We’ve always focused my studies on enchantments. Over the years, I’ve learned how to use objects to absorb energy and then release it in a different manner. But that’s not the only way to control the forces governing the world, not the only way to change the inertia of elements and make them behave in your benefit. That’s what my grandfather showed me with the old book he took from the shelf. I spent the rest of Saturday morning listening attentively to every word he read.

The pages had illustrations and texts about how energy can be controlled. Besides enchantments, there are other forms of control. Each one requires specific techniques to capture and dissipate energy.

Manipulation, for example, is the art of controlling the elements of an entire area. The book says it’s a powerful but limited, technique. With it, you can only manipulate elements that already materially exist within your reach. Air is one that’s easily manipulated; it’s everywhere, but manipulators of water and fire must find sources for those elements to exercise control.

Common manipulations can alter the environment by modifying the air’s humidity, for example, and thus control heat or cold; they can even interfere with luminosity and the stability of the earth, among other things. By controlling the elements around adversaries, the manipulator affects their senses, causing deafness, blindness or simply a sudden malady, like dizziness or paralysis. Everything depends on how warlocks combine what is available. A manipulation’s effect is long-lasting if the manipulator continues to furnish energy for the control. It’s what the book calls channeling. Nevertheless, you don’t need to always maintain a manipulation for a long time; seconds of a debilitating effect are enough to make a fight uneven. A fire manipulator can cause tremendous heat from a single spark, even making his adversary die from dehydration. An experienced air manipulator can cause victims to suffocate, taking them out without having a chance to defend themselves. My grandfather says that’s Babo Seranto’s specialty. He was one of the men in the shop this morning.

As was said about silencing, every manipulation has an epicenter, the point where the manipulator releases energy. From there, it dissipates throughout the radius where the technique is being performed. The closer victims are to the center, the greater effect it will have on them. Generally, warlocks who initiate control using their bodies are the epicenter. Powerful manipulators can extend the effect of their control for kilometers. Alb Pinmur is another example of a manipulator. According to my grandfather, he specializes in moving the earth; he can even cause earthquakes. I’d say that too much shaking has affected his head a bit.

The second way to “do magic” is modeling. In high school, we learn that the god Earth models the gigantic sphere to create the base for the world. This is a clear reference to modeling, which is nothing more than using energy. It transforms intangible energy into something tangible. Simpler techniques generate only images of an object, since they only concentrate light. With this, the modeler can create illusions, as an example.

Mid-level modeling can result in objects with different formats and sizes, as well as alter the form of things that already exist. To do this, practitioners use the surrounding elements, creating volumes, weights and even smells; their creations can interact with our five senses. More experienced modelers may even create complex beings, perfect creatures that follow orders or are intelligent and have their very own desires. Brenda Rabeli, the women who spoke with my grandfather in the basement, specializes in creatures. I’ve heard that she uses servants made from pure energy do the cleaning and fix meals where she lives.

We also have orientations, the most common method of controlling. With it, practitioners alter an element’s flow, directing it to another place. Unlike other methods, in orientation energy dissipates more rapidly after being displaced, without being concentrated at a given point or stored. Controllers can use it to create more destructive attacks. The warlocks I saw downtown used orientation to throw explosive balls, luminous spheres and thunderbolts. It’s a purely offensive technique. To displace an element in the form of an attack, orienters use parts of their bodies – fingers, hands, arms, eyes and legs – to gather energy and fire it at their targets; these body parts can all be used as launchers. Using specific objects is also normal: clubs, scepters, rings, necklaces and other items. There are many variations in style and in what warlocks prefer. The book calls these fetishes; they’re commonly used because they help controllers orient more easily. Simus Calveta is an orienter; his specialty is lightning and thunderbolts.

And finally, people can handle energy by using items or devices to control it. Unlike fetishes, these items already possess the inherent capacity for control. They’re generally created by modelers or enchanters and can provide any of the other types of control. When these items are designed for combat, they’re made to resemble weapons: swords that launch fire when moved and shields that create light barriers, among many others. But they can also be simple everyday objects like communicators, image generators and means of transportation. The book even shows vehicles that can fly by controlling the surrounding air. That must be incredible. It’s obvious we’ve never seen these in Acigam. Even the simplest items are extremely rare here in the city.

My grandfather told me that the police’s new weapons are controller items. Instead of using gunpowder, like older models, they have small enchanted crystals around the cylinder that generate balls of fire as a substitute for bullets. These rounds can easily perforate the skin, which eliminates the need for ammo. The hushers are also equipped with this type of weapon. In the end, levitation, invisibility and even silencing itself are the fruit of devices capable of controlling energy. It, of course, behooves the government to use magic for its own benefit.

I ask my grandfather how warlocks decide what to choose, having so many options for control. He tells me about a concept called “affinity”. Most people are born with a predisposition for some type of control, one which makes it easier for them to move energy. Others are simply born with no affinity. In this case, they’re called “Nulls”. Predispositions seem to be hereditary, which is why my grandfather, father and I can do enchantments.

The element with which you have greater control is another thing affinity influences. Some do better with light, others with the earth, and so on. Your affinity is defined when you’re born and cannot be changed. It’s like your personality. Furthermore, the personality traits we carry originate in the elements that govern us. Three of the six primary energies are rational: water, earth and light. The remainder are emotional. The most fearless people have the traits of fire, for example. Ambition is related to darkness. Water people tend to be calm. They’re like the virtues given by the gods. It’s obvious that all of this has a scientific explanation: energies are everywhere and we are also made of them. Some are predominant in our structure and tend to influence our personality as well as our affinities. I believe that, like my father and grandfather, I am better at controlling fire and things derived from it. This, however, does not mean I cannot use water, for example. It just means it will be more difficult.

Out there, everyone has the possibility of practicing what Acigam erroneously calls “magic”. It’s normal in their lives. Children learn control in school. From early on, they discover their affinities and work with them. Here, on the other hand, if it depended on the government, none of us would know that the energies exist. Most actually don’t. People still faithfully believe the story about the gods without realizing it’s an analogy for real science.

~~~

After our conversation, we have lunch at the shop before I go to the market, where I am now. I want to buy my mother some flowers. I’m going to give them to her as soon as I get home. I’ll tell her that I really love her and that she doesn’t need to worry, that I know everything, that I’m at her side now and will not risk my life. She must be very strong and keep her story to herself for a while, not sharing it with anyone.

I head to the florist’s and, on the way, I observe people walking about. They’re from every part of the city. Different people with distinct mannerisms and manias. Which ones are warlocks? What affinities do they have? Not even they must know the answers. I keep walking, looking at the others, and try to guess their predominant element, which energy they’d be able to control, based on their gestures and their mannerisms.

A man is walking across the street from me, wearing elegant clothes: a round hat, beige coat and black, pleated slacks. His fast pace shows urgency. He avoids people easily while moving about. I watch his movements carefully until I lose sight of him. I believe his element is air. That’s what his quick mannerisms and agile gestures indicate.

Nearby, on the street he entered, there’s a woman arguing with a different man, perhaps her husband. I don’t know why they’re arguing. She opens her mouth as if shouting, but I can’t hear what she’s saying because of the noise in the market place. Visibly irritated, she moves aggressively. Fire is definitely dwelling within. The man, on the other hand, projects such a deep calm that they don’t seem to be on the same page at all. Would a water person marry a fire person? I don’t think so, but maybe they complement each other.

I keep walking, imagining the affinity of everyone nearby. I stroll along, looking about in every direction except forward; I’m so distracted that I don’t see the girl in my path before I bump into her. The impact knocks us both down side by side on the mosaic sidewalk. When I look up, a raft of paper is flying about. I turn my head and see her, still on the ground, looking at me quietly.

“Are you all right?” I ask, worried.

“Yes,” she smiles. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” I reply in turn, laughing.

I stand and then offer my hand to help her up.

“I’m sorry. I was so distracted I didn’t even see you. Are you really okay?”

“Relax,” she says, beating the dust off her clothes with her hands. “I didn’t see you either. I need to apologize too.”

“Okay, so were both forgiven, right?”

“Right, but only if you help me with my things,” she says, looking at all the paper on the ground.

“Wow. I wonder if any of them tore.”

I bend over and begin picking up the paper. They’re plain sheets that look like wrapping paper. They probably haven’t been damaged from the fall.

“I think that’s all of them,” she says, adding the ones she picked up to mine. “Thanks a lot.”

The girl smiles again and, for a few seconds, time stops. I hadn’t realized how beautiful her smile is. Her image makes me just stand there, looking at her. I notice a soft pink tint to her delicate lips while the light makes her teeth sparkle. The wind blows her curly blond hair. Only her bangs, held down by a silver tiara, stay in place. Her eyes have a mysterious brown tone that makes me comfortable but uneasy at the same time, hypnotized.

“Hey, you!” she calls out.,

“Uh, yeah?” I answer, shaking my head to recover from the trance.

“I asked your name.” Her lips are still stretched in a smile.

“It’s Le… Le… I mean Leran.”

“Okay, but do I call you Le, Lele or Leran?”

Jeez, I’m totally flustered. She must think I’m an idiot. And now? Answer her; tell her your name! I order myself.

“Le’s fine. That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Le? Okay, then.’

“And yours?”

“Judra, my pleasure.” She sticks out her hand, trying to hold onto that bunch of paper with her other arm.

“The pleasure is mine.”

I shake her hand and, seeing the difficulty she has holding those hundreds of sheets of paper, offer to help:

“Do you want me to carry those for you?”

“If you really don’t mind, I’d love it.”

I grab the paper and follow her down a parallel street, toward the stationary shop. She walks ahead of me, showing the way. This gives me the opportunity to stop and appreciate her beauty again. She’s dressed simply, but it’s perfect on her: black pants, a striped sleeveless blouse and some accessories, like a white belt and silver bracelets. She’s gorgeous!

“Are you coming?” she says, noticing that I’ve stayed behind.

“Of course, I am” And I run to catch up with her.

On the way, I tell her I’m looking for flowers for my mother, but I don’t know what kind to buy; I know nothing about them. She says she can help me, which makes me happy. I couldn’t hope for better company.

When we get to the stationary shop, I ask her if she works there and she says she’s just doing a favor for a friend. I hand her the pile of papers and she enters the store. When she comes back out, she tells me she’s ready for us to go to the florist’s.

“I haven’t seen you around here,” I utter, trying to find something to talk about.

“I don’t come very often. I live in Bargio.”

Bargio? Man, that’s far from here. It’s at the other end of the train line. Bargio’s a large neighborhood on the city’s east side. People living there usually shop at markets closer to home. They rarely come downtown because of the distance. They’re simple people, but not extremely poor. At least they live in better conditions than those in the Old Town. Judra also seems simple but there’s something in her that catches my eye. I don’t know what it is.

“From the look of things, you come here often, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” I answer, smiling. “My grandfather has a furniture store near the main avenue. Sometimes I come to help him.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Look, we’re here.” I point to the florist’s.

I go in and start looking at arrangements. Judra stands next to me, watching.

“What about this one?” I show her a vase of large flowers with yellow petals. It looks like a good choice to me.

“It’s pretty, but I think it’s a bit too gaudy. Wouldn’t you prefer something a little more discrete and delicate?”

“Could be. And these?” I exchange them for another one with small white flowers.

She shakes her head in disapproval and begins picking different flowers from the vases. Judra’s making her own arrangement. She walks about the entire shop, looking for options.

“Try something more original,” she says, showing me what she’s done. It’s simply wonderful. “I think this will be perfect.”

Judra smiles and winks at me.

“Thanks,” I say, accepting the arrangement.

It isn’t large but it’s lovely. The florist gives me a cardboard box. I place the present inside to protect it until I get home. I store the box in my backpack, being careful not to crumple it.

“I’m sure she’ll like this,” Judra says.

“Me too. Thanks to you.” I smile.

We leave and start walking toward the train station.

“Are you going home now?” she asks.

“Yeah. I need to talk with my mother. And you?”

“I’m going to the Lookout. I’d planned to watch the sunset from there.”

The Lookout … It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone talk about it. It’s a great spot, but I haven’t been there in years. My father used to take me so we could view the city from on high. The panorama is marvelous. You can see downtown right below it, Oliveira on one side of the city, and, on the other, Bargio meets the horizon. The enormous Government Palace and a large part of the walls separating us from the rest of the world are visible from there.

“Cool. It’s gorgeous there. Do you go often?”

“Yes. I love looking at the city from up there. It’s the only place where I really feel free, you know? I can see a little of what’s on the other side of the walls.”

What she said is true. I remember there was a dark green forest on the outside. I think it was to the west. To the north, you could see a highway and the railroad line, which went on until it disappeared over the horizon, and to the south there was a great mountain chain. I realize I’m not the only one who feels like a prisoner. I could see the sparkle in her eyes when she mentioned the feeling of being free. That’s what attracted my attention to Judra, that sparkle in her eyes, that longing for freedom. And, little by little, I realize that I identify more and more with her.

“Are you going at least as far as the station?” she asks.

“Yeah, I catch the train to the west side. Do you know if it’s running yet?”

“Was it out?” she asks, surprised.

“Yes, I had to walk here.’

“Wow, that must’ve taken you a while.”

“That it did.”

“That’s strange. It was running when I came downtown this morning. Maybe it just stopped on the west side.”

“Could be.”

In fact, when we reached the station, I see that the line to the east is operating, but the line home is still out. That sign announcing “Saturday morning maintenance” was a little off.

“How are you going to get home now?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to walk again. Let me see if I can find something out.”

I approach one of the security guards and ask when the trains will be running again. They’re usually rude, but this one’s in a good mood today. He says the trains should be operating before nightfall. The problem is that it’s a long time until the sun goes down. Judra has an idea:

“Why don’t you come with me? We can stay at the Lookout until they’re running again. You can see the line from there. As soon as we see a train coming from the west, you can go down and catch the next one.”

“That’s a good idea. It’ll be a nice outing. I just hope it doesn’t take too long. I don’t want my mother to worry.”

“No problem. Everything’ll be all right.”

The Overlook is close to a station on the line’s east side, but it’s not very far. It ought to take us fifteen minutes tops to get there. The station’s full and the next train is packed. We squeeze in and I’m careful so the present in my backpack doesn’t get crushed. We have to stand. Judra holds the vertical bar and I’m in front of her, supporting myself on the small grating that separates the seats from the car’s entrance area.

At every stop, the train gets fuller. We look at each other and begin to laugh about the situation. I can no longer reach the grating. I’m standing in the middle of the crowd, holding on however I can. When the train stops again, the inertia makes me stumble and I fall on Judra, who tries to hold me anyway she can. Her only option is to hug me so I won’t fall.

“Careful there,” she says laughing.

“Sorry,” I say and turn around to grasp the same bar she’s holding.

“That’s the second time today, you know?” she jokes.

I must have turned red from embarrassment, which she also seems to notice. I give her a shy smile and stay quiet until we reach the stop for the Overlook. I descend and follow her to the station exit, stretching my body to get rid of the feeling that I’m still squeezed in. We cross the road and then start climbing the stairs to the top.

“Do you want some water?” I ask, taking my bottle from the backpack.

“Yes, I’m really thirsty.”

She drinks half the bottle in a few seconds.

“I can see that,” I say jokingly.

“I’m sorry. I drank all most all of the water.”

“Relax.”

I take a few swallows and leave some for later. We keep climbing the steps that are cut into the rock in a zig-zag and soon reach the top. The ascent is truly worth it; I can see the entire city from here. I remember my father. It’s good to have those memories.

Acigam’s families often visit the Overlook. Besides having a marvelous view, it features an extensive park that permits camping and picnicking. There are small kiosks you can use for lunches and parties. I see a stone bench and tell Judra that’s where I used to sit with my father to look at the sky and count the stars. I begin to share part of my past with my new friend; she really seems interested. It’s been quite a while since I’ve talked with anyone like that. Over the last few years, I’ve distanced myself a bit from my friends in high school. I feel like my ideas no longer match theirs. But it’s different with Judra. She thinks like I do.

“Have you ever wanted to leave?” she says, pointing beyond the walls.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“I’ve wanted to go back to my hometown.”

“Aren’t you from here?” I ask, surprised.

“I’ve been here for more than fifteen years. I came here right after my parents died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupts. “That was a long time ago.”

“Where are you from?”

“Mabra. Do you know anything about it?”

“Nope. Nothing.

She laughs and says, “It’s far from here, to the north. They say it’s the largest city in the world, but I don’t remember much about it. I was very young.”

If Judra isn’t from here, maybe she knows something about energy. Maybe she knows how to control something. Could I have found someone with whom I can talk? I could try to introduce the topic in a subtle way, but I remember what I promised my grandfather and stop. Talking about this in public places is very risky.

“Who do you live with here in Acigam?” I ask.

“My aunt and uncle. They treat me well enough, but I don’t feel at home, you know? That’s why I’d like to leave, travel the world.”

She’s a lot like me. She has different reasons, but the same objectives. She wants more out of life, just like I do. Acigam doesn’t offer what she’s looking for. What luck, bumping into a person like her in the middle of the market. I’m sure few people think like that here.

The rest of the afternoon flies by. We talk about so many different things I can’t remember them all. One conversation leads to another; we talk about everything from food to the kinds of pets we’d like to have. I tell her about my past, about what I do in high school, and she talks a little about her life and what she likes. Our conversation is in perfect harmony. I laugh, discuss serious things and even trade jokes with her. Between one subject and another, I steal a few glances at her and feel my heart accelerate.

As the sun begins to go down, the temperature drops and I see Judra cross her arms to keep warm. I remember the jacket in my backpack and offer it to her. I put it on her shoulders; she thanks me with a smile. Contrary to what the guard had said, the sun is setting and there’s no sign of the train running. Actually, I’m thankful for the delay. I want to spend as much time here as I can. When it starts getting darker and the sun is disappearing over the horizon, we stop talking to appreciate the view. After a few minutes, sighing, she says,

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” I answer and look at her face while she continues gazing at the sunset. Her face, illuminated by the orange light, is more interesting than the sunset itself. I watch her until twilight covers the entire sky. She’s concentrating so hard that she doesn’t even notice me. When nighttime arrives, she turns and says in a sweet voice:

“Thanks for sharing your afternoon with me. It’s been great.”

Her eyes are even more captivating than before. Embarrassed, I glance away.

“Thank you. This day couldn’t have been better,’ I say self-consciously, lowering my head.

She then touches my chin with her fingers and turns my face. I feel a shiver coursing through my body. I don’t know what it is. I look at her; her dark irises hold me in a hypnotic vacuum. Little by little, I close my eyes and bring my face closer to hers until I feel our lips touch. My arms encircle her in a strong, affectionate embrace while my heart races excitedly. I’m in a state of ecstasy. I’ve never felt anything like this during a single kiss. We remain like that for a few minutes and, when it’s over, she moves her head away and looks at me somewhat shyly. I smile at her and she, at me. Still a little euphoric from what just happened, I say:

“I take back what I said. Now it really couldn’t have been better!”