The Dragon Warrior

Chapter 11

Emma had slept for a long time. She knew when she had gone to sleep it had been daytime, for the room had been alight with blazing potholes in the ceiling. But now it seemed that the sun had set, and the room was so black that she couldn't even make out the faintest outline of her wardrobe.

Still laying stock - still in the bed, Emma didn't know how many days she had slept, or if it was the same day as she had fallen asleep with her hair askew. But that didn't matter. What mattered is that the night made her job harder, as she couldn't see an inch in front of her.

But she gritted her teeth anyway, and with a movement faster than lightning, her right arm reached across and pulled the syringe out of her bloodline.

It stung her for a moment, but Emma was free to move about as she pleased, and that was worth more than the pain it took her. She crept around the room, silent as a mouse, and expertly made the bed to make it seem like a person lay underneath it's folds. Then she repositioned the serum tube and stepped onto the edge of the bed.

It made a loud squeaking sound and she froze, but nothing seemed to be disturbed. Her feet lifted quietly off the thin frame and onto the mattress, and she sighed with relief as she found she made no noise at all. Her fingers were now in reach of the outline of the hole in her ceiling.

Emma took a deep breath. Should she crawl back into bed and wait for her brother to rescue her? Should she surrender to the Movopare and try to work her way out from the inside? But she knew in her heart her only choice was to escape. She couldn't stay captive when she had a choice. She couldn't.

The balls of her feet lifted off the floor as she strained to meet the ledge. Then her feet were off the floor, and she was using pure upper body strength to pull herself onto the dusty wooden floor that was her ceiling.

She lay panting for a long time after that, her hair splayed out in a fan above her head, before it occurred to her that someone might enter her new room without any suspicion she was in there. Unfortunately for her, there was nothing in this room but a window and a door, parallel from each other. No boxes to hide in, and no trains to blow up.

Then a beam in the corner caught her eye. And then another, and then another. The entire room was made of wonderful wooden beams that began at the floor and reached up to meet each other, forming a tent structure a foot or so below the ceiling. Emma was shocked for a moment at the architecture the Movopare had in this evil place.

Maybe there was one Movopare, deep in the workrooms, that didn't have a desire for blood, that didn't want to kill her namesake and all that was associated with it. Maybe he wanted a tent to cower under, to hide from his peers and their horror. So he built one, up in this little attic room, that became his respite, his respite that was now Emma's. Maybe there was a little good in the bad.

But as pleasant and nice as that sounded, Emma didn't have the luxury of visitors. If any Movopare were to coming ambling up here during his free time, she would be dead meat. It sent her scrambling to one of the beams and testing her weight on it, and after that had been determined, she began to climb.

It was slow and steady work, using a combination of her hands and feet to pull herself up the beam. It wavered at some points, but the other beams crisscrossed and looped in and out of it, so if it fell, it would be supported.

But that wouldn't change what would happen if Emma herself fell. She could imagine herself on the floor, her hair spread out in a much more ominous fan, and her coughing like a seal to revive her lungs. It would be funny, but then she imagined the sound of a thousand Movopare stomping off the stairs, and that somehow darkened the image.

She shivered and continued her ascent, and soon she she was at the peak of the wooden tent. It was quite small, about three feet squared, but she was able to sit down comfortably with her legs hanging over the edge and her head about an inch under the ceiling. She allowed herself to breathe.
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Noah was pacing back and forth anxiously in front of his bed. Today was the day of the attack, and just like his father, he found himself going over every detail of his outfit and weapons and partners and plan. He knew it would work, because it had to work, because he couldn't go on in his life without his sister.

And then he thought of his father describing the girl's funeral, and he lost all feeling in every part of his body. Probably a bit stupid of him, seeing as he was supposed to be getting ready for the attack, but he needed a minute.

Because it could be hers, it could be Emma's funeral. And just like his dad he felt angry just thinking about it. But, Noah reasoned with himself, the person his Dad really cared about didn't die. Sarah was still living and breathing after the attack, and now he was missing his parents more than ever. But he had to be ready.

Noah rubbed his eyes and shook his head, and the feeling rushed back into his legs. He was able to stand. And he was ready to go.
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Emma was beyond bored. She had sat for almost three straight days and nights, in the same position, trying to keep moving her neck so she wouldn't strain it. But it was hard when the view was the same at every angle she turned.

She thought the only thing that kept her awake and not falling to the ground from boredom was the view out the window. The sunrise each morning, the sunset each night, and the stars that twinkled back at her reminded her that there was something bigger than herself, something bigger than this complex that she was trapped in.

She had made one trip down from her perch, because the gloom had concealed some things from her. Books and journals piled up in the opposite corner from her previous room's entrance, and she brought them up with her to read. But she dared not go down again, because the journey up was treacherous with the books in her arms, and even more so on the way down.

Occasionally she looked down the opening to see if her room had been entered, but her body shaped bundle remained the same. Emma was relieved, but also disappointed because at this point, she would like something to happen. Sure, reading the books was interesting, but it wasn't as much fun if you didn't have anybody to share it with.

Emma sat day after day in her hideout, captured by the beauty of the swirling colours outside her window. Winter was upon them, and the last coloured leaves were drifting down to the frosted ground. Within a few days a powdery white blanket would cover everything with its blankness.

Her wonder at the changing seasons did little to quench her first for movement, however. Every hour, which she guessed at by the position of the sun in the sky, she switched her legs from dangling over the side to cross legged, then from cross legged to her knees curled up in front of her. But she longed for the day when she would be able to run again.

To calm her buzzing mind, she imagined people back at the Complex. Noah's confused face when she levitated his sword. Julia's smile lighting up when Emma was her friend. The Great One's contemplation when he surveyed them over his desk. Damgatia teaching her the art of magic, which had been rendered useless by the Movopare Complex. Ravetin welcoming them on the train.

The memories filled her and swelled inside her, and she laughed, making the first sound she had in days. Drat. Stupid memories. Emma sat as still as a stone, and when nothing happened after a few minutes, she began to relax and think that just maybe, the Movopare were as stupid as everyone said they were.

But then there was a great swishing noise above her head.

A/N
Hope you like it!
❤️ Ashley