Chapter Seventeen
~
The Grace of Eagles
Cinder nearly shook with suspense. Music Man began to rise to his knees, and slowly stand, his amber-colored hair waving down his lean shoulders.
Wynne cautioned, “Don’t be hasty.” He stood as well, and supported the weight of the older man.
Music Man waved dismissal and turned to face Cinder. He looked so familiar that she slightly jumped. His right eye was hazel-brown, his left a pumpkin orange.
“You, little lady,” he addressed Cinder, “must leave now. You have friends to get back to.”
“But-” she objected.
“Not a word, little missy. Wynnie and I will free the others-don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, Puddin’ Pie.” Even the way he spoke oddly struck her memory.
“What if something happens…?”
Wynne reached for her, and held her hands in his. The look in his rose-petal eyes warmed her to the bone. “It will be alright. We will come to find the Day Star and join you when all is done.”
Music Man sighed, gratefully. “Ah, won’t that be a sweet reunion?”
She hesitated, confused by his words, but gave in. “Okay.”
“Now go.” Music Man said almost excitedly. “Get goin’ little jackrabbit!”
She complied. With one last look at Wynne’s gentle face, she turned and ran from the cell. When she finally reached a way outside, after what seemed like a lifetime of wandering aimlessly through the castle-a massive crack torn through the castle’s siding-sirens were wailing and people were shouting, red lights flashing. From another hole in the decaying castle wall, far below, she saw prisoners upon prisoners, some still with shackles and chains, escaping, flooding out of the opening and running out of sight beyond the rubble.
Wynne had done his part. But they were only from the dungeon…How would the remaining slaves be freed?
This thought was wiped from her mind in an instant, when from behind her came the clack of heeled footsteps, and she jerked around. Ardara was there, frozen in disbelief.
Cinder wasted no time. She leapt out of the gaping hole, knowing she couldn’t use her wings-even previous mutations were stunted by the device. She made her way down to the ground by jumping from jagged protrusions of metal that stuck out from the wall. When she reached the bottom, Orphenn was there to meet her, revving the engine of her motorcycle.
Wynne and Music Man swiftly made their way out of the cell and ran down the corridor.
“What now, Old Man?” Wynne inquired between breaths. The devices made breathing more difficult, especially with arduous activity.
“You free all the prisoners in this here dungeon. I’ll haul ass upstairs and free all her little ‘favorites.’ Wish me luck.”
Wynne momentarily jogged in place, then stopped, breathing deeply. “You’re off your rocker, Old Man.”
Music Man halted. He hugged his ward close to him. Wynne leaned on him. “But that’s just how I like you.” He said. “Good luck!” he called when Music Man started again to dash down the corridor. Wynne hoped against hope that his end of the mission would succeed.
Now it was time for his own.
Music Man rushed through the steam and sped out the boiler room door, into the chill of a dark hall. He veered left, only to be stopped short by the stone cold hands of Ardara. Her eyes were unforgiving.
Wynne hastily scanned the cell block, the prisoners wailing at him through the bars. “You’re free! You’re free!”
“Not yet.” He said, and when his eyes found the red-painted lever geared into the wall, he ran to it. With a grunt of effort, he pulled it and immediately, every cell in the dungeon opened wide in synchrony, while sirens howled and all the lights flashed red.
The Enma flooded the dungeon, with a cacophony of cheering and rejoicing. They swarmed out of a hole in the castle wall, in rusty disrepair as much of the castle was. They ran out across the waste, and finally, to freedom.
Amidst the chaos, Wynne enthusiastically kicked the lever several times, until it bent, and broke right off its gears, preventing any future use. The bar clattered to the floor.
Then someone picked it up.
Only seeing their shoes, Wynne assumed it was an ex-prisoner and stepped forward. When he looked the other in the face, he was met with a strike across the jaw with the detached lever bar. He fell to his knees. The blood at his lip glinted in the flashing red light when he turned up his face to glare at Dacian, who stood menacingly over him.
“Dacian.” Wynne seethed through clenched and bloody teeth. He suffered another blow to the head from Ardara’s favorite, and was knocked on his side.
Dacian flung away the bar, landing with a clang down the corridor. He furiously kicked Wynne in the ribs and stomped on his stomach.
“I don’t know how you got out of that cell,” Dacian snarled, when his temper slightly regressed, “but your punishment will rival Hellfire.”
“Dacian.” Wynne coughed. “You haunt my every step.”
“It’s my job, Wynnie.” He pulled Wynne ruthlessly to his feet, and turned him forcefully to face the other way, hands clamped on his shoulders.
Wynne’s breath caught in his throat. Before him stood Ardara, and in her clutches, Music Man stood, head low, and eyes wiped of any consciousness.
Dacian leaned forward to whisper in Wynne’s ear, “Enjoy your madness.” And he shoved Wynne into the arms of the megalomaniac that would lead the planet into a war to end all wars.
Wynne was almost paralyzed at the mere touch of her fingertips, and a rush of fear came to him when he understood: Ardara now had yet another new gift. Not only could she control an unprotected mind, but now she could manipulate another’s physical body even further than levitating it in mid air. Now, like a puppet master, she held Music Man and Wynne in a shadow hold. They could not move of their own accord. They could not speak. Now, they could only watch as Dacian had an angry fit.
“Damnit!” he stomped. “What will we do now?! Those Enma prisoners will go to join their cause, and we’ll be slaughtered! I told you about the butchery of our soldiers at Plenthin! We outnumbered them, and still I was forced to retreat!”
“All will be well, Dacian. We haven’t lost any strength.” Ardara assured lightly.
“But what about the strength our opposition has just gained? All those mutants at Denoras will render the city impenetrable!”
What Ardara said next put Music Man and Wynne in a state of terror.
She was half crazed as she predicted, “It’ll give me more of a challenge. More of an accomplishment afterwards-when they all go back to their precious capital, our men will have someone to fight. Soon. When I lay siege over Denoras.”
“How are we to ‘lay siege’?” Dacian muttered to himself irritably, after half an hour or so of solitary concocting. “Anything, for my Master…But this is ridiculous, we’ll be butchered! Again.” He paced, beginning to monologue. “How to please her? I need a strategy…” he ceased, un-strapping his dark uniform and slipping out of his top. He lay it across the back of a chair, looking over his bare shoulder at his wound. Four wide gashes ran across his back and his upper arm, given to him by the mutant Eynochia when she had escaped the castle in a rage. “Disgusting dog.” He mumbled, remembering. It was healing quite slowly. Probably much slower than it would, had he not been picking off the scabs, as he was now, growing angrier by the second.
He leaned on the side of a wooden table, his other hand clenching the edge of it. Without realizing, his temper igniting his poisonous tendencies, the wood where he clenched the table started to rapidly erode away, an acidic toxin that began to suffuse from Dacian’s palm eating away at it like salt on a snail. It fizzed and sizzled, and began to drip away, unbeknownst to him, grumbling and scratching angrily at his scarring wound.
It was this that eventually gave him new confidence in his own strength, and the motivation to lead a battalion: abruptly, he fell onto his back, for the table that supported him had disappeared. Not into thin air, no. He was lying puzzled in a puddle of table-colored liquid. Brow furrowed, he examined droplets of it on his fingers, knots of wood liquefied inside them.
Had he done what he thought he had done?
Curiously, he wrapped his fingers around the leg of the chair. It seem to burst at his touch from its very molecules, like wood-toned fireworks, and the particles fell back to the floor as a liquid, his uniform top splashing into the puddle.
He had changed its entire composition. He had made a solid into a liquid.
Now he stood, a smile slowly growing at his lips. He bent over to touch the liquid in the puddle. It solidified again, only he shaped it into a wooden pole. He twirled it around and lunged in mock attack. He unsheathed its spear and performed the same twirl.
Apprehensively, he held up the wooden pole, palm faced up. The pole turned to liquid, and in the next second, to gas, and immediately evaporated, leaving no trace of the wooden table and chair.
Using this process more slowly, he was able-without the use of his hands- to change the shape of his lance head to different points and sharpen the blade as if it was made of clay, and hardened when he was satisfied with his alterations. Then he dropped it and walked.
Still in a bit of a daze of puzzlement, and still bare-chested, he sauntered through the metallic corridors in the direction of the guard’s retreat. Once there, he trod into the doorway to meet the reverence of his inferiors. It was a dark lounge, complete in its repair-concessions, seating, and even an enormous hot tub in the center, its water heated by the forges of the boiler room, conveniently one story below. The bustling gossip and small talk disappeared to oblivion, and not a move was made.
After a moment of pause for vain dramatic effect, he stepped forward theatrically, his mood shockingly elated.
“Squadron Nine.” He addressed the ten or so soldiers gazing at him in deference. “Proceed.”
At this they seemed to melt in relief, and un-froze, relaxing somewhat, though no one yet said a word.
He cantered his way to the steel-rimmed hot tub, bubbling and steaming. As he spoke he paced around the edge like a cat on a fence.
“Shall I join you?” He asked, and without waiting for an answer, he stepped down into the luxurious foam, letting a smile feign across his face and he settled in comfortably. Knowing not his intent, Squad Nine smiled too.
“The castle,” he said, nonchalantly, “has been infiltrated.”
All was silent. All smiles left.
Dacian stood in the water, looming above the others like a tyrant.
“And while my best squadron has been dallying in the lounge, the Enma have freed more than half of our prisoners of war!” His scream seemed even to silence the bubbles. “Now THEY have all the advantage! What will we DO NOW, do you suppose!?” Wait…
He stopped abruptly. He looked down, and tapped the solid surface of the water. He had stopped the bubbles. They topped the solidified water like glass domes. Seven members of Squadron Nine squirmed in an attempt to escape, trapped like popsicle sticks in flavored ice.
Dacian realized then, his new gift, as the hot tubes, jets and turbines, backed up from the solid change in state, crashed and broke down, echoing downward with a tinny wail.
And then came his trademark.
A smug grin colored his face.
“This will come in handy.”
The Day Star retrieved the rescued prisoners, and set a course for Denoras. They were all fed and bathed on the ship, and grateful for it. They slept on fleece in the cargo hold until the destination was reached, after a day and a half of travel. Each of them, all eighty-seven of them, took an oath. They vowed to their Supreme Commander that they would risk their lives for Aleida, and swore to her their loyalty, just as they had in the First War.
As they landed at the Denoras air dock, Orphenn hugged to Celina’s side, and lay his head on her shoulder. Celina was surprised at how affectionate he was. It was like he was still only a young ten-year-old. She looped her arms protectively around his neck. They both smiled, recalling the numerous times they had held each other this way: when their family had moved to New York from Delaware, leaving all their friends behind-when they had lost their grandmother-even when a boyfriend of Celina’s had broken up with her. And even in the lee of a battlefield, at the River, just before Cinder was forced to take Orphenn back to Earth. Not always though, did they embrace this way in times of grief, but also in joy: when Orphenn had returned from his first day of school, and when he had graduated from kindergarten-the day their parents renewed their vows; and now, as they returned home from their perilous first mission.
Celina kissed his forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Little Brother.”
“I’m proud to be your little brother.” He responded.
As they broke their embrace, Cinder emerged at Orphenn’s side. The look in her eyes could only be described as paranoia, as if she waited for anything to jump around every corner, every flickering shadow. She made no attempt to hide the device now, her neck bare apart from it. She had just finished assisting the ex-prisoners into the capital, where they would be readied for war.
“Cinder, are you okay? Is there something wrong with the others?” Celina worried, referring to the rescued Enma.
“No, they’re fine.” Cinder assured. “It’s just….After all this, I don’t feel….safe. Not even here.” She gave Celina a meaningful look. Celina was compelled to console her, but she could not, knowing that her sister’s fear wasn’t just a result of paranoia. She herself felt an ominous pressure-an almost instinctive aura, foreshadowing the worst. She bit her lip.
Though, Orphenn’s mind was not so psychic as his sisters’. He felt no oncoming threat, and he made sure to convey that. “Cinder.” His voice held an intone of encouragement. “Everything is fine.” He said these words crisply, and clearly, as he pressed his forehead to Cinder’s, their secret embrace, similar to the one he shared moment ago with Celina.
Cinder greatly appreciated the comfort, however faulty.
“Now,” Said Orphenn, “let’s get off this ship. I need a picnic or something.”
And it was a picnic he got. After loading, and taking naps, the White Herons strolled outside the palace walls, the sun only just coming to rise. They chose a grassy spot near the meadowed edge of a cliff (a kind of landmark that seemed to be plentiful on this planet). They ate, and they enjoyed each other’s company.
Jeremiah was the first to speak. “So, you two.” He turned his face to Orphenn and Cinder. “What was this Wynne fellow like? I can’t deny how familiar you make him sound. Perhaps I can remember if you describe him.”
Sven jabbed his temple with a forefinger. “I got the worst memory…Who was Wynne again? Sounds so deadly familiar I can’t stand it.”
“Doesn’t it though?” Eynochia agreed. “I swear I knew someone.” She sat behind Orphenn, picking bits of grass off his back.
Orphenn began, “Well he had really long blonde hair and weird pink eyes, like a white rabbit.” Cinder chuckled at his comparison. He continued, “He was in the cell with Cinder and another guy when I freed them all. I don’t know where they ended up though.”
“Wynne was a guard.” Cinder informed. “Ardaran uniform and everything. But he was very kind. Because of him, I was able to escape unscathed. But not before he was thrown in jail too. Ardara found out he had been helping me and we both were punished.”
“He was kind to me, too.” Orphenn added. “Like I told you.” He craned his neck backward to look up at Eynochia behind him. “Eynochia, didn’t you tell me once about someone in your old squadron?”
“Oh, lordie.” Grumbled Sven, who by this point was bopping his head and furrowing his brow trying fruitlessly to search his memory.
Eynochia hesitated, toying with something behind Orphenn’s back. “Well, yeah, but I only remember the pink eyes. I can’t recall much else.”
“It must be the same guy, then!”
“How do you know?” She never broke her focus from her moving fingers.
“Hey, do you know anyone else with pink-oy! What the-are you braiding my rattail?!”
“It looks good!”
“Cut it out!” He fidgeted, though he was smiling.
Xeila, who uncharacteristically hadn’t made a sound the whole afternoon, suddenly exploded, slamming her beverage to the ground. “Would you stop screwing around?!” she screamed. The group froze, staring at her. “I can’t stand this!” she rose to her feet angrily. “Why in the hell are all you just sitting here, jolly lolly-gagging, when there’s work to be done!? War is on our doorstep! But we’re having a picnic!”
Sven looked up at her, and tapped her hand. “You’ll give yourself an ulcer. Sit down, Poppet.”
Though perhaps Xeila was right to be impatient. How could the others have known they were in the wrong? How could they have known who lurked in the trees behind them?
Just as the sun set, a flash of black-red uniform darted between them, colliding with Cinder-an Ardaran soldier. The man tackled her to the ground as other soldiers stamped out of the forest and began to attack. Their airships loomed overhead, dark clouds trailing after them.
With a shout, Orphenn rose to his feet, as did the others, taking offensive stances, all but Cinder, who in her weakened state was overpowered. Orphenn called her name as she was thrown over the edge of the cliff, at this time when her wings were no help to her.
With intent precision, he fired his silver pistol. The Ardaran that attacked his sister collapsed over the side as well.
“Nice shot, now go!” Sven commanded, engaged in a grapple of his own.
Orphenn dove. He shot like a bullet, his golden wings held close. There was nothing he wished for more at this moment than Cinder’s survival. He could still catch her before she hit the bottom-or so he hoped.
By the time her dark attire came into his sight, she was splayed unnaturally across the dirt, motionless.
Tears blinded him. He fell clumsily to the earth and rolled, staying in a prone position. He kept his head down, not daring to open his eyes. After a moment, he lifted his heavy head.
Ardara’s device had shattered to pieces from the impact of the fall. Her neck was free of it, though her skin was still reddened and bruised where it had been latched. Orphenn dared not observe anything else. Even the idea of her still, lifeless body, and sightless, blank stare shook him with sobs. He was too late.
A mournful cry escaped him as he turned his face away from what he thought to be the empty body of his sister.
But a frightening noise made his tears come silent. It forced him to look back.
The noise came from her throat like a choke or a gag. It disturbed him, and scared him to the bone. Was something taking over her?
Orphenn looked on in shock, tears freely spilling.
One more spine-chilling choke, and then the noise stopped.
Then she took in a breath.
Loud, and desperate.
Orphenn gasped as she did.
Cinder blinked as she returned to consciousness.
Blinked, and breathed, blinked, and breathed. She shot upright, dazed, as if woken from a nightmare.
She had come back to life.
When she finally calmed, her eyes found Orphenn. His breath was shallow, and his hand clutched his jumpsuit at his heart, still sobbing.
Cinder stood slowly and spread her wings.
“Orphenn…Was I…?” she shook the words out.
Orphenn could only shake himself, until finally, he rose to his feet as well, cautious, timid. “You were dead.” He whispered, unable to raise his voice any louder.
“We can’t tell anyone about this….Not anyone, Orphenn. If the wrong person found out…”
“I understand.”
When they both had regained their senses, the two spread their wings wide, abyssal black against glistening gold. With faces turned skyward, they ascended with the grace of eagles.
The battle above did not look promising.