by K. M. Walton
“You led Evervale to The City? It was all your fault?” Trace asked.
“The Elders brought it on themselves!” Alabaster said. He waved the gun in the air, shooing away the mosquitoes buzzing around his head. “Think about this. Your girlfriend wouldn’t exist if not for me, boy. And if I hadn’t brought you away from The City, you’d be trapped in her head along with everyone else. Oh yes, they’re safe in there, but that isn’t really living, is it?”
“What about Ma?” Trace asked. “We left her. You promised we were going to get her back!” Trace clenched his fists and took a step toward his father. He drew short when the gun jerked in his direction.
Alabaster wouldn’t shoot his own son, would he?
“Of course Kaye wouldn’t listen to reason. She’s the one who came up with the idea to make Anara.” Mr. Alabaster stood up, slapping at the side of his face.
“Ma did?” Trace asked.
“She’s an Elder!” Alabaster said.
Trace was dumbstruck.
“Alton. What’s the gun for?” Anara asked.
He looked at his hand as if he’d forgotten he was holding a gun. “I don’t have any magic, so consider this a rudimentary reversal spell. I’m not too confident that killing you would let them all out, but hopefully it won’t come to that. When The City returns, things are going to be different, got that?” He stared hard at Anara. “Kaye? You hear me?”
“You’re insane,” Anara said.
“Says the girl who hears voices.” Mr. Alabaster laughed. “Or I could take you back to the Evervale refugees, what’s left of them. They’d figure out how to release The City, or put its magic to better use.”
“You disagreed with the Elders because they didn’t think of me as a person,” Anara said. “So why would you kill me?”
((What happens to The City if I die?)) Anara asked.
The City dies with you.
“Because they control you,” Mr. Alabaster said.
“They don’t. I make my own choices,” Anara said.
“Are you so sure of that?” he asked.
“Don’t do this, Pa,” Trace said.
“You shouldn’t get too attached to Anara. She was made to die. What do you reckon happens if she brings The City back? Everything goes back to the way it was. Poof! No more Anara. You’re losing her either way.”
Trace’s mouth fell open.
((True? Bringing you all back means I cease to exist?)) Anara asked.
I’m sorry.
The air buzzed around Anara. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t in her head. A black cloud of mosquitoes swarmed around Mr. Alabaster. This was their chance.
“Trace!” Anara ran. A moment later, she heard Trace’s feet pounding the dirt behind her. She heard a gunshot. A second one.
Trace grunted, stumbled, kept going.
She really missed her sneaker now.
((Was that your doing?))
The place is near.
((What place? If I’m The City—))
Anara was The City. All this time, it had been inside her. And she had never felt like she belonged anywhere because she didn’t. There was no place for her in The City, and if she restored it, there’d be no her at all.
((I’m The City, so what’s the map for?))
When the time was right, the spell was supposed to find a suitable location for The City to appear. We intended to guide you then.
((When?))
When you were older. When the danger was past. But we didn’t count on you encountering Trace. The City always shows itself to its own.
As they ran, Anara updated Trace on what the voices told her.
“There has to be some other way.” Trace gasped. “Something we can do to save you.”
“It’s more important that we save The City. I don’t trust that your father isn’t still working with Evervale,” she said.
“He may not have gone through with his scheme.”
“We have to get away, bring The City back, and keep him from finding it.”
“But—”
“It’s my decision,” Anara said. “I was made for this, but it’s my decision.”
She checked the map on the back of her hand and led Trace deeper into the forest. The trees were moving, but now they were helping them. They seemed to slide away as she approached, and a quick glance over her shoulder showed the path closing behind them, blocking off pursuit.
Now that was good magic.
Trace cried out and fell. Anara rushed to help him. His left side was soaked with blood.
“Oh no. He shot you? Why didn’t you—”
“Forget it, I’m all right. Just need to rest…” He drew in several short, quick breaths. “Anara, I’m so sorry…about my father. I didn’t know. He lied to me about getting kidnapped by Evervale and The City leaving us behind. He’s been using me.”
“Join the club,” she said. “I’m bringing The City back. But we have to find where it belongs first.”
Trace shook his head and then winced. “No. We can’t do this. I don’t want it anymore.”
“But your mother…she’s waiting for you.”
“I’m not choosing between you.” He groaned.
“I might not disappear. The voices don’t know what will happen to me,” she lied. “But even if this is the end of everything for me, it’ll be worth it. You’ll have your mother back and your home. And you’ll find another way to keep it safe from Evervale.”
She checked her hands and arms. “I can’t see where the map is taking us anymore. You have to.”
She pulled off her tank top.
“Anara…” Trace stared at her exposed skin.
“You have to see the whole map at once.”
“The lines shifted. I can barely see them anymore,” he said.
The sun was setting. As it dipped below the treetops, the forest fell into early twilight.
The map was no longer continuous; the area on her forearm continued on the bottom of her foot, the section on her left breast was completed on some part of her that she couldn’t see. She unfastened her bra, took off more clothes. All her clothes.
Trace looked around frantically to figure out where they were. It would have been impossible to follow every line and fit it all together mentally without Trace. Studying it with him, exploring this new aspect of her body, had been the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced. She was sharing a magical, hidden part of herself that no one else had ever seen before.
“I think I’ve got it,” he said. “There’s a river ahead.”
“I sort of remember a river…”
“You do?”
“I’ve dreamed about it. In a place I’d never been before, I thought. It passes under the pavilion? Next to a big building with a clock.”
“The City must be drawn to geography that’s similar to its old location.” Trace ran his finger along the inside of her thigh. “The river’s here.”
She shivered.
“And if we follow it up…” He stopped. She waited. He brushed his thumb across her hip and then up her spine. “The City should be right here. Not far. Maybe one-point-five kilometers northwest.”
He struggled to stand, but she didn’t let go of his hand.
“What?” he asked.
Anara studied his face. The last of the sunlight filtered through the leaves and dappled his skin.
“I’d really like to kiss you.” Trace leaned close.
She pressed a hand to his chest. “Me too. But not yet.”
She picked her scattered clothes from the open field like flowers. “We’re very close. Can you make it?”
“Let’s go.”
“Lead the way, Trace.”
The hitch in his step was barely noticeable.
Soon they
came across a large, flat stretch of land that had a sparse distribution of very young trees and not much plant life. And there was the river.
Anara pulled off her remaining shoe and slipped off her socks. She sat on the bank of the river and dug her toes into the soft, cool earth. She breathed in.
There were more voices now, talking over each other. She couldn’t hear herself think anymore, or separate her thoughts from theirs. Had they ever been separate?
She followed the lines on her left calf until she couldn’t see them. Their time was almost up, but they didn’t need the map anymore. A gnarled oak tree—massive, old—loomed before them.
This is where it ended.
This is where it began.
“This is the place,” she said.
Trace held her hand. “Are you sure?”
She interlaced her fingers in his and pressed their foreheads together.
“Goodbye,” she whispered.
“Goodbye, Anara.”
She closed her eyes. They kissed.
His lips were warm and rough and tasted like summer. She felt light enough to float away as her final burden was lifted.
She wanted to live.
((Wake up!)) she said.
• • •
Anara opened her eyes. A gray-haired woman in a gauzy green blouse, black pants, and a red sash around her waist looked down at her with concern.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked.
“Yeah?” Trace said. She heard Trace’s groggy voice through her ears and in her head at the same time.
Where was he? Anara tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t move.
“I’ve healed your wound,” the woman said.
Wound? What wound?
The bullet in Trace’s left side.
The woman reached down to help Anara up. Anara took her hands, but she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel anything. She was completely detached from the movement as she was pulled to her feet.
Anara didn’t recognize her hands. In fact…
They weren’t hers. They were Trace’s hands.
She was in Trace’s body, seeing through his eyes.
She was in Trace’s body!
The woman hesitated and then embraced Trace.
“Ma?” he asked.
“Yes.” She was crying. This woman was Kaye Alabaster, Trace’s mother. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”
“What’s going on? What happened?” Trace asked. “Anara! Where is she?” He looked around and swayed dizzily.
“Easy. Now that The City is restored, I’m afraid Anara is gone.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, L——.”
“Dammit.” He closed his eyes. “Why did you do this?” he whispered.
When he opened them, he asked, “And Pa?”
Kaye glanced behind her at a group of silver-haired people clustered in the center of a square. “He was banished. He hurt you, and now we know about his plans to seize control of The City and her magic. He is no longer one of us. He’s outside right now, looking for us, but he won’t be able to enter our borders ever again.”
Beyond the square, hundreds of people were gathering, crowding the streets. Silent.
“L——, thank you,” Kaye said.
“Don’t thank me. This was all Anara’s doing. And call me Trace.”
“Trace it is,” she said.
Anara listened quietly as the reunited family talked. They joined the other council Elders, who were discussing how to prepare if the Evervale refugees returned. Alton Alabaster, now considered as much an outsider as any nonmagical person, would forget The City’s new location once he left the area—if he made it out. It seemed the forest didn’t want him to leave.
As the night wore on, when Trace was in his childhood home and began to drift off to sleep, Anara spoke.
Trace? she said. Don’t freak out.
Trace jolted upright. “Anara?” He looked around. “Where are you?”
I’m here. Um, in your head. Don’t tell anyone. Please.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
Use your inside voice, will you? You’ll wake your mother up.
“Huh? Like…((this?))”
You’ve got it! Oh, Trace. The City. We brought it back.
((You did. But what are you now?))
I don’t know. But I don’t want to tell the Elders until we know more.
((Why not? Maybe they can help.))
I don’t trust the Elders, including your mom. Sorry.
((That’s fair, considering what they did.))
Trace, your father wasn’t completely wrong. They should share the magic.
Maybe they should even open the border one day. If they could all get along in one girl’s head for sixteen years, they could make room for more people, more voices to make The City richer.
((I agree. I’ll work on changing Ma’s mind. But mainly because we’ll need magic to get you a new body.))
Boys, Anara said.
((I didn’t mean—))
I know. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I would really like that. But in the meantime, can I ask you another big favor?
((Anything.))
When it’s safe, can we visit my family? They’ll be worried about me. Though finding out their daughter is now a voice in her boyfriend’s head might make them more worried. But it’s better than being dead.
((Of course. As soon as we can. It doesn’t seem fair that I’ve gotten my mother back, my home back, and you’ve lost everything.))
Not everything, she said.
((Whoa. Is that you?)) Trace asked.
What?
((I’m blushing. Like, a lot. All over.))
Ugh! I guess there are some other side effects. Sorry.
((Anara, you aren’t a side effect. I like it. Reminds me of you. What were you thinking about?))
Anara sighed. She didn’t know how she managed that, without any breath, but this was magic.
I was thinking…I finally feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Author photo
by Monika Webb
E(ugene). C. Myers is the author of the Andre Norton Award–winning Fair Coin and Quantum Coin, young adult science fiction novels published by Pyr, and The Silence of Six and Against All Silence, young adult cyber thrillers from Adaptive Books. He was assembled in the U.S. from Korean and German parts and raised by a single mother and a public library in Yonkers, New York, where he survived an improbable number of life-threatening experiences—most miraculously, high school—with ample scars as proof. Visit ecmyers.net and follow him on Twitter @ecmyers.
SECOND CHANCES
A SHORT STORY INSPIRED BY 2NE1’S “IT HURTS”
By Ellen Oh
This is one of my favorite K-pop songs by one of my favorite K-pop groups. It’s a slow ballad but with a unique sound. Slightly bluesy, definitely soulful. And the lyrics, about the pain that comes from love lost, seemed the perfect song for my little story about a girl who loses her sister only to realize how much she really loved her.
—Ellen OH
The last time I saw my sister alive was the morning of her accident.
• • •
Early Saturday and I enjoy my usual sleep of the dead when Hannah walks in to our room and jumps on me.
“Hey, wake up! I’ve made you breakfast.”
I threw my pillow at her. There should be a law that forces all members of a family to either be morning people or late-nighters. It’s frustrating as hell when one person doesn’t fit in to everyone else’s schedule. And when it comes to not fitting in, I’m always the odd one.
“Come on, you have to eat before it gets cold,” she says, stripping me of my blankets.
“ARGH! This is my side of the room! Stay on your
side!”
I grab for my comforter, but Hannah blocks me and starts tickling my feet.
“Stop it!” I shriek. I hate being tickled more than anything in the world. It makes me want to pee and barf at the same time. I try to kick my legs, but Hannah’s too strong. Desperate, I throw myself out of bed, slamming onto the floor hard.
“You stupid jerk, look what you made me do!”
Hannah laughs. “Now you’re up, come eat before I tickle you again.”
Fuming, I push myself up. Hannah’s corner of the room is always neat and organized while my side looks as if a wild animal had stampeded through it. People always comment on how our room perfectly matches our personalities. A discordant mess of magazine pictures and my own drawings that cover every inch of wall space on the right, while the left looks like an advertisement for Seventeen magazine’s teenage fantasy bedroom with packed bookshelves and a neatly made bed.
Just then, I spy the big alarm clock sitting on Hannah’s desk. It’s 6:45 a.m. She woke me up before seven on a Saturday. Furious, I stomp over to where Hannah’s books are piled neatly on her desk and knock them all to the ground before heading to the kitchen. The smell of pancakes and fried Spam begins to penetrate into the sleep fog surrounding my brain. Usually our mom leaves rice and soup for breakfast, a typical Korean meal, which is all right. But pancakes are my favorite.
“Why the hell did you wake me up so early?” I yell at her. “Did Mom and Dad force you to get up when they left?” Our parents leave at five every morning to go down to the market store they own in the Bronx.
Hannah glances at me and shrugs. “I felt like cooking. You should eat it hot.”
I’m still mad, but my mouth is watering as I sit down and fill my plate with food. I pour maple syrup generously over my pancakes, uncaring that my Spam gets covered too. Hannah is washing dishes at the sink and singing some new K-pop song that I’ve never heard of. Ever since middle school, she’s been heavy into K-pop and follows the Korean billboard chart online for all the top music videos. It’s how her Korean got so good. That and watching K-dramas every week with our mom and aunts. Everyone always says Hannah is pretty enough and talented enough to be a K-pop idol. Not that our mother would ever let that happen. Not her golden child. No, she won’t accept anything less than a medical degree for her firstborn.
