༄༄༄

They haven't caught me. Yet.

The cool air blows into my face and musses my hair as I run. In the shadows of the predawn hour, the alley is nothing but a straight, black line. Panting, I skirt giant columns supporting a stone arcade of the temple on my left, and duck into the bushes of a small garden, pausing to catch my breath. Distant voices of lazy guards reach me through the branches, then die out like the hushed wind. Nobody has noticed me so far, but it doesn't mean I'm safe. I need to get out of here.

Once everything is silent again, I take a deep breath, then quietly cross the garden, and start running down another narrow alley, toward the southern side of the shaman city.

My bloodline used to be royalty, or so the family story goes. Centuries ago, when magic thrived all across the globe and shamans hadn't yet taken the crown of Cabracan, massacring everyone who tried to stand against them and then concealing our lands from the rest of the world to empower their rule over those who had still been left alive, my ancestors were the kings and queens who resided here, in the main temple as it was called a palace back then. And now I'm skulking around like a thief.

Well, I am a thief. Putting my gloved hand into the inner pocket of my coat, I check if the bottle there is intact. The bottle is full, yet it feels weirdly light. They say aura is the blood of spirits, the quintessence of the underworld, which shamans channel and use as fuel for their powers. As much as I hate magic, I'm also fascinated that something so deadly and dangerous is so beautiful: aura looks like a night bottled up, like weightless ink absorbing all light in its vicinity--except ink doesn't burn your skin. Aura does. Only shamans can tame spirits and touch aura without being hurt, only shamans can control magic without amulets and charms.

They teach us we're all equal, special, worthy, but it's a lie; we're not. Some are born wealthy, some smart, and some--powerful. Our current shamanic empress has been ruling Cabracan for two hundred and twenty-four years. Does it sound like equality? What is so special about her, except for aura coursing through her veins that makes her unstoppable and practically immortal? Why can't I be immortal, then?

Because I wasn't born that way. Because we're not equal.

A lanky figure of another guard appears from around the corner, and I'm swift to press my back against the nearest wall. A shiver slithers down my spine as the cold stone kisses the back of my head, but my heart drums hot under my ribs, panic sharpening my senses. Now I curse myself for running that fast, for being so eager to get out...If the guard hears my heavy breathing--

Humming to herself, though, the guard strolls past without noticing me. I sigh in relief. Apparently, they've all grown careless here, arrogant to the very idea someone might be audacious enough to even try to steal from Empress Ixchel.

Once the alley is clear, I pull the collar of my jacket up to obscure my face, and keep moving through the dark, slower now, avoiding the lanterns hanging from the balconies and spilling their glow over the elaborate reliefs carved into the ancient walls.

When I told my parents I was going to make them royalty again, they laughed, regarding my words as fantasies of a five-year-old boy I was then. Parents never take you seriously when you're a child, do they? They read you inspiring stories before bed, promise incredible things, and tell you tales about how the world can be better, yet when it comes to reality...Leave things the way there are, Elisey. It's fine as it is, manageable. And what if you only make it worse?

Worse? Why does nobody believe they can change the world in reality? With a few alchemic manipulations, my siblings and I have figured how to alter aura, how to use it to deprive shamans of their power instead of granting it.

We are going to take back the crown. We are going to change the world.

Leaving the alleys behind, I approach the southern side of the old shaman city, one particular building that is left in ruins by the high stone wall stretching to surround the whole perimeter. The early hour is peaceful, no rain, no clouds, though I suspect shamans use magic to manipulate the weather as well. Glancing around to make sure nobody's nearby, I squeeze through the gap of a split wall, into an abandoned hall. I wonder why the empress has let this part of the old city stay broken after the Civil War, though. For a reminder of the ferocious shamanic power that shattered it? A trophy? A memorial...? Still, nobody dares to walk here because the stones look like they're going to give way any minute--and bury you with them. Good for me.

The sun hasn't risen, the world yet dark, and inside the hall is even darker. I stand still for a beat, pressing my palms against my flushed cheeks, waiting for my breathing to calm and eyes to adjust to the shadows. Fragmented columns and crumbled stairs and litter are all over the place, the floors have collapsed here and there, revealing lower levels and more ruins. I move forward slowly, cautious not to misstep; if I trip and the bottle in my pocket breaks...I don't want to be scalded with aura. I've seen the scars it leaves.

I'm halfway through the first hall when some movement in the corner catches my attention. I stop short. Have I been followed? A bead of cold sweat skitters down the back of my neck. If shamans catch me stealing from them, it's years in prison at best. And at worst...well, I don't even know what they did to the last smuggler they caught. I've heard about him being seen going into Tik'al, but I've never heard about him going out.

Nobody has.

A shadow crawls along the opposite wall where a window used to be, smooth like a ghost as I watch it, tensing. Maybe those are just clouds in the sky drifting, casting shadows? Wait, there are no clouds tonight.

"Here you are."

I flinch as a hand lands on my shoulder, panic sinking its claws deeper into my chest. It takes a long second for my mind to connect the dots, for me to recognize the voice, and relax. Turing to meet Kofi's eyes, I scowl at him, my throat still tight with trepidation. "You bastard."

"Did I scare you?" Kofi grins. "But who else did you expect to see? Only idiots dare come here."

"You mean us."

"We know a safe route."

"We didn't know it was safe the first time we came here." My gaze darts back to the treacherous wall, but nothing moves there anymore. Stillness. Perhaps I imagined it all, I hope so.

"Whatever." Running his hand over his short dreadlocks, Kofi hops off the huge piece of stone that once was a decorative animal head. "I got aura. You?" Technically, we aren't brothers, not biological ones. Kofi is lithe, dark-skinned, and easy-going, while I'm rather sturdy, my skin turns annoyingly red after just an hour under the sun, and everyone keeps saying there's nothing easy about my character. But our moms run a dress shop together for years, we practically grew together and spend so much time side by side that the word friends seems like not enough.

I nod. "Got it." It's smarter to split up in Tik'al and get aura from different fountains. You've more chances to stay unnoticed alone, and that way, if one of us is discovered, another can catch the guards by surprise and distract them--or just run, and then at least someone will get away. Still, staying alone in the heart of the enemies' quarters makes me jumpy every single time, no matter how often we're stealing. "Let's go."

༄༄༄

We follow our usual path through the neglected halls and corridors. It takes nearly half an hour to make our way past the ruins and down the frail stairs, to the lowest level that leads to a small, almost invisible among the stones, breach in the walls enclosing Tik'al.

Tik'al stands on a rise, the old shaman city of temples, surrounded by the real city of Cabracan, and now we find ourselves down the slope, on a street empty and crooked like a scythe. If Tik'al is composed like a puzzle of straight lines and sharp corners, where every alley and building and orchard as though completes one another, Cabracan is beautiful only as long as you look from afar: tall, narrow houses squeezed side by side, fixed and rebuild a dozen times each. The streets are barely wide enough for two to walk shoulder to shoulder, and noisy market squares don't have a single tree or a place to hide from turmoil. Still, I love Cabracan. It's home, cozy and alive unlike the temples that look like tombs preserved by magic and untouched by time.

Staring at a tiny patch of sky visible between the closed café and a candle shop, at the sunrise threatening to paint the horizon purple and pink, I inhale the fresh, calming air of freedom. We made it out again. I want to laugh to myself. Of course we did.

I take off my left glove and glance at the ring with a small gemstone on my index finger, but Kofi stops me before I can touch the gem. "Don't even think about using your ring," he says. "Ariane says portals can be tracked."

"How can Sis know?" I ask, mirroring his disapproval. "Nobody has seen us tonight, nobody will track us. And it's quieter than riding ridiculous bikes." We're not shamans, so rings and books are the only way we can--and are allowed to--use magic. I don't know how it works, exactly, but I know that I only need to think of something hard enough, and as long as I'm wearing my ring with a tiny drop of aura within its gemstone, I can travel to any place of Cabracan almost instantly. To any place in Cabracan outside the temples and personal houses, of course; those can't be entered that easily.

"They can check the energy of your gem and figure where you teleported before if they catch you next time," Kofi says.

"I'm exhausted, and sweaty, which I don't enjoy." Still, he's right. I put my hands in my pockets, and we head down the street, to the spot where we've left our bikes. "And I want to sleep."

"Well, I too would love to spend the rest of the morning in my bed as tomorrow night I've a date, which means no sleep again. Still, I'm not risking anymore today, Eli."

"A date? Again?" I fail to suppress a smirk. "Just out of curiosity, is it a girl or a boy this time, Kofi?"

"Why? Wanna join?"

"Ew."

He laughs, shamelessly, his rich voice filling the deserted street. "Relax, I don't think she's your type. And I'm not sharing my dates with you, find your own ones!" He thinks for a second, rounding crumpled flyers someone has dumped on the ground just a step away from a trash can. Pigs. "Actually...I don't know, who's your type? Except for that girl from school. What's her name? Rosy? Rory? But you broke up with her in a week, so...does she even count?"

"Shut up."

Still chuckling, Kofi stops by his bike parked next to the closed candle shop, and I turn into the backyard of the building, where I've parked mine. I don't even know why we park our bikes in different places. Because two vehicles definitely look like a trick in the city where everyone can teleport?

A metallic clanking resonates through the air just the moment I round the corner. I see a boy--a couple of years younger than me, maybe sixteen?--who I've never met before, lurking around my bike. I freeze midstep, a wave of alarmed surprise washing over me. But the stranger looks like neither a shaman nor a guard, so my alarm instantly evaporates.

My surprise doesn't. Having heard Kofi's laughing, the boy has apparently panicked, too, because his eyes flick in my direction and his hands fail to pick the lock chaining my bike to a bench in the corner of the yard. "Hey!" Meeting my glare, the boy flinches yet only tries to do the job faster, no running.

Anger dims my surprise in a flash.

Before I can think it through, my legs carry me into a fight. "That's mine!" But how ironic is this? A thief is stealing from a thief. Karma appears to be in the mood today.

As I launch myself across the yard, my karmic thief finally manages to unlock my bike. Swinging one leg over the saddle, he speeds up in an attempt to knock me off my feet and ride past me. And I, instead of avoiding the impact, make a desperate attempt to twist around and grab the boy by his coat as he nears. Reaching out, my fist closes on his sleeve, and I yank. The boy yelps. More metallic clanking. Losing his balance, he tumbles to the ground, the bike crushing and bruising us both.

My chest hits the ground, pain blooming in my lungs like shattered ribs. From above, I hear another voice screaming but ignore it, trying to climb from under the bike. It's damn heavier when it pins you to the dirt. The boy beside me curses, helping me to shove the bike aside--then shoves me aside, pushing himself to his feet to run before I regain my bearing. I grasp his ankle a second before my face meets the gravel. He stumbles, falling with another yelp.

"You two! Stop now!" And this time, my brain tells me it's not Kofi who should have come to my aid by now. The street patrol. Karma must be mocking me.

Our bodies tangled in an awkward fight, the boy and I freeze. The patroller is behind my back so I can only guess if we're totally screwed by the boy's expression, yet when I glance up, I realize he doesn't look at the patroller--he stares at me, at my chest, his eyes wide with horror.

"What the--"

And only now do I feel it. Something trickling down my jacket.

Silence suddenly reigns over the backyard. If panic hadn't lodged in my throat, I would have screamed because as I look down, I see that the bottle of aura has slipped out of my pocket, and shattered. Aura hasn't soaked into my clothes--thankfully?--only splashed my jacket and poured onto the ground, but my right hand propping me in a half-seated position is now outright pressing into the ink-black puddle. I'm lucky to still wear one glove. Its leather has protected me from a scald.

They all saw the bottle was in my pocket. I'm dead.

The nameless boy is the first to react. He jumps to his feet, and storms off, disappearing among the morning shadows before anyone can follow. The patroller doesn't seem to care, though. I'm the criminal now.

Hesitant, I turn my head to look at the patroller, to see if I can try to repeat the boy's agenda and run. To my further distress, there are two patrollers, not one, a man and a woman in gray uniforms, who look disturbingly alike. Twins? Both short and broad-shouldered, maybe in their twenties, their red hair pulled back in ponytails, their faces long and unfriendly. I can't run. As I merely shift to rise to my feet, both of them move their hands to their guns, ready to stop me; running now can only result in more violence. And if I try to teleport right away, they'll track me even faster.

As I slowly stand up, I notice Kofi watching me from around the corner, his expression both furious and frightened as he's trying to figure a way to get me out of this--and figuring none.

The patrollers don't hurry to cuff me when I straighten up, though. Weird. They're usually quick to detain troublemakers, and I've clearly stolen aura from shamans--the descendants of gods, that's the worst of crimes. And there are strange, confused expressions on their faces as if they are--

"What is this?" the woman asks, her wide eyes still fixed on the ink-black puddle next to me. I hide my gloved hand smeared with aura behind my back, but it's pointless. They've seen it.

As if they're scared, I realize. But why?

I glance down at the aura puddle again. It looks quite scary, true. Like a burn on a picture where all colors and lights were erased, leaving utter darkness.

Darkness.

And it hit me. The sun hasn't fully reached the horizon yet, it's still pretty dark around, and my gloves are made of leather that is extremely close to the tone of my skin. The patrollers have seen my fingers touching aura, yet they haven't noticed I've been wearing a glove. They think I'm a shaman.

But they're not sure as shamans don't fight over bikes in the dirt.

"I've abilities," I blurt out before my resolve vanishes. The patrollers' hands reaching for their guns stop. It's rare, extremely rare for someone whose parents aren't shamans to have abilities--the affinities for aura, but even then you need to have shamans somewhere in your family tree. I've none. But these patrollers don't know that.

Kofi's eyes widen at me from his hiding spot; he is about to step out, but if we're both detained, there's nobody to go home and ask for help. I shake my head. Kofi has to go home, to find Cale--he's the oldest brother, the smartest, he's always been the one to sort out our mess and come up with artful plans.

Keeping my hands behind my back, I take my glove off and surreptitiously drop it into a withered bush pocking my calves. "I've abilities," I repeat, more confident now as my ruse seems to work. Raising my bare hands up, I show the patrollers my palms. "See? No burns. I can touch aura, I'm a shaman." And yet, I can feel a small patch of scalded skin between my fingers, where a drop of aura has sunk through the seam of my glove. It hurts as though a hot iron has been pressed against it, but I bite back my tongue and swallow the pain.

The man in the patroller's uniform seems to be genuinely impressed by my performance, but his twin sister only narrows her eyes at me. "You're lying," she says.

"No, I--"

"Yes, you are. I don't know what kind of trick this is, but it most probably is a trick."

Most probably? That's more than I hoped for. "But if I'm telling the truth and you throw me into jail instead of taking me to the shamans, you'll end up in jail yourselves, right?" I ask, still holding my hands up. There are fewer shamans every year; those who live too long for normal human beings aren't tempted by the idea of having children to share their power and riches with. Young and inexperienced shamans who miraculously inherited magic from their long-forgotten ancestors, on the other hand, won't ask for more than a chance to be called the cream of the society, no matter what dirty work they have to do for the opportunity to live in the temples and be revered like gods.

I see Kofi relaxing a little, now realizing what I'm trying to achieve. Away from other sources of magic and without a sealed container, aura is not very inert. As we've been talking, the spilled liquid has soaked into the ground, leaving no trace behind except for the pieces of the broken bottle. There's nothing left for me to touch again to see if I'm telling the truth. The patrollers now have no choice but to take me back to Tik'al. I hope it'll buy Kofi enough time to bring Cale.

Sharing a glance with her brother, the woman finally nods. "Well," she says with a sudden toothy smile.

Before I can ask if it means yes, Twin Brother steps forward, taking the handcuffs dangling from his belt and locking them brusquely around my wrists. "You asked for it," he says as I wince. "You know where shamans live. Lead the way."

The last thing I see is Kofi sneaking away, in the direction of our house, then the patrollers shove me toward the other side of the street, and I've no choice but to shuffle back to the place I've escaped less than an hour ago. The only difference is, now I'm going to enter through the main gates where everyone can see my face, I'm cuffed, and escorted by soldiers like a criminal I secretly am.

༄༄༄