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Water dripped from the cracked ceiling. An eight-year-old boy collected the drops in his hands. His little sister sat in the light of the last working lamp. She played with a wooden toy boat her mother had found in the trash.
Through the walls, the children listened to Cinderella playing on the neighbor’s TV. Bibbidi bobbidi boo—that song made the four-year-old girl giggle. But her laughter stopped when she dropped the boat. Her eyes became vacant as she detached from her body.
"Is it happening again?" Her brother rushed to help.
"No." It took a moment for the sister to answer, but when she did, her brother exhaled in relief. For months, the little girl had been suffering. What started as an ear infection was now hurting her brain. Alas, their mother couldn’t afford a hospital.
"I want a magic dress," the sister said. "Like Cind-ella."
The brother chuckled. "A magic dress? Where will you get that?"
"You said Papa has magic."
"Papa?" the brother scoffed, resentment replacing his friendly expression. "Your Papa is a monster who left us in this basement to rot."
The sister turned away and to the broken mirror on the wall. Like a pale wax doll, she had cold and frightening eyes. Her white dress had become grayish, and despite the dimness of the room, she could see the bruises on her scrawny legs.
Returning to her toy boat, the girl started to sing: "Row row row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but...a dream." The girl wondered if she would ever awaken and whether or not the world outside was full of magic.
***
The smell of tangy soup wafted into the basement when the mother walked in with a single food container. She sat next to her children and uncovered the lid for her daughter to drink.
The little girl took one sip then another, never pausing to savor the taste or chew the small, floating pieces of bread. Nothing seemed to sate her hunger.
Her brother watched, his stomach rumbling, although he told himself to be patient. His little sister was sick. She had to eat first. He could wait.
As the little boy watched, a stranger yelled from outside, "We know you’re there, Kalani." He pounded on the door. "Let them out."
"Leave us alone," the mother shouted, coming to her feet. "You'll never take them away. You hear me?" She hurled herself at the door, slamming and kicking at it. "You'll never take my kids."
The children huddled in the corner, the brother shielding his sister, painfully aware of what would happen next. Bristling with anger, the mother turned to them, flinging her hands with slaps and punches. "Happy now, you useless brats?" she shouted. "You let them find us."
The children wailed as she battered their fragile bodies.
The knocking on the door never stopped.
When the mother exhausted herself, she stopped, and her eyes widened like she had woken up from a nightmare. "I did it again," she said, falling to her knees. "I promised not to do it again." She sobbed. "Zaros, Viessa... I hurt you."
Zaros approached his mother, hoping to comfort her, to put her at ease, but when he noticed his hand bleeding, he knew she wasn’t worth it. As he stepped away, the stranger outside broke the door open. Zaros took his sister’s hand, and together, they left the moldy basement. They never saw their mother again.
***
The two children found themselves among others, dragged to the train station by a man in a black coat. "Don’t make a noise," he warned. One kid clamped her mouth shut. Viessa copied her.
Quietly, the children followed the man in black. Zaros memorized the road in case they needed to run. Every night, he’d remind his sister of the way home. "It starts with the Garbage Train." That was the name they heard. Along the ride, they held their noses. They didn’t know whether it was the locomotive or the passengers that reeked.
At the ninth stop, the children got off the train and trudged along the railway. When they saw a red sign, they entered the forest, and throughout an hour's walk, they tripped and fell over stumps and fallen logs.
As the road came to an end, the children found themselves at an old, hidden farm. "From now, you earn your living," the man in black said. "There’s nowhere to run."
***
Barefoot children swung their axes, working the land. Viessa handpicked the harvest along with other girls her age. She became well-acquainted with the rarest herbs. The stench of witch hazel was more alcoholic than floral, and the growing mugwort stem gave off a slight purple shade. These things she learned would, one day, become her greatest asset.
Zaros trudged along the forest with a heavy crop wagon. He’d go back and forth, all day, every day. When the wagon got stuck in the mud, he tried to heave it away. He tugged at it. Pulled it. Pushed it. Kicked it. Screamed at it. In the end, he kneeled on the wet mud and dug until his arms went sore and his skin swollen from insect bites.
At the farm, Viessa made a friend—Dorothea, a big woman with a dirty dress and a scarf wrapped on her head. When Viessa collapsed, Dorothea took her to the girls’ tent to rest. "Take this, Princess," she said, giving the little girl a fresh tomato.
"Princess?" Viessa stared blankly, not sure what to do with the red thing in her hand. All she ever ate was bread and stew.
"You can eat it. Like this." Dorothea gesticulated eating an invisible tomato.
"It’s red," Viessa pointed out.
"It is." Dorothea smiled. "You know what else is red?" From her pocket, Dorothea pulled out a flower that she put in Viessa’s hair.
"Thank you, Doro," Viessa said before taking the first bite of her tomato.
"Doro?" Dorothea chortled. "All good, little princess. Doro, it is."
While Viessa enjoyed the sweet fruit, Dorothea reached under her sleeping bag to grab a bottle of medication and a syringe. She drew the medicine, then uncovered her thigh and stabbed the syringe into it. Viessa cringed at the sight.
"Viessa," Zaros called out as he stormed into the tent. "I heard you fell again."
Dorothea quickly covered her leg. "Third time today." She lowered her head. "I took her to Brigham, but he’s a big schmuck."
"Are you hurting?" Zaros asked. Viessa stared at him with vacant eyes. The last bite of tomato dropped from her mouth.
"Viessa." Zaros cried out when his sister fell to the ground, her body stiffening, arms flailing, and legs jolting. The smell of urine spread in the air as she lost control of her bladder. She shuddered and trembled while Dorothea and Zaros watched.
***
A round-bellied man named Brigham managed the farm. He had a long, scruffy beard— always wet with liquor—and he wore a purple overcoat. In one hand, he held his flask, and his whip in the other. No child dared to complain.
When Viessa had her fourth seizure that day, Zaros ran to Brigham for help. "You do your job, I get money for drug," Brigham said.
"But she needs it now."
"Get back to work." Brigham reeled left and right. "Who the hell sent me those useless brats?"
"Sir, please." Zaros balled his fists, trying to put a leash on his anger.
"Get back to work." The big man spit out, then pushed his flask down his throat. "Or I throw you and your sick sister in the street."
"The streets are better than this death hole," Zaros grumbled.
"What did you just say?" Brigham wrinkled his eyebrows. Liquor dripped off his mouth, along his beard, and to the ground.
"I said the streets are better than this death hole," Zaros exploded.
"You lost your mind, boy?" Brigham asked in an irritated voice. Zaros glared at him with hatred and disgust. "I see..." Brigham put his flask down and raised his whip. The little boy forced himself not to flee.
***
As the night crickets chirped, the brother and sister met outside the sleeping tents. "This is for you." Zaros extended his hand with a loaf of bread.
"You stole it?"
"Damn right I did," he said. "We have to get out of here, Viessa. You’re becoming more sick."
"I’m not sick," she replied while munching on the coarse bread. "I’m ugly. The girls said that Satan hurts the ugly ones."
Zaros stared at his sister, feeling sorry yet unsurprised. He removed his shirt to show her his skin. Brigham’s whip had left him with red welts all over his chest and abdomen.
"I wish Satan hurt Brigham," Viessa blurted before taking another bite.
Zaros gave off a short laugh, underlying it a lot of hatred. He didn’t want Satan to hurt Brigham, he wanted to do it himself.
"Needles hurt," Viessa added. "Doro has needles."
Zaros knew she wasn’t suggesting. That was just how her brain worked. She saw pain as pain, no matter if it came from the disease or the cure. He, however, saw a chance for revenge. A spiteful smile showed on his face as he asked, "Viessa, do you want to play a game?"
That night, Zaros had Viessa steal Dorothea’s insulin syringe. He sneaked into Brigham’s tent and injected the medication into his body, poisoning him. Having avenged his pride, Zaros didn’t try to run. Instead, he claimed Brigham’s purple coat as a war trophy. He didn’t care that it was too big for him or that it would prove him the culprit.
No one believed two feeble children could plan a murder, so Dorothea took the blame. The farmers placed her in a metal cage and stoned her with pebbles. She begged the children to defend her, but they just watched.
***
A few days after the murder, the two children were taken to a mental asylum, where they stayed for one night. Zaros shared a cell with an old man that counted invisible butterflies. He wondered if his sister would end up like him.
"Zaros? Zaros?" Viessa’s voice came from the adjacent cell.
"Viessa?" He pressed his ear against the wall. "How are you doing?"
"Satan hurt me again," she said. "I bit my tongue."
"Did they give you your drug?"
"No, but my friend promised to make the pain stop."
"Your friend?" Zaros asked. "What friend?"
"My friend, the one who talks to me in my head." Viessa gave off a thoughtless giggle. "My friend says that you, brother, have magic. He promised to teach you how to use it."
"Viessa, what are you talking about?" Zaros asked, worried that his sister’s symptoms had worsened.
"Lord Jivar," she answered. "He says he’ll open a door for us."
While Viessa sat in her cell, she heard the voice of a savior that promised to rescue her and her brother from the unkind world. The two children who never knew faith chose to put their trust in Jivar. Although he had no soul and was unable to love them, he kept them safe.
***
In Jivar’s castle, Viessa became a princess with a crown of flowers on her head. Jivar stopped the seizures that hurt her, but he couldn’t undo the damage in her brain. It didn’t matter to the little girl, as long as Satan left her alone.
Jivar also introduced Zaros to witchcraft. Even though the boy inherited some magic from his father, he wasn’t a noble witch. Jivar explained that Dark Magic could surpass nobility. Through the dark arts, Zaros appealed to the wrath of fire, which spoke to him more than any other element. Fire Magic neither required rituals nor incantations. It fed on rage, in which Zaros was abundant.
The Land of No Return was meant to be Jivar’s exile, but nothing prevented him from touring the universe. One day, he took the children to Kurmartu, a forest-like dimension where the rain never stopped. The children scampered under the downpour, unbothered by the wetness or the muddy ground. It was all an adventure, a game as Viessa would say.
"Jewels," little Viessa said, pointing at a blue, diamond-shaped fruit on the trees.
Jivar reached up and grabbed a handful for her. "I named it Anshar," he said. "The word for heaven."
Viessa didn’t know what heaven was, nonetheless, she took a bite and shoveled in another. As the Anshar melted in her mouth, she learned there were much sweeter things than tomatoes.
When Viessa stumbled on a rock, Jivar grabbed her before she tripped. They walked hand-in-hand, the little girl clinging to the ageless man.
From behind, Zaros followed them, jealousy flooding his heart as he dragged his oversized coat in the mud.
"Can we play a game?" Viessa asked, tugging at Jivar’s sleeve.
"It’s why we are here," Jivar replied, looking at the boy, who was lagging behind. "For Zaros to play a game."
"Me?" Zaros’s face lit up.
Jivar pointed to his left, where a reptilian creature crawled. Like a lizard, it had a split tongue, and it was smaller but more hostile than a Kataru.
Zaros was a good student; he understood his teacher. Drawing a grin on his face, he attacked the monster with fire.
Compared to Viessa, Zaros always came second. His magic was his only advantage. Viessa was no witch. She offered Jivar nothing. But Zaros was powerful, and as long as he had power, he had worth.
***
"I have given you everything, Zaros. Haven’t I?" Jivar asked. It happened one morning, months after Zaros began his training. Jivar summoned him to the throne room to assign him his first task.
"I only demand one thing of you," Jivar said. Zaros bowed down. His teeth chattered as he anticipated the worst.
"Loyalty," Jivar added. The young boy put his forehead to the ground. His palms sweated on the cold floor.
"From this day, you shall devote yourself to me. You shall become my eyes where I cannot see and my ears where I cannot listen."
"Yes, lord Jivar." Zaros’s voice cracked.
"Today, your duty begins," Jivar said. "You shall travel back to the human world and find me a boy."
"A boy?" Zaros lifted his head to see his lord. That wasn’t what he expected his first mission to be.
***
"I’ll have a new friend?" Viessa asked. She was sitting by the fountain when Jivar told her about the boy. A newcomer was on his way to the palace. A younger boy, which meant Viessa was getting a friend.
"What shall we name him?" Jivar asked. "Tell me."
Viessa inhaled the delightful fragrance of the hilis around the fountain. In the tickling water, she saw her reflection: a princess with a dozen flowers on her head. She remembered the person who first gave her a flower, her first friend, the one she and Zaros betrayed. "Doro," she said. "My friend’s name is Doro."
"Doro?" Jivar pondered. "That’s an unusual name. What about...Doyle?"
"Doyle?" Viessa gave him a bright smile. "My friend’s name is Doyle." She stood up. "My friend’s name is Doyle," she cheered, spinning around and around until she lost her balance and fell on the grass, laughing.
***
Viessa grew up like no other child. In her head, thoughts went astray. Her mind jumped from one thing to another. The word ‘bee’ could remind her of honey; it could take her mind to a rhyme—sea, tree, ghee, wee—or of something completely unrelated, such as a star or the Japanese word for ‘good morning.’ All that made it difficult for her to learn.
When Viessa was fifteen, she and Doyle had become good friends. Although she was five years older than him, the two always studied together. Doyle cheered for her while she huffed and puffed and slammed her book against the table. "The words run away from me," she whined. "I have a hole in my head."
"It’s all right. We’ll try again." Doyle took the book from her. "Can you tell me the spell for night vision?"
"Night vision...Uh." Viessa smacked her head.
"I can give you the first words," Doyle said. "Tenebris exceptis—"
"Nunc lucem video." Viessa recited. Her eyes glinted when the words came to her. "Tenebris exceptis, nunc lucem video. Dies noctem irrumpiens celeriter venit."
"You did it, Viessa." Doyle applauded. "All you need is the first words, and then you’ll remember the rest. Maybe we should write them down."
Viessa thought for a second, then grinned widely. She grabbed a pen and wrote the words ‘Tenebris exceptis’ on her forearm. Soon, she’d be holding a needle and carving the ink into her skin. Even though she was no witch, she insisted on memorizing as many spells as she could. To her, knowledge was more than power; it was safety.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Doyle grimaced as he watched his friend hurt herself with the needle. "You can’t use these spells anyway."
"They’ll keep me safe."
"Safe from what?" he asked.
Viessa looked around to make sure no one listened. "From Zaros. He’s angry."
"Why is he angry?" Young Doyle seemed confused.
"He’s always angry," she said with a shrug.
On his innocent, ten-year-old face, Doyle drew a serious look. "I’ll keep you safe, Viessa," he said. "I’ll become strong and protect you." That was Doyle’s promise, one that Viessa found amusing. How could such a young boy stand up to her scary brother? It sounded impossible to her.
***
Doyle kept his promise to Viessa. He grew up to be her warrior, with the strength to protect her and the compassion to embrace her most insane self.
When Viessa turned twenty-two, she dragged him to the ballroom. "We have a dancing room, but we never dance," she said.
"You’re right." Doyle chuckled and extended his hand to her. "Can I have this dance, Princess?"
"Princess?" An innocent gleam showed in Viessa’s eyes.
Doyle smiled. She took his hand, and the two swayed from side to side. The clicks of her heels gave them a beat. A dozen candles shone on the metal chandelier above them, casting light on the polished marble floor and showing their reflection.
Viessa rested her head on Doyle’s chest, comforted by his masculine scent. She hummed the only song she knew. "...merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream."
"Lord Jivar asked to see you." A servant interrupted them when he came into the room and bowed to Viessa, who then ambled away in a graceful gait, her right arm crossed over the left.
Before her lord, Viessa curtsied, paying no attention to Zaros, who stood near the throne. He had grown up to become a sturdy man filling up the old purple coat.
"Your brother has a gift for you, Viessa," Jivar said. Only then did Zaros hand his sister a necklace, a gold one with a big blue stone.
"Pretty." Viessa inspected the amulet up close. She sniffed it and tasted it with her tongue. "But salty."
Zaros sneered at his sister’s foolishness. "My lord, she doesn’t deserve the Amulet of Divinity," he said. "I killed a witch and fought a spirit of light for it."
"Are you questioning my decisions, Zaros?" Jivar asked.
"Pardon me, my lord." Zaros bowed down. "I was in the wrong."
Meanwhile, Viessa was toying with her new necklace. She had never seen jewelry before, so the thought of wearing it didn’t cross her mind.
"Viessa," Jivar interrupted her playing. "This amulet seems to have magical powers. If you put it on, you will become a witch."
"A witch?" Viessa’s brain broke. She always wanted to have powers of her own, but she never thought it was possible.
"Is this what you desire?" Jivar asked.
"Yes, yes, my lord," she replied. She hesitated to wear the amulet, but Jivar’s emotionless expression assured her. She put the amulet around her neck and clasped it underneath her hair.
Everyone waited for the power to show. Even Zaros seemed curious. Slowly but intensely, the magic built up in Viessa’s body, and as it overflowed, the blue stone twinkled.
"So this is magic." A broadening grin appeared on Viessa’s face, and her eyes went from confused to diabolical.
"How does it feel?" Zaros asked.
She ignored him. Sauntering away, she glanced from the window to see two Katarus in the garden. She took one glove off and scanned the words on her arm. "Now, we play."
While the amulet held pure magical powers, the essence of Viessa’s soul determined the magic element she was granted, a rare element, one that only a few had mastered—blood.
Blood Magic allowed Viessa to control others. She could speed up, slow down, or stop the flow of their blood. She could inflict pain or manipulate bodies like a puppeteer. The only obstacle in the way was Viessa’s fragile health that prevented her from channeling the full power of her element. For that, she had to train.
