by Lincoln Law
Adabelle blinked in disbelief. She hadn’t realised Morphier had stopped.
“You don’t understand what this is, Adabelle; what this means. To me, to your father. We are doing this together. Yes, there have been motives here and there, but we have emerged from it in love, and you just happen to be the thing I need to get him out of the Frequencies.” She looked away from Adabelle, to the gathering army outside at the gates. There were so many rifles in their hands, so many uniformed bodies packed onto the bridge, pressed against the gates. “And his return must happen.”
“How can you trust I won’t just kill him once he’s out?” she asked. “How can you be sure I won’t take him with me into Oblivion?”
“Don’t be silly, girl,” Morphier said. “You can’t drag him into Oblivion. You’re a Sturding; the Dream world is as real to you as this one. We have our plans in place. We are ready for everything.”
“Then why haven’t you dragged me off into the frequencies now?” Adabelle asked. “Why haven’t you just forced me right now?”
“Because I have to keep an eye on the battle,” she said, wiping her tears, turning to the window. “I have to watch from here, just as Therron watches from the Frequencies. Everything is falling into place and shall begin soon.”
Adabelle’s attention was suddenly drawn to the window, and the horizon, where the first band of sunlight appeared, an illuminated streak of gold at the very edge of the world. The first gunshot fired, but it didn’t come from the Dreamless army.
Behind the army were the streets of Odilla, and a long row of houses with waterfront views. All of their windows, Adabelle suddenly noticed, were open.
That’s odd, she thought, as she realised what was happening.
“You have Dreamers asleep in those houses there,” Adabelle said, looking over the wall as the first wave of Oen’Aerei’s army appeared on the streets, in a streak of flesh and cloth, emerging from the Dreams of those that slept within. “You’ve got Sturdings, who are attacking from the rear. A surprise attack.”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Lady Morphier said. “Ten houses, all of them containing at least four medically induced sleepers, all of them able to welcome Sturdings out onto the streets and straight into battle.”
Sure enough within moments the entire street was filled with gunfire, as the rear rows of the Dreamless were mown down, caught by the surprise of the attack. The Dreamless turned and began to fire, but a large chunk of their army had already been incapacitated, and even more Oen’Aerei continued to appear, cloaked in crimson and armed with rifles and guns and swords and…
“Nhyxes?” Adabelle asked, noting the odd-shaped shadowy creatures on leashes.
“Sturding Nhyxes,” Lady Morphier corrected. “Therron’s idea. Quite marvellous the damage they can do when one considers what six did to the University. That place looked like a warzone at the end of it all. Imagine what an army could do!”
She didn’t need to imagine it. She could see it all playing out before her, some horrible tableau of death and murder, gunfire and brutality. Men dropped as bullets struck them, sometimes thrown off their feet by the force of the fire. The forest green uniforms of the Dreamless turned to brown with the blood that seeped from open wounds, some men struggling on the fringes of death as they bled out on the cobbles. Their blood flowed in the cracks between pavers and rocks, creating a complex, crimson river, as red as the cloaks of their enemies.
The Oen’Aerei weren’t entirely invulnerable, though. They had the Nhyxes, they had their own weapons, but they were only human, too. The Dreamless found vantage points behind the barrier of the bridge, and fired down Dreamers as they emerged from the window, sniping them one-by-one. Above the gunfire, she could hear men and women shouting commands.
Adabelle pointed to one of the Dreamers who carried a comrade’s body towards the window. His friend was still alive, but had been shot in the arm and was bleeding rather heavily.
“What’s he doing?” Adabelle asked, pointing, eyes widening as she watched both of them enter the house once more through the Dream connection.
“We have agents sleeping in our infirmary too who can care for wounds during the battle, to reduce our losses. So many people on the Dreamless Army will die just from bleeding to death because of one wound.” She spoke so nonchalantly, so callously. “We’d rather avoid that where we can help it.”
Sure enough, that Dreamer returned a few minutes later.
And Adabelle kept watching, sick with herself for observing the way she was. Lady Morphier poured herself and Adabelle a cup of tea, and all the while she looked sickeningly calm. But Adabelle’s mind was wandering about now, wondering where Rhene was. What was delaying him? And where was Charlotte. She hoped she would find a way into the Halls without having to face the battle.
She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her yet, so it was with a troubling but carefully surveillant gaze she continued to look out upon the battle before her.
Rhene sliced his arm open as he raised it in defence, pushing off the wildly angry Matthon. The man stabbed furiously at Rhene’s face, Rhene not quite sure how he managed to dodge those blows. The sharp, needle like point hissed loudly as it passed his face.
Marie sat on the fringes of Rhene’s mind, and in the background, past Matthon’s grunting and swearing, he could hear her babbling nonsense.
Rhene grabbed Matthon’s arm as it moved down to strike. Matthon was indeed strong, but Rhene had been training alongside him. He was stronger than he had once been, both in and out of the Dream.
He also doesn’t know I’m a Sturding, he realised.
“There’s nothing you can do here that can harm me,” Rhene said.
“Just because you’re only here in your mind,” Matthon retorted, swiping at him with the spike, the emerald seeming to shimmer with an inner light, “doesn’t mean I can’t harm your mind. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be just like her.” He nodded over to Aunt Marie.
Matthon flailed his arms about, attempted to release Rhene’s own grasp, but Rhene wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever; not while he still had Aunt Marie to protect, and Adabelle to save. Matthon seemed to alternate between strikes with the orbitoclast and jabbing with his fists. He punched Rhene in the gut, throwing him to the ground. There, he straddled Rhene’s stomach. Rhene rolled slightly, avoiding Matthon’s stab. But he couldn’t unseat him.
He could feel Adabelle’s mind, so close yet so distant. She was scared, or worried. Either way, it wasn’t good.
“And once you’re gone,” Matthon went on, wrestling with Rhene, arms constantly grabbing and blocking, “and I can get rid of that stupid bitch, Adabelle.”
Rhene’s eyes widened with surprise. For a moment, he forgot himself, and the orbitoclast came frightfully close to stabbing him through the eye. He stopped it, mere centimetres away, letting out a relieved sigh, before pushing his arm back, and then pushing Matthon himself back. He hadn’t the strength to throw him off, entirely, but it was enough to give him a chance to find his strength once more.
You can’t kill him, he thought, mind reeling as it searched for a way to stop the man. You can’t kill him in person, at least. He paused, hearing Matthon’s own threat. But you can harm his mind.
“How dare you call Adabelle that!” Rhene roared.
Matthon said nothing else. He rose his hands above his head and thrust downwards, spike aimed for the centre of Rhene’s now uncovered chest.
I’m sorry, Adabelle, he thought, pushing the thoughts in her direction. He raised his hand to block, but it was useless. He felt cold steel pierce flesh, blood spray. Metal scraped against bones, parted tendons. A scream ripped from his lips. His own vision faded. I’m sorry.
The pounding in her head was almost unbearable. Each beat was a deafening storm in her head, a beat against the drum, and a wave against a wall. The voice had returned only once, repeating her name again, and then it was gone as it had been before. The sounds of that pain played against the g
unfire in the distance. Somewhere over this wall was the battle, and she could find no way to get over. The Hall of the Oen’Aerei was the goal, she could feel it pulling her towards it, feeling her mind screaming as she neared her target.
Adabelle must be right, she thought. Morphier must be the key.
She wondered whether Rhene had gotten Aunt Marie there safely yet. The way her head was pounding suggested were she not already there, she was close.
The wall was too tall to climb, though, and from her knowledge all the streets had had the trees removed in order to ward against intruders. She had, in truth, only one entry. The front gate.
But that’s where the battle is, she thought. The gunshots were growing louder as she neared that entry, but so was the pounding in her head. The scent of gunpowder wafting over the river mixed with the vanilla perfume that came from who-knows-where. Despite her best attempts to escape that sweet aroma, she couldn’t.
Rhene’s own words echoed in her mind.
Can’t you be brave? he had asked, while they were escaping the fire.
“Can I be brave?” she asked herself. “For my sister? For Rhene? For me?”
She nodded, biting her lip, beginning to run despite the fact she wanted nothing more than to lie down till this headache was gone.
“I can be brave,” she thought out loud. Then she yelled it. “I can be brave!” She raced up the street, the river appearing before her, the first visible signs of battle appearing in the form of gunpowder clouds. She caught sight of a bridge. She could cross that to get to the gates.
I will, she thought, heart racing, lungs burning as they strained for air. I have to be.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What Is Bravery?
Blood flooded the streets like water. The heavens rumbled with thunder, and unleashed a fresh cascade of cold rain. The battle continued. Rain soaked clothes already-drenched with blood, cleaned wounds that had long-since bled empty, collected the blood in crimson puddles. And yet the battle continued, and Adabelle wasn’t sure which side was winning.
“Where are you, Charlotte?” Adabelle whispered under her breath. A part of her hoped she was already somewhere within the Halls. But Lady Morphier would know: Charlotte would have been caught already.
More importantly, though, where was Rhene? He should have been here already. If this was to go to plan, then they had to arrive at around the same time so as to avoid Lady Morphier having an opportunity to stop the unlocking from occurring. It was the only way.
And what of Therron? Where could he be hiding during all of this? Was he taking care of some part of this battle, and if so, what part? Was he insuring the movements within the Frequencies were going smoothly? Yes, that must be it. There could be no other part for him to play.
Lady Morphier rose out of her chair slightly, standing closer to the window. “What is that…? Is that…?”
Adabelle stood up, too, approaching the window. Just as she had expected from Morphier’s surprise and uncertainty, she found Charlotte walking down the street towards the bloody battle. She looked quite calm, in her red coat and black skirt, her steps hesitant but constant. She walked forward, always forward, towards the madness and the gunfire.
“Oh, God,” Adabelle whispered, suddenly panicky. The battle raged on, yet Charlotte had no way to get in through the Gates. “Lady Morphier,” Adabelle said, turning, grabbing the lapel of Morphier’s crimson cloak. “Please, you have to open those gates for my sister.” She shook the lapel again when Morphier said nothing. She simply stared, her gaze as blank and unreadable as that of the deer around her neck.
Adabelle glanced down at her sister. She had never been a very tall girl, always quite young for her age, though Adabelle had always put that up to her still being yet to hit her growth spurt. It seemed, in this case, to play to her advantage. She ran as quickly as she could, ducking and weaving between, all the while managing to not slip on the blood that pooled about her feet.
“Please!” Adabelle cried, desperate. The gates weren’t open. Her sister was walking into a dead end. If she dies because of me, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you saying anything! Do something! This is my sister!”
“No,” Lady Morphier said coldly, almost triumphantly. “This is it, Adabelle. You know I can’t open the gate; all the Dreamless will come flooding in. We won’t be able to stop them fighting inside. Our lives will be in danger.”
“But that is my sister!” Adabelle roared. “That, out there, is a girl who did not sign up for any of this. She needs me, she needs me now! Either you let me go or you open the gate!”
Lady Morphier’s expression remained completely impassive. “No,” she said simply.
Adabelle pressed herself to the window.
“Be safe, Charlotte!” she yelled. “I’m here! I’m here!”
“She can’t hear you, silly girl,” Lady Morphier said.
Adabelle shared her terrified, disbelieving stare between Charlotte and Morphier, and she didn’t know what part scared her most. The fact her sister was walking through a war ground, somehow avoiding bullet fire from either side, or that Lady Morphier seemed quite content to simply drink tea and watch the bloodshed unfold.
That was her sister. Her sister, and Adabelle could only sit back and watch.
“Do something!” Adabelle demanded again.
“No, I will n—” Lady Morphier cut off, her eyes wandering elsewhere for a moment. She seemed to be muttering something. For one, tense moment, Adabelle thought Morphier was on the cusp of talking. Then, she sighed. “Fine. I will open the gates.”
Adabelle wasn’t sure if she was more shocked before when Lady Morphier had said she wouldn’t help, or now when she had suddenly changed her mind.
Therron’s in the frequencies, she reminded herself. He must’ve intervened. She scoffed at the thought. Therron wants her protected?
She stared out the window, and sure enough the gates were opening, the battle spilling through the entry and into the grounds of the Halls. Nhyxes seemed to avoid Charlotte entirely as she ran, following the crowd in.
“She will be safe,” Morphier said, quietly settling back in her chair, her finger toying with the trigger of the gun. “The Nhyxes won’t harm her if Therron has said so. And if you look you’ll see the Oen’Aerei are targeting anyone that targets her. Someone will be waiting at the door to let her in.”
“But how?” Adabelle asked. “Why? Why would he do that? How have you not moved.”
“The Frequencies have many secrets,” Lady Morphier replied. “Just trust in that.”
The spike went right through the middle of Rhene’s hand. Blood dribbled down the spike, collecting on the tip, then dripped onto his face. His own blood was hot and bright, glistening like rubies as they fell. It was only by the force of his hand that he had been able to hold off Matthon’s attack from cutting into his chest. He saw that now through the foggy haze of pain, shrouding his sight and his thinking.
Adabelle needs you, he thought. He could feel her now. She was close, so close, but still so far away. An entire universe away. Matthon stood between them.
Matthon pressed all his weight down upon the spike, forcing Rhene to scream as the orbitoclast penetrated through skin and muscle and bone, deeper and deeper, driving closer to his chest. Blood poured down the spike, pooling on the dip in his chest, dying the wool of his coat.
Rhene roared loudly, forcing all the strength he could muster into his arms. He pushed against Matthon, fighting the pain that came as the orbitoclast dug deeper. He found the strength, and he was able to throw Matthon off him. The man fell back, allowing Rhene to sit up and slide himself out from underneath the man. He stared down at his hand in horror, at the emerald stained with blood, at the spike he dare not remove for the pain he would suffer.
“Why are you fighting me?” Rhene roared. “We were brothers! We fought together.”
Matthon puffed on the ground. “Because you betrayed
us!” he replied. “You told Therron our plans, you fed our intentions to the enemy, and you show no remorse.”
“You don’t think if I had a choice I would have kept those secrets?” Rhene asked. “You don’t think that maybe, just maybe, I would have kept them were it not my life on my line.”
“Not your life. Just your mind.” He paused, staring at Rhene’s wounds, hearing his ragged breathing. “You’re a coward. You abandoned your post for some girl, and that makes you a coward.”
“Coward?” Rhene scoffed in disbelief. “Coward? You call me a coward! You know nothing of bravery, Matthon. Nothing!” He tugged gently on the orbitoclast in his hand, he winced. He could not remove it yet. He needed to stay composed, and for the time he could bear the pain. He looked up to Matthon, staring at him with furrowed brows and darkened eyes.
“Bravery,” Rhene said, “is facing uneven odds!”
Charlotte felt so tiny as she walked through the battle. Her scarlet cloak was stained with crimson from the blood of those that died around her, from the blood of those that fought as she ran. Her heart fluttered, her mind reeled with fear, and yet she walk onwards.
Be brave, she thought to herself, and that kept her walking onwards. Towards her sister. Towards her fate.
Be brave.
Matthon rose slowly off the ground, getting the footing he needed. Rhene had winded him apparently, for he heaved in and out as he rose.
“Bravery,” Rhene went on, “is accepting the fact that sometimes the choices you make, the life you have chosen, may be wrong.”
Lady Morphier’s lips quivered as she sat before Adabelle, cup of tea in her hand, the milky liquid sloshing over the edge. Her hands were shaking, her eyes darting about nervously.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered through tightly pursed lips, not looking at Adabelle, but contrite nonetheless. “I’m sorry for what I did to you sister…for saying I would not open the gates.”