It was the longest eight hours of my life with the smell of blood beginning to fill the car. Arabel stirred only twice, once when we had gone over an unforgiving bump in the road that made her cry out in pain and a second time I wasn’t sure what caused her to stir, I only felt her hand on my arm and then as quickly as it was there, it slipped away.
My ears popped from the pressure change in the mountains as I pulled into the driveway of a large mansion that looked more like a castle. There was a sign at the entrance that let me know we were entering Caomhnóir Orphanage but I didn’t know what language that was in, nor what it stood for. I pulled to a stop at the entrance and saw some children playing in the snow. They ran up to the car in excitement. As I stepped out I heard a flurry of languages, English, French, Portuguese, were some that I recognized. I opened the door and saw the children peering into the car, they must not get visitors often.
“No don’t” I said, not sure if I should let them see her.
“Ah!” one girl, likely about seven or eight years of age looked at me with wide eyes after peering in through the window.
“Mademoiselle Arabel!” she cried out with a distinctly French accent and then with one last fearful look towards me she ran into the orphanage crying out Arabel’s name. The other children now stared at me with wide eyes. I wasn’t sure how to act, clearly the children knew Arabel. The French girl returned with two burly men and a young woman who hurried over.
“Henry called to tell us you were coming,” the woman said, she glanced into the window of the car so I opened the trunk.
“Oh dear,” the woman said wringing her hands. She motioned for the two men to come near. Gingerly, gently, they pulled her out of the vehicle. The men held her wings gently and I realized, no one here was surprised to see her like this.
“Take her to my medical bay,” the woman said, she looked behind her where the young French girl was hiding, grasping her pant leg.
“Olivia, that is enough,” the woman said sternly, “he would not have brought her here if he was a bad man. He is not the one who hurt her,” she said, then looked at me inquisitively, “right?”
“She saved my life,” I said and she nodded then looked back down at the girl.
“See, he is like you,” she said.
“Orphelin?” the girl asked and the woman chuckled and shook her head.
“No, sauvé,” she said and the young girls eyes widened again before nodding and running back into the orphanage.
“I am sorry, she is still new and has not seen Arabel as much as everyone else has.” The woman said.
“What is this place?” I asked. The woman shook her head,
“We will have time for that later, I need to remove that bullet from Arabel.” She said then nodded her head as she rushed inside. I followed, bewildered, behind her. When I was hit with the warm air inside the orphanage I realized just how cold it was outside and chills wracked through my body.
“Here,” a young man handed me a thick fur-lined jacket. “you must have been in a hurry.” He said before walking away as quickly as he came. I thanked him for the jacket and put it on not sure if he had heard me but still grateful for the warmth. I didn’t know where they had taken Arabel so instead I peered through the hallways. I heard children laughing, teachers teaching, and the place seemed filled with a peace that you don’t find anymore.
A young woman, about highschool age, walked out of a room carrying text books. Her head was covered in a light pink hijab and I recognized the fashion from my time spent in Iraq. I cleared my throat gently to alert her to my presence and she spun around. When I saw the faint remnants of burn scars on her face my heart broke, realizing what that meant.
“Salam,” I said softly, not sure if she understood. She did not respond but the surprise in her eyes let me know she knew what I said. She lowered her head slowly and then moved into another room.
“You speak Arabic?” another man walked up behind me, he was significantly older than anyone I had seen so far and had a gentle smile on his face. His grey hair was brushed neatly and he looked well kept.
“I am dean Martin,” he said, extending his hand. I shook it.
“Only a little. I served two deployments in Iraq.” I answered his question softly and felt the man bristle slightly.
“First time she’s brought home a soldier.” He said in contemplation. I looked down at him, realizing he was not very tall.
“Is this a school?” I asked.
“It is an orphanage and a school,” he said, “children are brought here from around the world by Arabel and some are left here by their parents. She’s saved many lives from tough situations or dangerous places, like Sarina whom you just spoke to. Her village was bombed by rebel soldiers, she was the only survivor and I shudder to think what the soldiers would have done if Arabel hadn’t gotten to her in time.” I nodded, understanding, and also hearing his implied warning.
“Do they still get adopted? This is such a remote place.” I asked.
“We are part of the adoption choices just like everyone else.” The man said.
“And if they don’t get adopted?” I asked and the man smiled as if proud.
“Arabel doesn’t turn anyone out. If they are here until the age of eighteen then they have three choices. She will pay for their continued education at a university or college of their choosing, they can stay and work in the orphanage, or they can leave and head out on their own, but the doors will always be open to them if they choose to return. And they are always open for someone who has stayed and wishes to leave. Everyone is here by choice.” I stared at him in awe but remembered the story I had heard from Kristy, Arabel loved children.
I had so many questions and he seemed to notice because he chuckled as he motioned for me to follow him. When we entered a massive library with a few students lounging around I understood why no one was surprised to see her with wings. Above the fireplace was a large painting, it looked as if the painting was of the orphanage but the building was black and smoke billowed from it. The picture was relatively gruesome and I was surprised to see it in a place visible to children. In front of the burning orphanage kneeled Arabel, her wings stretched behind her stained with soot and blood. But what stood out was the tall man hovering over her, shoving a long medieval looking sword into her chest. Like her the man had jet black hair, but unlike her, he also had jet black wings spreading out behind him. In the picture she had her hand on the sword and even in the painting you could see the tears that were streaming down her face.
So that’s how he betrayed her. I thought to myself, remembering once again Kristy’s story. My thoughts were interrupted by a scream and a loud crash. I rushed back into the hallway, aware of others following me. A door burst open and Arabel ran out shirtless and in a pair of shorts, crashing into the wall,
“Wait,” the young woman who had met us at the car chased after her, cradling her hand.
“Move, move, move!” Arabel hissed a she ran through the hall, she noticed me and ran past. I felt a wave of heat beat into me as she ran past.
“Make sure no one follows me,” she hissed quickly before she burst through the door we had came from. Without thinking twice I ran after her,
“Keep every one inside.” I yelled at the dean as I followed her through the door. When I got out I blinked at the harsh whiteness of the snow filled mountain. I couldn’t see Arabel anywhere, but I saw patches of melting snow as if someone had ran through them on fire. I followed them to the left of the orphanage where there was a heavy wooded area. As I got deeper in the foliage I began to feel the air get hotter and felt water dropping on to me, dripping, melting, from the trees around me. Not long into the wooded area and the trees thinned and opened into a large clearing with a frozen lake, and I stood face to face with the largest bird, I had ever seen.
The bird stood as tall as a horse and was three times as wide as one. Like the Astrapia birds that I had seen once when I was briefly in Papua New Guinea, the bird had long white tendril of tail feathers that were longer than her body length and fluttered like ribbons in the wind.. The bird’s beak was bright orange and looked powerful enough to snap me in half, and the tallons were large enough to carry me away, or rip me to shreds. I felt a wave of fear ripple through me but when the bird turned its head to face me I saw the surprised crystalline blue eyes that I knew well. I looked at the birds wings and saw that one was bound in my leather belt.
“Arabel?” I whispered, despite knowing the answer. I had seen her change into other animals but they were animals I recognized. This creature was like something out of a fantasy book. I stepped towards her and she both purred and trilled. She hopped towards me and gave me a shove with her powerful head sending me backwards into the snow. I registered the immense amount of heat emanating from her body and saw her feathers turning red with blood. She stepped backward, putting more distance between us and I saw smoke trailing from her beak and nostrils, this time I couldn’t blame it on a trick of the eye as it was very evident. She threw back her head and a piercing shriek escaped her, the sound was numbing. Following the shriek was fire. It was everywhere, surrounding her and engulfing her. I wanted to run towards her but the heat was excruciating, even with the distance between us. But as I looked I saw the fire move around her as as if it was dancing with her, and the bird looked relieved, I saw its wings and shoulders deflate as if it could finally breathe and I realized the fire wasn’t burning her.
It was a part of her.
The snow around us quickly melted from the heat surrounding her. Among the flames I saw her turn and face me, I saw her eyes glowing as if they had flames inside them, they were no longer the blue eyes of a human, but with slit pupils they looked eerie, beautiful, and feral all at the same time. I heard her lower her head and give a mournful trill of notes and then she turned and dived into the lake behind her which had melted with her heat. A billow of steam rose to the air joined by sizzling and popping noises as the lake boiled.
The air filled with a mixture of steam and smoke I saw the fire starting to dissipate. I heard a familiar sound of bones crunching and flesh tearing and when the air finally cleared enough to allow me to see, among the melted snow mixed with blood and mud, laid Arabel. Her eyes were closed and the lower half of her body was still in the lake. But her wings were gone and my belt lay unused next to her. I watched as the makings of a brassier and shorts stitched themselves together on her, at a much slower speed than usual, realizing that was probably all she had the strength for, and in a matter of seconds it was done. She had no more evidence of the bullet wound and I wouldn’t have believed she was once shot, if I hadn’t seen it for myself. But I did recognize, in the center of her chest, nestled between her breast, a three-inch long scar, jagged and rough, as if left by a dull sword. I touched it gingerly and felt that familiar bolt of electricity as I had so many times, only this time it felt stronger, pulsating throughout my entire body and it was accompanied by a burning heat that coursed through my veins.
Stay with her, I heard a whisper in my head that sounded ancient and old but I didn’t recognize it. I frowned and scooped her up in my arms.
As if I could ever leave her.
…..............
Translations:
Caomhnóir - Gaurdian
Orphelin - orphan
Sauve - saved
Salam - peace
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