The narrow tunnel opened up to a star-studded sky that ran together with a lush meadow. A mesh of green leaves lined the perimeter. In the centre of the clearing, stationed like a king surveying his kingdom, was a wise, old Weeping Willow. Of course, since nothing in Ondio is like it is in Kedlien, why should this be any different? Instead of the normal green of chlorophyll, the Willow glistened a vibrant crystal blue. The lowly oaks were humbled completely by the shimmering aqua, while the grass bowed repeated at its feet. At the base, glistening in the distant rays of Lifwent, was a calm and clear pool. It was certainly beautiful. Of that, I had no doubt, but so strange. It’s not like there was anything weird about the way it looked, it was just the feeling it was giving me that gave me the creeps. A breeze gently tapped a branch, leading it into the water. Ripples emerged tranquilly from the tip of the lowest leaf, making my breath catch in my throat. My wings trembled even though it was slightly warm out tonight. It felt as if a cricket was running up and down the nerves in my arms. Goosebumps dotted my skin and my hands felt clammy from the nervousness.

 

Orthon was just beginning to peak above the trees. Their tops were outlined by the beam, seemingly making them to glow. Sluggishly, the gears in my head started turning and things began to register.

In the first stall was an Appaloosa mare. Her black coat had white hairs littering her hindquarters. White feathered wings protruded from the 15.2 hand tall equine, ending with black tips. She pawed at her door with crystal hooves that were streaked by coal coloured marks. Carved in the stall door in silver letters was the name Dappled Mist and below that was ‘Misty.’

            In the adjacent stall, there was a copper chestnut stallion, showing off his dark red mane and tail. He had the height of a Thoroughbred at 17.2 hands, but looked more like a Quarter Horse with extra long legs. The feathers in his wings shone the same blood red as his hooves with the matching black tips of Misty. Fire Flight was etched into the wood above the word ‘Flight.’

            Across the walkway, in the opposite box, was a young white mare with long shadows sprouting from her crest and dock as mane and tail. She looked much like Flight in form, but had Misty’s height. They were obviously her parents. Her wings had the reverse combination of those of her sire and she stood black and red crystal hooves. According to her door, her name was Fire Mist, but she was called Fire.

Mardo’s Pegasus, Lieghari, had been much like Fire. It was a shame that Prince Halko had taken her. I had grown very attached to that horse in the week we kept her. I was the one who always volunteered to help groom her, even when Mardo didn’t ask for assistance. I’d been only seven then, so he never turned me away no matter how annoying I got. He would encourage me to do what I could to help and didn’t care if I failed as long as I tried.

I sighed, pushing the memories into the back of my mind. I didn’t need a meltdown right now. I looked to the far end of the stable. A sturdy counter, littered with bridle bits, scrap leather, several different types of creams, and various tools, was locked into the wall. Unlabeled drawers, all with locks, fit snugly in their holes, keeping whatever secrets they held safe. The cabinets hung open, waiting for someone to put their padlocks back on. I walked up to the first, my curiosity overpowering my common sense. The cabinet swung open with a creak. I had been expecting something like, I don’t know, saddle stuff, hoof picks, or something along those lines. Instead, I got a bunch of pictures. And I’m not talking photographs, no, paintings. There were five of them, all with a name, title, and date written on the back.

         The first was simple: a black unicorn stallion with crystal horn, munching on some grass. His tail was perked high, giving away his Arabian parentage. On the back, written in blue ink, was RC, Black Jasper, May 19^th.

 

          The second was a bit more complex: an Arabian/Paint Pegasus, soaring above a small cottage. It was a mare, a bit on the heavy side as far as I could tell. She looked pregnant. Her coat shone with the same colouring of the Vireia and almost identical pattern. Written in the same blue ink as before was RC, Soarah, October 21^st.

 

         I picked up the third painting. Etched into the fibres of the paper was Misty trotting along a fence. Her dark, graceful legs flicked out in front of her as she ran. It was almost as if I was there, watching her. Who ever made these was an artistic genius. Flipping over the artwork, I found RC, Dappled Mist, October 23^rd.

 

         The next had to be my favourite: a copper Fire Flight reared up, pawing at the sky with Soarah flying behind him. Wings splayed, his hooves just barely touched the ground. Scribbled onto the back was RC, Fire Flight, January 14^th.

 

          The last was of Misty with a newborn foal. She was much younger in the picture and tired from a hard night of labour. The filly stood on shaky legs in an awkward stance. It was obviously her first time using the too long sticks. I read the back: RC, Fire Mist’s First Walk, February 5^th. I smiled, turning it back over to look at it again.

 

           “I thought I’d find you out here,” Maranori’s voice rang from behind me, echoing slightly in the open space.

            I spun on the spot, still holding Fire’s baby picture.

           “Which one are you looking at?” she asked gently. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or not. She didn’t seem to be, but I couldn’t be sure.

           “Fire Mist’s First Walk,” I answered calmly.

           “Ah, that was always my favourite,” she smiled, “It had been so much fun to paint.”

           “Wait? You made these?”

           “Duh! Who did you think painted them?”

           “But you’re… how… I mean…” my voice trailed off.

           Maranori laughed. “I use my other senses to create a picture in my head, then I just put that image onto the canvas. It is all really quite simple once you get the hang of it.”

          “Weird, but totally awesome,” I shook my head. “Where’s Vayt?”

          “Inside eating. There’s a plate out for you if you are hungry.”

          As if on cue, my stomach started growling.

          “I will take that as a yes then?”

           I nodded, but then remembered she couldn’t see anything, and said yes.

          She turned around, motioning for me to follow, and left the barn. I replaced the pictures, then ran to catch up, following her to the house, through the living room, and into the kitchen.

          Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was small. Light blue and dark green paint had been slathered onto the walls. Herds of unicorns were galloping across wide, flat plateaus, while Pegasi claimed the sky. I thought I could pick Misty, Fire, and Flight out of the winged group. In the very centre of the farthest wall was Justweh and in the middle of that was a Vireia mare. She was a black Hanoverian with raven wings and white star on her forehead. Her nostrils were flared in a hello and she appeared to have been tossing her head back playfully. The long forelock flipped up in a messy spiral in the imaginary wind and her mane whipped out wildly behind her. Bright green eyes pierced me and held my gaze.

           “Pretty cool, ain’t it?” Vayt mumbled through a mouth full of mush.

           “Yeah,” I breathed, my eyes still locked on the horse.

           “Too bad there’s no such thing,” he shrugged, digging into his food again.

           Maranori and I smiled. Mine faded as soon as I saw hers. How in the world did she know about Vireias?

          “Sausage, Giova?” she offered, going to a pan on the stove.

          “No thank you, I’m vegetarian,” I replied.

          “Okay, then I’m guessing you’ll want berries and bread then?”

          “Yes, please.”

          I sat at the table next to Vayt as Maranori brought a plate of bread and fruit over and placed it in front of me, while she sat with one filled with strawberries, toast, sausage, melon, and grapes.

We ate in relative silence, the only sound was Vayt sloppy munching and the clock ticking on the wall above the window. Justweh peered in through the drawn curtains, casting a golden glow about the room.

        Kastaline no longer wanted to kill us, which was cool, but instead, wrestled with a large bone on the floor. A few scraps of meat still clung for dear life onto the pearly white surface, only to be torn off by the snowcat as soon as she sniffed them out. She didn’t look nearly as menacing as she had back in the forest last night; more playful and kittenish. Occasionally her paw would hit the bone and send it flying across the room, landing on the wood with a clatter. When this happened, Kastaline would promptly crouch low, stick her butt up in the air, wiggle it a little, then pounce. A couple times she would accidentally step on the end and it would flip, smacking her on the nose. Of course, that only made her attack it more viciously.

        Suddenly, the breakfast time merriment was shattered by a pounding at the front door. All of our heads snapped up and toward the entranceway. Maranori got up quickly and went to a closet. She opened it after having to unlock it, pulling out a bow and quiver of arrows.

        “Be right back,” she glared at the doorway.

         She left the room, arrow docked, heading for the door.

         “What do you want?” we heard her snarl to the obviously unwelcome visitors.

         “We are sorry to intrude ma’am,” a man’s voice began.

         “Yet, here you stand,” Maranori butted in.

         “But we’re looking for some fugitives,” he continued, “Our sources tell us they were last seen heading into this forest.”

         His voice was quavering and for good reason. If I was met by some angry woman with a reputation wielding a deadly weapon, I’d be shaking in my boots too.

         “As I’m sure your king has told you,” she hissed, “I don’t take lightly to people trespassing on my land. All you do is cause trouble and, on occasion, try to steal my equines.”

        “Yes, ma’am, we are truly sorry about those men,” another guy spoke up. He sounded young; like his voice hadn’t broken in yet. “I can assure you, they were punished for their actions.”

        “What? They were only allowed to have nineteen drinks instead of twenty?”

        “Ma’am,” the older guy started.

        “Oh, would you quit calling me that! How old do I look?”

         “Sorry, ma- miss, um, w-we have an official decree from K-King Kawmu, st-stating that we can s-search your premises,” the little dude stuttered, not hiding his fright too well. I swear I could hear the parchment rustling.

         “Oh, in that case,” she said sarcastically, “you can go ahead and GET LOST!”

         “Miss, if you don’t let us in, we’ll have to go get reinforcements,” the deeper voice warned.

          Oh, that will go over well, I thought, rolling my eyes.

         “And what makes you think I will let them in?” Maranori spat.

         “I don’t have time for this,” he growled, “Step aside!”

         There was the sound of scuffling, then the twang of a bow. A gruff cough came from the halfway across the living room, followed by a thud.

         Maranori came running into the kitchen. “Quick, the window!” she ordered.

         Vayt rushed over to it, throwing up the bottom part, and helping me through. The other two were out in a matter of seconds and we all sprinted to the barn.

         Our heels thumped on the wooden porch, sending tremors up my legs. I wished we wouldn’t make so much noise as we stormed down the steps, but they probably already knew we were back here. I swear I could hear them stomping around the house, their armour clinking as they ran.

        The grass was slippery from the morning dew, which isn’t the best thing to combine with a girl who has the coordination of a newborn puppy. My sandals tried over and over to remove themselves from my feet and trip me. Of course, being the expert klutz that I was, I couldn’t be tricked by that old move. I squeezed my toes together, clinging onto the leather shoes.

        Kastaline bounced past us, thinking this was just another game, slipping on the wet grass and rolling over. Her playful attitude quickly faded and a snarl escaped past her bared teeth. She must have seen the soldiers. This was no longer a game to her, but a time to protect her owner.

        I could hear her paws slicing through the air, searching for a leg or two. Just when I thought she could have the upper hand on one, I heard a hollow thump, growl, and thud. I knew she had been by one of those steel toed boots, that she was down, and that it would be pointless to turn around.

        Almost there! my mind yelled, continuously telling my legs to keep going.

        We reached the fence, vaulting over, then pounded out the last few yards to the door. Maranori hurled herself at it, trying to pull it aside, but was too slow. One of the soldiers grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to the ground, and pinning me down with his knee. The force of his joint on my spine was enough to knock the wind out of me. The last thing I saw, before the sodden grass, was Maranori being pushed to the ground along with Vayt, her hand brushing the door.

       There were four men. I hadn’t counted on that, seeing as how only two had spoken. Two young soldiers were trying to restrain Vayt. Both had deep brown hair and matching eyes. Raven wings protected by clear armour jutted out from one of the boys’ back, while steel coloured, scaled wings stuck out of the other’s. Their faces burned red as they struggled to keep Vayt under their control and wearing that heavy, heat trapping metal.

       Maranori kicked at another kid. His blonde hair had been clipped short, probably when he joined the military, and his light green eyes flashed with anger against the determined Maranori.

      Of course, I was the one who had to get the older, army buff dude. He had no problem keeping me down and seemed unaffected by my constant thrashing. At first, he chuckled at his three younger comrades inability to control their prisoners but now just seemed annoyed.

       “How hard is it to pin some kid and a woman?” he scolded the boys, “Come on, you ninnies! Fight like men not girls!”

        A threat to their manhood was all it took for them to push that last bit and restrain Vayt and Maranori. Once we were all under their control, we were forced to our feet, hands tied behind our backs with heavy chains.

         “Let’s go boys,” Army Buff commanded, “We need to be back before sundown. Cadet Froy, grab the cat.”

         The steel winged soldier left his companion to handle Vayt and rushed over to hogtie Kastaline, Maranori’s glare stabbing him in the back the entire time. He hoisted her limp frame over his shoulder and Army Buff pushed me, signalling that I was to start walking. I groaned as I took my first step. My knees were sore from hitting the ground so hard, but my captor didn’t care. I was just an outlaw with a flight risk and there was no way he was going to lose me. As far as he was concerned, I could drop dead right then and there. He would bring me back dead or alive.

          The trek through Oak Shadow Woods was… interesting, to say the least. The soldiers were bent on putting us through the most extreme torture before we even got back to Ferlan. And what exactly was this new torture technique? Four men, who sounded like something out of a bad horror movie, singing. Corny army songs. Very loud. Non-stop. For three hours! My head was numb from the perpetual screeching directly behind me. Thank God they weren’t drunk. Although, they could definitely pass off as such right now.

            If I heard “Yo ho, Blow the Men Down” one more time, I was going to pull my hair out one strand at a time, then beat the living daylights out of whoever was signing it. Why they were belting out that particular number in bad pirate accents was beyond me. It wasn’t even an army tune! Heck, it wasn’t even military! All I do know is that it was permanently burned into my memory and that it, along with “Make it stop!” and “Are we there yet?” were repeating in my head over and over again.

            Where’s a hard wall you can pound your skull into and knock yourself out when you need one?

            “What is the matter? Don’t you like our signing? I thought we sounded pretty good. What did you think boys?” (Cue chorus of ‘yups.’)

            Men and women, covered only by dirty scraps of cloth that barely protected their modesty, were busy working on their assigned tasks. Whether it be breaking up boulders, chopping wood, pushing logs, shovelling gravel, or carrying heavy objects from one end of the courtyard to the other, it was sure to gruelling and backbreaking work. Men with whips stood guard over the prisoners, hacking away at their skin with the leather if they didn’t work fast or hard enough. If one tried to dodge or the guard’s aim was a little off, a neck or even face would receive the punishment instead of the back.

Little droplets of blood were flung through the air after each switch. Eight times the girl was beaten and the guard didn’t look as if he was close to quitting. The misplaced anger was evident in the ferociousness of his hits.

            Vayt, Maranori, and I were escorted into the facility. The main foyer was a spacious and dank room. Twin staircases lead up to double doors on the second floor. For some reason, I think we were soon going to find out what was behind them. Two identical hallways flanked the middle doors, both with signs hanging from the entrances. I squinted to read them. “Staff Quarters” Must be where all the non prisoners lived, I thought.

As soon as we entered, we were promptly greeted by eight heavily armoured guards gathered in a semicircle.

            For the second time, a row of cells welcomed us. It was almost identical to the last one, only the doors had extra locks on them. “Security Level 2,” read a sign above my head. At the end of this one was yet another flight of stairs. Going up them, I slipped on one and fell, my still sore knee breaking my fall. Pain radiated through it and I thought I might have chipped the bone, but a poke in the back told me I had to get up anyway. As quickly as I could, I got back to my feet and started moving again. With every step, the throbbing became worse, but I didn’t dare slow down or stop.

            Flick, flash, turn, and “Security Level 3” was unlocked. The cells were the same, but this time a guard was stationed at each. All had bored expressions on young faces. These must have been fresh out of the academy and it was probably the first job for most. A couple of older faces dotted the line. The major screw-ups, I supposed.

            Instead of going up stairs, we went down at the end of the hallway. The leader of our entourage flicked two switches, one at a time, flashed the ID clipped to his lanyard, then the third guard turned the wheel and we went through to “Security Level 4.”

            “By all means, bring them in,” the man hissed, glaring intently at me. The wheel was turned and “Maximum Security Level 5” was revealed at last.