There was a stirring across the room. Amelia groaned, Yellaina shot up off of the floor and ran over to her. “Amelia?”
“Where am I?” Amelia asked in a muted mumble.
“The plane crashed. We’re in an old hunting cabin… How do you feel? Can you sit up?” As Amelia struggled to sit up, Olivier ran outside to tell Emile and Noland that she had awoken.
Yellaina brought a bowl of stew over from inside the fireplace where everyone’s bowls sat warming. “Here, try to eat something.”
Amelia nibbled down a spoonful of stew and Emile dashed through the door. “You’re awake!” He exclaimed with a wide smile.
“Hey there stranger, I thought you’d never wake up.” Noland said in a gruff sarcastic voice entering behind him.
He seemed happy, but Achaia could tell he was hiding something. What could it be? His disdain for the fact that she was there? That she was messing up everything? That she was some stupid little human who wanted to be more? Or didn’t want to be more, but was stuck between two worlds that didn’t seem to want her? With everyone distracted by Amelia being awake, Achaia took the opportunity to sneak out onto the porch alone.
Achaia sat on the step and stared at the snow. If he didn’t want her here, why not just let her go? She hated the feeling that she was holding everyone else back, annoying everyone with her idiotic questions. She didn’t ask to be here! What was she supposed to do to make them happy? Staying apparently didn’t do it… Why won’t they just let me leave? She thought, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands and cracking her knuckles. Was she outraged? Or just an outcast? Did it even make a difference?
The door cracked behind her, Emile stepped out onto the porch. “I know you want to be alone, so I’m just going to say this and then leave you to it. You are one of us. And not only do we want you here, but we’ll need you here before too long. Don’t worry about Noland or what he said. He didn’t mean it, he’s just thinking about a lot of stuff right now.” Emile finished talking and walked back inside shutting the door tight behind him.
Achaia knew he was right, because he could feel everyone else’s emotions, it just didn’t feel like he was right, right now. Maybe the past couple of weeks were just starting to catch up with her?
The shock was wearing off, and right now, she felt like she just needed to cry. Tears rose up, warm at first in her eyes before spilling over, and freezing on her cheeks. Her face turned red and splotchy, and her eyes burned with saline. It felt good to cry, like a pressure was being lifted from her chest. She cried until her body was numb, and she could barely stand up again as the sun went down behind the trees.
When she went back inside everyone else was in their beds with their eyes closed, if not asleep. She lay down on her makeshift bed slowly and quietly, and folding in on herself, hugged her knees gently. As she closed her eyes to sleep, a few more silent tears found their way down her cheeks and across her face to her pillow.
10
A Sick Sense
“What good are wings
Without the courage to fly?”
-Atticus
Noland watched as the black cloud of smoke and whispers scattered into the wind like a blur of ashes, a mound in the snow left in their wake. Noland went forward to investigate. He went forward, through the snow, slowly, sword in hand and eyes peeled for their return.
The closer he got, the faster his mind raced, and his steps quickened. Throwing his sword to the ground he broke into a sprint. Slipping through the glacial mush, he nearly slid right into her. Her red hair vibrant against the pale white snow and her fair skin.
She moved. Her face turned toward him. Her lips parted as if she were trying to speak, but no sound came from them.
Noland watched as her blue-green eyes fluttered and closed. Her head fell weakly to the side. She was gone.
Noland shot up from his sleep in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. He stared ahead, into the darkness. The fire had gone out.
“Noland?” A quiet whisper came from his right. Achaia, her voice sounded meek and mousy. She was scared.
Noland turned to face her, but he knew that she could not see him without the fire. With a wave of his hand the fire was revived, casting light and shadow across their faces. Upon seeing him, Achaia looked even more horrified.
“Noland. It’s alright, it was just a dream.” She placed her hand along his face. It was cool, gentle. She crawled closer to him, and with her other hand she covered his heart. “It was just a dream.” She whispered into his ear, her lips tickling the side of his face. Finding their way down to his mouth.
Noland shot up, awake.
Achaia sat paralyzed. “Noland?” She asked into the darkness, her voice just below a whisper. She’d heard Noland moaning in his sleep, which woke her.
After she had woken up, she’d felt him moving around in his sleep. He must have been having a nightmare. She’d tried to shake him awake, it didn’t work, but apparently after a moment of watching him, something in his dream had finally done it. He sat straight up, breathing heavily.
“Noland? Are you alright?” She whispered.
Just then the fire came back to life with a roaring vengeance. Achaia cringed away from it in alarm. Then she looked up to Noland, finally able to see his face. She moved back away from him with even more shock. An initial strike of horror took hold of her, before she was able to remember what Emile had told her.
Noland’s eyes were flames themselves. Yellow, orange, and red flames flickering, with deep black pupils. “Achaia.” He spoke softly moving toward her on his hands and knees, silently.
Despite herself, she moved farther away from him. He shut his eyes, looking down, and shook his head. He was trying to calm himself down, flip natures. When he opened his eyes again, they were their usual green.
He continued to crawl toward her on the floor. Achaia’s back was pressed against Yellaina’s bed. She had nowhere else to go. She looked up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Emile’s white eyes were nothing compared to Noland’s blazing irises.
For some reason she found herself unable to move. Noland made his way to her and sat on the floor next to her, right up against her, and wrapped his arms around her. He’d never done this awake before, unless the threat of hypothermia was knocking on her door. She was stunned, and still could not make herself move.
“I…” She didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Sometimes I have pretty violent dreams.”
Achaia was shaking in his arms, he had no idea what to say to her. He knew that he was probably the cause of her shaking, but he couldn’t let her go. Instead he held her tighter, rubbing her arm, her back. He felt like he could wrap his arms around her twice.
“I tried to wake you…” She whispered into his ear, finally laying into him. “I was scared, I couldn’t see… And then…”
“My eyes can be pretty scary sometimes, I’m sorry.” He leaned back, pulling her onto him a little.
Achaia sat for a while, comforted by his arms, like when her father held her when she’d wake up from a bad dream. Only she wasn’t the one who had the nightmare… and this wasn’t how her father held her.
Achaia looked down. She sat on Noland’s lap, wrapped up in his arms, folded into him. His skin glistened with his sweat. She sat up and away from him, his arms loosening around her, his hands falling to her waist. She noticed that her own arms had been draped around his neck and that her hands now rested on his broad and muscular shoulders.
“I’m sorry!” He said moving frantically away from her. “I was just… you looked so scared.” He looked up to Emile. Achaia did too.
“No I’m sorry. I just… It’s okay. We were both a little freaked out, and not really awake. It’s okay.” She looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and confusion.
“Yeah, right.” Noland said quietly looking away from her to the floor. “I’m just going to go back to sleep.” He mumbled, it seemed more to himself than
to her.
Noland laid down and faced away from her for the first time since they’d slept on the floor in the cabin. He could feel, without seeing himself, that he looked dejected. How had he screwed things up so royally? He began to pray to God silently. God, is it possible to mess up your plan? I… Just give me the strength to do my job, God. Give me focus, Father, to stop getting distracted. Please, give me focus. Noland closed his eyes, but he could not slow down his mind. When his eyes were closed he could still see Achaia laying there in the snow, her eyes closed, never to be opened again…
Noland looked toward the window, the sky was a dark shade of blue. The sun would be rising within the hour. He had failed in his attempts to fall back asleep. He sat up and huffed a sigh. Frustration, the feeling of not being able to breathe, poured over him. He decided to go outside for some fresh air, figuring that time alone would best be sought before everyone else woke up.
He sat on the porch. The birds sang a jovial tune, as the shade of blue that painted the sky lightened. He could feel that he was a contradiction to the scene painted around him. The fog of his breath was denser than the smoke of a cigar. He melted the snow around him.
Calm down. He repeated the command in his head, but he was unable to heed his own thoughts. He looked up to the forest line, where he could see the sun peeking through the trees. There was a creak behind him as the door opened slowly.
“Hey.” Olivier’s voice was shaky in the cold. Noland turned, and returned the greeting with a nod. He made eye contact for only a second before looking away. Olivier shut the door quietly behind him.
Olivier walked forward and sat next to Noland on the stairs. He risked a glance at him, but knew better than to gawk at him while he was in a mood. Olivier couldn’t get a read on him. It was times like this he wished he were more like his brother. Emile never had to guess. Noland looked angry, but not really fed up with anyone in particular; it was more of a tortured look. “What’s up?”
Noland didn’t answer. Nor did he show any sign that he had even heard him. He was distant, far away in his thoughts. Olivier looked away embarrassed, not that there was anyone else around to see him being ignored. He had known better than to ask.
Noland was the strong silent type, and Olivier was the yipping pup; at least that’s how he’d always felt. No matter how hard he tried, he was always the young one, too little to do this, not old enough to understand that… He’d looked up to Noland for years, and was still so far away from being anything like him.
“I screwed up.” Noland said in a low growl.
Olivier’s head snapped toward him. Noland had spoken. To him… Sure they’d known each other forever, but Emile was always his confidant. “What are you talking about?”
“She almost died because of me.” His face fell even further, Olivier had thought it would have been impossible.
“Dude, you saved her. Noland, you saved her life!”
“If it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t been, distracted, she never would have needed saving.” His throat sounded as if it had gone raw.
“Distracted?” Olivier’s voice was soft, like an adult comforting a child, though he’d managed to not sound condescending.
Noland sat for a moment staring into the woods, thinking. Olivier could practically see the wheels turning behind his vibrant green eyes.
“Never mind—”
Olivier looked down, defeated.
“Is Emile up?”
Olivier’s heart sank. He’d thought they’d been making progress, Noland had been opening up… Olivier stood slowly with the realization that he and Noland would never be equals. They would remain how they’d always been, role model, and child; at least in Noland’s mind. “I don’t think so,” Olivier said in a near whisper as he sulked back to the door and opened it quietly.
“Hey Olivier,” Noland said as if it were an afterthought.
Olivier turned around.
“Thanks,” and without even waiting for a reply, Noland turned back to his trees.
Olivier opened his mouth and shut it again realizing Noland didn’t care whether or not he said ‘you’re welcome’. The thanks was no more than a pat on the pup’s head. Run along now Skip, Olivier thought to himself continuing inside and shutting the door.
Shael sat watching the blood games, and the demons in the crowd around him. The greed and euphoria that filled their eyes at the sight of blood drawn, the way they licked their lips passed pointed teeth, it was as if ecstasy were achieved in admiring mutilation. Truly, the ongoing scrimmage was a bloody one. Shael could smell it from his seat. The front few rows were splattered with it, cheering on the victor, as he ripped his opponents arm from its shoulder socket.
Shael shifted his gaze to Luc, seated a few rows higher than Shael and on the other side of the arena. Luc’s expression was guarded. He was watching the fight, but Shael could tell he wasn’t enjoying it, his thoughts were elsewhere. He leaned over to the demon next to him and whispered something. The demon looked at him surprised, then stood and left. Luc looked up and met Shael’s eye. One of his eyebrows twitched up in a silent gesture somewhere between recognition and challenge. The corner of his mouth followed in a knowing smirk.
The atmosphere between them had remained tense. They had hardly spoken through more than glances. Shael had silently pledged to himself to take in as much of Hell as he could. He sought to learn how things were done. He was going to master the protocols, and figure out how to wage war here. For now, he was studying the culture of Hell. What were its strengths, its weaknesses? Which were its weakest warriors, and its strongest? He explored its nooks and found its hiding places, sketching a blueprint of the place in his mind. He kept his eyes open for both opportunities and threats.
From what he picked up in listening to conversations between demons, he was somewhere between the third and sixth circles that made up the spiraling cone that formed the pit that was Hell. It was composed, it appeared, entirely of ice, a catacomb of caverns and tunnels. Though Shael had not yet been able to exit whichever circle he was in, he had put together choppy pictures of the others based on what he overheard. Some of the descriptions actually made him glad of where he found himself, as opposed to their rumored horrors.
Luc stood, and edged through the demons, heading out the way his companion had left. Shael stood, and cut through the crowd in his own stand, sneaking around behind it, to follow around the way Luc had gone. Shael stayed beneath the stands, sneaking from set to set, regretting the view the times he looked upward to check if anyone had taken notice of him. The feet over his head stomped, and cheers rose like screams, making Shael’s blood curl. He pressed on, until he reached the set of stands Luc had been sitting in.
Behind the rows of seats, there was an archway exiting into the catacombs. Shael walked light-footedly toward it, and peeked around. The corridor tunnel beyond was dark and empty. Shael listened closely for any voices coming from either end, but couldn’t hear anything over the shouts of the crowd. Shael took a wild guess and went left. He tiptoed along until finally he did hear a voice, Luc’s voice. He was speaking quietly. There were two other voices as well, and when they spoke they were much louder and more excited. “Is it our turn?”
“Let us prove ourselves Master.”
“We are capable.”
“Yes,” Luc said sounding exasperated. “Take your brothers, all you rage demons. Oppress those world leaders with the most weaponry. Whisper into their hearts until they start the next world war. I want to see nation war against nation. I want humans to be their own pathetic downfall. You are only to inspire them to seek the darkness in their own hearts. Their nature itself will do the falling,” Luc paused. “Do you hear me? Don’t get carried away. I want God to look down and see his precious creation eating itself alive.”
“Yes, Master,” one of the demons said excitedly.
“Let the others possess and oppress who they will, I hardly care.” Luc sounded bored at the thought. “And if any of you s
hould find Achaia bat Shael,” Luc paused.
Shael swallowed hard in frustration. It appeared that Luc had made some sort of hand gesture that Shael could not see, but the demons snickered. Shael turned, and as quickly and quietly as he could, ran back down the corridor to the stadium before Luc could catch him eavesdropping.
Shael prayed those Guardians protecting the world’s leaders were paying attention. Oppression was far less obvious than possession. Recognizing it was an art.
Noland decided to go for a run to clear his mind. He found no use dwelling on the past, or on things that he had no control over. He jogged through the snow. It was a long time before he felt the burn in his calves and he gradually began to slow down until, finally, he could do nothing but walk. He could barely do that much.
He passed by trees eaten alive by moss. His mind could relax out here. No one to judge him, no one to rely on him. He felt the pressure lift from his shoulders and sat with his back against a tree.
“How did I become a leader?” Noland asked out loud, as if he expected God to answer audibly. He thought back to how Olivier had looked at him on the porch. He looked up to him. He was shocked to think there was something that Noland couldn’t handle. “He thinks I’m invincible. That’s a lot to live up to.”
Noland felt a calm wash over him.
“I knew you were listening.” Noland smiled. The sun seemed to shine brighter but Noland knew he was just giving it more recognition. “I promise, your efforts aren’t wasted on me. I just don’t know why…” Noland sighed.
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