Children of the Silent Season (Heartbeat of the World Book 1)

by T. Wyse

  The ribbon's snakehead burst out of the cellar, and approached her with screaming speed. She ran, having cleared the fence with a deft agility, now running out into the empty wastes. She hoped, she prayed, that those in the cellar had got out of the way, had hugged against the walls, had banished their fear somehow. She prayed that her actions had given them some hope, enough hope that the Terror of Night would not be able to grasp them.

  With her closed eyes, she saw the small, vague figure of a catlike creature running beside her.

  "This isn't going to work." A crackled purr declared from the figure.

  "It has to work." She said, skidding to a halt in the soil. She had reached the empty place, the shelterless line that signaled the end of the houses protection. The wind was strong here, but would it be strong enough.

  She saw it, felt it, and positioned herself, trying to open the air pouches in the correct way to allow her to lift.

  "You're wrong." She smiled at the little creature. "There's enough lift still, enough for me to bring them away." She caught the wind in her wings, dragging her a few feet and coughing up dust.

  “Are we doing this?” she offered, eyes still shut tight.

  “I am as ever your guardian.” He leapt up, landing neatly upon her shoulder. “Worry not, I will not fall.”

  The crows approached. She allowed the wind fully into her, and she erupted from the earth, swooping clumsily up. The wind below suggested the crows had been slow to react, but they corrected quickly, heading towards her with increasing speed.

  A gust slapped her across the left, and the gaping wounds in the sails sent her spinning wildly. The strings responded with the grace of broken wings, and she twirled towards the earth.

  Still, she had flown on clumsier things. She had first learned to fly with her father’s kite. Using the full force of the sail she avoided the ground, gracing the still earth with her naked foot before rising up once more and leaving the ghostly streets behind.

  Another tear was the price of this maneuver, and the crows grew ever closer. The ribbon’s tail spat out the cellar door, leaving nothing but peace in its wake.

  “Good.” Her voice was lost to the wind.

  In that moment of carelessness, of inattention, the strings of the dress drew tight between her fingers, tearing the webbing of her left hand. She spun and her course sputtered, and the first trickle of the beaks cut across her arm.

  She went limp, allowing a feinting fall, and grabbed at the fabric of the sail directly in order to force a course correction. More beaks tasted the desperate hand, and it flinched. Now her feint had become a helpless spiral, the pouches being torn ragged by the black bullets passing.

  With one final motion of resistance, she caught a wind with her still useful left arm, spinning her wildly, but avoiding the torrent of black. The head slammed into the ground with a wet explosion. She fell completely uncontrolled towards the world below.

  She hit the ground hard and her lungs burned out to charcoal. Little embers glowed within as she gasped for air, but it all she could manage was a bare whisper.

  “Run, go.” She couldn’t see him. Surely he had landed somewhere far off in the padding dirt. Maybe he could escape. Flapping wings and shrieking voices sung her into the broken dark.

  9

  The School

  Her visit to the pen was mercifully quick, but that was the only kindness to be found within.

  The cold ink poured in, an oozing river flowing from every dream she had ever etched against the white walls. The creature—Crow, she mused—was behind her, leaning against her, sliding up her back with that numbing sad cold. No more questions or whispers, no more desperation or curiosity.

  The ink rose as a flood, drowning the blue tipped grass and then simply stopping. Amelie felt a pull, an unyielding tug from behind into the muck. It poured into her ears, tearing inwards and applying swirling and chilled vertigo. It lapped at her skin and finally into her nose, her eyes, her mouth. She was dragged down by that creature, by Crow, until even her desperately flailing arms were below the surface.

  And yet…

  And yet she saw light once again. A sense of time pursued her from the darkness, a mercifully dreamless sleep of mindless floating selflessness.

  She was, however, still buried. Cold and limbless panic rose up in her. Her face was beyond the surface and just enough to glimpse the area around, but the liquid rubbed at her cheeks.

  It was enough to move, to squirm, to bring herself back to a vague life, but even that minor victory only served to worsen the nightmare. Her trembling limbs splushed against the oddly thick water, and dragged her face underneath. The gel poured in slowly, oozing down into her grave.

  She held her air for as long as she could, but finally she gasped and the gel rushed in. It tasted of bitter copper and alcohol. Her last fighting attempt to free herself with an arm merely dunked her head down further.

  She rose before sinking into the darkness again, grasped and clawed. She fought with all the might of a newborn chick, clawing desperately at the creature seeking to claim her.

  “Whoa, whoa, stop. Stop!” The words were muffled in her clogged ears. She forced her eyes open, and saw a woman, a stranger, peering down at her with a sad and terrified expression.

  Amelie coughed and sputtered, trying to explain, trying to get the slime off of her so she could touch the air.

  “It’s okay. Don’t try to move. No, don’t.” The woman set her gently back into the slime, but carefully placed her head upon something that kept it aloft. “You’re safe now, I promise. You might have heard of this place, Machkachin-technical, most just call it Macca. My name is Lyssa, Lyssa Roberts. In better times I was a teacher here. Now, now I’m more of a generalist I suppose, medic and cook for instance, but don’t worry, I am a doctor, and you are in good hands.”

  Amelie tried to form words, but the breath hitched and caught, her lungs flickered with a silencing desperation.

  “We’re so glad we found you. It was quite scary there for a bit.” Lyssa turned from the tub and stuntedly glanced around the room.

  “Nnh,” she sputtered as the woman turned.

  “Please just stay still a moment. Stay,” she ordered, rummaging through a soft bound notebook of some sort, her fingers pouring over numbers read silently to herself in brief puffs of air.

  “People.” Amelie gasped. “Tried to save.”

  The slime muted the world, giving a warped sense of it all that made her head pound with an ache that rose behind her eyes. She was in a space, white, sanitary. Light filtered in but it too was warped, blues and greens and yellows smeared across cabinets and curtains.

  “Yes, I believe whatever you were attempting succeeded. You were with M’grevor’s bunch.” She stopped at the book a moment.

  “Here?” Amelie sputtered, “They here?”

  “Oh, no no. Not now, at least. Later days, perhaps. Who can say.”

  Amelie sunk and relaxed, the sea sickness overcoming her. If they were safe, then it was worth it.

  “Alright, alright. You’re ahead of expectations, but if motor function is returning, then I suppose we’re good to go,” Lyssa returned, giving her book a final glance.

  “Ears,” Amelie choked out, her lungs still not fully awoken.

  “Oh.” The woman opened an unseen drawer in the nauseating world and produced a funny blob.

  “Be very still.” She leaned in, and gently inserted the blob into Amelie’s ears in turn. The goo dissolved like thawing snow. “The gel is a sub neutral biological compound, meaning that it wants to absorb into living tissue. It greatly accelerates natural healing, but tastes something like a mouthful of dirty pennies, doesn’t it?” With a few careful puffs the goo cleared from the other ear. “It shouldn’t sting, but I suppose the pressure could be bad. We don’t usually do whole immersions.” She smiled. “Better?”

  The spinning queasiness had left at least, and the wind returned to a vague obedience. The vague shape of Lyssa
’s lungs and throat hummed into a blurred light.

  “Can’t move.” She coughed again.

  “I should think not.” There was a dark exasperation there. “You are, if anything, healing a little too well. You were…” She paused, “In a very bad way. We weren’t at all sure what to expect, but here you are breathing and well.”

  "Kokopelli?" She tried to call out, but it caught in her throat, silencing the call halfway through. There was no answer.

  “Hm?”

  "Please, was there a cat...” Amelie's voice allowed before buckling in.

  "Yes yes, odd looking fellow." The voice dismissed. "He's fine, not allowed in here, though."

  Lyssa gently allowed Amelie’s limbs back into the slime and withdrew from her sight. There was activity in the room proper, things being moved, something soft hitting the floor, and a set of clicks falling into place.

  "Can I get out of...” She coughed. "of here please?"

  “That is the plan.” A great yawning sigh. “There was no pain I presume. If there is, and it hurts badly we’ll need to put you back in, alright?”

  "Yes." Amelie couldn't nod.

  The woman, now equipped with a pair of cleaning gloves, scooped her out of the muck and slipped her onto the waiting mat.

  “The gel should evaporate or get absorbed into your skin. It’s not burning or stinging at all, is it? They said you had very sensitive skin.”

  “No, just a little cold.”

  “Right. Ease up, and there we go.” She slipped Amelie into a soft set of loose clothing, and removed the soaked hospital gown. The new clothes helped drink in the gel and gave a soft and soothing warmth in return.

  Her eyes found a better focus, and the wind returned to complete clarity, giving her a better look around.

  Lyssa was dressed in a way reminisce of Amelie’s father after a formal occasion had ended, after he had removed his jacked and loosened his shirt. Her blouse gleamed white, but the cuffs were free and rolled back. Her pants were pleated and brown, but bore the weary wrinkles of having been untended with irons for many days.

  The woman’s face was plain, nearly bald of lashes, her eyes ragged and swollen from sleeplessness. Her hair was tied back into a bun that even Meldice would call raggedy, but even as threadbare as she was her breath was honest and caring, her face bearing a soft and exhausted concern.

  "Alright, once more now." Lyssa declared, picking her up, and depositing her in a wheelchair. She fiddled with the seat invisibly behind Amelie, and suddenly her head was squarely supported, looking forward.

  The woman rotated to the front of the chair, and adjusted the feet supports. She stood up, and did a quick survey. "Nothing hurting or twisting, right?"

  "No."

  "Then we are off." The woman disappeared to the back of the chair, and Amelie was taken away, out of the room. Amelie paused, looking at the first true glimpse of the building. The hallway was wide with linoleum floors, there were even a scant few lights on, though they felt oddly dim. If she hadn't known better she would have thought she had just been in school, like any other day.

  "Ouch!" She winced, a small weight shifted onto her lap suddenly.

  "Ahh! Shoo you filthy thing!" The woman picked the shagged white beast from Amelie's lap, putting him on the floor again. "No!" The woman scolded as he tried to leap up again.

  "It's okay Kokopelli, you just stay here." Amelie smiled, coughing only slightly this time. She was glad he was still alive at least.

  This seemed to end the conflict between them, the woman sat sternly regarding the cat-creature Amelie couldn't see. "Well he's certainly a well-trained little thing, especially for a cat." The woman conceded finally, making stride to the back of the chair again, watching the unseen cat for any signs of defiance.

  "Where are we going?" Amelie's voice cracked dryly. She managed to stifle the cough.

  “Ah, our esteemed Professor has demanded to see you the moment you are awake it seems.” She sighed. “Were we in better circumstances I would stand firm, but I think he could use some good news.”

  They passed through a lengthened hallway, towards a set of doors. The lights were on sporadically with a kind of sparse checkerboard effect. Even the dimmed tracks of neon were enough to add a twisting burn to that headache behind her eyes.

  “I understand it’s a bit odd, but he’s lost himself in the work of late, so the patient comes to the visitor, as it were.”

  Amelie caught sight of a small bundle of children, three that she saw. They all wore uniforms, though all of them were in varying levels of filthiness.

  The three paused and shared whispers amongst themselves as they passed.

  “What’s that? Three volunteers for kitchen duty?” Lyssa exclaimed in a hoarse irritation.

  The three evaporated from their spot. “Oh, get your peelers ready if I can still see you!” The woman hid a chuckle as their footfalls echoed in the distance. “Gawkers.”

  “So you really do have lights? Electricity?” Amelie croaked.

  "In moderation, yes. We have a number of the pleasantries of the old world, all in moderation." The reply brought more than a moderate amount of interest in Amelie's mind.

  They approached a wide set of double doors, a sign indicated they were the access to the stairs. Amelie wondered how they would go up the stairs, and then was answered with a sharp turn to the right into a small alcove. The woman fumbled with keys for a moment, leaving Amelie to ponder a dead end wall, then finally found one that satisfied her. The light of the elevator beside them came on, and the doors opened with a meandering reluctance.

  "Up we go." Lyssa declared. Amelie was pulled backwards into the elevator, the doors closing at the behest of the woman's finger on the unmarked button.

  The elevator made a quick jaunting trip upwards, the light at the top of the elevator indicated they had reached the third floor. The doors opened, and she was thrust forward and an angled turn to the right.

  The third floor was utterly silent, and completely dark except for a small set of dim lights. They travelled past the closed stairway door and through a small museum-like hallway. The decor went from that of a typical school to something more of a carpeted museum for the small stretch. Numbers of curious objects lined the wall, beyond Amelie's scope of vision, trying to focus on them as they passed made her eyes ache, causing her to stop.

  Finally, they arrived at the dead end of the hall. Amelie saw a pair of rounded dislike objects there, green and pockmarked metal with shapes and figures carved in an ornate design. She was spun around before she could make full note of the disks, a pair of deeply roan doors forced in their place. The doors were easily twelve feet in height and wider than those that opened to the stairway they had passed. They were stark of any fanciful carvings, sporting only squared geometrical designs.

  "Now, if you feel uncomfortable, tell me." Lyssa warned. "He has a good heart, but he can get overexcited and lose sight of what's rational and fair. Certainly expecting you to come here in your state is neither of those things." The woman mumbled to herself. "Ready?"

  "Yes..." Amelie said with uncertainty. She half expected The Professor to be an angry and hulking beast.

  "Then in we go." The woman gave a quick rhythmic knock at the door, before turning both handles simultaneously, pushing herself through them.

  The view of the room stretched before her. It was clear now that it was mid-morning or early afternoon, as the room was bathed in a light that was unmistakably natural. The room was a cylindrical structure, partially made up of a mosaic glass. The room's diameter must have been two hundred feet across or more, the visual path to the windows on the opposite side of the tower was obscured by a platform of some kind. The room rose further than her eyes would allow her to view, she strained her neck, trying to see the ceiling, but was unable to move sufficiently. Rising in the dead centre of the room, and expanding out twenty or thirty feet, was a rounded platform or something similar, bracketed by bookshelves high enough to war
rant ladders to reach their tops. The platform had a break directly facing the doors, where a staircase, somewhat narrower than the grandiose dimensions of the room would accept. The stairs ran up a short while and leveled off, enabling her to see that it was in fact hollowed out, and lacking a roof.

  "Grand room isn't it?" Lyssa started, heading behind the chair. "I've still not got used to it, and I went to school here."

  "It's amazing." Amelie said, agape at even the incomplete view she was able to take in.

  "Amazing yes!" An overly enthusiastic voice sounded from the enclosure. A hand appeared, apparently pulling the exuberant man forward, as he appeared on the stairway a moment later. "It is part of the original construction of this school. This tower, and its twin, are part of an ancient city, estimated to predate known history of early America." He hurried down the stairs, and closed the gap between them.

  He seemed young, younger than Lyssa perhaps. He wore a neatly buttoned brown vest, and a white dress shirt that was impeccably clean. His pants resembled those that Lyssa wore, though again they were extremely clean. The man was unusually energetic, and remarkably neatly kept, from his straightened and gelled hair, his clean-shaven face, to his perfectly shined dress shoes.

  "Isn't that, destruction of a historic site or something like that?" Amelie asked, trying not to flinch as the man slid to a stop uncomfortably close to her immobile chair.

  "Yes yes, very good. If the school were built today, then certainly. The school was built in the late nineteenth century, and the rules were somewhat different then. Of course, they weren't able to do any notable destruction to the old construction, no. Not for lack of trying of course." He smiled, kneeling down to meet her eyes. "You see they brought their construction crews, their wrecking crews, and couldn't dent it. They brought in dynamite, and the building didn't even budge, not a single pane of glass shattered, a wonderful piece of our history."

  "But that's not what's important, no." He smiled, his eyes intense with excitement. "You are most exceptional, my dear, and I have been just dying to meet you."