The Rising - Ennead 2

Scene 12.7 - Through the Looking Glass

Whoever it was stopped singing and switched back to whistling the school-yard song. I wasn't mistaken, he was heading right towards us.

Trip tensed up. He was literally a bloody mess, but I had seen what he was capable of.

Kwame did something unexpected. He used his index and pointer fingers to draw a pattern on the concrete floor. His fingertips glowed as they carved furrows that formed a mystical geometric pattern. He lifted his fingers off the completed pattern and it began to glow, same as his fingers had.

A black feather floated out of nowhere and landed onto the pattern which promptly stopped glowing. Call me superstitious, but there was something about that feather that was off.

"Shit!" Kwame spat, he looked up at Trip and made as if to give a warning. It was too late.

A lean old man walked in, nonchalant. Trip was blindingly fast. He grabbed the man's arm, kicked out his shin and rotated his center of gravity in a well-executed throw. Somehow, it was Trip's back which ended up on the ground.

"Young Mr. Astor. Good to find you alive." The old man chuckled, "Is this how poorly they train Knights these days?"

That was when I noticed that the old man wasn't a stranger. It was the headmaster we"d met at the school.

"Don't try it." He warned when Trip scrambled back to his feet. "Not killing you outright was a courtesy. Even men of the Paths are frail compared to my kind."

Once again, I was lost. Who could throw 'army-ant man' as if he were a rag doll? I hadn't even seen how the tables turned in that split second.

Then I turned to look at my friend. He was terrified. His mouth worked up and down like a drowning tilapia.

"Yes Mr. Annan. You know what I am, and I know who you are."

He came closer to both of us and then crouched down beside me. My heart quivered as he gently lifted my chin to inspect my neck.

He tsked, disappointed, "Is it so difficult for an Astor lion to protect a single person? Your grandfather would have been disappointed."

Trip limped closer but remained tight lipped. He actually seemed a little wounded by the headmaster's judgment.

The old man continued examining my bruises, tsking the whole time and muttering, "Poor girl."

He continued his monologue. "Did you know that I was at his funeral, your grandfather? Nana told me what happened and so the next week I sent her the head of the Magi responsible. It's the least a friend could do isn't it?"

"How?" Trip murmured.

"Ask full questions boy!" The headmaster snapped. "I don't have the time or patience to read minds."

Somewhere about this time I noticed that the aches eased as he looked over them. It was odd yet seemed natural at the same.

"Nana? You lying? How did you even know her? My family hates..."

"I lie, you lie, and your family has been lying for a long time. It's what the Societies do best isn't it? You wouldn't even be born if people like me didn't exist. Just like this other young man here."

He slipped something into my hand: a feather. My eyes asked a silent question. In response he winked and smiled reassuringly. He felt as familiar as an old blanket.

"I only came to find answers. So tell me, why was a high daemon in my town? Why are you people here?"

Kwame found his voice first and answered, "We came to find someone. I had no idea about the high daemon."

Were they talking about demons? Yes, they were. The night was that absurd.

"Who were you looking for? Me?" The old man asked.

"No. We hoped to find the new Spider?" Trip replied. I almost expected him to add on 'sir'.

"New Spider? Awotwe is dead?" This question he directed towards Kwame, as if he would give a better answer than Trip.

Kwame only nodded in reply.

The headmaster switched to our dialect, excluding Trip intentionally, "It seems as if it is indeed come this time, isn't it? The Rising."

Kwame nodded again.

Again in Akan he asked, "Now tell me son, why do your people want to find the new Spider? You must know at least that?"

The air felt as if was humming a little. It made goosebumps break out on my arms. The headmaster was looking at my friend. Even though they were both silent, in a creepy way it felt as if they were sharing worlds of information.

After a moment and half, the old man hopped up and made as if to leave. He stopped at the doorway and looked back at Trip.

"My regards to Irma Jane. Tell her that The Feather is alive and well." He traipsed out, whistling the same schoolyard tune with which he entered.

The boys stood stock still, but I was curious. I bolted out of out of door. I don't really know what I was thinking, or hoping to find.

The old man was still ambling off down the single main road when I spotted him. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. Not until he dissolved into a whirlwind of black feathers which shot up into the sky and flew away.