by B. J. Keeton
Of course, you don’t, Damien thought. His mind raced, and he stood silent.
“I figured I needed to see what was going on. So I asked my proctor if I could have a few minutes for a break.”
Damien thought about his options. On one hand, he could go with the story and act as though somehow senility had gotten to him. On the other, he could come clean and tell him why he was at Ennd’s, but he had no idea what kind of person Swarley was. He was certainly not the twelve-year-old he had been when Damien had last seen him. There was a chance he might even report Damien to security. And that couldn’t happen.
“I didn't know what to expect,” said Swarley. “But then I saw you.”
Damien Vennar blinked and finally spoke, “Well, hello.”
Swarley smiled. “How is Ceril doing these days? Professor Nephil told me that he got sick and had to go home right when we started Phase II. I haven’t seen him since. I figured he would come back to school, but…”
“He's doing well, from what I hear,” Damien said, dropping the old man charade. “He doesn’t live with me anymore.” He had no real idea how Ceril was doing, but the last part wasn’t a lie.
“I’m glad to hear he’s okay. Tell him to send me a message sometime, if you don’t mind. I’d like to speak with him again. Catch up.”
Wouldn’t we all? Damien thought.
“I don't have a lot of time, sir, but it's good to see you again. I still remember visiting your house that one summer with Ceril and working with you two in your garden.” The young man smiled. He was at ease. “Is there something I can do for you? I mean, I would have been able to see you even if you hadn't said you were my uncle.”
Damien put his arm on Swarley’s shoulder and led him to the purple tree with the blooming vines. “Well, Swarley,” he said, “I’m going to be honest: I didn't even need to see you. I just needed to get inside Ennd's without them knowing who I am.” Swarley pulled against him, but Damien held on. “Have you ever seen these plants?” he asked and gestured to the blossoms that were spiraling ridiculously fast with the two sets of feet walking in their direction.
“Can't say that I have, sir,” Swarley said and then changed the subject back. “Why did you not want them to know who you are? I mean, your grandson was a student here.”
“It’s…complicated,” Damien said. They now stood directly in front of the gnarled tree in the center of the terrace. “I'm sorry for this, Swarley.” He glanced around to make sure no one else was around; luckily, the terrace was deserted except for the two of them. Damien’s hand still rested on Swarley’s shoulder, and black liquid oozed from under Damien’s fingernails. It colored his fingers black and ran smoothly up Swarley’s neck and into his mouth.
The nanites expanded inside Swarley’s throat and stopped all airflow. He would not be alerting security. There was no struggle, and if anyone had been looking—which they were not—all that would have been seen was an uncle enjoying the botanical terrace with his nephew. As the nanites poured into Swarley’s neck and expanded, Damien wrapped his arm more tightly around his victim and excreted more of the tiny machines. They coated Swarley and hardened into a cast that held him upright while he suffocated.
It wasn’t as though Damien liked doing this to one of Ceril's friends, but it was unavoidable. He was never supposed to have even seen Damien.
That was Damien’s own fault, though. He had stopped in the terrace and let too much of being Gramps sneak back in. That wasn’t who he was anymore.
The nanites informed Damien the moment Swarley went unconscious. Now, all he had to do was wait. If he let up now, the boy's autonomic functions would kick in, involuntarily breathing for him. Damien couldn't have that. He had truly hoped to avoid a situation like this. Loss of life in any form disgusted him, and taking one himself was something he only did when he felt it was absolutely necessary.
Until recently, he had thought it would never be necessary again.
Another five minutes passed, and Swarley had not stirred once, nor had anyone come to admire the foliage on the terrace, either. A tendril of blackness pierced Swarley's chest and reported to Damien that his heart was no longer beating. Just to make sure his work was finished, Damien commanded the nanites to flood Swarley’s heart and lungs. They rushed out of his throat and into the organs. Pressure began to build and in seconds, Damien felt more than heard three distinct, wet pops from inside Swarley’s chest.
Damien frowned. He retracted the streams of nanites that had manufactured Swarley's death.
The corpse collapsed without the nanite shell to hold it up. Damien extended his arm over the body beside him. His black blood descended toward the body and wrapped itself around it. He flexed his fingers expertly and directed the blackness to lift the dead body into a standing position. From there, Damien controlled it with the grace of a lifelong puppeteer. He forced the dead man to climb over the retaining wall directly in front of him and then lie down at the base of the gnarled, purple tree. The movements were so natural that he could almost pretend that Swarley had just wanted to curl up and take a nap.
But he knew better.
When his blood was back safely inside his own veins, Damien watched the blossoming vines wrap around the corpse. He hadn’t expected that to happen, but he considered it a lucky break. It should be practically invisible for anyone not specifically inspecting the tree and its pod. He hoped to be long gone from the botanical terrace before that was an issue.
He assumed that all of Ennd's students would be equipped with tracking mechanisms similar to his visitor's pass, though he doubted they were able to verify life. Either way, he would still have to double-time it from here on out; if Swarley's test proctor were to check on him, Damien could and would be in some hot water.
He glanced once more at Swarley and said to the body, “I'm sorry, kid. I didn’t want that to happen. Blame that girl up front, if you have to. I’ll give Ceril your best if I get to see him again.” It wasn't the most eloquent or sympathetic eulogy ever given, but it would have to do. There was no doubt that his parents, friends, and teachers would give him the ceremony he deserved. Damien just didn't have the time. And even if he had, he did not have the inclination.
With a parting glance and a nod of his head to the life he had just ended, he walked a beeline to the elevator and the door opened as he neared.
“Hello, visitor. I hope your time on the floor seven botanical terrace has been rewarding and enjoyable. Where may I direct you?” The voice waited for his response.
“I need to see Headmaster Squalt,” Damien said.
“I am sorry, visitor. The headmaster's office is not on your approved list of destinations. Your visitor's pass allows you access to the botanical terraces on floors three, five, and seven. You may also visit the dining hall on floor three and the observation deck on floor eleven. Where may I direct you?”
He tried to recall the school’s basic floor plan. “How much renovation is done annually to the Academy?” he asked.
“The Academy is in a constant state of renovation, visitor. Each year, the headmaster determines one outdated section of the interior architecture and implements a plan to renovate it by the year's end.”
“Each year?”
“Yes, visitor.”
“What are the most recent additions to the campus?”
“The most recent renovations done were a complete redesign of the Phase hallways in order to facilitate the most efficient flow of student traffic.”
“To what extent were the Phase hallways restructured?”
“Approximately 86 percent of the Phase hallways were renovated, visitor. It has led to an almost-47 percent increase in traffic efficiency.”
So much for relying on what I know about the place, Damien thought.
He had to start somewhere, though, so he said, “Take me to the dining hall,” and hoped that his next move was not the mistake his first one had been.
Chapter seventeen
When Harlo op
ened her eyes, all she could see were wings. She thought it was a dream and rolled back over, just a remnant of a nightmare burned into her eyes after a short night of restless sleep. She blinked her eyes, but the vision was still there.
And then the vision shrieked at her, and Harlo knew it was no dream.
Harlo was a small woman, so her petite frame was in stark contrast to the toned and muscled giant in front of her. She recalled vaguely from the day before that whatever had kidnapped Ceril and the others had been barely dressed.
The angel before her, however, was quite the opposite. It wore long, flowing robes made of something that could have easily been silk. Just saying they were “purple” would be wrong—the threads seemed to rotate between multiple hues. Chevrons decorated both arms, and two parallel stripes ran downward across the front from the shoulders. Symbols embroidered in green decorated the stripes, though they appeared to float slightly away from the robe itself. The creature wore gloves that left every other finger bare and sandals that did the same to its toes.
In all, it conjured a much more majestic image than the torn rags had yesterday.
Harlo immediately came out of her stupor. Swinton was now awake, too. He made his alertness known by firing his sidearm over Harlo's head into the towering winged creature. His sidearm was not a slug-thrower, and Harlo thought more’s the pity when she saw the energy bolts pool like water against its clothing before being absorbed into its body. Or, more accurately, into its clothing. Harlo thought she saw the green symbols on the front glow when Swinton’s blasts hit it, but she had just woken up and the world was nowhere near right.
Swinton fired maybe a dozen shots into the thing, and it never twitched.
It did, however, shriek.
“Harlo, are you okay? What did that thing do to you?”
“I'm fine. And nothing,” she shouted back, not taking her eyes off it. She wished that she had gotten a better look at the ones who had taken the others. She had no way of telling if this was one of the same angels coming back to kidnap her and Swinton, too, or if it was an all-new member of a happy little local community.
Another shriek.
This time, the noise was accompanied by the thing's head cocking slightly to the left. Was it trying to communicate? Harlo couldn't be sure, but she wanted to try something.
“Swinton, stop shooting. It's not doing any good. I have an idea, anyway,” she said.
Swinton listened. He put his sidearm away and reached into his pack to pull out an impressively long knife. The edge was serrated from the blade's halfway point all the way to the hilt, and the tip was curved slightly down, making it far more dangerous when slashing than stabbing. He held it close to his body as he edged closer to her and, unfortunately, their giant visitor.
“What kind of idea?” he said, sliding close to her left side.
“I think it's trying to communi—”
More shrieking.
“—cate,” she said.
“You're kidding, right?”
“No. I have no reason to think that's the case, but I do. Don't you think that if it were here to hurt us that your shooting would have made it fight back? At least a little?”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“So I'm thinking that we need to find a way to communicate back. It keeps making those screeching sounds. It may be trying to talk,” Harlo said.
It shrieked again.
Swinton looked unconvinced. “What are you about to do?”
She was on her feet before he could get the whole sentence out of his mouth. Harlo had woken up a few feet from the winged visitor. It had stood stock still, and the only movement she had noticed was when it was screeching or when it tilted its head as though wanting to communicate. So in her mind, the best course of action was to close the gap and let it know that she and Swinton were not threats. She put her best face on, walked directly toward it, and tried to make herself seem nonthreatening.
And it was having none of it.
As soon as she was within the thing’s reach, it grabbed her, lifted her into the air, and shrieked.
Its wings beat rapidly and created a lot of wind that pushed Swinton off his feet. Besides the wings, the creature never moved. Harlo could feel no muscles flex, and carrying her added weight didn’t seem to strain it at all. The creature did not fly away. It just hovered above the ground, high enough that a fall would seriously injure Harlo.
“Harlo?!” Swinton screamed.
“I'm okay!” she yelled back. “I can't move, though! Well, I can move my head. There's no way I can get free.”
The creature shrieked.
“Try talking to it!”
“What?”
“Talk to it! You said that it wanted to communicate! I think it's pissed that I was shooting at it. Maybe you could talk it down a little. Literally.”
“You’ve got a way with words, Swinton,” she said.
“Thank you!” he responded. “Now do it! First priority is to get you back on the ground. This ground. We don't want you to be taken like the others.”
Harlo turned her head as far upward as she could get it. The stared blankly ahead and paid her no attention whatsoever.
“Excuse me?” she started.
No response. Just the wings beating steadily.
She cleared her throat and started again. “Okay, let me try it this way. My name is Harlo. Easter Harlo. I'm a medic. From what I can tell, my team and I have been stranded here in Purple World as part of the Rites we have to go through to become full agents of the Charons.”
It shrieked, as though in response.
Harlo noticed something unnerving when it screeched. The sound wasn’t being made vocally. The creature's mouth had not moved when the screech sounded, but the screech had still come seemingly in response to something she said.
“What was it I said?” Harlo asked. “My name is Easter Harlo.”
Nothing. Wing beats.
“Rites? Purple World?”
Nothing. Wing beats.
“Charons?”
The large purple creature cocked its head to the side and chirped a little, almost like a bird trilling its song.
“Swinton,” she yelled back at the ground. “I think this thing understands us.”
“That's impossible,” Swinton shouted back.
“Even still. When I mentioned I was trying to become a Rited Charon—”
It shrieked.
“—it reacted. See?” she said.
“I'll be damned,” said Swinton. “Keep talking.”
“What is it about the Charons—”
This time, its wings flapped harder, and its whole body tensed. Harlo could see the muscles under its purple skin ripple.
“—that excites you?” she asked as she turned her head back toward its face.
What happened next amazed her. This time, the thing's mouth actually moved, and its attention went from a blank stare to being focused directly on her. They met eye to eye, and she could see differences between the two of them more easily now. Its eyes were bloodshot, but instead of red, the blood was a blackish-purple. The veins tapered as they approached the thing’s green iris, like small tentacles wrapping around an orb.
“Jaronya,” it said.
She blinked. “Swinton,” she said without moving her attention in his direction, “did you hear that?”
“More like felt it,” Swinton replied.
“Yeah,” she agreed. The thing’s voice had been loud. But it had also been primal and powerful. It was like its voice was bypassing her ears and going directly into her brain. “Jaronya.”
The creature narrowed its eyes as it looked at Harlo. Its voice came out harder, more stern now. “Jaronya,” it said again.
Then with no notice whatsoever, the creature flew away from the campsite, Harlo in its arms.
Harlo would have screamed, but it would have done no good. The thing had flown out of earshot all ready. While carrying a person. In maybe three seconds.
It paid no attention. It just watched its path ahead and wound silently through the mountains, around outcroppings, all the while never tightening or loosening its grip on her.
“Jaronya?” she asked, yelling the word as though it were a password that would make it stop its flight.
“Jaronya,” it agreed and continued on its way.
Harlo sighed and resigned herself to silence. There was nothing she could do. She resented being taken like this, not just because of her fear and uncertainty, but because her medical and research supplies were back at the camp with Swinton. She hoped that if Swinton came searching for her, he would bring them. She hoped that she wouldn't need medical supplies, but she was pragmatic enough to know she probably would.
***
While Harlo resigned herself to being kidnapped by a giant, purple angel-creature, Swinton just took a moment to deal with what had happened. When his shock subsided and his brain was once again able to make sense of the world, he began to pack up camp. They hadn't made a fire, but he folded their foil blankets and packed them away in the supply bags. His soldier training had kicked in like Bryt always said it would, and he realized that despite being stuck here alone in Purpleland, he had been taught what to do in this kind of scenario.
Well, not this scenario specifically, but in a no-win scenario in hostile territory. He must have missed the classes on how to respond to giant angels making off with his teammates one by one, but he figured that he would improvise and make a win-win situation out of it all.
It took him less than three minutes to grab all their supplies and buckle them together. As he finished, Swinton realized that Harlo had none of her gear with her, and he frowned. He prayed she wouldn't need it.
Giving one last glance to make sure he had not left anything lying around that could lead one of those things to him, he set out toward the kidnapper. He knew that he was too slow to do any real good in the short term, but he hoped that he could find them all eventually. Maybe that would count for something.