Knowledge: The Fifth Division Saga: Book 1

by Kira Stüssy

  I sulked back to the bed, exhaustion overcoming me despite the fact that I had only just awoken from hours of sleep. I only just reached the welcoming mountain of blankets when a soft knock came from the door. I froze, one leg out of the covers and one underneath. Without waiting for a response, the visitor entered the room.

  “Hello there, Mirabelle,” the person entering the room wore a long, emerald robe with a hood pulled over his head, shading his face in impenetrable blackness. His voice a smooth drawl, rich as honey with a bit of an Irish-like lilt to it, similar to Rezza and Wiley’s accents. “I do hope the bed was to your liking. We tried to accommodate you as best as we could.” I did not answer. “You are probably wondering what you are doing here, am I correct?” I found the ability to nod my head, the muscles in my neck groaning and stiff. “Yes, well, unfortunately, a full explanation will have to come later.”

  My vocal cords finally agreed to cooperate, “That’s rather vague.”

  The hooded man chuckled lightly, “Indeed.”

  I thought back to the outskirts of town and Wiley glaring down at me with those piercing eyes, “Where’s Wiley?”

  “Oh, he is off running another errand. You needn’t worry about him.” I wanted to inform him that no cell in my body was worried about Wiley but he continued, “But for now,” His hand disappeared into his cloak. It emerged holding a sadistic syringe between the nimble fingers of the beholder, “I just need a sample.”

  I gulped, my eyes never leaving the sharp tip of the needle, “A sample?”

  “Of your blood. I just need to verify something, if you don’t mind.” He drew closer. I do mind! I do mind! I wanted to scream, but I lost my voice again and I could only retreat deeper into the bed. The grim reaper approached, hungry for my soul. The mysterious man, who now stood right beside the bed, briskly picked up my arm and drove the needle into my soft skin. The seamless skin pierced, an angry splotch dotting the surrounding area. I bit back the exclamation climbing up my throat.

  A sharp intake of breath as my only reaction, I watched the tube attached to the needle fill with my dark scarlet blood.

  *

  Although accomplishing nothing, pacing back and forth across the living room seemed the best way to handle the situation in Caspian’s eyes. His mind remained frustratingly blank. He thought that maybe if he worked his legs enough, his brain would miraculously flip on and an epiphany from above would descend upon him, blessing them with some profound tip that would lead him straight to Mira.

  But so far, no such luck.

  “Honey, come sit down. You’re making us nervous.” His mother gently urged. He saw pain and fear hidden beneath her calm mask, the same pain and fear he was currently experiencing. Her sea blue eyes, that so closely resembled his own, looked tired and her black hair a mess from running her thin hands through it. Bram leaned against the wall in the far corner, looking distantly out the window and muttering under his breath. Watching the two adults in the room panic, even if they were experts at hiding it, did not help Caspian’s own anxiety.

  After Mira was taken by Wiley, Bram immediately called their mother, hid Hank’s body behind the shrubs, and forced all of the party attendees to head home. They all left with awkward glances at one another and mumbled about how lame it was that the party ended so early. Caspian caught some members of the football team wondering where their buddy Hank was and Caspian’s heart clenched, not that he had ever liked Hank but he still didn’t feel that he deserved to die. Danny and Kelsey left with some reluctance and confusion, wondering what was going on and asking where Mira went, but Caspian dismissed them with promises to explain later. He would not keep that promise, how could he ever explain something so strange, something he wasn’t sure had actually happened? Within minutes, his mother had stormed into the living room, a hurricane of panic and worry. Once Bram explained the whole story, of which Caspian did not entirely believe, she fell back into the comfortable clutches of the sofa and shook her head, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like, “He Casted us, how could I let this happen?”. When Caspian asked where Iris was, Bram informed him that he had dropped her off at a friend’s house.

  Now, they were in the same position they had been two hours ago, blank-faced and banging their heads against the wall helplessly, unsure of what to do or how to help Mira. Caspian wanted answers, clearly his mother and Bram had quite a lot of explaining to do, but those would need to wait. Right now, the only focus should and would be finding Mira.

  “Okay,” Caspian finally blurted out, his patience wearing thin, “what’s the plan? Sitting here and doing nothing is not going to help my sister. We need to gather up a search party or call the police or do something.”

  A faint smile crossed Bram’s features as he shifted his weight to the other leg, “I don’t think either of those are good options for us.”

  “And why is that?”

  Bram said nothing. Caspian sighed, wanting to pry and find out what was really going on. Caspian had always been a truth seeker, preferring harsh reality over a pleasant lie. But the interrogation would have to come later he reminded himself.

  His mother spoke up next, breaking the awkward silence, “Someone is already looking for her.”

  “What? Who?” Caspian stuttered, utterly in shock.

  Bram and his mother exchanged a look. Bram cleared his throat, “A highly specialized team that is trained for these sorts of…situations.”

  “Like a branch in the military? Special ops? Mutant ninja turtles? Who could possibly know how to deal with these sort of situations?”

  Bram’s gaze darkened and he looked back out into the night, “They are called the Legion.”

  *

  Time passed like molasses in a snowstorm.

  After the initial fear of the hooded man attacking me and plunging a needle into my arm subsided, boredom set in like a snowstorm. I sat at the table, clucking my tongue and exploring all the unique noises my mouth could make. If someone happened to be watching me through a hidden camera, they were getting quite an amusing show indeed. I wished for a book or any sort of entertainment. My only source of amusement lied with the digital clock and playing the game where you try to guess when it’s been exactly a minute. This got old after about two minutes.

  I blew a lungful of air out through my nose and stood up. I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. Escape was a lost cause. After the man with the sugary voice exited my room, I took it upon myself to examine every nook and cranny in hopes that there might be some way out of this prison. Only the door with no handle presented any way of leaving. After taking a closer look at the place where the handle should be, I could see the marks of where it had been ripped from its proper spot and boarded over. It didn’t look like I would be going anywhere any time soon. I walked over to the mini fridge, opened the small metallic door, and studied the contents. The man hadn’t been joking when he had said they wanted to be accommodating. The cold white shelves piled with various juices, sodas, and snacks. My stomach grumbled like a bear waking up from hibernation and the extreme dryness of my throat flew to the forefront of my mind. I felt like I had been stranded in the middle of the desert without food or drink for days. Dramatic, I know, but when you are contained without any knowledge of where you are or who is keeping you there, you tend to exaggerate.

  I snatched an apple and juice box from the front of the shelves, both easily accessible, and promptly shut the fridge before heading back to the wooden table. I slumped into the hard chair, feeling my back pop at the pressure. My muscles whined tight and sore, as if someone had come in while I slept and yanked and pulled at my limbs. Thinking back to the man with the needle, my theory might not be that far off. I glanced at the clock that stated the time as 10:07pm.

  I bit into the apple, relishing in the crunchiness and the surge of sweet juice bursting in my mouth. I closed my eyes and savored the delightful flavor and the way it cured the dryness of my throat. It tasted like summertime and sunshine
. As I chewed, I contemplated the theory of possibly trying to pull a Shawshank Redemption, progressively digging my way out of the room. The more I thought about it, the more plausible it sounded in my head.

  As I took another wonderful bite, I thought of all that had transpired so far that night. It started out as the birthday of my dreams, the big sweet sixteen that every teen yearns for. Only to be transformed into the strangest night of my life. I remembered the way Rezza and Wiley stalked towards me, their skin aglow and their eyes raging like a blue electrical storm. I shuddered at the memory of Hank falling dead to the ground with blood flowing from his chest and Rezza standing behind him, a sadistic smile in place and no mercy lying beneath the black viciousness.

  Thump.

  My body jolted with surprise. I looked to the smooth door having heard a noise come from just outside the room. I strained to hear more, but all was quiet. Maybe I imagined it? I thought to myself, but I sat, still as a statue, unconvinced.

  Thump.

  My eyes widened and my body tensed as the sound came again, closer this time. I sprang into motion, checking the room for anything that could be used as a way of defending myself. My eyes scoured the area but saw nothing of use and my hopes sank. I looked down at my arm, the dried spot of blood, a reminder of the last time someone entered the room. My stomach clenched and my eyebrows set in determination. Nobody is going to touch me.

  I racked my brain. Think, think, THINK! Footsteps sounded, only feet away from the door now, I could faintly hear the muttering of what sounded like a conversation between two people. A short chuckle cut through the walls. They were right outside. I glanced around the room once more, desperate to find something, anything.

  The fridge.

  The idea arrived out of nowhere. I paused only for a moment before dashing back to the small fridge and flinging it open. Using my party dress as a holding device, I shoved as many apples as possible into the makeshift pocket. I placed the last one in as the door started to open. I grabbed a piece of the hard fruit and raised my arm in preparation.

  It creaked open, the door moaning a low complaint. The voices sharpened and became clear, “See, that wasn’t so bad?” It was a young man who spoke, his voice silky and slightly accented just as the hooded man’s had been, a mix of Irish, British, and…Scottish? It was difficult to decipher. Laughter danced along the smooth tones of his voice, “I might even venture to say it was fun.”

  “Fun?” A second person spoke, sounding around the same age as the first with a gruffer tone but same accent. “If that’s what you call fun—“ Two figures, definitely male, stepped into the room, crouched and wielding short daggers. One stood slightly taller than the other but both had the same lean, muscular build. I squinted, hardly able to see anything in the dim lighting, but I swore I could see something sticking up from behind their shoulder blades, things that shouldn’t have been there. Without hesitating, I allowed my instincts to take over. I chucked the apple in my hand and, with luck I didn’t know I possessed, nailed one of them right in the face.

  “What the hell?!” The boy I hit exclaimed in a deep voice. He rubbed his now red nose with a scowl on his face. He was the shorter of the two, not by much, with dark blond hair and light blue eyes.

  “There now, Erion,” The other boy chuckled, “I’m going to have to wash out your mouth with soap.” I could not help but stare. The joking boy was beautiful. His messy dark brown hair laid in short, dark waves atop his head, bits of red flashing in the dim light of the room. His eyes glistened black as coal and they were alight with a playful shine. His lightly bronzed skin without blemish. His jaw was clearly defined, as was the rest of his body. His lean, athletic frame corded with strong muscle. The long sleeved white shirt and pocketed black pants he wore only accentuated his perfect features. He could have been one of those male models that you always see in magazines promoting whatever it is they are trying to sell. It took all of my willpower not to gawk.

  But I could barely admire the handsomeness of the two boys when something about their appearance warranted my full attention: the strange things I had noticed when they first walked in were now identifiable in the brighter light. I bit my tongue to hold back a scream.

  They had wings.

  The boys each sported a pair of feathery wings, like avenging angels coming to deliver me. The blond boy’s were white with a sky blue tinge while the dark haired boy had a pitch black set, slightly larger than his companion’s. The two of them were opposite in looks, light and dark. Both possessed a terrifying beauty. I was imagining these winged intruders, there could be no other explanation. But when the blond boy ruffled his white feathers angrily, I physically felt the light wind that rolled from their tips.

  “She threw an apple at me!” Erion, the blondie, exclaimed. He threw his hands vehemently into the air, “Who does that?”

  “Maybe she thought you were hungry. If that’s the case, you should consider thanking her.”

  “Shut up, Ash.”

  “I will not.” Ash grinned devilishly at his companion and turned back to me. His eyes scrutinized me, as if to observe me under a microscope. I squirmed with self conscious unease. He took a tentative step forward, his hand out in a way that said I won’t hurt you. But at this point, I could not afford to trust anyone; especially a winged figment of my imagination. My dress still held half a dozen apples and I reached down into the pocket and wrapped my fingers around another grenade. I raised it by my head threateningly, poised and ready to launch.

  “Don’t come any closer!” I warned, putting as much authority into my tone as possible. Despite my forceful intentions, my voice shook like a child in the snow.

  Ash smirked, “Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely terrified of your ammunition,” I glared back at him, “but we are sort of under a time schedule.” His dark eyes flashed, a short burst of fiery red and orange. I gasped as his irises blazed. A yelp escaped my clenched teeth when the apple I held in my hand spontaneously combusted. I dropped it in terror and watched as the fruit crackled and flickered, consumed by flames. The liquid fire licked the white flesh of the apple, scorching the sugar to an awful brown. The fire ripped through the fruit, maliciously destroying the matter atom by atom. I pondered that ferocity for a brief moment, mesmerized by the existence of something so wholly malicious. Ripping my eyes away from the burning apple, I returned my shocked gaze to Ash, whose eyes had gone back to their original dark color. Amusement danced in their depths.

  He smiled brightly and held out his hand, “Alright, now that we find ourselves in a much more diplomatic situation, what do yah say we start fresh?”

  I just stared at his hand, sure my mind had gotten really good at projecting hallucinations.

  Erion leaned over to whisper in Ash’s ear, but I could hear him clear as day, “Do you think she is mentally unstable?”

  “What? I am not,” I protested, and to prove a point, I grasped Ash’s hand and shook it forcefully. His skin was hot, abnormally hot. It was as if an internal furnace was burning from within and the heat radiated from his pores. And very, very tangible. I scowled as his tan hand tightened around my pale one. I tried to refrain from gazing at the pair of stark black wings that were attached to his back. Maybe some sort of strange Halloween costume? I wondered if these two knew they still had several months to go until then.

  Ash grinned in triumph, “I’m Ash Brentwood and this fine young lad is Erion Wilmot.”

  Erion glared at him, “Don’t patronize me.” Although Erion displayed apparent annoyance, it was more of a caring sort of irritation. Like one might feel towards a brother.

  “And you?” Ash asked me, ignoring his friend. “Or shall we just refer to you as Apple Slinger? Ooh, or how about Fruit Chucker? It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Mirabelle Daily,” I replied hesitantly and then added, “I’m going to ignore that last part.”

  “That is very wise of you,” Erion said appreciatively. He shot Ash another venomous
glare that went unnoticed.

  “Marvelous!” Ash checked the room once over, scanning the scene with his eyes. “Now that we have been properly introduced,” he reached forward with unreal speed and grabbed my wrist tightly but without hurting me, “it’s time to go. We can walk and talk if you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head, not liking the fact that once again I was being pulled around without my consent, but also realizing that these two were my best chance at getting out of my prison. This would be a lot quicker than my Shawshank idea. Without resisting, I allowed Ash to lead me out of the room with Erion following close behind.

  *

  “The Legion?” Caspian repeated.

  Bram nodded solemnly, “Yes, they are an army of sorts, one of the most efficient and powerful groups in the world in all honesty. I called them while you were sending everyone home.” His eyes moved to Rain Daily, whose head now rested in her hands, “I figured they are our best chance at finding her. They will know what to do better than we would.”

  “So they are going to bring her back home?” A surge of relief rushed through Caspian’s tired body. Since seeing Wiley run off with his sister, watching her flaming hair vanishing into the black air, an overwhelming weight of grief hung over his head like a storm cloud. The idea that someone possessed the skill and potential to bring her back allowed a few rays of sun to shine through his thundercloud.

  “No, not exactly.”

  Caspian’s head shot up, the metaphorically sunshine depleting. “What do you mean? I thought they know what they’re doing? That they are ‘highly specialized’?”

  “They are.”

  “Then what are you talking about? Where are they taking my sister?” Caspian spat, his anger a hot flood of fury boiling over. His mother pulled her head out of her hands and looked at him with sad ocean eyes.