Oriana's Eyes (6 page)

 CHAPTER TWELVE

I feel myself surge into my body with an exhausting ache. My head throbs in my ears, and I don’t move. I can’t move. Not just because of the lashing fire in my neck and skull but because my wrists and ankles have been bound tightly, viciously, together. As I try to move them in sudden panic, I feel the burns that have grown beneath the ropes and realize that I have probably been tied up for some time.

My eyes open, and I witness the intensity of the darkness. I see nothing, and I scramble around on the floor in another attack of disorientation. My hands slip across the smooth damp floor as I try to maneuver myself to my knees, and my stomach smacks back down with a sickening slap that causes me to reel in pain and cradle my body. I moan in agony and hopelessness.

“Did you really think you were going to get somewhere?”

I gasp at the sound of a female voice somewhere to my right. I search in the dark for the source. As my eyes start to adjust, I see her leaning against the wall. I realize that there is a faint glow coming from behind me. It’s a small illuminated window crossed by bars; I soon see it’s been cut into a thick wooden door. The flickering light suggests that a flame is casting its dimness into the cell. I can faintly see the outline of the girl’s face and the reflection of her eyes.

“Who … who are you?” Other questions quickly come to mind, “Where am I? How did I get here?” My voice is a croak, and my questions trigger a coughing fit.

Once I stop, she answers me. “You ask too many questions. As to the first one, my name is Azura, and you are?” she asks dryly.

“I’m Oriana,” I whisper. My words hang in the moisture of the room. I suddenly realize that my name seems foreign to me now.

“It’s a pleasure,” Azura replies with the same sarcastic tone. “As for the second, I’d rather not answer it. Not that I could put this place into words.” I see her hands come up to gesture around her, at least the best she could. It seems hers are bound as well. “Your third question I can answer simply. They brought you here. Other than that, my only memory is a blow to the back of the head.”

“Mine too,” I breathe and begin again the task of raising myself to my knees. This time I take my time shifting my weight slowly to my hands so that I can slide my legs underneath. After accomplishing this I begin an inching movement imitating a worm as I slide across the floor toward Azura. She watches in silence as I reach the wall and collapse with my back against it facing the wooden door. My body is weak, and I realize it even more as I slowly recover from my journey from floor to wall. Finally my breathing returns to normal.

“So what happens now?” I ask, not wanting the answer but needing to know.

“You’ll learn soon enough …” I hear a waver in Azura’s voice for the first time. It makes me nervous.

“Have you been here long?”

“It’s no use wasting your energy on silly questions!” she snaps, but her tone changes at once. “You’ll discover for yourself, any time here is a long time.”

I shiver where I lie. I’m grateful for the dark to hide my eyes filled with tears and my body that will not stop shaking. My empty stomach twists in a knot, and I hug my damp arms against myself. I ask no more questions, and we sit side by side in silence, sharing the light of a flickering window that casts shadows on our faces. My eyes feel heavy, and tears burn down my cheeks as I imagine an endless possibility of torture. Then the room grows darker than black; everything disappears.

I open my eyes and try to swallow but can’t. Somehow I have drifted to my side on the floor. I push myself back into a sitting position. I sense that Azura has fallen asleep; her breathing has slowed, although she is still sitting up. My mouth is unbearably dry, and I can’t resist pressing my tongue to the wet stone wall. It tastes like dirt, and I try to spit out some of the grit but swallow some anyway.

There is a noise from outside, and my body tenses. They are footsteps, coming closer, the sound splashes in the moisture of the air. I say nothing. Azura awakens next to me.

“They’re here again … Oriana, be strong.” Her hand slides inside mine and tightens. I squeeze it in return, setting my jaw and barring any tears.

A shadow appears in the window. A large figure is looking in. “Take the pureblood,” it commands in a heartless voice. My stomach drops, and I intensify my grip on Azura’s hand.
Be strong, be strong.
The many shadows come toward me, and I wait till the last minute to release Azura’s hand and allow them to take me. Their hands lock under my shoulders and I’m lifted off my feet and carried into the corridor.

They turn left, and we follow the lead man. He wears the white silky robe of a pureblood. The stone corridor is lined with torches. My head is too heavy to hold it up and watch where we are headed. Instead I watch the floor rush beneath me and see the feet of my captors. They step together in unison, and I begin to count them, attempting to concentrate on something other than the fate that lies before me. I feel my underarms begin to bruise, and I struggle to shift their hold, but this only encourages a more crushing grip. I grit my teeth and wait for the numbness.

I can’t tell how much longer I’m dragged down the hallway, and I’m not positive that I’ve been conscious for most of it. It seems forever until we reach a dark room. The guide halts and whips around to reveal a man of tight skin. He is a pureblood without a doubt, but I can’t look at him long. His skin is stretched across his face so that bulging blue veins are visible on his forehead, and his crystal blue eyes poke out from beneath his brow. His gaze is the piercing look of a corpse, and I hide my face with disgust.

With a lucid hand, he gestures at the men to enter the room. They obey, roughly shoving me in before them. As we pass through the doorway, a globe light at the center of the room ignites and nearly blinds me as I fall to the floor in a limp heap. My hair sprawls around me, capturing the light and reflecting it back into my eyes. I try to climb to my knees, my hands and ankles still bound. With the last of my energy I make it to my knees and rest, trying to catch my breath. I look down at my shadow; it is so small beneath me.

A sharp kick deep into my side instantly drives the air from me and sends me forcibly to the floor. I struggle in a fit of coughing. My head reels as I try to grasp the floor and stop the spinning room.

“Stay where you are, Oriana. There’s no need to get up.” A soothing voice ripples through the room. I catch my breath but stay on the floor, my hair hiding my eyes. It hides any sight of the man who speaks to me from somewhere in the room.

“I know what you have been up to, Oriana.” The soothing voice seems to run up my back. My arms move to hold the last of my body’s remaining warmth. I can’t think. I close my eyes and see the garden. I see the moonlight and the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes.

“There are no secrets here. You need only tell the truth. Tell us what you know of the half-blood. Then you may return as if nothing has happened.” Steps approach closer and closer across the floor. I swallow and shut my eyes tighter. They stop and I feel a presence standing over me. I don’t move. My body grows rigid.

He kneels down beside me, and I feel his breath over my ear. It is cold like the floor beneath me. “Oriana, you are a pureblood. You are one of Odon’s children. He will protect you, as long as you are faithful.” A hand strokes my hair and clears it from my face. From beneath my lids I see the light coming through. “You need only tell me of his whereabouts, and then you may go.”

I am not listening anymore; I won’t think of the one he’s talking about or what he asks of me. The light is so blinding. I tightly close my eyes. It’s hard to forget where I am. It’s hard to think of anything else but the fear.

The hand clamps down on my hair and lifts me by the neck in one sharp jerk. My eyes snap open and I find myself gazing into two pale eyes. His face seems to lack any features: his nose and lips are so white that they blend into the rest of his face. There are two black holes for nostrils, yet no shadows cast upon his face to define anything else. Is he another Odonian? I can’t seem to identify him as anything, and his features are so smooth that if I tried to recognize him again, I would not be able to.

He grins, yet no wrinkles line his lips, if they can be called that. I can only identify the smile by the gleam of white teeth overlapped by flaps of bleached skin. The sight sickens me, and he chuckles. “My dear, do you hear what I am saying?” His face is close to mine, and I struggle to wrench my hair free but he snaps his hand, pulling at my scalp. I cry out, and two tears escape my eyes.

He stares at me in silence a moment longer. I say nothing. With a sigh he tosses me by the head to the floor. As I reach down to catch myself, my hands make an echoing slap on the floor.

“There’s no use wasting any more energy.” He takes a few casual steps to the edge of the room. “Administer the device.”

The words have no meaning to me, but the hint of amusement in his voice frightens me. “What are you going to do to me?” My voice is trembling, and I sound like a rodent squeaking.

“Now you speak?” he replies with mild surprise, “Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway. I don’t have any more time for this.”

A door opens, and I look up to see a woman, her face a pure white light. Yet my gaze is quickly captured by the glint of something held in her hands. My lungs constrict at the sight. It’s a large needle.

I begin to scurry frantically away from her. I break into a sweat that makes my hands and legs slip upon the floor. There is a high-pitched hum in my head as the room grows brighter. I must still be trying to escape because the guards grab hold of me. One latches onto my head and offers it to the woman.

I yell in a rage, kicking and jerking, but I am not strong enough. I know my screams are loud; they echo through the corridor, but no one will be coming for me. Above all the noise, I can hear him speak.

“He will come for her. I am certain.”

The needle enters my neck, and I feel something forced into an artery. It sends a chill throughout my body, so cold that it burns. My eyes swell with a pressure and feel as if they might burst. As I slip into an unconscious oblivion, the man’s last words invade my ears.

“Now we wait …”

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Where am I? There is complete darkness, except I begin to discern a flickering light coming from a barred window. I remember—there was a girl.

“Azura! Are you still here?” There is silence. Where is she? I can’t be alone here! “Azu—!”

“I’m here, you don’t have to panic.” The sound of a voice with emotion behind it is reassuring, even though she is clearly irritated.

Silence returns. I try to recall what happened to me. I remember them taking me away, and then a bright room. At this moment my head begins to split. The pounding is unbearable, and I can’t seem to form any thoughts. Why can’t I remember what happened? The pain in my skull grows.

“You didn’t say you were a pureblood.” Azura’s voice switches the prying headache from full force to nonexistent.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I heard what that man said. Are you really a pureblood?” Azura seems to despise the word. I feel the hatred emanating from her, and I hesitate before answering.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re the reason I’m down here! You’re one of them!” Her shouting rips through me. “You’ve ruined my life and killed my friends! And when I thought I could at least escape your kind for a moment in between the constant torture—I find out there is one sharing the same cell!”

I feel a lead weight on my chest. How could someone I barely know make me feel so worthless?

“You act like you know me.”

“I don’t need to. I know what you are.” There’s no mistaking her distaste. “Just don’t talk to me.” I want to return her hatred, but I can only empathize with her anger toward me.
Could I blame her?
I was once that girl—the one she thinks I am. I followed Odon blindly. Now in all this darkness, far below the bright lights of the University, I can see clearly.

“Azura, I’m not …” I begin to make peace but am hushed by the sound of approaching feet. “Do you hear that?”

“Shh!” she hisses. We wait in fear.

My eyes begin to water. I hold back a cry. Biting my lip, I taste the bitterness of my own blood. My stomach sinks as the footsteps halt behind the windowed door. I hear Azura’s breathing falter. I press my back against the stone wall, despite the chill. Watching the window, I see the visitor is carrying a lit torch. Its flickering light illuminates the room. I look for Azura who is also making the futile effort to escape through the wall. She senses my gaze and turns to meet my eyes.

My muscles freeze as we share a moment stricken in terror, holding our breaths, and seeing the flames dance in each other’s gaze. Somewhere in the sway of fire, we see the being behind the blood.

“Oriana.” My whispered name scurries across the stone like many spiders. “Oriana? Are you there?”

My heart leaps. Is it possible I have heard him? Or is it another trick of the fire?

“Dorian?” The word is spoken by both of us. The tones clash, and the name is nearly lost to dissonance.

My eyes search out Azura’s, and I see a blaze lit dangerously in hers. She knows Dorian? Somehow I am certain that the twinge of jealousy is caught in her throat as well.

I hear something scraping at the lock on the door. A hand thrusts through the opening, a burning torch in its grasp. I feel the warmth of the flames from where I’m sitting.

Azura cries out as a face appears behind the torch. Peering into the blackness is Dorian. For a moment he sees only me, and we exchange smiles of relief. I leap inside when the flame flickers and it seems his smile might disappear, as if he is not a solid form but a trick of the mind.

“Dorian! You’ve finally come,” Azura whispers in a loud gasp of air. “I didn’t think it was possible! “ She is scrambling in vain to stand, seeming to forget about me altogether, heedless even that the first word Dorian spoke was my name and not hers.

Once the cell door has been fully pushed open, I notice that Dorian is not alone. Behind him stands the lean figure of a young man, yet no light falls upon his face, and what light exists, creates only a silhouette. Dorian casts a wary glance over his shoulder before hurrying to us, a blade gleaming in his other hand. The other figure remains in the hallway, his head turning to either direction, keeping watch.

Azura’s face slowly fills with contempt as Dorian slices at my wrist bindings first. He turns to Azura next, periodically looking over as I undo the knots at my ankles. His final look, before getting to his feet, is frightening to me. It’s as if he is studying me, trying to capture my image, as though I might vanish forever.

Then in one movement he lifts me to my feet and moves at once to help Azura. I notice that she is not putting weight on her right foot. She never showed she was so badly injured. I take the torch from Dorian’s hand, painfully sore but able to walk on my own.

There’s no time to question, no time to wonder if this is all a wishful dream. I head for the door. I pause there, torch raised forward and above my head, unsure if the man in front of me is just a trick of the shadows. The flame lights the hallway as well as the figure’s face. He is young, perhaps a few years older than Dorian, and he seems to be a part-blood. In the torchlight his eyes and hair seem to be on fire, or perhaps that is their true color. He glares with judgment at me but says nothing. Despite his soft features, his gaze is unsettling, and I can see anger in the dancing firelight.

I look further down the hallway. A few lamps are lit along the wall, their soft glow telling of lives soon to end. Beside me, the metal sconce that once cast a dreary light into our chamber has already departed. Looks like it’s time for us to leave.

I turn my back to the hallway, addressing Dorian who has already assisted Azura to the entrance. As he turns to close the heavy wooden door, the nameless man takes Azura’s other side. She looks up at him, whispering something that could be a name but is muffled from behind his shoulder. I keep my distance, feeling out of place around strangers. Azura awaits Dorian’s assistance and does not put any weight on her foot. Instead she holds it above the ground with a bent knee. I shudder to think what brutality could have caused such an injury.

Once Dorian fastens the lock, he resumes his hold on Azura’s other side then begins down the right side of the corridor. I walk beside him, my breathing heavy in my ears and my joints aching. The lamps sweep toward us, seeming to grasp at us as we pass.

Dorian and the part-blood pause at the sound of footsteps somewhere ahead. I look behind us. We have not traveled far from the door. Perhaps we could make it back. But Dorian does not turn around. He tightens his grip on Azura, who steadies herself on both young men’s arms. I’m not sure what to expect, but I brace myself.

“Ten … nine …” Dorian counts in a barely audible whisper. As if in a trance, he stares unwavering into the corridor. I see the confidence in his expression and say nothing, but as I begin to hear the men approaching, I reach for him and press my hand onto his arm. He does not react, but remains still. I try to detect the part-blood’s expression, but his face is once again in shadows and indiscernible.

“Three … two …” Dorian’s voice rises slightly so Azura and I can hear. He looks straight into my eyes. I realize what I must do when he reaches one.

“One,” he states firmly, and we start a fast walk that turns into a jog as fast as Azura can manage between the two young men. They are mostly carrying her, her foot only skimming the stone floor while the injured is lifted completely. Their movements seem to have a calculated pace. I know it is important to stay in time with their feet, while staying as silent as possible. Dorian’s face maintains its deep concentration.

We stop as we come to branching corridors. Dorian keeps counting, waiting, breathing, tapping his foot in time: “Three … two … one.” Then we are jogging again into the right passage. We do this three more times, a right, a left, another left. We alternate between a fast walk and a jog, pausing and then taking off at a timed pace. I lose track of the next varied turns and hope Dorian is certain of his way.

My body is aching by the next waiting period, and I can hear that Azura is out of breath as well. Dorian and the young man seem to be steadied, their breathing in better condition.

They must notice our waning energy because we walk a short distance and then start a slower jog. With each step I curse the ruthless rock floor that pounds on my body. Sweat forms on my brow aided by the burning torch in my hand. I want to ask how much longer it will be. But I don’t want to break Dorian’s concentration.

And then the path slopes upward. At the crest there is light ahead, except this light does not flicker like the one in my hand. It is solid and fresh and consistently pure. At the sight of it, we begin a quickened pace. I can hardly wait to escape the endless labyrinth of tunnels. The light grows brighter with every bound. In the final stretch I drop the torch, tossing it behind me onto the stone floor. We are almost there, outside, free.