It’s not every day you get to die.

  We’ve chosen the marketplace where those of us who permanently reside on Midway buy food and other of your more boring everyday items, as opposed to the bazaar where they peddle exotic or magic, primarily fake, treasures. The news will spread faster among the locals if they see it here. And besides, it’s as good a place to die as any.

  The sun is rising over the many stalls already set up. There’s Ed, one of the fruit and vegetable vendors. Above his wares hang cloth tarps that have been sun-bleached white by years of protecting them. Flies and other bugs assault his goods, and he protects them by swatting with his thick, hairy hands. Most of the fruit is already on the verge of spoiling. The cost of food alone drives people into poverty. Nothing is grown here. With two to six weeks from any mainland, depending on the wind, when anything perishable arrives off a ship, it doesn’t have much longer to remain edible.

  Ulfgar and I stand in an alley looking out. He’s the same height as me but carries at least two extra people's worth of flesh, muscle, and bone on his frame. Nothing covers his torso, for some reason, and his belly is not chiseled but instead, like a tortoise shell extending out from his chest, still muscular but protruding. He’s a zerker. Usually big, but not always, definitely always loud, and they’ve smoked or ingested enough drugs that there isn’t much left of their brains. It makes them ridiculously strong, fearless, and stupid.

  Thorne’s plan to draw out the person who’s placed a comically low bounty for me is to get my brains squeezed out of my ears by Ulfgar, or at least make it look that way. I’ll drink a small potion, a vial the size of a pinky, just before our performance, and that will make me look dead after a minute. Ulfgar has a giant mace, and I have a steel shield instead of my bow. The idea is that banging against the shield will cause as much ruckus as possible.

  “You ready, epee boy?” Ulfgar asks. Comparing me to a thin fencing sword warrants a response.

  I down the potion in one swig. It tastes like rotting grapes that are on fire. My face involuntarily contorts from the taste before I manage to speak. “As ever, my bovine-born friend.” Because, you know, he’s big.

  “Is that a joke about my mother?”

  “Maybe.”

  His face quickly shifts to anger. He grips the mace with both hands and swings down at me without restraint. I leap from the alley into the marketplace with one roll along the ground and then jump into a standing position with my shield and sword drawn. The potion’s already taking effect as my legs wobble under my weight.

  Ulfgar charges directly at me. I raise my shield before the force of the impact catapults me back on Ed’s vegetables. Now, the squash innards run down my face, covering my vision in one eye, and the juices of countless, nearly rotten fruits seep into my clothes. I back up, pushing off the ground with an arm that shudders. The weakness is setting in faster than expected, and I must make this look convincing.

  I block blow after blow from the mace with my shield. Clang! Clang! Clang! Between each block, I ineffectually lunge or slash at Ulfgar with the blade, careful not to draw blood. When a zerker feels pain, it only makes them stronger and more unpredictable.

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  The crowd in the marketplace erupts in yells and screaming. Somewhere behind me, there’s a too-familiar cranking sound. A crossbow. Thunk! The bowstring releases its missile. It’s probably a wreckling or someone trying to help Ulfgar. I spin with the shield lifted in time to deflect the bolt. It ricochets off at an angle before plunging into Ulfgar’s shoulder instead. His eyes turn entirely bloodshot, just black pupils floating in seas of red.

  Oh, vrek!

  His blows from the huge mace come at me faster and stronger. I have to drop my sword to support the shield with my other hand. Ulfgar pulls way back behind his own head before dropping the mace hard down onto the shield, and I can see it leave a dent right near my face.

  I don’t have much time. My free hand tears away at a small pouch containing fake blood attached to the back of the shield. It spills all over my face and down my clothes, and I can only imagine that I’ll need a new tunic after this is over, between this and the rotten juices.

  Collapsing to the ground, I can hold the shield only slightly above my head. The banging reverberates through the shield off the ground, into my head, and I’m losing consciousness quickly. This sound reminds me of a bell ringing, and I’m getting sleepy…

  Midway fades away as a memory is brought to life by some mix of drug and blows to the head. A bell rings in a tower, indicating a time for a shift in activities on the Yon’Kor. Too many tomes fill my pack as I walk through paths on luscious green lawns. Next to a large stone building, I head down into a cellar. Extended storage shelves cover the walls, filled with green jars. Each has some awful creature or a part of one. This is my least favorite part of the campus.

  A master wears a mask while holding a jar to the bright candlelight. “Good, you’re here. I wanted you to see this.” The mask has a long beak and black eyes like a demented bird. In the jar floats something like two grey sea corals, attached. “Have you ever seen something like this before? I shake my head no. “This is a human brain.” His voice is muffled underneath the mask.

  “I guess I have seen it before, just not all put together and nice still.” So this is what’s in each of our skulls. It’s as impressive or as big as you would expect.

  “See the two halves?”

  I nod. It’s clear that the thing is in two pieces.

  “We’ve found that with struggling students, we can sever the connections between them.” The master makes a cutting motion with a gloved hand. “The two parts of the brain lose their connection, making it much easier to cast spells.”

  It made sense. Creating two minds within a person might make them feel like two people casting a spell. But it also sounds absolutely insane. “That’s not necessary.”

  “You will retain your intelligence. Your control of motion. Other than a temporary haircut, you will lose nothing. But you will gain everything.”

  Everything?

  I awake back in Midway in a fit of coughing. It’s the mix of smells that shocks me: the rotting juice, my sweat, some donkey scat I was dragged through. I’m in a dark tavern, with most of the chairs and tables flipped over, save one. Ulfgar sits at a table, and a tall, stout man sits before him. It’s dark, and it must be night already. A torch by the door is the room's brightest light, silhouetting a small person.

  “Good morning, Epee. Look who’s come to pay me my ten marks,” Ulfgar says and then laughs.

  My eyes adjust to the room’s light. There’s a boy in rags, his head shaved, and a line of scar runs down the middle of his head. “He’s not dead at all.” His nose wrinkles up, and his eyes squint in hatred.

  “He’s tougher than he looks,” Ulfgar says.

  Then, the boy places his fists together. His body outlines in a faint glow, and I start levitating off the ground.

  This boy’s a little wizard!

  And this little wizard wants me dead.