by T. Wyse
“Fine,” he grumbled, and a tickle of danger settled back into his chest with a belabored sigh. “Second, if you meet a girl like you, about twelve or so . . . Little thing. Lightish brown hair, about to her shoulders. Funny little thing, a little vacant and inattentive, at least that’s how she seems. She’s probably with a cat, maybe wearing a raggedy dress if she’s still about the dirt. Name’s Amelie . . . ” He paused. “Barren? I think, but with a sort of Frenchie twist to it. You run across her, you tell her we’re fine, got it? Even if we’re seeing her tomorrow, you tell her we’re fine today.”
“Got it,” Kechua said, returning to the silence between them.
CHAPTER 15:
The Professor’s Revelation
“Kechua. Kechua.” He forced his eyes into blurred slits against the dark that had ambushed him. His arms and legs woke before his mind, protesting with ache and burn.
“Hey.” Pale blue shimmered directly into his, her white hair shining in the returned moonlight.
“If you want to keep your promise, it is time to go,” Sarah whispered and shrunk into what appeared to be a blurred cloud of white. The man’s snoring rumbled so loud as to massage Kechua’s tired legs and arms at least into shifting forward, but they refused to rise.
She returned into clarity in his eyes and offered a hand. “I can’t stay much longer. Once the dawn starts coming, I will have to hide.”
This was enough for Kechua to take the hand, only to immediately flinch backwards when he felt a chill wrap around the slender fingers. He slipped into the corner of the room, his vision clearing.
She flinched and turned away from him. At the very least, the fluttering feeling was removed, but the tenuous grasp on being still remained and wrapped itself around her in a fanciful gown. The hem of the dress slid silently and without drag upon the floor, melding into the darkness around and puddling about her like a mirror reflecting the stars. The fabric of the thing followed this pattern, giving twinkling pinpricks of comforting light like gemmed sequins spattered about. The cloth flowed up her front, forming a collar around her neck, and ventured up her cheeks slightly. Only her face and upper arms remained untouched by the fabric, with an oval cutout along her back that her flowing silver hair served to veil. Long gloves of starry darkness flowed over her hands like gloves, slipping half beyond her elbows.
Her head hung and she lowered her voice even further. “It had to be like this,” she muttered, repeating the words in a trembling mantra. “Too long together, too much given to it.” Her hair swayed as she shook her head.
“Are you cold?” Kechua rose to her side, touching her hand again. The revulsion of the creature was gone at least, but the uncomfortable chill remained. He gripped her hand as he spoke.
“A little. It’s alright.” She smiled. “I’d like to walk with you for a while.”
He left her hand to slip his pack on his back, successfully hiding the near buckling of his knees under the weight. He followed her out the door and through the hallway, struggling to keep up. Though she didn’t pull him, she glided with the grace of a specter. Her legs shifted the shadow gown, and the fabric danced and swayed with her hips. They passed the sleeping shapes in the hall without more than a slight sleeping shiver as the cloth of her gown brushed against them.
He followed her in silence, not sure if it was some lingering revulsion or simple awe that caught his breath. He found them at the window again, open wide from his leaping escape.
“Close your eyes.” She smiled, and when he did, he found the flattened crater of their impact underneath his feet.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it to the school.” His voice wavered with his legs as she gestured him on. “I can’t fight the dogs, not like this.”
“The dogs won’t bother us while you are with me.” She offered her hand with a graceful sway that echoed one of Anah’s dances, and he took it, slipping immediately in step beside her. “The world shrinks now within the night, and beside me, we can move swifter still.”
Kechua lost any sense of the surroundings, and even the rhythm of the earth below muted itself in her presence. Not a single speck of sleeping earth woke underneath their feet as he followed in her dreaming dance.
“I could see a great number of things, of the people in the sands. That place where you ran—that white building with the sparkling glass—that place feels as if it simply doesn’t exist, and even the creature would not go there.” She paused, though the pace of their dance stayed. “I have seen the little girl he spoke of, seen her fly away only to fall. A cage of clay and glass is no place for that little bird,” she said, a ringing sadness to it.
“Will you come with me?” Kechua asked, a gentle crack in his voice.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. It still feels too wrong, and the fire that the guards wield would still burn me, I think.” She paused, almost savoring the silence. “The world is calming, Kechua. Plants are growing again, and so many of those creatures—those Aspects—lay in ash. Still, there is more to be done. More yet to see.”
“We can walk together, maybe all three of us,” Kechua said hopefully. “I can find that girl, and we can—“
“We can’t walk together. You will walk in the light, and I must stay in the dark.” She nodded slowly. “I will keep an eye on you, but for now, I think I will observe the dogs, since they are the worst of the night remaining. Maybe I can prevent them from taking more people. Maybe I can see some weakness in them, or help the one linked to them like you did for me.”
“But—”
“Shhhh.” She gave a trembling smile. “Dawn is coming. I slept too long. We will see each other again, but we say goodbye now.” The blurring feeling of the world stopped, and the starlit sands shivered into Kechua’s sight. He felt a chill kiss upon his cheek.
The black above lit into the darkest blue, the prickling white flickering in clinging desperation. She withdrew from him, but he gripped the hand.
“You can help me.” He looked into her eyes. “Rutger, did you see that man? He was with three others, and I slept in an attic with them.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine. He’s a big man, shaved head, army camo clothes and a cloak. Most important, he has a staff that’s carved like my clubs, but much better. Do you think you can watch the darkness for signs of him, then help me find him?” Kechua tried to keep eye contact, but she shied away, pulling her hands back.
“I . . . I can try,” she said, her eyes closed. “It may be a while.” She clasped her hands together and held them in front of her.
“Anything you can do. He might be hunting our kind, or even Aspects. I’m not sure what he’s going to do.”
She raised her gloved hands to his face, eyes closed. “Say hello.” She revealed a white and black butterfly who pensively beat its wings in her palm. “My children can move in the light, and with your permission, given they can come to your mountain. We can speak then, even when I must hide.”
“Hello.” The butterfly gave a shrill hum.
“Of course. Your creations are welcome on the mountain,” he said.
The butterfly fluttered upwards and dissolved into the night.
She too faded, yet walked with him. He limped forward, the sand engulfing his feet and coughing up a wide storm of dust. She offered smiles as they walked together, but she grew more and more transparent as the dawn came. In the end, he was left only looking at his shadow, hoping the direction was true.
***
He staggered into the embrace of the pale blue square, his feet only having recovered in the barest sense during the long day. He had staggered well off course, and in the end, it had only been the feeling of the yawning pit serving as his compass towards the school. This detour and his exhaustion had cost him all of the daylight, and yet the stars kept the inky beasts away even as night fell. His forehead burned and his breath hitched in his throat, but he slumped against the waiting glass doors of the school in an
exhausted tagging victory.
A quick flurry of flinching reactions greeted him, and neither opened the door for him this time. He paused there a moment, taking a few breaths of freedom before crossing the threshold.
The rushing feeling returned like a rotted vinegar washing up his nose, and yet there was a further sense to it he couldn’t quite place.
“Hello again,” the girl said, both of their staffs alight and pointed at him.
He glanced between the two of them, trying to place the difference of tone pouring through him, only to have it slip away before he could grasp it. The lingering peace in his heart allowed him clarity enough to not be blinded by it, and he realized just how much of a smudged vague experience his first visit had been.
The pair of them stood with pale and spectral faces, upon uniforms appearing pale black upon the light, their colours washed away by the resonant blue. She wore a skirt and a pair of black pants underneath, stopping midway through her calves. Their uniforms both fell on them in a state of disarray, the ties askew and the collars of both coming to a new crease. Worst of all, ragged exhaustion weighed heavy over their faces and their eyes were frantic and tired. She tied her hair back, but it spiked out wildly from the bun.
He raised his hands, empty, and slipped his pack back into the corner, the small blue blades of flame tracking him as he went. They breathed quickly, their hearts thumping almost in perfect synch with one another, hard enough he could sense it even through the ambient force. He could also trace a kind of sweet fragrance about them that hadn’t been there the first day.
“Are you here to fight then?” the boy asked, more sighing and exhausted than threatening.
“No.” Kechua managed to sigh through the roar. “No, I’m not,” he sputtered.
“It’s got worse here.” The girl sighed, and she withdrew her staff with a relief he could feel. The boy slowly withdrew his as well, though neither killed the flames.
“I won’t attack. I’ll even leave these here. I need to speak . . . ” The boy stopped him before he could disarm.
“Keep them. The flames aren’t for you.”
The blue light soaked the place in a way it hadn’t in his first visit. In addition to the lamps they bore on their hips and the two burning flames, six additional blue lamps sat upon the wide stairway into the school like warding candles.
He squinted, looking into the dark above, where tiered walkways passed. The second floor’s walk only shone its belly down at them, but from where the third floor’s walk must have been, he thought he could almost see a shape looking down.
“No, stop looking. Don’t.” She furiously waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Just don’t look up there,” she instructed. “The light, it helps keep them back; helps with the sickness, but it’s getting worse. Getting worse so fast,” she muttered.
“I’ll go then,” Kechua fought the words out. He stole one last glance up, seeing a single pinprick of green light flit into darkness.
“I’ve got it,” the boy offered. “Not safe to wander alone.” The girl gave an angry shrug, taking a spot between the staircases as they ascended into the dark halls.
“Not supposed to wander the halls at night, but some of the kids here do,” the boy whispered. “There’s this green glow they get when it gets bad.” He shook his head.
“You seem fine,” Kechua said, his words stumbling.
“Not engineers. We weren’t browns.” They arrived at the stairwell, and the boy stopped. “I don’t want to leave her alone, but the stairwell is okay as long as you go up. Stick to the grey concrete where you can. Once you’re at the top though, you’ll have to be quick. Don’t let yourself get seen. They haven’t done anything yet, nothing bad, not really. But you’re an outsider, and that might be enough.” He glanced down at the clubs. “I don’t know what they’ll do. He’s still awake now. I don’t think he sleeps anymore. He comes down to stare out into the dark sometimes without saying anything. Please, just . . . ”
“I’ve had my fill of fight.” Kechua shook his head. “I understand.” He slipped into the stairway. His mind cleared as he ascended the stairs, and he found himself having to ignore the raspy breathing from the floors below, the almost whispered song somehow in eerie harmony with the shrieking buzz saw as it grew more pronounced.
He stumbled as he exited, hoping for the sickening, forceful waterfall’s embrace. Instead, he found a metallic shriek. It grew louder as he slipped into the hallway, avoiding the cluster of green stars bobbing from the other side of the school.
He pushed through the familiar glow of the artifacts and shoved open the door with his shoulder, only to shift it closed again with a pronounced slam.
“You are losing control of your house.” Kechua winced as the buzz saw shriek bit into his teeth. He limped up the carpeted path and into the lit circle.
“This is not ‘my house’ in any sense,” James bit without looking up. “I am only watching over it for the time.”
He shifted in silence, sitting in the same chair once more, two figures snuffed by pride. Kechua sat with his hands clasped, looking directly into the man’s crackling eyes, hollowed out with bags and shadows.
“I have a name today. I know who I’m looking for.” Kechua broke the silence, but the man made a shooing motion.
“There are many better things I could be doing, not the least of which is sleeping,” the man said crisply, shuffling some papers before him.
The buzz saw shriek sang loudest in the chorus, the screaming song grating at his bones, but he bit down and endured it. The buzzing was something unexpected, a novel pain unprepared for, choking out the words he had tried to prepare in his jaunt under the stars.
“Something bothering you? Little hum? Little buzz?” the man asked without looking up and all the coyness of a viper. Kechua looked at his eyes. Somehow in the indirectness, in that pale blue halo, something bothered him about them. Not the electricity or the wear upon them, something . . . and the shrieking grew louder, pulsing against his temples and dismissing the thought.
“It seems . . . familiar,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Machines, they all sound the same.” The professor waved his hand dismissively.
“No, this is like . . . ” Like the taunting song of Earth’s Cruelty; the beating of mothwings against his skull. “You said you had a salve, one that healed miraculously. That it was your life’s work,” Kechua forced the words out as if to digest them himself.
“Did I? I suppose.” The man softened a little, leaning back with at least partial interest.
“That you needed my blood. That it was based on the blood of people like me.” Kechua tried to recount the smudged memory.
The man shrugged. “You’re willing to give a sample, you’re saying? I suppose that’s a start.”
“Two.” He shook his head and thrust his perception out, driven by his growing rage, and he fought the burning in his skull as he opened his mind to the man. His breathing, perfectly flowing, and his heart beating without true effort, just as it had before despite many nights of sleeplessness. “Your ‘life’s work’ didn’t begin a few days ago. You started this salve on your blood. Yours.”
“Mine.” The professor gave an exasperated shrug, the movement wildly eccentric and exaggerated.
“What is it then?” Kechua mused out loud. The man sitting beneath him cupped his hands, infinitely interested in his words. “What oddities have you seen in your life? What perceptions do you have that others do not?”
“Many and varied!” The man chuckled. “Why, even my coming to this school was predated upon my exceptional talent.” He pursed his lips with impatient sarcasm.
“Talent?” Kechua paused. “No, beyond talent. Beyond . . . normal perception.”
“Ah, dreams and seeings, magic and wonders!” The man chuckled beneath him. “Nonsense, all of it. I have done things, amazing things, but all of them are tangible, quantifiable, explainable,” the professor said. “I’ve had an
innate knowledge of machinery, of clockwork, ticking things, buzzing things, noisy little toys. Just a piqued interest, a fascination brought on by something forgotten in the mists of childhood. I came here, under the pretense of the school itself in days past, before it became the foolish shade it had become in recent times. I was brought here by my knack for the machines, you see, the understanding of them, and the ability to see past the machine, into the questions beyond it. I studied my blood—that was the hard work—and mastered the science behind it. Even knowing all I could, it took the work of two minds to crack it open, but even that we can define, we can explain.” The man below him paused. “Do you understand?”
Kechua opened his mouth to answer but was spared the trouble.
“No. No you do not,” the professor mumbled into his hands. “It’s not magic, not power, not premonition. It is simply being able to distance myself from these things, to detach myself from my physical bias, from the obfuscating physicalities of it all.” He sighed long.
“That is unique to you, though,” Kechua said, looking down on the man again. The man didn’t meet his eyes.
“It’s not.” He shook his head. “It’s not, because it can be taught. Not everyone can be taught to see past the wall in front of their faces. Not everyone wants to see; not everyone is willing to put the effort into it. Some are.” The man stood to meet Kechua’s gaze at an equal level. The man bore a smile upon his face, warmth and relaxation coming over him. “That’s what I do here now. When I took over the school, I made sure that even though we still allow the elite their farce of superiority . . . we make sure to bring the brightest, insist upon their enrollment. They come here, and I teach them what I know, but more importantly, what I see. There are other things, of course, other things people claim to be miracles, fate, nonsense like that.” The professor chuckled.
“Dreams. Dreams, you see.” The man’s gaze became far off, his eyes looking to something over his shoulder. “Dreams are simply the state of which the mind is clearest, where the insights hidden by sight are revealed. This place is upon a ruin, an odd ruin, untraceable by any dating. Its construction is a mystery, as are the materials used to make it. There were hints of it though, hints of what it was, and I was able to find them; find the hidden ways of here and the hidden treasures inside.”
