Misfortune Teller

by Dima Zales

  “Parking at JFK is a headache,” she says, opening the door. “Besides”—she smirks—“I might be somewhat intoxicated on the way back.”

  “That reminds me,” I say as we leave the apartment and walk to the elevator. “Is JFK airport the best way to get to the Otherlands?”

  “Sadly, yes.” Ariel gracefully glides into the elevator, and I follow. “If there are gates at LaGuardia, they’re not accessible to those of us on the bottom of the Cognizant food chain.”

  “Those things are officially called gates?” I can’t help bouncing in place in excitement. “That’s what I dubbed them in my mind.”

  “Gates is what everyone calls them, but there might be a more official term that I don’t know.” Ariel tucks a loose strand of my hair back under my hat.

  “How could you not know these things?” I ask as we exit the elevator.

  “I think you’re so curious because you just got thrust into all this.” Ariel takes out her phone to summon us a ride. “You’re like a tourist visiting New York for the first time.”

  “Hey,” I say in mock offense. “Take that back.”

  “A domestic tourist,” she says deadpan. “With a fanny pack and a paper map.”

  “Riiight. And you’re the too-cool-for-school local who has never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building?”

  “That’s right.” Ariel folds her arms across her chest. “And I loathe Times Square.”

  I can’t help but smile. Neither of us has been to the Statue of Liberty despite living within walking distance of the Ellis Island ferry.

  “So,” I say. “Which of the Otherlands are we going to?”

  “It’s called Gomorrah,” Ariel says as a black minivan pulls up at the curb.

  “Does it have lots of fire and brimstone or something?” I ask, pondering the name.

  “You’ll see.” She walks up to the car. “Let’s go.”

  When we get to JFK, we make our way to the secret door Ariel used the last time we were here.

  Since I’m not wearing a blindfold today, I examine the walls of the hallways that lead to the big room with gates.

  The tunnels are painfully ordinary—which I could’ve guessed, based on the plain linoleum I saw under our feet the last time.

  The only odd thing about our path is how unnecessarily labyrinthian the corridors are—there are forks at every step. However, Ariel confidently takes each turn; she clearly has the path memorized.

  Staying quiet, I take out my phone and start a new note: typing L for left and R for right every time we take a respective turn. Later, when I have a moment, I too will memorize this path.

  “Where would we end up if you took a wrong turn?” I ask when we enter a longer corridor.

  “A pit with snakes?” Ariel shrugs. “When my dad showed me the way to the Hub, he said to never turn the wrong way—so I never have. For all I know, all these corridors lead to their own Hubs.”

  How can she not care about such things? Is it simply the tourist analogy? Because I’m beginning to think Ariel is missing the curiosity gene—at least when it comes to all matters Cognizant.

  We make a few more turns, and I decide to make sure Ariel reviews my notes before I try to navigate this place on my own. If there is a pit with snakes out there, I don’t want to fall into it. I also stop talking, so I can keep mapping out the place as accurately as I can.

  Eventually, the floor under our feet changes to the slippery chrome material I recall from our last excursion.

  We must be nearing what Ariel referred to as the Hub.

  The next door is closed, so Ariel opens it, and with fanfare says, “Ready?” Then, without waiting for me, she goes in.

  My pulse quickens in excitement as I follow her.

  “Wow,” I mumble in an awestruck whisper as I take stock of where I am.

  The circular room is the size of Madison Square Garden, and all around us are the multi-colored plasma gates. Giant cables snake from the ceiling to the base of each gate, and electricity-like energy is visibly pouring down, as though some mad scientist is trying to reanimate Frankenstein. My mind boggles at the sight.

  The utilities bill for this room must equal the GDP of a small nation.

  “No hops today,” Ariel says, pointing at a turquoise gate nearby.

  “By ‘hops,’ you mean taking a gate to another Hub, then another gate?” I ask, my neck feeling the strain from all the staring up, down, and around us.

  “Right.” Ariel promenades toward the turquoise gate.

  “Are there as many worlds as there are gates?” I ask, gesturing with my hand to encompass the multitude around us.

  “Not even close,” Ariel says, her nonchalance incredibly annoying considering how much she’s blowing my mind right now. “There’s an infinite number of worlds. What we call the Otherlands is merely a small drop in that river—just the ones that can be accessed with existing gates. The gates here at JFK lead to only a small fraction of all accessible worlds, but with enough hops, you can reach all the others—even if you shouldn’t, in some cases.”

  “How can you know that there are worlds the gates don’t lead to?” I stop and look around to estimate the number of gates in the room, but soon give up. “And what do you mean by ‘shouldn’t?’”

  Ariel shrugs and resumes walking. “I’m just going by what Dr. Hekima told us during Orientation. He’s an expert on gates, so he’d know. As to the dangers, he also told us that we shouldn’t go backpacking willy-nilly. There are worlds where you’d die as soon as you exit the gate.”

  “Die?” I follow her. “Why?”

  “It varies.” She stops next to the turquoise gate. “You ready for this?”

  I want to stay and learn more about the Otherlands for a few months, but I yearn to see an example of an actual other world even more. Figuring I can quiz her, Felix, or even Dr. Hekima later, I violently bob my head. “Ready.”

  Ariel steps into the turquoise plasma. Wherever her body touches the shimmering surface, it disappears, as though sliced off.

  When she’s gone completely, I take a shuffling step toward the gate.

  Gooseflesh rises on my neck.

  “Here goes,” I say to the empty room, and step into the gate.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Welcome to Gomorrah,” Ariel says triumphantly.

  Looking around, I debate pinching myself to make sure this isn’t an elaborate dream.

  Though five in the evening at JFK, it’s already night in this world. The sky is clear, which allows me to take in the impossible view.

  A view that drives home the point that we’re not in Kansas (or New York) anymore.

  There is no moon in the sky. Instead, the darkness above us is dominated by what looks like a majestic nebula—an interstellar cloud of dust and gasses. The yellows and reds in it form long columns, eerily reminding me of fire and brimstone about to rain down from above.

  Unpeeling my eyes from the surreal heavens, I look around. We’re in a colosseum-like outdoor space that serves as a gate hub, only—and I can’t believe I didn’t notice this at first—it’s on top of an enormous skyscraper.

  Spellbound, I walk behind the gate to look down.

  The building is mind-bogglingly tall. It stands higher than any on Earth by at least a factor of ten. How are we not freezing at this altitude? The planet must be much warmer—that, or there’s some invisible heater around us. Not to mention, some kind of oxygen supply.

  The building top must also be a tourist attraction, because there are helpful telescopes around the perimeter. I dash toward one and peer into it.

  If you took all the skyscrapers from Earth cities such as New York, Dubai, Shanghai, Paris, and Moscow, and crammed them all together into one super city, the result would still look shabby in comparison to this. There’s a Disneyland-meets-Times-Square vibe to this sprawling megapolis that makes me want to get down and explore every nook and cranny.

  “I take it you’re impres
sed?” Ariel puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t feel bad if you are—that’s what this place was designed to do.”

  “It must be enormous.” I step away from the edge of the building.

  “The City of Gomorrah is bigger than the United States of America. The world—or planet—of Gomorrah is about the same size as Earth, though, so the rest of the planet’s land is used to feed the insane population of the City.”

  I whistle under my breath and turn to look at Ariel. Noticing something amiss, I rub my eyes to make sure it’s not some byproduct of awe overload.

  “Your aura,” I say when nothing changes. “It’s missing.”

  “Well, yeah,” Ariel says nonchalantly. “So is yours. We don’t need it here in Gomorrah.”

  I look down at the mirrored floor and verify that, indeed, mine is missing as well. Lifting my head, I ask, “Is the aura specific to our world?”

  “No,” Ariel says, and I don’t know if I’m imagining an undertone of smugness to her words. Perhaps after all the magic effects I’ve baffled her with, she’s enjoying knowing something I don’t. “The aura is human specific.”

  “What do you mean ‘human specific?’” I massage my forehead in the hopes that I can get more blood flow to my currently sluggish brain.

  “Gomorrah is one of the worlds with no humans living on it.” Ariel heads toward the middle of the roof and gestures for me to follow.

  Catching up, I say, “What do you mean no humans living on it?” I wave at the gargantuan city. “Someone clearly lives in that.”

  “All Cognizant,” Ariel says over her shoulder. “Hence no aura needed.”

  “Wait.” I stop walking. “Is this the original world where our people are from?”

  “No.” Ariel also stops. Turning toward me, she tilts her head. “I should’ve waited until you finished Orientation before bringing you here. This will be a night of ‘whys,’ won’t it?”

  “So it’s not the home world, but everyone is Cognizant,” I repeat, ignoring her complaint. “Why?”

  “I’m going to give you four more questions; then we just enjoy the night,” she says, though her exasperation seems a little false to me. “Obviously, the Cognizant live here because they discovered this uninhabited-by-humans world, found it pleasant, and decided to make their home here. At least those who didn’t have powers to start with.” She resumes walking toward the middle, where I spot some small structure.

  “What do you mean ‘didn’t have powers to start with?’” I speed up to fall into step next to her.

  “Not every Cognizant has a measurable power. But the rest of us, who do, lose it on worlds like Gomorrah,” she explains. “Worlds with no humans around.”

  “We do?” I say, unsure how I should feel about losing my hit-and-miss powers just to go to some club—no matter how cool.

  “Don’t worry.” Ariel picks up her pace. “It’s a very slow process. It takes a long time before you’re completely drained.”

  “Drained?”

  “Is that the third question?” Ariel stops next to the structure that was our destination. It looks like an elevator shaft—an impression confirmed when Ariel presses a button next to the mirrored doors.

  “Will you stop counting my questions?” I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Will you explain all your tricks to me?” She vindictively grins. “Especially the one when you levitated in our kitchen?”

  “Fine.” Getting a taste of my own medicine sucks. I briefly contemplate explaining something aside from the effect she just mentioned, but the whirlwind of questions in my head makes it hard to think of an example of something I wouldn’t mind giving up.

  “What do you mean by ‘completely drained?’” I ask again. “Or more to the point, did you mean to say that by living on this world, a Cognizant would lose powers completely? If so, do you mean permanently, and if that’s the case, why would anyone live here? Aside from the powerless, I mean? Also, why? Do we need humans for the powers to work?” The elevator doors open as I pause to catch my breath.

  Ariel slinks into the elevator and presses the large Lobby button. “That was five, maybe even six questions.”

  “Come on.” I make my best puppy eyes at her. “Pretty please? Explain this, and I won’t ask any more today.” I cross my fingers behind my back and add, “I promise.”

  Ariel rolls her eyes. “You realize I can see you cross your fingers in the mirror? And that you’re not five?”

  “If I answer your condescending rhetorical questions, will you bump up my own question count?” I put my hands on my hips.

  The elevator doors open. Considering the height of this building, that was the fastest elevator ride ever.

  Ariel exits and says over her shoulder, “Okay. I’ll explain until we get to the club—”

  The building lobby is every architect and museum curator’s wet dream. It looks like the lovechild of New York’s Oculus train station and the Guggenheim Museum.

  “You’re not even listening to me,” Ariel says as I bump into her, my mouth agape.

  “I’m listening.” I meet her gaze.

  She sighs. “There are empty worlds, worlds with both Cognizant and human inhabitants, and Cognizant worlds only. And there might be human-only worlds as well—though they, by definition, will not have gates leading to them, as we built those.”

  My head feels like it’s about to explode. I have a million more questions, but I know if I interrupt, she might stop explaining for good.

  She resumes walking. “For worlds where both exist, we do seem to need humans in order to keep our powers.”

  “Sounds like we’re symbiotic species,” I can’t help but mutter under my breath.

  “What was that?” Ariel frowns.

  “Symbionts.” I pick up my pace to catch up with Ariel’s long-legged strides. “Like those cleaner fish that help out bigger fish. Or the beneficial bacteria that make up a huge chunk of everyone’s bodies.”

  “Symbionts,” she says. “I know what that is. And, gross. But in any case, if we stay on a world without humans, eventually we permanently lose our powers—but again, the effect is negligible in one evening. As to why anyone would bother living here, most are born here and thus stay where they are born. Just like people born in inhospitable places on Earth often stay there, despite the existence of New York.” She glances at me, and we exchange knowing New Yorker smiles.

  “How did humans make it onto more than one world?” I ask next. “And what about aliens? Do these worlds have any other sentient species besides us?”

  “Even if I knew the answers, you’re officially out of questions.” Ariel looks back to make sure I’m following, sees my crestfallen expression, and more kindly says, “I don’t know, anyway. Humans typically can’t go through the gates, so I don’t think that’s how they spread to more than one world. I doubt even Dr. Hekima can satisfy the size of your curiosity. You’re like a freak of nature—some people have big index fingers; you have a giant ‘why’ center in your brain.”

  Even though I know it wasn’t Ariel’s intent, I take her comments as a compliment.

  We reach the revolving doors leading out of the building, and Ariel pushes the heavy contraption with barely a touch, rotating them for the both of us.

  I guess I don’t have to waste a question on, “Can we at least use our powers on this world?” since she clearly can. Besides, the question is somewhat moot in my case, unless I decide to take a nap.

  “Wow,” I say when we get outside. “This place is like Vegas on crack. And steroids.”

  The cacophony of entertainment posters, exotic structures, 3D holograms, lights, and colorfully dressed people threatens to give me a migraine.

  “We don’t have to go far,” Ariel says and points at a large building covered by a collection of bulky neon signs in German, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, and every other Earth language, plus a rune-like writing that reminds me of the symbols Beatrice carved into the corpses she animated. Perhaps it’s
the original Cognizant tongue? The English version of the sign declares, “Earth Club.” In smaller font, it boasts, “The best vodka in all of Otherlands.”

  There is a huge line to get in, but that doesn’t faze Ariel. Grabbing my hand, she drags me toward the ocean-blue doors that seem to be made out of marble.

  A bouncer is guarding them.

  A huge bouncer who’s green.

  He looks like the lost brother of the orcs who almost killed me, but he’s not wearing makeup.

  Hopefully, he’s not working with them—a hope supported by the completely blank look he gives me before looking approvingly at Ariel.

  “Is that an orc?” I whisper to her as softly as I can.

  The bouncer must have preternaturally sharp hearing because he raises his eyebrow and looks at Ariel, as if to say, “Who is this idiot you brought with you? She’s too green to enter.”

  “She’s with me,” Ariel says firmly and grabs my hand so tightly my bones creak. Holding it, she walks straight at the bouncer. “This is Sasha. She works for Nero Gorin,” she states when the guy doesn’t move. “He’s her Mentor, too.”

  I don’t think the bouncer would’ve moved this quickly out of her way if she’d punched him with all her power-boosted might.

  “They know Nero here?” I ask Ariel as we enter the club.

  If she answers, I don’t hear her over the earthquake-loud beat that assaults my eardrums and vibrates my internal organs.

  “Welcome to Earth Club,” Ariel screams into my ear. “Let the fun begin.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

  The floors under my feet are made of glass, enabling one to see down a few levels, each with its own glass dance floor. The overall vibe to each floor is reminiscent of the Star Wars cantina. There are Cognizant of all different shapes and sizes, from a giant who reminds me of the man who loomed over me during the Rite ceremony, to thin, pointy-eared individuals (elves?), to a gamut of extremely height-challenged people (dwarves or leprechauns?), with an occasional being of Tinkerbell size (pixies?) that hover around on hummingbird-like wings.