A short fantasy story about a young girl in a dystopian world who has the power to change everything.

Magic is forbidden. At least, that’s what the glaring signs and men in suits say, but Nola has never believed in magic, not in this world. Her father says it’s a common enemy to keep the common man revolting; her mother says it is a lie within a fairy tale. There is nothing magical about Nola’s days on the motor expressway cleaning clutter out the gutter for a coin an hour, and nothing magical about the tiny house she returns to each evening, deep in the Outskirts of the Diamond State.

She is the youngest of seven children, all still in that house, all working to bring coins to the family. Once they have enough coins, her father says they will leave the Diamond and head to the country, where there is room for them all and the air is clean and the nearest expressway is ten miles away. Once they have enough coins.

Another lie, another fairy tale.

Summer is Nola’s least favourite season. The sun makes the garbage smell and the buildings in the centre of the Diamond sparkle enticingly. On the expressway, the tarmac is too hot to touch and the clutter burns her fingers. Today, the sun is high and many of the vehicles flying past have their roofs off so there is a constant background noise of shrieking and laughter and snippets of conversation whisked by too soon.

She stops for a second, runs her hand over her brow. It comes away soaked with sweat. She clenches her hand, just for a second, and a wave of coolness washes over her like a sudden breeze.

Nola doesn’t believe in magic. That’s not to say she doesn’t know it exists.

Her walk home is a long one, past posters with “Wielders Forbidden!” and “Speak out against magic” emblazoned across them. There are a few shops that do not allow magic wielders in; she passes through them, spends her coin on bread and milk.

Her mother says the crusade against magic is pointless. If the wielders exist, ever existed, they would look just like you and me, and there’d be no stopping them coming and going as they please. When Nola was a child, her grandpapa had put her on his knee and whispered, “You are special, my little firecracker. But remember: no one will see unless you want them to see. To the world, you must be ordinary.”

She is thirteen now, and grandpapa is long dead. The days are hard, the hours seem long, and now and again she finds herself looking at the sparkling distant buildings and thinking, I could be there. One day.

The sun sets late that evening, disappearing behind those buildings so they glow.

Her sister Mila is the second youngest. She likes to remind Nova of her place. “Stop staring,” she say, pulling down the cloth blind so Nola can’t see the towers anymore. “The Centre isn’t for people like us.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are workers. The Diamond relies on us, Nola. The Centre is for the idlers, but we can’t all be idlers or nothing would ever get done. So we stay here, and the idlers stay in the Centre, and the middlers in the Rings, and it works.”

“What about the wielders?”

“The outlands are for them, far away from good people like us.” Mila’s expression softens and she pats her sister on the arm. “It’s a phase. We all go through it. You dream of those sparkling buildings and you think they must be paradise, but it isn’t. We have our roles to play in the Diamond, just like the middlers and the idlers. Be proud of who you are.”

Nola doesn’t sleep that night. The room she shares with Mila and two of her four brothers is unusually quiet: the second brother has had to stay out, working to get the new expressway finished in time for that weekends Clarity Festival, and she finds she misses his snoring. Awake, she stares at the ceiling and thinks of what Mila said.

Be proud of who you are.

The Clarity Festival celebrates the founding of the Diamond State, when three brothers toiled to make a home for themselves and their families. One worked, one kept the books and one coordinated. They became the three levels of the Diamond and, though no one talks about it now, all three were wielders. It is said that when the Diamond was finished, the three brothers and their families came together and broke bread in celebration. That tradition is gone. In the Outskirts, they will break bread with their neighbours and mark another successful day; in the Rings they will hold dinner parties that last long into the night; and in the Centre, they will have opulent balls and feast on rare beasts Nola’s only ever read about.

Work cleaning the expressway is in overdrive in preparation. Mila has been pulled in, along with several hundred other workers from non-cleaning industries. They pick their way through the gutters together, Mila complaining all the way: she has already done her years as a gutter trawler and she resents being demoted, even for a day.

It only takes a second for everything to change. Mila isn’t looking at what’s she’s doing, distracted by the heat and her annoyance. Her foot slips; she falls sideways, heading for the tarmac and the racing vehicles. Nola acts on instinct. Her hands clench. A wave of air slams into them and they fall back together into the gutter.

“Lunatics,” Mila says, pushing herself back to her feet and brushing herself down. “Imagine how fast they had to be going for the air to knock us down!”

She didn’t see. She doesn’t know. But Nola stays frozen. This wasn’t a small breeze to cool her down. It would be a miracle if no one noticed.

Ahead of them, a car has slowed to a stop.

Nola’s hand trembles. Mila is chatting away, back to complaining, unaware of how close she came to death and how close Nola’s come to discovery. When she sees her sister still on the floor, she looks down, her hands on her hips and a frown on her lips.

“Nola? Did you hurt yourself?”

Nola shakes her head, hurrying to stagger upright. She keeps her eyes on that parked car. A door opens. A tall man steps out into the gutter.

Mila frowns. “What’s that idler doing?”

He’s coming towards them, Nola thinks. He’s coming for her. They lower their heads as he approaches. The man is handsome, refined; he wears a suit and a tie and a smile Nola doesn’t trust.

It’s aimed at her.

“I saw what happened,” he says. He has a deep, calming voice. “Are you both all right?”

“We’re fine, thank you sir.” The response trots off Mila’s tongue without hesitation. Nola doesn’t know how she’s able to speak; her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“It was a miracle that you were saved.” The smile grows. He’s still looking at Nola. “Magical, even.”

“We were just lucky, sir,” Mila says.

The man nods. “What is your name, child?”

He’s still looking at Nola. Mila glances at her, gestures for her to speak, and finally sighs. “Her name’s Nola.”

“Nola. I would like to invite you to the Clarity Ball in the Facet Tower tonight.”

Mila gasps. Nola stares. Her tongue unsticks. “Why?”

“Nola!” A sharp elbow from her sister. “She’d be honoured, thank you sir.”

Mila talks to the man. The man talks to Mila. But his eyes remain on Nola and she’s convinced they keep flicking to her hands.

That night, excitement flavours their small home. He has had a dress sent for her. It’s silk and floaty and all pale shades of blue, and when she looks at herself in their one mirror she feels like a princess. Her mother does her hair; her father bemoans the charity of idlers and their pity invites and smiles and kisses her cheek and calls her his sparkle.

The man comes in a vehicle driven for him, but he holds the door open for her himself, and smiles at her parents, reassuring them she will be back safe and sound.

In the car, she sits in silence in her princess dress. The man asks, “Do you know who I am?” She shakes her head. He smiles. “Suffice to say I am important. Do you know what you are?”

She looks up. What. Not who. “I am a wielder.”

“You are.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

The question is remarkably calm. She is being brave. But the man laughs her bravery away. “Kill you? Because of an antiquated idea of right and wrong? No, child. This once-great state was founded by wielders; only wielders can make it great again. I want to show you what your life could be.”

“I don’t understand.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Enjoy tonight. Dance, eat, drink. We’ll talk later, and I’ll explain.”

Nola has never been to the Centre, let alone the Facet Tower. She stares out of the window at the gleaming buildings and sparkling pavements. The tower ascends in brilliant shards of light. A man holds the door open for her, and bows.

Inside, there is dancing and eating and drinking. People twirl in beautiful gowns as intricate as the tower itself to music chiming in pure melody. A large table groans under the carcasses of those rare beasts she’s only ever read about. There are hundreds of people here, and they all sparkle.

The man leaves her. He says he will find her at the end.

Alone, she is quickly embraced by the opulence. The drinks fizz on her tongue. The meats are delicious. The dancing is free and structured all at once. So she dances, and eats, and drinks.

At the end, he is waiting. He takes her to another floor in the tower and smiles at her.

“You look happy, Nola.”

“It was amazing, sir. Thank you.” She hesitates. The question has been burning at the back of her mind all night. “But why?”

“I wanted you to see what life could be like if you lived here, with me. Every day will be amazing. You will want for nothing.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t understand.

“You are special, child. But remember: no one needs to see unless I want them to see. To the world, you’ll be my ward. And that will give us immense power over that world.”

“But, I am just a worker, sir.”

“Never say that you are just anything. I am descended from the first worker; my great-great-great grandfather was one of the three brothers who founded the Diamond. Unfortunately, I did not inherit his other abilities. But you – you are a wielder, perhaps the last in this foolish city! Together, we can make things better. I will be president, and you will never have to work another day in your life.”

She frowns. “Then what would I do?”

“Whatever you like!”

“And my family? The others?”

“We can build a better Diamond State together, based on the founders’ vision. No more workers, idlers and middlers.”

“But there will always be workers,” Nola says. “And there will always be idlers.”

“Not if we are in charge, child.”

“But it isn’t the workers that are the problem. It’s not even the idlers. It doesn’t matter what you call them, people will always have a role to play. The problem is these diamond buildings and rings and the outskirts. It’s the fact that from the moment we’re born we’re taught that there is an enemy, and that enemy is anyone who isn’t like you.”

“Child.” The man smiles, the kindly smile of a teacher explaining to a slow pupil. “We cannot change how people think. But you don’t have to worry. Your life will be here, far away from all that.”

Nola stares. The man still smiles, and she still doesn’t trust it. She thinks of the dances, and the shards of the Facet, and the table groaning under the weight of so much food. She could live here. She could follow this man and help him change the Diamond State. Except he doesn’t really want change, just control. She glances down at her beautiful dress that her mother helped her put on and Mila helped tie.

“No.”

“No.” The man laughs. “Child, you don’t understand. This is your opportunity to be more. You are a wielder: be proud of who you are!”

She smiles.

“I am.”

The dress falls to rags as she walks away, and the shards of Facet Tower crack when she leaves. Those sparkling buildings gleam as they dissolve into nothing, just diamond dust in the air swirling around confused people who moments before had been safe in their towers, and she walks through the clouds they leave behind with her ruined dress and slight smile. By the time she leaves the centre and the rings and reaches the outskirts, she is barefoot and covered in dirt.

There are sirens in the distance. Her smile falters only a little. They will come. And that’s okay. Magic is, after all, forbidden.

And she thinks, for the first time, she knows why. Not for a common enemy, not for a fairy tale. Magic is forbidden because the wielders have one power amongst all others that terrifies everyone from the working man to the wealthiest socialite. They have the power to change things.

The sirens are closer. They will be here soon, and she will wait. Not to bow or to beg or to cry, but to say, “I am a worker and a wielder, and I am proud of who I am.”