A Capella
By Mire, 2001
The two bodies on the floor had long since begun attracting flies. The child
shooed them away, and they rose like a thin wisp of buzzing smoke only to
settle again on the dried blood. The child gave up after awhile, dazedly
wandering back upstairs to where his sister hanged from the ceiling. Hey
eyes, glazed and unseeing, mirrored his own. It was dark, and the child
wept. His only comfort was the faint light his friend gave off as she
soothed
him with her song. Her name was Reesha; Reesha told him she was his
Guardian.
The child’s name was Thomas. It was the day after his parents had died
that
his sister had hanged herself; her name was Sherri. His parents were
merely
“Mommy” and “Daddy”, and they had been dead for less than two weeks
now. But
not much less. After they’d died he grew fearful of the dark,
and wandered
through the house flicking light switches, convinced that
what he was afraid
of could not harm him if the lights were burning brightly
all the time. In a
few hours he had blown a fuse, not knowing what’d happened,
and Thomas hid
in a corner and bawled, and that was when Reesha appeared
to him for the
first time. She was a white griffon, with green swirls patterned
down her
wings and back.
With a low, indignant rumble, his stomach reminded Thomas how hungry he
was, bringing him back to the present. He stumbled back down the cold wooden
stairs, almost sobbing in terror as the house creaked and sighed in the
cool
night air, but then he had reached the kitchen. He pulled open the
refrigerator and the sickly-sweet smell of rotting food hit him like a slap
and he reeled away, retching dryly. The smell reminded Thomas of his
parents,
sprawled face down in the next room with the flies eating them and
the
maggots and the blood…He began to cry again, sat down on the kitchen
floor
and poured out his misery in meaningless wails.
Reesha appeared with that soothing golden light, and his wails subsided
to
quiet sniffles. She gazed at Thomas affectionately, who wonder again
how her
eyes could be so fiercely protective and gentle at the same time.
Presently
she began to speak, in that same calming lilt that she sung in.
“Thomas, you have to leave this place soon.”
The boy almost started to cry again. His voice shook as he questioned her.
“I can’t tell you right now, but you’ll have to be on your way and on your
own by tomorrow’s first light.”
Thomas could feel the tears welling back up under his eyelids. He uttered
little more than a mute squeak of fear. Reesha began to whisper soothing
instructions to him, and then faded away.
That night, Thomas changed his name.
* * *
The Hekshanian running the orphanage was getting old. Her joints ached
with
arthritis, and her once healthy fur had lost its original luster.
She moved
slowly whenever she could, rarely leaving her dirty, cluttered
office except
for emergencies. Still, she carried herself with a sort of
stern grace, even
for her age.
A loud crash shook plaster from the ceiling. The old Hekshanian heaved
a
great, exasperated sigh and stood, eyes straying heavenward. Oh, but
of
course, she thought bitterly, there’s no one up THERE to help me now,
in
these desperate times.
Painfully hurrying up the rickety staircase, the Hekshanian pushed the
door
to the beds open and shouted to make herself be heard over the dreadful
din.
The mass of orphaned aliens huddled like a single, seething screaming
entity
broke apart and scrambled towards the far wall. As wild as they
were, they
still held a certain respect for the adults. The only one left
was a young
Human with a cut on his lip and a rapidly blackening eye. His
nose was
bleeding freely, and his face and arms were covered with scratches.
Bruises
glared darkly and angrily through garments reduced to little more
than
tattered strips of cloth. He was crying, she saw, but he stubbornly
wiped
the back of his hand across his eyes and bit his tongue.
“Craika, what’s been going on here?”
A few children—the younger ones—sniffed quietly. Many shuffled their feet
and seemed interested in the dust on the floor. The Human stared at the
mottled group reproachfully. A tall Hekshanian shivered, and said
hesitantly,
“He’s a Human. The Rulerists killed our parents. He’s one of
them.” He
spat the last word out like an insult.
A low murmur ran through the group of aliens. Very few of them had been
spared the scene of mass murder, with their parents as victims. Very few.
The old Hekshanian rolled her eyes heavenward once more. “When you judge
him
for what his species has done, you’re no worse that the Rulerists,
don’t you
see? You let him be, he hasn’t done anything…” The yet she hadn’t
spoken
hung in the air like a bad omen.
More shuffling. The Human stood suddenly, and several of the nearer orphans
jumped, but he had only crossed the room to his bunk and silently pulled
on
a pair of loose jeans. Ribs showed through the remains of his shirt,
pushing
against a pathetically thin frame. The floor was once again the
center of
attention.
He came back to the Hekshanian with a pad and pen clutched in his hands.
He
scribbled a short note in messy letters, tore the page off and handed
it to
her.
I’m not angry, Miss Liana.
Miss Liana the Old-Hekshanian-Keeper-of-Orphans sighed. A butterfly
alighted
on the windowsill outside and she was momentarily fascinated by it;
blissfully
ignorant thing didn’t have a care in the world, probably, except
for where
the next goddamned flower was. As it wondered away, some remote
part of
her mind wondered why it was still out so near winter.
“I don’t care whether YOU are angry or not, this is not the sort of deed
that I allow to go unpunished. Who started this?”
The orphans answered for him, their voices high and insistent.
“—was him, the—”
“—jumped on Rinn—”
“—I didn’t say nothing—!”
The elder Hekshanian frowned at them, and the frantic babble gradually
faded away. The floor had had its fifteen minutes of fame, and now everyone
was looking at the Human boy and Miss Liana. The Human looked stonily across
the room at the orphans as Liana turned to him and asked, still frowning,
“Is this true?”
The boy’s eyes never left the assorted aliens as he nodded yes. The
Headmistress
was taken aback even as she motioned him to the door. Never
before had
a child so openly admitted to a fault.
He’s different, she mused. Very different.
* * *
FILE NAME: NASHIDE KANGEN
Age:13
Height:5’
Weight:88 lbs.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Eye Color: Gray
Hair Color: Black
COMMENTS: Method of arrival unto Hekshano unknown. Parents are apparently
deceased. Subject is mute; however, he houses no physical disabilities,
so
the problem appears to be psychological. Perhaps emotional stress. Subject
is educated enough to read and write and calculate. Possible kleptomania,
subject was found with many stolen items. Items have been returned, of
course; depression is definite. Possible schizophrenia.
Nashide slept uneasily that night, as visions of fire and blood mingled
with
the rattle of gunfire and the screams of many voices. Sight and sound
blended together as if they were a unified sense. Images and vague shapes
swam in and out of focus, faces leered grotesquely at him from the shadowy
recesses of his mind. The ground—if it was really there—seemed unsteady
beneath his feet; his body seemed boneless and rubbery.
With a soundless explosion of light, the ground turned solid and the
suddenness
of it threw him flat, face-first. A heavy weight settled onto his
back
and he cried out, with a voice he always had in the world of his
dreams.
It resonated in his mind, more beautiful than he had ever imagined,
and
faded away. The ground beneath his nose smelled of freshly baked bread,
a golden light illuminating the slender blades of grass. A voice sounded
in
his ears, quiet, calm, and with enough force to make his skin tingle.
Beside
it, his own voice was nothing.
“Hello again, Thomas.”
Nashide scowled. That’s not my name!
“It is, Thomas. You ought to remember. Do you know who I am?”
Nashide searched his mind, and unearthed what he had once tried to bury.
Reesha!
“Hello again, Thomas. Or if you prefer it, Nashide.”
Nashide, who was once Thomas, remained silent. He wanted nothing more to
leave, except perhaps to hear more of that voice.
“Nashide, you have to go again. You have to leave here. Another exodus,
if
you will.”
Nashide frowned. Leave again? But…why?
That soft, golden voice was making him drowsy, but Nashide heard every word
it spoke. Every word Reesha uttered was like a starburst of light in his
head, as his dream allowed.
“This place will fall tomorrow. Nashide, you’ll have to leave tonight, while
it is still dark. Gather you possessions and go.”
There may have been more, but the dream seemed to be dissolving; the weight
was gone from the child’s back and he stood. With a lurch of fear, he felt
eyes and turned, and the ground shattered like glass and he was falling,
falling—
—only to awake, bathed in cold sweat, the chill breeze from an open window
raising goosebumps on his bared chest. He didn’t hesitate in swinging
himself
off the bunk. Throwing on a shirt as he went, Nashide crept
downstairs
and paused. The Headmistress was still asleep. Heart pounding
with every
creak the old apartment made, he found what he was looking for:
the old
closet where all the things the orphans had been found with were
kept.
A moments rummaging and he was reunited with his old and battered
pack.
Back upstairs, it was a short matter to stuff his few belongings into it.
Clothing, paper and pen were hastily crammed into the backpack. The clips
made almost no sound as they snapped shut.
Something on the bunk caught his eye. It seemed as if a yellow snake
writher
on the sheets, elusive and twisting. Screwing up his eyes against
its illusionary
movement, it was a small length of time before Nashide
realized just what
it was.
A gold amulet, shaped like a miniature griffon, had formed itself from
the
air and light and was now lying on the bed. He stared, bewildered,
and heard
something as faint as the wind.
Nashide Kangen…
Without another thought he snatched it up and hung it around his neck.
The
amulet was warm, as if it had been held tightly for sometime. If felt
comfortable, resting against his chest.
Nashide shouldered his pack and strode towards the door. Something made
him
stop, and he turned. He stared solemnly around at the children. He
wished.
You can’t save them, Reesha had said.
Nashide saluted, and was gone.
That following morning, few people cared that Nashide was gone. The
Headmistress
was frantic, though, and insisted that they search for him.
Strange as
Nashide’s disappearance was, even stranger was that the orphanage
couldn’t
find any of his files, on paper or on computer file. It was as if
he had
truly disappeared for good.
Two hours later, went that part of Hekshano was in flames, they cared even
less.
|
