Frivlok (Appointments on Plum Street Book 2)

by Eli Ingle

  The professor paused, appearing thoughtful. Glancing down at her cigarette, she scowled, noticing it had gone out. Rigel remained silent, watching as she picked up a box of matches and scratched one. It lit with a blue flame which she touched to the end of the cigarette. Once it had re-lit, she resumed talking.

  “So, you are right to be fearful because there are many concerning things on that list. Do not let that dishearten you, though! Every problem is a chance to see a new opportunity in a situation that was not previously thought possible. Without problems, we would stagnate. With them, we are forced to adapt and be innovative lest we fail to survive.”

  “I’d never thought about it like that,” smiled Rigel. Somehow the notion was comforting.

  “Well you can’t become a guru unless you learn some wisdom on the way,” replied Erdiz, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Now, to what I believe is your most pressing problem: your lack of identity. It is said that nothing remains the same. Under a thousand years of rainfall, even a mountain would wear away. What we think is constant is actually ever-changing. No-one remains the same throughout their life. I’m not the child I was, nor the teenager, thank the Gods, and even as a young adult I was different.”

  The professor paused, apparently recollecting some distant memory. She chucked before taking another drag on the cigarette.

  “Our tastes, outlooks, friends and opinions are apt to change over time. We accept this because it is gradual,” Erdiz explained. “You have undergone a transformation at a phenomenal rate but the mind is only rebelling against this, rather than the fact that it is bad. You like the person you have become?”

  “I do,” replied Rigel, twisting his fingers together. “But I don’t like what the desensitisation has done to me.”

  “No?”

  “What I thought would guide me – the desire to stop others suffering – feels like it has changed. I feel empathy, but I don’t care what I’m looking at. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “The process is brutal and not one I would recommend …. That said, in your case, I think it is possibly the only path. You and Rona are going to face some terrible things – and already have. If you shut down then it will be detrimental to everything we have worked towards. You have been conditioned to be unaffected by what you see. But it doesn’t mean you should have any reduced desire to stop it. If you couldn’t feel pain, you wouldn’t go around deliberately mutilating your body, would you?”

  “No.”

  “So just because scenes of violence and hate don’t affect you, you aren’t going to let them happen anyway are you?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  Erdiz smiled. “There you go then! You’ve answered your own problems!”

  Rigel laughed as relief coursed through him. The answer was so simple he had not seen it.

  “Now, onto your other dilemmas. The fight against the Darkness is all-consuming and has blighted our races for thousands of years. We all have a baseline fear towards it. All I can say is that we truly believe the Realm will hold answers for you. In regard to Iselt and Zeph, there is nothing to say other than that it is tragic. It is not your fault – Frivlok is a cunning adversary whom not many could beat. You did well to escape the Dark Realm with your lives. Mourn your friends because they are gone. There is no use masking the pain of death. Let it hurt but don’t let it overwhelm you. Then one day you will wake up and it will hurt a little less. Another day it will hurt even less than that. One day, it might not hurt at all but that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you won’t still miss them – you will – and it doesn’t mean you don’t care about them, but time is the best healer and you should ride it out. People bury their feelings but there is no reason not to hurt, there is no reason not to cry. It will help. And it will get better.”

  “Thank you.”

  Erdiz inclined her head and puffed her cigarette. The red smoke curled to the ceiling. “Now, those brats the twins. Many of my contemporaries would say that you are not wrong in your feelings, but neither are they. Your opinions differ and therefore conflict. I, however, believe that is kúlur. They are a nasty piece of work and I support you and Rona beating them up ... although next time perhaps go a little easier on them.”

  Rigel laughed.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Much better, thank you,” he replied.

  “Good. Don’t expect to be cured, though. You may well have resurfacing doubts over time but that’s normal. Although I suspect you’ll be better off than when you first came to me. And if it becomes too much again, my door is always open.”

  “Thank you.”

  After talking about a few benign things for a few minutes, they parted ways. Rigel knew all might not be well but for now, he was feeling better than before.

  Rigel hurried down the stairs, spotting Rona in the main entrance way. He was surprised to see two other people standing with her, neither of whom he recognised. She was staring at them silently, which Rigel thought was unusual – Rona was usually fond of bending people’s ear.

  “Hi,” said Rigel as he came down the last few steps. Rona turned to him and gave him a look.

  “Hi,” she said, and then after a pause: “Look who’s here.”

  “Who?” he asked, turning to the two people standing nearby and squinting at them. They seemed familiar but he could not work out why.

  “Mry and Bry,” she replied.

  “Wha—really?” he asked, lowering his voice. Rona nodded. He turned to look at them again. The pair were almost unrecognisable. Bry had slicked his hair back from his forehead and down to his neck. He was wearing a skinny fit three-piece suit with a huge black thistle in the button hole. On his feet was a pair of pointed and incredibly shiny black shoes. Mry’s transformation was even more startling. Her hair had been washed and brushed. Rather than falling in dank clumps, it was sleek and smooth and was held with a black Alice band. She was wearing a black dress with a white lily pinned to the front. Both teachers were sporting round lens sunglasses. In the warm light of the Okturn, their faces looked radiant rather than pale and wasted. It struck Rigel how very young they both looked and he could not help but wonder what had happened to them and where they had come from.

  “Hello,” said Rigel, turning to the siblings.

  Their faces split into grins at the same time. Rigel blinked.

  “Hello!” said Mry, smiling widely at him. Bry nodded at him.

  “Don’t often see you up here,” said Rigel, trying not to sound rude.

  “No.”

  Rigel cleared his throat. They were not giving him much to work with.

  “You’ve scrubbed up well,” he commented, hoping this sounded more like a compliment than an unintentional insult. In a way, he meant it; their transformation had taken him aback. Mry’s smile, if possible, grew even wider.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Rona.

  “We’re coming to see the Royals with you,” said Bry, as if this were obvious.

  “Oh, I didn’t realise,” Rona replied.

  “Yes, we were invited this morning also,” Bry said.

  “Ah, okay.”

  There was a pause as the four stared at each other.

  “Shall we go outside?” asked Rigel, breaking the silence.

  “Good idea,” said Rona.

  Walking across the entrance hall, they opened the front doors and moved outside. The sunlight was shining down on them and as the professors were splashed with the light, Rigel noticed how they both winced and put their hands over their brows to shield them from the sun. Their movements were strangely coordinated.

  A black car, old fashioned looking, was parked outside the front steps. The roof was rolled down and the driver was staring resolutely ahead, wearing a purple velvet suit. He was positioned in the middle with a door on either side. Rigel thought this looked unusual – the cars on Earth had the driving seat positioned on the right-hand side. Behind the dri
ver, there were two rows of two seats. The four looked at each other before rushing towards the car. Rona ended up in the middle row. Just before Rigel could get there to sit beside her, Bry slipped past him and sat down, shutting the door with a sharp snap. Rigel looked at the last row and grimaced ever so slightly as he saw Mry there. She patted the seat beside her. He clenched his hands before sitting beside her and closing the door.

  Before anyone spoke, the driver pulled the car away smoothly and they were off. Cars were somewhat of a rarity in Kozenia. A car as fancy as the one they were driving in therefore drew extra attention and Rigel realised that most people were staring at them as they drove past … then he wondered if it was because they were in the car. He still could not comprehend that he was famous. The Institute had banned any reporters or photographers from visiting them but as they went about their day Rigel often noticed students staring at them. He pretended not to notice.

  His thoughts were interrupted as he felt a cold hand take his own. He looked down to see Mry’s alabaster hand holding his. He pulled it out. She grabbed it again. He turned to say something to her but even as she turned to face him, he noticed she was wincing as the sun struck her face.

  Momentarily distracted, he asked: “Are you alright?”

  “Yes.”

  “You keep wincing?”

  At first Mry did nothing except stare at him. This was disconcerting as he was faced with the unrelenting sheen of her sunglasses. Very slowly, she leant close to his face, which only increased his discomfort. Without breaking his gaze, Mry removed her sunglasses. Her irises were a bright pink. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were a snowy white and the skin around her eyes looked sore. She put her glasses back on.

  “You’re – ?”

  “Albino, yes,” she said.

  “But you can see?”

  “We fixed our eyes,” she replied as if this was the obvious solution. “We’re very clever.” It was more of a statement than a boast. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “It’s nice not to be at desensitisation.”

  “Yes. This conversation is nice,” she persisted.

  “It is?”

  “Yes. I like talking to you.”

  “Oh, I’m glad,” he tried smiling. Mry snatched at this and gave him her most radiant smile yet. In the sunlight, she looked almost dazzling.

  Disconcerted, Rigel turned away and leant against the top of the door, looking out as the city passed by. A panting filled the air behind them, audible even over the purring of the car’s engine. Alarmed, Rigel turned around to see two men on a bicycle in pursuit of them. An average sized man wearing a flat cap was peddling the bike whilst a huge, fat man sat on the parcel rack behind, holding a camera in his pudgy hands. The cyclist’s face was the brightest red that Rigel had ever seen. He looked ready to collapse.

  “A bit further!” instructed the fat man. He was wearing a heavy tweed suit and was sporting a bushy moustache. Somehow the cyclist managed to keep up with this request and drew level with the car. “Alright, chaps!” called the fat man, cheerfully. “Where are you off to?”

  Without a word, their driver tapped smartly on the accelerator. The car moved faster.

  “Ah, come on buddy, don’t be like that! We’ve none of us seen the kids for weeks! We only want to know where they’re off too!” called the fat man. “Pedal faster, Paul!”

  Paul nodded and somehow managed to increase his speed. He did not quite reach the car this time, but he was not far behind.

  “Off on another exciting adventure? Who are these two with you? What have you learnt at the Institute? Come on! Give me something to work with here!” he whined.

  “I’ll tell you what they’ve been learning,” said Mry, much to her companion’s surprise. She reached into her pocket and pulled something sharp and metallic out before tossing the objects onto the road. They made tiny clinks as they hit the pavement. “Not to talk to strangers.” There was a hiss as the bike’s wheels ran over the objects. The cyclist cried out in alarm as he lost control of the bike. The pair toppled over and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. Rigel turned in his seat to see the reporters lying on the floor.

  “Way to go, Paul,” Rigel heard the fat man say. He saw the fat man swotting his driver over the head.

  “Nice work,” said Rigel, turning back around in his seat. Mry gave him a smile.

  “What did you throw?” asked Rona.

  “Metal spikes,” Mry replied casually.

  “You carry metal spikes around in your pockets?”

  “We’ve been known to carry worse,” smiled Bry. Rona looked straight ahead without replying.

  After travelling along several more streets, as Kozenia City’s outer wall came into view, Rigel realised he did not recognise where they were.

  “Aren’t we going to the Ministry?” he asked.

  “No, Master Rigel,” replied the driver, speaking for the first time. “The Royals believed that there would be too much interest in your reappearance – as clearly demonstrated by our cycling duo back there. They have chosen a secluded location just outside the city where you are less likely to attract attention. It should only add around twenty minutes onto the journey time … and if I may add, on a personal note, I believe you will enjoy this route much more.” He fell silent and continued driving smoothly towards the wall.

  The eastern gate was open, allowing them to pass through without pause. So much was packed inside Kozenia City that there was no need to have buildings outside the main wall and in fact doing so was apparently prohibited. Leaving the city was like finding themselves immediately on a country road. Pairs of iron lampposts were spaced at intervals along the road, currently switched off, but Rigel imagined that they illuminated the road with a pleasant rosy glow at night time.

  They passed along the road until the trees began to thin out and escarpments rose out of the ground in front of them, breaking it with rough grey stone. The road twisted back on itself and began winding up into the crags. At one point the car was driving between sheer walls of rock lit by the sun while the sky burnt blue above them. At that moment Rigel was overwhelmed with a feeling of inner peace and, suddenly out of the city, his troubles felt oh so far away.

  Along the road they drove until they arrived at the top of the crags, where the land levelled out to a flat rocky peak. In the distance was a small wooden cabin with a cable system leading out of the back. Rigel followed it with his eyes until he realised there was an even higher group of peaks so far in the distance that they were obscured by a light haze.

  The tyres crunched over gravel as the car pulled up beside the cabin. The driver removed his peaked cap and rested it beside him before pulling out a newspaper from the side of his door and beginning to read.

  “I’ll see you when you come back down,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Bry as he opened his door. The others copied him and moved over to the cabin.

  Walking up a small set of sun-bleached wooden steps, they arrived in the cool and shady interior of what turned out to be a cable car station. Sitting in a booth with a glass front to the right was an operator who was asleep.

  “Should we wake them up?” asked Rona.

  “Don’t bother,” replied Bry. “I know how to work it. Get in.”

  Mry, Rigel and Rona stepped into the cable car as Bry quietly opened the door and turned a key. A bell rattled somewhere overhead as Bry pulled down a lever. A motor began to hum, and with a jolt, the car began to slowly move forwards.

  Exiting the booth, Bry walked across the platform and stepped into the cable car just as the door slid shut automatically. The car passed through the opening at the back and picked up speed as the cable pulled them higher and higher. The air was still and the car passed along smoothly. Up ahead, the next peak loomed in front of them, a support for the cable sticking out at a right angle from the rock. The car bumped as it passed over it before turning around the corner and climbing higher once
again. Rigel stared out of the window and looked down at the hills below him. In the distance, he could make out the outer wall of Kozenia City. The city stretched out for miles. He knew it was big, but he had had no idea it was that big.

  There was a clunk as the car passed over another support and the gentle ascent was replaced by a steep incline as the cable car was pulled up towards the top of the highest peak yet.

  With a final clunk the cable car parked itself in the station at the top. The engine inside the house whirred as it powered down and the doors opened with a smooth whoosh. Bry stepped out and looked around. Mry and the Light Ones followed.

  “Hmm, I thought there’d be someone to meet us,” he commented. “Come on.”

  Leaving the cable car station, they found themselves on a flat expanse of rock at the top of the peak. A small fence penned them in but Rigel felt as if the height the barrier would actually do very little to prevent them from falling to their deaths. He shivered. Up ahead was a tower built of what looked like sandstone. It was built at the end of the peak and rose above them.

  “What’s that?” asked Rona.

  “It’s a lighthouse,” replied Mry.

  “But we’re not near the ocean,” commented Rigel.

  “Well spotted,” replied Bry dryly. “These are for the airships. Ever tried to navigate in very unsuitable flying conditions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh … well then, you’ll know that if you had had a lighthouse to guide you, it would have been much easier. Enough chat, come on.”

  They walked along the flat expanse of rock and Rigel marvelled at the silence. Except for the crunching of their boots, there was nothing. No birds, no airships, no bustle from the city.

  Reaching the metal door of the lighthouse, Bry opened it without knocking. It was not locked.

  The interior was shaded, but after passing inside, Rigel’s eyes quickly adjusted. A winding metal staircase hugged the edge of the walls, spiralling up and up.