Alone once more and no one near
For friendship's honour, persevere.
The corridor was silent and tomblike, featureless save for the same elaborate, recurring pattern of black and silver tiles, resembling geometric flowers or stars, that covered every surface. There were no lights or lanterns, no windows, only the omnipresent, unchanging, dim grey glow.
Mekka sat on the floor with his back to the wall, head bowed and shoulders slumped in weary resignation. He had walked for a long time, and gotten precisely nowhere.
The corridor appeared to be endless. It was not very wide; not wide enough to stretch his wings, hence flying was out of the question – thus, he had walked until his feet ached, but had not encountered any branching hallways, rooms, doors, arches, black triangles or indeed anything at all save the same maddening pattern that continued on forever.
Without any way of marking the passage of time, he eventually began to feel as though his legs were moving in one spot without actually covering any distance. Paranoia took hold of his mind. Thinking this was some kind of trick, he had stopped, spun and began stalking back the way he had come.
But he had walked a long way back, or so it seemed to him, and had not arrived at the fountain room.
Then he had broken into a run, determined that he would have to reach the room eventually – it was impossible that he could have missed it! – but he had run until he was out of breath, and there was still no sign of it.
Disbelief and disorientation set in, and he began to doubt whether he had actually turned around or not, and lost all sense of which way he had come from. This appalled him. His sense of direction was impeccable, and his observation sharp. He did not understand how he could possibly have gotten lost in a single, dead straight corridor!
Had the archway to the fountain room closed behind him, without a trace? Had the entire geometry of the Pyramid changed, somehow?
Was it trying to confound him? For what purpose??
In desperation, Mekka had run his hands over the walls, searching for any subtle difference in the look or feel of the pattern. He had tried speaking out loud variations of 'room', 'fountain', 'door' and such. Fishing in his pockets, he had found a piece of charcoal, and had scribbled words and phrases on the walls as he had done in Grath Ardan.
None of it had any effect whatsoever, except to make him feel foolish.
At last, he had given up in despair, and slumped to the ground, putting his head in his hands. He was too tired to think any more; his brain felt lost in a fog, and the pattern was hurting his eyes. His grip on sanity felt precarious, and this scared him; the last time he had felt like this, a trigonic dagger had twisted his mind into a murderous abomination.
He could not afford to allow himself to crumble again. He knew only too well that the consequences for doing so could be dire.
Quelling the rising sense of panic, he had closed his eyes and forced himself to rest, to calm down. He thought he might have dozed off for a time, but couldn't be sure. In any case, when he opened his eyes again, his head felt stuffy and ached, and he hardly seemed less exhausted than he was before. The air in the corridor was stale and his throat was dry. He took a swig of his water, then rummaged in his pack for some food. Pulling out some dried fruit, he nibbled on it listlessly, more for the sake of eating something than hunger, as he felt vaguely nauseous, and there was a leaden ball of dread in the pit of his stomach that refused to be dislodged.
None of this makes any sense! Mekka thought in frustration. Was the Pyramid playing games with him? Was it testing him, somehow? Why had it gathered him up into its innards, just to watch him run around like a trapped mouse??
He frowned down at the piece of dried apricot in his hand. Was Ferrian undergoing a similar sort of trial? Or was his friend simply... dead?
Dropping the fruit, Mekka put his face in his hand. He had figured out Grath Ardan; he was sure that he could figure out this wretched Pyramid, too...
Get up! he told himself ferociously. Get up and start walking again! It doesn't matter which direction. Walk until you die, if you have to!
And yet, he couldn't make himself move. His limbs felt heavy. His head hurt.
A blanket of slow, quiet despair settled over him, like a fresh layer of dust.
A reflection of blue light gleamed from the silvertine inlays in the floor and walls, a reminder of the ghostly, winged headpiece that now seemed to be ever-present upon his head. Mercifully, the whispering voices had left him alone, at least.
Am I really an Ancient? he wondered, in the silence of the empty corridor. It was possible that the bloodline had survived, he supposed. He had never known his parents, after all; he had no idea where they had come from or where they had gone. The race of Angels was supposed to have been created by the Seraphim, but the vast majority of them had rejected Mekka from the day he was born.
He was clearly... different from them. Perhaps in more ways than just colour...
And the most bitter thing about it was that they had all been right to mistrust him. That damned prophecy about a black-winged Angel destroying Arkana had come true. Every single word of it. True...
He went still, his breath stopping in his throat as an immense, overwhelmingly horrible thought occurred to him. This Black Pyramid had attacked Caer Sync. Mekka had assumed that it had done so because it was trying to destroy the Seraphim, its ancient enemies, who had been residing at the Tower's heart. But what if that had only been a part of its intention?
What if... what if the Pyramid had been attempting to get to Mekka??
Had it, like Ferrian, actually been trying to rescue him?!
The Angel's dark eyes went wide.
Back in the Sanctuary, Reeves had accused him of being responsible for the calamity they had found themselves in, and Mekka had vehemently denied it...
An involuntary sob escaped him, and he found himself trembling. No. No, no, nononono noooooo...!
It was then that he heard the meow.
It was such an absurdly unlikely sound that it stopped his horror in its tracks.
After a moment, it came again.
Mekka squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his head. I have gone completely insane! he thought in anguish. Now I'm hallucinating!!
The meow came once more, louder this time, and Mekka looked around wildly.
Something small, black and furry was walking down the hallway towards him, for all the world like it owned the place.
A cat.
The Angel stared at it with utter incomprehension.
The cat hesitated as it neared him, twitching its tail and staring back at him with luminous yellow eyes.
Mekka just gazed at it for a long moment. Then, tentatively, he held out a gloved hand.
The cat sniffed at the hand, then butted it with its furry head.
"H- hello little friend," Mekka said, stroking the animal's cheek, feeling dazed. "Where have you come from?"
The cat did not reply. It came over and rubbed itself against Mekka's knee, purring like a sawblade.
And then Mekka noticed that it was not an ordinary cat.
He picked it up, holding it in front of him.
The cat was a cat, and definitely alive; Mekka could feel his little heart beating. His fur was all black, and soft, and warm, and he seemed healthy enough. But his left hind leg was reptilian, covered in smooth dark scales, with toes ending in large, curved, wicked talons. His tail, too, was long, scaled and spiny.
The cat squirmed in his grip, and Mekka set him down. The creature shook himself, then sat down with his back to the Angel and proceeded to wash himself, in order to regain some dignity.
"What are you?" Mekka whispered in morbid astonishment. "A little Muron-cat?!"
The cat looked up at him with round yellow eyes, meowed again, then trotted off along the corridor. He had a funny, wonky gait with one foot being larger and differently formed than the others. His talons clicked on the tiles.
Mekka scrambled to gather up his things, then got up and set off after the cat. This animal had come from somewhere: perhaps he knew a way out of this hellforsaken corridor...
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Perhaps its just a delusion, Mekka thought feverishly, but if it leads me somewhere other than here, I'll take it...
* * *
The common room of the White Horse Inn was alive with voices, in stark contrast to the dead silence it had worn like a shroud since the red-haired horror had unleashed her wrath on the town ten days previously.
Late last night, a group of five Freeroamers had arrived.
Lieutenant Tander stood at the top of the stairs, in the quiet of the white, wood-panelled corridor, listening to the unfamiliar sounds coming from below. It was the second morning since the Sky Legion had arrived at the ill-fated town. They had spent half the day yesterday arguing about whether or not to retrieve Par'Shu's body, until Lieutenant Raemint had come in and told them that she had already done so.
Reeves had muttered a resentful thanks; their Commander did not like being in anyone's debt. Tander had expressed more heartfelt gratitude.
They had taken the body up into the cliffs to the north of the town, a lonely, peaceful place with flowers growing amongst the rocks, inaccessible to anything without the power of flight. There they had conducted a funeral, burning the body on a pyre constructed from gnarled pine boughs.
Reeves had spoken a short, stiff eulogy, thanking Parsh for his service to the Legion, and including the three other comrades they had lost in Arkana, presumed dead and crushed beneath the Holy Tower that was, ironically, supposed to have been their salvation.
Tander had then recited a traditional prayer in Ancient Angelican, that he had once thought beautiful, though the words now seemed hollow and false.
They had contemplated the pyre and their own dark thoughts until sunset bled into the clouds to the west, and they had retreated back to the inn, speaking no more that day.
Early that morning, Commander Re'Vier had entered Tander's room and announced that they were leaving at midday, and that Li was to remain behind.
Tander thought it a disastrous idea, and told Reeves so, begging him to at least escort the girl to the nearest inhabited village. But his Commander was in a bitter – and frankly sadistic – mood, and refused, calling it an order and stalking away.
Now Tander stood in the corridor, with his spear and the rest of his possessions, staring miserably at the door to Li's room, wondering how he was going to tell her. He decided that he ought to talk to Raemint first. If the Centaur wasn't prepared to look after her, he didn't know what he was going to do...
I am being forced to abandon a child in the middle of a wraith-infested town...
Every bone in his body railed against it, was sickened by it, but there was nothing he could do. Arguing with Reeves would achieve nothing; the man hated her; it was a wonder he had tolerated her presence this far.
I promised Ferrian that I would look after her...
Sighing heavily, he headed down the stairs.
The Freeroamers were seated around a table, having a lively discussion over the remains of their breakfast. Lieutenant Raemint stood with them. They were so engaged in conversation that none of them even glanced in the Legionnaire's direction as he entered. They were talking about someone called Flint, whom they were supposed to have met up with on the road, but who had gone missing.
Seems to be a common theme, Tander thought darkly. On the far side of the room, Nix was slouched against a pillar, watching the newcomers with a sour expression.
Tander went and joined him.
"Tch, Freeroamers," the younger Angel said derisively. "These are the local law enforcers? They could be mistaken for a pack of mongrel dogs."
Tander frowned. "That's uncharitable, Nix, considering one of them saved our lives!"
Nix turned his face away. "I wasn't talking about the Centaur," he muttered.
Tander studied the Freeroamers. They did indeed look... rough. Unkempt, unshaven, dirty from travel, some with scars. One was missing a hand. It was curious, he mused, that most Humans put so little value in their physical appearance, compared to Angels. He'd heard of some from his own race who had actually taken themselves off to the Tower over an unsightly blemish.
He shook his head. "Where's Reeves?"
"Outside," Nix replied. "On that grotesque statue." He sniffed, and straightened. "Might as well join him; this place stinks."
Tander glanced over at Raemint, but the Centaur was clearly preoccupied, staring down at something round and silver in her hand and gripping her spear with the other as though she wanted to gut someone.
Tander turned and followed his green-winged companion out the door.
It was a fine summer's day, the sky a clear blue, the Barlakk Mountains rising majestically behind them, bright red geraniums blooming in the flower boxes of the inn. But no insects buzzed, and there were no birds. No sound could be heard at all, except the faint rustle of a warm breeze.
Both Tander and Nix eyed the perimeter of the square, hands tight on their spears, watching the shadows carefully.
Nothing moved there.
Commander Re'Vier perched with his legs crossed on the head of the large bronze representation of Ferrian, his white wings brilliant in the sunshine. His spear, helmet and knapsack lay on the podium in the statue's shadow.
"Commander!" Tander called up to him.
Glancing down at them, Reeves leapt off the statue with a flap of his wings, landing gracefully on the cobblestones. Straightening, he rustled his feathers, preened them with his silver-clad fingers, and shook his blond hair out of his face. "Fine day to be leaving this hell-hole!" he greeted them, grinning.
"Couldn't agree more," Nix said.
Tander said nothing.
"Something the matter, Lieutenant?" Reeves said, fetching his helmet.
Tander avoided his gaze, glancing at the inn. "No, Sir," he replied stiffly.
Nix sheathed his spear on his back and folded his arms. "Oh, he's just upset because he has to leave his little pet behind." He laughed.
Tander realised his fist was clenched. He relaxed his fingers, forcing himself to appear nonchalant. "Might I at least say goodbye to her?"
Reeves placed his helmet upon his head. "No."
Tander stared at him. You're a bastard, Reeves.
"You have had all morning to do so, Tander," Reeves went on. "If you chose to squander the opportunity, that is not my problem."
Tander couldn't help himself. "Sir! She is just a little girl! I cannot simply leave her behind in a town full of demon-wraiths!"
"If I recall correctly," Reeves said, tapping a finger on his chin and contemplating the sky, "Li was the first of us to enter this place, of her own volition. Indeed, she was quite insistent." He gave Tander a cold smile. "I am sure the girl can survive on her own. She seems capable enough. Besides," he waved a hand at the inn. "A wonderful group of clowns just arrived to escort her wherever she pleases. Now." Picking up his spear, he twirled it and set it down on the cobbles. "I trust you two have prepared yourselves adequately, as we have a long journey ahead of us."
Nix raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you have a destination in mind?"
Reeves hooked up his knapsack with his free hand, slinging it over his shoulder. "Yes. We are returning to Siriaza."
The two Legionnaires looked at him in surprise.
"The border, in fact," he grinned at them. "Bridgetown."
"The city built across the Unforgivable Chasm?" Tander said, taken aback. "Why that place? We flew over it on the way to arrest Mekka and you refused to stop and rest there. I believe you called it a, uh... 'treacherous, worm-riddled den of shameless villiany...' "
Reeves snorted in disgust. "Quite, and my opinion hasn't changed. But the vile place lies conveniently halfway between here and Trystania, and could save us at least a month of travel..."
Nix frowned. "Save us a month of travel for what?"
Reeves regarded him. "I have arranged for someone to meet us there," he replied. "Back at the Embassy, the Governor sent a letter to the Emperors, informing them of the catastrophe in Arkana, the imminent influx of Angel refugees, and the progress of our mission. I had her send an additional request for aid." The Commander's turquoise eyes narrowed. "We have no need for that silver-eyed Winter freak. Finding him would have saved us a considerable amount of time and hassle, but no one here has seen him and I do not care to stop in every hovel in this damned country trying to find out where he has gone!" He paused. "No. We are not dependant on his abilities. There is another."
There was a long moment of silence, then Tander took a breath in realisation. "Rose Rex."
Reeves smiled, his eyes glittering. "Precisely."
Tander looked at him uncertainly. "Sir... are you sure? Rose can discern the nature of things, it is true. But her divinations can often be vague, or sometimes misleading."
Reeves regarded him intently. "But is she ever incorrect?"
Tander hesitated. "No," he admitted. "Not to my knowledge."
Reeves inclined his head. "Indeed. Perhaps she may reveal the knowledge contained within this book, perhaps not. At the very least, she should be able to locate the missing page... and that is good enough for me!"
Li crouched behind a chimney stack on the roof of the inn, peering down at the scene in the courtyard below. The three remaining men of the Sky Legion stood in the shadow of a large statue depicting a young man with a sword; it reminded her a little of Ferrian. They were having a discussion, though at this distance she could hear their voices but not what they were saying. She wished she could get nearer, but there was nowhere else suitable to hide where she wouldn't be spotted. In any case, it seemed obvious from the way they were carrying all of their possessions that they were planning on leaving very shortly. They were probably talking about where to go next.
She ducked back around the chimney, her heart dropping. Tander hadn't mentioned anything about leaving. He hadn't come and said goodbye. Was he really going to go without saying anything?!
They always leave, she thought in despair. Everyone always leaves me!
She had trusted him; he was supposed to be her friend. He was going to help her find Ferrian and Mekka...
Brushing her tears away, she swallowed back her sadness, trying to remain quiet. Looking back around the chimney again, she saw that two of the Legionnaires had taken flight.
Tander remained standing in the middle of the square, staring back at the inn. Then he bowed his head, turned, and lifted off after the others. They circled around to the south-east, over the roofs of the town, and in a minute or two were lost from sight.
Li wiped away the remnants of tears from her eyes and nose, then slid down the tiles, dropped onto a window ledge, and crawled back into her room.
Jumping onto the floor from her bed, she reached underneath it and pulled out a sack filled with provisions she had stolen from the kitchen bound up with rope, and a knife wrapped carefully in thick cloth, which she stuck into the leather belt binding her waist.
The lady Centaur had provided her with some new clothes: a red tunic, white shirt and some leggings. They had belonged to a Human child and had been crudely altered with slashes in the back to fit her wings. Li found them slightly scratchy, the fabric much coarser than she was used to, but the clothes were warm. There were some shoes, too, but they were weird and uncomfortable, and she preferred her own sandals.
There was another funny thing too; a bit like a blanket with a hood attached, made of thick, dark red cloth, big enough to wrap herself up in. It was cosy and she liked it very much, but it was too awkward to wear while flying, so she had bundled it up and tied it to her sack.
Kneeling on the floor, she checked that she had everything, then slung the sack onto her back and tied it securely around her with the ends of the rope. Then she climbed onto the bed and back out of the open window, and flapped up to the roof again.
For a few moments she surveyed her surroundings, wary for any hint of ominous inky shadow, but saw and heard nothing. The town was oppressive and empty and silent around her in the beautiful midday sunshine.
Li felt suddenly very alone; a familiar, but no less hated feeling. For her whole life, she had been forbidden from having friends, forced into strict rules by unreasonable, suffocating parents whom she had resented, and disobeyed at every opportunity. But the loss of them hurt more than she expected. She had pretended not to care, but a deep part of her heart was wounded, and kept on hurting, no matter how she tried to ignore it.
She knew that they had loved her, but she hadn't realised that until it was too late.
Meeting Tander had dulled the pain a little, and sometimes she had almost been able to forget the horror she had witnessed in Arkana, except that sleeping was difficult because of the nightmares. But she had been excited to finally have a purpose.
Now all that had been ripped away, and the wound torn open anew, and she felt betrayed. She had been left on her own, with no home to go back to, in a strange land with strange people.
She didn't want to be alone, any more!
If there was any chance that Tander was still her friend – if Ferrian, Mekka and Hawk were still her friends – then Li had to find them, no matter what.
She would find them all.
Swallowing back her sadness, confusion and fear, taking a deep breath of determination, she ran across the top of the roof, sprang into the summer air and set off in the direction the Sky Legion had gone.