The Whipping Tree

II: Charcoal and Cerulean

II

Charcoal and Cerulean

            It takes Joan precisely eight seconds to wake and remember where she is. Three to blink awake and note that she is not somewhere familiar, two to panic at the thought of that very fact, and another three to spot the Nocens and sigh.

            She pushes herself into a sitting position a few moments before Gregory does. He seems awfully alert for someone who just woke up, scanning the cave and scooting to place his back against the wall next to Joan. Sleep seems to have done a fine job of erasing any after-effects that may have lingered upon his body after yesterday’s brief torture.

            The arrival of more Nocens saves them from needing to make conversation, saves everyone from conversation; the entire cave falls silent.

            “On your feet. Escort them out.”

            “And where, pray tell, are we going?” Gregory calls out as he gets to his feet.

            Joan shoots him a look. Sooner or later he’s going to irritate the Nocens into murder, and she wants to be as far away as possible when it happens.

            “Did you sleep well?” he asks when he receives no response from the Nocens.

            “Yes, surprisingly so.” And she did. No dreams she could recall, good or bad. The last time she remembered having a sleep so devoid of anything was when she first lost Tomas and Boone.

            “And you?” she adds on, taking the hint from the prince’s expectant looks.

            He gives a satisfied smile before saying, with ever an air of confidence befitting the royal family, “I dreamt of a plan.”

            Joan finds something inherently discouraging about that sentence, and says just as much. “You dreamt. Of a plan.”

            The Nocens surrounding and guiding them don’t appear to be paying attention, but there is a very low chance they aren’t listening.

            “Yes, and I believe it can get us out of here,” he says, as if his conviction is enough to guarantee success.

            Unsure whether he really is as daftly arrogant as he sounds or if it’s a cover for something else, Joan chooses not to reply.

            “You are either ineffably stupid or startlingly intelligent,” remarks a voice from their right. “Both possibilities are disconcerting.”

            The Nocen gives Joan a faint smile when they make eye contact (or as much eye contact as possible when one has no pupils), crystals glinting in her ears and her hair.

            A small chuff of laughter comes from her elbow, and she looks down at the same time the little boy latches onto her arm.

            “What’s your name?” she asks quietly.

            “Leo.” He holds on tighter as they re-enter the larger cave they gathered in the day before.

            They walk along in silence, Gregory too affronted to share his plan, and Joan too focused on the path they’re taking to bother with conversation.

            They enter another series of tunnels that glitter like the sky, beautiful but making it difficult to remember what turns they took and where they took them.

            Deeming it pointless to ask again where they are being taken and making no progress memorizing their trek, Joan settles for studying the Nocens.

            They are more similar than she remembers them to be from her childhood: their stature and the manner in which they move, if only slightly faster.

            “Are we so interesting?” the same Nocen says upon catching Joan’s contemplative stare.

            She starts and averts her gaze before turning to the Nocen.

            “Yes, actually. Why do some of you have no pupils? Can you see? What do you see?” she blurts before her courage leaves her.

            “The Wardens choose to keep us in darkness, Miss.” Surprisingly, the Nocen answers with no hesitation. “We see through our mind’s eye an image of you others cannot. The ones who can see are born with privilege. Complaints would not sit well with those we serve. It is best to accept what we are deprived of and what we are given.”

            “You speak too freely, Saffin.”

            Joan glances at the owner of the voice.

            “And you, Arlo, are too distrustful.” A third Nocen raises his voice, gentle despite being loud, sparking something in Joan’s memory.

            Saffin smiles at the Nocen, just the slightest upturn of the lips, saying, “Arlo knows I wouldn’t be so careless as to reveal anything of consequence. Besides,” she continues in hushed tones to Joan, “it is not within our nature to deceive.”

            Joan is unsure what to do with that piece of information, contemplates speaking to Gregory about it, but doubts they will be given any time to converse privately.

            For a staggering moment, she thinks this is permission to ask them any questions that cross her mind, but any hopeful ponderings are squashed when she realizes that a whispered statement, even one spoken as sincerely as Saffin’s, promises nothing.

            The tunnels eventually lead to a smaller cave with Abeor seated once more upon a throne of smoke and the sacrifices from the towns gathered already, predictably silent.

            “You may leave.”

            The Nocens file out.

            “What are you going to do with us?”

            Gregory, of course Gregory blurts, arms crossed and head tipped back. He seems to have lost any fear he could have gained yesterday.

            Abeor does not answer, instead rises.

            Most of them take a step backwards when he raises his arms.

            Joan is not the only one who looks around. It only makes her panic worse.

            Her hand reaches for Leo’s and she squeezes it just as tightly as he squeezes back.

            “It’s all right,” she says, though the words reek of falsity.

            The last thing she glimpses is Leo’s disbelieving but understanding smile and the heat and weight of bodies pressing and falling against her.

(**A/N: It's always awkward to come back after a hiatus. All I can say is I heavily revised the plot and I'm so much more confident in it now. One more chapter of the present before we dive into a flashback. I won't claim that I'm back for good since school starts in less than two weeks and I'll be packing and flying (and unpacking and packing and flying and unpacking--yes, in that order), but I do have a clearer idea of what I want to do with this story.

Drop a vote or a comment! You guys know I love to hear your opinions on how the story's progressing so far, and there's no greater encouragement for me to update than feedback!

On another note, I've entered Imaginer into the Young Writer's Prize competition, so if you'd like to help out by voting or spreading the word, I would be forever grateful.

Cheers to two more guaranteed updates within this week!)