“Ahhhh!”

    I’m in a cold sweat, gasping for air, frightened. While my heart’s racing I desperately look for the husher, the monster who was attacking me. I twist my head around, look up and down. He isn’t here. It’s just my room: a window, a white dresser and my bow leaning against the wall in the corner. A nightmare. It was just a dream, but one so real that it took me a while to realize I’m okay. I sit on the edge of my bed, breathe in deeply, calm my heart beat down, dry the sweat off. It’s still early morning. I need to rest.

    I get back under the covers and bury my head. I don’t want anything disturbing my sleep. I close my eyes and manage to relax for a few minutes before my mind is invaded by images of the energy spheres, flashes of light, lethal daggers and bloodbaths. It’s no use. I can’t sleep. I stay in bed with my eyes open while disconnected thoughts inundate my consciousness. They keep me awake for the rest of the night. I stay there until I spot the sunlight streaming through my semi-opened Venetian blinds.

    Despite being calmer, an image still haunts my memory: the yellow gaze of the creature who stabbed me. I recall the pleasure he felt when I fell, his cold-heartedness at taking my life. Only a monster could have committed that cruel of an atrocity and smiled about it.

    At the very least, tonight helped me realize I need to talk with my grandfather as soon as possible. It’s the only way to end this agony. But I can’t see him without speaking with my mother first, which is what I’m going to do right now.

    I get out of bed and don’t even bother making it. I wash my face quickly and grab something comfortable to wear: a white t-shirt, brown slacks and tennis shoes. I pick up my backpack and stuff a sweater into it; the temperature often drops quickly here. I leave my room and descend the stairs. I’ll talk to Mom and then visit my grandfather at his shop downtown. I go straight to the kitchen and see Luana there, eating breakfast:

    “Where’s Mom?” I ask.

    “She left really early, didn’t say where she was going.”

    That’s strange. She needs to explain why she was so terrified when she saw me yesterday, talk about what frightened her and what she knows about the rebellion. Even if she forbids me from seeing my grandfather, studying enchantments, or just leaving the house, I need to confront her. But since she isn’t here, I’ll go directly to my other option.

    “Le?” I notice Lua calling me, “Pay attention.”

    “Oh, sorry. I was thinking about something.”

    “You look terrible. Didn’t you sleep well?”

    “No, I had a strange nightmare…” I reply.

    “About what?”

    “Nothing really. Just the tests I’ve got coming up.”

    “But haven’t you already finished them?”

    I have, in fact. That’s the best excuse I could come up with to avoid any further questions.

    “Actually, I’ve got a couple more.”

    “Wow, that’s too bad. Sit down and eat something,” she says, pointing to the chair. “Who knows? It might make you feel better.”

    I’m famished. I missed supper yesterday because of everything that happened. Accepting my sister’s invitation, I put my backpack on the floor and sit at the table. I smear a couple of slices of bread with apricot jam. They look delicious. I cram them into my mouth one by one. I eat so fast that, in the end, I don’t even taste anything.

    “Good heavens, Leran. Eat right.”

    “Sorry,” I respond with my mouth full.

    “Jeez!” she thunders and gets up from the table. At least now I can eat in peace.

    It’s time for cereal. I throw a fistful into a bowl and drench it in milk. I spot some fruit by the sink and decide to enhance my dish. I slice bananas, strawberries and an apple on top of the cereal. Now I’m set. It’s delicious. With each spoonful, I fill my mouth as well as my ravenous stomach with a flavorful mix. I go to the living room where I find Luana, reading one of her books.

    “Did you finish devouring your prey, you repulsive creature?” she asks ironically.

    “Uh huh,” I respond smiling. I take my key and approach the door.

    “Where are you going?”

    “I need to talk with Grandpa.”

    “That sounds right. You said they had a fight last night, didn’t you? That must be why Mom was in such a foul mood this morning. Good luck with that.”

    I can imagine how she woke up. But I have no idea where she went. Could she have gone to my grandfather’s? In that case, going there would be crazy. A conversation with all three of us at the same time could make things much worse. But, you know what? I don’t care. After all, I’m the one being played. They owe me some explanations and I’m going to get them.

    I follow the dirt road to the train station. When I arrive, I see there’s less movement than usual; the steel entrance doors are closed. I spot trains parked a few meters away and realize I’m going to have problems getting downtown today. This is the last station on the line. The engines are left there when they aren’t being used. I soon notice a paper sign stuck to the fence confirming my fears. It advises that Saturday morning – all morning – there will be maintenance on the rails. That’s just great!

    Acigam has these problems. Everything is so precarious and rundown that basic services like transportation, education and healthcare are customarily inadequate. My grandfather says that if we compare the structures downtown – the best maintained place we have – with those of other cities, Acigam is nothing more than a village, even with its tens of thousands of inhabitants. The cobblestone streets, the brick stores and the steam locomotives that characterize our city give it a rather rundown air instead of a classic tone.

    This isn’t the first time the train line, our only means of transportation between downtown and where I live in the Oliveiras District, has been shut down like this. Because it’s a narrow city, built at the foot of the mountains, Acigam’s railroad crosses it from east to west. When the train’s out, no one has transportation. Fortunately, it’s only for the morning. For someone who’s seen this go on for weeks, a couple of hours is a piece of cake. Since I have no intention of waiting, my only option is to walk. If everything works out, I can catch the train back. It’s just as well that I woke up early. It’s a long way downtown. It’ll take me almost two hours on foot, if I walk quickly. I’d get there in forty minutes by train, but that’s not a problem. I’ve got water in my backpack.

    Walking isn’t the hardest part. The Old Town, one of Acigam’s most abandoned places, is on my route. It’s the refuge of the very poor who don’t have their own businesses and truly depend on the government’s inefficient social policies. Let’s just say it’s not a very appealing place for a stroll.

    On my way, I study the closely packed houses, built one on top of the other. They’re simple structures, often unfinished, without brickwork. Everything looks improvised. In the streets, poorly-dressed, mistreated people pass by piles of garbage. Barefoot children play on the dirty terrain. The ill, in turn, have their destiny mapped out for them by the lack of doctors and hospitals. Hunger and misery are visible everywhere.

    Every time I see this, I realize how lucky I am. But I also feel guilty for having eaten a feast at breakfast while these people beg for crumbs. That’s reality for most of Acigam’s population: poor families who do what they can to survive.

    If I lived like that, I’d have more reasons to rebel against the government, even more than the warlocks do. However, when you have to struggle just to eat, the will to fight for freedom takes second place. The struggle for your rights only occurs when basic needs are fulfilled, which is far from happening here.

    Thinking about the huge social differences existing in Acigam, I’m able to sort some things out. I can now understand some of the reasons the warlocks would be fomenting this rebellion. Acigam has gone through important changes in the last few decades that have taken autonomy away from the more independent social classes, like that of merchants, for example.

    One of them, probably the most significant, was closing the borders more than fifteen years ago. Since then, it has been expressly prohibited for any resident of Acigam to leave the city or to receive anything from outside. At that time, the government claimed it was protecting its citizens from external threats. Nevertheless, everyone knows that’s a lie. I’ve lived practically my entire life in this situation and I can’t remember how things were before they were closed. As for those who’ve had the opportunity to travel outside, that prohibition must have been particularly unsettling, principally for the merchants who used to travel frequently to trade goods and do business.

    My grandfather has always told me stories about his trips, even how he had his first contact with enchantments. He learned everything out there, but, with the borders being closed, that was interrupted. Who would have traveled to other cities more than the merchants? No one. The rest of the population was never in a position for that or simply didn’t have any interest in doing so. Knowledge of the science of energy must permeate Acigam’s merchant class.

    Another interesting fact is that my grandfather has told me countless times how closing the borders affected his work. He always says he made more money when he could export furniture and buy cheaper materials from outside suppliers. How many merchants are in the same situation? How many remember this time of abundance, when they made more money? Could this conflict have a financial motive behind it? That theory makes a lot of sense to me.

    The merchant sector is strong in Acigam, but it isn’t even close in size to the great mass of the hungry and unemployed, like what I see here in the Old Town. They’re the real victims of the brainwashing in our schools. The fact that we’re isolated from the world, prisoners within these walls, doesn’t bother them. After all, none of them ever had the opportunity to see anything out there. They don’t seem to want to change things. In truth, they don’t even know things could be different… but I do. That mediocrity is not for me.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Despite the financial question being a strong motive for the merchants to rebel, what bothers me the most is how the government controls our lives. I want to travel the world and see new things. I have no idea what it’s like out there; if it’s large or small or beautiful. How many cities are there? How many people? Locked in here, there’s no way of knowing. Besides, I’m already seventeen; I’m almost out of school and my prospects aren’t the least bit exciting. I’ll probably sell furniture with my grandfather for the rest of my life, or work in another store in the market place, one belonging to a friend of the family. Or worse yet, I’ll join Acigam’s army and help the government hunt down and crush those who want something different for their lives. Whatever the case, I’ll need to study in hiding like my grandfather does in order to satiate my hunger for knowledge and maintain my mental health. This future is neither interesting nor can I imagine myself living it. I want much more than all of this. I’m wasting my potential in this system. But what can I change? Join the rebellion and risk my life? If I die, I won’t even have a future, will I?

    After crossing the Old Town, I’m almost at my grandfather’s shop; I just need to go through the main plaza. Unlike last night, today I can spend a few minutes admiring the place. I take advantage of the stone benches there to sit down and drink a little water. While resting, I observe the great white stone outdoor theater with its details sculpted in curved lines that remind me of the blowing wind. This is undoubtedly a magnificent structure. Great events have taken place here and it is where the government makes its official pronouncements. Whenever this happens, the plaza is filled with guards, in part because the army’s main base is just a few streets away.

    I can also see the Government Palace – the region’s tallest and best-preserved building – from here. One of the plaza’s streets goes directly to the gates of Marble Villa, the district where all the government’s ministers and other important people live. You’ve got to jump through a lot of hoops to enter the Villa. I visited it once during a school field trip. I remember the luxury the houses revealed on their façades. The stone used on the houses’ exteriors gives the place its name.

    There is yet another stone sculpture in the plaza, though it is clearly not as pleasant as the outdoor theater. It’s the statue of Acigam’s political leader, king Evandro Cadorcia. More than three meters in height, it stands on a base that’s as tall as I am. The only way we can look at it is from the ground up. It attempts to convey the government’s power and strength to the people by using its size and the image of our leader.

    Everyone says the statue is exceptionally perfect; I can’t disagree. Cadorcia stands upright on the stone base, holding a sword in his right hand and supporting a shield exhibiting Acigam’s coat of arms etched in high relief with the other. He’s wearing a suit of armor without all its pieces. This leaves his hands, arms and face visible. There is a refined crown on his head. On his back, he sports a large cape made in waves and curves, imitating the fabric’s natural movement. It’s all very well done. On his face, you can even see ridges representing the whiskers of his beard and his long hair. His broad nose, square chin and very deep eyes are also well detailed traits.

    They say the statue is an excellent depiction of the king; nevertheless, I’ve never seen him so I can’t really tell. The truth is that people know virtually nothing about the royal family. We’re aware that Cadorcia married a commoner before assuming the throne, an important way to gain approval from other sectors of the city. But, like the king, the queen rarely shows her face. They always send representatives to official events. Because of this, images of Evandro are exhibited about the city for its residents to remember who governs them.

    After resting for a few minutes, I leave the plaza and continue on my way to the market. There’s a lot of activity today. Saturday is always the day people with more purchasing power spend time downtown. My grandfather’s shop should be full. He might not even have time to talk to me. I’ll probably have to wait until his customers leave; the content of our discussion requires discretion. As soon as I approach his shop, I notice the doors are shut. A small sign hung on the inside of the glass window says “closed”.

    Didn’t my grandfather come to work? That’s strange. Something must have happened for him not to show up today of all days, when there’s so much movement. I go to the store next door, a tailor shop, and enter it, looking for its owner, Alb Pinmur, an elderly man who’s even older than Grandpa. Helpers scurry from one side to the other while trying to assist customers. Despite my questions, no one pays enough attention to me to indicate where the person I’m looking for is. A woman, thinking I want to buy something, stops and speaks politely with me. As soon as she discovers that I only want information, her smile disappears; she points to the back of the shop, wanting me to leave as soon as possible so she can do her job.

    I go where she indicates hoping to find Alb and, when I step through the curtain separating the front of the store from the work area, I see him bent over, sticking pins in a customer’s pant cuff. I say his name and he looks at me over the glasses stuck on the tip of his nose; he then asks me to hold on for a few minutes. I leave and sit down outside to wait. The merchants in the market generally treat me very well because I’m Bretor Yandel’s grandson. My grandfather has many friends and is very well liked, which even helps me get discounts.

    While I wait, I observe hustle and bustle in the shop. There are people trying on clothes, taking measurements, and cloth is flying about everywhere. Shambles. Alb is so caught up in his work that he walks right by without seeing me.

    “Mr. Pinmur,” I call out.

    “What?” he says, looking at me, squinting his eyes as if trying to remember something. I have the impression he’s forgotten my name again. Memory is not one of Mr. Pinmur’s strong points.

    “Leran,” I remind him.

    “Why, of course, my boy. It’s just that, well, it’s crazy here today.”

    “I can see that,” I confirm, looking about.

    “Can I help you with something?” he asks me attentively.

    “Don’t worry; it’s quick. I was wondering if you’d seen my grandfather.”

    Alb scratches his head, trying to find some wisp of a memory. At this point, I wonder if I’ve sought out the right person. He looks at me as if he couldn’t help me.

    “It’s no problem, Mr. Pinmur. Thanks just the same.” I turn around and head out of his shop.

    “Wait,” he shouts, “I did see him. We had coffee together this morning.”

    “Are you sure?” I inquire. “His shop’s closed.”

    “Hum,” he scratches his head again. “Could it have been yesterday?”

    My eyes roll upward involuntarily and I turn my head, sighing. I’ve run out of patience.

    “It’s all right, Mr. Pinmur. No problem. I don’t think he came today,” I say and start out again.

    “Yes, it was today!” he shouts. “Have you tried the back door?”

    “No,” I answer, surprised. “Why?”

    Alb comes closer and whispers, as if revealing a secret.

    “He said he wasn’t going to open today because he was expecting some people for a meeting.”

    That’s strange –closing his store on a Saturday to have a meeting with some friends? All right, Alb didn’t say friends; he said people. Who could they be? I thank him for the information and leave pensively. Back in the street, I see more individuals, a clear sign that there will be much more movement by the end of the day. This also shows that the supposed rebellion doesn’t really affect anything in people’s lives, at least for now. Everything is like it’s always been.

    I go to the back of the furniture store and find the door unlocked. Alb was right. I don’t see anyone and everything is turned off. The basement light illuminates the stairs; my grandfather must be there. As I stared to descend, I hear voices and realize he’s already begun his gathering.

    “Isn’t Simus coming?” asks an older-looking man.

    “He should be getting here any time now. I left the backdoor open for him,” my grandfather responds.

    Right then, I hear the door open and quickly hide behind an old wardrobe on display near the stairs. It’s a much younger man than my grandfather. He must be the Simus they’re talking about. He locks the door and descends, passing right in front of me.

    “You’re finally here, Simus,” says another voice. This time, it’s a woman.

    I go back to where I was by the stairs and lean forward to hear better.

    “So, why did you call us here, Bretor?” This must be Simus’ voice.

    “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Galek was killed last night,” my grandfather says.

    Who’s Galek? Could he be referring to one of the warlocks who were slain?

    “Impossible,” the woman snaps back. “He’s one of our most powerful.”

    “Unfortunately, it’s true. I saw everything. He and another man, who I couldn’t identify. Both were killed by the husher who uses daggers.”

    “That’s why Sandra asked me this morning if I’d seen him. He didn’t come home last night,” Simus says.

    “We have to let Sandra know about her husband’s death,” the woman concludes.

    Simus agrees. “I’ll talk to her later today. It’s going to be a difficult conversation.”

    “And you, Bretor. Didn’t you try to help them? Did you just watch while they killed them?” the man asks indignantly.

    “Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything, Babo. My grandson was with me and…” my grandfather is saying when Simus interrupts him.

    “Did he see everything?”

    “Yes, we were struck by the silencing and Le was terrified. I couldn’t expose our position, or there would have been four deaths instead of two. Besides, being silenced, it was impossible to do an enchantment strong enough to take down the enemy. Everything happened so quickly.”

    “How many were there?”

    “More than five.”

    “What?” Babo askes, stunned.

    “It was a larger group than normal,” my grandfather explains.

    “They probably thought they needed to send more men to capture Galek,” Simus concludes.

    “And how many warlocks were there?” a woman asks.

    “I saw five of them running through the plaza when the hushers got there. I don’t know if they’re alive.”

    Things are now starting to fit together. My grandfather is part of all this. He’s a member of the Guild.

    Simus immediately asks,

    “Is Galek the only one you recognized?”

    “Yes, I saw him attacking the throwing bombs at soldiers in the plaza just before confronting the husher.”

    “We have to find the three that were with them, discover what happened,” the woman says.

    “If they’re still alive,” Babo adds.

    Considering how many hushers we saw, that’s probably not the case. It seems the warlocks are bearing the brunt of these confrontations. My grandfather even said the hushing would keep them from executing stronger enchantments. That must be the government’s biggest advantage: a weapon capable of affecting the control of energy. I hadn’t noticed, but the man who threw the flaming ball at the police was the same one who was killed first in front of the alley. Then, under the effect of the silencing, his attacks were much weaker; the husher repelled them easily. Poor Galek.

    “What do we do now?” she asked.

    “The fighting is getting more and more frequent and we’ve lost a lot of people,” Simus says.

    “If we’re going to keep this up, we need to do something now,” Babo says.

    “Yes, but many people will have to rejoin the cause,” my grandfather says.

    “I think we need to take a vote. If we decide to do this for keeps, we’ll have to choose a new leader,” Simus suggests. “You’d be ideal for this, Bretor.”

    My grandfather leading a rebellion? That’s just too weird. I don’t really like these conversations I’ve been hearing lately.

    “I’m getting old, Simus. A younger leader would be better.”

    “But everyone who respected Caio will trust you.”

    And, with that phrase, my heart starts pounding. Caio? My father? I’m so startled I take a step backwards and stumble into the wardrobe. With the impact, it rocks and emits a low creak. I quickly grab the piece of furniture to stop its movement and, with that, I don’t notice what’s happening down there. They stop talking. I hear steps on the stairs and run back behind the wardrobe.

    “Well, we ought to be going,” says the woman, now on the same floor I am.

    “Then we’ll do what we’ve decided,” my grandfather says.

    Damn! I was so surprised to hear them mention my father that I didn’t pay attention to how the conversation ended.

    “Yes, as quickly as possible,” Babo says.

    I keep looking, hidden, and wait for them to leave. But when they approach the door, Simus asks:

    “And you grandson? What will you do now that he’s seen everything?”

    “I don’t know yet,” my grandfather answers. “I suppose I’ll tell him the truth.”

    “I understand.”

    Simus, who is at the rear of the group, still far from the door, turns around and walks toward the wardrobe.

    “That won’t be necessary,” he says before pulling the piece of furniture aside, revealing me to everyone.