by E E Rawls
Where had it come from? Who was it? A distance from where she looked out into the woods, a bush began to rise. No, not a bush. It was a person, a dark silhouette, willowy like a graceful vulture. And there was something slumped on the ground at its feet—something with red hair.
Who...? She squinted to better see through the mist.
It was a woman on the ground, with red hair like Mother’s.
The silhouette raised its head. What dim light there was fell across its face, and two agate gray eyes turned towards her.
Swannn! A mouth opened wide, black and bottomless, twin dagger fangs dripping blood sprinkling onto the cold grass. It was coming toward her.
A strangled gasp escaped her throat.
Legs unable to move, she braced herself and shut her eyes as the gaping mouth swallowed her whole...
The world went silent and still.
She dared to open one eye.
A cloud of fog had enveloped everything, and strange ink shapes came and went in the milky whiteness. She watched as one of the shapes became more solid, and something like arms came reaching out. A torso, a face, took form.
“Cyrus...”
The call was a whisper.
That voice, she knew it, and like a veil the fog parted.
Eyes like deep rivers pierced through the white, and his brown hair flowed as if underwater. Master Nephryte’s calm gaze turned slowly to her.
He looked younger, much younger.
What was that on the collar of his shirt? A splash of something.
The closer he drew toward her, the more red that something became, and the truth of what it was gripped her like a vise.
Blood.
Cyrus sat bolt upright. She grasped at the bed covers, hands slick with sweat, and screamed.
It was dark. Everywhere. Everywhere was dark.
Chapter 16
Aken-Shou covered a yawn, while he continued reading through Daniel in the old Bible from the hunchback faeryn. He hadn’t read it since the day his parents died, but tonight he felt drawn to pick it up and read again. A part of him had felt abandoned by Lord God that day, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Daniel was one of his favorite tales: about a man who was persecuted for his beliefs, and about his three friends who were sentenced to die in a blazing furnace because they worshiped Lord God.
Notes were written across and in-between the old wrinkled pages by the book’s previous owner—whoever that was. He skimmed a few of them; the owner seemed very interested in the lions den Daniel was about to be thrown into.
Looking up from the pages, Aken rolled the starlight orb in his palm, staring into its glassy depths. Would he ever see the mysterious human princess again?
But why did he want to see her? He hated humans.
She had looked so much like Cyrus, though, it was unnerving.
Cyrus—he felt a twinge of guilt for not being fully honest with him about what a Scourgeblood was, and for brushing it off like it was no big deal.
He focused harder on the orb, hoping to summon up some image...
And then a scream split the silence.
In one swift tumble, he was out and in the hallway and forcing open the door to Cy’s room, rushing over to the bed, where he found Cyrus huddled and clawing at the bedsheets, shivering all over.
“Cyrus?”
The boy’s lilac stare went straight through him as if he wasn’t there.
Aken wrapped one arm firmly around Cy’s shoulders and tapped the other hand against the side of his face, brushing red hair and sweat back from his temples with a thumb. “Calm down, Cy. You were dreaming,” he said, trying to get him to recognize where he was.
Cyrus’s shaking gradually ceased and he took several deep breaths before scanning the room—as if making sure what he was seeing was real. “Ak...Aken.”
Aken let out a relieved sigh and put on an encouraging smile. “Must’ve been one heck of a dream you had there.”
Cy’s stare met his for a brief second, then dropped, and he rubbed his arms as if to rub away the nightmare.
“How about I sleep over tonight?” Aken offered, “I’ve got some picture books we can read. Nephryte hates it when we stay up past bedtime, but whatever. I think the situation calls for it.”
Aken moved to get up, but halted when a hand caught the hem of his shirt.
Cyrus opened his mouth. “An...old nightmare,” he breathed.
Aken slowly turned back around.
“I...have it now and then—the dream, I mean. In different ways. But it felt more real this time. And...”
CYRUS’S VOICE TRAILED away, but inside she was thinking: ‘...And it’s the first time I saw a face I recognized.’
What did Master Nephryte have to do with her nightmare? Why would his face show up beside her mother’s body?
He was a new person in her life, and a little intimidating for someone as small and weak as herself. So perhaps her subconscious was simply displaying those feelings in a visual outlet. That’s what she wanted to believe, anyway.
She saw Aken about to ask something, and quickly spoke up first, “It’s just a nightmare. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
Aken’s mouth closed, concern clear in the crease of his forehead, but he respected her wish—and it made her feel guilty for snapping at him. In a softer tone, she added, “But I would like something good to read.”
With a spreading grin, Aken dashed off. But not before turning and eyeing her curiously, “Is something different with your mouth?”
With a jolt, she remembered her fake fangs weren’t in—she took them out to sleep. Instead of saying anything, she gave a shrug and pretended not to understand, masking the frantic beating in her chest and hoping his sensitive hearing wouldn’t notice.
He didn’t press the matter. She fast grabbed the wood caps from a small box and put them on when he left. That was close; she had to be more careful. One simple mistake like that, and she’d be found out...
For much of the night, they huddled before an oilpowder lamp, reading The Green Gulk and other fiction hero tales. They had just started The Twelve Legendary Knights when footsteps passed by the door. They covered the lamp, silent as mice until the coast was clear again.
The dark, gruesome remnants of the nightmare eventually faded. Those dreadful images were nothing more than figments—a result of trauma from losing Mother, and for never learning the reason why, and not even having a grave to visit.
None of it could be real, because if she had witnessed Mother’s death, then she wouldn’t be sitting here, alive, to ponder about it—she would’ve been killed by those murderers along with her.
Cyrus began to yawn; after so much reading, her eyelids were drooping...
THE HOUR ON THE CAT clock ticked late.
Aken glanced sideways, chin in hands above the book they were currently pouring over. He watched as Cy dozed, settling into a peaceful sleep.
He wondered what sort of nightmare it had been, and why Cy kept having it. Poor guy.
Well, at least Cyrus looked to be at peace now. Putting books away, he drew the bedcover around Cy before yawning and sprawling himself out on the backless sofa by the window, dreaming of Gulks, magical hammers, and thunder.
KH-KROOMM!
Rumbles like that of an angry giant rolled along the rim of Aken’s subconscious. The quiet intervals in-between grew shorter and shorter. A series of flashes streaked across his closed eyelids, followed by a ground-shaking boom that rumbled louder than any giant could manage.
Kah-Kr-BOOM!
Aken and Cyrus both jolted awake.
It took a vague, fuzzy moment before his brain could register the noise as a thunderstorm, and not giants. Rain pounded the windowpanes, clinking the glass like pebbles.
Lightning carved and played in the sky like a wild concerto. It was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying. He watched for a long while.
Something dark and cloaked rose from beneath the rain-pelted window
sill as Aken watched the storm. The dark shape rose until it filled the glass and blocked out the view.
A pair of blank calcite eyes glowed at them.
Krah-BOOOMMM!
Lightning outlined the shape’s shredded fabric and two corpse-like hands gripping the window frame. One hand reached to the glass, forcing the window panel open. Bony fingers extended toward them—toward Cyrus.
Aken dove forward, slamming the panel shut with his shoulder and knocking the creature off the sill.
“A Corpsed!” Cyrus screamed. Thunder boomed in a continuous roll overhead, quaking the floors of Draevensett beneath their feet, as Aken grabbed Cy’s hand and hurried out the room and into the corridor.
Bak came skidding out of his room, wearing polka-dot pajamas. “Whatisit—whatisit?!”
Instead of answering, Aken hurried over to the window in Bak’s room. There, he saw it: crawling up the spiral walk’s roof just beyond and to the left.
“What’s going on?” Bak tried again.
“I think it’s a Corpsed,” said Cy.
“Corpsed are attacking the school?” Bak shrieked.
Zartin rushed to them in black pajamas, his normally shy demeanor overpowered by fear. “Did you say Corpsed?”
“I’ll stop it!” Aken said. He yanked the window open and leaped out onto the spiral walk’s roof. Cy’s shout to wait faded behind him. Thunder boomed.
Wind and rain battered his sides as he landed on the arched roof. The Corpsed turned with a hiss, its shredded cloak flapping. It straightened, body emaciated and differently shaped from the one Nephryte had battled. Smaller too, if you could call seven feet tall small.
“You’re not getting inside this school and hurting anybody!” Aken shouted and charged, tossing clay birds that flew forward and exploded in the Corpsed’s face.
The Corpsed reared back its hooded head, and an extra pair of long, multi-jointed arms burst from its chest—all bone and black silver claws. Aken faltered as the arms shot forward. If it really was black silver, a strike from that could kill him.
Aken leaped out of range and landed up on the edge of Floor Harlow’s roof. The creature cackled as if laughing, and used its bone-and-metal arms to climb up after him. Aken debated what to do; with no dirt present, he couldn’t create lava spouts.
More clay birds blew up simultaneously like firecrackers, attempting to knock the Corpsed off, but its grip was strong and it easily reached the roof.
Aken tried to think, as the Corpsed’s leathery skin and bone mask grinned. If he could just make the creature fall to the ground, then—
Claws flashed for Aken’s right side.
He dodged left then forward, using his speed to run at the Corpsed, his fist ready.
CYRUS RUSHED BACK INTO the corridor, Bakoa and Zartanian on her heels. “We need to help Aken, and wake the school!” she shouted.
In the floor’s entryway, Bakoa found a red lever set into the wall, broke the glass encasing it and yanked the lever down. “Fire alarm should do the trick!” he said.
Bells in the highest tower came alive, bonging harshly, and sprinklers in the ceiling went off, showering them all.
As Cyrus opened the door leading outside onto the courtyard’s spiral walk, stirrings and shouts from students could be heard. It wasn’t long before vempars were flooding out of their dorms and down to ground level in a confused panic.
Cyrus balanced on the banister, trying to reach the walk’s roof. She was too short, couldn’t get a foothold, and her muscles weren’t trained to lift her own body weight. But there was no way Aken could take on one of those horrid Corpsed alone!
Bakoa rushed past her, and shifting his legs into a sand-tail, he flew, picking her up by the armpits and lifting her with him. They plopped onto the roof, and she craned her neck trying to see through the wind and rain. Thunder sent tremors through the structure beneath them.
A flash of lightning revealed two figures, high on the dorm roof.
She tried to call out and crawl closer.
Aken was charging at the Corpsed, his fist forward and glowing red. But the Corpsed arced a clawed foot through the air, hitting Aken’s head and sending him rolling and tumbling over the roof.
Aken’s fingers scrambled and gripped the rooftiles above the eaves, his legs dangling.
“Hold on!” Cyrus shouted, and the Corpsed looked her way, eyeballs rotating. Bakoa came up beside her, just as the creature vanished to the other side of the peaked roof.
Aken hoisted himself up and hurried to chase after it. And just then, the silhouette of Master Nephryte landed beside him.
“What on eartha is going on out here?” he demanded.
“A Corpsed is attacking the school!” Aken said, and he ran up the roof’s slope to stand at the peak and point. “It’s right there...!”
The Master followed. “I don’t see anything,” he said as his gaze swept the many peaked roofs. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?”
“I just fought it!” Aken squinted, trying to spot where it had gone. “It has to be here, somewhere.”
After one last eye sweep, the Master ushered them down off the roofs. The school was in chaos as students ran to get outdoors, drenched from the sprinklers inside and then from the raging storm outside. The staff and Masters were hurrying up and down the castle-sized levels, attempting to restore order and find the cause of the alarm.
“There’s a Corpsed on the loose! Run!” Aken shouted once back on the spiral walk, and students rammed down doors and crashed over one another in a stampede.
“Silence! You’re making things worse,” Master Nephryte snapped. He grabbed Mamoru’s shoulder when the boy appeared, “You’re in charge, Mamoru. Make sure they stay put while I resolve this.” He indicated Aken, Bakoa and Cyrus, before he flew down to the central moon courtyard and vanished inside the first level doors.
“But—!” Aken began.
Mamoru gave him a stern look—the kind when you’ve woken someone who really needed their sleep.
Aken’s mouth snapped shut.
Chapter 17
The storm moved on, and was soon followed by a fair Sunday morning—though it was anything but fair inside the principal’s office as Floor Harlow stood awaiting their punishment.
Master Nephryte loomed off to the side with the four other Masters, his eyebrows drawn low. The students kept their heads down before the large desk, though their glares stabbed at Aken, who they assumed was to blame.
“But we did see a Corpsed, sir,” Aken kept insisting.
“It’s true,” Cyrus spoke up. “I know it sounds crazy, but it was there, and he saved me from it.”
Two of the Draev Masters snorted, and the principal shook his head.
“The roof has been thoroughly examined for evidence of what you claim, but nothing but a few scratches were found, and those most likely made by you leaping about the roof like monkeys,” said Principal Han. “Corpsed cannot breach this city’s well-guarded walls—they never have. So, can you see how ridiculous this all sounds?”
“But it was—” Aken tried.
“How are we to know this isn’t some new prank of yours, hm? Should we believe the word of a middle schooler who delights in getting attention through misbehavior?” The principal leaned forward, his fingers laced together on the desk.
Aken’s mouth opened, then hesitated. “It wasn’t a prank; I fought it,” he murmured.
“And did anyone else besides you and Cyrus see this Corpsed?” asked the principal.
The other Harlow students shook their heads. But Bakoa spoke up, “It left before I could see it, sir. But I’m sure Aken was fighting some creature. He wouldn’t make a prank out of that.”
Aken looked over his shoulder at Bak, surprised.
“Well, there’s nothing to prove that it was a Corpsed, or anything dangerous. It was either a trick of the wind, or a large bird seeking shelter from the storm that you saw,” Principal Han concluded. “I hear you were reading ghastly pic
ture books during the night—it’d be no wonder if you woke with a fright and started imagining things.”
“They weren’t ghastly, and it wasn’t a dream!” Aken protested, but with a warning look from Nephryte, he shut his mouth and stared at the floor.
“Setting off the fire alarm is not something to be taken lightly. There was no fire, there was no emergency, yet you created panic throughout the school and caused sprinklers to damage student property and staff offices,” said Principal Han. “If there had been a true threat lurking about, then you should have first gone to your Master, instead of leaping out windows and climbing rooftops.” The old vempar snorted.
Aken’s lips pressed together tightly.
“Principal,” interrupted Dr. Zushil, “We have to consider what we are dealing with, here. The last Scourgeblood is a source of trouble, and should be locked away before more incidents like this happen—or dare I say, something far worse happens.”
Aken’s neck heated in anger.
“I am well aware of all that we deal with, Doctor Zushil, having run this school for years.” The principal looked at him pointedly. “This incident was unintentional, however, and does not require such extreme measures as that.”
Aken exhaled.
“But punishment, indeed, is in order...”
Floor Harlow was released from their scolding and they filed out of the office, sullen and silent. Before them, Draevensett’s hallways were lined with angry students and staff, who looked as if they were awaiting Harlow’s execution. Mattresses, rugs, and any book or homework or project that hadn’t been tucked securely away was now being aired out to dry on the lawns and on every windowsill. Choice words and glares flung Harlow’s way.
Aken kept his arms in, making himself small as Nephryte herded them forward. Denim was among the glarers, a bruise mending on his cheek.
“Isn’t this where the saying Dumb blond comes from?” Denim coolly commented to his lackeys.
“That Scourgeblood is nothing but trouble,” said another.