Peter was leaning against the side of the old shoe factory as I walked over. We were going to the most secretive bar for magical people, which was one of the only places we could talk openly about anything. It wasn’t just the magicians that were being oppressed. Everything was slowly turning into a tight-fisted, all out war against anything not normal. Soon, even the truth-seers would be banished, since seeing magic and being magic could be grouped together.
“Jae, where’ve you been?” he asked, standing up.
“My dad’s been trying to teach me the ropes of being a trapper,” I told him, rolling my eyes. My father would not accept the fact that I wanted to be a politician.
“Well, hopefully that won’t be a problem for you, in the future,” Peter said carefully. What he meant was: hopefully we won’t have trappers in the future.
“I agree,” I told him vehemently. We walked down the side ally and knocked on the door of the bar. As I touched the metal I could feel something surge through me, probably checking my intentions for entering. It happened every time, but I was always allowed in. The first few times I’d been worried, since I wasn’t magical, but the elderly lady behind the bar informed me that everyone was allowed in her bar, as long as they were there for the right reasons.
“Hey! Peter!” a couple of men from the table closest to the door greeted. Peter waved as he and I walked to a back table, where the bar matron had already placed a pitcher of spiced cider and a couple glasses. I pulled out some money and handed it to her.
“So what’s new with you, Jae?” Peter asked, taking a large gulp of cider. Apparently the natural herbs and spices in it helped boost magic, but I just liked it for the taste.
“Someone crashed my party last night,” I told him, pouring myself a glass. “She’s a magician, and I don’t think she gave me her real name.”
“What’d she look like? Maybe I know her; I’ve been around, you know.”
“Dark,” I finally said, thinking back to the girl. “She had dark skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes.”
“Gypsy-like, would you say?” Peter asked. I gave him a quizzical look. “Dark and sensual, I mean, with eyes that look like spicy coffee and thick black hair that just seems right with the mocha colored skin.”
“Um, yeah, that’s it,” I said, kind of surprised. At least he seemed to know who she was. “She said her name was ‘Amelia’, but I highly doubt it. She knew I was a truth-seer.”
“Yeah, well, there’s only one gypsy, unless you count her dad, but he doesn’t look it. I’m sure it’s not her, though.”
“Why not, you described her pretty accurately,” I said.
“’Cause she’s in the Hole as of about a year ago.”
“Ya talking ‘bout the gypsy?” a bearded man asked from the bar.
“Yeah, Jae reckons he’s seen her around, but she’s in the Hole,” Peter told him.
“Nah, I hear a rumor that she busted out,” the man informed the bar at large.
“Yeah,” a little girl agreed from beside her mother. “Last night she ran right by me, and a guard was chasing her.”
“I was a walk’n home an’ saw ‘er jump a fence int’ a party,” one of the guys by the door proclaimed.
“That was my party,” I told him. “I just didn’t know it was her.” At that everyone started talking to their own groups again, mostly speculating about how she escaped.
“She’s a gypsy, don’t forget,” came up a few times in several conversations.
“What’s the big deal about being a gypsy?” I asked Peter.
“Well, you’ve heard of gypsies, right?”
“Yeah, aren’t they, like, travelers who do tricks for coins?”
“Well, those are the medieval kind, but yes, that’s essentially it. You see, gypsies are pros at showy magics, like the kind where you get a huge flash of light, or a great spectacle. That’s what earns them their coin, but they’re even better at the black magics.”
“Hunh?” I asked.
“Like, voodoo and blood magic and things like that. They can even control people, sometimes.”
“So, that’s how she got out?”
“Oh, not a chance,” Peter scoffed. “The Hole’s full of anti-magic things, I’m sure. If you’re gonna put a bunch of angry magicians together in one place, make sure that place is magic-proof. Any idiot would make sure that happens.”
“So, how did she get out?”
“Who knows? The first guy that got out won’t tell anybody. I doubt she will, either. She’s always been kind of secretive, anyway.” Peter took another long drink of the cider, and I decided to follow suit. “Oh, you wanted to know her name,” he said suddenly. “It’s Sage.”
Someone knocked on the metal door as I was taking another sip of cider. I nearly spilt it all over myself. Peter was laughing at me and I contemplated tossing the cider in his face. He was a magician and would be able to clean himself off in no time.
“Sage! Dear, you look awful,” the bar matron exclaimed. I spun around and saw the girl from the party walking straight towards the bar. Her friend Heather was in tow, looking around, awestruck. Sage appeared to have showered, since her hair was nowhere near as greasy as last night.
Sage was wearing a strapless purple top and a pair of black shorts. She had pulled her hair up into a curly bun, and a string with some charm attached to it hung down to her shoulder. She looked like she had last night, starved. She was all joints and shadows. High cheek bones nearly poked through her skin. Something I hadn’t noticed, however, was the scars and welts all over her body. Her “spiced coffee” eyes were roving the bar, and they locked onto me. She looked confused, then looked at Peter and looked back to me for a second. Peter clapped my shoulder and nodded to Sage. She nodded slightly and kept walking.
“What was that all about?” I whispered to Peter.
“She and I go back a ways,” he replied cryptically. Peter and I hadn’t been friends for a long time, per say, but for about two years. It took him a while to admit to me that he was a magician, and a little longer for him to show me this place, but I thought I’d known about all his girlfriends. Peter must’ve seen that I wanted to know more, because he sighed and went on. “I was her first boyfriend, and it was a mutual parting. She’s just not into trusting people like that for too long. She trusts me enough, though.”
“No, no, dear, you must eat first. Look at you,” the bar matron was saying to Sage. “You eat, and then you can make your statement. Now, here, finish this all up.”
“I don’t have the money,” Sage complained, looking at the trough-full of chicken and broth. “I don’t even know if my stomach can hold all of this. I’m not used to rich food, you know.”
“This is not rich. Now, go and eat with Peter. Would you like something?”
“No, thank you,” Heather replied. Sage started heading over with the platter of food, and Peter magically pushed the chairs back for the girls. Heather took the seat next to me, probably glad to see a familiar face, and Sage got the chair across from me.
“You wanna help me eat this?” Sage asked Peter. He scoffed.
“And give Matron a reason to murder me? No thank you. I’ll stick to the cider,” he told her. Her eyes lit up as she looked at the pitcher and she summoned a couple of glasses from the bar.
“So, Freeman, it looks like you weren’t lying last night,” Sage said to me after she’d drunk a whole glass of cider.
“My friends just call me ‘Jae’,” I told her.
“Hey, be nice. She just apologized to you,” Peter chuckled. “So, Gyps, how’d you get out?”
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“Um, Sage, why do we have to be here to get people?” Heather whispered.
“They don’t care that you’re a non-magical,” she assured her friend. “It actually gives them hope, to know that not every ‘normal’ person hates us.” She took a bite of the chicken and winced.
“What’s up?” Peter asked.
“My tooth,” she grimaced. “I really need to see a healer.”
“I can help ya,” the bearded man at the bar said. “I’m a healer.” He got up with a grunt and walked over to Sage, pulling a wand out of his shoulder bag. “What d’ya need healed?”
“Well, I’ve got about five loose or cracked teeth, a few fractured ribs, a lot of bumps and bruises, and even more cuts and welts,” she listed matter-of-factly.
“Jus’ hold still,” he ordered. “Name’s Argus, by the by.” A blue-green shimmer started creeping up Sage’s skin, starting at her feet. She shuddered as it encompassed her, and then sighed when the light faded.
“Thank you, Argus,” she said earnestly. The welts had completely faded and she looked as if she’d just slept the day away. “I can’t pay you, though.”
“Ya just gave those dogs at the Hole some’at to worry ‘bout; no charge,” Argus laughed. He then checked the bar. “Although, I wouldn’t say no to a bit o’ that chicken, ya know. I don’t got the money to buy tha’ there high quality kind.” Sage laughed and gave him the rest of her chicken. He saluted her as thanks and went off to eat his payment.
“This broth’ll do enough to fill me up,” Sage sighed, taking up the trough and sipping the broth. She finished off the liquid quickly then went to Matron to show her empty dish. Matron nodded and Sage stepped onto the bar.
“Excuse me!” Sage shouted. The bar had gotten busy and noisy, though, so not many people heard her. She rolled her eyes and held her hands up high in front of her. She brought them together, like a clapping motion, and a huge burst of white light filled the bar. Everyone jumped and looked up at her. “Yes, hello there. As most of you know, I am Sage Perdit, a recently escaped prisoner from the Hole. I want to inform you all that I have decided to partake on a quest, to talisman.
“Now I know,” Sage went on, getting louder to talk over the surprised whispers. “Now I know that it is not an easy quest, but I believe in my wish. My wish is this: I wish that everybody, magical or not, will be treated equally with each other, and not discriminated against by one another.” Here she paused, as if letting the message sink in.
“Why is she finding a talisman?” I asked Peter. He just looked at me and shook his head gravely.
“Talisman is a person, a man, actually. Legend says that he will grant one wish to a group that goes through enough tests, but it’s really dangerous. The last quest was hundreds of years ago, and no one came back from it,” Peter informed me. He looked back at Sage, who was waiting for the babble that had sprung up to die down again. “She’s crazy, but that wish is worth it. I just wish that someone else had decided to do it.”
“Why? She seems capable.”
“Jae, thousands of great people, who were much more than ‘capable’, get killed on these quests. Whoever goes on this quest will most likely die, but as I said, that wish is worth it.”
“You’re going to try to go with her?”
“Aren’t you? That wish is what you stand for, right?”
“Yeah, one hundred percent,” I assured him. “But, why would she need a non-magical person?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Heather said. “She needed a non-magical, as long as it was a pure-blooded non-magical.” Quiet had settled back into the bar, and Sage went on.
“I found the legend that maps the entire route to Talisman’s place. The legend says that twelve people must go. One: the wish-maker, that’s me. Two: a pure-blooded non-magical; I already have that. Three: a healer. Is there any healer here that firmly believes in the wish I have chosen to make, and is willing to come on this quest?”
“I will,” Argus growled. Sage picked up a large, leather-bound journal and wrote something down.
“Four: a pure-blooded magician. Is there anyone here that fits that description?” Sage asked.
“I will join you,” Peter called out. I looked over at him. He was a pure-blood?
“I need to test your blood, Peter,” she said. He stood up and held out his hand to her. She slashed down into the palm of his hand with her nail. I watched in horror as a little sphere of blood rose up to Sage’s eye level. She muttered something and the dark red orb turned golden. It seemed to burn, then, and vanished into nothing. “Five: a truth-seer,” she continued, showing that Peter was, indeed, a pure-blood.
“I will go,” some oily voice said from a back corner of the bar. Just then it hit me, she needed a truth-seer.
“I’m a truth-seer,” I announced, standing up. Sage looked between us and motioned us both forward. The oily voice belonged to a man who looked about my age, perhaps a little older, like twenty or so, with blond hair and green eyes.
“I need the truth-seer with the most potent blood,” Sage told us. “Hold out your hands.” We both put them out, palm up, and I braced myself for the cut.
Our blood was also tested, basically the same way as Peter’s was, except she infused our blood together. It was disgusting to watch, but it was also fascinating. All of the sudden, half of the blood turned green and detached itself from the orb. The green blood then floated towards my hand, which was still outstretched. The blood then burnt, or seemed to, and vanished like it had before.
“Freem, I mean, Jae, you are the most potent,” Sage said. She spoke to the bar at large again. “I will also need seven volunteers who are willing to face whatever disgusting, gory, taxing challenges that comes up. These seven need to believe in the wish I have chosen. Are there any volunteers?”
The other truth-seer volunteered and Sage told him to stand by the bar. Eventually six more people came forward and the seven were composed of four men and two women. Sage led us to a larger table, and Peter asked Matron for a large pitcher of cider.