Broken Wing: A million deaths were not enough for Cassandra!

by Konig, Artor

  Cassandra 1: Broken Wing

  Artor König

  Broken Wing

  Copyright © Artor König 2014

  ISBN-13: 978-1512368536

  ISBN-10: 1512368539

  Sorrelharn Publications

  Email: beorthramb@sorrelharn.com

  Email: artorkonig@gmail.com

  Web: www.sorrelharn.com

  Cassandra 1: Broken Wing Copyright © 2015 Artor König. All rights reserved. The author has asserted his moral right to be recognised as the sole creator of this document. No copying or storage by any means permitted without the written permission of the publisher or author.

  Cassandra Samantha Reid is a real person; the story you are about to read is true; it hasn’t happened yet. But soon; soon. We have changed the names of technologies, most of the chemicals and some of the magical phenomena; there are some secrets that we still need to keep; this late though it is.

  Broken Wing

  1. Doctor Tregont

  2. Airfield

  3. Black Crag

  4. Wren

  5. Test Flight

  6. June

  7. Leave-taking

  8. The Crag

  9. Settling in

  10. Missing

  11. Ship

  12. Caves

  13. Spiders

  14. Great Master

  15. First Reckoning

  16. Rebuilding

  17. Preparations

  18. Second Leave-taking

  19. Contact

  20. Last Leave-taking

  21. Final Reckoning

  1. Doctor Tregont

  It took me a long time to realise that dying; and resting in peace; might be out of my reach. I have come this far and have found no answers; and even the island where I stand cannot give the true comfort of isolation. This, I suppose, is because I am not actually alone here; and the enemies seem to crowd closer as each day passes. There is danger in too much power; this I learn now. But how much power is too much? As I lean over the stone rail of the high balcony I let my mind dwell on such things other than my dangerous situation.

  Far below me the black ocean stretches in restless, noisy turmoil, shaking the foundations of the island as the silvery, fuming swells dance in the darkness. The dusk of a fretful evening is gathering all around me; the wind is a cold knife, cutting through all it touches. Above me the unreal height of the Crag’s grim walls rise up, impossibly high and solid, an affront against which the sea has for eons ground its fangs. I sigh softly; this night can be little different from the ones before. Or maybe it will be different. They are all dead, after all; all the ones who matter. I ponder this thought; how many is it necessary to destroy, once your true enemy has moved out of your reach? Is it not the purpose of war, to make war unnecessary? And if the enemy is out of reach, is it not your duty to extend your reach? As far as is needful...

  Briefly I turn my eyes from their restless, vague wandering and have a look at the golden ring that still I wear upon the second finger of my left hand. It has been with me, I realise, almost exactly a year. I wondered again why I had chosen to wear it there; it was significant of no love or bond of which I knew. In the soft and gloomy light that still touches the balcony, the grey spider emblem looks somewhat menacing, its lustre flashing against this golden band. There has always been a sense of dread with this ring; and even now, that there are no more foe, I feel that quiver as I look at it.

  From the most innocuous beginnings; from the most promising start has come these depressing consequences; like the discovery of the ring itself, my whole life has not gone the way I expected. In truth it began some time before I found the golden band. It was a sprinkling of irritations poking and prickling at a pride which dwarfed me even though I am taller than most.

  I cast my mind back to that somewhat dusty memory; the true origin of my ring I do not know; though the intention to find out has not yet faded. There it lay, sparkling and golden upon the green turf of the school yard where I was taking my solitary lunch. I remember noticing the elderly gentleman who had drifted past at an earlier time when I was settling down to make the most of the rare school-day sunshine and I had supposed he had dropped the ring. Nonetheless he was nowhere to be seen when I acquired the prize and further enquiries had brought nothing to light. It had finally been decided that as I had found the ring and there were no other claims to it that it would thereafter be mine. I remember the pleasant smile of my headmaster as he made this decision. But had he actually made the decision or had there been something in the background of which none of us were aware? “Take it, Cassandra. You’ve done very well so far and I feel you deserve a reward. Maybe your guardian angel does too.” Dr Macleod had informed me briskly, “And you were honest enough to bring the ring to me instead of simply pocketing it.” He had dismissed me briskly, having settled the problem to his satisfaction.

  To this day I wonder if the ring is a reward or an imposition. I also wonder why he had taken this simple; but dishonest route; rather than testing the matter of the ring’s ownership to its limits; as he should have done. Were there other forces... but no, that path leads to paranoia; and I am not ready for that.

  School had been a red and muddy affair; the grassy yard was bald in many places and the rain was forever making a mire of the place. In the background was my father’s disparaging belief that as a tom-boyish, agile and unseemingly tall girl, I would never really account for anything more serious than possibly some sort of basketball player. This loomed over everything I thought or did, colouring my life with that depressing shade of pale brown.

  This attitude with all its annoying trimmings had been formed not too long after he had been informed that he had a daughter, rather than the son he was still looking forward to. He never did let me forget that and as a result of this cavalier dismissal, I worked that much harder than normally I would have been inclined to. However, even when the report cards I brought home never showed less than ninety marks out of a hundred, his response was always the same:

  “What?” He would demand, puffing out his grey-yellow moustache rather like an enraged caterpillar, “What have you done to lose ten marks, eh? A son of mine would never do such a thing, dash it all.”

  And right to the last year at school, when I was seventeen years old and two inches taller than his solid six foot-three, he would glare at me in such honest perplexity that I would shrink into myself and wonder whether I would ever get anything right at all. I had to try harder; perhaps; or maybe I should look to who I should really be pleasing. Two months before the commencement of those final exams I had come across the ring during the course of one of my solitary breaks at school; even from an early age, I had not had time for girls and jewellery and stupid things like that; so I had never really been made welcome amongst my peers. It had given me new hope at a time when there had been little to hope for. In this new inspiration I had turned my eyes to the one achievement by which I hoped to attain some form of parental recognition; two months before that I had managed to get myself enrolled for flying lessons; and I was showing promise there as well.

  It was a neighbour’s son; somewhat older; and far smaller than I, who had acquainted himself with me and had used his flying skills in an attempt to win more of my time and attention. Sensing his interest and feeling a sudden certainty that my father would acknowledge a flying daughter as nearly equal to a son, I had challenged Edward to make a pilot out of me. My father, Colonel Reid, was a military sort of fellow who seemed to equate the ability to handle machines with some obscure form of masculinity that I sadly seemed to lack.

/>   Edward of course had been slightly taken aback by this unladylike attitude on my part but he had risen nobly to the occasion. It was less than a week later that I saw the tri-bladed helicopter for the first time and was wondering whether this may not be beyond my reach. Nevertheless Edward was an excellent teacher and I was more than willing to learn. Most of my spare time was thereafter spent on the windy airfield where both sorts of craft frequently landed, the aeroplanes and helicopters dotting the sky on a busy afternoon. And from somewhere within, the pressures and the definite affinity I had for that kind of machine awoke something; something deep and dark and somehow disturbing. But that tiny thing birthed within my mind by this new challenge, certainly knew enough about control; mostly of machines.

  In an age when air-travel was ubiquitous and frequently merged with the logistical trickiness of space travel it seemed only logical to me that I teach myself something of how it was all done. Moreover my father, when he learned of what I was up to, could not help giving a quickly-hidden grin of approval. My mother, however, was puzzled by my endeavours, thinking it to be a most unseemly thing for me to do.

  “But why do such a thing, Cassandra? I know Edward’s a dear young man but you shouldn’t let him influence you so.”

  “It was my idea, mom, and it’s rather like having a license for a car or something like that.” I replied soberly, used to my mother’s dithering ways but not able to resist the impulse to argue with her. I already knew that explaining to my mother only led further into the mires of loquacity and hidden motives; and I had learnt from my father that only weak people bother to explain themselves. However, she had asked a fair question; and I nearly felt that she deserved an answer.

  “I shall have to speak to Edward about this,” She replied, rather severely, “After all you’re not likely to ever own one of those things yourself; they’re dreadfully expensive.”

  She did speak to Edward as well; but it didn’t make any real difference; I had seen the gleam of approval in my father’s eye and was determined to keep on with the lessons.

  My schoolwork did not fall off however; as he had expected; I knew it was just for a couple of months more and chose to keep up all my efforts. Therefore it had come to pass that I faced the exams with confidence and had done even better than I had expected.

  With Edward as well I was beginning to feel more comfortable; he was good company over and above his ability to teach me to fly. He was a bit shorter than I cared for, being less than five foot ten; but I supposed I would have become used to this; had I allowed it. But the little black thing within my mind; that ensured perfection when I flew; didn’t care for a compromise in any other field of my life. Everything had to be perfect; even if I accomplished nothing but bloodshed with it. I began to learn then about the art of war; and it was something that dominated my life; and kept the door to my bedroom firmly closed. My lessons in the air went well and I was soon challenging my teacher in his own field. In due course the last exams I took were easily passed and a license to fly was duly issued.

  It was wholly unexpected but there I was. I had distinctions in physics, mathematics; chemistry; subjects for which I did not really care; but these had drawn grudging acknowledgement from my father that I was worth a bit more that the ground I was standing on. I enjoyed flying and had achieved the highest honours that the little airfield had ever issued, just about the highest in the country I thought; but that was not the whole of it.

  The honours for flying I had been awarded ranked me so high that when certain, visionary people with certain ideas far higher and incredible than any who had passed before, decided that they were after pilots for the amazing machines they had created, my name was close to the top of their list...

  Edward had been a little bit uncomfortable about the license; it was as if he had taken on a bit more than he felt he could cope with and was having second thoughts on the matter. Of course he shared my pride and delight in my achievement; but it was as if a note of formality had crept into the proceedings. I sensed this change, a prickling feeling of shut-out-ness that I was at a loss to explain.

  The flight instructor who had been saddled with the tedious task of assessing my capability, from the first moment he set eyes on me, gave forth the impression that women should not be allowed near expensive machines, never mind presuming to fly one. This attitude rankled to a dangerous degree and I had at once decided that a lesson would be included in that test; and damn the results; I could always take the test again with a real man. Although I never took the machine beyond its prescribed specifications, the poor little fellow was somewhat green when the flight ended. I had also discovered some new aspects about the locust-like, three-bladed craft in which I was accustomed to doing all my flying. For example if it was carefully nursed along it could get to an altitude of just over thirteen miles; five miles higher than the manual recommended. I learnt about fusion for the first time; the defining characteristic of a ‘natural’ talent; and something rarer than pure gold in the flying fraternity. The little assessor had lost his swagger when he left the craft; but the license was at last mine; and the rating was far better than I had ever expected.

  It was then that I had first seen that look of discomfort from Edward and he was not as inclined to discuss that last flight with me as he had been to talk about the others. While I was servicing the craft I saw that look of near-jealousy from him; I associate the reek of hot metal and the fumes of high-octane aviation spirit with that hateful look.

  The first thing I did was take the license to my father and from him I won the first true approval to have come my way at all. Even the teachers’ commendation of my results at school meant less to me than his words, “Humph. Good. Don’t kill y’self flying the thing, now. Hear?” He’d pinned me with a gimlet glare from eyes as green as my own before busying himself with his paper once more. It was at this time that I suddenly became aware that the old man actually did care about me even if I wasn’t a boy. I had then wandered off to stash the licence with my growing pile of personal documents, brooding on this weird enlightenment. The thought that had been the foremost in my mind was that to win my father’s acceptance I seemed to have alienated one of my closest friends.

  With the discretion I had adopted as a defensive measure I circulated my qualifications in the highest levels that I could conveniently reach; my view being to augment my skills and pay my way at the same time. Considering the bad odour in which the flying fraternity held its lady members, I was somewhat taken aback by the number of Lords and businessmen who seemed to think that a pilot of my cheerful nature was just what they needed as a chauffeuse. Three aeronautical institutes were sufficiently impressed by what I had achieved to offer me numerous scholarships and dozens of technical courses. Day by day the pile of letters grew and I was at a loss as to which one to choose.

  It was Edward who gave me direction in that confused time; he shook off his moodiness with a sudden jerk and invited me to lunch with the intention of introducing me to someone.

  Edward had been keeping a judicious distance ever since I had won my wings and the call, when it came, was a terse affair. No, he wasn’t going to say any more than that; an old friend of his father’s had inquired after top-flight pilots and Edward had at once thought of me. Could I then join him and this mysterious friend, say, for lunch on Wednesday?

  With a certain amount of caution I accepted the invitation; Bell-aerospace Institute of Technology had sent me a fascinating pamphlet on planetary navigation and I was sure that the course would be most rewarding. I was beginning to feel that a degree of some nature would be most useful and I was not sure that Edward’s nameless friend would have all that much to offer.

  How wrong I was; and alas how right. How would it have differed, I wonder? I suppose that there was only one end to me not going the way I did; and that end would have been quite nearly as bloody as the other end. I don’t suppose it matters; a million lives more or less.

  I had not done all that
much in the way of flying since the license was issued; Edward’s cold attitude put me off and it was to my old haunts that I had taken my thoughts. They were mostly buoyant thoughts for there was so much opportunity awaiting me that I was honestly at a loss as to which way to turn. The information in all the letters vying for my attention kept my mind in a state of flux that I found vaguely bemusing.

  On Tuesday evening I found myself wandering beneath the cold and cliffy heights of the crags on the moor. The sky was grim with the brooding red of a windy sunset; a few lost clouds gathered aloft to be swept over the expanse of the forgotten evening. The air was cold all around me and the wind was brisk. Upon my finger the spider ring felt tight and bitterly cold as it had never done before; and I felt a presentimental chill crawl over me as I studied the cliffs beside the path. Almost without thinking I turned to the cliff closest beside me and began to climb up its rough and weed-greened face. The scent of jasmine rose up around me as I came out of the wind; the sweet scent reassured me even as the evening became dark. The cliff was not high; maybe twenty fathoms at the most; but I was slow and cautious in my ascent. I was a tom-boy; but I wasn’t deliberately stupid or careless; so I had less and lesser scars than some I could mention.

  The blessed white of the jasmine blooms followed me a surprising way up the cliff ere the last, highest creeper was left behind. I was puzzling over in my mind about whom it was that Edward wanted me to see. I was also confused by the sudden urgency that had broken his untoward silence.

  Over the grass-fringed crest of the cliff I clambered, pulling myself easily onto the broad path that lay there. I stood up, flicking irritating platinum strands of my long hair from before my eyes as I dusted myself off. Further along the track a distinctive figure marched; the portly and jovial tank of a man who was Edward’s father.

  “And how’s the pilot of the family?” He greeted me; as had been his manner ever since we had met. I laughed softly in reply before my feelings spilled over and I told him as nearly as I could about that which was troubling me.