Chapter Seventeen

Entry:

What's happening! 

I was mad on my way to my room, and I cried once I was inside. And then… and then… I couldn't control my breathing. I couldn't stop panting, couldn't catch my breath. I was scratching at my throat, my hands starting to tingle. I couldn't focus on anything, my whole body shaking and heaving sobs. Breathe, I need to breathe! In, out, in, in, in, I need to breath out!

How do I do better? I just need to know! How do I make it all better? Please, just tell me. Calm down, I need to calm down. Regain control. Enough crying. Focus on what you are writing, breathe. 

My head pounds.

Phoenix 

--

Chapter Sixteen

The castle was strangely abandoned this time of night. 

Phoenix walked through the ghost halls, the dead people staring through canvas planting a seed of uneasiness. Isla's rhythm bounced around Phoenix's brain and leaked through her lips. She needed more information about any and all ties to the "Burning Stone". 

Her body instinctively made its way to the ever-comforting library, but the sparse shelves didn't greet her with so much as a smile. A few books found their way into her hands, but after being thoroughly skimmed, nothing caught her interest. 

That was until a red book worn thinner than her patience snagged her attention. It was a leather-bound book, similar in style to what Greyson bought her, and she plucked it off the shelf. 

Regardless that Phoenix had already spent the day leisurely at the Highlands, she felt tempted to indulge herself and read the book. To spend a little while feeling the corner of a page turn under her fingertips, sharing company with the setting sun, dust, and plants. 

It was a book written right after the Burning. Burning… Stone. 

Phoenix chuckled to herself and peeled the book open. The Stone had to have something to do with the Burning. She sat in her favorite chair, a velvet sea-glass green in one of the library's corners and read. The format was weird- a torn out page stuffed into the book, a third-person account of tragedy, and multiple perspectives weaved into a singular story. 

5 p.m.

To Stilts-

Right now I, with the rest of the city, see the most graceful colors sweeping the air. Black, purple, blue, and even red take my eyes up into the sky. Four streaks of color up there, four stars, though we both know the red one hogs the beauty. Never before have my senses been exposed to this much color-- look at the hues! I think you'll try and find me, so I'm hiding. I can't wait to jump out and surprise you with a kiss under flying stars. 

-  Sadie

6 p.m.

To you- 

The screams are too loud, all the pain and tears covering faces too horrific. And worse-- the screams going out one by one as injury consumes them. 

I can't bear it. How were we supposed to know? Such beauty turned into such pain-- glorious red pooling at my feet. Hundreds -- no, thousands -- are dead around me. I know I'm lucky to survive. Remember, you're lucky to survive, but I can't…

Why did this happen to us? 

Thank you, Stilts, I can't help but think of you. Do you remember when I first gave you that nickname? It was when I realized I loved you. Since these are my last words, I want to spend them saying I love you. I know you were going to buy perfume, you muttered "perfume" under your breath when you first spotted it, you idiot. 

I have spent too long looking for you there. A body, a mind, a speck of hair or trace of your existence. Until I saw it- the braided necklace I wove for you, laying right outside the shop, and I knew you died. 

I am so tired of splashing in blood-- that one was a child-- 

I hope you read this in the next life. And I hope you'll never forget me, or your name, or the way I said it. 

Stilts, I love you.

I'll be sure to tell you in person next time, and not just write it. 

Never blame yourself for collective tragedy.

Love always,

Sadie 

The crumbling floor in the tall library taunted Sadie after she signed the note, the edge even more so. Vast chunks of stone sat at the bottom far below, with tangled wood and limbs poking out. 

Sadie looked at the once cobbled road and saw an amputated hand. She took another look around, and saw millions of limbs here and there, sprinkling the ground like leaves on the road in fall. Just as red…

She turned her back, shut her eyes, covered her ears. 

Tears flooded Sadie's face; she needed to breathe. She imagined herself flying away, leaving her shadow behind her, up to the clouds. The clean air. Air painting a rainbow east of the sun. Sadie raised her hand and scraped away her tears to capture the rainbow in her memory. 

And the edge of the rainbow, a light red, was paler than the red blood on that stranger's face far below, just there…

Sadie joined the hundreds of people who jumped. Never having said a proper goodbye to Stilts was her biggest regret. Arms out wide, falling backward, she spread her arms wide, desperate for a hug from the love of her short life. 

The tip of her pen in her hair cracked upon impact, shooting through her head, piercing her skin, shattering her skull, until the pen's end could be seen through the white of her eye. 

Stilts--

Hug her--

#

Stilts approached his crow black hair dusted with white to the lifeless soul of Sadie. His bare feet hit the ground loudly, determined, but he was still scared. Very scared. The ground was wet. Why was the ground so--

He was too late. 

The boy wanted to cry, but no tears were left for him. Nothing was left for him. He had to stay, stay to tell the story of when the world ended. 

Stilts bent down and brushed his lips against Sadie's dry mouth. Sadie was such an idiot. She promised him a kiss, she promised him a future together, she--

Sadie's face was cold, pale, lifeless. Her lips were dry, eyes open and totally blank. She was gone, gone, gone. Picking Sadie up, Stilts noticed her arm. Her arm, covered in dirt, had pieces of glass impaled in the flesh, but this glass was no longer clear, for some blood had found its way to cover every piece. Stilts' heart sank a little more. 

Sadie had felt pain. 

Then her journal fell out of her pocket. Putting her body down, Stilts' frail hands brushed the cover, and he dared to open it where she'd last written. 

How was this not his fault?

He should have stayed in the perfume shop, not left for library where he abandoned her. He should have known she'd look for him. Stilts should have noticed when the necklace  fell off.

"I love you too, Sadie," he whispered.

Stilts couldn't leave Sadie alone in death. He should kill himse-

No. Sadie always wanted to write for the world one day. Stilts flipped through the pages, the revisions, the torn pages, the burned marks, holes, rips, stains, smudges. The journal was too fragile to last forever. Stilts tore out her last entry and tucked it into his pocket. Reached down to Sadie's corpse and pulled the pen from her head, wiping away the blood and skin from where it'd impaled her. 

Sadie had blue eyes. So why did blood stare back at him when he dared a glance? He couldn't control it. Stilts wept. He had never cried like this before, with no tears left, heaving out hoarse air and rubbing his stinging eyes. 

For the next two hours Stilts ached until his mind was deadened by emotions pulsing through him. 

He looked around. No standing buildings, no wandering people or sun in the sky. Empty. 

A large piece of rock, just below Sadie's feet, caught his eye. Something about the way the moon high above filled the rock's craters. It looked to be a piece of the comet. Stilts felt the jagged points of the uneven sphere between his fingers. He stuck the rock into his pocket, next to the journal pages, he needed to always remember her. 

No, he needed to get away from the town. Stilts walked until an old house by the water near the coast offered shelter. 

As the sun poked over the hills, an alien warmth poured through the cracks of the half-burned home. It was morning now. 

Stilts entered and the uneven floorboards shot dust into the air as welcome. The dust danced among beams of sunlight. The last reserves of his energy were spent. He crumbled to the floor; arms wrapped around himself for warmth. In no time, Stilts fell asleep.

Sadie greeted his slumbering body, and he pulled her waist to him, hugging her so close no air was left between their bodies. His chin rested on Sadie's head. 

She smelt of ink. 

#

It wasn't soon until Stilts woke with a large boom flooding his ears- a bass drum pounding. His eyes peeled open. Sadie had been snatched away from him again. 

Invisible bugs skittered across his vision. He swore he saw Sadie's face among them. 

"Focus," he urged himself.

Dragging himself up, he peeked out a shattered window and saw a large boat. The captain was slowly making his way around the shore, searching for survivors. 

"I'm here!" Stilts yelled, waving his arms in the air.

The captain's attention snapped over to the noise, and the two locked eyes. Before leaving the house, Stilts took one look back. Thirty-six hours ago he was watching Sadie write in her little book. This was just all hilarious. Stilts let out a boisterous, dry laugh that left bittersweet tears in his eyes. 

He walked over to the ship, watching his step for metal or nails and other bones as he went to the edge of the water. Stilts looked at his feet, water tickling his toes. The boat picked him up, hands yanking him on the ship. 

"Welcome aboard," said the captain. "Are you okay?" 

Stilts stared blankly back with a broken smile. 

"It's okay," assured a crewmember, "you're safe now. We weren't hit where we came from. We'll take care of you, you'll be okay." 

How naïve. 

The ship started gliding across the water, the wind pushing them forward.

"We're going to do a few more loops to look for more survivors. Then, next stop: Domum."

Stilts glanced over his shoulder at his shattered land. His hand rubbed Sadie's stone, traced over her journal pages, felt the tip of her pen. 

It was just a matter of time until he saw her again. 

#

Phoenix wiped away a tear and took a deep breath to remind herself she was in a safe place. 

"Terrifying, isn't it?" 

Phoenix bolted out of her chair and into a defensive stance, goosebumps rising up her arms in shock. The journal dropped to the ground with a thump.

A voice laughed to itself and said from behind a bookshelf a couple feet away, "At ease. That's a precious book. Please pick it up from the ground."

Phoenix's hands enveloped the journal, and she gingerly placed it back on the chair of respect for Sadie and Stilts, not because a stranger said so. She walked over to the voice, eager to see who else thought the book precious.

"Could you imagine? How fascinating it would be to study how each human coped with the same disaster? Which defense mechanism each person employed, how many killed themselves, how many overcame the tragedy, how many were hollow beings of flesh? How fascinating. Fascinating, indeed. Or maybe more interesting? Yes, Interesting indeed." The voice laughed to themselves some more, a light chuckle filling the air. 

Phoenix confronted the voice and found a man in his sixties with a full white head of hair and matching beard that tickled his Adam's apple. He was tall, perhaps the height of the King, with wrinkles stretching up his forehead as though desperately reaching for his receding hairline. His eyes were as black as a cave's mouth. His iris swallowed his pupil, stark against the red veins poking from the corner of his eye. 

His disposition threw Phoenix off, and she couldn't tell if she should put her fighting instinct away or not. "Who are you?" she asked.

The man bent his head down and looked up at her with a guarded smile. His eyes appeared vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. Could it be Old Man Roman?

"Don't be so hasty, take a seat!" He bounced upright and gestured toward a couple of tables across the room. "Let's chat, a friend of yours said you'd be looking for me. Guess I found you first! Ha!" Without checking if Phoenix was following him, the mystery man made his way to one of the tables on the west wall and took a seat. She sat across from him and studied the peculiar person before her. 

His voice was oddly chipper, contrasting with his deep set and sorrowful eyes. 

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked her.

"Who are you?" Phoenix pushed again, bothered she couldn't read him at all.

The old man tapped his fingers on his leg and hummed in thought. 

"He warned me you'd be mean but didn't mention you'd be so serious as well."

Everything confused Phoenix- who was 'he'? While wondering what to ask next, she glanced around the room. It was only them, two strangers sitting in a royal library, waiting for the other to speak. 

"I go by Roman," the man revealed. "Though I suspect you know me by a rather cruel nickname."

Roman was like willow tree, sagging and mournful. 

"Who sent you?" Phoenix asked.

"Why, your friend the Prince of course, darling. Yes, of course the Prince."

Phoenix didn't bother to correct him and tell him that the Prince was no friend. "What is your role in the court?"

Roman's lip curled in disgust and he shifted in his chair. Roman studied his nails and then looked back at her. "Such ugly questions coming from such a pretty face. You are no fun, no fun indeed. I have answered two of your questions. You must answer one of mine."

Phoenix's temper rose, so she said, "I am on an official job given to me personally by the King. I believe you are the key to my investigation and would appreciate your full cooperation in the name of the royal family."

"And here I was, thinking that the Prince had a good taste in friends. Pity, pity most definitely." Roman lifted himself out of his chair to leave. Of course he would be mad if she interrogated him.

"Fine," Phoenix gave in, eager to keep his company. "Let's play a game. For every question you ask, I get to ask one too. We both must answer honestly. The first person to refuse to answer or lies loses."

He sat and a sickly smile slithered across his stretched skin. "That's more like it, darling. I love to have fun, don't you?" 

"Of course. Now, what is your role in the royal court?"

"No, no. It is my turn to ask."

It was Phoenix's turn to smile. "Oh, no. You asked if I liked to have fun, I answered. My move."

Roman nodded in approval. 

"What's your relationship with the royal family?" she asked. 

Phoenix's gaze wandered to the books on the shelves. Her eyes floated to the large mural on the adjacent wall and then settled on her favorite sea-glass green chair. She looked back to Roman. He was silent, and she couldn't figure out why her question was so difficult to answer. 

"I am the head advisor for the royal family. But, you know, they really ought to just make me the honorary grandfather of the family. I help them so much!" he finally revealed. "Now, that boy Talon called you a friend. What word would you use?"

Phoenix scoffed. "One word would be an acquaintance, but a thorn in my side is more accurate."

Was Roman really a father-figure to the family? "How close are you to the royal family?"

"Location-wise, the King is in the Throne Room and we are in the library, so I would say I am about two floors and hallway away from him."

Phoenix scowled; he smiled.

"Pick your words more carefully, darling. My turn. What did you think of that journal you read?"

"I'm impressed you recognized it from the cover alone," Phoenix said. 

"I have read it many times, many times indeed. I would recognize that cover anywhere. I have read all the Burning journals."

"I thought it was dark, yet very moving. Now, what other journals?" Phoenix slid to the edge of her seat, frustration bleeding to curiosity. 

"Well, darling, the journals from the other part of the library. Every survivor kept a journal and recalled what they remembered about the world before the Burning. This library is more than entertainment, it's a record of our past life as a species. It was Stilts' idea, for survivors to journal their experiences. Do you journal?" 

"Not at the moment. Where do we keep these other books?"

Roman silently stood and headed toward the green chair she had been sitting in earlier. Both of them breathed in the same musty atmosphere. They passed her favorite chair and headed over to the mural wall. The mural depicted four large comets sat at the center, chaos surrounding it. People were dead, limbs were gone, the survivors jumped. Roman walked right up to the wall and placed his hand on a hidden doorknob. 

Phoenix had never noticed the knob before, which was small and painted the same color as the wall. The door, too, was almost impossible to spot, camouflaged into the mural too seamlessly. 

"We keep them down here. Don't you know about it?"

Roman pushed the door open and a small staircase going below ground was revealed, a draft pushing Phoenix's hair back. Beyond was blackness, a void with stairs spiraling down past where the eye could see. Phoenix wondered where it led, and what horrors would be down there. 

Counting to three to calm her thundering thoughts, she held her breath and took a step into the dark.