Читать книгу Mirage's Revenge - Lorena Garcia - Страница 2

My decision in becoming a patroller was unanimous. I was not smart enough to become a scholar, nor kind enough to be a healer. The only reason I turned away from working in the Hall of Screams. His name is Rasputin and I specifically remember his joy and excitement increase exponentially through our experience in the hall.

Patrollers are a necessity as there are many who wish to escape or rebel. It is my duty, along with others, to find such people and drag them to the Enforcing Committee, otherwise known as the Magistrate Council, where they are punished appropriately. It usually ends in someone burning.

As I eat during my lunch break, I stare down the Mountains which border the town. Illegal to climb and dangerous to even wonder what it would be like to explore it. Despite this law in place, at times, I find myself watching intently. Somehow, someway, I can feel it call out to me, begging for me to explore it, only I know it cannot be so.

Our story, however, starts on a chilly night, as it almost often seems to do so. Rasputin reported 3 young rebels escaped the Hall of Screams. I was awakened by my fellow Patroller, Damian, pounding at the door. After exchanging familiarities, he relayed the information to me, handing me a file with the report written inside. I skimmed through the pages, yawning as I walked around the house preparing for another long search.

Once we reached the Hall of Screams, we all split up, going to cover more ground that way. I had searched for at least four hours, the sun starting to rise, when I found her. I was about to head back when I noticed a body covered in blood at the farthest corner of a dead end. I, as the job commands, have to examine. I walked up to the corner, taking note of the blood pooling around her.

She was trembling weakly, her breathing quivering. Her hair was covering her face, tangled and blood stained. I grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up on her feet. She was smaller than me, the top of her head grazing my chin. As I held her up straight, her body slouched, her forehead resting against my chest. I shook her harshly by the shoulders, watching as she blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake.

“What is your name?” I barked out at her.

She remained silent, a confused look crossing the features of her face. In the growing light, I noticed something strange. For 85 years (from what I remember in my history class), the weak links were shown to have clear blue eyes and were the first to kill. There was never been an instant where blue eyes were sighted again, except today.

I got lost in the depths of her deep blue eyes, watching as her darkest blue color was brightened with a soft golden brown firecracker. Only when morning light shone harshly in my eyes did I remember my duties to the Magistrate Council. However… I had that familiar, peculiar, feeling to go against everything I was taught to obey.

She fainted, collapsed, in my arms. As I looked at the sun, I counted, at most, two hours until I had to report her or not.

I have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe I was just still under the effects of her eyes. Maybe it was that sweet feeling of anarchy that forced me to do it. Or, maybe it was her soft skin under my fingers and her warmth against my chest and arms, but I carried her away. Away from the Magistrate Council and into my house. I laid her upon my bed, watching her soft rise and fall, her hair cascading over my pillow. I watched her sleep until the alarm blared its annoying screech for all patrollers to report to the Magistrate Council. I left, walked the necessary blocks, passing various houses and citizens, until I reached a broad stony arch where upon it stood a faded yellow illuminating “Magistration Committee”. I gulped as I stared at the letters, fear of them finding out coursing through my very veins. Damian stood next to me, a wicked grin on his face.

“What are you so happy about, Damian,” I asked him. With a quick glance at the bounty, “We have failed in capturing all but one.”

“Aqulune, my dear friend,” he whispered, his smile widening with a malicious intensity, “I found one of the girls ahead of time but I got distracted and lost her.”

Before I could ask why that would make him smile, or ask anything else, period, the trumpets blasted their noisy tune and the Council stepped forward from their quarters and stood before us, their glare earth-shattering.