Mazeweaver, page 7
Meriel looked like a lumpy potato in shades of bluish-grey. Her protuberant eyes were the colour of an old bruise. Her smile was hesitant. She was no longer than Aliya’s hand, and her wings – shaped like a dragonfly’s but as leathery as a bat’s – were whirring to keep her aloft.
Quantum prised his jaws open. ‘You know what? I think it’s rather exciting to have an invisible friend. It lends me an enigmatic charm, don’t you think?’
With a giggle, Meriel dissolved back into a sparkle of iridescent light. The spirit seemed so innocent, but she had been inches away from killing them both. Could she be trusted? Was her offer of help the repayment of a debt? Did Meriel really trust Aliya after the abuse she had suffered from another shaman?
Trust or no, the fact remained that Aliya needed help keeping Quantum – or the thing possessing him – under control. She needed protecting from her dearest friend, and had only an uncertain new ally to rely on.
Kai came trotting up, his horse now under control. ‘Meri? You came back.’ Aliya would have expected him to sound fearful, but his face was filled with an expectant hope.
‘I never went far.’ The spirit sniffed daintily. ‘I never leave an enemy at my back, and I never leave a puzzle unsolved.’
Pink and Blue
‘I’m off to the cinema with Padma.’
‘Alright, Honey. Be back by ten.’
I’d expected a bit more of a reaction. Mum took photos before my first date with Sarah, and I didn’t even like her. Oh, right: I go out with Padma all the time.
‘Like, going out on a date,’ I clarify.
Two heads whip around to stare at me over the back of the sofa.
‘A date?’ Mum asks. ‘That’s ... new.’
‘But she’s—’ Dad starts and then swallows the rest of the sentence.
‘She’s what? What were you going to say, Dad? She’s Asian? Muslim? I can’t believe you’d—’
‘Of course not!’ Dad says. ‘Just, um, you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for us to accept you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Then it clicks. ‘Oh, for goodness sake. Why does everyone think I’m gay?’
Dad opens his mouth and I hold up a hand. ‘No, don’t answer that,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll only dig yourself into a deeper hole.’
‘Don’t be unfair,’ Mum says. ‘When have we ever been anything other than supportive of you?’
‘Yeah, but you clearly don’t get it, do you, if you think that the way I am must be because I’m gay? Straight people can’t possibly break gender roles, is that right?’ I run out of anger. I still slam the door on the way out, though, just to make a point.
I’m still quivering with tension when I meet Padma in front of the cinema.
‘Why do you want to go out with me?’ I blurt.
She looks offended. ‘Because I have no taste, obviously.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her, ‘I’m a big ball of insecurity tonight. I just ... is it only that you feel sorry for me?’
‘What the hell? Why would you think that?’ she asks.
I can’t hold her gaze. The neon lights on the hoarding stripe us in pink and blue, and I watch the colours shifting as I drag the toe of my trainer back and forth across the pavement.
‘Luca,’ she says, taking my hands. ‘I’ve always liked you, from the time you read to me in a terrible Scots accent. But before you came out, you kept everyone at a distance. You were sort of muted, you know?’
‘I know.’
She squeezes my hands. ‘It made it hard to connect with you. And then, when you first came out, I assumed you were gay.’ She screws her face up in embarrassment.
‘Oh, come on! Not you too? I told you I wasn’t gay.’
‘Yeah, but I thought you were coming out in stages to make it easier ... I know, I know. I’m sorry. Anyway, I realised I was wrong when it became obvious that you fancied me—’
‘Wait, you realised that when?’ I ask.
‘I dunno, months ago.’ She waves a hand airily as if my mortification is nothing but an annoying insect. ‘But then I did that stupid thing where I waited for you to ask me out... and that brings us to now. No pity. Now’s just the right time.’
We share popcorn and hold hands through the film. I know it’s traditional to spend the whole time making out, but it’s actually a great movie and we both want to see it. Guess we should pick a worse film next time.
I walk her home, joined hands swinging between us. Trying to find a way to bring it up.
‘Uh, Padma? You don’t talk to Dean anymore, right?’
She huffs out a breath. ‘I didn’t think you were the jealous type.’
‘No! Well, I hope not. I mean, I wish you would talk to him. He needs friends who talk about more than video games and boobs.’
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘I kinda dumped him for you. That’s going to make things awkward.’
‘This is more important than “awkward”.’
‘You’re a better friend than he deserves,’ she says, tugging on my hand so that our shoulders bump.
That’s not true. Dean deserves to be happy. Everyone does.
We reach her house and she unlocks the front door. Her mother glares at me from the kitchen. Padma closes the door again, with us both still on the outside.
‘Your mum hates me.’ She’s never been exactly friendly. I don’t fit into any of her boxes and I think it makes her nervous.
‘I don’t hate you.’ Padma steps in close and kisses me. It’s just starting to heat up – me pressed up against the side of the porch, Padma’s hair coming down – when her mum opens the door again. Now I get a real close-up of her death stare.
She snaps something at Padma in Urdu and retreats a few steps, without taking her eyes off me for a second.
‘Sorry I’m not considered an appropriate date,’ I mutter to Padma. ‘Not male enough for her approval?’
‘Or Asian enough. Or Muslim enough.’ Padma shrugs. ‘Being gender non-conforming is just the icing on the cake. Or the turd on top of the shit-pile, from my parent’s perspective.’
I pull away and pout. ‘Did you just call me a turd? And it’s only our first date.’ I can’t believe how easy it feels between us. I could get used to easy.
She reels me back in, laughing, and gives me a peck on the lips, as if daring her mum to comment. ‘Sorry I can’t invite you in.’
My cheeks heat. Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I’ve been in Padma’s bedroom so many times ... I guess this is the disadvantage of going out with her now. But hey, the advantages...
Grinning, I say, ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll meet you by the gates before school,’ she says.
‘Are you kidding? We can use the sixth-form common room now.’ I’ve never felt happier about going back to school.
That lasts all of about ten minutes. On the way through the gates, I’m strutting my new status as a sixth-former. Then I greet Padma with a peck on the cheek and all my supposedly mature classmates transform into a pack of shit-hurling monkeys. I’d trade in all my dreamwalking abilities for the power of invisibility.
‘Hey, Padma, so are you a lesbian now?’
Laughter follows us down the school hallway. I try to pull my hand out of hers, but Padma clamps down tight onto my fingers. Stares settle on us with the weight of stones. By the time we reach our balcony, I’m vibrating. It’s blessedly empty out here. Unlike the bloody common room which is awash with eyes.
‘Why do they even care?’ I ask, slumping onto a bench. ‘No one even noticed when I came out. Why is this such a big deal? I hate being the centre of attention.’
Padma sits next to me. ‘You need to learn to ignore them. I thought you didn’t mind when people called you a girl?’
‘I don’t mind being mistaken for a girl. But this isn’t a mistake, is it? It’s being used as an insult. How does that even make sense – girls using being a woman as a term of abuse?’
‘You’re cute when you’re all riled up,’ Padma says, nuzzling the side of my face. She moves in for a kiss, and I instinctively look around to check if anyone can see us.
Padma sits back with a sigh. ‘You never asked me why I used to have panic attacks.’
I give her a sharp look. Why’s she bringing this up now?
‘I was bullied at my old school,’ she tells me. ‘I was the only Asian kid in my year. My parents decided to move house in the end, it got so bad. So I learnt not to care what other people think. Let me instruct you in the grand art of not giving a fuck.’
I take her hand. ‘I thought I was already at least a green belt at that.’
‘Not so easy. It’s a work in progress. For me, too.’
‘I don’t want you to have to go through all that again,’ I tell her. ‘If you weren’t with me...’
‘Don’t be a martyr,’ she snaps. ‘You’re my boyfriend, no matter what anyone says.’ She pulls up short. ‘Oh, not boyfriend ... we need a new word.’
‘Sorry I make everything so difficult.’
She blows through her teeth. ‘Enough with the self-pity. How about “lover”?’
I make a strangled noise.
‘Yeah, I guess that is a bit presumptuous,’ she says with a naughty smile. ‘Hey, guys’ – to Justin and Ravi as they climb the steps – ‘I need a word to define my relationship with my lover.’
‘Hum, how about queerfriend?’ Justin suggests.
‘You know what,’ I say, ‘I’m actually fine with “boyfriend.”’
‘You don’t have to bow to social pressure, Luca,’ Padma says.
Man, she’s better at being queer than I am.
‘Honestly,’ I say, ‘I’m kinda over it. When I first came out, the pronouns mattered because they reminded me of who I was – and showed that people were supporting me. But I’m used to being me, now. I don’t need words to define me.’
‘Phew,’ says Justin, ‘can we ditch the singular they, then? It does my head in.’
Yeah, it is confusing, although I still like the way it implies my freedom to be lots of different people. A gendered pronoun wouldn’t kill me, but...
‘No, it stays. A gesture of solidarity. Until the whole world catches on to the fact that pronouns are irrelevant.’
‘Cool,’ says Padma, ‘when people ask about my relationship status, I can say “They are so sexy” and everyone will think that I’m dating multiple stud-muffins. Speaking of sexy guys ... Ravi, have you heard from Laurie yet?’
Ravi blushes. ‘He invited me to his jazz band’s first gig.’
‘He did?’ says Justin. ‘But we don’t have any gigs yet. Turns out it’s hard to get gigs when you’re under eighteen. And when no one’s heard of you.’
‘Well, you’d better get moving,’ Padma says, ‘Ravi’s love-life is depending on you.’
A breeze ruffles my hair. Which is strange, because the air is still.
‘Pssst,’ Happy whispers in my ear, ‘you need to see this.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ I mutter to the semi-visible air spirit as we skirt the school building and head for the tennis courts.
‘To where your friend is,’ Happy says. ‘We have been watching him, like you asked—’
‘I didn’t ask you to spy on anyone!’
‘—like you implied. Possibly. That is a matter of some debate. Or it was, until we heard a physics lecture about the theory of relativity and decided there was more value debating that instead. We like school.’
‘Focus, Happy! One topic at a time, remember?’
‘We’re here,’ they say, depositing me at the entrance to the boy’s changing rooms. Oh, come on. I hate this place.
I ease open the door. It’s silent, nothing but dust dancing in beams of sunlight. Nothing but the ghosts of testosterone and name-calling and anxiety. Only the smell lingers.
I pad between the lockers, a whisper of air magic from the elementals making my movements as soft as a summer breeze. There’s Dean, slumped on a bench with his elbows on his knees. He’s holding the Prozac bottle in one hand, and the other is full of pills.
This feels like a pretty appropriate time to freak out. But when I take a deep breath to fuel my panic, my lungs fill with the scent of magic. My muscles loosen. There are better ways, now.
‘Dean,’ I say, and he jumps, looking up at me wildly.
‘What the hell, Luca. Are you following me?’
‘Ah, yeah, actually,’ I say. ‘Good thing, too.’ I look pointedly at his dangerous handful, and he folds his fingers over it guiltily.
‘I wasn’t—’ he starts. ‘I was just ... thinking.’
‘Thinking what?’
‘That it wouldn’t make any difference, you know?’
I don’t know. I feel like I’m at the beginning of everything: how can he think he’s at the end? How can I understand? Aliya told me that dreamwalking is all about empathy – so I must be able to understand where he’s coming from.
It’s always the end of something: the beginning of a new school year is the end of the summer. The beginning of the future is the end of now. Parts of us are always dying. We just have to make sure it’s the right parts.
I don’t say that to Dean, though: he’d accuse me of being a poet again. Part of empathy is talking to people in their own language.
‘Why today?’ I ask him.
He shrugs, lifting his shoulders like they have the weight of mountains and letting them fall like a rockslide. ‘Just too much. School isn’t my place. Too hard not to let it show when there’s all this stuff to think about and my brain can’t keep up.’
‘Would it be so bad if people knew you had depression?’ I ask.
‘Yes!’ he says. ‘I can’t be weak. I’m solid, right? It’s who I am. It’s all I’ve got. Without that, what’s the point of me? Who’s gonna want me around? It’s alright for you, Luca – A-levels, university, probably some big career. I don’t have your brains.’
‘You have other things. You’re good looking, athletic. Funny. Kind, when you’re not pretending not to be. Why do you only care about the things you haven’t got?’
‘I feel like a zombie.’
‘Ah, now I get why you’re obsessed with my brains.’
He cracks a smile, at least. I ask, ‘Is that the pills?’
‘Yeah. No. I feel like shit anyway. The pills make me feel like frozen shit.’
‘Sounds like a computer game. Use your own frozen faeces to bombard the zombie hoards. You could patent that and make millions.’ I sit next to him on the bench. His hand has clenched into a fist around the pills and I pry his fingers loose, transfer the drugs back into their bottle. The child lock on the lid gives a decisive click as I screw it closed. ‘Dean ... will you call me next time you feel like this? I know we’re not friends. But, please?’
The still, dusty air presses in on us.
He gives a jerky nod.
The colour of anger
It was exhausting, staying on constant alert in case her companions tried to kill each other. Kai was sullen and withdrawn, speaking to her as little as possible. The only person he spoke to was Meriel, with whom he was pleading and apologetic. It was almost more annoying than his initial arrogance. Meriel mostly ignored him, although Aliya overheard them whispering one night after they had gone to bed.
‘I never said I wouldn’t help you: I told you you were asking for the wrong thing,’ Meriel said. ‘You wanted a solution to your problem and I gave you one.’
‘That wasn’t a solution!’ Kai hissed.
‘It was. Stop fighting the way things are. My solution is simple and elegant. It’s not my fault if you don’t like it.’
Had Kai asked Meriel to take away his shamanic powers? Lying in the dark, staring up at the stars, Aliya felt a reluctant stirring of sympathy. A couple of years ago, she would have done the same. For so long, her abilities had felt like a curse, like they would exile her from her family and leave her alone. As Kai was.
At least his wolf was friendly and made welcome contributions to the cooking pot.
Meriel was an irritatingly cheerful companion, and she succeeded in raising Quantum’s spirits with her constant questions, philosophising, and general sparkliness. Which was a good thing; a thing Aliya had not been able to do. It made the next week of travel across the rolling grasslands infinitely more pleasant, and Aliya infinitely more grumpy.
‘Yes, but isn’t it a matter of how you translate traditional geometry into three-dimensional space?’ Quantum was saying now as he sat between Meera’s ears and ignored Aliya completely.
‘Of course; watch this,’ Meriel replied. Quantum’s gaze followed avidly as the sprite traced a complicated pattern into the air, marked by a faint trace of iridescence.
It was as Meriel reached the highest point of her flight that Quantum unleashed a searing jet of flame towards her.
Reining Meera to a halt, Aliya scooped up Quantum and threw him as far as she could. ‘Meriel – it’s happening again!’
The air above her was a mess of confused gusts as the elemental tumbled wildly. Quantum, now ten metres away on the grass, sent out another gout of flame which set Meera dancing. It must have also disturbed the air currents, because Meriel let out an ‘oof’ and bounced off the ground.
‘Don’t worry,’ Meriel said breathlessly. ‘Fire needs oxygen to burn, so I can just—’
The next jet of fire flared for a moment and then died. Quantum let out an outraged curse and then leapt into the air, his miraculous wings bearing him aloft. And Aliya understood why she had not yet seen him fly. He wobbled like a foal finding its legs. An unseen current of wind flipped him snout over tail. She was almost glad that the blind rage of the curse was preventing him from feeling acute embarrassment.
Then Meriel’s protective bubble of air encased him and slammed him into the grass. His tail thrashed wildly as his torso was immobilised.
