Category: Fiction

‘I heard there’s an app now,’ Zoe said as the traffic light changed from red to green.

‘Did you,’ Nate said, entering the intersection and waiting to make the right hand turn.

‘Yeah. Sera told me.’ Zoe looked out the window. The steady stream of oncoming traffic continued, and the light turned amber. Proceed with caution.

‘Seraphina also believes anything she reads on the Internet,’ Nate said as he took the turn. ‘So forgive me if she doesn’t exactly exude authority when it comes to knowledge.’

Smiling, Zoe shook her head. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out the letter, crumpled from constant handling since they’d received it the day before. She unfolded it and tenderly smoothed out the creases.

Mr and Mrs Foreman,

We are pleased to inform you that your application for a child has been approved. The Government would like to congratulate you on your upcoming joy and invites you to present yourself at the Family Planning Centre for your initial consultation and family unit enrolment. Please take care to note that this offer will expire within 500 days upon receipt.

Wishing you a smooth process and a rewarding experience.

Yours,
Cattalina Prewitt
Birthing Director
Department of Populous Control

Zoe ghosted her fingertips over the words. She was going to be a mum. Nate was going to be a dad. She hummed and daydreamed about their future child. Would they have a little boy? A miniature Nate would be so lovely, with his dad’s dark hair but her hazel eyes. Then again, a little darling girl would be so much fun to dress, and Nate would be wrapped around her little finger quicker than Zoe could say ‘daughter’.

Her thoughts turned to the study, which would now obviously be turned into a nursery. Her smile unconsciously widened as she pondered what theme they’d choose for the room. Jungle safari? Heavenly clouds? Under the sea? Dreamy night sky?

They made a left and Zoe could tell they’d arrived because the building was surrounded by its usual cluster of protestors. The crowd’s chant of ‘Our bodies, our choice!’ permeated through the window. Zoe folded the letter back up and slid it safely back into her bag.

‘I just don’t understand the Endolutionists,’ she said, eyeing the small but vocal group.

‘Nature gave us bodies to grow life in!’ a woman in the crowd shrieked as the car passed. ‘I want to grow a baby in my own body!’

‘Don’t they remember learning about the population surplus in primary school?’ She leaned forward to catch the crowd in the side mirror. Her gaze landed on the woman who’d declared she wanted to grow a baby herself, and Zoe felt a phantom finger run up her spine. That woman gave Zoe the heeby-jeebies. She sat back in her seat. ‘Genetic castration was the only answer.’

‘If the Endolutionists had it their way,’ Nate said as he reversed the car into a parking space, ‘You’d have to have a baby every time you wanted to have sex! Imagine that. We’d all just fall off the planet and straight into space. Then there’d be no Endolutionists left. How self-redundant.’

They both laughed and unbuckled their seatbelts before climbing out of the car. Zoe linked her arm with Nate’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze. She couldn’t wait to give their child Nate’s sense of humour.

As the Foremans approached the building, Zoe’s steps began to slow. ‘Damn, they’re intimidating,’ she whispered to Nate. Nate gave Zoe a reassuring squeeze as he swept her slowing gait up with his own stride, propelling them through the throng.

‘It’s unnatural!’ someone shouted from behind them. Zoe glanced over her shoulder and spied the same woman she’d noticed from the car. The woman’s eyes lit up with fervour when she saw she had Zoe’s attention. ‘IT’S UNNATURAL!’ she shrieked again. ‘A conspiracy to keep us docile like good little—’ her words were cut off by the door sealing shut behind Zoe and Nate.

‘So I hear you two are looking to create a baby,’ the Engineer announced as she settled into her chair. Zoe’s eye caught one of the diplomas on the wall behind the desk. Greta Burkes—Obstetrics Engineering. She recalled from her nursing training how Obstetricians had been their own branch of medicine, back before the Childless Accords in ‘64. Midwives too. She shifted in her seat and plastered on a bright smile.

‘Yes,’ Nate mirrored Zoe’s smile as she reached for his hand. ‘We’re ecstatic to have been approved.’

Burkes pulled a folder out from one of her drawers. ‘Your application was very agreeable,’ she said with a glance at the papers inside. ‘I remember reviewing it with the committee just a few months ago. Mr Nathan Foreman, twenty-eight, software developer, steady income, low risk assessment, room for career advancement, and ideal work hours for raising a family. Mrs Zoe Petrakis Foreman, twenty-seven, registered nurse, flexible work hours, steady income, moderate risk assessment, capacity for at-home health care of a child.’

She flicked through several sheets, ‘You both passed the aptitude tests with flying colours, your financial records and home visit were both perfectly sound… Yes,’ she said, closing the folder with a fwap. ‘An ideal work-life balance with the resources and aptitudes for raising a child. I have some paperwork we’ll need to go through, to enrol your family unit and update existing records to reflect your pending child, et cetera et cetera. And of course, the confidentiality agreement, which mandates that regardless of whether or not you choose to create a child here in this facility, all procedures and information you come across will be held in strictest confidentiality.’

Nate reached for the document as it was slid across the desk. He signed it and passed it to Zoe. She picked up the pen, twirling it between her fingers before slowly signing her name on the dotted line.

‘Fantastic,’ Burkes said as she slid the agreement into their folder. ‘Now, I know it probably feels like a lot of red tape with all the paperwork, so perhaps we might take a tour of the centre now. It’s a little more fun than the repeated signature signing.’ A laugh escaped Zoe’s lips before she threw an embarrassed hand up to cover it. Following Nate and Burkes’ lead, she sprang to her feet. ‘Over the next coming nine months you’ll grow very accustomed to this place, I assure you,’ Burkes continued as she stepped around her desk. ‘Some couples choose to visit their child once a day if you can believe it.’

‘Oh,’ said Zoe, glancing at Nate in surprise. ‘Does the baby grow that quickly?’

Burkes led them out of her office, explaining over her shoulder. ‘On a day-to-day level, the growth will hardly be noticeable, so a visit once a week is more likely to help you notice the development—size being the most notable. However, you are welcome to visit as frequently or infrequently as you like. Our services are open twenty-four-seven for visitation, and there will always be lab technicians on hand to answer any questions you might have about the growth process.’ She pulled up short by a double set of doors, tapping her ID card against a sensor before leading them through. ‘This is our Halloway Wing. It’s where the magic happens.’

Zoe and Nate couldn’t contain their gasps. For as far as the eye could see, tanks lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Inside, small solid shapes floated in a viscous liquid. The room was filled with the dull hum of constant bings from each tank, and lab technicians crossed from one tank to another, consulting tablets in their hands.

‘Amniotic chambers,’ the Engineer declared as they stared in amazement at the children in various growth stages around them. The baby closest to Zoe was almost triple the size of the one in the tank above it. She looked for its chart on the screen beside it, but the display only showed a padlock and the baby’s identifying number.

She tried to picture her own future child floating in one of these tanks. Visiting it after work to read books, or simply talk to it. The parenting books all advocated talking to the baby once it reached 23 weeks in the tank. It was an important bonding experience for both the parents and child, they said. Zoe’s imagination helpfully supplied her the tank and Nate beside her, reading children’s nursery rhymes, but before she could formulate her child, her thoughts were interrupted. A gentle yet insistent pinging had begun four tanks down, and a lab technician brushed past Zoe with a polite ‘Excuse me,’ to tap his ID card on the screen. The screen unlocked and he scrolled through the diagnostics.

‘Everything alright, Serkan?’ Burkes asked pleasantly.

‘Oh yes, twenty-two-seven-one-eight just needs another dose of vitamin B12. Nothing critical.’ He pulled a small tablet from the pocket of his coat and began tapping away as Nate leaned down to whisper ‘How cool is that?’ in Zoe’s ear. Burkes then began leading them down the length of the room, pointing out various equipment and explaining the finer details of their functions. Most of it whizzed over Zoe’s head, but Nate was certainly impressed, particularly when the diagnostic software was discussed.

‘So as you can see, all foetal development takes place in this wing,’ Burkes said as they turned right and took an early exit. The room continued to sprawl on ahead without them. ‘When your own child is growing here, you’ll be free to visit and view them as you please.’ They walked for another minute or two before arriving at a giant window where several couples stood, peering in with delight.

‘Oh honey, he’s perfect,’ one woman gushed, squeezing her wife’s arm.

‘She has your nose,’ a husband told his wife, nuzzling her temple. She giggled and rolled her eyes.

‘Of course she does,’ she said. ‘You picked it!’

‘This is our observation room,’ Burkes said as they passed through. ‘On your child’s due date, you will be directed here once they have been cut from their growth cord and cleaned up. When your paperwork has been finalised, you are free to take them home.’

Nate’s excited gaze sought out Zoe’s, but her answering smile was a beat too slow.

‘This is a lot to take in,’ he said, wrapping an arm around Zoe. ‘I think Zoe’s feeling a little overwhelmed.’

‘Expectant mothers have gone through this for centuries, it’s not uncommon,’ Burkes said kindly with an understanding smile. ‘Come, let’s return to my office and I can take you through the child enrolment forms. Have you decided on a boy or girl yet?’

Nate and Zoe shared a look. ‘We haven’t, yet, no,’ Nate said as Zoe shook her head.

‘Not to worry, plenty of time for that. For now, I’ll just show you how to log in and use the app so you can play around with features and personality and get an idea of what the final product might look like. It might help your decision-making process.’

‘I told you there was an app,’ Zoe whispered to Nate as they followed the Engineer back through the halls.

‘Yes, well, a broken clock is right twice a day.’

It was another hour before they parted company with the Engineer, clutching their paperwork and organising to make a follow-up appointment once they’d decided on their genetic instructions.

‘I cannot wait to see what child you come up with,’ Burkes said warmly as she walked them back to the lobby. Nate had certainly had a bit of fun swiping through the various options when she’d shown them how to use the stylised app. He’d almost turned it into a game to see how bizarre looking they could make their child. ‘Look, it’s Quasimodo,’ he said as he enlarged one eye to be five times the size of its other. His fingers pinched and expanded on the screen as they played with the eye’s size. With a stern frown, Zoe trapped his fingers under her hand before he could toy with the age slider. ‘Take this seriously, Picasso,’ she’d told him as she glanced down at the baby’s face. Quasimodo would not age well.

They stepped back out onto the street, blinking at the immediate barrage of insults and jeers.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Nate said, steering Zoe around the worst of the crowd. ‘Get out of here you crazies!’ he yelled over his shoulder.

Zoe chanced one last glance back at the protestors. Her eyes met with the woman’s. She pressed a kiss into Nate’s shoulder and allowed him to steer them back toward the car.

Nine months and three weeks later, when the lab technician produced baby Lolita from the observation room, Zoe and Nate joined the chorus of coos from the soon-to-be parents. Zoe stretched out her arms, eagerly taking her new daughter into them and cradling her to her chest. With tears in her eyes, she smiled up at Nate, who kissed her proudly on the lips. As one, they glanced down at their daughter. Hazel eyes—a mirror copy of Zoe’s—blinked up at her, and tiny fingers reached out to wrap around Nate’s index. Lolita gurgled with a gummy grin.

Zoe’s smile froze on her face as she gazed down at her perfect daughter. Dread trickled into her arms, and the baby suddenly felt so much heavier.

With trepidation, Zoe realised she felt absolutely nothing for her child.

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‘Your children are jerks.’

‘They’re still growing, and learning.’

‘They’ve had three thousand years to grow. They’re jerks.’

The tips of Goblin’s spiky horns reddened.

‘Oh? And your children are any better?’

‘Yes, of course!’ Elf shot back. She rose from her pearly throne, and stormed towards her brother. ‘They’re not murderers like your children.’ Her piercing blue eyes tore into her brother’s crimson ones, making him squirm in his seat.

Goblin’s long claws gripped at his cushioned seat.

‘They managed to kill another plant species.’

Elf loomed over him, seemingly blocking out the very stars themselves. Her white-blue hair turned black, shadows covered her skin. The whole universe appeared to go dark in her anger.

‘They were hungry.’

‘They could’ve eaten rabbits.’

The ground beneath Goblin’s chair began to shake. Tremors rippled through the palace. The marble columns shook in their very foundations. A million miles below them in the mortal realm, thousands cried out in terror as the sun was blotted out of the sky by stormy clouds.

‘They don’t like the taste of rabbits!’ Elf rumbled, her voice echoing across the heavens, sending thunder and tremors into the mortal realm. A hundred people jumped off a cliff in fear, plummeting to their deaths. ‘They kept complaining in their prayers, so I told them to eat plants.’

‘Yes, and it worked so well,’ Goblin remarked snidely. ‘How many plants have vanished to sate your children’s hunger?’

‘Your children have a tendency to murder my children!’

‘Well, your children have a tendency to torture mine!’

‘How is that worse?’

‘Would you two please shut up and learn to control your offspring!’

Elf and Goblin turned towards their brother. Elf’s rage was momentarily forgotten and light burst forth once more. The heavens cleared and the sun shined upon the mortal realm. People cried out in relief and dozens of young maidens were promptly shoved into a volcano to placate the gods.

Angel massaged his temples, then took a large swig from his wine glass.

‘Your children both have their flaws, and you two should have reigned them in before things got out of hand!’

Elf and Goblin looked at each other in confusion, then burst out laughing. The cloud upon which their mighty palace floated, bobbled up and down. The mortal realm wobbled and a great chasm opened, swallowing a thousand people.

‘At least our children are capable of thinking for themselves!’ Elf said.

‘Yeah!’ Goblin chimed in. ‘Your children sit around all day, and don’t bother to do anything!’

‘They’re growing fat and lazy,’ Elf smirked, ‘just like you.’

Angel looked down at his rather round belly and frowned. It ballooned out from underneath his chin and he couldn’t see his feet. He was lounged out on a couch but his wings did protest at being squished against the fluffy pillows.

‘Can you even fly anymore?’ Goblin asked.

Angel reached over to the table beside him and grabbed a few grapes. He had flown to meet with his siblings but it was upon the backs of a few hundred eagles. ‘I do not think that I have bothered with that for a few centuries,’ he admitted, more to himself than his siblings.

‘Maybe you’re pregnant?’ Goblin said.

Elf frowned and cuffed the back of Goblin’s head hard enough to make him fall over. Down in the mortal realm, a mountain that had withstood numerous meteorite impacts crumbled into the sea, along with its inhabitants. She strode over to Angel and snatched the grapes from his hands. Angel made a desperate grab for them, but missed and nearly fell off the couch.

‘If he’s pregnant, that would break your truce,’ Human interjected, striding through the diamond arch entrance to join his siblings.

Elf looked at Angel, frowning. All of them had agreed that for the sake of balance, they would no longer create any more life.

‘Brother!’ Goblin greeted Human warmly, whilst trying to smooth his tunic. ‘I suppose your trip went well?’

‘As well as I expected,’ Human held out his hand and an apple flew into it. The apple trees in the mortal realm all bloomed at once. He began chewing and talking at the same time. ‘Your children are plotting to destroy our sister’s.’

‘What?’ Elf sat down on Angel’s couch, her normally cruel and calculating face marred by furrowed brows. She reached for a goblet of wine and downed it in an instant. Angel reached over and rubbed her shoulder.

‘Oh, and they even managed to convince his children to help them.’ Human nodded in Angel’s direction, bits of apple flying out of his mouth.

Angel gave a start. His eyes widened and he fell off the couch, splattering himself on the white marble tiles. He hacked up a half-eaten grape. He starred into the accusing eyes of his sister.

Elf’s pale skin began to darken. She crushed the goblet in her fingers and blood ran down her wrists. The wind outside their palace howled but inside all were silent. The oceans in the mortal realm turned violent and a few thousand sailors lost their lives.

Human approached Elf and took hold of her injured hand, whispering quiet words the other two couldn’t hear. The blood disappeared at his command. She released a shaky breath.

‘Sister, I swear I had no inkling of this treacherous plot,’ Angel begged, his perfect cherub blonde hair falling askew across his face. Yellow feathers were bent at awkward angles as they had been slightly crushed under his massive body weight.

‘You’re a fool.’ Elf grabbed the back of his blonde hair and slammed her elder brother’s face into the cool tiles. She rose, meaning to put as much space between them as possible.

Angel moaned, clutching at his bloodied face. He spat blood and reached for more grapes.

‘I suppose you knew all along?’ Elf loomed over Goblin, hoping to use her height to intimidate him. Down below in the mortal realm, the seas retreated before surging up against the coast, sweeping over the land and killing thousands.

Goblin smirked at her.

‘Knew? I commanded them to do it.’ The tips of his horns flushed with pleasure at the sight of his sister’s distraught face.

‘Why?’

‘Because your children wiped out every single rose! All of them!’ Goblin spat back. ‘I like roses, they smell nice and look pretty on my horns. Now what am I supposed to put on my horns?’

‘You want my children dead because of flowers?’ Elf said incredulously.

‘Roses,’ Goblin retorted.

Human smacked Goblin’s head. He strode over to his twin sister and held her hands in his.

‘I can still save your children.’ He turned to his two brothers, both still rubbing the backs of their heads. ‘I can save all your children. You don’t have to fight.’

‘Since there’s no need to fight, our dear sister should apologize for slamming my face into the floor!’ Angel said whilst munching on grapes. He touched the back of his golden head and winced, feeling blood on his fingers.

‘And perhaps you should pay more attention to your children,’ Elf retorted, ‘instead of letting them be influenced by those with stronger resolves than yours!’ She balled her fists and struck Angel again. The universe darkened. A thousand first-born sons were beheaded to appease the gods.

Goblin met Elf’s eyes and gave her his shark-toothed grin.

‘They needed guidance, so I gave them guidance,’ Goblin said. ‘Wouldn’t want them running amok.’ His grin broadened as Elf’s face paled. Far below them, entire forests went up in flames.

‘I’d hate to think just how terrible your children could be without your guidance,’ Elf growled, her lovely face becoming wolfish.

Angel consumed the grapes on the plate before him in one bite then rose. The ground rumbled beneath his massive belly, and the foundations of the siblings’ mighty palace shook with each step Angel took.

‘If you two would stop arguing, then perhaps we can let our brother speak.’ The mortal realm beneath them shook with each step, but not too violently. The heavens cleared and light broke through once more.

Human nodded his thanks. ‘All of you love your children, but they quarrel amongst each other.’

‘Some truly marvellous deductions.’ Goblin picked up a pear and twirled it in his fingers. ‘I suppose we can go back to ignoring each other now that we’ve figured that out.’ He placed the pear upon his horns and gazed at his reflection in a bowl of water. The fires burning far beneath them took his shape; a thousand people died gazing upon his beauty.

Human ignored him and turned to Angel. ‘You’re all different, you always fight. Your children always fight. Now you need to stop fighting amongst yourselves so your children stop fighting.’

‘How do we stop them from fighting?’ Angel plucked out a bent golden wing and frowned.

‘Remove their differences. Make them the same.’

For a moment, there was silence.

‘Well, then there’s the question of who do we model the children after?’ Goblin butted in. The pear fell off his horns so he replaced it with an apple.

‘Me,’ Human answered.

‘Absolutely not,’ Goblin fired back. The horns atop his head flushed red. ‘You didn’t want children thousands of years ago, you mocked us for it! You shouldn’t have them now!’

‘A fact that now pains me dearly,’ Human returned. ‘I have walked amongst your children. I know them far better than any of you. I want to save them.’

Goblin sneered at him, as the apple bobbled of his head. Two bananas were pierced by his thorns. They didn’t fall off.

‘None of my children would want to part with their wings,’ Angel admitted. ‘It makes them… them, I suppose.’

‘My children aren’t losing their horns.’ Goblin chucked one of the bananas at Angel’s head, the gooey yellow flesh mixed into his blonde hair. Goblin giggled and aimed the other banana.

Elf snatched it out of the air. She dropped it to the marble tiles.

‘Sister?’ Goblin said.

Elf held her hand up, stopping him.

‘Your children have already made a pact for the death of all my children. I will do anything to save them. Even this foolish plan.’

Angel coughed.

‘Perhaps then we should consider this idea?’ His meaty paw of a hand reached out to hold Elf’s slender one. He squeezed it and smiled at his little sister. ‘We must unite for the sake of our children.’ He looked at Goblin. ‘All of our children.’

‘Fine.’ Goblin strode over and offered his clawed hands to his siblings. Angel’s meaty paws thumped into Goblin’s claws, while Elf delicately placed her hand down.

‘Or you could fight to the death, and whomever is victorious can annihilate the others’ children?’ Human said.

‘Hush.’

‘You’re such a middle child.’

‘Father always said he was weird.’

Human pouted and started using Angel’s wings as target practice.

The three siblings ignored their brother and the flying fruit. Instead, they focused on each other. They closed their eyes. In their minds, they conjured images of their children. They were all so different. The siblings blended their minds together, melding and bonding. Their thoughts interwove, all their flaws exposed. Nothing was hidden.

One seemed to pull away out fear, but the other two reached out and reassured them. Their love for the children strode them to push on.

They saw the world before them. They saw trees grow tall and die within seconds. Volcanoes thrust islands into the oceans. Water rained down on the land, then the sun withered it. The sun exploded into a ball of light. The world ended and begun. A rose was born and died. They breathed life into the world and they could take it away.

Independently, they had made their children. Moulded them from clay in their image. Forged them in the great smithy hidden in the sun. Imbued them with life from the deepest oceans. Their children grew. They understood the land but not each other. Now, the walls broke down. They reached out to one another. What made their children unique, they took away. They saw their children but thought of their childless brother. He did not have any children. Together, they willed their children to be reborn in his image. Human.

The horns flattened. The wings flew off. The pointed ears became round. Human.

Elf fell, convulsing, to the floor. She struggled to breathe. The air felt toxic, she coughed and spluttered but the air would not pass. Her twin was at her side instantly, whispering words of comfort.

Angel fell over, landing on his wings. He cried out in pain, then joy. He was still him.

Goblin threw up. He shivered and downed a large goblet of wine. It tasted like ash and he spat the wine out. He crammed his fist into his mouth and relief washed over him. His pointed teeth remained. He gazed into a bowl of water and nearly cried when he saw the horns still perched on top of his head.

‘It is done.’ Angel smiled at his siblings.

Goblin and Elf smiled and gazed down at the mortal realm. The smiles soon vanished when they found all life was gone.

‘Is now a good time to mention that everyone is dead?’ Human said.

Goblin looked at Human.

‘What have you done?’

‘Me? I didn’t do anything.’ Human replied.

‘Where are our children?’ Elf asked, fighting to remain calm.

‘It appears that during your temper tantrums, you killed them all.’ Human smiled. ‘They could survive anything the natural world threw at them, but couldn’t survive your tantrums.’

‘I thought you wanted to save them?’ Elf said in a small voice.

‘No, I wanted Father to see how you three managed to colossally screw the world over, and he did,’ Human said.

‘Trickster!’ Angel snapped.

‘Demon!’ Goblin hissed.

‘Why?’ Elf’s eyes pleaded with her twin, but his eyes remained cruel.

‘I want my own children, and you three were dumb enough kill yours—so now Father will let me.’ Human smirked and strode out, leaving the other three in a stunned silence.

The mortal realm was silent. The oceans stopped. The fires stopped. The world stopped spinning. The three looked upon their now dead world. An empty rock.

‘We’re gonna kill his kids, right?’ asked Goblin.

‘Agreed.’

‘I’ll grab my torture kit!’

‘I said kill, not torture!’

Download a PDF of ‘Chaotic Children’

Your honour, members of the Jury. My name is Symes the Ice Wizard and literature expert. Now knowing my skills in storytelling, I suppose you would like an account of how this fiasco all started.

Our tale begins in our home, Scotia of Greymane. A land where shields and swords are the most common weapons, royalty rule over the province and magic is a mysterious and powerful force that only the few diligent enough to study its arts can harness. Greymane is an island continent separated from the four neighbouring, giant continents surrounding us we have yet to explore. Scotia is the northern division of the island that has its own economy and government separate from the Greymane kingdom. Scotia is also known as the land of the fog, as every morning, a fog arises and spreads across the land that is so thick it covers most of the landscape for two hours. The skies are covered by cloudy mist and sometimes and can have days where it rains frequently.

There are ten-thousand inhabitants of Scotia, but the only people holding power are the thirty royals. Each of the thirty royals has a birthmark on the back of their necks in the shape of the sun. The castles, homes of the royals, are where every road in the country lead to and from. They were the first structures of Scotia, and every village on the island is formed from these roads and the castles they lead to. Each castle is heritage, crafted from large, rough stones and reach up to fifteen feet and cover an area of one-hundred and fifty by two-hundred square metres.

This society of ours stayed prosperous for more than one-hundred years. I only bring this all up as emphasis for the parallel to the day it all changed. When the army bearing the black flag with a white dagger arrived. The flag of the Dark Lady, Oblivion. Oblivion, as we discovered, was an outcast from the southern Greymane kingdom, exiled for attempting to overthrow the governing body and usurp the King of Greymane.

Now with an army, the Legion, of one-hundred-thousand mercenaries and criminals under her command, she took their sights to Scotia to claim as their own. Her Legion pillaged village after village and murdered villager after villager, ransacking their homes to strike fear into the hearts of the people. The royal family and the sheriffs stood little to no chance against her army and her magic of all four elements and darkness. Eventually, the Dark Lady drove out or killed every member of the royal family and became the Dark Lady, Empress of Scotia.

And I can already see your eyes glazing off while I’m speaking, so I’ll just move on to why we are all here.

We discovered this when my wizard friends, Philes—that old lunatic—and Gendry, and I returned to it from our year-long isolated study of the magic arts, we found our home village, Cadun, in ruins. The carpenters, the bank, the bakery, the butchery, the town hall and all of our homes were reduced to nothing but burning wood and straw, and the stone walls nothing but rubble. Villagers lay massacred on the tiled-roads, their blood staining and running through the cracks. Those left alive were in shock and mourning. The butcher’s daughter was burying her father in the back of the butchery. The carpenter held his lifeless son and wife in his arms, crying and wailing outside the ruins of the carpentry. Castle Cadun that overlooked Cadun had crumbled into cobblestone debris with the large boulders that caused the stronghold’s destruction amongst the wreckage.

Philes, all wise wizard (at least he thought so), wept, covering his golden eyes with his thumb and finger as his brown teeth bit his lip. He soaked my cotton robes and long grey beard with tears but avoided the book tied in leather straps over his shoulder. I consoled him and I moved my jars of fluid which I tied over my robes like a necklace before he hugged me. I absorbed the desolation as a drop of sweat dripped down my long-pointed nose and more trailed down my wrinkled cheeks.

Gendry, a wizard so gentle in nature that even a lamb could bully him, took out a bandage from his satchel and a handful of leaves from the vines hanging around his neck. He rubbed his hands together with the leaves in between until hands glowed a bright green. He placed his hands on the bleeding neck of the carpenter and the carpenter barked at him to leave. He mustered his most comforting smile from under his long, black beard and said:

‘Shh please tell me what happened,’ Gendry whispered to the carpenter, fighting back his own tears.

‘They came, the Legion of the Dark Lady!’ He struggled to push out of his mouth. ‘They slaughtered everyone in this village and no one could stop those animals! They’re gone to the other castles. God help anyone who lives through their massacre…’ He quietly sulked as Gendry continued to heal the carpenter, looking over to us concerned.

‘Gentleman, there is only one person who can defeat the Dark Lady,’ Philes proclaimed, exiting the hug, and wiping his tears. ‘The Chosen One!’

‘Ah yes, the Chosen One,’ I sighed, ‘the one you think will save Scotia from desolation.’ My voice oozed with sarcasm as I crossed my arms.

‘You know this story well! It was foretold upon the ancient walls, that when a great darkness destroys the land, a hero bearing the sun shall vanquish the darkness. That must mean the sun mark on the necks of nobles! All we must do is find a noble still alive and they can defeat her!’

‘I am fully aware, you overdramatic codger, but the only people with the marks of the sun are nobles, and we don’t know how many this Dark Lady has even left alive!’

‘Then we search all of Scotia to find one in hiding.’ He pointed his finger towards me with a giant grin on his face.

I let out a mixture of a growl and a sigh at this stupid plan. ‘Philes, let me explain this simply. Even if we could find one in hiding, where would we even begin to look? We would have to search the whole continent before we found a single noble left in this carnage!’

’Would you rather leave the people to continue suffering?’ Philes asked.

Silence was shared between us. We scanned the wreckage further and the damage of a once-thriving town. How many more towns would share this fate if we do not step in?

‘We will gather tomorrow and search the lands,’ I announced to my friends.

The next day, the three of us mounted our horses as we travelled the many roads leading to what remains of the seven kingdoms and their surrounding villages in search of the Chosen One of this prophecy.

Philes had a better stroke of luck, as he recounted us. After a month of searching, he arrived in the small coastal port town of Tusae, which was thankfully spared the wrath of the Legion. The buildings were cubic, smooth, and were painted white as snow. The streets permeated with the smell of salt water, alcohol, and human waste. The sun reflected brightly off the sea and the white buildings. While roaming the bustling street markets, and shielding his eyes from the light, he had his purse swiped by an urchin boy. Before he could conjure his Magical Hand to retrieve it, a cloaked young man swiped his purse out of the urchin’s hand. With a smile, the young man walked over to Philes and handed over his purse.

‘Sorry about that, sir. The little street kids always swipe valuables when the sun is its brightest. Best to keep your hands over your purse in the future. Have a nice day.’ The boy turned around and his hood came off. On his neck was the birthmark shaped like the sun. Without a second thought, Philes put his hand on his shoulder and halted him immediately

‘What is your name, young man?’ he asked.

‘Wolne, sir.’

‘Tell me Wolne, have you ever heard of the prophecy of the Chosen One?’

‘Yes sir, I have.’

‘My dear lad, my companions and I of the Three Great Wizards have been searching for the Chosen One for some time. I suspect you are the goal of our quest.’

‘Me? The Chosen One?’ Wolne repeated in disbelief. ‘But sir, I’m nobody special. I’m just Wolne.’

‘Nonsense, my companions and I have been searching for a person of noble birth and the mark on your neck is proof of your legitimacy. You are the only one who can defeat the Dark Lady.’

‘But sir, I don’t think I’m strong enou—’

‘Young man, do you wish to stay here and let the world fall into further ruin until only corpses remain?’

Wolne stayed silent, looking at the floor. ‘Fine.’ He agreed uncertainly, looking up to Philes’ line of sight.

‘Good.’ Philes grinned and motioned Wolne to follow as he continued walking. ‘Now it is time for your training.’

The rest after we all returned to our wizarding castle was weapons training, motivational speeches, planning for attack and eating oranges and broccoli soup every day. Your honour, please excuse me from recounting all of this, as it is rather boring. Allow me to skip ahead.

Ten months passed and what a change. Young Wolne grew into a muscular youthful warrior adorned in shining armour, long flowing blonde hair, and a red shield adorned with a painted sun, similar to his birthmark. It was his twenty-first birthday present from me. On the anniversary I brought him to the Wizard’s Fortress, I stood in the Coronation Room; a dark cobblestone room lit only by candlelight that surrounded the room’s floor in a circle, Wolne stood by the door to see the three of us inside.

‘Wolne,’ Philes announced, ‘enter the Ring of Fire.’

Wolne entered and bent his knee to three of us. Philes walked towards him with a glowing white broadsword in hand.

‘What is your destiny?’

‘To kill the Dark Lord, Oblivion,’ Wolne sternly stated.

‘And what will this bring?’

‘Peace and prosperity to the land.’

He smiled. ‘My boy, you have trained more diligently than any noble knight of Greymane. You have proven yourself worthy of this, the Oathkeeper. An ancient sword whose blade can reach the temperature of the sun!’ He bestowed the glowing broadsword to Wolne, who looked shocked at the old man, whom merely smiles back at him. ‘Arise, Wolne.’

Wolne arose and Philes hugged him as a father would his son. ‘I am proud to call you my disciple.’

Gendry and I looked at each other concernedly and motioned Philes forward for a private conversation.

‘We have to admit, Philes, you had us worried. Taking ten months to prepare Wolne for the greatest evil Scotia has ever faced,’ I admitted.

‘That is quite uncalled for!’ He protested stubbornly. ‘We needed to be with him to make sure his training and our plan is foolproof!’

‘No, I must admit,’ interrupted Gendry, stroking his black beard, ‘we don’t know how many towns have fallen from the Legion. All we have done is spy upon the castle, nothing else!’

‘Fear not, my friends,’ He smiled at us confidently. ‘Our patience shall be rewarded.’ He walked back to Wolne. ‘Come, dear friends, let us ride and defeat Oblivion once and for all!’

With a hearty cheer as we left the room, the four of us mounted our horses from the stable and rode the countryside towards Oblivion’s castle.

It was a freezing night as we trotted through the fog, which covered the grassy plains of the castle. The Dark Lord’s castle was made up of four watchtowers connected by twenty-foot walls and was surrounded by a moat. Guards of the legion patrolled the castle grounds inside the watch towers and outside the castle walls.

Wasting no time, my friends and I used our magic to launch fire, ice, and lightning at the guards as Wolne galloped his way through. Wolne did his fair share of slicing guards heads off and stabbing them through their armour with Oathkeeper, but in hindsight, it was us that cleared the area of any other lifeform but Wolne.

We swung the front door open and marched into the main hall. It was dimly lit with the full moon emanating light from the glass dome on the ceiling. A woman in a green regal dress and crimson, red, wavy hair sat relaxed on her onyx throne atop a platform. It was Oblivion.

‘How did you get in here?!’ she barked at us. ‘Guards!’

Wolne, as the guards came rushing towards us, pointed Oathkeeper at Oblivion. ‘Your reign of terror ends today, Dark Lady Oblivion!’ he announced ferociously. ‘I am Wolne the VI, the Chosen One and rightful heir to the throne! Once you are slain, Scotia will be at peace!’ He then charged at the guards, screaming at the top of his lungs.

‘Wait!’ Oblivion held her hand out, and both Wolne and the guards stopped and looked at her. ‘Wolne, did one of your villages get burnt down by my army?’ She asked.

‘Yes, yes they did! You left Marbletop, my home, in ruins!’ Wolne replied, gritting his teeth.

‘Oh goodness…’ She held her hands to her head. ‘My dear boy, I am so sorry for your loss. In my conquest, I never wanted the massacring of your land, its people, and nobles.’

‘What? But you gave the order to have my village slaughtered!’

‘Yes, my early Legion was comprised of those of dubious background and acted on their own accord. Rest assured, they were publicly executed for their needless pillaging. In fact the, new Legion is comprised of men inspired to follow me after this display.’

Wolne lowered his sword. He puzzled at this lapse in knowledge that was new to all four of us.

‘But… what of the other villages and castles?’

‘The new Legion army have been helping to reconstruct the villages that the old Legion has done and continue trade along your roads once again.’

‘But… What of the Chosen One story? I’ve been training my whole life to bring Scotia back from darkness!’

‘Listen, young Wolne, I know my sudden usurpation of your government was more bloody than was intended. It was my mistake to use criminals in the first place. They were the only ones who wished to join my cause. All I can say to convince you that I am not the Dark Lady that you think I am, that I only want to make up for the suffering I brought, and help Scotia become a great power that can rival even the Greymane kingdom.’

‘So… so this whole time, the ten months I have been training in the Wizard’s Tower has been—’

Suddenly, Gendry interrupted by shouting, ‘A complete waste of time!’

Wolne then walked over to us, his face scrunched in anger.

‘Gentlemen, it was a desperate time! We had to act fast!’ Philes justified to them all.

‘You could have acted by observing what was actually going on after all this time! How could you have not seen those soldiers get executed while we spied on the castle?!’ I questioned to him.

‘I never got a chance to see my wife’s grave in Cadun,’ Gendry protested in tears. ‘Because we were on this fool’s errand!’

‘You all are just as guilty! You didn’t see it either! We must have missed it!’ he protested.

‘Don’t you push the blame on us!’ Wolne shouted and poked his finger hard at Philes’ chest.

As we bickered, Oblivion blinked and looked over to her guards. ‘Rodrick, can you please send them to prison? We will set up a trial in the morning.’

‘Yes m’lady,’ Said Rodrick, the commander in red, black and gold armour. He and the four other soldiers pushed us towards the cellar door as we continued to squabble. Now did we jump to conclusions? Yes, definitely. But in those desperate circumstances, even the sanest of minds can be swayed by the most ludicrous of notions. So if you have any mercy in your heart, at least go easy on the boy, Gendry, and I. Lock up Philes, I beg of you, for starting this whole mess. He’s in his seventies now, so he wouldn’t be serving a life sentence for long. I rest my case.

Download a PDF copy of The Chosen One

‘I’m sorry,’ the lady said, not sounding sorry at all, ‘but you’re not what we’re looking for in a candidate.’ The interviewer looked at Shauntelle through false glasses, Hathaway-style eyes taunting her. They must have been a CRISPR job; replicating patterns and colours in eyes with such precision needed genetic engineering. The rest of the interviewer’s body displayed more of the same curves Shauntelle had seen a hundred times. She had barely glanced at Shauntelle’s resume and university scores, only at her slim appearance. Shauntelle certainly was what they were looking for, at least according to the job description.

‘Next candidate, please,’ the lady called out, as Shauntelle opened the booth to leave. Of course a disease prevention laboratory wouldn’t accept someone unmodded, despite her actual ability.

In the lobby, the next candidate stood up, rolling his Jackman shoulders. He was definitely modded, like the other two women waiting for their interviews. They boasted the same curves as the interviewer. The genetic material was probably from the same source. The candidate took his hand from his pocket and patted Shauntelle so hard on her back she lost her breath. ‘Tough luck,’ he leered, walking through the doorway. Her back stung. Maybe he’d gotten those arms recently and was still adjusting to their strength? No, the leer told her he was definitely a jerk.

‘Look at her clothes!’ Shauntelle heard one woman sneer to the other, who giggled. She channelled her anger into walking faster. As if they knew how hard it was to find business clothes that were made to fit people who didn’t have genetic material taken from celebrities. Shauntelle had to tailor the clothes down to fit her. She’d done a good job of it too. She stepped down the stairs, passed the lobby of the office-lab and stepped into the smog outside.

The skyscraper across the square loomed over her. ‘Jackman style, Ford style, Bergeron style!’ its billboard read. ‘All these arm styles and more! That’s not all: legs, busts, torsos, even facial and eye styles! For a limited time, you can get a CRISPR disease prevention package too! BioKurz Modifications: Realising the YOU that you always wanted to be.’

What a crap tagline, Shauntelle thought, though, the disease prevention would be good. She’d practically memorised that ad from how often it played here; she almost always saw it on the way out from job interviews. She’d learned from her studies that CRISPR immune system treatments for diseases were very effective. Not that she could afford them. Or had the opportunity. She wished at least that her brother had had it. Not now, she thought, she needed to focus on the next job. She walked past the bioluminescent jacaranda and a girl with glittering purple hair.

The door to her home creaked under Shauntelle’s hand as she opened it. Her father was inside, repairing the sink.  There was a bucket placed under the leak in the roof. On the table, cards were set out for blackjack. The neighbours must have come over. On the end her father always sat, the first two cards were five and seven. The third card was a Jack. Twenty-two points. Shauntelle hoped they weren’t betting.

‘How’d it go? You’ve been out for a while,’ he said.

‘I went on a walk afterwards. No luck,’ she said. ‘They said I’m “not what they’re looking for.”’

He sighed. ‘Let me guess, all the other candidates had modifications?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it…’

He shook his head, then winced. His hand cramped and he dropped his spanner.  ‘That’ll be a yes. Someday it’ll get through their skulls that you’ve got your biology degree too. Probably with better scores than theirs.’

‘Why’d you say that? They’ve got intelligence mods,’ she said.

‘But I doubt any of them worked as hard as you did. Intelligence mods or not, you’ve earned it,’ he replied, cradling his arthritic hand.

Her anger flared. When she went to interviews, they looked at her like she was a bad joke. Among twenty-seven interviewers, those who didn’t immediately tell her to get out made a lame excuse about how she wasn’t suitable for the job.

She scowled, then sighed. ‘What does it matter when they don’t care?’

‘I’m sure you’ll get ‘em next time,’ he said.

‘Isn’t that what you said last time?’

He looked at her. ‘You’re too nit-picky.’

She sighed, opening the door to her room.

Shauntelle felt a headache developing as she arrived at the gate of the Manor at 2:55 pm.

‘State your name and business,’ the intercom at the gate crackled.

Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Shauntelle Penther, here to see Mr Sardon about his offer for advising him in biology.’

‘Of course, come through.’ The gate opened. She walked down the driveway, past the garden maze and the flowerbeds. Private gardens were rare. This was the biggest she’d seen. The manicured hedges and the flowers boasted their life. It was oddly relaxing, walking down the long pathway. She had only ever had a succulent as a gift for her twelfth birthday, a resilient thing, a gift from her brother. She felt a pain in her chest at the thought.

After the interview, she had been preparing for her next application when someone delivered a letter on behalf of this Sardon. A letter, in this age? It was a job offer. Why would he offer her a job? The job was an advisory role for his business ventures in genetic engineering, CRISPR and biology. The letter requested she meet him the next day.

It was too convenient. It could be a trap, or a prank. She’d had too many of them, promising a job, just to trick her. Maybe it was luck. Could it be her hard work paying off? No, that never happens. She’d done some quick research and found out Sardon was an accomplished entrepreneur, one of the investors behind VitoGreens. That stuff basically got her through University because it was so cheap.

As soon as she arrived at the oak door, it opened. Behind it was a woman dressed in black servant’s uniform. It would be prim and proper if it didn’t have a little skin showing.

‘This way, please.’ They walked across a Persian rug and up a staircase to what was presumably a study. The woman knocked. Anxiety punched Shauntelle in the stomach.

‘Come in,’ was the reply. The room was like stepping back in time—upholstered Victorian chairs, wooden cabinets, and a mixture of stained and clear glass windows. The man to whom the voice belonged was relatively tall, without obvious modifications, though he had flawless skin and a finely-groomed moustache.

‘Ah, you must be Miss Penther.’ His eyes looked warm, although that could have been a modification too.

‘Good afternoon,’ she replied, trying to ignore her headache.

‘I am Arthur Sardon,’ he said, ‘and I believe you have met Mika, one of my servants.’

The woman stopped cleaning the bookcase that she had started and curtseyed.

‘Ah yes,’ Sardon said. ‘You would be interested: Mika here was part of a CRISPR gene expression experiment my father ordered, to increase her industriousness and mildness. I’d say it’s rather effective, wouldn’t you, Mika?’

‘Of course, sir,’ she said, resuming her cleaning. She was only a little shorter than Shauntelle, with full brown hair and unblemished skin. She was slimmer than the usual modifications done on women; she was almost like a doll.

‘I suppose there wasn’t a control group, and I’m not knowledgeable enough about biology to know the full details.’

Is that even legal? Shauntelle thought. Even if it is…

He continued, ‘And that is what brings you here today. I want you to help inform me in my business dealings when they regard biology, which is happening more and more.’

‘Oh! I… am very flattered, sir, but why would you choose me over someone who has intelligence modifications?’ She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything else stupid. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

He smiled. ‘I received word that the Nova and Wellington lab in the city were hiring. They are long-standing friends and business partners of mine, so I asked them for a list of the applicants. Of those I investigated, you had exceptional ability, especially since you had a scholarship on academic credit alone. Of the applicants, you had even higher grades than many with intelligence modifications.

‘You can tell that?’ she said, a little light-headed. How did he get that much information? That shouldn’t be publically available, she thought. Did she really do that well?

‘Of course. I must say, I’m disappointed intelligence modifications have proven to be only a small boost thus far. Ultimately, I don’t particularly care whether or not you are modified. I suspect…’

‘You suspect?’

‘I suspect that you’ll do well.’ He smiled, then turned to gaze out the window.

What does that even mean? she thought. I won’t have to be a guinea pig, will I? I won’t have to be like… them, will I?

He continued, ‘The job, should you choose to take it, will have a good salary and access to research journals so you can keep up to date to keep me informed.’

Those journals were not cheap. It sounded like an acceptable deal, provided the business wasn’t shady… Well, provided it wasn’t too shady, Shauntelle thought. On the other hand…

She glanced at Mika. Mika smiled back at her, then continued to clean above the filing cabinet.

Starving is much worse, she concluded. Her headache was up there, though. She’d have to do it, wouldn’t she?

‘As for responsibilities… Miss Penther?’ Dizziness overcame her, and she collapsed.

Shauntelle struggled to open her eyes. The ceiling was patterned with stars and she was lying on a very comfortable bed. A doctor was off to her right. Oh God, what happened?

‘I’m telling you, they’re the same hallmarks as all the other cases. Flu symptoms in an HPV virus, with the infection spreading from the back,’ a deep voice said.

At the foot of the bed, she saw the owner of the voice, a policeman, talking with another policeman. The image of her little brother popped into her mind, telling her how he wanted to be a policeman, so he could help people. And so he could have big muscly arms. If he had only been old enough to be a policeman, maybe the leukaemia could’ve been… Not that they’d had enough to apply for the exam anyway.

She groaned. They turned, noticing her. They were built in the same muscular fashion, like toy soldiers fresh from the cast.

‘Ah, you’re awake,’ one said.

‘Where…’

‘You’re in Mr Sardon’s Manor. He called the doctor here instead of having you taken to hospital,’ he said.

Her stomach fell. Why? What was going to happen to the job?

The first deep voice spoke again. ‘It appears you collapsed because of a particular modified strain of HPV, which we believe was deliberately spread. It was probably injected though contact with the back, since we found traces of painkillers like those used by leeches there. While we can’t be sure, we believe it to be a prankster’s doing, since it isn’t that serious or as damaging.’

Human Papilloma Virus? As a prank? Forcibly injected? Who would… Shauntelle checked her skin. Sure enough, there were blemishes and small warty bumps all over her body. What did they mean HPV isn’t that serious?

‘Don’t worry,’ the doctor said, looking a little too proud. ‘It shouldn’t do any lasting damage thanks to my treatment.’ He was synthesising antibodies that would fit her immune system to inject into her. At least, she hoped that was what he was doing.

‘Am I… allowed to stay here?’ she asked. She bit her tongue again. She blamed her stupid questions on her exhaustion.

The policemen looked to the doctor, who shrugged. ‘We don’t know,’ he said.

‘Regardless, the doctor tells us you displayed flu-like symptoms. Numerous other cases have occurred recently with the same strain of HPV modified to use genetic material from influenza.’

Sardon heard the policeman’s voice through the wall, commenting that the victims were from low socioeconomic areas and had little access to vaccines or genetic prevention treatments. He’d found it interesting that they were the ones who needed it the most.

Sardon had meant to test if she would be scared off by Mika in the interview, but this… Was it really a prankster, or was it sabotage?

A week ago, one of his business associates, Jonas, indulged in too much wine and was ranting about how useless the poor were—his favourite hobby.

‘But harsher conditions can end up with more adaptability, no?’ Sardon interrupted.

‘You’re a riot, Arty,’ Jonas snorted, ‘They’re weeds in the rose garden.’

Sardon was annoyed at being referred to so casually. Jonas swallowed another scone.

‘A wager, Arty,’ Jonas said. ‘You said you want an advisor. Since you’re so keen to defend those insects, put your money where your mouth is.’

Sardon tilted his head. ‘What are the terms?’

‘Get an unmodified advisor. If it’s as you say, your profits go up in six months and I give fifty percent on top. But if they don’t, you give me fifty percent.’

Sardon accepted, but he couldn’t remember Jonas making any promises that stopped him from interfering in the bet. He needed to ensure Jonas didn’t in the future, at any rate. Surprisingly, Shauntelle almost recovered within an hour of treatment anyway. She was certainly as tenacious as a weed.

He heard them questioning her about who the culprit might be. She eventually said something about someone forcefully patting her on the back as she left a job interview the previous day. He decided he may need to ask the officers for the name of the perpetrator later, to investigate.

Shauntelle did her best to answer their questions, just dreading the medical bill in the back of her mind.

Eventually, the policeman asked, ‘I suppose we should confirm you have not had HPV vaccines?’

‘No.’ She’d needed to eat that month.

‘Health insurance?’

‘None.’

The policemen fell silent.

‘I’m not sure that standard healthcare will cover this,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s not likely, but can you convince your employer to pay for the treatment?’

Mr Sardon seemed to choose that moment to walk into the room. He stood silently a few metres behind the policemen.

Shauntelle was also silent. After a time, the policemen wished her well, told her he would notify her family, and left.

Sardon wasn’t her employer yet. She hadn’t accepted the offer before she collapsed. She didn’t even know if his offer was still on the table. Still being in the Manor was a good sign. Aside from the fact that he was… a little strange. Still… Her stomach fell. What now? So close.

Just like always. It’s only natural, she thought, it’s just my luck.

Download a PDF copy of Just My Luck

Emmeline Chilcott did not like running.

She had never really grasped the extent of this distaste until she found herself running from three enormous men who, upon bursting into Pam’s Tavern snarling her name, made a distinct impression that they did not just want to chat. Her breath came in short, concentrated bursts—the pressure on her lungs so immense she wondered whether she was inhaling actual fire and not the sharp salt of the sea air. Her fitness level was such a joke it was almost laughable… could people die from running?

A bullet whizzed past her head and ricocheted off a metal lamppost before embedding itself into an empty wooden crate, shattering the waterlogged wood and sending deadly splinters in every direction.

‘Stop running you fuckin’ brat. We won’t hurt ya! He needs you alive!’ the call echoed behind her, ringing in her ears. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Trying to regulate her breath so the fire in her chest would subside a little, Emmeline barely noticed the vivid lights of the theatre district disappearing as she took a sharp turn and found herself on the infamous Bronze Docks of Markthaven—named for its hundreds of piers accented in a mottled blue-orange blend of salt-rusted bronze. Long wharves stretched out from the main dock like vines from a tree every hundred metres or so, with enough room in-between to house the hulls of two of the enormous trade ships. Tall masts stretched into the air, the ends disappearing into the low hanging fog that suffocated the city during the rainy season.

Emmeline’s options for escape were becoming fewer with each laboured step as she spied the impenetrable void of the Zwart Cliff in the distance.

The sound of gunpowder igniting in her pursuers’ pistol and the feel of the wind against her cheek were enough to tell her that another bullet had just ripped its way through the air. Waves of panic crashed through her, spreading out from the vice on her heart until her steps were so stiff it felt like she was freezing from the inside out.

She veered left; half jumping half falling onto the lower level wharf stretching out into the ocean. An enormous ship was moored at the wharf though there was no movement on board – the crew was probably in town, enjoying their limited time on land, seeing a show or drinking themselves into oblivion. Emmeline made quick work of the ropes as she climbed on board, ducking low beneath the side of the ship. She watched as the men carefully walked along the dock, peering into the darkness in search of her.

A blinding white pain thumped at the base of her head, spreading until she felt it behind her eyes and suddenly she couldn’t see or hear anything.

She heard the sound of rope moving against wood and a shout from below,

‘You guys check the end of the wharf. I’ll start on this ship!’

Jolting upright at the sound of a man’s shout, Captain Jules Navarre nearly hit his head on the low ceiling as he raced up from the bowels of the ship to the main deck.

He was supposed to be on watch.

Curses fell from his lips as he ran, hand clutching at the small dagger strapped to his hip before he burst through the door. Jules’ eyes locked on the huddled form of a woman who was pressed so tightly against the bulwark she almost camouflaged into it. Her heavy breathing increased as her eyes flashed open and she spied Jules looking directly at her. With one final strangled breath, her entire body disappeared completely into the wood.

Stepping forward in surprise, Jules made to move towards the girl when a fat hand slapped against the rail, grimy black nails digging into the wood, attempting to haul himself onto the ship. Walking calmly over, Jules pressed the tip of the dagger against the man’s splayed hand and lightly pressed down. With a shout, he let go of the rail, grabbing a piece of rope in time to stop from falling onto the wharf.

‘Can I help you, mate?’ Jules asked as though he was enquiring after a friend. The man howled as though he’d been stabbed—Jules hadn’t even drawn blood.

‘What the fuck did ya do that for?’ he spat the words like Jules was in the wrong.

‘Why are you attempting to board my ship?’ he kept his voice civil, looking down at the seething man.

‘We’re looking for a girl? ‘Ave you seen ‘er? She owes our boss money.’

Jules shook his head.

‘I believe it’s just me down here tonight. Although my crew won’t be far off coming home if my memory of their drinking stamina is correct.’

He placed the dagger on the rail once more, a small threat.

‘I wouldn’t be here when they return.’

‘Sure, sure! No problems mate! Raff, Wilm… come on she’s not here!’

The other two men shouted in acquiescence from the end of the wharf and Jules watched as they ambled back towards the main arm of the dock. Once they were gone from sight, he sheathed his dagger, shifting his gaze to the spot where she had disappeared. Slowly, he reached his hand out and felt around in the air.

From the opposite side of the ship, Emmeline watched the man feel around blindly. Hadn’t he seen her crawl away? Why did he cover for her? He continued to slowly walk through the spot she had been in, feeling around blindly until he stood up straight and turned around.

‘Alright sweetheart, they’re gone, but you need to show yourself again. I know you haven’t left, I was watching the ropes for movement.’

He yelled like she wasn’t right across from him. Eyes so dark she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black scanned the area and swept right past her. Why was he acting like she wasn’t there? The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon; the docks would wake soon.

Looking down at herself she inhaled sharply. Her entire body and all of her clothing was covered in the mottled swirling greys and browns of the wood that formed the ship. Blending in seamlessly, she watched in shock as the pattern moved with her to match exactly with what was behind it. She felt a kick against her side and was shocked out of her position on the ground, scrambling to stand as her stiff legs screamed in agony.

‘Found you!’ The boy smiled at her as her skin rippled back and forth in time with the rush of the waves below; blue and grey and brown as it struggled to find its original colour once more. Her skin finally settled into its normal tone, and Emmeline tore her eyes from her own skin, to observe him.

‘How did you—my skin—my skin—they were, I was…’ Her mouth opened and closed silently as she struggled to pull her thoughts together.

He bent to look her in the eyes and grabbed her hand gently.

‘It’s alright… I can do it too, look.’

His hand slowly seemed to melt away, mimicking the colour of hers beneath his and the floor beneath where his hand touched nothing. His hand camouflaged flawlessly into her own. It was only the shadows cast by the slowly rising sun, draping everything in a faint crimson glow that showed her truly where it lay.

She withdrew from him and watched as his fingers, and then his palm returned to the deep tan of the rest of his body like it was soaking up the soft colour that fell over the silent docks.

‘What are you? What am I?’

He looked at her and grinned, a dark curl flipped in front of his eye, and he pushed it away mindlessly. Ignoring her question, he looked her straight in the eyes,

‘My name’s Jules—you didn’t mention yours.’

‘Emmeline Chilcott.’ She drew herself up in the way she knew made her look taller and deepened her brows into a scowl, ‘Explain this. Explain yourself.’

‘Well, I don’t know if you know this Emmeline Chilcott but… you’re a mimic.’

‘And what, exactly, does that mean… Mister?’

‘Navarre. And it’s Captain Navarre, not Mister. But also, it’s not Captain Navarre you can just call me Jules,’ he winked, ‘Or I suppose Captain Jules if that’s what you’d prefer.’

Emmeline silenced the man’s chatter with a hand against his mouth.

‘Right, well Captain Navarre, what exactly does “I’m a mimic” mean? I don’t know if this is normal for you, but this is not exactly my every day!’

‘Of course! Sorry. I’m just so glad to finally meet another of Vanderan’s that made it. You have to be one of his, your abilities are so similar to mine—although mine doesn’t extend to clothing, now that is really impressive. That you could have control over matter that isn’t your own flesh is just incredible.’ He wasn’t even looking at her now, just rambling out loud.

‘Vanderan? Who is that? What are these abilities?’ releasing an exasperated sigh, Emmeline clicked her fingers in front of Jules’ face, ‘Mr Nav—Captain Navarre! I am trying my best not to freak out and you giving me an explanation would really be very helpful.’

‘Oh! Yes! Well, Vanderan was a Doctor, who worked for the Capital in my country—Floitá. He birthed children and every hundred or so babies he would administer a shot he created that was designed to enhance the child’s natural defence mechanisms… there was a plague at the time that was devastating my country, your parents would have told you of it, he wanted to trigger a biological defence to the plague in infants so they wouldn’t get sick in the first place. It was effective, but there were side effects… this was one of the good ones. See how you can camouflage—like a butterfly when it senses danger, you can mimic your surroundings!’

Emmeline gaped at Captain Navarre in shock. She looked down at her hand and concentrated for a second. Her fingertips began to adjust once more to match the deep grain of the wooden ship beneath her. Okay.

‘I’ve never been to Floitá how would I have received this shot? This seems like the story of a madman. There must be opiates in the air. This cannot be happening!’

There was too much to think about. How could this insane Doctor Vanderan have injected her? Surely such a man had to have a God-complex. Had he administered cures for the plague to select children as some sort of sick experiment to see who lived and died?

She knew of the plague Captain Navarre mentioned. It had desolated Floitá, a once powerful nation brought to its knees by the loss of seventy percent of its population. The spread of the plague had only been stopped by the complete cessation of trade and travel; Markthaven had taken years to recover from the loss as the Bronze Docks had lain unused for over a year.

‘Doctor Vanderan was forced to leave Floitá in disgrace after some of the side effects on the surviving children were revealed… children who grew spikes that shot from their skin when startled. Babies whose saliva produced poison and killed their mothers as they breastfed. Imagine not being able to breathe air as your lungs collapsed from within; when your only way to breathe oxygen into your lungs, is to inhale water like a fish.’ He spoke with a soft intensity. She felt the pain in his words and knew that he had seen these things happen.

‘Almost all of the children who were injected died. It is a shameful secret that Floitá does not speak of in fear of endangering the lives of the survivors. Imagine if your government here found out there were children who could change their skin like you or me? It would be chaos, we would live our lives on the run.’

‘But how could I have received the injection? I’ve lived in Markthaven my whole life!’

Jules grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and spoke slowly,

‘You did not listen. He was exiled from Floitá. There were rumours of his whereabouts, none were ever confirmed, but most people believe that he settled somewhere in this city—in Markthaven. It is very likely that he continued his career as a doctor here, treating children carefully so he could monitor them and take care of unsuccessful subjects. I’m sure there was a time when you were young that you were incredibly sick. Do you remember being taken to a doctor?’

‘No I—I never saw Doctors when I was younger,’ Emmeline ran her hands through her hair tearing loose a handful of strands which whipped around her face in the salty breeze.

‘We were always just treated within the orphanage there was a professor who catalogued the library and treated us when we got sick I—’

‘Orphanage? You’re an orphan? Emmeline think… what became of the man who treated you there? What was his name? Were there any children who went missing?’

Her mind skimmed over hundreds of memories of her time in the orphanage, thoughts churning with the new information. Of course, there had been children that had gone missing, but it was an orphanage, that happened.

They could have been picked up by trade ships as crew or even taken from the streets to be trafficked as slaves. A few missing orphans were the least of the nun’s or the other children’s worries. And the man that had treated her when she’d been sick… he had taken care of her for weeks, insisting she stay in bed to recuperate, though she’d felt fine after only a few days. What had become of him? He’d left the orphanage abruptly, and the children had been instructed to take care of their own ailments.

‘His name, I think he went by Professor… Nared? I’m sure that was it; he went on to a job in the Heidspur working with the Governors. He has some sort of job in the Council, oh my God! He might be still doing this—what if the Governors know?’

Overwhelmed, Emmeline found her bottom lip start to tremble as she choked back panicked sobs. She had assumed that Mina and Klaus had been adopted or had found jobs when they’d disappeared but how many of the orphans had really died at the hands of this man? Captain Navarre put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

‘It’s okay Emmeline. He can’t harm you. He is in your past—’ Jules’ soothing stopped abruptly at the sound of three heavy thumps on the wood behind them.

Both Emmeline and Jules looked in dismay at the same three men who had chased her earlier that night as they ambled casually towards them, pistols aimed directly at their chests. Emmeline straightened her spine defiantly. She was surprised as she found herself automatically beginning to mimic the look of the wood beneath her; the feeling so natural already as she tried to escape the beady glare of the men’s eyes. Captain Navarre attempted to do the same as they moved to run from their position, however, unlike Emmeline’s, his clothing did not also begin to mimic the wood from beneath so they somewhat ridiculously appeared to be nothing but a pair of floating breeches and a dark shirt.

‘Isn’t this lovely. The Doctor sends us to collect one of ‘is brats and we find two of ‘em. He really will be happy with us this time.’ He took a step towards the spot where they stood and raised his pistol,
‘Don’t do nothin’ stupid alright?’

Emmeline looked at Captain Navarre’s faint outline—his body barely visible in the watery morning sun. Grabbing onto his shirt, she pulled herself close to where she estimated his ear was and whispered,

‘Captain Navarre… I do hope you know how to swim.’

Then, grabbing his waist with all her might, Emmeline Chilcott pulled the Captain backwards over the railing of the enormous ship, directly into the deep blue water below.

God, she hated swimming.

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