was enormous—three times the size of the kitchen. Dozens if not a hundred people as well as a few odd-looking creatures chatted and danced and laughed with each
other. A band played fast music in the corner, and in the center of the room was a large circular island counter with stools all around.
There were no gathering places like this in Quill—letting people gather during leisure time was dangerous. Everyone knew that; it just wasn’t allowed. So Meghan was quite unsure of the lounge, for she could draw nothing from her memory with which to compare it.
As Meghan stood uncertainly with her back to the tube, trying very hard to remember what her brother looked like and wondering how much he might have changed in the past five years, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around.
It was Alex. “Whoa, the tube is completely wacky, isn’t it, Meg? I’ve been all around already!”
Meghan sighed in relief. “I’m so nervous,” she said. “What if I can’t find my brother?”
Alex shrugged. “Well, use the blackboard, then.”
“How?”
“Just go over to it and ask it to find him. I’ll bet it can do that. It can do everything! What have you been doing all this time, taking a nap?” Alex took a good look at her. “What the—what’s that in your hair?” He laughed and pointed at the ribbon Meghan had finally decided to tie around her ponytail. He was completely baffled.
Meghan ignored him and walked over to the blackboard. “Hello,” she said uncertainly. A shimmering face pressed outward from the center of the blackboard, just as Evelyn had done in her room.
“Hello, Ms. Ranger.” This blackboard had a male voice, and he stretched out the a sound in her last name lazily.
“I’m looking for my brother. Sean. Sean Ranger. Um …”
“Ohhhh, delighted to help,” the board replied. It cleared its throat. Immediately the room’s sound was muted, though no one seemed to notice. The band played as usual, people continued in conversation, but there was no sound at all until the blackboard spoke again. “Sean Ranger, your poor dear sister is standing here in the lounge waiting for you, you dolt.” The room’s volume immediately resumed its normal level.
Meghan clapped a hand over her mouth. “Good grief,” she said. “You’re blunt, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you be blunt too, if you had to live in a perpetual party room?”
Meghan hadn’t thought about that before. “Yes,” she said, “I suppose I might be.”
“Indeed. All right, here he comes. Enjoy your reunion.”
“Um … thank you … um …”
“Earl.”
“Thank you, Earl.”
The board’s face smiled politely before it melted and was replaced by words once again.
Meghan turned away and scanned the room, biting her fingernails. She still didn’t see anyone moving toward her, besides Alex. But when she glanced at the row of tubes, someone was just stepping out, combing his fingers through his reddish-brown hair and adjusting the collar of his shirt. It was Sean.
Meghan’s heart stuck in her throat. He looked so much older now. She vaguely remembered when he left the family. He was a gangly boy back then, and now he looked like a grown-up. Strange tears flooded her eyes and bubbled over as he caught sight of her.
His face lit up. He walked swiftly toward his sister, picked her up, and whirled her around. “Meggie, you—” The words caught in his throat. He set her down and hugged her gently, then pushed her shoulders back and looked at her, his eyes dancing. “You naughty, naughty thing, you,” he said, teasing. “You’ve turned out just like your useless older brother. Poor Mother and Father.” He sniffed airily. “They won’t be allowed another child now. They must feel like such failures. Tch.”
Meghan thought she heard a bitter twist to his words, but with all the emotions that before now she had been required to suppress, combined with all the excitement and surprises and stress of the day, Meghan couldn’t be quite sure of anything.
“I—I missed you,” Meghan said. She blushed. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”
Sean grinned. “I know,” he said. “It’s okay. Let’s grab that sofa and table in the corner so we can talk. Who’s your friend?” Sean pointed to Alex, who had been inching away to give the two some privacy.
“Oh!” Meghan said. “I’m sorry—Alex, do you remember my brother, Sean?”
Alex held out his hand awkwardly. “Hey, Sean.”
Sean gave him a quizzical look and shook his hand. “I remember you—you were in our quadrant,” he said. “You’re one of the twins, aren’t you? You boys used to come to the Commons with your father to get your milk rations from us. Where’s your brother?” Sean looked over his shoulder and around the room quickly.
Alex opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The expression on his face was enough to make Meghan want to hurriedly change the subject, but it was too late.
“Oh,” Sean said. His eyes narrowed. “Well. That’s just rotten cruel to separate you. I’m sorry, Alex. Was he Necessary, then, like your folks?”
“He …” Alex gulped.
“Aaron was a Wanted,” Meghan said. “Let’s go sit.”
Alex trailed along, feeling a little numb. He’d mostly forgotten about Aaron in the busyness of the day, but now the hurt of being Unwanted slammed into his ribs again. “It’s not Aaron’s fault,” he said almost automatically as he slid on the cushioned sofa next to Meghan.
Sean’s eyes were still narrowed. He looked like he could spit needles if he wanted to. “Of course not,” he said gruffly. “Nobody blames him. Plus, I know it’s probably still a weird concept for you, but we’re the lucky ones.”
“He’s probably pretty sad tonight,” Alex mused. “Well. As sad as he can be, in Quill.”
Sean and Meghan nodded thoughtfully. “It seems so different already,” Meghan said. “Like, once you know it’s okay to—you know—feel something, all the feelings get stronger.”
“That’s the truth,” Sean said. “But better to get stronger than to disappear into the Great Lake of Boiling Oil, I always say.” He laughed. “So. Have you found your way around the tubes yet?”
“Alex has,” Meghan said. “I stayed in my room and blew into one of the instruments. It was called ‘oboe.’” She couldn’t help but grin.
“Hey, listen to you already. It’s ‘played’ an instrument. You played an oboe, just as you play all instruments, whether they have a reed or strings or keys or a bow.” Sean flipped Meghan’s ponytail and grinned. “Wow. You really grew up, kid.”
“So did you. You’re like a man.”
“I’m eighteen now. Marcus asked me to think about teaching a class now that I’m through with my training and warrior classes.”
“What, um—,” Alex said, “what exactly do you study here?”
“Oh, all sorts of things. Art, theater, music, and the magic that goes along with them …” Sean trailed off when he noticed their puzzled looks. “Clearly, I’m getting ahead of things. It’s funny—I sort of forgot how little I knew when I got here.” He shook his head, lost in thought. “Anyway, Alex, what were your infractions?”
“I put a stick in the dirt and moved it around, and it made a—it looked like a—like a house. And other things. A tree.”
“Oh, excellent. You’re an artist, most likely. Did you find any pencils, sketch pads, paintbrushes—stuff like that—in your room?”
“Um …” All the words were foreign to Alex.
“Long, thin sticks. Some of them have a sharp point; others have stiff hair on one end.” Sean watched Alex’s face until it lit up again. “Those are pencils and paintbrushes. You take them in your hand and …” He clapped his hand to his forehead and laughed. “Let’s make this easier.” Sean pulled a tiny bit of paper from his pocket and tapped it with his finger on the table, and a small sketch pad and pencil appeared in its place.
“Wow!” Meghan and Alex both said at once.
“Watch this,” Sean said. He quickly sketched a simple meadow scene with a large tree and a fence.
“How’d you do that?” Alex watched the scene appear on the paper as Sean moved t
he pencil around.
“Getting the sketch pad and pencil here? That was magic. Drawing the picture—that’s called art. Drawing. Sketching. There are lots of different words for it. And that wasn’t magic at all. That was creative talent. You have it in you already, you know. Give it a try.”
Alex held the pencil in his left fist, just like he’d done with the stick all those years ago. Sean pulled it out of his hand and showed him how to hold it properly. “Does it feel best in your left hand, Alex?”
“Um …” Alex switched the pencil to his right hand, scowled, and then switched it back. “Yeah. The left hand feels good to me.” He concentrated and pressed the point to the paper.
“Not too hard or—” Sean laughed when the point snapped and flew across the table. “Or it’ll break,” he finished. He pinched the pencil tip, and it grew a new perfect point; then he handed it back to Alex.
Meghan watched, enthralled. “Will we get to learn magic too?” she said, inspecting the tip of the pencil. It made no sense to her at all. And she absolutely loved it.
“After a while,” Sean said. He caught his sister’s eye. “Work hard on your art first. Once you get really good at it, your instructor will recommend moving you up to Magical Warrior Training.”
“But what is that, exactly? Mr. Today asked us all if we would do it.”
“It’s a class where you learn to defend yourself and to fight, using magical weapons of art. Like—”
“Maybe Quill won’t want to fight us,” Meghan said.
Sean laughed, although not unkindly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure they will. They’ve been gearing up for a fight for fifty years! Why do you think they put their so-called best people in the Quillitary?”
“Hmm,” Meghan said thoughtfully.
Alex, who had been listening all this time as he moved the pencil on the paper, said, “How do you fight with art?” He sketched awkwardly and drew a house like the one he’d drawn in the mud back in Quill.
