by Emery Skye
“Noviate Hasdiel," his voice was so melancholy it made Lurch sound perky. "It's time.”
The Warrior was six nine if he was an inch, and at least two eighty. His hair styled on his head high and tight. He even moved like a machine. He unlocked my cell after a moment of tinkering with the keys. I heard metal against metal and a hard click. He opened the door and stepped back. I stood. He ushered me out with an efficient gesture. I obeyed. I had no choice. I couldn’t fight against time.
He escorted me down a dark, naturally formed stone corridor. His hand on my bicep was a foreboding manacle. Under any other circumstances I might have admired this heretofore-unknown dungeon. My muscles hollered at me and my knees sounded like creaky stairs. The Warrior glanced down at me.
“You try being locked in a box for a week!” I snapped.
My voice was tiny and sounded coarse. He stared ahead, deadpan. Did I imagine the slight loosening of his grip on my arm? I didn’t think so.
How the hell did they keep this place a secret? Fear chilled me as much as it had the day Amalie fell through the ice. Did they kill the noviates who'd been sent here?
That’d make sense in a way. Could things really be that…? I didn’t know what that would make my world, but, it tasted sour. Wrong. Like a bad apple.
The Warrior dragged me into a large, circular room. The light blinded me. It hurt—really hurt. I needed to blink back tears a few times before my eyes adjusted. The Patron sat in a large, black velvet, throne-like chair. I suddenly despised him with every fiber of my being. Smaller seats arranged to follow the curve of the walls. The seats were all occupied by Warriors. Lucas, Legite Cassian, and Legite Deror flanked the Patron. The former on his left. The latter on his right. Deror never looked at me, but Lucas scrutinized my every step.
Lucas’s intense gaze did nothing to me. I focused on the other Legite. The one who’d left me more confused than words could describe. He’d fought for me. When the other Legites came to the Patron’s office. I knew that I remembered it correctly. He’d come to my defense. I studied him. While he sat straight, there seemed to be a weight pulling him down. His face was drawn down; his chiseled cheeks were more pronounced than usual, and his hair had grown into little, unruly waves.
“Take your seat, Noviate Hasdiel.”
There was a stool in the middle of the room. I was reminded of the Knights of the Round Table, and wondered if I would be dinner.
I walked over to it and sat. I was in no hurry to face some sort of torture.
“Noviate Hasdiel, you are charged with disobeying a commanding officer and breaking and entering a council member’s office. How do you plea?”
He spoke with an air of egotism. Someone seriously needed to knock this guy off his pedestal.
At that moment, doors opened behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Amalie and Alyosha were manacled and shackled. Thick chains binding wrists to ankles made it nearly impossible for them to walk. Warriors shoved them casually, like a cat batting at a caught mouse. What was happening? It wasn’t like I killed somebody.
I couldn’t plead not guilty. I mean, technically, I was guilty, inadvertently. Stupid technicalities.
“Guilty,” I murmured.
Deror finally looked at me. His sorrow was wretched. The look frosted my heart.
“For your punishment, we will summon Hutriel.”
Tears flooded my eyes, but I refused to blink. I would not be seen crying. Hutriel was known as “The Rod.” It was the lightest punishment possible for an offense as egregious as the one I was accused of, but it had a potential and hidden power deep within it that made it formidable and thus, painful beyond comprehension. I’d heard stories of people tortured with the Rod. They would scream for hours, and no one knew why. If they did know, no one ever told me.
The Patron bowed his head and spoke a few words in the old language.
He raised his eyes, and I looked into them. I saw a black stream of vapor form into a rose. Just then, excruciating pain exploded thorough my body like I'd swallowed a grenade.
I was on my feet in seconds. My arms were outstretched. I thought of the Cross and wondered if somebody was going to nail me to one. Something malicious expanded in my body, breaking every bone, individually, from the inside out. Snap. Snap. Snap.
This is what death must feel like.
The pain evaporated as quickly as it had come. Suddenly, light took over and expanded throughout my body. It was like someone tickled my insides, repairing them. I couldn’t help, but let out a laugh. The light spread from my core, spiraling up and down my spine, down my legs and arms to the tips of my toes and fingers. It ebbed. Like ripples in water, it too faded gradually and went dark. I opened my eyes.
The Warriors stirred in their chairs. Deror sported a look of shock and the Patron’s jaw clenched, eyes squinty, and neck muscles bulging.
I could still feel a little tickle mending the last of my broken ribs. I wept. I was relieved, grateful and overjoyed. I never cried, but this…feeling demanded it. I also had no idea what just happened.
“This cannot be!” shouted the Patron. “I will call Hutriel again.”
“No!” Deror shouted louder. "He manifested. He punished her because you thought she deserved it. He... disagreed. His decision is irrefutable!”
Deror grabbed the Patron’s arm. The elder angel's face fell and paled in shock. Deror yanked his hand back as if bitten.
Holy shit. I knew Nathan was a Legite, but not even Legites messed with academy Patrons. It just wasn’t done. Thankfully, everyone was too fixated on me to notice that Nathan had stepped out of line.
The rest of the Warriors were as confused as I was, and as at odds as Deror and the Patron. Their impassioned yells rebounded painfully off the stone walls.
I glanced at Amalie. Her slack-jawed expression reminded me of Taylor. She was clueless and scared. Alyosha, on the other hand, gave nothing away.
I hugged myself against the cold. Really, I’m hugging myself now. How pathetic. I stitched my hands down to my sides. The Patron floated off after Nathan stopped him from summoning the Rod again. He didn’t stick around to calm down the confused crowd. He didn’t give orders. Just floated off. A glowing mist trailing him. It was beyond me how something so heavenly emanated off of him.
“What happened back there,” I looked up under bits of matted blonde hair. It was no use trying to comb it out. My fingers already lost that battle. I didn’t want to know what I looked like.
Chapter 12
Two Warriors, each with L-U emblems on their black jackets, escorted Amalie and me, blindfolded and gagged, out of the tunnels. I knew immediately when we were outside.
The thin, fresh, and dry air greeted me. I heaved my first few breaths of clean, Alaska air, grateful.
They took our blindfolds off and the spotlights above blinded us both. I didn't see Alyosha. I wondered where they took him.
It was crazy how different night was from being subterranean. Open. I could spread my arms and not feel a thickness in the air. I reveled in it.
The Warrior to my right stood just less than six foot, a couple inches taller than me, and stocky, built like a log. He didn’t speak, glanced around with shifty eyes, and had short, black hair, soft honey-brown eyes, and a radio strapped at his hip.
The path was empty. It was after curfew. Now people obeyed the rules. I’d been made an example of.
Amalie and I walked with our arms brushing regularly. I was unbelievably grateful for the contact. I starved for it. The small comfort steadied my mind and lightened my heart.
The Warrior to our left glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He was confused, tipped chin, thin lips, and crow’s feet. He stayed just outside arm's reach. I suddenly felt like a leper.
Warriors didn’t gossip, but this was too juicy not to chat about. I imagined the Legion’s top commanding officers discussing recruits for the Legion, my name being mentioned, and them recoiling, crossing themselves. Noviate Anna Hasdiel – the fr
eak show. They’d probably exile me to some prison somewhere. I'd never be a Legite now.
Am must’ve noticed my insecurity; she wrapped a reassuring arm around my shoulder and glared at the Warrior. I almost smiled, but I couldn’t. I almost shook her off. The gesture made me look weak, but I needed the intimacy.
The Warrior kept his distance. I tried not to be bothered. I failed.
He escorted us to a white door. My basketball shorts and hoodie were caked in mud from sitting for six days. I’m sure I reeked. I couldn't smell myself anymore. I didn’t know how Amalie stayed so close without gagging, but she did. Even when I looked and smelled like shit.
We marched silently through the lobby and up the stairs, grateful we walked alone.
We got to my door.
Amalie finally spoke, timid.
“Anna, are you okay?”
It was only four words, but they meant everything. I was Anna. Noviate Anna Hasdiel, angel Warrior to be, who had it all figured out. I was the best of the best. I was the cream of the crop. Was.
I was a failure. I was wrong. At this rate… it was unthinkable.
I stared into her eyes, blue like the ocean. I knew what I should say. She needed to hear that I was great. I was Anna Hasdiel. I choked on the words.
I wasn’t okay.
“Why were you in the Patron’s office?” I asked.
I had to know.
She stared at the floor; playing with her ponytail.
“Am,” I pleaded.
She finally looked at me. She shifted her weight and twirled her hair more energetically.
“I can’t, Anna.”
I turned to go.
She grabbed my shoulder. It was sore.
“Later, I promise.” she said.
Screw her promises. I shook her off, but couldn’t shake the betrayal. I still felt it on my skin after the mud was finally gone. After the longest shower of my life.
It was six in the morning when I heard a dull knock at my door. I'd slept poorly, having been awoken twice by nightmares of the dungeon. I was locked in. Everyone who looked in the window in the door was sad, even though they all had the key. I’d never felt so alone in my life.
I thought I’d imagined the knock. It happened again. I blinked a few times. My eyes worked fine. I got up and walked to the door, rubbing my eyes as I opened it.
I was wide-awake instantly and definitely dreaming. There was no way, no possible way I was looking at Nathan Deror.
For six in the morning, he looked damn good. His hair had grown. It fell into his lush, green eyes.
“Are you really here?” I said before I could think. I snapped my mouth shut. Lame.
He lifted one eyebrow.
I slapped myself on the cheek. I wished I could wipe the moment away.
“Tasmanian Devil?” he asked, chuckling.
The sound warmed my heart.
I glanced down at my pink cami and brown-and-pink Tasmanian Devil jammies. This was the epitome of embarrassing. I wasn't wearing a bra. I bit my lip to keep myself quiet.
I crossed my arms over my breasts.
“What do you want?”
"Get dressed,” he said, deadpan.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Nothing.
“I just got out of jail, like less than ten hours ago,” I argued.
Would he really make me train today?
“Then you should be well-rested.”
I sighed.
“No.”
“I’ve got coffee,” he stepped across the threshold, stopping me from shutting the door.
He officially stood in my room.
I almost ignored him, and then it registered. He had coffee.
“Regular or decaf?” I wasn’t getting out of my comfy bed for nothing.
He laughed out his nose.
“Regular. Get dressed.”
“Promise. I want your word.”
“I promise. You’re not very trusting,” He looked appalled.
“Would you be?” I asked sarcastically.
“Get dressed,” he withdrew. “You should wear something comfortable, but nice.”
I almost laughed. Since when did training demand nice clothes?
Still, he’d piqued my interest.
In less than thirty minutes, I’d fixed my hair and put on a nice pair of cargos and a fitted, purple, V-neck t-shirt and grabbed my jacket.
He stood by the door waiting with another Warrior.
He must be the morning hall monitor.
I studied him as we passed. He looked so similar to one from last night, like he wanted to melt into the wall. I’d become dangerous.
Deror saw and shot him a stern look.
The Warrior sagged like a sad puppy.
I didn't want his help. This felt worse than last night. Now I was a dangerous commander’s pet.
Ruff. Ruff.
The world seemed like a rock: dark, grey, and cold. Triple threat. Not terrible, but not fun. My coat was a thermal windbreaker, but it was not enough. Normally, it’d bother me to be in the Alaska cold at the butt crack of dawn, but after my week in hell, I enjoyed this: the wind in the trees, the crunch of our footsteps, the scurrying of small animals through bushes, the taste of fresh air, the silk of snow on my skin. It was awesome!
Sunrise wasn't until ten-thirty, and it would be too cloudy to tell, but I didn’t care.
Deror led the way. We both wore what the natives called bunny boots. They were oversized, rubber vapor barrier boots. All the clothes here had a, more than necessary, polypropylene long underwear liner, but we were moving beyond the temperature controlled safety net, meaning we needed to pull out all the stops. Gloves, hats, scarves.
Deror opened the SUV door for me. We hopped in the black SUV that must’ve been in a garage somewhere, because it was way too shiny to be out here. The snow was almost heavy enough to be a white-out.
This was the first time anybody opened a door for me.
Considering we drove on thirty-four to forty-two inches of packed snow—tis the season in Alaska—it was a pretty smooth ride. The snow falling sideways drifted casually, in no rush to hit the ground. The heat was blasting, my hair was flying, and my eyes were drying out. I turned down the fan.
The Legite spoke.
“Warm?” he asked.
“Roasted, actually,” I said dryly.
He adjusted the heat.
Comfort soaked in immediately. My nose wasn't hot. My skin stopped being sticky.
“Where are we going, and where is my coffee?”
He tipped his head toward me.
I wanted to smile. It was comforting being this close to him.
Sunglasses hid his eyes. They looked like Ray-Bans, but they probably had super powers. I hated not being able to see his eyes.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Are you looking at the road?” That was a stupid question. The road wasn’t exactly marked by yellow and white lines. It might not have been a road at all.
He gave me a crooked smile.
“Are you really worried about my driving?”
Deflection?
“Coffee?”
He shook his head.
“It’s in the bag in the back.” He was almost laughing. It danced around my ears.
That triggered an animalistic urge. I unclicked the seatbelt and leaned between our seats. I pulled the duffel bag into my lap and dug in.
I didn't see a thermos. What I saw was an oddly shaped glass bottle. “What’s this?”
I couldn’t tell if he looked or not, but I recognized that sigh.
“It’s not a thermos.”
I clenched my jaw.
“I can see that. Thank you. This is the stuff you used on my arm. Why do you have it?” Last time I checked Warriors weren’t Harbingers carrying around magical healing remedies.
“I like to be prepared.”
Simplicity was endearing… and annoying.
“Seriously, what happened with my a
rm? What do you know?”
Nothing.
“Maybe I'll go to the infirmary and ask the nurse?”
The wheel jerked right as he shifted his body. Warriors had naturally good reflexes so I’d struck a nerve.
Guess I had his attention.
“Not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You don't want that kind of attention right now.”
I’d rather jump out of this vehicle and take my chances with frostbite.
“Okay, so talk.” My arm swelling to the size of a log wasn't normal. I bled so much that I should have died.
He was quiet for a while.
“I have some ideas, but I need time. I’ll tell you when I know for sure.
“Fine,” I slumped in the warm leather seat, pouting.
He chuckled.
“What?”
“Pouting?”
“No!” I snapped. “I'm pissed! Two weeks ago, I had everything figured out, and now I have this weird...” I struggled for the words. “Arm thing, and up until ten hours ago, I was a jail rat-“
“Bird.” he corrected.
“What?”
“It’s jail bird, not rat.”
I was flabbergasted. I wanted to smack him. This was serious, really serious, and he was cracking jokes.
His comment was so random... I laughed until my cheeks hurt.
After a moment, he laughed with me. The quiet drive was suddenly loud, joyous. For a few minutes, everything felt easy… and, right.
I coughed myself back to normal. Unattractive, but I didn’t care.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping out of my boots and moving to sit Indian-style in the seat.
He nodded.
There were so many questions, so much I wanted to clear up, but the silence was comfortable. I luxuriated in it, and the decadent seat, enjoying the dawn filtering through the overcast sky.
We’d been driving for a while before I said again, yawning, “Where are we going?”
“Anchorage. I thought you could use a day away,” he smiled.
I wanted to reach across the console and hug him. I did need it. I wondered how Legite Nathaniel Deror knew it.