Adair watched from above as the spark of Roque’s words caught, turning into an inferno. Tadeas clapped Roque on the back, grinning broadly as teachers and students started to yell, to chant, to praise. “Long live the king! Long live the Faes!”
Ice cut through him at Roque’s dangerous, seductive lies. Covering his mouth, his screams clawed against his throat, begging for release. He couldn’t take it. The pounding booms of feet stomping, of yells clambering up the walls toward where he lay hidden, shattered into a thousand pieces. Cesan had made a mistake, had been lied to and jaded. Roque promised him greatness and handed him the shadows. Was it wrong for his father to want more? Yes.
Groaning, Adair covered his eyes, wishing to disappear. He knew firsthand how vicious his father could be, how twisted, how dark. He had been trying to break him for years and had left his family, tried to kill his best friend. For what? A title? Responsibility of ruling a country?
His muscles cramped and complained against his movements as he took a gulping breath and moved his hands underneath him. He was poised, ready to start shifting back as Roque’s voice roared far below him. “We are gathering senior students as well as teachers who are willing to become part of Tadeas’s group to assist in going to Sarthaven to bring Cesan and his followers back.” Roque was immediately lost in the chants, in the yells of approvals.
Adair gritted his teeth and threw his weight back, maneuvering through the tunnel. He didn’t want to hear any more, to see his friends sign up to bring his father back. He didn’t want to watch Emory stand by her father’s side, knowing that there would always be a division between them now. He was a traitor’s son, a scorned boy with a dark ability. He was a weapon. He was barely a name and more like a shadow. One which everyone was skittering away from. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, and he didn’t stop them. A sharp buzzing filled his hearing as he shuffled to the left, starting the long climb back up to the washrooms. The filtered grey light had dulled considerably, making the walls seem endless, like he could freefall into nothingness. Silently, he pushed ahead, trying to forget, trying to not fall into his numbness. But for him, what was the point of trying? Everyone that resided in this cursed school had made up their judgements about him and his family.
What about Emory? Memphis? His heart dropped into his stomach at the thought of his small group of friends. What did they think of him now? Would they have forgiveness in their hearts for him, to know that he wasn’t following in his father’s footsteps? His pulse picked up, making his skin slick and clammy at the thought. Don’t you want more? He froze, the hissing voices encircling his consciousnesses.
He stuttered, “W-who’s there?” His voice bounced off the tunnel walls. Peering into the darkness, he waited a beat. One high-pitched giggle bounced back from the other end of the tunnel. Scrambling back, he slammed his head against concrete, dots flickering in front of his eyes. It was like being doused in freezing water, every sense on overdrive, every nerve singing. Fear coiled underneath his skin, soaking into his core. It was the same voice, the same giggle from his nightmare. Impossible. You are just tired and stressed. Move. His thoughts egged him on, but he couldn’t move. He curled his limbs into themselves, his breath quick as he made himself flush to the wall. Seconds passed and all he could do was stare farther into the tunnel where the voice had come from. The light was softly fading, and to his left he saw them first. He froze as the air was knocked from his chest. The slim figures crawling toward him, their tilting heads. Their permanent grins.
He was mesmerized as they started crooning to him, “Adairrr. Adair, we have found you. Don’t you want to be noticed? Come with us, and we will show you the way. Come.”
It was impossible, yet he saw them crawl steadily toward him, pale, spindly arms and black holes where their eyes should be. The air rippled, and he flinched as he felt the ancient magic shudder through his bones. He somehow had bled the rules of reality and dream together. They were in front of him now, caressing his arms, reaching for his face, tugging at his hair.
“Come with us. Follow your destiny.” Their teeth glinted in the dark, sharp as knives, and Adair buried his head beneath his hands, shutting his eyes tight.
“This is not real. Not real. Not real.” The giggles erupted around him, orchestrating his terror, as he felt the tongue lick up his cheek. Tasting him. He was screaming now, flinching away from their touch, from their hungry expressions. The minutes slipped into hours, the darkness swallowing him and the creatures whole. Adair was frozen, talking to himself, yelling at them to go away. His blood had slowed. His circulation cut off from being curled into a ball for so long. It wasn’t until the traces of dawn flickered into the tunnels that he lifted his head, his eyes swollen from crying and his voice hoarse, to see that he was utterly and completely alone, no trace of anyone ever being with him. He uncurled his limbs, leaning over to empty his stomach, the bile burning his throat and nose. The acid made his eyes water, and coughing, he looked up the tunnel. He stayed like that, sweaty and shaking, unable to move. Unable to do anything but feel the hot tears slide down his cheeks.
8
Brokk
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