by Marie Brown
Chapter 7
Meeplar's growls roused her. She'd never heard the fuzzling growl before, but had no doubt that was what she heard now. She pried her eyes open and saw. . . bars. She was in a cage? Yes, a cage, just like people put animals in. And Meeplar. . .
The fuzzling hung upside down from a roof beam, outside the cage and well above Lydia's head. Even if she stood on top of the cage, she might not be able to reach the fuzzling. Meeplar growled and thrashed, trying to untie her fragile ankles, but her little hands were bound too so she had no success. She was so furious her fur shot little silvery sparks with every movement.
“Meeplar,” Lydia croaked, but the fuzzling couldn't hear her. What in the name of all the holies had happened?
Lydia's brain didn't want to work. She remembered. . . a bag? Someone had put a bag over her head? And then said. . . something. A spell, it must have been a spell.
Suddenly, an icy chill ran through her that cleared the fog from her head, if only briefly. People had warned her again and again that untrained, she was vulnerable to attack from evil mages. That must be what had happened. An evil mage grabbed her, stuffed her in a sack, and probably was preparing even now to take over her mind and powers.
Now what could she do about it? The fog descended back over her mind again, with a fresh wave of utter despair. How could she fight the evil one, when she had no mage abilities to speak of? Sure, the raw power was there, but she couldn't get through to it. While Lydia sank farther into depression, part of her was aware that Meeplar's struggles were slowing, becoming weaker. Finally what she was feeling penetrated her depression: Meeplar was losing consciousness. Fuzzlings were not made to survive being upside down.
“Meeplar! No, oh no, don't. . .” Lydia wanted to cry. Instead, she looked at what held her fuzzling bound: leather. Very well, then, leather burned. Forget about failure, forget about wanting to be a baker, just concentrate on calling fire to that bit of leather. Only that bit of leather. And have a cushion of air ready to catch the falling fuzzling. Do it. Now. No failure.
Lydia focused her mind with all her willpower and her love of Meeplar working together with her magic. A spark flared, precisely on the leather holding Meeplar upside down. The fuzzling dropped onto the cushion of air, which floated obediently to the bars of the cage. Lydia reached through the cage and fumbled frantically at the bindings holding Meeplar's hands and feet, discovering in the process little crystals that burned her fingers and tried to suck away her magic. But she was too desperate to save Meeplar's life. No crystal was going to get the better of her! The bindings fell away, and Meeplar opened her eyes.
“Mrrt,” she said, a pale echo of her usual energetic chirp. Lydia sent her energy. She'd found out from Sarrin that the fuzzling basically ate her energy, using it to survive in this plane, so it should help. . . It did. Meeplar perked up immediately.
“Meeplar, Meeplar, I'm so sorry I didn't help you right away. . . now you have to get out of here, before the evil mage comes back. Understand? Get out of here! I don't want you caught again!”
Meeplar made a feeling of protest, but then they both heard a noise and she winked out of existence. Lydia envied her that ability.
“What do you think you're doing, little girl?”
A voice preceeded a cloaked figure into the torchlit room Lydia was in. It was a male voice, she could tell that much, but nothing else. No obvious accent, no remarkable depth or timbre, just a male voice. So much for learning anything valuable about her captor: average size, average voice, completely covered in a dark red-brown cloak. Drat.
“N-n-nothing,” she stammered.
“Bollocks. The surge of power I felt in here could only have come from you. What did you do?”
“I-I want to ask the same thing. What did you do to me? Why am I in a cage? Where am I?”
“I'll ask the questions here, if you don't mind. I want to know what that power was used for.” The hooded head looked around, but the face remained concealed. Then it tilted upward. “You little wench! You freed the creature!”
At that moment, Lydia heard a crashing noise, then the sound of many booted feet running downstairs. Meeplar popped into existence inside the cage with a defiant shriek. Then there were people everywhere, with magic flying and swords flashing. . .
Lydia clutched Meeplar to her chest and scooted back into the farthest possible corner of her cage, sobbing hysterically. Meeplar struggled a little, letting her know that she was holding too tight, so she let loose her grip a little bit, but she couldn't quit crying. Meeplar had been injured! She had almost died! And Lydia herself was in a cage, and scared senseless by the magical battle going on right in front of her. Balls of energy exploded practically in her face. The heat from them made her cringe away.
Then, so suddenly the silence made her ears ring, the fight ended. The menacing figure in the cloak was bound swiftly and efficiently by a grim-faced swordsman, then unmasked. The two mages of Light stared at him in astonishment. Lydia wondered who it was, then decided she didn't care. She tried to stop crying. She could see now that the people were all from Clusters. They all carried the mark of the Hall somewhere on them, a shoulder patch for the fighters, a medallion for the mages, and the others now flowing down the stairs bore the mark as well. Her ears hurt and felt stuffed with cotton. She could hear them all talking now, but not what they were saying.
Then someone, one of the warriors she thought, noticed her and broke open the lock on the cage. '”Come on out, Lydia,” the fighter said.
Lydia tried to move, but was shaking and still sobbing too hard to do anything but hold Meeplar and rock forward a little bit.
“Hey, Shellani? Give me a hand here? The little girl's got problems.”
A woman turned away from the shocked discussion around the unmasked dark mage and smiled at Lydia. She immediately dropped to her knees, crawled into the cage, and pulled the sobbing girl against her side. “There, there, it's going to be just fine now. Nobody's going to get hurt anymore.”
“He hurt Meeplar!” Lydia wailed, then showed Shellani the burns on the fuzzling's wrists and ankles from the crystals. “He hung her upside down, and she almost died, and—”
“Let me see that,” Shellani said soothing. “Lydia, do you know what I am? I'm a healer, with magic as well. Let me hold your fuzzling's hands. Can you do that?”
Lydia nodded, hiccuping. A healer? One that could see Meeplar? Her tears slowed and she gave the healer Meeplar's hand.
The tiny arms and hands looked like something a bird might grow. They usually rode tucked up into the fuzzling's furry body, only emerging to do some sort of mischief. Now they had red blisters around them from elbow to wrist. Shellani wrapped her own, much larger hand around Meeplar's forearm and closed her eyes. Lydia saw a warm golden glow around the hand, then Meeplar cheeped and examined her arm. She let out a happy little sound, rolled on her backside in Lydia's lap, and held out both legs and the other arm for Shellani's attention. The healer smiled again and took care of the fuzzling's wounds.
“That's better. Now, Lydia, are you hurt?”
Lydia shook her head. “Thank you for fixing Meeplar. I'm sorry I was so upset.”
“It's okay, little one. You're only eight, after all. You're allowed to be upset when someone kidnaps you and hurts your friend. Now, can we get out of this cage? They've taken away the dark mage, and it's safe now.”
“Okay,” Lydia said, then crawled out of the cage. Standing up felt good. So did feeling Meeplar bounce around her ankles. Like the kitten Sarrin once compared her to, the fuzzling recovered from trauma quickly. “How many people here can see my fuzzling?”
Shellani crawled out of the cage and paused a moment on the threshold, considering. “All but three,” she said. “The two fighters and the other healer don't have any mage abilities. The rest of us do.”
“I like it when people can see Meeplar. She got me in so much trouble when I first met her, because she was invisible
and tearing the kitchen apart. . . She left visible footprints, though, and that's what convinced my Master and Nana I wasn't just crazy. Can we go back home now?”
“Yes, little one. I think it's past time to get you home.”
Lydia traveled back to the Hall surrounded by two full Clusters. She felt much safer sandwiched between all the big adults than she had in the cage. Meeplar, fully recovered from her ordeal and chatty as ever, rode her shoulder, one hand knotted in her hair, and kept up a running commentary as they walked.
Fortunately, the Hall wasn't too far away by the route the Clusters chose. It had taken Lydia longer to get to the sculpture garden, but she'd gone a more roundabout way. Once inside, Shellani took Lydia to the infirmary and gave her a dose of something bitter.
“This will help you sleep without nightmares,” she said, smoothing Lydia's rumpled hair. “Now let's get you back to your room.”
Walking down the endless marble corridors, Lydia had vague, confusing impressions of colors and designs that surely couldn't be there. After all, the walls were white marble. She knew that. And most of the doors were wood painted white. She knew that, too. But still, she kept seeing colorful things, that she couldn't quite focus on.
Shellani walked her right to her room without even needing to ask which door it was. Lydia was grateful for that, because whatever the healer had given her made her so tired her head was spinning.
“Lay down now, little one. You can tell us what happened in the morning.”
Lydia tried to say thank you as she crawled into bed, but she wasn't sure if it came out or not. She dropped into deep sleep like a stone.