The Mountain

by Kevin George

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Emma’s legs felt strangely heavy as the floor vibrated beneath her feet, the pit of her stomach seeming to rise toward the back of her throat. Not normally claustrophobic, the elevator’s confines were tighter than she was used to, especially being stuck between the two Aviaries. A high-pitched whirring echoed from somewhere above them, but she couldn’t see what caused it. She didn’t know if the damp, musky smell came from Quentin or Love, though she’d never noticed the odor during her hours with Love. It didn’t help that her body felt as hot as when Love had flown them through the lava-filled Main Tunnel.

  Maybe the smell is coming from me, she wondered, feeling the sweat that glued her clothes to her skin. Her face flushed from embarrassment and heat alike. That’s me, the great, smelly Descendant. She wanted to rip off her layers of heavy, wintry clothing but didn’t think this was the right moment.

  Still, she couldn’t help marveling at her surroundings, which were far different than the plain, rocky walls in the upper level hallway. Her mind raced so quickly that she nearly forgot the discomfort of her other senses. The elevator was brightly-lit from artificial lights, not to mention a panel containing several rows of colorful buttons. When she tried to make eye contact with Love, she found his gaze darting from Quentin to a numbered display panel above the elevator doors. Love’s head suddenly snapped toward Quentin, his voice surprisingly loud within the small, quiet space.

  “Why are we passing the lab level?” he asked, his voice oozing with accusation.

  Quentin’s squawked response was instinctive and immediate, a high-pitched warning as he turned to them both. Emma backed away and bumped into the wall, her pulse racing as she felt a gentle sway of the elevator. Love’s wings immediately extended, making the small space feel even smaller.

  “Please forgive me,” Quentin said, lowering his head. “Sometimes when I’m frightened or startled. . .”—he looked toward Emma and frowned—“. . . instinctive reactions can be difficult to control.”

  “Not for me,” Love said, slowly retracting his wings.

  “I haven’t had a lifetime of practice,” Quentin said. “But to answer your question, the Board wishes to meet her right away. Hopefully, the Descendant. . . I mean Emma. . . won’t need to be brought to the labs.”

  “Why?” she asked with a twinge of fear. “Is there something wrong with the labs?”

  “No, no, no, nothing like that,” Quentin said. “The boardroom is far more comfortable and should suffice for a simple blood withdrawal. The labs are colder, more clinical, more. . . impersonal.”

  Love’s ensuing chirp was low and mournful. Before Emma could ask about the ‘labs,’ she felt the elevator slowing, her stomach settling back into place. The elevator stopped with a ding and the doors slid open to reveal a brightly-lit hallway. Quentin led the way. At first glance, the hallway appeared nothing short of luxurious with its lush carpeting and fancy paintings on the walls. Emma had never seen anything so amazing, not even in the fanciest parts of One. But when she looked closer, she saw the carpets frayed, and the paintings and walls splattered with red that had nothing to do with paint. Emma had no doubt this hall had seen horrors, but she tried to remain hopeful despite her racing nerves.

  Quentin finally stopped in front of a pair of ornate wooden doors. Emma tried—but failed—not to notice the deep claw marks that had been gouged into the wood. Strange, high-pitched squawking echoed within, coming to an abrupt halt after Quentin knocked a single time. He looked back at Emma and smiled before pushing open the doors. Inside was a dim room that initially looked as nice as the rest of the hallway. Emma had a feeling a closer inspection would prove otherwise, but it wasn’t the setting that interested her as much as the people.

  Aviaries, she told herself, nearly a dozen sitting around a long table, all of them wearing white lab coats in various states of grubbiness. Emma only needed a glance to realize no Aviary was as well-formed and beautiful as Love. In fact, few were as well-formed as Quentin, and that wasn’t saying much. Still, they rose from their seats in unison, several chirping with excitement, others shifting where they stood, unable to remain still. Whispered squawks of the word ‘Descendant’ made their way around the table and a trio of Aviaries began to swarm in Emma’s direction.

  Emma backed up. Love shifted in front of her, but Quentin held up a hand to stop the Aviaries from getting too close. The trio were particularly grotesque, their deformities so extreme that Emma wondered if they’d ever been human. She told herself to keep an open mind about them, but that was difficult to do when they gnashed their teeth and snapped at one another.

  “Enough!” ordered a firm voice, lilting and high-pitched like the others but undoubtedly feminine. The chaos came to an immediate stop. At the head of the table sat a single Aviary who’d remained seated, her back still turned to the Descendant. “Everyone, return to your seats.”

  The Aviaries hurried to follow the command, several bumping into one another as they went. An Aviary at the far end of the table sat so quickly that his chair knocked over and spilled him to the floor. Emma fought the urge to chuckle, silently chiding herself for allowing racing nerves to nearly embarrass her. The ensuing silence was palpable and stretched for several awkward seconds, during which time Emma looked from Quentin to Love, wondering if there was something she was supposed to do. Neither Aviary looked at her.

  “Quentin, thank you for fetching the. . . incomers,” the woman said.

  “Of course, Ms. Van Horn. Should I sit?” Quentin asked.

  Emma saw his eyes staring at an empty chair at the table.

  “And Love,” she said, ignoring Quentin’s question, “our wonderful, brave, loyal Love. Your lengthy absence from The Mountain was. . . troubling. I hate to admit that some of us began to lose faith.”

  Though Ms. Van Horn remained facing the opposite direction, Emma saw the back of her head turning from left to right. If Emma had any doubt to whom Ms. Van Horn spoke, it was answered when Aviary after Aviary lowered their heads in deference.

  “I knew you would succeed, I knew it from the day you took your first flight and returned to us,” she continued. “You’ve risked so much, for so long, but now you’ve brought us the Descendant.”

  “And now He can be brought back to lead us,” shrieked one of the Aviaries, setting off a series of squawks and frantic cries of ‘He. . . He. . . He.’

  Ms. Van Horn raised a feathered hand. Silence returned, though several Aviaries appeared unable to control their heads from bobbing side to side.

  “He?” Emma asked without thinking, surprised by the sound of her own voice.

  “He is the savior promised to us for generations; He is meant to return one day when the moment is right,” Ms. Van Horn said. She stood slowly, gray feathers mixed in with her long, flowing blond hair. “And we always hoped that moment would be when the Descendant returned to his rightful home.” She turned slowly. “Or should I say her rightful home.”

  Ms. Van Horn was taller and thinner than the other Aviaries. Her nose and mouth were sharp, her cheek bones sunken, her chin unnaturally jutting. The word that came to Emma’s mind was ‘severe,’ but something about her was striking. When Ms. Van Horn tried to smile, however, Emma couldn’t ignore the chill that rushed through her. The Aviary’s eyes turned to Quentin and she nodded.

  “Excuse me,” Quentin said, rushing from the room without another word.

  Emma watched him go, uncertain why his departure made her so nervous. Glancing back at Love, she didn’t feel much better seeing his eyes dart from one Aviary to the next. Love was clearly on high alert, though Emma saw no sign of trouble from members of the Board. Ms. Van Horn gestured to an empty chair beside her.

  “Please, it would be an honor if you sat with us,” she said.

  Emma started to look back at Love but stopped herself. She had a feeling Ms. Van Horn wasn’t accustomed to having her orders questioned. Emma approached the table and sat down, suddenly realizing how e
xhausted she felt from her long journey. Love’s shadow descended over her as he took his place behind her.

  “You’re from the City Below,” Ms. Van Horn said.

  Emma nodded. “You’ve heard of it?”

  Chuckled chirps sounded from several Aviaries around the table, but the laughter didn’t last long once Ms. Van Horn glanced at them. Her expression softened when her eyes found Emma.

  “Of course, my dear, your City Below and my Mountain were linked from the beginning of their existences,” Ms. Van Horn said.

  “A lot of my city’s history was. . . lost, changed by those in charge,” Emma said.

  “A pity,” Ms. Van Horn said. “History helps us understand where we’ve once been and where we have yet to go. I’m proud to say my distant grandmother was among the first people to make up this very Board. According to the stories, her demise was. . . unseemly, but her children lived on and helped keep this place going. But it’s not our history I’m interested in.”

  “The City Below,” Emma said. Should she mention the evil rule of Jonas king after Jonas king? Or the fact that her real family identity had been hidden from the first day Jonas and Weller set foot in the city? Or that she’d started a war in the hopes of giving citizens the freedom that seemed to be denied to guards at the Mountain? In the end, nothing from the past felt as important as her last memory of the only place she’d ever called home. “It’s gone, all of it. The volcano. . . it sustained us for so long. . . light and heat and energy. . . but it erupted. Lava was flowing everywhere, burning through everything. If Love hadn’t arrived and grabbed me when he did, I would’ve ended up just like my family. . . my friends. . . I would’ve been gone, too.”

  Mournful chirps circled the table, and Emma saw more than one empathetic stare aimed in her direction.

  “Terrible, just terrible,” Ms. Van Horn said, shaking her head slowly. “Many original designers of your City Below warned of such destabilization with using the volcano as a natural resource, but it was ultimately decided to be a risk worth taking. Did you know your underground bunker wasn’t supposed to house people for any length of time?”

  “I only learned that recently,” Emma said. “We were always told it was the one and only sanctuary for human existence. My friends. . .”—Emma choked up at the thought of Oliver, and Artie, and Chad, praying that at least one of them was still alive, no matter how far away they might be—“. . . My friends and I always hoped there was something more, but it wasn’t until Love let me read that folder of information in the ISU that I understood how much had been kept from me over the years.”

  Emma sensed Love shifting behind her, a tiny chirp escaping his throat. Other Aviaries squawked. Emma began to recognize the difference between the strange noises, some of them low and confused, others higher-pitched and filled with anger. All eyes turned away from Emma, including Ms. Van Horn’s. Emma didn’t know what she’d said to create a sudden rise in tension, but the knot in her stomach began to tighten.

  “ISU?” Ms. Van Horn asked.

  “The Descendant and I were injured during our escape,” Love said. His wings suddenly extended, causing several Aviaries to recoil in their chairs. Ms. Van Horn didn’t budge, even when Love curled the tips of his wings closer to her. Emma hadn’t noticed his white feathers pockmarked with black scorch marks. “If you couldn’t tell from our singed clothing, we were spattered by bubbling lava. During our escape, the Descendant suffered a bump to the head that caused her to lose consciousness. We were lucky to spot the ISU when we did.”

  “You never saw it before? Even after taking so many flights over that section of Frozen Wasteland?” asked an Aviary at the end of the table, not bothering to hide the accusation in his tone.

  Nods and squawks followed from most of the Board, though Emma noticed Ms. Van Horn remain motionless and emotionless. Knowing Love’s lie caused her cheeks to redden, Emma turned away before Ms. Van Horn could see.

  “As I said before, the Descendant was injured, and we were both bedraggled from the ordeal of escaping. I don’t need to explain to you all what I endured to get into—and then out of—the city. Anyway, I was flying lower than usual when I spotted it,” Love said. “The ISUs aren’t large, you know.”

  “And it contained information about the past?” Ms. Van Horn asked.

  “Not much,” Emma answered, speaking so quickly—suspiciously so—that her words slurred together. She exhaled slowly to calm her shaky voice. “Just a few old books.”

  “We should like to have such books,” an Aviary said.

  Another Aviary squawked his agreement and several others followed until the table was a cacophony of high-pitched screeching.

  “After this is all over, I’d be glad to retrieve them if I could find the ISU again,” Love said. “For that matter, I could lead any of you out there to see the books for yourselves.”

  Emma heard the thwup of Love’s single flap and felt a light breeze at the back of her neck. A tableful of glares was aimed in Love’s direction. Emma saw several dingy lab coats shifting on the hunched backs of Aviaries, but she doubted a single one had the wings to fly like Love did.

  “We have more important matters to attend to at the moment,” Ms. Van Horn interrupted, turning her attention back to Emma. “My dear, I’m truly sorry for your losses in the City Below. Though we’ve been cut off from your kind for generations, your bunker was still a part of His grand plan for us all.”

  “Him. . . Him. . .”

  The word spread around the table like wildfire, each utterance squawked with increasing agitation. Emma couldn’t ignore the desperation in their voices. She wanted to ask more about the mysterious ‘Him’ but no longer knew what she should or shouldn’t say. The squawks were cut off by the door opening. Quentin swept back into the room. Love curled his wings protectively around Emma but not before she caught sight of the syringe in Quentin’s hand.

  A surge of adrenaline overcame fatigue as Emma wanted to leap from her chair. She bumped into the nearby table and nearly climbed atop it to get farther away from Quentin. The Aviaries were on their feet in seconds, excited squawks filling the room. Emma’s eyes darted around the room, finding one potential disaster after another. Before she could make any escape attempt, Love’s feathered hand wrapped around her arm, his grip firm, yet gentle.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.

  “Please, listen to Love,” Ms. Van Horn said.

  Though none of the Aviaries made a move in her direction, a few slid toward the door, cutting off her only escape route. Emma had nowhere to go, and the warmth of Love’s grip against her arm eased some of her tension. She swallowed hard but nodded, accepting Love’s help as he guided her back to her seat. The rest of the Aviaries did the same, but Emma still felt uncomfortable by the lustful gleam in many of their eyes.

  “If you could please roll up your sleeve?” Quentin asked carefully, remaining several feet away, the syringe now shielded by his side.

  Emma had no doubt Quentin did this to make her feel better, but not seeing the syringe filled her with more dread than actually seeing it. Still, Emma did as she was told, her fingers shaking, fumbling to first remove her outer layer of clothing and then to push up her sleeve.

  “This should take a few minutes. We only need a small amount of blood,” Quentin said as he stepped toward her. “It will sting and burn at first, but that pain will fade.”

  Emma nodded. She reached back with her free hand and found Love, intertwining her fingers with his. She didn’t squeeze hard at first, worried that doing so might rip out his feathers. But as soon as the tip pierced her skin, she couldn’t help but clench every muscle in her body, including her eye lids. Emma took a deep breath and opened her eyes, where she saw many of the Aviaries leaning forward in their chairs, their eyes widening at the sight of her blood. Even Ms. Van Horn tilted closer to her.

  Emma looked at the needle in her arm and grimaced. The pain somehow felt worse when she stared at it. Not w
anting to see those around her, she glanced back at Love, who towered over her, his feathers standing on end, his eyes watching the rest of the Aviaries suspiciously. Emma felt strangely safe with him so near, but she couldn’t shake her unease about Love’s obvious distrust of everyone around them. When Emma shifted in her chair, her head suddenly swam. It felt like the back of her chair had disappeared. Her vision darkened around the edges and she began to slump. Distantly, her mind panicked about what was happening, but a comforting warmth spread through her and she felt an overwhelming desire to sleep. . .

  “Emma? Are you okay?” Love asked. His voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long, hollow tunnel, as did the squawks and cries of “Descendant” that followed. “That’s enough, take it out of her.”

  The sting of the needle’s tip being pulled out pushed away some of Emma’s sleepiness. Love’s arms wrapped around her, propping her up straighter, causing her vision to swirl even faster.

  “Did you take too much, you fool?” Ms. Van Horn snapped. “The Descendant is not to be harmed!”

  “I’m sorry,” Quentin mumbled. “I was only getting enough to—”

  “It’s okay,” Emma mumbled, each breath going straight to her head, clearing away more of the fog that had shrouded her vision. She inhaled a final time and felt strong enough to sit up on her own.

  “Some of them get woozy giving blood, that’s all,” Quentin said, capping the syringe filled the blood.

  “Lucky for you,” Ms. Van Horn said with icy calmness.

  Ms. Van Horn stood up suddenly, her movements smooth and graceful. In unison, the other Aviaries stood as well, though they squawked wildly, knocked over chairs and bumped into each other. They swarmed toward their leader, who nodded perfunctorily at Emma before sweeping away from the table. With Quentin by her side, Ms. Van Horn headed for the door, the other Aviaries following a few feet behind, jostling each other to get closer, none daring to get too close.