Chapter Twenty-five
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Flight
Dacian was appalled.
“Take the ship to Ardara.” The master had ordered Cinder, still restrained in his arms. “Port us, now.”
How could she demand so much of her, weakened as she was?
He was partly surprised that she was able to do it so effortlessly. Without a single indication, the airship was being pattered by rain in Ardara’s wasteland, far from the White Heron’s camp. Four days flight at least. He was especially amazed that she was able to teleport such a large craft so far, even when she was under the effects of his toxin.
Soon though, it grew too much, and her vision left, falling unconscious in Dacian’s arms.
“Perfect.” Ardara said, after a long interval, grinning ear-to-ear.
“What did you see?” Dacian queried, knowing without a doubt that she had seen something, in premonition.
“The White Herons come. But worry not, Dacian. We have time. In Orphenn’s weakened state, it will be simple to reclaim him. Then, everything will be easy.”
Jeremiah pondered at the helm, softly steering the Day Star’s path.
“Sven, are you sure that was wise?” He fretted.
Sven stood stoically beside him. “Little Bird has to blow off some steam. I hope he kicks that traitor’s ass.”
“Are we going after him?” Eynochia put in hopefully.
“Damn straight!”
With a sudden burst of ambition, Sven shoved Jeremiah and took the wheel, sending the Day Star flashing across the dawn-lightening sky at a dangerous speed.
Jeremiah stumbled, Xeila and Eynochia thrown back in inertia. “Pops, I’m pretty sure we can’t go this fast!”
“The Hell we can’t!”
Vroom.
The instant Ardara clambered into the castle, she began to badger the slaves. The ones who came to her call were scolded.
“Wynne!” She rebuked. “Where is Wynne?”
“Here, Master.” The lanky blonde limped as close as he dared, disturbed at her utterance of his name. His pink eyes glowed through the shadows of the tremendous entrance hall, but the rest of him was not so shining. He leaned against a great metal column for support. Being now degraded to a slave, he was treated as one; dressed in rags, fed little, his energy drained from labor and from the parasitic device at his neck. “I’m here.” He said thinly, as if speaking to a frightened child.
Ardara turned. “Wynne…” She whispered.
Wynne was astonished. Ardara never remembered any of her prisoners’ names, or ever cared. Since he’d been branded, he’d been nothing more than a slave, yet still more or less the favorite one.
“Yes, Master?”
“Wynne…” She spoke in an injured tone that she was not known for. “…My sister is dead…” She sounded honestly hurt, forgetting that she’d already realized this fact back on the ship.
Then her face went blank.
“My…Sister…She’s…My sister…”
And then she smiled.
“My sister is dead.” This statement had a frightening twinge of joy. The next time she spoke, she stood herself up straight and laughed with scary, yet true fulfillment and raised her hands. Then she began to repeat anew her theatrics from before, as if stricken with Alzheimer’s. “The Enma are…Without a Supreme C-Commander, they have no one to lead them!” She danced, reenacting her prior enthusiasm. “My job is halfway done! My-”
Dacian stumbled into the hall, and Ardara became instantly sobered. She lowered her arms to her sides and spun to look at Dacian, blue and red eyes unreadable. He had just returned from imprisoning Cinder in the containment unit. She glared at him.
She hated him. She was proud of him. She wanted to hurt him. She imagined killing him-no. She wanted to kiss him.
All these feelings flashed across her face like freeze frames.
She was in love with him, but no-he killed her sister. Wait…How did she know? She felt Celina’s death, as if she herself had been run through. She wanted to cry…Tears of joy. Then she wanted to inflict the worst pain, and then: “Dacian.” Her voice was calm and light again. “Retire with me to the lounge…Feed me wine. Slave,” She ordered Wynne, any fondness or favoritism discarded, “fetch my munchies.”
The two disappeared through the columned hall, into a wide, double-door entrance to the throne room, and off to the left of that where a wall section of gossamer curtains led to the lounge.
Wynne followed, feeling more afraid of what was to come than he had ever feared anything in his life.
Now midday, though in Ardara it was always dark and gloomy, Dacian and the Master lay together in the lounge, taking reprieve before the White Herons arrived. Ardara cleaved to him like she was draining his life force. He fed her grapes and sips of wine, all with a false, weary smile.
“Dacian. Do you know how proud I am of you?” She said, twisting his dark hair adoringly in her fingers.
“You neglected to mention it.” He replied. His smile began to fade, like lapsing into a trance. Playing pretend was beginning to wear on him.
Ardara caressed his face, but then her smile also faded. In the next second her hands clenched in his hair, and snarling, she sent him flipping off the sofa and rolling into the hard tile. She stood slowly and ominously, rage burning in her face.
Then she changed again.
“My darling…” She rushed to kneel at his side, robes billowing. “I apologize…I don’t know what came over me, I-”
“Sssh.” Dacian placed a finger to her lips. “I do.”
He never told her, though. Instead, he kissed her, to take her unstable mind from the matter. He didn’t know how much longer he could endure her sudden personality changes.
“I will try again,” she said finally, standing, not bothering to help Dacian back to his feet, “to take Orphenn’s dreams. When I have him, we must act.”
With that, she exited through the gossamer, mounting her dark, magnificent throne.
She tried again and again to gain full submission over Orphenn’s mind. When she at last succeeded, she fell into a hypnotic niche, and Dacian was able to escape, at least for a little while. He took advantage of the momentary freedom to take refuge at the peak of the castle’s monolithic tower, climbing every stair to the top and standing high above the land. The rain had finally subsided, but the air was still damp, and wind lashed about him in gales. He couldn’t help thinking how opposite, and yet how similar this monument was to the fallen clock tower at Denoras-the capital, now only a pile of rubble. He stood there, letting the cold gusts push at him.
Though he had been followed.
Wynne appeared at his side, the wind sending his platinum hair whirling around his face. He was about to protest, but Wynne spoke before he could, his rodent-pink eyes penetrating.
“Dacian. Why are you still here?”
Dacian only stared.
“I saw what you did.”
“What are you talking about, Slave?”
“Cut the act!” Wynne roared, giving Dacian a start. His tone became angry and facetious. “I was on the ship the whole time, though the three of you took no notice of a worthless slave, being so high class. Dacian, I saw what happened! I know Ardara no longer has any power over you!”
“And how are you so sure?” Dacian hissed.
“Because I know! I saw the light return to your face when you cut her through! I saw your pain as you watched the only woman you ever loved fall to her death!”
Dacian’s heart throbbed at the truth of Wynne’s words, like decisive grenades in his chest, exploding at just the right points. He clutched his chest, sobbing and heaving, as if the pain could make him regurgitate. He wanted nothing more now than to leap from the tower, fall into nothing, just so the pain would stop.
When he could breath calmly, he growled, “And since when have you been free of Ardara’s mind?” He looked at Wynne, who watched him with uncanny intensity.
Wynne hesitated. Looking down into Dacian’s peeked face, his red-veined eyes, he answered, “Since before I was stripped of my rank, and branded…” He turned away bashfully, looking out across the wastes almost nostalgically, and as the gale puffed and whipped around his loose brown rag-tunic, Dacian could see the T on his shoulder blade, a scar only just healed over. The sight of it made his stomach lurch. “The moment I set eyes on her…” Wynne said lowly, remembering.
Dacian’s brow furrowed. “Are you talking about Cinder?”
“Just the sight of her took the blindfold from my eyes.” After a moment he added, “Dacian, I was like you. A traitor. Under Ardara’s power, I too betrayed my squadron. You and I were the only high ranking guards under her spell, because we are Enma. All the other soldiers were already supporters of her dark cause. All the slaves’ minds are fully manipulated, just because they are also Enma, prisoners here. Granted there are only about a hundred or so of us left, after the dungeoners were freed, but Ardara doesn’t believe she can trust them…I digress.
“I was her favorite henchman for a while. But then she found you. She was fond enough of me to keep me around, but she always favored you.
“Then, after I freed Cinder and the other prisoners, as you know, I’m just a slave now. I guess I’m still the favorite slave, but that’s beside the point.” He turned back slowly, giving Dacian a look of absolute seriousness. “You need to leave, Dacian. You need to. You know you don’t want to stay here.”
“But neither do you!” Dacian reasoned defensively.
“I am bound here by my own ambition. My father is still trapped here. Not to mention I’m useless with this around my neck.” He tapped the hunk of metal at his throat, veins blue and bulging all around its edges. “Most of all, I stay for Cinder. I know she’s here. The poor sweet thing must be exhausted from being captured so much. She was never meant to be caged.
“As for you. You need to help Celina’s squadron. You owe her that much.”
Dacian sniffed. “When the time is right…I will rebel. And then I will.”
Wynne turned to return inside, then stopped to look over his shoulder. “Dacian, I understand. Just as a star is brightest just before its death. As the sun is most brilliant just before it sets. Never forget her.”
Dacian looked away, new purpose filling his being.
When Cinder awoke, she was suspended in some strange liquid like opaque, bubbly gelatin, with a reddish hue. She wore nothing but a revealing series of leather garments and straps, identical to the jumpsuit Ardara wore beneath her many flowing robes. Her wings, unhidden in her disability, were restrained tightly against her back.
She groggily opened her eyes. She was dismayed to realize she wasn’t breathing, but relieved to find that she didn’t seem to have the need.
Her vision was choppy, but in blinking a few times she saw that she was held inside a sealed vat of the odd gelatin. A few more blinks, and the figure of Dacian diffused into view.
He pressed his palm to the outside of the vat’s glass containment. She eyed him with an odd acceptance.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to the glass ruefully.
Her eyes closed.
The sun was rising.
Orphenn dropped down to rest and stretch his wings. He’d been flying for days. Only a few short hours and he would reach Ardara.
He leaned over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
He was in a meadowed clearing, surrounded by orange-leaved oaks, their colors falling, blown about by the chill of the autumn wind. Just beyond a break in the trees he could see the landscape become more desolate farther out, the border of the Ardaran wasteland.
He prepared to take a running leap. When he rocketed into the air, he flew, but was only able to flap his wings a few times before colliding with a wall of water.
The sky was gone, and everything was cold, and he was floating.
Bubbles erupted from all around his body as his true body thudded to the browning grass, out cold. They sprouted from his mouth and nose and fluttered about him as he thrashed in the frigid gray water.
Above, a thick sheet of ice like powdery stained-glass stretched out of view on all sides, an enormous frozen lake.
A low clud came to his water-pressed ears, vibrated in his chest, again, again, again.
It was Eynochia, on hands and knees several feet over him on the other side of the ice, fallen snow scraped and pushed about her palms, a clear window to her face; she was banging on the sheen, flaky surface.
Orphenn struggled to reach her, flapping his arms, kicking his legs, wings floating uselessly.
Finally his palms rested flat against the freezing barrier, his body levering up horizontally to meet the ice.
Each movement seemed in slow motion, maddeningly far away, out of arm’s reach.
Eynochia cried and banged the ice with her fist seemingly forever until the clud of her effort became the dying beat of his heart, became the only thing he could hear, encompassing him, and his eyes rolled back, and he sank and sank, and sank, then was smacked in the face with a gush of chilly air.
He cried out, curled in the crunchy autumn grass. He took deep, desperate breaths, awoken from a nightmare.
He cried again, seething, “Ardara.”
He was weak, and he knew Ardara could sense it. Her Dreamhold would soon overtake him. When it did, his sight blotched with black and he fell into darkness.
Ardara came to stand beside Dacian, startling him. She never looked at him, or acknowledged him in any way, not even a sniff in his direction. He backed away from Cinder’s vat silently, never taking his gaze from Ardara’s back. When she did nothing but glare into the red plasma, he calmed.
A hand landed at his shoulder.
Dacian swiveled his head the see the reassurance in Wynne’s warm, rosy eyes. One look at his face and Dacian knew he could depend on him unfalteringly. He was grateful too, as Nyx stepped out of the shadow of a tall iron pillar and stood close to the blonde. The red hue of the luminous vat highlighted her violet hair, her one golden eye like a shining beacon. Somehow, Dacian knew she was there for him, and only for him.
This occurred in quiescence, completely beyond Ardara’s notice, who was absorbed in examining the crimson plasma gurgling in the vat, so each of them jumped when she finally spoke.
“Look at me.” Her chilling voice reverberated about the metal hall.
The three onlookers saw moments later with relief that she was speaking to the one inside the vat.
“I know you’re awake, Cinder.”
Blue and green irises met Ardara’s gaze, a look of absolute defiance radiating through the plasma.
After a contemplative moment, Ardara said, “You can just hold your breath forever and not die, can’t you? You feel perfectly comfortable inside, do you not? Apart from the newly fashioned wing restraints I imagine.”
Cinder could only leer through the layers of gel and glass, listening. Ardara tapped the surface of the glass with a rude knuckle. “Normally this plasma is a viscous and acidic material, completely toxic. I had Dacian fuse it with a sample of my blood cells.” Lifting her sleeve, she revealed a deep burgundy gash across the palm of her hand. “Now anyone who shares my DNA will be unharmed, in fact protected by the otherwise hazardous fluid. Aren’t you thankful?”
Orphenn will come. Cinder assured herself. I know he will.
As if triggered by the thought, Ardara added, “And our dear brother could have turned out to be quite the hero-if he ever made it as far as my castle. He’s on his way now, getting close. The death of our sister has hollowed his heart and halved his strength. I have discovered already how weak his mind has become. In moments he’ll be in the grasp of my Dreamhold, and entirely immobilized. Then I intend to send Dacian to kill him as he sleeps.”
Wynne shook his head, no mouthed on his lips, and Nyx released a shocked gasp. The Master gave no sign that she had heard.
For Dacian, this was the last straw. His teeth clenched.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He said simply.
At this, Ardara’s eyes widened, her mouth tightened to a straight line.
“I knew it…” She spoke slowly, almost whispering as she pivoted to face him. Then she shrieked, her wrath emanating from every inch of her. “I knew it! I knew it, killing Celina at your own hand has opened your eyes!” Her gaze narrowed, beginning an attempt to regain her power over his mind.
The recoil knocked her to her side like a punch to the head. She lay prone on the tier where the vat stood. With no small effort she grunted and heaved herself onto her elbows, head still drooped so that her face was hidden behind her straggling onyx hair.
“Nice try.” Dacian smirked.
Enraged, her head flicked back to grimace at him, drops of blood flinging from her face at the movement. It streamed from her eyes, red tears down her cheeks. Her breath hissed viciously between her teeth as she turned her blood streaked face to the newest Enma. “Nyx,” she warned, “if you do not-”
“I will not.” The violet intercepted.
Ardara could no longer think past the wrath that burned her.
“Get out.” She whispered at first, and when there was no comply, she screamed, “Get out! Both of you! I never want to see your faces again!”
They hesitated, but only just. Together the ex-henchman and the neophyte dashed for the double-doored entrance, and made for escape at a speed they never thought their legs could achieve.
Wynne remained.
Ardara blinked the blood from her lashes. “I’ll have to resort to an alternative.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment. “What a shame. I wanted his death to be special. Squad nine will be given the mission.
“Slave! Wine!”
Wynne was quick to dart after the other two, still sickly and limping. When he caught up to them, he was lost for breath.
“Nyx, Dacian!” He gasped, stopping the renegades just before the grand entrance of bolted steel.
He leaned over with his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. “You must go to Orphenn.” He told them amidst sucking in air, the infernal device at his neck wheezing with him. “Nyx, you still have his golden feather, I assume? Find him. Ardara has sent Squadron Nine to uphold the mission. Get to him before they do!”
The other two had never looked so stricken.
Dacian grabbed Wynne’s shoulders in desperation, pulling him upright.
“Wynne, come with us! You don’t belong here any more than we do!”
“I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “I am the Enma’s strongest hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“With me on the inside, we have the advantage.”
“You don’t have to do this, Wynne!” Nyx whined.
“I can start a revolt among the slaves.” Wynne debated. “And then move on to the soldiers. They trust me. We can take Ardara from the inside out!”
“But won’t Ardara read your thoughts and find you out?”
“My mind is protected, like yours is, Dacian.” Wynne grinned.
Dacian released the other man’s shoulders. “How?”
“A certain powerful mutant, whom I like to call my father. You might recall, you made an attempt on his life under Ardara’s control. You wouldn’t remember him otherwise, because if memory serves me correctly, you were a last minute mutation, like I was. You weren’t there when he shielded all of us, all at once. All hundred thousand of us.” His eyes glowed with pride and admiration toward his adopted father at the memory.
“Sven was the one who shielded me….”
“We will discuss this later!” Wynne cried, mood changing. “Now go! Protect the young one! You cannot let him die!”
Dacian and Nyx nodded and reluctantly complied.
“Go!” Wynne urged, and watched after them as they exited through the massive door, running across the rugged terrain as he had so longed to do.
He watched them hotwire a hover craft and take off at full speed. At length, he slammed shut the door and bolted the steel.
It was time to fetch the Master’s wine.