Rise of the Fallen (14 page)

I can't remember the exact moment when my parents' fear of me heightened to the point where they locked me in a small room in the basement. During the day they let me out, if only to be rid of me for a few hours.

As I stared up into the cold eyes of the boy, all inhibitions left me. I jumped up, pushing him backwards into the group.

“Catch me if you can,” I said, taunting him.

I could take them. I had my powers after all, and I loved to use them. I ran towards the tall trees of the forest bordering the town. The thudding of their footsteps on the wet earth told me they were following close behind.

I stopped running and felt the flames' heat in my fists. I turned to face the children who stumbled to a stop in front of me, their faces full of fear. The flames flickered brightly and I took a threatening step forward, thrusting my hand towards the red-haired boy. He yelped and fell backwards onto the soft leaves on the forest floor.

“Leave me alone!” I threatened, knowing full well that I could never actually harm them.

Two of the girls in the group started crying and ran off. The others quickly followed. When I was alone I extinguished the flames and let out a sigh of relief. At least they would leave me be for now. It was exhausting running all the time. All I wanted was to feel accepted by them. Even my parents hated me so what did I expect?

At the mere age of nine I was more willing to use my powers than I am now. Fear drove me to greater heights back then, now it just holds me back.

I should've known better though, that the other children wouldn't just leave me be. And I could never have guessed that it would be my parents that would turn me in.

Weeks passed without incident. The other children cowered away from me, leaving me to my thoughts and memories. I hadn't seen any new or significant moments of my last life since I was six, but I dwelled on the things I had seen. None of the memories frightened me, in fact they intrigued me. I didn't feel like a nine year old, I felt much older and much wiser. But there was still a lot to learn.

On a chilly winter's night, I lay awake in my small room. The only bed I had was a rough blanket on the dirt floor. It never bothered me though. Until tonight.

I could hear my parents speaking in hushed tones, my mother's voice slightly higher and more distraught than my father's. They were talking about me. I knew because I'd heard it many times before. There was a loud, pounding knock on the front door. My father's footsteps ran towards it. Then silence.

I stared up at the wooden boards of the ceiling, my ears straining to hear what was happening. Had one of the children finally told? What was happening? I was helpless – there was no way out. My door was locked from the outside.

The door swung inwards, my father was standing in the dim light of a candle, his face blank. Two tall, broad
-
shouldered men walked in and grabbed hold of my arms. Their faces were covered by thick black cloth, like executioners' masks. As they dragged me from the room, my mother's eyes welled up with tears. She mouthed “I'm sorry,” before she turned away in shame. In the hallway one of the masked men handed my father a large bag. My father held it up, weighing it calmly, before ushering us outside and closing the door firmly behind us.

A small stream of moonlight shone above through a tiny barred window. I knew I was alone. I was always alone. I laid my head on the cold ground and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I awoke with a start to a shower of water thrown over me from a bucket. The room was filled with light, so it had to be daytime. I stared up at the three men standing at the entrance to my cell. Two were the same tall men who had taken me from my house, but the other just seemed … different. He was slightly shorter than the masked men, but equally muscular. His eyes were the darkest I'd ever seen. His mouth was covered by some sort of cloth and his hands were gloved. He still had the bucket in his hands.

“Get up,” he said gruffly.

I got to my feet. One of the masked men brought a small wooden chair with shackles on the arms into the room. He gestured for me to sit. Once I'd taken my place he secured the shackles around my wrists. They didn't really do much, my wrists were too small for them to close tightly. The two masked men stood at the doorway, and the man with the dark eyes moved forward.

“What's your name?” I asked curiously,

His eyes shot to me. “You don't ask the questions. I do. Your parents said you do things humans aren't supposed to be able to.”

I shrugged. I felt betrayed that my parents turned me in. I could see how my father would, but it was a comfort that my mother seemed genuinely saddened by the decision. Perhaps she did care for me somewhat.

The dark-eyed man leaned down, “Talk, or I'll have to make you talk.”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” I said truthfully.

He seemed so mean, and his eyes were cold. But I hoped there was a part of him that had some compassion, maybe some kindness still in his heart. I think everyone has some good in them.

He turned away from me and I heard a flickering sound. He turned back around. Something in his eyes seemed apologetic, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. In his hands was a small metal canister; he was holding a flame to it. The metal was heating very quickly, steam or smoke rising from the top. He brought it closer to me, keeping the flame close to it.

“What did you do?” he growled.

Once more I shrugged. He dropped the burning match to the ground, putting it out with his foot. He held the canister to my arm. I didn't flinch.

The heat was soothing, not painful at all. I was used to the heat of fire so this was nothing. He looked at my arm for any sign of blistering. I didn't have to look down to know there was none.

He seemed startled for a moment, then rolled the cylinder up my arm further. It left a slight pink tinge in its trail.

He threw the canister across the room in mock frustration. I knew he was faking because his eyes lit up as though it were Christmas. I frowned in confusion.

He turned back towards the masked men. “Keep her in here a few days, the pain of her burns will be enough for her to talk,” he lied, leading the men out of the room.

My ‘torturer' knew I wasn't like everyone else and he lied for me. Why? I made the assumption that he pitied me and didn't want further harm to come to me. I felt relieved.

Thinking back to that moment, I can't believe how naïve I was. He didn't care about me, it was all a trick. A horrible trick. He was just testing me. It was pure luck that he came across the idea for fire to torture me with first, thinking it would reveal me as an ice or water elemental. It led him to what I really was straight away.

Dorian was right. Without even using them, my powers and my very nature put me at a risk of exposure.

I know Dorian meant it as a warning to make me think twice about using them again, but it had the opposite effect. I thought back to all the times my powers had saved and protected Cael and me. Cael's words lingered in my mind once more. I knew my powers were strong, and getting stronger. The confidence I had in them when I was a child was still here, just hidden.

The dark-eyed man came to my cell a few times, followed closely behind by the two masked men. He usually brought me a chunk of old bread and a small cup of water. They didn't say a word to me.

I don't know how long I'd been there, but it couldn't have been more than a week. The dark-eyed man came to my cell once more, this time with a thick rope in his hands. I immediately assumed they were going to hang me. Then I realised he was alone. He unshackled my wrists, standing me up in front of him.

“Hold out your wrists,” he ordered, “ … together.”

I did as he said and he tied the thick rope around them, leaving enough excess to serve as a lead to pull me along, out of my cell and into the open.

As we walked I took notice of where we were. It was the same forest that I'd run to so many times. It was getting late and the sun was close to setting. It was absolutely freezing. Snow had fallen, coating the ground in fluffy ice. My bare feet tingled against the cold. We stopped moving.

His hands were rough on my shoulder. My wrists burned and ached as the ropes tightened and shifted. My quick breaths came out as fog in the freezing winter air. I had seen others go through this before, but usually there was a big audience, yelling obscenities and throwing objects at whoever was being tortured. But he had me out here on my own. I was always on my own.

He steered me towards a tall tree, hooking my tied hands to a low branch.

The bandana that covered his mouth slipped slightly as he breathed out. He held up a bucket. The contents sloshed against the sides, slipping out onto the snow-covered ground, making a loud crunch. I stared into his eyes, hoping he would see the pain and fear in my own and that he would stop. He stared right back at me, not even flinching as he threw the bucket of freezing water over me.

I remembered gasping, the cool air stinging my lungs. The fear of dying out here, of freezing to death, encompassed me. I knew I couldn't let that happen. I engulfed myself in flames. The flames soothed the painful stinging the ice-cold water left along my face, neck and arms. I sighed in relief. I hadn't even noticed him taking the cloth from his face. A sadistic smile lit up his face and his dark eyes stared excitedly at the blanket of flames.

“For once the humans were right. A fire elemental will be of great use to the rest of the demons,” he said, pulling my bound hands free from the branch.

Demon? Is that what he is? I knew he was crueller then any human man I'd seen or heard of, but I had never thought he was something like that. Maybe he still had a nice side, even if he was a demon.

In a flash of light smoke we were in a dark, cave-like room. I was afraid. There were several others in the room, all looked to be in their early twenties. Their faces were warped and disfigured. A woman walked over to me and pulled at my clothes, then my cheeks. She looked towards my torturer and smiled.

“Throw her in with the other one,” she grinned, turning back to the others.

When my torturer led me from the room, they began talking about the reward they would get.

Remembering this experience is hard but it reminds me that my powers aren't something for me to be afraid of. Even then they were strong enough to keep me alive. Dorian was wrong. Besides, if the masked men had never captured me then I would never have met Cael. He saved me more than I saved him, regardless of what he thought. Or what he thinks of me now.

My torturer escorted me down a long, twisting tunnel and we came to a door with thick iron bars along the top. It looked almost the same as the cell I was kept in before. He opened the door and threw me inside. I heard a thick latch lock in place.

Several candles along the walls lit the room. In the corner I saw the shadow of a boy my age hunched over, his head in his hands.

“Who are you?” I whispered, keeping my distance.

He looked up; his blond hair fell away from his face revealing bright blue eyes.

Something about him felt familiar. I moved closer. He looked hesitant as I sat down beside him. He was afraid too.

“How long have you been here?” I felt safe beside him.

He shrugged. “I don't know … not long; a few days maybe. Are you like me?”

I frowned in confusion, “What do you mean, like you?”

The boy looked at me with fear in his eyes, “I can't show you, I don't want to be hurt by them.”

“Tell me.” I had the urge to know.

He whispered in a low voice. “I can control water, I try not to. I don't want anyone to get hurt or think I'm strange.” He looked towards the door, “They called me a water elemental. Is that what they call you?”

I shook my head. “No, I control fire. That's how they found me, I suppose.”

“Exactly! That's why I don't use my powers,” he said with a bitter laugh.

“But that's silly! The powers we have are amazing. They can protect us too!” I said.

He looked down at his hands. “They don't do any good down here though.”

“Then I'll protect you.” I said with a reassuring smile. “I'm called Emilie. How about you?

“Cael,” he said in a soft voice.

I still find it hard to believe that I played the protector, and was always watching out for him. I think he feels indebted to me for how I cared for him while we were there. Cael has put me on some sort of pedestal, thinking I deserve all this protection that only he can offer. Sometimes I wish he would just stop, but I would never bring that up with him. He still gets touchy when I talk about our time in the demonic realm.

I never found out the name of the demon who'd captured me, but I'd never seen him again. When I think of all the things that happened while he held me prisoner, I hate to admit I still feel like he wasn't all that bad. I suppose I'm naïve to think that there's good in everyone, but I do try to find it.

I wondered what Cael would think if he knew I was meeting another elemental, especially after what happened with Holly.

The door creaked open once more. To my relief it was Soul.

He shot me a grin and wandered over to the bed, sitting beside me.

“Everything okay, Em?”

I nodded. I didn't feel like talking to him about Dorian right now, I was tense enough about meeting the elemental.

CHAPTER 13

Soul didn't say a word as he walked me out into the dark hallway, past a weathered old front door and down three rather hazardous-looking stairs. Outside several cars overcrowded the tiny, dull front yard. They had dark tinted windows and were similar tones of burgundy and black. As we walked towards Soul's car I noticed his number plate. “B1TE ME”. I smiled a little as I read it.