FIFTY: Dream and the Prince will come

Those eyes were warnings.

The handsome face floated above her. Dark brown hair, apple red cheeks, large grey horse eyes.  The face was comfortable, familiar. She knew she’d never seen it before.

She knew she’d stared into those eyes for hours.

Those eyes were warnings.

Jude’s eyes.

Jude was warning her about . . . about . . . 

She  walked into the HaleSpa together and right to the Purple Ward. Everyone stared.

            She wished that face was with her. She shook so much she saw her hand shake right off and float away from her.

            A room with white walls enclosed her but breathed.

            Siobhan’s lay across the room in a cage of light and fog. Her eyes were closed and her breath was shallow.

            “Please, please,” she heard herself say.

            “She was sick,” he said.  Who is that man?

            A familiar face. As familiar as her childhood, and yet?

            “And yet?” he asked her.

            “I know!” she yelled but she didn’t have the words.

            “I’m only trying to save her,” he said.

            “I can save her let me try!”

            “The fog has taken over.”

            “No, in the Mist she’ll find comfort,” Arous said to the man. She needed to reassure him. “In the Mist they always find rest.”

            He started laughing.

            She didn’t get the joke.

            Two cocoons stood on either side of the cage, cocoons of fog and shadow that stood eight feet tall. No nine. No ten.  They were growing and humming.

            In one of the cocoons she saw those eyes.  Those comforting, grey eyes.

            Two Miasmen stood on either side of the fog cage.

            The man started giving orders to one of the cocoons. “Aspirate her skin. Until it sucks in on itself. Breath like a black hole. Trauma, drama. Save her from the trauma, drama. Just like you could.” He turned to Arous. He was only a smiling mouth now.

She was wearing a yellow sundress now.

“Daddy, I have the power.”

            “I know you do my dear. Just like in my dreams.”

            The smile pointed to one of the cocoons “Remove your fog.”

            And the cocoon was now a boy, a Spartan Guard dressed in a Grey Suit, with a red silk tie and mirrored, red-rimmed glasses.  He lowered his glasses and winked at her.

            It was Simon, the boy from the Rabbithole.

            “You’re so handsome in your suit.”

            “Let’s take a walk.” They walked in a field of yellow daffodils.

            In the field was a huge wooden S and on it hung a Snake.  It was silver with bronze flecked scales covering all of its body. On top of the scales were feathers: around his face, along the spine of his back and on his tail.  The feathers were brilliant red mostly, with hints of royal, light blue. He had rich dark orange down on his belly and the top of his head.  The feather that clumped around his head were thick and extended down his back covering wings near the first third of his body.  He had feet like an eagle that were pulled tight into the lower third of his body just above the tail.  His eys were a sparkling bronze, as were his hidden talons.

            The smile was talking to the Snake and laughing.

            “Because he’s not a Snake, silly girl, he’s a dragon. What’s name!”

            “I’m not a traitor. I’m not. I’m not.” whispered Siobhan. It was her on the S.

            It was the Diofe on the S. His face was twisted and crooked.

            “Unforgiveness is a problem,” said the smile. She was naked except for the Mist that surrounded her.  She looked a Siobhan in a pile at her feet.  The S was gone. The flowers were gone. She was surrounded by stones.

            The smile reached for her.

            “I’m reaching for you, Arous. You and me, we can save the world. Better than you saved Priscilla.”

But it was the Snake, not the smile. His beautiful eyes staring into hers.

“What’s name,” Arous heard herself say.

“Quetzalcoatyl,” he purred at her. “Say my name, Arous. I can help you. Quetzalcoatyl.”

Siobhan was in her arms and sighed and didn’t inhale again.

            “Siobhan?”

            Siobhan’s eyes opened and the muscles on her face relaxed.

            “No, Diofe, no. Help me. Help me. Miguel! Edlawit!”

“Save her, like you saved Priscilla.”

And there he was, the boy with the grey eyes holding her, kissing her forhead. Using Edlawit’s voice he said, “It’s okay, love.”

The he was gone and she was falling through blackness and she could hear Edlawit screaming, “No, Arous. No!”

Down in the blackness below her, Arous could see Priscilla’s face falling just out of reach.

FORTY-NINE: The Long Walk

“I suppose not,” he said. “I know you too. But I don’t think you recognize me.”

“No.”

“The mask. Our identities should remain hidden from the general public,” he hesitated. “I was the boy at Mr. Burton’s. You gave me an extra bag of jaw breakers. I was on my way home from the Temple. They are cheaper there than anywhere else in the City. It’s a long bus ride from there, home. My name is James.”

“Arous.”

“I know,” he was smiling. “I know where you live, too.”

“Of course you do.  Still stopping by to say good-morning.”

“Every morning. I wave; he head-butts the window. He smiles too. Most don’t smile at me. But the priest didn’t know I knew. He told me your address anyway. It didn’t seem like it would have been good if I let on that I knew where you lived.”

“How could he have known?”

“There are DNA scanners at the entrance to the auditorium.  You probably didn’t notice them. They look like really big incense burners. Anyway, you walked by another one right before you walked into be questioned by the bishop.”

“Why on earth - ?” asked Arous.

“Everybody has to go to temple as certain number of times a season.  The DNA scanners keep track of who comes for their quota amount.”

“And what happens if they don’t?” Arous asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“That’s not a very effective form of coercion,” she said.

They had stopped directly below Arous apartment.

“Well, Octavius,” she said and knelt to be on the level with James who, though standing, wasn’t much taller than Octavius sitting. “Not only are you a well-groomed, genetically altered, good manned attack cat – you now have an admirer that you have successfully charmed. I’d say it’s about nap time for you.”

“I have to run back to the Temple before service is over.”

“Let me call you a hoveh-taxi.”

“No, hovaxi,” he corrected her. “I can’t take any favors. I’m in training and have to do everything by the book.”

“Training?”

“Can’t talk. Gotta run. “

“Wait. I need you to tell me about the boy, Mike,” she stood up.

James cocked his head.

“The boy that was accused of killing all those animals and his friend,” she said.

“How did you know it was his friend?”

“I met them. Anyway can you tell me - ?”

“He was sent to the HaleSpa,” he said.

“Where - ?”

“It’s in the nicer part of town, between the North Wall and the forest that boarders the north end of the park,” the boy stopped. “And, try to stand out a little less. Hovaxi not hoveh-taxi. At least get our words right,” he paused and looked at her seriously. “It’s not a suggestion. You have no friends here.”

The boy bolted.

“Thanks for the warning!”

FORTY-EIGHT: Good-mannered Octavius

They were walking the long blocks home and Arous could feel Octavius fuming as the boy in the gray robe and red half-mask led the way.

“Sweetheart,” stopping to pat Octavius on the head, she tried to shift focus to keep from crying. “I think you are a very well groomed cat. That wrinkled old prune had no idea what he was talking about. He certainly hadn’t taken a good look at you.” The tears came anyway.

“I think he’s a beautiful cat. He didn’t try to bite me anyway,” the boy said.

“Really? Well groomed and good mannered? Octavius the day seems to be looking up for you.”

A few moments of silence passed.

“So, can you answer a question for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Can you explain what he meant by genetically altered?”

“Yes,” said the boy.

“Well?”  asked Arous.

“In simple terms, his cat DNA was melded with other DNA to make him a hybrid cat.”

“Well, yes, I know what genetically altered means – but how could he tell?”

“I told him,” said the boy.

“You?”

“Yes. I saw him outside just sitting on the steps. I had a few minutes and sat with him. I was sitting there, thinking and petting him and realized that we were about the same age. He’s only about two months old which makes him about four. My age.”

“Four? You talk like an adult.”

“People always say that. I’m the youngest altar boy at the Temple.”

“Really? It’s surprising they like boys so young and impressionable.”         

“Most boys are older. Twelve or more, your age I guess. You can call me impressionable; I’m not. People underestimate me and I use that to my advantage.”

“It’s no advantage if you tell people,” said Arous; she was smiling.

“I’m only telling you because you seem like someone I can trust.”

“What if I’m not?” asked Arous.

“You wouldn’t have this cat, then.”

“Why?”

“Genetically altered.  He can read you, will imprint to you in a special way.  He’ll be like you in some ways.  If you were prone to disloyalty I figured he would’ve bitten me.”

“Can’t argue with that kind of logic,” she said.

“I suppose not,” he said. “I know you too. But I don’t think you recognize me.”