The Whipping Tree

II: Charcoal and Cerulean

II

Charcoal and Cerulean

         As they near the end of their trek, a luminescence greets them. It grows from a palm-sized flare to an opening stretching far above their heads, bursting with something that looks like starlight.

         Joaneveive holds her breath as she and the Nocen pass under the tunnel entrance. What startles her is the amount of people gathered there when she enters.

         No one acknowledges them; all eyes are focused upon someone at the front of the gathering, someone Joan is unable to see from where she stands.

         She turns to the Nocen, wanting to ask him what is going on, but he’s fallen silent as well. She drifts away from him, watching to see if he plans to grab her and wrestle her away. He makes no move, however, so she inches forward, slipping between Nocens until she reaches a break in the crowd and is able to see what is going on.

         It is a Nocen, kneeling before someone sitting on what appears to be a throne made of solid smoke. The grey plumes neither furl nor unfurl, and they have a certain concrete look to them that peaks Joan’s curiosity and makes her want to step forward and touch whatever it is the person is seated upon.

         “…and that is a crime punishable by death.”

         Joan’s head snaps up when she hears the word. Before she has time to puzzle out who these people are or the circumstances under which the scenario is happening, the man on the throne sweeps his hand to one side and curls his fingers into a fist.

         The Nocen screams, a shrill, broken sound that makes Joan curl into herself because it is much too familiar to her. He shakes and convulses, and when Joan blinks, she catches the end of his demise. A searing white light spreads from his center, erasing him as it grows and grows and grows, and he vanishes.

         “Let him serve as an example of what may befall you if ever you choose to disobey my edict.” The man waves his hand and the rest of the Nocens take that as a sign to leave.

         The trance is broken, and the assembly disperses.

         Joan searches for the Nocen who accompanied her, but he too has joined the throng, travelling in the same direction, all travelling towards something Joan does not know.

         She hangs back, searching for and wondering if there even is a way to escape.

         “You. Girl. Come here.”

         She starts and glances back. The man on the throne is staring at her expectantly. After seeing what he is capable of doing, she is wary to approach, though she doesn’t wish to anger him, either. The latter fear wins and she draws nearer.

         He looks both old and young, with raven hair and almost translucent skin. If Joan didn’t know better, she would have thought he himself was illuminating the cave.

         “Closer,” he says impatiently, and when Joaneveive continues to approach at a snail-like pace, he beckons with two fingers and she shoots forward, skittering to a stop before hitting his peculiar seat.

         She freezes and takes a moment to gather herself before gazing up in part wonder, part fright.

         The Nocens. The cave. His power.

         The man on the throne is Abeor.

         Abeor says nothing to her, merely sits and stares over her head at something she cannot see.