by Rin Chupeco
Somebody snickered. Immediately Miss Hutchins turned to the offender, her anger clear in every word and gesture. “You think this is funny?” She snapped, and the giggling died. “Do you think spelltech is nothing more than taking selfies with built-in celebrity holograms? Or overdosing on concentration boosters in your pumpkin spice latte for finals week? Or over-the-counter prescriptions for acne glamour concealers?
“With the Emerald Act, they can add toxic spells to those concealers if they think it’ll turn them a better profit. And if the side effects turn you into a literal donkey, then that’s not their fault, and you can’t sue them. And if they can do that with category three spells, imagine the chaos they can sow with a category two charm. Imagine guns with them. Imagine bombs. You have no idea of the sacrifices King Ivan made to stop this from happening. At the cost of his life, and at the cost of his own country. And then to have his name slandered by the media, by governments, as being as much of a tyrant as that horrible ice bitch…!”
A few students gasped. Tala did.
“This is a move to legitimize the Emerald Act lobbied by OzCorp, to award the Royal States government the rights to magic that it never had in the first place.” Miss Hutchins turned directly to the phone camera, indicating for the first time that she knew she was being filmed and was going to make the most of it. “Avalon controlled most of the world’s magic. They were adamant about not giving away their secrets, knowing they would be exploited.
“And that is why it is to every corporation’s advantage to teach you all that King Ivan of Avalon was a dictator and an evil man, solely to render those copyrights invalid and claim them for their own. We have always been led to believe that Americans are the good guys. That they know what’s best for the world, that they’re democracy and freedom ringing and good old apple pie.” She looked around.
“But they’re not,” she said helplessly. “And they can’t be. Not this way. Not when your government is working with the—”
At that point several security guards burst into the room, and the poor woman found herself slammed against the wall, restrained, and cuffed, with the officers making no attempts to hide their manhandling. “Turn that off!” one of the men barked at the student, and the footage ended abruptly.
“Wow,” Tala breathed, still staring at the screen. It had only been posted an hour ago, but the views were already ratcheting up into the hundreds of thousands, with a stream of unnecessary hot takes in the comments. She was suddenly aware of the chatter around her, of other people viewing the same video through their laptops and phones. “What…why did she suddenly…?”
“She’s right,” Alex said quietly. “All Dad wanted was for Avalonian magic to be used responsibly. And when Avalon fell, someone must have found some of the patents Mom owned. That must be the reason behind this push to change the law.”
“But they can’t actually use most of your family’s spelltech, right?” Only Avalon had enough glyphs to mass-produce the more powerful spelltech, but the whole nation was under ice.
Alex smiled grimly. “Why do you think they’re looking for me? Of course they think there’s a way for me to lift the curse and break the spell. I’ve already called Mr. Peets, my lawyer. He’ll help Miss Hutchins.”
“Alex, I know you want to help her out, but if she’s in the spotlight and you get involved, they could find you.”
“I’ve been here for nearly a year and no one’s found me.” Alex sounded almost pleading. “I have to do this. I couldn’t do much for my people, but I can do something for her now.”
His phone chirped. He glanced down and stood. “I’ll be careful. I’ll tell you what I can later, but I gotta go.”
“Sure,” Tala muttered, watching as he stuffed the rest of his things in his backpack and left, giving her a half-hearted wave on the way out.
Tala took out her own laptop, but homework was the last thing on her mind. After staring blankly at the screen for what felt like an hour, she began some research on her own, accessing the Wiki link about OzCorp.
OzCorp (formerly Ozma Tech), founded in 1889, is an American multinational company in San Antonio, Texas, that specializes in spell and thaumaturgy technology, and magic storage and application software. CEO Ruggedo Nome said that he envisions OzCorp as a spelltech provider, aimed at eventually infusing magic-based conjurations into automation, commercial goods, and operating system markets at affordable prices. It has also increasingly diversified to make a large number of corporate acquisitions, including MacGuffin, Inc. for $20.2 billion in 2010, and FarSeer for $18.5 billion in 2013.
A link from there to the Emerald Act page was already available, which also referenced Miss Hutchins’s video. News traveled fast. She clicked on the former.
The law had been passed quickly enough through the Senate and the Assembly with little outcry. She’d found a few people protesting early on without gaining much traction, but she was certain Miss Hutchins’s passionate outburst was going to turn the tide.
There were, Tala knew, nine types of magic: time, elemental/kinetic, death magic, transfiguration, summoning, healing, divination, conjuration, enchantment, and illusion. They were further classified into three categories of spelltech.
Category three magic: Generally harmless magic that could be created wholesale with little repercussions: software apps, non-combat spells, basically anything that couldn’t be altered from its original function. GPS spells couldn’t be changed to do anything but serve as a driving aid, for example, and posed no other danger beyond miscalculating navigation, just like any bad product available in the market. Low-quality glyphs were sufficient for these spells, which is also what made them easy to mass market.
Category two magic: Spells customized for individuals. Prescription potions sold in bulk at pharmacies were category three; drugs manufactured specifically for a patient with a particular condition fell under the second. So were divorce and labor contracts loaded with preapproved curses and enchantments, or charms of a defensive nature, or even magically engineered food.
Category one magic: Combat spells, weaponized spells, spells that could potentially harm or injure. The military, for the most part, had the monopoly on what little was available, though gun manufacturers have been itching to claim their own shares for years if not for the scarcity of high-grade glyphs available.
Passing the Emerald Act meant lessening the restrictions normally imposed on category two spells. Spellforgers with category two qualifications were mandatory, and acquiring the necessary licenses was a highly vetted process. But the new law now allowed companies to determine a spellforger’s qualification themselves, with very minimal penalty fees imposed on any faulty diagnoses or errors on their part.
That OzCorp was the main lobbyist for the Emerald Act, though, had not been something most people knew until Miss Hutchins had gone viral.
Tala stared at her screen again.
Avalon firebird, she typed, on impulse.
She’d read the pages before, of course. The firebird had never been photographed to her knowledge, but there were enough paintings depicting what it looked like. Long, red shimmering feathers, a graceful neck, and intelligent, golden eyes. The symbol of Avalon, the article stated, and its most powerful spell.
She scrolled down.
Serving as a royal rite of passage, it is said to present itself to the rightful rulers of Avalon on their eighteenth birthday. For twenty years after that, they serve their masters loyally, eventually disappearing to await the next heir. As their namesake suggests, fire is their primary weapon. It is one of the Three Treasures of Avalon, which includes the Nameless Sword, and Maidenkeep, the primary residence and headquarters of the Avalon monarchy.
There was a world map on the page, with the kingdom of Avalon highlighted—it was right at the center of the Pacific Ocean, slightly larger than Brazil. The closest nation to it, the former kingdom of Wonderland
, was still depicted with its original size, though the explosion had long reduced it into three or four tiny islands. The map had been made sometime after the twelfth century at least, because the island of Neverland was already missing.
In comparison, the kingdom of Beira was on the other side of the world, above Norway and Greenland and roughly Avalon’s size if it hadn’t also claimed much of the Arctic for its territory.
Nobody in their right mind visited Beira. Saying it was a democracy was like saying Palpatine had been popularly elected to lead the Galactic Empire in Star Wars.
She scrolled down again.
The first known firebird was wielded by Vasilisa the Beautiful, the kingdom’s first queen. According to Avalonian mythology, Vasilisa sought out the firebird, creating what historians consider a censured spell to forge an eternal pact between the majestic creature and those of her lineage to combat the kingdom’s historical enemies such as the Snow Queen of Beira; her consort and right-hand man, the Scourge of Buyan; and Koschei the Deathless himself.
A lull in between paragraphs; a painting of the Snow Queen slaying the armies of Avalon—1940s Beiran propaganda repackaged as modern art. At her side was a young boy her age with dark, dark eyes, slinging a broadsword made of ice. People unfamiliar with the legend always expected the Scourge to be a muscular, imposing man wielding an ax, and were always surprised to learn he was an eternal youth, much like Peter Pan had been.
Other versions say that the firebird is needed to find the legendary kingdom of Buyan, where the key to immortality is said to be found—a kingdom believed destroyed by the Scourge. Famous wielders of the firebird include Talia Briar-Rose, Ella of the Cinders, Ye Xian, Snow White…
Another scroll down.
The last sighting of the firebird was in August 1960, amid the escalation of the Cold War that had both the Royal States and the kingdom of Russia competing to develop spelltech in response to Avalon’s influence in world politics. The mad queen of Wonderland, Elizabeth XXIV, was still reeling from the internal wars ravaging her kingdom since March, and had threatened to unleash the most powerful and most unpredictable of her spelltech against the rebels despite the real possibility of mutual annihilation on both sides of the conflict. Code-named the Mock Turtle, it was an explosives-type spell that, by Avalon estimates, could potentially level the whole Asia-Pacific. Fighting in Wonderland spilled over into Avalon five months later, with Avalon taking the rebels’ side. As casualties mounted, the queen, believing the war lost, detonated the spell, and King Ilya Tsarevich of Avalon deployed the firebird in response. While successful at protecting Avalon from the explosion, the firebird was believed to have perished in the attack. The firebird’s apparent death also marked a turning point in Beiran history, with the Scourge of Buyan publicly turning against the Snow Queen for the first time, to side with Avalon; evidence suggests that the Snow Queen herself had influence in Wonderland politics and had encouraged Queen Elizabeth XXIV to pursue pro-Beiran policies. The incident also marked the breaking down of the alliance between Avalon and Western forces, culminating in Tsarevich withdrawing his previous offer of sharing spelltech knowledge with—
Down.
The firebird has since failed to present itself during both King Andrei and his son, King Ivan’s, eighteenth birthdays. The subsequent attack on Avalon by the kingdom of Beira, led by the Snow Queen, killed all known members of Avalonian royalty, including Ivan, Queen Marya, and their son Alexei—
A sea of giggles rose up from the next table, where a group of kids were watching the video, prompting some shushing from a vexed librarian. Tala sighed and closed her laptop.
Alex never called or texted back. And when she stopped by his place afterward, no one responded to her knock. The house was shuttered and empty; there was no one home.
4
In Which Government Agents Are Assholes, but What Else Is New
When government agents rolled up to Lola Urduja’s house the day after Alex went missing, Tala knew there was going to be trouble.
Her father had barked at her to remain inside, so she’d compromised by positioning herself in front of the window nearest the door, watching the three cars pulling up along the driveway. The half-dozen men and women exiting were dressed in plainclothes and dark caps instead of the usual black vests and official uniforms, but not even Tala had any doubt what agency they represented.
The Warnocks weren’t alone. Lola Urduja came striding out, her limp nearly nonexistent. The rest of her subordinates flanked her on both sides, all looking a swagger away from a movie explosion sequence.
That the Filipinos were on the elderly side and were armed with abanico fans took something away from the general coolness, but the ICE agents appeared taken aback all the same, probably unaccustomed to the sea of brown faces striding purposefully their way instead of fleeing in the other direction.
None of them looked like they could belong to the Katipunan. Most of the women channeled an aura exuded by Asian aunties rather than by soldiers.
“May we help you?” Lola Urduja called out, her voice as crisp as autumn leaves.
“This is government business,” said one of the men.
“Government business or not, you’ll need a search warrant to enter private property.”
“Of course,” the man said, but made no move to show any documents.
“Who are you looking for?” Lola Urduja persisted.
“Catherine Hutchins.”
Tala started. In two days, the video had gone viral and accumulated several million views. Elsmore High had issued a statement promising a thorough investigation into the matter, and several protests both for and against Miss Hutchins’s behavior had been lodged with the education board. As per usual, commentaries were out in full swing, ranging from When Teachers No Longer Respect the System to Weaponizing Education to Sell Corporate Interests to Tell Us Your Favorite Snack and We’ll Tell You How Well You’ll Score in Miss Hutchins’s History Class. Miss Hutchins herself, though, had disappeared from the public eye despite dogged reporters and doxxing efforts. She only had one social media account, and her last post had been a resharing of a Fight For Kids account that claimed there were several children missing from a detention facility in Florida, adding “Where is the furor over this?”
“Nobody named Catherine Hutchins has ever lived here,” Lola Urduja said calmly.
The agent turned to Tala’s father. “According to our records, one Urduja Tawalisi owns this house.”
“Aye,” Tala’s father affirmed.
“A guardian to an Alex Smith.”
“Also true. Neither related nor affiliated to the lass you seek.”
“We have good reason to believe that Catherine Hutchins is in this country illegally and is in hiding on these premises.”
“They arresting white people now?” Tita Teejay muttered and was promptly shushed by Tita Chedeng.
“I’m sure ye think that,” Tala’s father said, “but y’gotta show a warrant all the same.”
The man glared. “You don’t sound American,” he accused.
“Scottish as they come,” Kay said, in his broguest brogue. “You trying tae intimidate us, mate?”
“It’s not our policy to intimidate anyone.”
“Sure.”
“We have every right to be here. We have court orders.” The man waved several pieces of paper at him, but stepped back when her father stretched out his hand. There was a faint hum as the other agents raised what looked to be radar guns. A bitter metallic taste filled Tala’s mouth, and she knew immediately they were much worse than that.
Tito Jose gazed steadily at the bunched documents in the agent’s hand, then silently caught Kay’s attention and signed hurriedly.
“On May 21, 1986, in Invierno, Arizona,” Tala’s father translated, “Millicent Cray, henceforth known as Petitioner, and Brian Appleton, hencefort
h known as Responder, married. An official copy of the marriage license is attached to this petition for dissolution of marriage. The—”
The agent jerked back, glanced down at the loose sheaves crumpled in his grip. “How did you…?” he began, realizing belatedly that he’d just given himself away.
“Seems like you’ve got no court orders or warrant, and you’re about to trespass. Tough luck about that divorce, though, laddie.”
The twin titas already had their phones out and were avidly recording the scene.
“We don’t need a warrant to search your place,” one of the men finally said. “We have reasonable cause.”
“Pretty sure that still needs a judge’s say-so.”
“Enough,” Agent Appleton snapped, still a crimson red. “Let’s go.”
The titos and titas watched and said nothing, but when the agents came within a few feet of Alex’s house, the humming died and the glow faded from their guns.
After some momentary confusion, the group huddled together for a few minutes. A couple returned to their cars to replace them, but with the same results. Finally they all re-holstered their devices, their leader turning away in disgust. Tala’s mother said nothing, but her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her breathing coming in slow, measured exhales.
“We can still arrest you for obstruction,” Appleton threatened.
“How so?” Tita Baby inquired. “We’re way over here.”
One of the agents took a threatening step toward them.
“No time,” Appleton snapped. “Just get in the house.”
“We’re not stopping them?” Tita Chedeng murmured, speaking in Tagalog as they disappeared inside.
“They won’t find anything,” Lola Urduja replied. “I made sure of that.”
Half an hour later the agents emerged, clearly displeased. They got into their cars without another word, and Tala relaxed once they’d driven off. She scampered out, ignoring her father’s warning look.
“Close call,” Tita Teejay muttered. “I bet you if they’d gotten those guns to work, they would have arrested us all.”
