A Far Wilder Magic

by Allison Saft

For those with impossible dreams and for those who feel dreaming is impossible. There is so much waiting for you on the horizon.

He’s survived this long by letting everyone believe he’s selfish and shallow. It’s better that way. No one knows how to hurt you if you always play the fool. No one can truly be disappointed in you if they don’t expect any better.

He seems kind enough now, but as soon as he tastes what it’s like to pull at the very fabric of the universe, he will change. They all do in the end.

“Besides, dreams don’t always have to be practical. That’s why they’re dreams. And now ours live and die together.”

He grins at her. “It’s you and me against the world, Margaret.”

Even if he’s experienced the same kind of rejection she has, even if she wanted to confide in him, what would she say? She has hidden behind too many locked doors to know how to open them anymore.

Try as he may, he can’t exactly recall what it was he once found so repulsive about her.

“If you feel so sorry for her, why aren’t you friends with her?”

“You know, my parents are Banvish immigrants. They were poor farmers in Banva, and we’re still poor here. I’ve dealt with people like Harrington all my life, so yeah, forgive me if I judge you for worrying about what your stupid friends would think of you. The world’s bigger than this town.”

“I’m so sick of it. I’m sick of enduring it. Aren’t you?”

“What else can we do?” “Fight back.” Frustration edges into his voice. “Riot. Vote. Anything.” “It won’t do me any good. I’m alone here.” “No, you’re not.”

“I know you think I’m being reckless,” he continues. “But I can’t be any other way. I can’t be quiet or make concessions if I’m going to change the way things are. By the time I’m through, it won’t matter where our grandparents came from.”

“He’s sunny.” Margaret takes a small sip of her ale. It tastes malty and dark, like oats and chocolate. She rolls it over her tongue before swallowing. “Yes. He tends to be.”

“Do you like him?” “Well enough.” “Why, that’s about the most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say about someone.”

Outside the window, Margaret sees that Shimmer has successfully relieved Wes of his coat. He clenches the fabric between his teeth and tosses his head triumphantly. Wes shouts something she can’t make out from here, imploringly reaching for the wet, limp mass of his jacket. “That boy is … something else, isn’t he?” “Yes,” Margaret says softly. “He is.” “I’ll go let him inside.”

For so long, she has survived. Now, she wants to live.