Martin & Marcella

Twelve

Pulsing with fright, Martin and Marcella were shown to the quarters of the chief warrior, a man who'd been said to have no rival in magic, poetry, and wisdom in addition to his singular valor on the battlefield. Rightly, the brother and sister were afraid, but their terror of She that was seeking them was greater than their worry of rejection.

They were questioned about their loyalties, their past experiences in battle, and their preferred position in an army of warriors who spared no enemy and feared no bloodshed. Martin answered the chief, a valiant man of less brawn than brother and sister had expected. The boy informed all that his brother was mute, saying also that because of this, his brother was far more fierce than appearance let on: Since he could voice no complaint or anguish, Martin explained, his brother was all the more full of strength with which he could fight. This convinced the chief, who answered that any man whose allegiance was to the High King and his army should be permitted to take up arms and have the chance to prove his devotion.

Their hearts bursting with relief, Martin and Marcella began the entrance into a new life filled with strenuous physical tasks and days that held great uncertainty.

By the time Joel came to his senses, the fire in his bedroom fireplace had turned into smoldering embers. No more warm air floated out into the hall, and the floor had become colder than ice. Tingles of chill were being sent systematically in and out of his body.

The boy tried to get to his feet, tried to stand to shake the stiffness out of him. Bewilderment was in his eyes. The halls were dark and he was sore from sitting still for so long. How long, though? He hadn't any idea how much time had passed. The days could darken as early as four-thirty. It could be anywhere beyond that time, as black as the sky beyond the windows. Moonlight reflected off the glassy floor tiles; stars winked in from an eternal nothing. Joel saw them. From somewhere in the gloomy halls came an echoing drip, the sound of far-off footsteps.

Joel struggled to clear his mind. He blinked hard – shook his head. There was a thick soup in place of his brain. Had he been dreaming? He sensed that he had, but any memory of its plot had been wiped from him.

There was a film across his gaze, he felt. He couldn't be seeing things properly, because as he stared deep into the shadow of the hallway, there seemed to be something hovering in the distance, at the end of the corridor where it turned sharply in another direction. It was nothing more than a hint of smoke, a mirage of vapor similar to what would rise off of dry ice. The boy wasn't sure whether he was imagining it or not. In the cavernous silence, the apparition faded then solidified, became viscous then began to vanish around the edges. It shimmered almost playfully, then took on a ghost-like appearance. And as he watched in terrified awe, Joel saw it form a sort of face. Parts swept toward the outside to leave gaping holes resembling an open mouth and dark, eyeless skull sockets.

The boy was no longer uncertain whether he was merely seeing things. The phantasmal presence down the hall was not only taking definite shape, it was coming closer to him. Down the corridor it moved, passing by windows that did not reflect it and doors that were not open to it. Its speed was languorous at first, then quickened as its form became more precise.

Joel wanted only to fly into his room and slam the door--to shut the thing out from his sight forever. He felt that he'd seen it somewhere before, and that thought frightened him even greater. But his legs were rooted to the floor. They were stuck with something stronger even than the nausea flooding his stomach.

It's her!

The thought whipped through his mind. Her--from the Moon Garden--his dream nights ago.