AS TWO CUTS LIE
PARALLEL IN THE SAME FLESH
The water around the island is bizarrely clear. Logically, O knows it is the same water that fills the ocean beating against Novus’ shores — that there is, in fact, no real difference between this beach and all the world’s others. But still there is something strange about it. It is clear all the way to the bottom of the sea, though of course whatever’s down there is distorted by leagues and leagues of water. As O stands up to her knees in the shore and peers way, way down, the miles-far clumps of coral and schools of brightly colored fish pop out at her, as clear as if they were only yards away.
The rest of the island bustles with activity, but she is still, for now content to watch. Her strange eyes are happily fixed on the contents of the ocean. Behind her on the sand, hordes of strangers whisper, scream and laugh; seabirds crusted with salt and song go swooping through the air; the air bursts with noise and movement. And still O remains in place. Her short, dark hair is ruffled by the wind, and jungle mud specks her coat. She obviously has not been home in a few days. But she is content, and that is obvious too — her eyes are bright and watchful, her stance is strong, and a little smile tugs ever so slightly at her sooty lips.
She does not make much of an imposing figure. The island is much more dangerous than she will ever be, brimming with poisonous fruits and predators that look like friends. And most of the strangers flooding over the bridge are bigger, older and stronger than her, too; more than one of them is likely to wield dangerous magic. Against any of these, O would find herself at a disadvantage. And yet — magic hot in her blood, hurlbat heavy at her side — she feels stronger than anyone else.
The sun makes a head-splitting pattern of white on top of the ocean as the waves come crashing in, and O squints, trying and failing to keep the glare from her eyes. Even the briefest moment of distraction, she knows, could be the birth of a million problems.
