EDITORS PICK 2020. A new student doesn't think her mother understands how magic works. Inyanga Numbia will be the first in her family to go to Magicians' College, and she's going to find out.
"Why doesn't Magicians' College just let anyone in?"
"Won...
The name Mali's parents had given her meant wealth.
Had the choice been ironic? Aspirational? The only thing Mali felt she had a wealth of was other people's children clinging to her suit pants all day long.
From the minute their parens and guardians dropped them off in the morning — early, to take advantage of the public school's subsidized summoned breakfast foods — Mali was rich with miniature immortals.
"Ugh, too soggy." It was dinner time, and Mali had summoned up a hearty, nutritious feast. From the head of the poppywood cafeteria table, her eight year old nephew and ward Nyuki made a face of great suffering, eyes screwed tight and mouth open as if fresh air were the only thing that would relieve his tongue.
The chefs left after lunch. Constellation schools provided cafeteria service for the two meals a day that took place during school hours. Nothing in the budget for supper. No one was here to cook it.
Yet as the sun gleamed through the windows and the petals of the crimson poppywood outside Virgo Street primary school, Mali often found herself filling the chefs' role.
More whining and crossed arms. "This tastes disgusting." Even her own Nyuki wanted to be a critic.
When half the parens showed up late, it fell on Mali to respond to whimpered complaints and grumbly bellies. At Virgo Street Public, a third story one room schoolhouse downtown, the final bell rang at hora undecima, a full hour before vespera and suppertime, yet half the caretakers would be late picking up. A certain avoidance of eye contact when they arrived with a "sorry, couldn't get away," made Mali feel some had clued in that the maestra would fill the bellies of her students out of her own pockets — unsubsidized — with a meal conjuring spell of her own.
Not a legal one, either. She was no licensed magician.
Nyuki let the stewed greens drip off his fork. Within seconds, three of his model classmates were copying him.
An embarrassed grimace breaking through against her will, Mali rushed over, wishing she had the dignity not to. But the pain of her failed cooking was real.
She withdrew a contraband gnomon, the magical instrument connected — illegally — to Soliara's star dial. Like the time-telling rod that casts a shadow on a sundial, it was angular and sharp, even at the thick end that jabbed into her palm. The counterfeit ones were matte black, for some reason, like they couldn't be disguised as legit. You saw them in movies, everyone knew what a contraband gnomon looked like. Anyone could report seeing one.
The kids dramatically shrank as if in fear of the wand. "Fire in the hole!" shouted Mvua, covering her ears with her hands.
Tongue between her teeth, Mali bent her concentration on removing some excess water from the veggies. Once they were simmering again, she set to dealing with the kids tittering like a crew of finches.
"That got quite a laugh, Mvua. Can't wait for your comedy debut." The shadows cast by the kids curled up laughing grew long as the sun neared the horizon. At solis occassus, they'd be sitting in the dark, unless Mali turned the school's star light back on — against regulations outside of emergencies.
Steam blew from the dark verdant dish, and Mali would have worried about the little ones burning their tongues — but they showed little inclination to eat any more.
"What's that mean? Comedy debut?" asked Mvua.
"It means I want two written pages, ready to present to the class, by this dies Lunae, on the topic of your choice. Perhaps a food review critiquing a failing chef with thirteen mouths to feed on the regular."
"Homework?"
"Sure beats lines, doesn't it? For failure to eat in a quiet and timely manner, would you prefer that? Two hundreds lines, 'I will eat my dinner in a—'"
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" begged Mvua. The girl was a comedy act incarnated in a nine-year-old. Her body performing by nature, she fell back in her chair and pulled her feet into her chest, hands above her head, in surrender.
"That's for all you clowns. Two pages by dies Lunae."
Nyuki wriggled in his seat, committed to wrinkling his nose at his mushy vegetables. "When I'm a magician, I'll be the best at making food. Every meal will be so delicious, I'll put cheese on everything. How come you can't make cheese healthy, Aunt Mali? You just put a spell on it. Can't you make cheese healthy so we don't have to eat so much stars damn green leaves?"
"That's four pages from you, Nyuki. One more word, I dare you. Shall we double it? Eight pages?"
The growl that snarled from her nephew couldn't count as words, so Mali didn't dock him. Nor did she give him trouble for putting his feet up against the table — at least his grain bowl was balanced on his chest and he was munching. Some days were 'sit up straight' days, and some days you took what you could get.
And her heart was still crying from the words — "when I'm a magician." Bahari hadn't left that kind of solidae when she passed. Nyuki and Mali might live forever, but they'd see the stars fall to the earth before they'd have enough to send him to Magicians' College. A million lifetimes wouldn't be enough to save up.
Not without the kind of pay only magicians could get.
Rocking back on her heels, she watched the little mischievous angels eat. A door opening in the corner caught her eye and she turned; something about the way it was pushed open by the stars through a magician's gnomon warned her to slide her own wand up into her sleeve a fraction of a second before the guardia entered.
Mali came to a subconscious erect pose, standing to attention. "Guardia Eve, Guardia Nguri, what brings you to our classroom tonight?"
Both officers were familiar from regular patrol. Heart pulsing in her throat, Mali filled her lungs and commanded her body to loosen, to stay relaxed, and to act innocent no matter what they said.
"Unauthorized magic on this block," said Nguri.
Panic would drown Mali and cost their kids the source of a third of their daily sustenance, so she reminded herself that the guardia had never been able to detect her little cooking spells before — it couldn't be her they sought.
"Should we bar the doors? Is there a threat near my children?" A slightly pointed question.
Eve piped up, "There's no evidence of violent crime. Solely theft of Constellation energy and intellectual property." Hands behind her back, she patrolled the back wall of the cafeteria, past the students' artwork cut out and posted over the cinderblocks.
Amazing how little they knew. Magic theft somewhere "on this block." They don't even know which spells. And they're not smart enough to not reveal as much to Mali.
Inspecting each of their body language and watching for any change in response to her question, she asked, "So, what can I help you with, officers?"
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Thank you for reading Part I of Mali's Star. Part II is available now! If you like reading this short story, please leave a star for me to let me know.
