Oriana's Eyes (2 page)

 CHAPTER THREE

I grow dizzy and unsteady on my feet. I know I want to go, but should I? Lenora will tell me not to, she is a smart Winglet, always getting good grades, always staying in line, never acting against Odon. If I go, it will be wrong—yet I want to find out what is waiting for me there. In the back of my mind I know I have already decided to accept his invitation. My conscious is still denying it.

I walk blindly through the corridors and stop in front of my room automatically. I open the door carefully and step inside. It is a small room with two sets of identical furniture and white walls to match the ones throughout the University. Two beds are pressed against the wall to the right of the door so that their ends lead out to the center of the room. Pearly soft bed coverings neatly adorn both. On the opposite wall, two square white desks sit, without a single item on either one. Each lines up with the corresponding bed to form a T, broken at the top for a walkway.

Luckily no wall possesses an Odon’s Eye, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep. It’s difficult enough with the furnishings consisting only of white. The first desk and bed are my own, and I mechanically slip the books in my hand into the top left drawer. My way is lit by the familiar spherical light fixture from the hall. Its brightness follows the stages of the sun, slowly dimming throughout the evening until it is completely off at night. The process reverts for sunrise and then begins to darken again at midday. Now it is a dull glow, almost completely out but with just enough light reflecting off the white of everything so I am able to see.

I notice Lenora in her bed. She is beneath the sheets, though I wonder if she has been sleeping or waiting for my arrival. My mind wanders inward. Dorian’s note feels heavy in my hand, and its message replays over and over in my head. “…
Meet me tomorrow night
 …” I mouth the words in a trance of uncertainty.

What can this all mean for me? A story has begun unraveling itself, and no one must find out. Powerful risks lie ahead if I continue down this path, and yet I feel compelled to discover what destiny waits in the garden tomorrow night. The need seems to overpower any fear of defying my faith—a faith where one is born into a respect based on blood, where those below do not deserve an equal love. Do I believe such a faith? Do I dare go against it?

Lenora startles me from my thoughts. “Where were you? You know we have a test tomorrow.” She sounds angry. She doesn’t shout, just furrows her eyebrows at me, an expression I know well. Even when she is angry, Lenora’s face seems unthreatening, with large blue eyes and a delicately upturned nose. She has the pale skin of a pureblood and long flaxen hair falling in a slight wave down her back. Her lips squeeze together, turning them a bright red as she tries to look intimidating with disapproval

“I know, it’s just that I got caught up at the garden—” I look away from her gaze, certain she knows something has happened.

“Got caught up?” Lenora smiles cleverly. She is hinting for me to explain.

I hesitantly toss the note on the space next to her on the bed. I feel as though a large burden has been released from my grasp, although a heavier one remains. She unfolds it quickly, and I watch her face turn grim after reading it.

She looks up at me and speaks slowly. “Dorian … isn’t he a … a half-blood?” She spits the words out disgustedly.

I nod solemnly but say nothing.

“Oriana, what happened? What did you do?” She is furious now, and her voice is rising. She stands up from her bed and looks me straight in the eyes; we are the same height. I respond by averting them quickly. “Oriana! Don’t tell me you actually like—”

Now I look at her, astonished that she would think such a thing. “Of course not!
Nothing
happened. He just—we just met each other, but then Aurek came, and Dorian disappeared.”

“Aurek? Good, you should be spending more time with him anyway; he’s a good influence, you know.”

Lenora sinks back onto her bed, satisfied with the advice she has given.

“Lenora, you sound like our professors! Telling me who to hang out with …” I laugh a little without thinking.

But Lenora answers back very coldly, “What’s wrong with that?” She raises an eyebrow at me suspiciously.

“Oh calm down, I was just joking—”

She cuts me off, but I have nothing more to say anyway. I’ve said too much.

“Joking does not suit a pureblood. Honestly, Oriana, sometimes I just don’t understand you.” Lenora lies down in her bed and faces away from me, saying nothing more.

I glance at her still form once more, and it brings back a memory. We were only nine at the time, still learning the rules and regulations. We enjoyed the freedom of the playground outside the University. Segregation wasn’t as strict when we were younger, so part- and half-bloods were allowed to play alongside the purebloods.

Lenora had her eye on a particular part-blood. He was certainly a handsome boy, with dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes. She was positively smitten. On one occasion when they were sitting beside one another on the swings, Lenora leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Being at such an age of innocence, the two couldn’t help giggling over it.

Unfortunately, a nearby professor had witnessed the event and immediately took them both by the arm and dragged them away. The part-blood boy vanished, and Lenora returned forever changed. Now she never relates to Winglets other than purebloods. And she never thinks of much besides her studies. She acts as though she wants me to be more like her. But sometimes I feel that it’s more the other way around. There is a fear that goes deep inside her. Something they did to her put it there, a fear that ensures she will never defy the faith again. But I may never know what took place that day, so many years ago. She does not speak of it. Any scars are embedded far below the skin, never to surface.

A shiver goes through my body as I slip into the softness of the sheets and place my head upon my pillow. The warmth is a temporary distraction from my thoughts, but my mind pushes through my comfort. Who can I trust? A friend who follows the teachings? A friend who is only a friend when it suits the University? No, I can’t settle for ignorance. Whatever rules are broken, whatever risks will be taken, I need to go.

My stomach turns over as my decision is finally made. I feel exposed with the thoughts in the forefront of my mind. As if they are visible to the outside world. I roll onto my stomach and push my forehead into the pillow, hoping the fabric will absorb my memories and allow me to sleep peacefully. Time is passing as I lie awake, Odon knows how long. I turn onto my side and then onto my back. After a few more positions, I end up on my side again and finally fall asleep. I wake with the coming of morning less than refreshed.

I’m moving through school today, but I’m barely remembering what is happening. As I sit in history class, my professor sees I am not paying attention. My mind is wandering and tossing over decisions back and forth. I can’t accept what I’ve decided to do. Should I trust myself? I want to see that boy again, but I know it is wrong, unheard of, frowned upon—
no
 …
worse.

The professor calls upon me. “Oriana please, what have you to say?”

I jolt straight up in my seat. “I’m sorry, sir, what was the question?”

He looks at me curiously. The students around me whisper to each other and shake their heads. Lenora does the same.

“Silence!” he says sternly, and the whispering stops. “Why were you not listening, Oriana?”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. I shouldn’t have let this half-blood control me, I shouldn’t have taken interest, but it is too late. “I was thinking, sir.” The words get caught in my throat, but they are still spoken, and I regret them as soon as they come out.

“Oriana, you should be concentrating on classes. Do you need to go to the Odonian?”

The word stabs at me, deep into the open wound of fear.

The Odonians are an elite rank of professors, all pureblood. They are appointed directly by Odon himself and assure that all students follow the teachings of Odon exactly. There is one at our University for each race and rank. I must not get sent. I would have no choice but to attend. And then? Dangers beyond my imagination lie in the office of an Odonian, that even my terror cannot conjure up.

“No, sir.” I look down at my desk, willing my release from further interrogation.

“Are you certain?” The professor raises a thick and wiry eyebrow, a peppered gray and light brown. Such an act, however minuscule, leads me to hate him immediately. He is a part-blood; all the professors are, except the Odonians. In fact, I’ve never seen a grown pureblood. They leave after the Rebirth. This particular part-blood is well liked, a devoted servant to Odon, but he will always be a part-blood, no matter how impeccable his record is. And for that reason his students will never respect him. An anger such as I’ve never felt before consumes me. I want to yell and push him down! He is below
me
! He has no right to speak as though he is better. He is worthless, middle-class, impure!

My hatred is growing now. I struggle to nod in answer to his question. I dare not speak and reveal the anger in my voice. He turns his back to the class. I calm down, but I am trembling with chills of pent-up spite. It’s all I can do to maintain my composure. I breathe. In, then out, control, steady pace, in, then out. The air rushing through my lungs cools my nerves. Eyes straight ahead. I cannot be sent to the Odonian; survival depends on that. I keep myself from looking at his face. Just listen to his words. I must protect myself. I must not show these changes these … emotions.

 CHAPTER FOUR

The school day becomes a mindless glaze of incoherent white, so bright that it erases any functions of the mind. I choose not to fight it.
Do not think; ease the pain, trust in Odon.
Your destiny lies in your success as a pureblood. Write, listen, repeat their information; this is what matters.
History class, then Faith, then test
—the test that was so important only hours ago.

The teacher walks down the aisle, handing out a packet, neatly clipped together. She passes me, and one finds itself on my desk. I grip the metal pen in my burning palm. My other hand drags the test in front of me. I must not make a mistake, a single mistake, and they would know. They would send me to the Odonian, and then there would be no hope. I would return forever changed, scarred by the same unknown infliction that laid its injury upon Lenora.

I turn the first page over. Have I finished it already? My mind is somewhere else, and I can’t remember the questions. I scan it; yes, it is complete. I begin the next page. Concentrate; I must not make a mistake. Haven’t I studied? Didn’t I prepare? And yet my memories grasp nothing except the fear of not remembering. After I’ve read and answered the last question, I turn it over. But relief at the test’s completion does not wash over me. I am caught in time, trapped in the moment when the packet was placed beside me.

Why couldn’t I have pushed it to the floor
? But it’s done; nothing in the past will change. Somehow I muster the strength to rise from my seat and approach the desk at the front of the room, where the professor sits reading the
History
book.

I reach the desk and place a hand on it to gain balance. The test is squirming in my hand, all but leaping onto the blank silver surface of the desk. Did I finish first? There are no other tests; mine sits by itself, a white rectangle on the metal. It looks so blatant lying there alone. But it has left my hand, and there is no way to retrieve it from its solitude. I stare at it, wanting to take it back. The professor doesn’t notice me but continues to read, unaware of the crisis that is occurring before her. Her light brown hair is tucked below her neck, a part-blood. My eyes are still upon the abandoned test, as if I am holding it in time or willing it to disappear.

How long I stand there, I can’t tell, but it isn’t until a second student approaches from behind to lay his test over mine that I leave to take a seat. All that waits for me is my metal ink pen on my desk, the pile of books visibly tucked beneath it. Once seated, I take some comfort in the absence of that foreign test and gather the familiar items close. My fingers wrap tightly around the pen, and my arms find safety in hugging the books. Is this the extent of my faith, the need to seek comfort in something known?
Odon protect me, keep me safe, and I will love you forever.

Later I’m walking to my locker across the school. I stride quickly; I have to get out of this place before someone stops me. My head is whirring, and I run into someone, apologize, and then collide with someone else; “Sorry” again. They know.
I know they know.
They are wishing to see me fail, mess up, lose control of myself for just an instant. The lights are burning my eyes, scorching my brain. But the thoughts are still there, eroding my composure. The blank look I’ve always managed to maintain, until now.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder, fastening itself and stopping me from moving. I gasp, and my eyes flicker out of focus. I don’t scream, just draw a breath, but in my ears it’s as loud as a scream. I stare wide-eyed into a face, too bright to see.

“Oriana, what’s the matter with you? You’re paler than pale!” Aurek has me unwillingly gripped by the shoulders. He wraps his arms around me, and I sink into his body trying to hang onto a fading consciousness. I am frozen, hidden in Aurek’s shadow, the world shifting out of view. He strokes my hair. “You’re ice cold. What’s happened to you?”

I shiver but do not respond. I only answer within myself as my stomach lurches.
Fear,
I speak without my voice.
Fear is what has happened.
I fall backward as Aurek’s face disappears into the pinpoint of a black tunnel.

All I can hear is a buzzing interrupted by a steady heartbeat. I sit in the darkness. My body floats above me. I’m headed straight for it. We will connect soon. I feel myself return, and now I can control my eyes. I open them to get out of the darkness—to get out of the black and then white: white walls and light and sheet and face.

I blink to organize things. Everything is blurry except the face. My eyes remain there. I sit up, my eyes still fixed. My hand reaches for the skin. I see it is slightly darker than my own. I pull back as soon as my wits return. I do not touch it, him, Dorian.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. My voice is raspy and I reach for the glass of clear liquid in his hand. He raises it to my lips concentrating on allowing me to drink.

Once I have finished he answers. “I work here.”

“The medical ward? They allow half-bloods to treat patients?”

“Well, I mostly clean the rooms. I’m not really supposed to be talking to you.”

I stare at him in shock before gaining back my voice. “Since when?”

“Since awhile … I don’t know; last year maybe.” He shrugs.

I suppose it is a credible answer. Those who are not pureblood are often required to volunteer in the school’s facilities in exchange for classes. Half-bloods are usually assigned to the monotonous work of sorting files and cleaning.

My questions take a new route. “Have you heard what’s wrong with me?” I stare at the ceiling, as if I’m not worried, but I listen intently.

“Nothing.”

I look at him strangely, “Nothing? Then what am I doing here? Why did I faint?”

“They don’t know,” he answers frankly. “They don’t have a clue.”

“They?”

“The doctors, examiners … whatever you want to call them.” His voice gets significantly lower, and he looks down at his hands, “I know.”

For a moment I think I have misjudged his meaning. Yet his confident expression of a well-kept secret confirms otherwise.

“Are you insane? What do you mean, you know?”

He grins at me slyly and brings his face closer to mine, “I know what’s happened to you, and you know too.” He draws back and shrugs again.

I avert my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know! And you don’t either, so stay out of my life!”

It seems so simple just to admit that there is something different about me, something that I had control of before but no longer. Still, I can’t, and in a final defiance I lash out, “I could get rid of you, you know—” I stop myself knowing I shouldn’t have said that. I look him in the eyes. He sits on the edge of my bed, close enough to touch my legs beneath the sheets. Why is it that I notice every detail when he is near, every expression, every moment?

His mouth flickers with a smile.

“You’re not afraid …,” I say. It isn’t a question because the answer is obvious. His eyes are unblinking without a trace of fear. Something inside me sinks.

“No, but you are.”

Dorian rises from beside me and begins to leave the room through a thick white door that I am hoping has blocked out our conversation. Before he reaches for the handle, he adds, “Get used to it, it doesn’t just go away.”

My stomach twists, and I gasp. He is right; I’m afraid, terrified. I’ve known all along; I never needed his simple diagnosis. The fear has consumed me, and I had collapsed in a horrified heap.

But why can’t I control it as I have before? I already know the answer to this as well. The danger is closer, breathing down my back. I can feel it even in this moment alone, unwatched, inside the medical center. I don’t need the stare of an Odon’s Eye or a professor’s warning. Odon is everywhere, and he is watching. No fear could be greater.