Rigel

by Eli Ingle

  Rigel nodded with great difficulty, hoping it would help his escape.

  “Excellent! Excellent!” cried the Minister, clapping his hands together. “Then we should have no problems diving straight into the problems at hand. Now, the effects of the Civil War are still being felt across the city, despite it being quashed over four months ago. Supplies are depleted and morale is very low. Our first duty is to parade you ceremonially with our guard across the town. That way I believe we can raise morale and boost public confidence in what we are hoping to achieve. Secondly, it is of vital importance that we begin your training. Therefore I suggest we rally everyone for the parade tomorrow and then your training will be officially approved to start the day after. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds … very good,” said Rigel, trying to think of ways to escape, but coming up with none.

  “Excellent!” the Minister repeated, as his hands reached for a bell under the desk. He pressed the button and within a few moments an attendant had arrived with a tray of drinks. He poured the Minister wine and mixed several fruit juices for Rigel. As the waiter left and the Minister took a deep draught of wine, Rigel saw his chance and took the opportunity.

  Diving under the table, he pressed his back flat against it and pushed. At first it did not seem to move, and only strained his muscles, but the harder he pushed, the more it moved and very soon it was tipping over. Plates and tureens of food began sliding to the floor, smashing and spilling everywhere. Several still-hot dishes landed on the Minister’s lap, causing him to yelp in pain. Finally the whole table tipped over, sending the rest of the plates crashing to the floor. The edge of the wood crunched into the Lord Minister’s legs. He went writhing to the floor. Attendants were rushing in, unable to make sense of the sudden uproar, but Rigel was already escaping. Running across the room, he dived out through the heavy doors and ran down the rich hallways.

  “Seize him! Seize him!” cried the head attendant.

  Several young waiters immediately ran over to the Lord Minister and restrained him.

  “Not him, you idiots! The boy! Grab the boy!” screamed the head attendant.

  Running as fast as he could, Rigel panted as he twisted and turned down the hallways, looking for either a way out or somewhere to hide.

  Rigel found an alcove in which a vase was resting on a plinth. He found that he could just squeeze behind it, and he knelt down, trying to stay out of view. An unpleasant silence fell over the area. Rigel strained his ears, attempting to listen for the approaching footsteps of the waiters.

  Some minutes later he heard them walk by, making him tense up, but they continued running past and the sound gradually grew fainter again, so he thought that he was safe. Standing up and squeezing out again, he hopped around and cursed as pins and needles ran up both his legs. He could barely walk but knew he did not have much time. Hobbling at first, he made his way as quickly as he could in the opposite direction until the pins and needles wore off. In the absence of the attendants, the corridors had fallen silent again. Rigel realised that he would have actually preferred noise and the sound of running footsteps. Then he would at least know where they were coming from. As it was, he had to hope that they were running away from him.

  Finally, he crashed into the stairs at the entrance hall. Tumbling down them, he arrived at the bottom, groaning as new bruises formed and hurt old ones ached. Standing up and brushing himself off, his heart sank as he spotted the attendants blocking the way behind him. Turning around to the main doors, his heart sank even further as he saw several soldiers pointing rifles at him. He made no conscious decision, just jumped.

  He soared upwards, higher than it should have been possible to jump, and grabbed hold of the huge chandelier. Pulling himself up onto it, he cursed as pieces of the crystal scraped against his arms and legs. It swung dangerously as he pulled himself further up onto it, but once he was at the top it rested a little easier. Now if he could just climb up the chain …

  Crack!

  The sound of the rifle was amplified in the large entrance hall. Pieces of crystal splintered and sent shards blasting out in all directions. The bullet barely missed Rigel, instead hitting the chain’s link to the roof, sending sparks flying across the ceiling. He looked down at the soldiers and something of his haunted face must have reflected on them because they looked uncomfortable and began muttering to each other. Odd words floated up to Rigel and he could just make out that they were asking each other whether they should be shooting at a child.

  “Come down from there and we won’t shoot you again,” offered the guard who had shot at him.

  But Rigel was not listening; he had grabbed the thick chandelier chain and was pulling himself up on it. Why did his thoughts feel slow?

  Crack! Crack!

  The soldiers shot again. Another shot hit the glass, sending splinters into Rigel’s leg. The other whizzed close by and cut a groove out of his arm, leaving a trail of scorched cloth and flesh behind. Rigel felt the warm blood trickling down his arm but could not let go of the chain to wipe it. His mind was feeling fuzzier and slower still … and then he realised why the food had tasted off. He had been drugged … but it was too late now … .

  Crack! Crack!

  They shot again but this time their aim was true. One bullet hit his hand, making him let go of the chain and also sending a stream of sparks into his face; the other hit his hip and embedded itself in the bone. Groaning in agony, he let go of the chain and was only prevented from falling when his leg became caught in the broken chandelier. He hung there, suspended and wishing it were over, when he felt the chandelier start to give way. He groaned louder this time as he felt skin and muscle being pulled against the metal, and fresh blood gushed down his leg. With a louder tearing noise he felt his clothes and skin began to rip in earnest, giving way completely as the chandelier chain came loose. He was falling, falling back down to the unforgiving stone floor below … .

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Noises, noises, rushing noises, louder, louder.

  Snap.

  Rigel’s eyes opened. He peered around for a moment before the blinding headache made him close them again.

  White.

  That was the one impression he had gained of the room. It was white. Very white.

  His thoughts had retained that sluggish feeling that they had had when he was suspended from the chandelier. Now that his eyes were closed, the bright light of the room diminished a little, which made the headache a little less painful.

  How had he got in here? The answer was unclear. He was going to have to open his eyes again, although he hated the idea of retriggering the headache.

  Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around at the room. Blank walls on all sides. No door. No window. This was not looking very good at all … .

  What was that around his wrists?

  Turning his head to see better, he found that both wrists had been shackled to large chains that were embedded in each wall. The chains were pulled taut, preventing him from moving his arms around and instead leaving them suspended at shoulder height. A new thought struck him: what had happened to his injuries? Looking at his hand and hip he realised with a jolt that they had healed. Already? Pink dots marked where the bullets had hit but any other signs were invisible. It must have been as Laurie said: Light Ones had healing powers … . He did not ponder for long. Suddenly he was wondering where everyone was.

  “Hello?” he croaked. He did not realise until he spoke how thirsty he was. The sides of his throat stuck together and tickled. His mouth was so dry it hurt. He coughed but the sensation only heightened.

  “Hello?!” he croaked, loudly this time. Panic was beginning to rise in his chest but he did not want to let the feeling overwhelm him. Being stuck in this position would be the worst time to give into the feeling.

  Surprisingly, a door slid open in front of him. He caught a glimpse of a dark lamp lit corridor outside before the door shut a
gain. A man in military outfit stood in front of him, looking at him suspiciously.

  “Do not attempt to free yourself,” he barked. “We have had you restrained and suitably controlled in order that you will not be able to use your powers in force against us. As you did not allow the Right Honourable Lord Minister to direct you in the way he had foreseen, you are now going to be subjected to a series of tests to determine the level of power and skill you have and how aware of it you are. The Lord Minister would like to point out that his hospitality would have extended to comfortable living quarters and training at a pace to suit you, but as you rebelled against this notion he saw no option other than to make you stay in these quarters. Meals will be provided at regular intervals but otherwise you will remain as such until he sees fit to release you again. Do you understand?”

  Rigel nodded. The man nodded and made as if to leave.

  “Water,” croaked Rigel. “Water.”

  The man considered him and seemed to debate in his head whether to let Rigel have any before finally nodding again.

  “Very well. In order to exact full co-operation, I will provide a pitcher of water for you shortly.”

  He left the room, leaving Rigel to kneel with his wrists suspended. His throat burnt and the shackles around his wrists were beginning to chafe nastily against the skin.

  Sometime later the man reappeared with a jug of water and a glass. He poured it out and then held it to Rigel’s lips, presumably to prevent him attempting to escape instead of drinking. When half of it was gone, Rigel asked him to stop and the man placed the articles at the side of the room.

  “The Minister has been informed that you are awake,” the man said, “and will be here shortly to oversee your ability test. This will happen soon so please make any preparations you can for this. He wants to see the full range of your abilities and will know if you hold anything back. Do you understand?”

  Rigel nodded again and the man left.

  Feeling slightly more relaxed now that the burn in his throat had subsided, Rigel tried to decide what to do about the situation he was in and whether it would be possible for him to escape. When he looked over his shackled wrists, then over at the hidden doorway in front of him, and considered the fact that there was probably a guard in front of the door as well, he decided that his chances were very thin. All he could do was wait and hope that an opportunity would present itself very soon, as it had at the banquet.

  Rigel tried, and failed, to remain calm. His thoughts would not quieten and the restraints on his body were only increasing his feeling of tension. His wrists were already sore and he could barely alter his position to make himself more comfortable without sending raw agony along the skin. With the realisation that there was no-one to help him, claustrophobia set in and the panicky feeling in his chest rose every time he realised there would be no-one to stop the Lord Minister from keeping him here indefinitely. When he was not feeling panic, the guilt returned and the thought of Laurie’s crew imprisoned and with families thinking they had been lost in action made him shivery with guilt. What was he going to do?

  Time passed, but without any measure, he had no idea how much.

  Finally the door opened again, but Rigel was surprised to see that it was not the Minister or the military man, but a woman he had not seen before. She kept her head ducked down and was wearing a shabby military outfit: gold buttons lined each side and a coil of silken rope hung from her left shoulder, but it looked out of date and dishevelled, almost as if it had been put on hurriedly. Rigel jumped as he saw her face. It was covered with a thin porcelain mask that clung to her skin. The eyes were wide and staring, the nose dainty and the lips painted a bloody red. She had white hair that cascaded down her back. As he looked at her outfit again he realised there was a dark stain on her chest that looked damp. The door slid shut behind her and she looked around wearily before speaking.

  “You’re hurt,” he managed to say through his surprise.

  “Don’t say anything, Rigel,” she whispered, ignoring his comment. “I haven’t got long before they come back. I can’t help you escape – that’s up to you – but I must pass on a message. When you escape you must find your other crew members. They are down on the third floor in the holding cells. You must escape with them and steal another airship. This should be piloted to a location with these co-ordinates.” She slipped a piece of paper into his pocket. “You’ll find your next ally there. Use your intuition. When you return here you will have travelled backwards in time, back to the right time at which you should have arrived originally. I have to go now. Please don’t fail me; it’s vital for us all. Good luck.”

  She left the room as silently as she had arrived, and after a moment Rigel could almost believe that she had been a hallucination, but as he shifted position a little he felt the crease of the folded paper sticking into his side. So many questions came to mind but he could ask her none of them. He would just have to follow her instructions … at least they were better than any plan he had, although that did not mean it would be easy. Not at all.

  Sometime later the presence of the Minister was announced when a bulb above the door was turned on.

  A moment later two attendants entered wearing sunglasses and carrying various objects. A plinth was placed five metres away from Rigel. A heavy vase was placed on this. The attendants retired to the corners of the room and stood with their arms behind their backs. He looked at them expectantly, waiting for them to tell him what to do. When they did not say anything, he was forced to ask, much as he was loath to do so.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  The attendants looked at each other suspiciously.

  “You need to break the vase,” said one, as if it were obvious.

  Rigel wriggled but could not move closer.

  “I can’t get over to it,” he panted. They regarded each other with contempt.

  “You’re supposed to do it without touching it.”

  “Well, you didn’t tell me that, did you?” he said, feeling nettled.

  “Just break it,” said the man, beginning to look annoyed.

  Rigel scowled at him but then withdrew into himself, wondering how best to break the thing.

  The obvious thing to do would be to send another blast of magic towards it but for a moment he amused himself with the other possibilities of what he could do. He could rock it backwards and forwards until it fell off. He could unlock his shackles and go and push it over, just to annoy them … and then he thought of something.

  “You said that I wouldn’t be able to use my powers in this room,” he said, watching them closely. They blinked and then nodded.

  “You were right,” said one of the attendants. “We had you restrained and subdued in case in the confusion of waking up you destroyed everything. But the drug has worn off now so there will be no problems there. Please continue.”

  Rigel began thinking again. He liked the idea of unlocking himself and knocking the vase over but that would be the perfect way of escaping, so if he used it now they might very well place heavier and more complex locks on him and he did not want to risk that, not after receiving all that vital information from the woman.

  Focusing on the vase, Rigel squinted at it, deciding on a certain point on which to focus; hoping that that would make it easier. He searched for the feeling – the burning hotness that usually preceded the flow of magic from him but it felt as though there was nothing there – it was like walking around an empty ballroom. He tried to remain mindful of the task as his thoughts kept flowing to the Minister watching him and the attendants with their ridiculous sunglasses on.

  Find it … find it!

  The burden was too much. Now the need was not vital and he was under the pressure of being observed he was finding it impossible.

  “Can I have a minute?” he asked, looking up at them.

  “Take your time,” the first attendant nodded.

  The statement did not help. I
t meant that they were still watching and Rigel felt under as stressed as he had been before. Think. Think!

  Tink.

  No! Don’t think about Tink now.

  Or Laurie then.

  That is really not helpful.

  Where’s the magic?

  You show me, idiot.

  “Shut up! Shut up!”

  He looked embarrassed when he saw the attendants looking at him and realised that he had said the last thing out loud.

  What usually happened when he could conjure up the magic? Danger. Danger and stress. Danger, stress and fear. That was it. Danger when the Fallen One had been coming towards their ship. Stress and fear when the Dark Angel had bound him in the rock and he had to break free to save Iselt.

  But it had been too late to save her …

  Shut up.

  Where’s the magic? Where’s the magic?!

  Why could he not think? The attendants were still staring at him impassively (although he had no doubt that they would be judging him behind those glasses) and the stupid light bulb above the door was un-flickering, showing that the Minister was staring at him through some kind of concealed wall or window. No doubt he would also be making his own judgements: “Far too young. Useless. Probably brought here by mistake. What a waste of resources. I blame Laurie and his crew for selecting the wrong child. Extra punishments for them all.”

  “I’M NOT STUPID AND USELESS!” he screamed, pushing his hand out in the direction of the vase and sending a colossal stream of white energy towards it. It blasted it into a million pieces and the resulting concussion from the explosion was so large that both of the attendants were knocked out.

  A tinny loudspeaker flickered into life and the room was filled with a throaty chuckle.

  “Very good, Rigel,” said the Minister. “Very good indeed! I knew you had that kind of ability in you somewhere. Perhaps a short rest and then we can continue with the second task?”