by E E Rawls
“Hm, curious...” Lykale had the sort of inquisitive expression a scientist might give a dissected bird.
Since he was open to talking, she pointed at the choker padlock he always seemed to wear, and asked, “I like your choker. Does it have a special meaning? I noticed you always have it on.”
Lykale’s gaze wavered for a brief second, then his hand rose to clutch the padlock defensively. “What do you care? It’s none of your business. Being in Harlow doesn’t mean you should know everything about everyone.”
She stepped back in surprise at the outburst. “I should get going and leave you to your work, then,” she said, moving toward the door.
Once outside, she took a breath. ‘Note to self: never ask about the choker.’
Now, who was next to see?
Hercule—ugh, the Harlow boy she dreaded most. Should she skip?
She made up her mind and headed for Zartanian’s door instead. What sort of Ability did the shy boy have? And why did he seem to have a problem with touching people?
Her forehead bumped into something that rattled her teeth. She backed up. There was a lavender shirt in her way, and the head atop it turned a fraction.
Hercule had been looking out one of the corridor’s fanciful windows. He looked over his shoulder to what had disturbed him.
“Sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and...”
Hercule studied her up and down with one glance. “Hmph. I’d expect nothing else from a country bumpkin. Rather scrawny and short, aren’t you?”
Country bumpkin? Short? What a smug pig! Hercule may be handsome, with his smooth features and fine clothes, but his attitude ruined it. She forced a polite smile. “Well, I’d rather be that than some ungrateful snob.”
Hercule’s eyebrows rose, then slanted down icily.
Oops, that just slipped out—she didn’t mean to actually say it!
Hercule stood tall, a vempar ten-times stronger than a human. Her mind raced to think of a way to ease the mounting tension. “You little...” he growled through clenched teeth.
Hercule’s golden eyes glowed like flames, and tendrils of steam rose from his ears and fang-clenched mouth. She flinched back a step. Human instinct screamed for her to run, but at the same time she knew she had to stand up for herself.
Hercule’s gaze flicked away momentarily to something behind her, and the steam dispersed.
A hand clasped Cyrus’s right shoulder from behind, and her soul nearly leaped out of her skin in fright.
“Tell me, Hercule. Are you so spoiled that you forget how to be civil?”
Cyrus craned her neck back to see Mamoru; his chest brushed her shoulder from behind.
“As Draevensett students, we are equals, even if you are the son of a Noble House.” Mamoru’s gaze held his firmly.
Hercule stuffed his fists in his pockets; his all-important expression remained unperturbed. “Hmph,” he snorted, and with his chin held high, he turned on a heel before stalking off to the stairwell.
“He’s never been the friendly type,” Mamoru said once he was gone, and side-stepped back from her. “But for him to be so outright aggressive...I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” He stood with his arms akimbo, and shifted his weight on one foot.
Cyrus frowned. If only she wasn’t so short—she hated being short and weak. The sooner she mastered her Ability, the safer she’d be. Maybe.
Images from the nightmare flashed up, and she fought them down.
‘Stop being this way,’ she growled in her mind. ‘Everything is fine. I’m fine.’
“I’m going to the Harlow study room.” Mamoru’s voice cut through her thoughts. “It’s our Floor’s hangout. Would you like to come?”
THE STUDY ROOM WAS a color scheme of gray, white and grape red, with dark wood furnishings. Paintings hung wherever space allowed between bookcases, and on her left stood a rose-marble fireplace. White leather sofas and armchairs sat around the unlit fire.
Light poured in from windows at the back, around gray curtains, showing a view of the school grounds and a tall oak—one branch reaching toward the glass like a hand. A second door blended into the wall near it.
Lykale was there scanning book titles. Master Nephryte reposed in a high-back armchair, the side table beside him weighed under a stack of books and a gilded lamp—its bronze base in the shape of a lion’s paw matched the tall stand lamps in the room. He was speaking to Bakoa, who sprawled on the rug before the fireplace listening with a carefree grin. They looked up when she and Mamoru entered.
Master Nephryte motioned, “Feel free to borrow any books. They’re from my personal collection, gathered over the years.” He smiled. “I’ve always believed that a world without stories is bleak and bland. Books fill the imagination and make dreams come alive.”
Cyrus marveled at the impressive collection, but she was more surprised by his enthusiasm. She hadn’t seen this side of the Master—she didn’t know he was capable of it. “Thank you. I will,” she replied, and eyed the books eagerly.
Stories were her guilty pleasure, despite the sad fact that she wasn’t very good at reading. What took an average person one hour, took her twice as long.
She swept over to the right wall bookcases and began browsing titles: The Seas We Never Traveled, Inglish: The Universal Language, and The Protector’s Legacy.
Movement caught her eye. A feather bobbed and swayed behind a short bookcase jutting perpendicular from the opposite wall. She made her way near, pretending to browse more books. The feathered hat came into view, and hunkered beneath it a mop of curly black hair—Zartanian, huddled on the other side, walled-in by books and the windows.
Cyrus backtracked and took a sofa seat near the Master. The white leather had a surprisingly luxurious feel, with its wide arms, short swirling legs and dark wood lining. She waited until the Master was looking, then sent him a silent questioning nod toward Zartanian—or rather, his blue hat.
Master Nephryte blinked in acknowledgment. “Give him time. He’s a bit shy because of his past,” he said, softer than a whisper. He gave no more than that and a flash of sympathy.
Cyrus rose again, and this time wandered closer to the low double-sided bookcase. She recalled how Zartanian had drawn back from the farmers’ children, as if afraid they’d touch him. So instead of heading toward him, she pretended to look out the windows. The oak’s branches were full of new leaves.
Zartanian’s gaze flitted across the space to her, then hid beneath the hat’s wide brim and focused on a pad of paper he was busy drawing on. She tried but couldn’t see what he was drawing.
Kraw, kaw-kaw! Cyrus turned as a raven rose from its nest, snug in the crook of the oak’s branch, side-hopping before taking flight in search of food. “Look, baby birds. So cute!” she exclaimed.
“Ooh, I love baby birdies!” Bakoa leaped to his feet and rushed to come see. His silly grin widened when he spotted the tiny, fluffy things peeping and crying. “They’re smaller than my hand. Awww,” he swooned.
Cyrus stole a glance at Zartanian, but the boy did not move an inch. Her lips pursed. If he could see how cute and innocent those baby ravens were, maybe it would help bring him out of his shell. She unlatched the window and a warm breeze blew in.
Bakoa’s orange eyebrows shot up. “What’re you doing?”
She stood her knees up on the windowsill and grabbed around the nearest branch with both arms, putting the pressure on her forearms instead of her wrists. “You’ll fall!” she heard Bak yelp at her back. But she inched her way forward along the bark like a giant inchworm, and soon got within arm’s reach of the nest. One curious chick hopped toward her, ogling her fingers as she weaved them through the leaves to scoop the birdling up.
Sitting upright, and scooting backwards to the window, Bakoa helped her as she crawled back inside. He gave a squeaky gasp of delight, “Wao!” his eyes large watery bowls of joy beholding the bundle-of-cuteness cupped in her palm. “You’re a cute little baby-waby, doobie-doo, aren’
t you?” Bakoa fawned. “Yes you are! My wittle bitty, teenie-beebie googie-goo...”
Hercule wandered in, frowning at their exuberance. “Please. Bakoa. Do us all a favor and go die somewhere, before you kill us off with that high squeak baby-talk of yours. It’s a bird—not a freaking baby.” His glare shifted from Bakoa to see that she was there too, holding the bird.
Bakoa gawked. “You meanie! I tolerate stuff from Aken, but I’m not gonna from you.”
“Oh?” Hercule’s tone dared him.
Bakoa’s hands became sand and grabbed up books, flinging them at the noble snob. “Meanie, meanie, meanie!”
Hercule dodged easily and stuck his nose up in the air. “Pathetic. Are you even trying to hit me?”
One of the flying books hit Lykale, and he turned, growling, “Which of you rodents did that? Which? I’ll pulverize you!”
Master Nephryte rubbed an aching forehead before rising to intervene.
Cyrus inched away from the commotion, moving to hide where Zartanian was in the alcove, as books sailed overhead. The shy boy drew back at her approach.
She showed him her hand, “A baby raven. See?” Zartanian peeked from under the hat’s brim, and she scooted forward on her knees.
His eyes were like twin pools of winter ice—she’d never seen a shade of blue so fair, as he watched her warily.
The raven chick peeped and its cottonball head looked around Cyrus’s fingers at the noisy world. Zartanian glanced down to the chick, then back up to her face as her hand moved toward him.
The raven chirped, tilting its fluffy head sideways. Tiny bead eyes blinked and scruffy wings stretched, as the chick tried to balance on its wobbly feet.
Zartanian slowly put down the pad of paper and reached out to the chick. He eyed Cyrus one more time, and she smiled back, motionless. His fingers lightly brushed against her hand as he scooped up the raven. Zartanian’s breath seemed to freeze, as if his nerve sensors spiked coming into contact with someone else, but the soft, cute bundle now nestled in his palm lifted the clouds from his spirit.
Cyrus took the opportunity to glance down at the paper: He was drawing a rose, the petals looking velvet soft, and beside it was...a skull.
The shy boy liked to draw morbid things.
‘Yep. Harlow really is strange,’ she thought to herself.
Chapter 19
Aken strode into the study room, wiping both palms together as if he’d done a full day’s work. He stretched noisily before plopping down on a sofa, arms spread out and both feet propped up-and-over the sofa’s back like an upside down bat. “Whew, what a load of pots that was! But no labor is too great for these here biceps. Right?” He flexed his arms. But showing off failed to work upside down, his hair spilling across the floor.
Mamoru rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, what a fit princess you are.”
“Princess?” Aken exclaimed.
Master Nephryte commented without so much as a glance, “Hanging upside down is dangerous, Aken-Shou. You’ll fall on your head—not that much would spill out.”
Aken pouted and stuck out his tongue.
Hercule snorted, while busy thumbing through a thick green book from the shelves.
Aken glanced in his direction. “Fall in a pile of ashes, did you, Hercule? Oh, sorry, that’s just your natural hair color, isn’t it?” He grinned sardonicly.
Cyrus watched from a chair at the alcove’s study table. Across from her, Zartanian eyed the growing tension with unease as he let the raven chick run about the tabletop. Lykale was absorbed in three books and refusing to acknowledge anyone’s existence.
“Ever thought of playing old Santa Claus in the next Christmas play?” Aken continued. “You wouldn’t need to wear the wig.” He rocked his body side-to-side, “Just wear a smile and get that jolly Ho-Ho-Ho-ing a going!”
Steam swirled out of Hercule’s ears and grinding jaws, the hazy vapors filling the room.
“Oh no, the dude’s gonna blow!” Aken feigned worry. “Quick, get a bucket of water. Call the Guard!”
Aken halted and spun back around. “On second thought, you’d make a much better Scrooge than Santa.”
“I’ll beat the snot out of you!” Hercule bellowed.
“Aken-Shou.” Master Nephryte intervened, giving up on any further peaceful reading for the day. His gaze beat a stern warning into both of them, and Aken shut up and put on an exaggerated apologetic face.
The Master tried not to facepalm.
Hercule stomped out of the study room, growling under his breath as he went, “Stupid no-good nrgrg, wanna...strangle...stupid...khrgr.” Angry mutters trailed out the door and down the corridor.
Cyrus shook her head. Seriously, how childish could boys be?
Zartanian made his way over to the window. He didn’t seem as shy as before, though he did keep an arm’s length of space between himself and her. At the open window, he looked from the chick in his hand to the tree.
Cyrus was about to scoop it up and climb back outside again, when Mamoru took out an amber rock. The rock grew, and something unfolded itself and crawled free: a winged puppet, half-dragonfly half-grasshopper, knee-high tall.
Cyrus watched, creepily fascinated, as human-puppet hands at the end of two insect limbs scooped up the chick. The device glided on dragonfly wings out the window to the nest. The chick hopped into its home and chirped at its siblings.
Relief washed over Zartanian’s face, and he turned to Mamoru with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mamoru.”
He had such a pretty smile. Cyrus wished he’d use it more often.
The older boy dipped his head. “You’re welcome. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”
The day was nearing sunset beyond the glass already, the sky blooming sherbet orange and pink along the horizon line, with golden cloud wisps fanning outward.
Sunset? She’d almost forgotten! They had a training date with Mamoru. Her gaze cut to him. He ruffled his hair back with a hand before heading for the door and motioning her to follow.
She bumped her elbow on one of Aken’s lounging legs as she passed by, startling him awake. “Mamoru said he’s gonna help us with some training. Let’s go, now.”
“Wha? But I just— Aww, man. No rest for the weary.”
“Weary? What about the kitchen staff who every single day do that work?” She let irritation take over without thinking. He faltered, and everyone in the room hid grins.
She didn’t mean to snap at him. She just...wasn’t in the mood for whining, and wanted him to stop causing trouble. “Toughen up! I’m going,” she said and made her way out.
“Ah! Wai-wait—!” Aken struggled to turn himself upright. “I’m coming. Oof—!”
Legs falling up and over his head, he hit the floor hard.
To the side, Master Nephryte commented, “I said you would fall on your head.”
Aken glared through his disheveled bangs, and scurried out the door.
“HOLD TIGHT TO MY BACK,” Mamoru instructed her, outside the school gate. “Draevs use their essence to travel quickly through the city.”
“Travel how?” Cyrus asked.
“I’ll show you.”
She clung to his back, feeling like some giant parasite. Starting from a clear spot on the street, Mamoru bent his knees and—Vwoosh!—they were leaping into the air, headed for the nearest rooftop, landing atop it. Without pause, he crossed the rooftiles, and was leaping out to the next roof.
Cyrus held on, trying not to get vertigo, as the streets passed beneath them.
The city wall soon appeared, but Mamoru didn’t stop. He bent his muscle-toned legs, knees brushing the ground, and they shot up into the air with physically-impossible power, vaulting in one wide leap which carried them up and over the wall. So high that, as they began to descend, they were clear on the other side. A sentry atop the wall waved, recognizing the Draev students-in-training.
Cyrus squealed as the ground came rushing up to strike them. But their fall slowed before t
he blurred ground and, like magic, he landed on the grass as if it were a stair step.
“Wo...wow...” She gulped in air, her hair windswept into an afro. Her arm-hold around Mamoru’s middle released shakily.
“How did you...?” she began. Then saw Aken arrive.
HIGH FROM HIS PERCH on Limitless, Aken managed to catch up in time to witness Mamoru’s impeccable talent. Honestly, was there anything the guy couldn’t do?
Landing the bird at the Outer Woods edge near them, Aken held his chin high and strode forward. “Yo there. I’m ready for anything ya dish out, Scar-face bro,” he said.
Cyrus and Mamoru stared at him blankly for one drawn second.
Maru’s sigh broke the silence. “Not even bounty hunters speak that way, Aken. Hercule would be having a fit.” Amusement twitched his lips.
Aken chuckled, rubbing his nose with a thumb. Cy didn’t smile but looked uneasy about something. “Hm? What’s wrong? Did you get better acquainted with the Hercule grump, yet?” Aken inquired.
Cy’s mouth opened and closed, hands wringing together. “He...I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Tch, that snooty-pants doesn’t like anybody but himself.”
He caught Maru and Cy sharing a look. That couldn’t be good.
“Did something happen?” he asked more seriously.
Their slow response was answer enough. His fist clenched and unclenched. “That rotten— He better not mistreat you. I’ll teach him a lesson if he does!”
Maru rolled his eyes to the sunset sky. “I don’t need you making things worse, Aken. Leave matters to Master Nephryte.” His hooded eyelids lowered halfway. “He knows what’s best.”
Aken grumbled under his breath.
“Anyway, let’s start with why I called you here,” Mamoru said, and then ordered Aken and Cyrus to climb up the nearest tree: a high oak with sturdy limbs. “I’ll be teaching you how to Land from a high fall—otherwise known as the Landing Technique. And pay attention, Aken, because I won’t be helping you with this again. You should have learned it in E.M. Study already.”