Oriana's Eyes (7 page)

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I shade my eyes as they adjust to the light of the sun. It seems to burn more brightly than ever before. When I am able to fully see, I drop my hand, eyes wide, taking in colors I have never witnessed before. We’re in a garden, except it is wild, untamed. The trees tower far above the trimmed foliage of the University. They are not set in a row but have instead sprouted at will. Along the ground grows an array of soft moss, some in deep emerald, some in blue tones, in a variety of textures.

I gasp at the sight of a small flower tucked beneath the shade of a stately pine. It is a beautiful tint of pink, the color of the setting sun. I kneel to examine it and notice that at its center is a deep crimson. I reach to graze its delicate petals but withdraw, not wanting to damage its purity.

“Come, it’s not safe to rest here.” Dorian calls to me, breaking some connection I was unaware of beforehand. I turn to respond and find that I am seeing him for the first time. The sun seems to make everything clearer. I’ve seen him only either in shadows or the intense glare of the University. I never saw him like this.

His hair is disarranged and intertwining like the branches of the forest canopy. His eyes are blue and sharp, nothing reflecting in them. Instead they have become deep wells absorbing the nature around them. His expression seems to have matured since I last saw him. Maybe it has been happening all along, yet now I see he is no longer the smiling boy I first met. Something is aging him faster than time.

I look past him to examine Azura, a girl whose unique features were hidden in the darkness of the cave and then distorted by the light of flames. She has slanted green eyes and long brown hair that curls into unruly ringlets. She presses her pink lips together and glares at me. Somehow I know this look will become familiar.

The young stranger beside her does not look back. I feel uneasy about his presence but decide to remain silent. He is after all one of my rescuers.

I get to my feet and hurry after them. We head into the woods, moving as quickly as we can manage, weaving in and out of branches and bushes. I marvel at the many different species of plants.

Above is a sharp cry that startles me, and I look up to find the silhouette of a bird, its wings are spread, allowing sunlight to glisten through. I yearn for its freedom, its beauty and mastery of the sky, yet I know it will never come to pass.

Soon we’ve put many layers of forest between us and the cave’s exit. We start up a hill, determined to put it even deeper in the past. As we reach the crest, Dorian and the stranger together guide Azura to the base of a fruit tree and help her sit on a large boulder.

As the part-blood turns to face me, I see that his hair is a deep auburn. Not the brilliant red I saw in the cave’s firelight, but the deep red of blood. He looks up at me, noticing my gaze and I see that his eyes hold the same color.

I realize how strained my muscles are as I take a seat on the mossy ground. I let out a sigh of relief. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree I gaze up into its fruit-laden branches. Red ripened spheres ornament the teardrop leaves, some still green in places where they have not reached their peak. Hidden among the green leaves are smaller orbs, healthy, fresh, and awaiting their time to drop.

“Would you like some?”

I notice Dorian kneeling beside me. He holds a plump fruit before me, offering a chance to taste its sweetness. I nod, and he grasps both ends of the fruit, twisting in opposite directions to split it open. Juice escapes down his wrist as he hands me one half, the white center gleaming temptingly on top. I take it gently, first watching Dorian take a large bite and then hazarding a taste myself. It is much richer than the bland, gritty foods I am used to. I’ve only read about the fruit of trees. As I swallow the sweet center, I feel as though I’ve been accepted by the forest. My white robes take on the white of the fruit, the white of blooming flowers or the birds singing to the sun.

“Are they going to meet us here?” Azura asks between bites of fruit, which she retrieved from a branch overhead. “They can’t expect us to walk all the way back by ourselves; we’re already exhausted.”

Dorian stands to his full height and stretches his arms over his head before tossing the core of his fruit into the nearby foliage. “I was hoping they would be here already …”

Just then, Dorian’s fruit core hurtles toward him from behind and hits the back of his skull. He flinches, rubbing the sore spot and turning to face the source. “I guess I spoke too soon.”

Then he smiles as the branches part to reveal a man of great height whose face glows triumphantly. He is followed by a young boy and a girl, clearly chuckling over the recent jest. The tall man approaches Dorian, grabs his hand, and claps him on the back in welcome.

“I see you’ve made it in one piece,” he says in a deep commanding tone. His rich chestnut eyes twinkle with humor. They are shadowed by sandy curled hair that reaches below his ears, and as he steps further into the light, I notice his wide grin displays two charismatic dimples. He is older than Dorian and I, but still fairly young.

My mind automatically labels him as a part-blood. In fact, the others are part-blooded as well, all with shades of brown hair. As they approach Azura and the other part-blood in greeting, I’m awkwardly drawn to Dorian’s side, not sure where I belong among these new people. I wish to contact his arm and feel the warmth of his skin. I begin to realize that he is from this completely different world and just as much a stranger as the others. Instead I hover, one hand extended noncommittally from my side.

The tall part-blood’s attention turns to me, and I fear I will be trapped in his gaze. But his look is comforting, and he regards me with compassion, something that will take a while to get used to.

“So this is the Winglet.” He takes my hesitating hand into his darker one. It is warm like his eyes. Looking deeply into mine he kisses it. I pull it, as politely as possible, away and gain the courage to reach out and take Dorian’s. A heat rises in my cheeks as I study the ground.

I smile and venture, “My name is Oriana; what might yours be?” meeting his eyes once my face cools.

“She speaks! Oriana? Yes I know, but until now I didn’t realize how well it suits you. I am Tor.” I have never met a part-blood like Tor before. He is so alive and confident in his skin.

I’m not sure what he means, but I smile at him, hoping he will accept it as my own attempt at friendship.

I see him give a wink to Dorian before addressing the entire group. “I suppose we should hurry home, before the dark settles.”

There is a murmur of agreement as the young boy goes to assist Azura to her feet, the red-haired man already beside her and helping as well. The small girl makes her way to where Dorian and I are standing. She has large black eyes and wavy dark brown hair, not quite black.

I have never seen a part-blood Finlet before; in fact, I only once saw a pureblood Finlet, a young girl somehow lost in the Winglet playground. Our elementary schools contained both races, with only a thin barrier between us. Her skin was a deep shade of tan, and she had flowing, silky black hair and eyes that were as black as their pupils. I remember how she was teased, her hair pulled with distaste for something the children had never seen before. The poor girl was in tears before an Odonian had corrected things.

The girl before me resembles her in many ways but cannot be pureblood. The lighter aspects of Winglets have leaked out into her hair and skin, although her eyes could not be any darker. I am hoping my stare does not show judgment. She dares a glance in my direction before addressing Dorian.

“It is amazing what you did. I have to admit, I was worried you wouldn’t make it.” The girl smiles. I can tell she is much younger and wonder how she is not at the University, sitting in class. Then I realize I am absent as well; it’s a strange feeling, knowing that everything there is continuing as always.

Has anyone asked where I am? Do they worry what has happened to me? Or do they act the same way they always have when someone disappears suddenly? I’ve never reacted when someone went missing. I can only remember being thankful it was not me.

Dorian gives a modest smile. “Anyone could have done it, if they spent as much time as I have. I only wish Azura could have been rescued sooner. It did make saving Oriana easier.” He steps aside, forcing the young girl and me to face each other. I gaze at her blankly, as if she were a wild animal. “Oriana, this is Malise. She is a friend of mine.”

I smile immediately, determined to make a good first impression. She looks sideways at me, as if I were a new species as well. “Nice to meet you,” I interject. Malise nods in response and then hurries to catch up with Tor and the others who have already begun down the gradual slope, further into the forest. Watching them leave I feel pressure on the small of my back and realize Dorian remains beside me. I look up at him questioningly.

“Malise doesn’t see many purebloods,” Dorian explains, probably noticing my look of dismay.

“But how …,” I begin. Wasn’t Malise born and sent to school as all of us are? Is there any alternative?

“She was not raised in Odon’s schools,” Dorian answers and then begins to follow after the others.

I feel his hand slide from behind me, hanging back a moment to consider his answer. “Then where was she raised?” I finally ask.

Dorian stops and turns. There’s a spark in his eyes. “Come, I’ll show you.”

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dorian’s reply leaves me thirsty for answers. I move to follow but am jolted to a halt as pain stabs into the side of my neck. I gasp as my vision blackens. I clutch the spot convulsively and try to steady myself despite my blindness. I nearly fall to my knees but am able to catch myself as my sight returns and I grab onto the trunk of a nearby tree.

My hand slides over the spot. I hadn’t noticed it was so sore. I feel the swollen lump of a fresh wound. I guide my fingers over it a second time to be sure I felt correctly, clenching my teeth to bear the pain. How did this happen? I search my memory for a fall or attack. I recall the bruised skull I received when I was captured from my room; was it from that? Or maybe from being dragged into my cell, or striking the stone when they threw me to the floor. I had been unconscious and unable to catch myself.

No, this is different. It’s as if an object has penetrated into my neck, inserted through the skin. Not an aimed fist or a rough shove. My body is bruised enough from that already. This could not be from the handling of any guards.

I recall a white room, bright lights. The voice of a man. He is asking me questions, but I refuse to speak.

“He will come for her. I’m certain.” The voice is chilling.

“Oriana? Are you all right?” I feel the warmth of Dorian’s hand in mine. He looks into my eyes searching for the source of my unsettling expression.

Abruptly an icy coldness surfaces in my veins, so cold that it burns. Its intensity collects at the wound. It reaches up my neck like long needle fingers, enveloping my brain. My mind cries out as it is suffocated into submission. I grab my head with both hands, sucking air through my teeth, trying to fight the overpowering grip of an internal force. Then as soon as it began, it is over. I look up, unable to form a response. In fact, I’ve forgotten what Dorian even asked. I stare at him blankly.

“Oriana, what is it?” Dorian has dropped my hand now and is grasping me by the shoulders. My body feels unusually numb, but slowly returns to normal.

“I … I don’t know. I mean, I can’t remember.” I look into his face, which only increases my fright. Somehow I feel like my mind is wiped clean, or rather that something within has been coated with a smooth whiteness.

Dorian says nothing for a moment, his mouth gaping and that awful look in his eyes. Finally he says, “Let’s keep moving. The farther we get from that place, the better.”

He starts off again toward the others, this time lingering by my side. I look over my shoulder at where we came from and cannot avoid a shudder. As I turn my head to look forward, I notice Dorian staring at me—at the base of my neck.

“What is it?” I ask. I don’t like the way his eyebrows have narrowed, or his lips have tightened. He has even grown pale.

He makes eye contact as if he has been caught at something and quickly turns to look ahead. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

We catch up to the others, who have paused to wait for us. They all seem anxious to continue on and had been moving fairly quickly despite having to help Azura. She seems most willing to speed up, probably looking forward to reaching her home. She was in the caves longer than I was. Didn’t Dorian say he’d been planning her rescue for a while? It must’ve been far more complicated than the University. He had to calculate every tunnel and guard to plan not only sneaking in but escaping as well, and that meant planning the amount of time it would take to retrieve us from within the cell.

Why was Azura brought there to begin with? I glance in her direction. She wears a robe that at one time must have been a light cream color. Now it is brown and darker in places that have stains of what looks like dried blood. There are no sandals on her feet, which have become almost black, possibly bruised. The rest is undoubtedly a buildup of grime. She flinches as if she senses my eyes upon her.

We take a break as the sun begins its descent. I’m grateful for the chance to rest upon a mossy patch of ground. The shade of an evergreen covers me, and my body cools slowly. Although we have been walking for a while, the land has been forgiving despite an occasional slope. Yet sitting on the ground I feel the rush of exhaustion weigh into my limbs. I watch in envy as Malise hands Azura a canteen of liquid. Absentmindedly, I run my tongue across parched lips. In a last attempt, I search around for Dorian but before I look far, my gaze locks on the brown eyes of the boy. His hand extends toward me, offering a canteen similar to Malise’s. I accept it willingly.

“Thank you,” I say after a large gulp. I pause after the second one, realizing I have not yet learned his name.

“Toby,” he supplies tentatively.

I nod from behind the canteen and then lower it to add a smile. He seems to be accepting of me. Unlike Malise, perhaps he has lived within the University. Although he might not be so friendly if he had met other purebloods. I don’t recognize him, but then again I wouldn’t recognize most part-bloods from there, with the exception of Fisk—who I’d rather not remember.

Toby is a Winglet part-blood like Tor. His hair, a deep bronze, is cropped short and straight. His eyes are much darker than his hair, the color of the soil. He is smaller than Dorian, thinner and probably younger. His eyes show a timid quality of kindness that is a relief among so many strangers. Could those eyes have looked upon the University walls and still remain so forgiving? What does he see in my eyes?

“Are you from the University?” I ask, handing back the canteen.

He looks down, fumbling with the canteen as if unsure whether to answer. Then he says, “When I was younger—I don’t remember much.”

I’m not surprised. He is a gentle boy. Whatever memories he lost as a child seem not to have affected him.

I notice he is no longer looking in my direction. I follow his gaze and find the culprits, Azura and the other part-blood from the caves. Their eyes are disapproving and directed at Toby. He is already getting to his feet to join the others.

“Thank you again, Toby, I feel much better now.”

He turns as if my voice were at a distance instead of directly beside him. It takes a moment for him to understand, “Oh … yes, you’re welcome.” He hurries away toward the others.

They must be planning to isolate me. I’ve become the enemy to them, the evil pureblood. It doesn’t matter; my attention is drawn to where Dorian and Tor are talking.

They have turned their backs to me and hushed their voices. Their words are lost in the vibrations of the forest. Dorian runs one hand through his hair while the other gestures earnestly. He looks at me, notices I am watching, and quickly turns back to Tor. It isn’t the first time; I’ve noticed his eyes upon me before. Should I continue to trust them? I have no choice, no home to return to. My life is in their hands. I feel less liberated all of a sudden, and maybe even trapped.

Dorian approaches, taking a seat beside me he rests his elbows on his knees. “We should be there by sunset, there’s not much farther to travel.” So he is going to keep secrets, I frown. “Will you be all right?” His voice shows honest concern, and I stare at him in confusion.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Too late, I hear the harshness in my tone.

“It’s just that we’ve noticed you look weaker, possibly … ill.”

At this I get to my feet, partially still hurt that he would discuss things about me without me knowing, and partially because he’s accusing me of being weak and incapable.

“You mean you and Tor?” I snap, “Is that what you were talking about?” I feel anger rising and yet my voice doesn’t seem to carry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just worried …”

“I’ll be fine.” His words strike a nerve. I’ve become a person that others worry about, someone who is dependent, unable to make it through without help. I know I need to prove something, show that I’m strong. To propel my frail body forward by sheer will. Maybe the others are watching me right now, but I don’t care. Let them see that I’m no longer the Oriana I once was.

As we set off once more, I follow directly behind Tor who has been leading the way. His long strides are difficult to keep up with, but I gain a rhythm that I refuse to slacken. The blood in my ears pounds harder and a flush rises to my cheeks, but with a set jaw and a stubborn gaze I press on. I sense Dorian behind me, as stubbornly determined to stay near me as I am to stay ahead. As I stumble, my legs turning to rubber, I hear him let out a sigh. I break into a trot, and now my legs go numb. Why am I so tired? The thought frustrates me, and I increase my pace to reach Tor’s side before slowing to a fast walk. Tor slows as well, which irritates me, but I say nothing. He hands me a fruit once I am beside him and I realize my stomach is still fairly empty. He grabs another off a nearby tree in midstride and takes a bite.

“Thanks,” I comment before taking a bite myself.

“You seem different. Is something wrong?”

I look up at him, but he is still watching the land ahead of him. “I …” I hide my face behind the fruit as my cheeks flush further. The warmth in his voice gives me reason to trust him. “I feel as though the others are expecting me to fail. They’ve already labeled me, and Dorian acting as my caretaker isn’t helping …”

Tor grins at me. “Those two?” He chuckles, referring to Azura and the other part-blood. “Don’t let them bother you; they’ll judge a morning before waking up.” He flings the center of his fruit into the foliage beside him.

Looking down, I kick a rock, feeling foolish for caring what two people I barely know think of me.

“As for Dorian,” Tor whispers close to me—he smells of fresh pine needles—“I’ve never seen him so … dedicated to another person before, other than himself.” Tor laughs at this as if at a distant memory then turns serious again, “But he was young then. I can tell he’s grown, matured even.”

I turn away, smiling secretly to myself.

“Oriana?” I look back up at him. Tor is staring ahead once more. “It’s true you are the only Winglet among us, but that’s because you’re special. Probably the only one in that
place
,”—he stresses the word with contempt—“who could have done what you did. They’ll see that in time, and I have a feeling Dorian already sees what they cannot.”

His words revive my fears. Is it possible that this man would think of me as
special
? I hadn’t thought of being the only pureblood as an admirable thing. Has Dorian seen that difference in me from the start? When we passed in the hallway of the University? The thought makes me sulk even more.

Tor is far ahead of me. Three of the others pass, followed by Malise, who glances back at me curiously before hurrying on. I’ve slackened my pace while in thought, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. I have let others cause me to lose control of my anger and lashed out at the person who was there for me all along. The more I live with them, the more complicated emotions become.

“Oriana …”

I stop in my tracks. I have lost pace with the others, and Dorian has slowed as well. He has remained silent, and I didn’t realize he was still behind me. He stops beside me. I can’t stop staring at the ground, unable to look him in the eye.

“Oriana, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have …”

I look up at him and laugh. He can probably see the tears welling in my eyes. I won’t let them fall, although they are not really in sadness. “Will you stop apologizing!”

His eyebrow rises.

I start walking away from him. “I’m not mad anymore. You can relax; my tantrum is over.”

He catches up to me and scratches the back of his head, “I thought you …”

For some reason I can’t bring myself to admit I was completely wrong. “I realized something. I’m okay now.”

I catch Dorian watching me, but he says nothing as we walk faster to join the others.