Wingmirror

First there came the pitch darkness, the cold, and the silence. The minutes between the bombs seemed like hours to the small family sitting huddled on the floor of the cellar. A man and a woman sat close together, speaking in hushed voices to the boy sitting across from them, by himself. Every so often he would shout in anger, his voice reverberating against the walls and the people, made brittle by the silence. In a split second the flashes would begin, and the noises of death and destruction would fill the almost tangible black fog of the early hours of the morning.

A small shaft of amber moonlight was gliding into the corner of the room, where a little girl crouched over her work, a broken charcoal pencil in her hand. On the dusty paper she shielded with her body was a drawing of a crow, done with painstaking realism far beyond the ordinary skills of her age. She smiled occasionally as she drew, as if she was afraid of nothing as long as her drawing was safe. She could feel the strong black wings brushing the floor as they grew from her shoulderblades. Although they were invisible, she was sure they would protect her, and Mum, Dad, and James would be safe too.

Suddenly, there was a blinding light; the bomb had fallen far too close. The window burst open from the force, surrendering those it had protected to it's remains and and the power of fire. A shard fell across the room with almost intelligent accuracy, like it was thrown by someone riding the heart of the bomb.

"Why didn't my wings protect me?" She blamed the the shredded black curtains that had belonged to the window, which lay like a cloak over her wings. She did not cry when she saw the long red snake painted across her arm, although the flashes illuminated her white face, too old and betrayed-looking to belong to an eight year old child.

James whipped around and spoke to her with infuriated concern. "Hazel, you don't have wings! I know you're scared but stop making things up! And get away from the window...Mum, look at her arm!"

"Hazel! Come here right now! Peter, see if you can find the antiseptic!" Hazel submitted to being held by her mother, no longer afraid of seeming weak. Where were her wings, and why had they done this to her? She watched her father walk off into the darkness and spiraling dust.

Her mother turned to James, noticing his distraction from his argument. "James...now do you see why we don't want you to leave? The way you felt about your sister trying to be strong and getting hurt from it, that's how we feel about your wish to become a soldier. I know you feel strongly about this, and I can't even put in words how proud I am of you for that. But I can't see you get hurt, I just can't."

"Mum, I'm not a child...oh...whatever you say. You won't listen. I'll stay safe, but I'll hate you for it."

"James..." There was silence. Hazel tried to imagine that the sounds of the fighter planes overhead were a flock of birds, with thousands of wings beating against each-other. Wings...she didn't trust wings anymore. James' eyes were granite stones, staring blindly at the burning sky.

Hazel's father returned, bearing a container of antiseptic. Her mother took it and applied some carefully to the wound. "Hazel, you're going to be alright, Everything is going to be alright."

The searing pain on her arm was far worse than when the shard hit her. Perhaps her wings had protected her. Did they abandon her because she had stopped believing in them? These were her thoughts as she slipped out of consciousness...

Small coloured spots danced in front of Hazel's eys, slowly spiraling away, letting some of the real world seep through. Her whole body felt strange; it was weak, and cold. Her arm was bandaged tightly. But her wings were completely gone.

“Hazel...Hazel, are you awake?” She could her her mother's voice, distant, but slowly getting more clear. She tried to answer, but it came out of her mouth as an indistinct mumble.

“Hazel, can you sit up?” Her mother helped Hazel sit up against the pillow. “Try to eat something.” Her voice was tight, and heavily controlled. She then left the room, walking quickly and stiffly. James got up from his chair near the corner and walked over to the bed.

“I should probably tell you why Mum's being like this. She's upset because we're leaving tomorrow. The government has ordered that all children under eighteen must be sent by train to the countryside.”

Hazel knew that her brother was trying to tell her something important, but the words blurred together, twisted, and bounced in her mind. She tried to clear her throat to speak, but she still had to repeat herself many times before James understood. “Mum is leaving to the government?”

“No. We have to go away tomorrow because of the bombing. Now eat your muffin like Mum told you to.” Hazel noticed that James looked just as strange as her mother. He looked like he was keeping his thoughts bound up in iron so she would not see them. She decided to pretend to not have noticed it, to make him feel better. James would not leave the room until he had watched her pick at the muffin for several minutes, and finally eat slowly, in small pieces.

Unbeknownst to him, Hazel had kept hidden in her hand three pieces of the muffin. As soon as she was certain that he had gone somewhere else, she lept out of the bed and ran out into the corridor. The house was old and rather large, but there was not much furniture. The hallway was dusty, and extensive, with the occasional door along it. She opened the third door on the left side and came to another, short hallway, which led to the front porch.

She walked out onto the porch and leaned over the railing as far as she could without falling, staring down at the streets below. They looked like that after every bombing, covered in rubble and charred patches, with only a few people upon them, some staring coldly ahead of them, others in tears. She held out her hand as far as it would reach, making sure the muffin crumbs were visible to the blackened trees across the street. She called out the names: “Persephone, Ariadne, Elysia!” The names came from the stories that James used to tell her, that he told her were for school, but that she knew he secretly enjoyed.

At first there was silence and stillness, with only the wind's aria to break it. But after a few minutes, three black shadows bagan to emerge from the charred leaves of the trees. They formed a triangle, flying together towards Hazel. Their scaly black feet securely clutched the railing, and they began to peck the crumbs from Hazel's hand. When they finished, they stared up at her expectantly, their endlessly deep black eyes examining the depths of her own green ones.

She took a her charcoal pencil and sketchbook out of her pocket, and began to draw them. Every day, her sketches became more and more like the crow friends they represented. While she drew, the birds held still in their poses, used to this ritual. When she finished, they gently nibbled the edge of the paper to show their approval, and spread their wings to make the journey back to the oak tree they used as a home. Hazel tried every day to lock that moment in her mind, with the flying wings she wished to own. But it slipped out of memory each time, as quick as a dream will in the morning.As she watched them fly, she noticed with joy that the feathers on Persephones's right leg had begun to grow back.

The exhaustion from running and staying up all of the previous night began to catch up with Hazel. She sank down onto the floor of the porch, and the memories came floating in and out of her head as she fell asleep.

She had first found Persephone a few months ago, during the morning after another bombing. The crow had been trapped by her right leg under a large pile of rubble from the fallen building that had destroyed her nest. She had been close to death of fear, pain, and exhaustion when Hazel had found her and brought her home. She had kept her hidden and warm in one of James' old hats, and fed her scraps from meals. Once she became strong enough to take of herself on her own. Hazel released her. But Persephone always came back, bringing her sisters with her, who eventually came to love the strange little human girl just as much.

As she slept, she felt tiny black pinfeathers sprouting once again from her shoulderblades. She turned over and smiled in her sleep, the journey of tomorrow forgotten.

When she awoke, there was an tingling, pricking sensation all over her body. She was numb, and could barely breathe. She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. Surrounding her was a vast white landscape that climbed over the walls of the porch and over the trees beyond. She had fallen asleep under a blanket of snow. She got up, cascades of snow falling from the folds of her clothes. She ran inside, and shut the door tightly to keep more snow from coming in then there already was.

She slowly made her way up the hallway to her room. But just as she turned the corner, a swift hand firmly grasped her shoulder, and twisted her around to face it's owner. It was her father. "Hazel. Where have you been?"

"I...fell asleep Dad."

"Not in your bed, it seems, Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that you're soaking wet, and we've got to get you and your brother packed and to the train station by noon."

Hazel's mother came running up the stairs, her hair in a messy bun that made the outside of her head match the inside perfectly. "Hazel! Quick, here's a blanket. I'll get you dressed. Oh, and I packed her bags last night, dear, so that should be alright."

James, quietly sitting in a corner again, muttered: " Awfully hurried for Christmas day, this is."

"That's right James, I completely forgot! Your father and I...we do have something for you two."

Hazel smiled slightly, and walked down the stairs happily, her hand clasped tighty in her mothers. James smiled also, but his was bitter and jaded. "Enjoy life now, while you can, Hazel. It's not ruined for you yet."

"Don't say such things to her James! Please come down for but a few minutes, and give us a chance."

The living room was decorated with small holly branches and bits of ivy, which warmed the bare, cold furniture where they were placed. But a few of them had black marks across them, bitter reminders of why they could not have a Christmas tree that year. Hazel sat down upon the threadbare sofa, and closed her eyes.

James felt a pang as he watched her, the picture of trust in the goodness of the world, and vulnerability. She had always been a wise child, very intelligent for her age, and she had a deep connection with living things, like her family and the crows she loved so much. But James hated that she left her heart so defenseless.

Hazel was happy to have the feeling of Christmas drive away her fears again. Why won't James realize what it could do for him? He wants to protect people as a soldier, but why can't he do it here?

Her mother entered the room, two small cardboard packages held in her hands. The first she presented to Hazel, who carefully slid the twine off the box and pulled it open so as not to break it. Inside was a book, with an illustration of a knight bearing a chalice on it's cover. Above was gilded lettering that read: "The Quest For the Holy Grail".

Her parents laughed at her enthralled reaction. Her father said: "That was my favorite at your age. We thought it might keep you amused on the train. It's a beautiful story."

They then walked over to where James sat, and offered him the second package. James opened it slowly, and took out a watch that shone metallicly in his hand.

"It's traditional to give a watch to someone who is near grown-up. James...your father and talked last night. We decided...that perhaps we could allow you to join the army...after your next birthday, when you are sixteen. It is the legal age after all."

"I'll accept that, I suppose." His tone was flat, and unemotional. After putting on the watch to please them, he strode across the room and disappeared up the stairs. Hazel ran after him.

She found him on the porch, watching the auburn streaks flow across the grey, cloudless, sky. "James? Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine Hazel. I was thinking..."

He turned around to face her, smiling pensively. "You remind me somewhat of one of the characters in that book". He pointed to the book she was holding close to her heart. "I can't remember who it is though...I hear Mum calling us. We'd better go, or she'll blow up. The stress of us leaving is really getting to her now."

James got up and went inside. Hazel walked to the railing and leaned over holding out her book so that her friends could see. "Merry Christmas! I'll be leaving for along time, but you will remember me right?"

She could her her friends calling out to her, their voices carried by the snow-coated breeze. Smiling at the comforting knowledge, she skipped down the stairs.

A blur of getting dressed, having many bags stuffed into her hands, her mother's panicked voice filled the next few hours. Finally, the family arrived at Platform 7. They stood close together to avoid being pulled apart by the massive waves of human beings. Hazel felt her bag to make sure her book was still there. James was looking surly again. Her parents had tears in their eyes, because they knew that it would be a long time before they glimpsed their children again.

The midday sun spread over the snow which melted slightly into the dry, cracked, ground. Tendrils of steam from the train filled the station, and the bleak call of the horn rung in Hazel's ears. The pure, natural snow, made empty and restored the dying land, injured many times by the war. Hazel liked to imagine the renewal of Christmastime that had helped her so much was healing the land's wounds and fears as well.

The train came round the trees towards the platform; it's size surprised Hazel. She had only seen one once before. The vast machine opened it's many doors, and hundreds of children began to enter. Her mother held her and James tight to herself for a long time when it stopped, but then pushed them onto the steps, and ran.

"Hazel still has a piece of holly in her hair.". Hazel's father spoke quietly. He then took one last wistful look at the rapidly receding train, and then followed her mother.

The smoke and dust surrounding the train formed a blinding, dizzying, blizzard that clung to Hazel and followed her in as she entered the train. Inside, it was oppressively hot, and musty, so much do that she could barely breathe or open her eyes. The crowd of other children presses tightly into her and dragged her along, but James took her tightly by the hand and kept her close to him as they wove their way to an empty seat far in the back of the train.

When they finally reached it, Hazel was about to faint, the buzzing in her ears amplified by the cacophony of noise cause by the frantic farewell shouting of the crowd. James picked her up and placed her a seat close to the window, whose tiny crack let in some air that seemed really alive, rather than the rolling, tangible, waves of undead air held in the belly of the train.

After what seemed a forever of dangling, languid on the burning seats, inhaling dust and bad air, a series of speakers set along the edges of the train's roof spoke in unison. "Welcome, passengers. All will be recieving tags shortly, which will indicate the region to which you are being sent. There will be an announcement when we have reached one of these destination points. The full journey will take two days. There are dormitories in compartments C and D, and a mess hall will be located in compartment E. We hope that you will have a pleasant journey." The voice was crackling and barely intelligible, so James translated it for Hazel as well as he could as it went along.

The endless sounds of static and the incredible heat pressed down on Hazel like a hypnotic blanket, and she was soon deeply asleep. Sweat formed small clear beads and flowed like small streams down her still, round, face. James watched her for a while, and then melted into the crowd.

As James pushed his way through the many hot, moving bodies, he noticed several officials in navy-blue uniforms, who were handing out colour-coded tags. He determinedly shoved himself towards one of them, a tall, middle-aged woman with graying red hair bound tightly in a bun behind her head.

"Excuse me, madam?"

"What is your destination?"

"Greenfeld. May I please have a tag for that region?"

The woman nodded curtly, and produced a small, red, tag, with "Greenfeld" in blocky, white, letters across it. James took it and carefully twisted and shoved his way back to where Hazel lay, pressed up against the tiny crack in the dusty window glass. He carefully pinned the tag to her collar, and wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with his handkerchief. He was now free to carry on with his mission: finding Jack.

James wandered towards the back door of the compartment. A large group of uniformed staff stood close together in the passage. Looking straight ahead, his mind swimming with anxiety-tinged plans, he fell, with a hard thump against the dusty, corrugated floor of the train, the boot of one of the staff right against his cheekbone. His face flushing with embarrassment, he pulled himself up and ran blindly through the slightly sparser crowd ahead. Suddenly he came face to face with firm hand directly in front of him. Confused, he stopped, and looked at the face just behind the hand. The face was long and angular, framed with black strands, with an amused smile playing across it. Glittering from the right side of it was a red and gold earring.

“Going somewhere, James?” It was said in honest, friendly tone, but with an edge to it that would have made it seem like the boy was talking to child much younger than him.

“Oh, Jack! I’m sorry for rushing into you, I was, ah, in a hurry, you see. About our plan…?”

“Everything’s in order. I’ve already made the arrangements for a friend to take us to the encampment once we reach Westbrooke. You got all your things ready for tonight?”

“Yes, I’m quite prepared, Jack. “

“Good, you’ll need to be, looks like.”

“But, Hazel will have to reach the Robinson’s on her own. I’m a bit concerned…”

“I’ll just have Eliza watch her. She’ll be fine.”

James did not know who this Eliza was, but to have someone watching her as better than none at all. While Jack turned to look at the destination map hanging to their side, James tried to regain his composure. “Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. You’re being foolish. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, at your age…”

Suddenly, Jack spun neatly around, and leaned a little closer, catching James by surprise. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Oh yeah…I’ve heard of rumors that there have been a lot of disappearances and odd happenings in the woods near Westbrooke. Not that I believe any of the hocus-pocus stuff, but we ought to be a little cautious if we have to deal with any strangers on the way.”

James tried to feign utter confidence, but knew that he was failing miserably. “Alright…thanks, I’d better go now.”

With a noncommittal “See ya later…” Jack slipped into the crowd, amidst many admiring stares.

Hazel rolled over in her sleep, peeling away from the window, letting some of the cool air in. The dream continued to play, like a silent, grainy roll of film hidden inside her mesmerized head.

The knight knelt silently on the waving, dewy grass. His pose was extremely reverent, and there subtle tears along the corners of eyes. He had long red hair, and face that could barely be older than her brother’s. Before him, there was a small cup, made of a simple grey metal. It shone slightly, touched by the mist that carried light from the setting sun far beyond. Hazel felt ashamed, like an intruder on a sacred ceremony, but she tentatively walked closer to him. The soft but swiftly growing feeling of foreboding magnified inside each step. The knight turned around with a start, his eyes growing wide at the sight of her. Hazel tried to run, but something large and red was paralyzing her, flashing psychedelic shades of yellow, white, and black at times. There was an odd but pleasant tingling over her whole body. The knight cried out in terror, and the goblet began to quiver strangely, glowing, as it was covered in the strange substance. The voices began singing, filling her eardrums with the odd, binaural, sound.

There was dull, hard pain as she hit the ground. The loud, clattering, metallic, sounds of the train replaced the music within the lost dream. She felt a pair of unfamiliar hands, pick her up from the ground, and place her back on the seat against the window. The strange girl’s reassuring voice was the last thing she heard before drifting off again, this time into a deeper, dreamless, sleep.

Alice pushed her heavy eyelids open, feeling slightly better than before she slept. She could remember something about a knight and the colour black, but the rest of the dream had already escaped her. It was much less hot in the train than it had been yesterday. Sitting still on her chair, eyes glazing over, she wondered where James had gone. Perhaps he was hungry and had gone to get an early breakfast. She slid off the seat; it hurt, like she had been sitting there a hundred years. She hadn’t moved from there since last night. Most were seated, some asleep, some were talking quietly, and others were staring out the window in a morning daze. Alice decided to follow a small group that was wandering towards the dining area. Feeling tired and slightly dizzy from just waking up, she was knocked over repeatedly by the enthusiastic seekers of breakfast. Each time, she slowly and carefully pulled herself up again, determined to reach James before he came to find her.

The dining area was filled with people thoughtfully finishing off what remained of breakfast. Alice wandered about the entire compartment, scanning each group for her brother. Every now and then, the food would tease her with brief glimpses out of the corners of her hungry eyes. The panic rose in her stomach. as James’ tall silhouette failed to appear. She tried to quell the rush of fear by telling herself over and over: “He’s just in another compartment. He’ll come to get me soon. It’s okay…” The words are empty when it’s your own voice saying them.

She could see the hidden laughter, the smirks, written in jet black ink all across the faces of the other passengers, she couldn’t see the eyes anymore. To anyone else, they appeared to be staring sympathetically at a little girl who was almost in tears. To Alice, they hated her. They scorned her fear and helplessness. “How weak and stupid I am…”

She crumpled to the floor, her entire body shaking, the tears rolling out endlessly onto the floor, shouting their malicious freedom. All her life she had trusted someone to always be with her. Now she was dreadfully, hopelessly, alone. Kneeling hunched over the ground, the book fell out of her precariously swinging bag. A flash of white drew her attention and swept the tears along with it, gyrating softly to the floor in front of her nose. She opened the note carefully and read:

“I’m sorry Alice. I had to. you see? You’re a strong girl, and I know that you can take care of yourself until you get to Greenfeld. Ask Eliza of you need anything.”

She smiled slightly, the note fluttering slightly against her hand, like a therapeutic butterfly. She picked up the book and stood up, brushing the dust off her skirt. She quickly snatched a small piece of toast and jam from beneath the many armed octopus of a crowd, and made her way over to one of the long rectangular windows along the sides of the dining compartment. Absent-mindedly chewing her toast, she watched the olive green woods and hazy, eggshell, mountains rush past her.

“Hey, Alice!” A bright eyed, round faced girl about James’ age came about the corner, bearing a cookie and two mugs full of tea. “The stuff of life”, she pronounced seriously as she set one of the mugs and the cookie on the windowsill before Alice. “I’m Eliza. James told me to look after you for a bit.”. Eliza smiled pleasantly, and sat down beside Alice.

“James? Where is he? He never told me that he was going somewhere without me! Where is my brother? And who are you?” Hazel stared suspiciously at the strange girl. James had never mentioned any Eliza to her, Why was he keeping secrets from her?

“Ahaha…slow down with the questions! To be perfectly honest, I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing there either. All I know is that he left somewhere last night with Jack Evenwood, who has assured me that both of them are perfectly safe, but that they trust no one with the details of their plan. I want to know how they escaped the train though, all that security…”

“James tells me everything.” Alice stared icily down at the crumbs of the cookie, which were being busily devoured by the ants on the windowsill.

“I’m sure he does, but I think that Jack made him promise not to tell anyone, and you wouldn’t want him to break a promise, would you?

Alice shook her head slowly, still staring fixedly at the windowsill ants.

“That’s right, dear. Why don’t you have a peep at that book in your bag; we won’t reach your destination until the afternoon.”

Eliza reached into her own brightly coloured patchwork bag, and pulled out a large, white, knitting project. Alice waited until Eliza was happily absorbed her knitting, smiling as a ray of midmorning sunshine illuminated the strange, fluffy, mass. Alice quietly slid her book out of her bag. The sunlight illuminated the metallic chalice on the cover. Filled with an odd sense of déjà vu, she stared at the cover intently for a long time, the clicking of Eliza’s knitting needles creating a soft monotone. Finally, she lifted the cover slowly, and turned to the first page.