All the Stars and Teeth(7)
Magic in amounts I’ve never before seen is happening all around me, and I crave it. A woman with rich violet-brown skin and a soft face framed by cloud-like curls dons a Suntosan emerald cape as she uses her magic to heal the fire-wielding Valukan child. Behind her, a Curmanan man in black robes floats two glasses of wine beside him and carries full plates of food for his family.
In the midst of these people, children and their parents flock to watch a puppet show, one of the dozens of various street performances happening tonight.
“Come, one!” a voice trills dramatically from behind the booth.
“Come, all!” a crowd of children respond automatically, watching with buggish eyes.
Only after their response does the narrator continue. “Come, gather to hear the story of the great Montaras—conquerors of magic, protectors of the kingdom!”
Parents pull children onto their laps, and I wonder if they think this display as wonderfully over the top as I do.
I take hold of Casem’s sleeve as the dark velvet curtains of the booth open for the start of a show, and pull him back into the shadows to watch.
“Really?” he asks, sighing as I hush him.
“Once upon a time,” the narrator whispers, “a vicious monster sought to destroy Arida with its magic.” Lights flicker on in the booth as one of the performers jerks his hand up—it’s covered by a crudely made puppet of something meant to resemble a monster. “This beast was vicious and sought to corrupt those with multiple magics. Back then, you see, no one knew the dangers of it. They were exhausting their bodies, leading to slow, painful deaths as excess magic ate away at them.
“Magic has a way of making a person greedy,” he continues. “The more someone has, the more they tend to want. The beast preyed on this greed by offering others the chance to learn its magic—the most powerful magic the world had ever seen, it claimed. People jumped on the opportunity, never expecting what the monster really wanted from them: their souls!”
Gasps sound from the audience, and beside me, Casem stifles a laugh. I nudge my elbow into his side, stopping him before anyone notices.
For Casem and the onlookers, this is simply another ancient story of our history that we grew up with. For me, this is my blood. My ancestry.
“—the magic was a dangerous, wicked thing,” the narrator continues. “Today, we call it soul magic. It bound itself to soul after greedy soul of those who wielded multiple magics, killing them! But even with half of Arida’s population destroyed, the beast wasn’t content. As its hunger grew, it sought to spread its blight.” The beast chases a series of screaming puppets around the tiny stage before swallowing them. Casem presses his lips together tightly, forcing back a smirk. I let him have this one.
“When all hope seemed lost,” the story continues, “one person took a stand against the monster—Cato Montara!” A regal-looking puppet of my great ancestor jumps onto the stage, drawing applause from the children and adults alike. Many of them lift fake replicas of Cato’s skinning knife into the air and cheer.
“Cato hadn’t yet established the monarchy; he was but a humble, magicless man who sought to protect the people he loved. He made a deal with the beast—if he could convince everyone to be content with practicing only one magic forevermore, then the beast would have to give Cato its magic and leave Arida alone. The beast laughed in Cato’s face and agreed, for it believed people were too greedy for such terms. It didn’t expect Cato could ever convince others to stop practicing all but one of their magics—and yet he did.
“Cato then vanquished the beast with nothing more than a single skinning knife, and because of their agreement, its magic was forever bound to the Montara bloodline!” Children gasp in awe, looking at their toy knives.
The narrator’s voice rises dramatically. “But if we were to go back on our ways, the beast could one day return. So to protect our people from ever being tempted by multiple magics again, Cato ruled that people pick only one type of magic to practice, and go to live on the island that would now represent that magic. He stayed on Arida, with those he chose as his advisers from each island, and created the kingdom. King Cato made Visidia what it is now, but”—here, the narrator lowers his voice in warning—“we are not the only ones responsible for keeping the beast away. The Montaras protect us, keeping it locked away within their blood. Should it ever break free from the Montaras, it will seek vengeance on all of Visidia. It will destroy every one of our souls.”
The children start to shift with worry, and the narrator’s voice evens out again, perfectly timed. “But don’t fear; as long as we don’t break our vow to practice but one magic, and so long as we have a capable animancer who’s strong enough to maintain the beast’s power and master its magic, Visidia will forever remain safe.”
Pride warms my skin and peppers it with goose bumps. It’s an incredible show, designed perfectly to preface the performance I’m about to give. I’m so invested in it that I jump as a little boy shouts from the audience, “If the magic’s so dangerous, why do the Montaras still practice it?” He earns a sharp shush from a woman I assume is his mother, though others offer a few quiet sniggers.
The narrator is prepared for the question. His voice is coy and smooth as molasses. “It’s not quite so simple. Magic is a strange thing, my boy; it’s not something that simply disappears when neglected. And Aridian magic is particularly dangerous, for the beast who gave the Montaras this magic is constantly fighting for control over its user’s soul. The magic must be used and exhausted, otherwise it will fester and grow until the beast becomes strong enough to take control.