by T. Wyse
She saw then, in the mind of one of the people, the downfall of the place. The shape stood in the tower, the hulking machine still alive behind them. They looked and saw something terrible, of malevolence and spite. Yet these enraged emotions were merely projections. It was indifferent, something of nature itself.
The darkness swooped in, swallowing the city, tearing it asunder. It was as a great predator on a fresh kill, devouring it greedily. With each bite the strange thing took, the city screamed. As each building was taken into nothingness, the vibrant red clay slowly faded. With each chomp of the impossible beast the city's scream waned.
The assault ended. A short time passed, and the memory faded a little. It saw a man shoveling dirt upon it. Many hands joined him, smothering it in darkness bit by bit. They finished its grave, a heaving mountain of earth, and then scattered themselves into the world.
The city had died, leaving its bones. Its villagers had abandoned it, not even leaving memories of the place.
Amelie found herself back out of the memory, kneeling on the floor. The green glow had softened, becoming white, or had it always been white?
"Are you alright now?" The little cat stood before her, looking concerned.
"Yes. I'm fine." She said, sadly. The artifacts continued their desperate chorus, trying to appeal to anyone who would hear them. They sang of their mortal city, and the fate that befell it.
The grey stars guided her again, whatever fear that gnawed at her now twisted into a tinny sadness. She touched the walls, the winds still peeling away from them in disgust, and ran her hand along the grimy smoothness as she walked. She followed the hallway, her steps hastened and snapped from the momentary sentimentality of a stranger.
They followed a winding hallway, seemingly uselessly turning in upon itself, right and then right again.
"You knew that, all of that. You’ve known this place since we arrived, haven’t you?" she said to the figure still flitting out in front of her, in and out of the blue light.
He remained silent.
"Why would my parents care if I knew about that place, about this place?" She asked, still not understanding. "It only makes it less strange, less confusing for me, so why wouldn't they want me to know?" He still gave no answer.
An alcove yawned open to the left, the vague, worm tunneled air breathing slowly through. Blue light, guided by curiosity, shone into a room of rolling bookshelves stacked high and so tightly spaced that there could only be one path open between them at a time.
A hallway branched to the right, opposite the room, and another flowed forth into infinity, its field of stars disappearing into a needle fine point.
"Straight I guess." She declared to the little guardian who had looked up expectantly at her. They proceeded straight down the hallway. The passage branched to the right and to the left, leaving Amelie feeling somewhat frustrated.
Then she saw something she recognized, the roughened concrete wall, breaking the smooth monotony of the white. "Right." She declared, remembering. They followed the hall right, then right again, and arrived at the room marked "Laundry".
"I think I can even get us to the cafeteria now. Amelie declared happily at her little guardian, opening the door to the laundry.
With the room to herself, she set about investigating the tethered bags of laundry, stacked in heaps on the left side of the room. She worked in the near darkness of the blue lamp, irrationally fearing that the room light’s ignition would give her away somehow.
She opened a bag, the smell of sweat and untended grime rose from it. Nothing of value lay inside. She tried another, and then another, still with no treasures to be found. Finally, she spied a final cloth sack, this one with a different bulk from the rest. She loosened the tethers, the smell rising from it was one of mingled neutrality, rather than the rankness of use.
She rummaged in the sack, pulling out the handles of suitcases, of bags too small for any real use. Almost ready to give up, and to open another of the storage sacks, she found what she had been looking for.
She hoisted the cloth into the light, and for one breathless moment a ghost appeared before her. Her knapsack, claimed and rendered into dirt, hung loosely and empty in her arms. Amelie traced her hand through the seams of the pale blue creature before her, feeling the familiar toothed pattern along the seams.
The illusion was breathtaking, and yet the spell broke when her fingers completed the circuit. The cloth licked her hands with the rough disregard of a cat’s tongue, the seam work rippled and snagged in ways that would humiliate her mother’s deeply. Most telling, however, was a foolish sundry emblem that lay plastered to the front flap, declaring the owner’s endorsement of ‘peace’ encircled within.
Even a false miracle would do, Amelie decided. She adjusted the straps, adjusting it for comfort. A quick wash of guilt flowed over her. She would return it, surely, before the owner missed it, when whatever price had come and gone and the world woke once more.
She managed to find a pair of pants and a belt to fasten them around her waist. They dangled foolishly along her legs, but were warmer, and more modest than the skirt, which she deposited into one of the bags full of laundry.
"Done?" Kokopelli's voice accompanied his red glowing eyes from an obscure corner of the room where he had been lurking.
"Done." She resolved, and headed to the door. "Now to get a little food, I guess." It was a silly idea, she couldn't even fathom how she would last a single day out there, let alone a night.
"Keep your promise to the fire-haired girl when you are done,” he purred, returning to her side as she swung open the door. "There is something left to see in that tower."
They left the planet of clothes and again fled into the squared cosmos beyond.
Amelie strained to remember the route to the ‘north’ side of the school. They turned right, then left at the jagged wall. She walked straight through the hallway, forgoing the route to her left.
As they proceeded, Kokopelli lead on, still dipping in and out of the spotlight of blue. Amelie glanced at his movements, and thought she saw flashes of strangeness within them. He flitted in and out of the light, and as he did the paws of the small cat were replaced by other things, foreign things. She thought she spotted a lizard like claw, a tail wriggling with scuttled movement. Another she saw a larger, more hooked claw of a great white cat, and another the sandaled foot of a human. Each time the strange vision came to her, she quickly moved the light away from the apparition, dismissing the vision.
The strange forms of the creature continued as they headed to the left. They passed another room, its soft green light accompanied by the singing remembrance of the dead city's history. The voices faded, and they turned right, finally reaching the stairwell.
Amelie covered her lamp again, hiding most of its presence from the world, leaving only enough to safely step upon. They emerged from the stairwell, careful to assist the doors to return to rest silently.
She stared down the hallway, lungs quiet and darkened, watching for any movement. A quick alert of movement forced her around the corner to the elevator’s door. She peered out and realized immediately that it had simply been Crow’s veil rising up.
“When I’m in the basement, they go somewhere else?” She ducked, hissing into Kokopelli’s twitching lop ear.
“Possibly. Perhaps they land? Would you like to continue to speculate on this?”
She wordlessly slipped into the cafeteria door, letting it close with only the tiniest click. She moved to uncover the lantern, and in froze in horror, clasping her loose sleeve entirely around it.
The doorway to light stood open, the stage blazed in full blinding glory out into the tables beyond.
His shape stood there, centered within the light, and his practiced and raised voice filled the room. Not one living human listened to The Professor’s speech, not a single speck of blue or dancing spark of green. His words danced forth in a ranting frenzy, cursing against the darkness to stand against the
light, his light.
Yet she remembered the view into the dark. Even filled with lanterns she could see nothing beyond the risen world of white. Still she slid carefully along the wall, terrified of any betrayal of her foolish feet, pausing for even the slightest hint of a break within his ongoing speech.
Two times he shouted to the darkness in accusation. Each time Amelie froze in horror, fearing that it was her that he accused of these things, but each time she defeated her worry by remaining still, and waiting until his rambling speech went on.
With infinite mercy from the world, the kitchen door lay ajar, the room darkened. She stepped into the tired and savory air, focusing furiously on the wind to betray any lurking shapes within. Only the familiar sacks stacked high, the empty table, the cold and tired pots.
She slipped to the table, getting the wall between her and the light, and of all things it was the stew’s smell, the weight of it on the stove, which gave her pause.
Maybe it would be better to wait, to stay here where it was safe, let others grasp their burning embers, let others take the risks.
Her hands moved without her brain, scooping a scant few vegetables into the pack. She managed to find a loaf of the cracked grainy bread, and it joined the other provisions. It was greedy, and she felt a terrible guilt, but her burden upon the school as a whole would be gone now. That rationalization relieved her enough that she jammed a few more of the rooting vegetables into the pack.
She turned around as slowly as she could, her pack weighing her down a little more than she was used to. Relieved in the ease of this phase of her escape, she moved towards the door, on her way back to the tower. She felt remorse over leaving the place, especially in the silent kitchen. She would miss her duties with Craig and Wendy, and Lyssa. Surely, she thought, they would be better off without her around, without the crows, without her causing undue stress to them.
The figure of The Professor stood there in the doorway. His black silhouette bore a halo of blue. Before she could even fully perceive his figure he grabbed her arm. She desperately tried to run away, to duck and avoid, but his grip was firm and she managed only to twist it with her full weight in the movement.
"Ow!" She protested, trying to squirm from his grip.
He tore the bag from her back with a single arm. "You..." He snarled with a furious rage. "YOU!" He repeated, his voice rising further.
Kokopelli leapt out of the darkness, a silvered bolt from nothingness. He bit The Professor's arm and scratched his wrist deeply. The man didn't flinch. With a robotic and efficient gesture he let go of Amelie's arm, and tossed the cat inside the backpack, sealing it tight behind to prevent escape.
Amelie tried to get past the man, but he had her arm again, he was pulling her towards the stage once again.
The tables were vacant, the voyage through the darkness was without sneering faces, without worried looks, without the green glares of the chosen few. The fearsome demons were gone now, and yet she missed each and every one of them, she craved the sight of someone else, someone to witness this dragged procession.
They crossed the stage's threshold, rising into the light. They passed into the hallway with its dimmed star field.
"Please sir, I just..." Amelie trailed off, trying to keep up with the man. "I just don't want you to be in danger, any of you!" She pleaded, they had arrived at the elevator again, it descended once more.
"Please! Just let me go!" She shrieked.
He was silent, unyielding. The elevator arrived at the third floor, and they spilled out, he pulled her further, down the hallway, beyond the stairwell, through the carpeted nook.
The artifacts there sang their song, shed their light.
Now they were gone, behind the slammed double doors of wood. She was alone with him again.
She was trapped.
Once again she found herself, thrust into the tower of books. This time it had been more awkward a trip, skidding to a halt, her knees sideways upon the floor.
"What, just WHAT did you think you were doing!?" The Professor screamed. She propped herself up by one arm, trying to clear her scattered hair from her face.
"I'm sorry!" She tried to force the tears back, she had no idea what he was going to do, no idea what he was capable of in this new and frantic state.
"HOW did you get out of the tower!? WHO helped you!?" He shouted, now near her, looking down upon her.
"Nobody did...nobody!" She shouted back, doing her best to challenge his fearsome glare.
"LIAR!" He bellowed. "Melissan? Eilis perhaps? No.” He mused a moment calmly. “Was it someone else, those two, your friends perhaps?" He gazed upwards, listing possible conspirators in his mind. "I took you in, I fed you, clothed you, PROTECTED you!" He threw his arms up and his gaze fell down upon her once more.
“Tell me about the boy, what you know.” His eyes flickered frantically in the light. “He plans to come again, and claims that he will come in war. Not just that, but there have been sightings of him with a wolf out there in the dark, every night since his first visit.” He paused, looking from side to side. "He threatened me, in my home, in my fortress. All for you, little girl." His eyes narrowed, looking downwards at her. "You must be something special indeed, to be so desired, yet you claim ignorance, you feign innocence."
"I don't know them, I've never met them. I don't know what they want." She focused her gaze on him, hoping the truth would shatter his barriers. “Maybe if you’d let me talk to him!” It failed to do so.
"I told him about you, about what I know about you, and he didn't care, didn't care at all. He wants you 'free', wants you to roam the earth. But you aren't safe out there, no." He picked up the bag, fumbling with the flaps. "You're safe here, and yet you steal from us, hoping to be allowed to make some kind of mistake." His voice was sad now, resounding with a strangely sincere hurt.
"Do you not think I know what a cat looks like? Do you think I don't know the significance of the name Kokopelli?" His rage was back, and he thrust open the flap of the bag, plunging his hand inside fearlessly.
His rage was replaced with a dumbfounded shock. The blood seemed to drain from his face, and he tore into the bag in shock.
"Be careful of what you entwine yourself in, and what you profess to know." A familiar crackling voice sounded from above them. The figure of the shagged white cat lay lazily on top of the curved wall of The Professor's office above them. "Be careful what you kidnap." He purred.
Professor Barret dropped the bag as he turned to face the small creature, the vegetables and the precious bread fell onto the floor. He turned with a slow horror, and his hands began to quiver, raising them up against some unseen, unknowable force of madness.
And in that frozen moment the simplest truth revealed itself to her, without the aid of lines or riddles. “You…you’re a liar.” She glared, her tree bursting with flame, her fury glowing every bit as hot as his maddened lungs.
“I should have seen it the moment we met. I should’ve seen it every time we met!” She glowered up at him. “You want a demonstration of what I can do? I can see the breath in you, in everyone. I can see your heart rattling against your throat. I can read your emotions, your intentions. People,” she began, the fury’s eye opened into a calm humor, “people look like bushes to me, upside down, berry bushes. I can see every imperfection, every drop of tar, every tumor.”
“So tell me, what do you see?” His eyes narrowed with utter incredulity, his rage muted by curiosity.
“Perfection. Not a single scar, not a drop of water, not a single darkened berry or clouded portion. A glowing, radiant bush full of perfectly rounded fruit.”
“All the people I’ve seen, read, passed by. I’ve only seen it in one person.” She approached him, his guard down.
“And who is that?”
“Me.” She grabbed his hand from his side, and turned it furiously. “Me,” she muttered in a whisper. “Your own oddities, I’m sure.” Her tree shot a bursting chuckle.
"What about my hand interests you so?" he scowled, yet he was permissive of her inquisitive anger.
"Nothing odd about this?" She thrust his hand towards his face. "No? Kokopelli, my dear little cat, scratched and bit you there, not five minutes ago, it dripped blood over the floor, and there's nothing there now, not even the hint of a scratch."
She threw his hand down, returning it to his side, and stepped between the man, and the small guardian surveying high above.
"That's why you were so fascinated with me, how you knew what to look for in the others. It's why you wanted to understand me." She scowled, her voice becoming a low growl. "You wanted to understand yourself."
He was silent.
"What was it then?" She asked, pacing around him now, feeling him in her web. "A boy who felt the earth, a miracle upon a lake, and the girl who knows the wind. Where do you fit in then? What have you seen, and what do you see that others cannot?" She waited for his answer, her hands clasped behind her in a vicious mockery of his mannerisms.
The inferno of his tree dimmed almost at once with a sighing chuckle of defeat. "Yes."
Amelie looked at the man, and saw the same relief that Collette had shown. Her anger at the man, at his blindness and his mistreatment, suddenly waned in the face of empathy. What a weight it must have been for him, so much older than she was, so much older than Collette. How many years had he lived, hiding himself so?
"The machines, any kind of machine—they spark and speak and sing to me and me alone. Wires and gears, parts of the whole. As long as they are part of a greater whole I know their purpose. When not part of the whole I feel their potential.”
“It gets harder as you age, especially as you learn. It gets harder to just take it on faith, even if it’s something you know and feel yourself. I spent years trying to quantify it somehow, to teach it. Sometimes it feels like I’m close here, sometimes.” He gave a distant smile, as if surveying a crowd before him.
“This place is special. I see it. I always have. If there is any meaning for my life, any destiny before me, then this place must remain whole.”