Oriana's Eyes (3 page)

 CHAPTER FIVE

I’m sitting up in my bed, unable to sleep. They released me from the medical center, telling me I’m not sick, that I’m fine, but I’m not fine. Lenora is asleep in her bed. She has not asked me how I feel; she will not even speak to me.

I want to leave this room. I want to go to the garden and think. Not about school or part-bloods or purebloods or Finlets or Winglets. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care; they don’t matter. Not even school or tests. I know what I want. But I can’t even admit it to myself. In the garden, I must go there … he’ll be there. I know it. Only he can answer the questions burning inside me.

I slowly turn back the covers. My feet touch the cold floor, and I pad silently to where my sandals lie, side by side. One foot slides in with care and then the other.

My breath is hushed. Lenora remains still in her bed, her breathing consistent and calm. I pray she will stay asleep as I approach the door. I turn the handle like ice in my hand, and it releases the door to glide open without a sound. I only open it enough for my body to slip through, afraid the light from the hallway will cause Lenora to wake. Her personality tells me she is a light sleeper. The door closes behind me with no more than a click.

Once in the brightness of the hallway, I close my eyes to give them a chance to adjust. Slowly I unclench them as my sight improves.

My obstacles now become far more risky. If I am to make it to the garden I will need to completely avoid the guards. Yet the idea of that happening seems near impossible. Never have I been out wandering past curfew. I have no idea where the guards patrol or for how long. I’m fighting the impulse to sneak back inside my room and return to bed, but the curiosity I’ve been denying all along is impairing my judgment. I must try to reach the garden; there must be some way.

I hear footsteps echoing down the hallway to my left. I push myself into the indent of the doorway. My eyes peer around the frame. My face presses against the cool metal and my breathing ceases.

It is a guard. A tall man, broadly built and clad in a button-down white tunic and stiff matching pants, a small-brimmed hat stately upon his head. Whether he is part- or pureblood I cannot determine; he is still a fair distance away and I don’t try to crane my neck for a better look. In fact my eyes concentrate solely on the long metal rod that he swings deftly in his fist. The rush of air follows in its wake along with the obvious strength in the man’s trunk of an arm. I try not to further imagine the pain inflicted by a blow from such a weapon and arm. I must concentrate on my goal.
I can do this; I can figure it out.

The guard continues down his hallway, never glancing down the aisle of dormitories that I stand in. He is most likely accustomed to empty halls. Who would even try to leave?
If someone was caught, no matter how pureblooded, their name would be scarred, their body banished, and their soul forever damned by Odon himself.
Push the thoughts away; don’t think about what might happen. I can’t let that happen.

He passes out of view. All this took only a moment, yet the gleam of the metal object is still blinding. Now the guard is out of view, and I allow myself the slightest gasp of air before releasing a sigh of relief. I am once again alone. I must begin to make decisions.

I wait a few minutes longer. Perhaps I will hear another guard at the hallway to my right. This may give me an idea of where they are patrolling. I will be able to take either hallway to reach the garden. Which one will be the safest?

The sound of footsteps reverberates to my right. So there is another guard … My assumption is confirmed as the man walks past the end of this aisle. My breath is silent once again, and the earlier apprehension is back at the sight of an identical weapon in his hand.

In fact, overall the guards look very similar. They wear identical uniforms and are both wide in body structure. This man must be different though, as he walks from the side of the wall that I am pressed against to pass behind the opposite end. This is not the same direction the previous guard took, and it would be impossible for the guard to arrive on this end walking in that direction without passing back through the opening. Basically, I would have seen him.

Two guards, two hallways, but their timing is slightly different, a minute, maybe less.
How can I do this?
My thoughts are so calmly spoken, but my heart is racing.

Go back to bed, Oriana. It’s late, it’s dangerous, you’re not thinking straight. Dorian will not wait for you. How could he get past the guards himself? You are trapped. Give up.

“No …,” I whisper and then freeze in strained silence. I have to go through with this. I feel its importance.
He will wait; he has to.

The silence remains. I gather a courage I thought did not exist and fly to the next doorway down to my right. My sandals tap lightly on the hard floors, but it seems loud in the heavy air. Then comes the expected sound of footsteps to my left; the guard is returning down the opposite direction. I am still, quiet, holding my breath.
Don’t move, not a sound.
He passes; I do not watch.

Now I rush, tapping louder than I’d like, to the end of the hallway where the second guard passed not long ago. I peer down the hallway and see him walking, his back to me. He will reach the end of the hallway very soon, too soon. Then he’ll turn and see me, he will look right at me, and then the metal baton will rise to come crashing down upon its victim like a diving bird. I shudder.

Stay focused; there’s not much time! Go
 … I glance down the other end of the hall.
Empty! Run!
I dash out into the hall, on my toes, moving toward the guard. There’s no turning back. I’m almost to the doorway, the garden. My feet patter. My heart pounds.
Almost there!

But the guard has almost reached his destination as well, and he will turn around. No, he
is
turning around. About to head back down the hall, about to see me, the cornered prey, standing in all this whiteness, my hair a golden beacon.

I fall into a nearby doorway. Try the handle; it is locked. I remain in the frame. This one leads to a classroom. I have passed this way before. I picture myself walking here, the hallways filled. I pass this doorway, and I see me. A pathetic little girl tucked in panic against the white doorway, waiting to be found. This is how I will look when the guard passes, when he sees me, when his hand grips the metal tightly, when it rises above his head.

I tremble with each approaching footstep, closer, closer, with each thud on the porcelain floor.
Why didn’t I listen to that other voice, the sensible one that would have led me safely into my bed, hidden in the darkness?
But I am far from the dark, and only hidden by the slight impression of a flimsy entrance. The present safety will last for only so long before I am discovered.

The pounding of my heart in my ears is drowning out the footsteps.
How long have I waited? How much longer will I have to?
I peer slowly down the hallway. My forehead, beaded with sweat is relieved against the cool frame.
Empty?
The guard is nowhere in sight. I look the other way. No, there is no one in sight.

The guard has turned down a hallway, one further down that connects to the opposite side. His patrol is more complicated than I assumed. He will not be there long. I already hear his steps growing louder. He has already surveyed the area and is heading to the main hall.

There is not much time. If I don’t leave, I will definitely be trapped. There is no other chance.
Move, feet!
I flee from my place of hiding and reach the door, the one that will lead outside, to the garden, to freedom.

My hand grasps the knob. I see the night sky in a small window above the door.
Let me out!
I shove against the heavy metal door. The air rushes around me. I gasp for breath. The door, now wide open, is caught by the wind and torn from my hand. The hinges hyperextend, and the door slams into the side of the building. But the sound isn’t half as deafening as the blaring siren that has me frozen like a stone statue in the night air—an alarm.

 CHAPTER SIX

Of course, why didn’t I think of this? Why did I think it would be so easy? That I could just rush out into the dark completely unharmed and then return as swiftly as I came, completely undetected, and that everything would be okay?

It isn’t so easy, and the resounding horn endlessly piercing the silence is enough proof of that. I stand waiting to be captured. Waiting for the cold metal to come crashing down on my skull and bring me into a darkness of peace far from the white lights. Let it just be over with.

I feel the warmth of a hand clasp my wrist firmly. They’re taking me, bringing me to the Odonian, to the punishment. Why did I go through with it? Why couldn’t I be happy with how things were? Then the unexpected happens. My arm is tugged sharply, and I’m half thrown into a shadow cast by the line of square bushes hugging the University walls.

Now hidden from the light, I release a pent-up breath and appear to deflate. An arm grasps me tightly, and a hand fastens over my mouth. Somehow whatever danger I currently face seems to be less threatening now that I’ve escaped the white, now that the guards will not find me.

They will not expect me to hide. Who would have thought to anyway? The idea of rebelling against a just punishment is unthinkable. I myself would have submitted willingly if I hadn’t been forced into hiding. I realize I’m a criminal against my own way of life, my only home.

The guards arrive at the door somewhat dumbfounded. If their pale, lifeless faces could actually express the emotion. I watch silently through the shadows, through the leaves and branches. It is not hard to see them in the bright light, dressed in the white uniform. I myself stood out in the night only seconds ago. But now my robes have been cloaked by the darkness, welcomed into the black so that I’ve become one of her children.

Beneath me a chest rises and falls. Hot breath brushes the nape of my neck and I can feel the warmth of a living body. The dark conceals this being as well, and now this dark becomes a thing to fear. I no longer wish to hide, to be sightless; now I am suddenly aware of this new danger.

The guards have not ventured far from the light, and like moths they hurry back to it in hunger. Have the other students awakened? Did Lenora open her eyes to find me missing? There is no time to wonder. No sooner does the door shut than I have slipped quickly from the arm that binds me. The hand still holds my wrist, and I wrench fiercely as if it is on fire.

“Oriana,” come the hissing words, “it’s me!”

I stop and then squint my eyes as if it might help me see through the darkness. “Dorian?” A whisper, but it sounds so loud, and it feels like ages since I’ve heard my own voice.

In the darkness it is impossible to see his face, but the voice is recognizable, and the familiar smell that I realize had always been lingering leads me to identify him.

“How did you find me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“I was about to go inside, lucky for you,” he answers smartly.

A silence follows as we slip through the line of bushes. With no sign of wind, the rustle of our feet and bodies against the leaves becomes the only sound. We escape the cover of foliage and pad down the hillside of damp grass. He leads me to the garden, his hand still clutching my wrist, but I do not fight its hold. A sense of calm settles over me, even more so than during my usual walks to the garden.

I know this trip is far more dangerous, yet I am relieved to feel the lack of eyes upon me. The night encloses my face, my body, everything that shows my identity. I am someone else, a nameless shadow.

The walls of the garden loom above us before I realize we’ve come this far. Now that I’ve reached it, now that I have accomplished my goal and I am with him—what comes next? I’ve merely wondered how I might escape the University, how to reach this very spot. When I finally place my feet upon the soft ground and face the entrance to a night much darker than I thought possible, I hesitate. The garden walls seem less inviting in the dark, resembling a square jaw awaiting my entrance before snapping shut on me. Is this what I wanted? Would I have come, knowing it would lead to this?

Dorian feels a tug on our linked hands when he tries to move onward into the garden. It is hard to determine clearly, but by the faint moonlight I can see his head turn to glance behind. I recover and follow, knowing nothing worthwhile waits for me back in my dormitory. Knowing that turning back can only mean digression, returning to a life that will leave me unsatisfied.

I pass through the shadows of the foliage and emerge once again beneath the night sky. I realize now that the garden is no darker than the outside air; that considerable blackness grips only the entrance. In fact the slate pathway catches the glint of the moon, which gives the rocks a soft glow that brightens the entire garden.

Dorian steps on the first slate, and the slab goes dark in his shadow. I wriggle my wrist in earnest, as it is awkward to follow from behind. He drops it quickly as if just now realizing that he is still holding it.

A deep intake of breath greets me with the smell of those sweet golden flowers, in neat rows with their constant shining smiles. I want to be those flowers, always happy, always carefree: a race of beautiful perfection.

We reach the familiar stone seat, and I lower myself upon it. The rock is cold, much colder than the night, and I hug myself, waiting for it to absorb my body heat.

Dorian stands beside me watching, his blue eyes glowing like two moons in the night of his black hair. At last he speaks.“Why are you up so late? And sneaking around the school like a felon?” He grins when I give him a glare.

“You invited me; don’t you remember?” I look down at my feet; the thought encourages a blush upon my cheeks. I have admitted to arriving at his bidding alone. But it wasn’t just the letter, “What you said … before. Tell me what you know.”

He sits down next to the flowers and leans back, propping himself on his elbows, “You want to know? About what?”

“About what’s happening to me …”

He thinks about this for a moment and then gets up and sits beside me on the bench, “About your feelings?” he asks, his face close to mine.

He kisses me and then pulls back slightly. “What do you feel?”

“I don’t—”

He kisses me again, and I sink into the bench.

“Oriana …”

“Yes?” I barely respond, but he hears me, we are so close.

“Tell me.”

He attempts to kiss me again, but I pull back.

“What—what are you doing?” I gather my thoughts. “What are you trying to prove?”

He looks at me, his eyes showing an emotion that I have never witnessed before, and yet I know what it represents. I am shocked into a memory.

I’m sitting, a young girl, too young to determine what’s right, a young girl not yet understanding womanhood. We are alone hidden in an alcove of a hallway. I can’t remember the day, time or reason for us meeting. Aurek smiles broadly, like a glutton, like a greedy glutton. His hand is bound tightly around my arm. It hurts a little, it’s uncomfortable, but I don’t move or try to pull away. I’m thinking this is right, that this should be happening, but my own mind is telling me it is wrong.

I remember pulling away from that kiss and seeing his eyes. Blue eyes, filled with victory, filled with triumph and my own I know are filled with nothing.

Dorian looks at me, concern embedded deeply in his features, and the bitter memory has etched itself upon my own. His eyes are the same color as Aurek’s, but they are so different.

“What’s wrong?”

Then my tears are streaming in an endless blinding flood. Has it ever happened before? I can’t remember the last time I cried, and it feels so good. Dorian’s arms encircle me and I try not to feel ashamed, the touch is so unusual. I discover soon that any efforts to hold back the tears are useless. Yet although I can’t end them, I make sure not a sound escapes my lips. It seems I can lose no more of myself. I am no longer the Oriana I have known. Or has she always been lying just below the surface?