TRIAL AND ERROR | short stories + snippets

A Discovery of Magic

"Tell them," Isulas sighs. "Just let me heal that first. Please."

Isulas does not bother with her fear as they march forward. Amina must eventually hit the wall and she has nothing that could be used to as much as imitate a weapon.

Isulas crouches and picks up her right foot, resting it on their knee. They press two fingers to the arch of her foot. At first, when the pain begins to ease, Amina assumes it is another wave of adrenaline and shock, but then her skin begins to grow back.

But Isulas did not even speak an incantation. How can they perform magic without a spell, without a wand?

"I'm tired of keeping it a secret," they say, pale fingers still pressed to Amina's skin. "Tell anyone you wish."

The foundations of her anger are shaken by confusion, though when she speaks, the accusation in her voice is just as sharp. "I thought you were dedicated to science."

"I am," Isulas says, their patience beginning to thin. "They are not mutually exclusive pursuits. I told you, I was born like this. Most of Wàdiots are."

"That cannot be true. We would have noticed."

"We are not stupid enough to let it be known publicly, to let it be known around your people."

Never before has Isulas used the phrase 'your people'. Amina is aware that many generations ago, her ancestors came to this land without invitation, is aware that the Wàdiot are the indigenous people of Cendiot. But her and Isulas have always been friends. It never mattered what the world may have thought of it.

Isulas's voice, however, stings with bitterness as she says it—'your people'.

It's so utterly confusing when combined with the tenderness with which they position her healed foot on the floor and pick up the other. Their touch is so gentle when they caress her skin.

"Many don't ever practice. It's too dangerous."

Amina shakes her head. "I don't understand. You can't be born with magic."

"You can't be born with magic," Isulas corrects.

They look up at her, something toothed still in her eyes but it is blunt behind the relief that pools in them. Relief to finally be able to be themself with her.

"We have always had magic. Always. It's in our blood. When the Aesphusians came, they were fascinated by it. They began with friendly trade, as you've been taught, but then they wanted to learn for themselves. My ancestors refused, even when requests became threats...

"The Great Mage Egon was the first to kill. Some say it was an accident, that he intended only to intimidate. However, it did not take long for him to realise that the magical gift of his victim passed onto him. Trade stopped being friendly after that. We learnt to hide our abilities.

"After so many generations, common belief became that the only way to gain magic is to kill, that it can only be harnessed with tools. It is no more true today than it was centuries ago. But it is much safer if everyone believes it true, to allow the Great Mages and everyone who aspires to be one to kill each other instead of us."

Both of Amina's feet are healed now. Isulas stands up, allows their gazes to twine for a moment, before they move away. They fix the broken vials effortlessly.

Once the vials are back in their tray and on the desk, Isulas sits. After a moment's silence, they flick a wrist at the door. "Go ahead. Go find an officer. I would not hurt you, Amina. You are my closest friend."

Amina glances at the door. It is only a metre to the left from where she still stands against the wall. She takes a step, but it is toward the workbench. Toward Isulas.

"Have you tampered with it?" she asks, nodding at the model of her flight machine. "You've got magic. Can't you make things fly at will?"

"That is not a gift I have. I mend things," Isulas explains. "And I wouldn't do that if I could. I love inventing, and I know how important it is for you."

I know how important it is for you. The next moment, Amina is crying. She has just accused her best friend of murder, and still, Isulas speaks of her so kindly. How could she turn on them so quickly?

"Do the burns still hurt?" Isulas asks, concern only twisting the knife Amina seems to have swallowed.

Amina shakes her head. It is her turn to kneel on the floor in front Isulas. "I'm sorry. I've been a terrible friend to you. I'm sorry that I didn't make you feel safe to confide in me before."

Isulas's lips twitch. At first, it seems that they are about to scowl, to sneer, but it is a smile that graces their pale mouth. They do not tell her that it has caused no pain. Over three decades of hiding themself has at times, felt like a slow severing of the nerves in their spine.

What they say instead, as they reach to caress her head, is, "Thank you."