Chapter 9 A Caged Bird?
A CAGED BIRD?
Eventually, the carriage comes to a stop. The angel rises from their seat and, taking my arm in their strangely strong hand, they pull me from the carriage.
Somehow, I manage to remain upright as they tug me after them.
I look up to see a building in front of me, indistinguishable from the others on the outside except for a large double door that looks strangely out of place.
As we get near, the doors open as if of their own accord, and I’m pulled through by the angel without pause.
The inside of the building looks like nothing I’ve seen in my short life, nor does it seem to exist in Malam’s memories.
Everything is white, and the lights in the place burn with an unnerving stillness reflecting off the floor and sending daggers into my eyes.
The wide hallway eventually opens into a cavernous room.
There are many angels and some humans in this space, and some of them pause, looking at the angel who leads me as our movement carries us through that room and into the next.
I note that, true to their word, none of the others seems to notice me, whether human or angel.
I look around with curiosity as they drag me forward, but I can’t take the time to discover anything beyond brief glimpses as our rapid pace continues.
We move through two more rooms, each smaller than the initial cavernous space but still larger than anything I’ve seen before. We eventually stop in front of a partially clear door that seems to be made of glass.
Finally, they release my hand and I hear them say, “Stay with me, little bird.”
They move quickly forward, and without their hand on mine, I’m left standing behind for half a breath.
As soon as I realize, I rush after them, trying to stay close to the only being in this space that I know.
As I’m concentrating on keeping pace with them and their cursedly long legs, I don’t notice my environment, so when they stop, I pitch forward into them.
I catch myself and then peer around them curiously.
We stand, it seems, in front of a dais with an angel sitting upon it. He has a long, narrow face and curly hair that nearly brushes his broad shoulders. His nose is hawkish and curves at the bottom, and he clasps long, narrow fingers in front of his chest.
Unlike the other angel, he is not looking through me. Instead, his gaze is so pointed I feel like a small animal in the gaze of a hawk. It makes goosebumps stand along my back for an entirely different reason than with the other.
Without moving, he says, “You brought her, thank you, Bonum. With that, you are released.”
Bonum steps off a few paces to my left and turns to face me, but doesn't go further.
With a suddenly stiff posture, the angel on the dais turns to them and glares for a moment.
Then he looks back at me without saying anything.
His expression unreadable, he takes a few moments, still studying me, before he speaks again.
“So, you’re supposed to embody balance? Or is it that you’re supposed to bring balance?” he asks in a voice that hides a laugh behind it, as though this is all funny to him.
Without conscious thought, I lift my shoulders in a shrug while still meeting his gaze. “Is that for me to know or to figure out?” I ask. The words are unknown to me until they leave my lips.
All humor is suddenly gone from his face as he drives himself forward off his seat and wraps his long fingers around my neck.
“Who do you speak for?” he growls, his face close to mine.
I fight to breathe past the strength of his grip but manage to gasp, “Who but myself would I speak for?”
As he continues to regard me without moving, I feel a bit of sweat slowly run down my spine, dodging the still present goosebumps. Still silently fighting for breath, I follow it with my attention while watching his face.
In a similarly sudden movement, he removes his hand from my neck and returns to his seat on the dais.
Once seated, he snarls, “I’ve heard that you killed one of our kind.
For that, I should end your life. However, our laws are unclear since you should not exist. Instead of death, I offer you one more chance to go free from this place and choose our side over theirs. ”
For the first time in my short life, I feel vulnerable. Standing here small, unarmed, in just a shift with bare feet.
He stares at me, clearly reading my discomfort as he says, “My recommendation, little one, would be that you figure out which side you are on without the help of others. The shadows have given you life only so that you may serve their own dark purpose.”
“While we significantly outnumber the dark forces in this world, we are all that is progress, all that is peace for the humans. It would do you well to consider what it is you seek, what consequences your actions will have, and who you attempt to bestow hope upon. It is not as simple as it may seem in your very limited view of the world.”
“While I have nothing but mistrust and distaste for the artificial life you were given, it has been done, hastily though it were, and to remove it would cause fallout. The consequences would destabilize that which I want stable.”
As he speaks these words, his eyes drill into mine, and I fight to keep my chin raised and not look away.
“As you will soon see, the life you were given was given selfishly. This is not, and never will be, about you.”
I place his words among the other memories in my head and nod deeply to him. Even as I dislike him, that strange intelligence in me tells me this, too, is accurate.
“I will take that advice in the spirit it was given,” I say. The response once again falls from my tongue without conscious thought.
I watch his jaw slacken for half a breath before it then tightens enough that I wonder how he doesn’t break a tooth. He growls out, “In that same spirit, I offer you a gift so you may not be unwillingly or unevenly burdened by one side in this.”
As he states this, he places his left hand, palm up, on his knee. “Give me your hand,” he orders.
Despite my misgivings, my instincts drive me, so with only a moment of hesitation, I place my hand in his.
He closes his eyes, and a sudden slash of pain radiates from both of my shoulder blades. My vision darkens for a moment, and when it clears, I understand I must have fallen to my knees. My hand is no longer in his.
As the pain courses through my upper back with willpower alone, I stand again.
As I do so, blackness briefly tries to fill my vision, but I don’t need to be able to see to hear him as he says, “Bring her to a mirror, Bonum, so she may see the beauty of this gift I have bestowed upon her. Then take her home so she can begin to figure out her role in this world.”
Rex’s voice is as strong as ever. However, as I blink the darkness from my eyes, I see that he looks pale, and there is sweat upon his brow. I turn to Bonum, only wobbling slightly as the pain continues to recede, and they lead at that same quick pace out of the room.
I can’t help but mouth, “ass,” under my breath as I follow.
Bonum leads me back through the same path, but after a bit turns, down a different hallway. We walk through a doorway into a much less bright room. There are benches and mirrors arranged around the edges.
I move forward without bidding to catch sight of myself in the reflective surface and can’t withhold a gasp. Protruding from behind my shoulders are wings just like the angels have.
I twist my body side to side, admiring them despite myself as Bonum stares blankly, straight ahead.
As I regard them in the mirror behind me, their eyes move up towards, but still through, where my face is, and they rasp, “The nickname has become more fitting.”
I feel another chill run down my spine as their mouth smiles without their eyes changing.
“Come,” they order as they turn and walk away, and again I rush after them.
Moving along more quickly than is comfortable for my injured leg, we soon stand in front of a carriage. This time I climb in of my own accord and settle on the seat. I lean back before thinking and feel a modicum of surprise as the pressure of the seat does nothing to change the pain in my back.
As we travel, I find myself replaying the conversation with the other angel. I look at Bonum, who is once again sitting with a hood over their head, their face hidden in shadow. “Was that your leader?” I ask, my voice higher than I’d like it to be.
Without moving anything else, they nod their head once.
I hesitate, unsure if even talking to them carries a risk of some sort that I can’t yet see or understand.
As I’m grappling with those thoughts, they rasp out, “That was Rex, the High Leader. As the leader of this world, he is also your leader, little bird.” I can feel their eyes on me despite not being able to see their features beneath the shadows of the hood.
Even as I file that away, I find my mouth betraying me. “Rex is kind of an ass,” I say. As the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back.
I wait for some blow to fall, but instead a single snort sounds from beneath the hood. Thankful I’m still alive, I pinch my mouth shut and look at the wall of the carriage opposite me until its movement grows still.
Once the carriage stops, Bonum moves smoothly out the door and, without turning in my direction, holds out a hand.
I exit the carriage without taking it, but my injured leg doesn’t move as smoothly as I’d like.
Stumbling forward, I roughly grasp their hand as I descend.
I expect some admonishment, but they say nothing; instead, they continue forward towards the mansion.
I follow once again as they stride up to the doors.
There they pause and, reaching out, grasp my arm as they open the door.
As they bring me into my room and press me back towards my bed, I, for the first time, ignore their orders and remain standing.
They snarl at me, a raspy, dry sound like dead leaves skating over the pavement of the street. Then they press on my chest again. “I won’t have us discovered this way,” they rasp.
As I consider whether to obey, I reflect on the strange feeling, as though I’m playing some part in a large theater production without understanding the plot or my role.
While I stand frozen, still not wanting to follow the orders of someone I don’t trust, a knock sounds on the door.
They press more firmly, and despite myself, I relent, climbing into bed.
I settle back, mostly under the sheets, dirtying the bed with feet that have tread bare over city streets.
Bonum turns to the door and, in a voice that is not their own and far too pleasant for my liking, calls, “Please come in.”
As the door opens, they are already re-bandaging my leg, which I notice has bled through its prior wrapping. The blood is thankfully a bright crimson now instead of black.
I note that Fem is in the room with us before I close my eyes and lay my head back on the pillow. I’m not tired, but the room is spinning slightly. I hear Fem talking quietly with Bonum, but can’t, or don’t care to, make out the words they are speaking.