Dawn of Fire

DAWN OF FIRE

Chapter One

I run my hand along the smooth black wall of my prison cell, as cold an ungiving as it always it. A farmiliar surge of dissapointment fills me. Why was I so stupid? Why did I have to rush into that battle and get myself caputered? I take a lock of my dirty blonde hair, twining it around my finger. I hate being a Prisoner.

I detect footsteps down the hall. My heart speeds up. As quickly as I can, I close my eyes, picturing my cat Form. Opening my eyes, I watch as white fur the color of snow sprouts from me. My ears become bigger and triangular-shaped. A tail curls itself around my paws, twitching. Whiskers grow next to my flattened nose. My almond-shaped eyes turn an icy-blue tinge. I feel claws beneath my paws, currently sheathed. I shake out my legs, stretching elegantly. Being a cat feels like an escape from reality. The only reason I wasn’t one until now was an act of defiance against the inhuman Guards that keep me here. That even their Chip won’t keep me from being myself, with my tanned skin and long hair. I shake my pelt out, growling. They’re coming. I tuck my paws in neatly, putting on an innocent expression. What the Guards want. I quietly hiss at the thought of obedeing them.

The door gives a soft swinging noise that my keen ears swivel to pick up. A Guard steps into the room, a shaft of light from outside catching on her scarred face. She quickly tuck her auburn hair in front of it. Ashamed.

I know I can’t fight. I’ve seen the remains of rebel’s bodies. The small, jagged puncture wounds all over them. Their eyes, bloodshot and stretched wide in agonized horror, their mouths open in a screech that will never come. The trickles of black blood spilling out from their wounds. I shudder. One thing I’ll never be interested in is being one of them, stretched out on a dirty floor like a sickly piece of artwork. A warning to Prisoners – this is what happens if you don’t obey. A lesson. A lifeless lesson. Fury fills me. I’ll never be one of their displays.

The Guard’s waiting. Her foot taps the floor, echoing. I mentally note that she seems nice. Sparing me. I scramble over and follow her down the dark corridor, flexing my claws. All I want is to sink them into the flesh of my enemies, feel their blood on me. But then where would I be? No better then them, that’s for sure. No. As much as I am tempted to attack a Guard, I have to be better then them. I have to prove that I’m not a maniac killing machine. Responsible for the Multiverse Wars.

The Multiverse Wars. The reason I’m here. The reason my mother and father are dead. A picture of my sister flashes in my head. Grace. Is she dead? My chest tightens. Every day, I fear for her. Even if she survived the first attack, she could well be dead by now. I picture her, a stream of blood slowly spilling from her forever stilled body, turning the ground around her scarlet. Tears sting my eyes. I push them back. I will not cry. I won’t give this Guard the satisfaction of seeing me burst into tears. Not even a chance of surviving after that. I’d be tortured with…whatever they use to kill the rebels, whatever gives them scars, whatever turns their blood black. Whatever puts them in so much pain. My stomach heaves just thinking about it. Luckily, I haven’t eaten yet today. Which reminds me. I haven’t eaten in what? A day? A week? Two weeks? My stomach clenches painfully in hunger. Will I ever eat again? I’ve never heard of Prisoners starving to death. No, the other form of torture is more effective, I’m guessing. Disgusting. The only time I’ve ever seen someone starve was back on Oblivion-

Oblivion. The thought of my home Planet brings the tears back to my eyes. Where there was peace. Where I had a family. Where Guards didn’t go around mindlessly killing the innocent. But then the peace was shattered. Oblivion, whose leaders had kept their involvement in the Wars a secret for so long, killed in a storm of fire and ash. Along with my parents.

And then it all comes rushing back. The day we lost everything.

————

“Look!” Grace tugs on my sleeve, her blue eyes shining.

I turn. “What?” Everything’s the same as it always is is the field. Emerald-green grass, blowing in the wind. A crystalline sky, dotted with fluffy clouds. Birdsong.

“A flower,” she replies. “Over there. See?”

I smile. Grace can see something as small as a flower and be amazed by it. “It’s a pretty one, isn’t it?” I murmur, looking at a bright blue flower that Grace is pointing at. It must’ve just bloomed. A sweet frangrace fills my nose and I close my eyes, breathing in the soothing scent of the petals.

I turn to my sister. We exchange our farmiliar look. Wordlessly, we walk toward the flower, each of us delicately taking a petal in our hands. I press the petal that I’ve taken to my forehead.

“I wish,” I whisper, “that we’ll always be together.” I look at my sister, to let her know I’m talking about her. She beams, pressing her petal to her forehead. “I wish that tomorrow, we’ll come back and we’ll have another flower to pick.” Together, we let our petals go in the gentle breeze and watch them whisk away. Our daily routine.

“What do you want to do next?” Grace bounces with exitment.

“We could go home,” I reply. “See Mom and Dad.”

But that’s boring!” She protests. “Let’s go to the garden!” She takes my arm and pulls me towards the garden, skipping and humming.

Happiness fills me. Everything is perfect. I have a mom, a dad, and a sister. It’s a Friday. We live on Oblivion. Everyone’s peaceful.

Suddenly, Grace stops. Her eyebrows raise in confusion. “There’s something in the sky.” She gives me a strange look.

“It’s probably nothing.” Stroking her hair, I start walking again. The garden’s just up ahead.

Once we get inside, we entire a different world. The serine calm of the garden surrounds me. Birds and butterflies flutter around, perching on flowers and branches. The birds stop to look at us, tilting their heads, trying to pair the faces they see with past ones. Once they’ve stopped looking, I take a step forward, marveling at the red, blue, green, purple, orange, black, brown, and white feathers of each singing bird I pass. Their song forms a beautiful harmony, reminding me of the songs we sing in chorus class. Remembering a song I once saw in a book, I begin to sing. The birds stop and listen.

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.”

“I love that song,” Grace sighs. “And you sing it so pretty.”

“Thanks.” I reply, embarrased.

BOOM!

My head jerks up. “What was that?!” Grace cries, her voice strangled by terror.

I look up, and when I do, I’m overcome by a horror so great that a scream escapes me.

A fireball, blazing hot, rips through the roof of the garden, slamming down just feet away from Grace. I scream again, tearing towards her, sobbing. I don’t have time to see if she’s okay before another fireball shakes the ground, a wave of unbearable heat knocking me to my knees. Shudders run through my body, a mix of agony, horror, and shock. Another fireball’s coming straight towards me. My throat closes up. I’m running out of time. Putting every ounce of my strength into it, I drag myself across the garden, trembling. My throat is raw from screaming. I’m only seconds away before it comes down, slamming into the floor. I cry out and drag myself out of the garden, only to be singed by another piece of fire that sets the school ablaze. I hear panicked howls and kids race out of the school, dragging with them burned bodies beyond recognition. Suddenly, I recognize one of my friends in the fray. “Mara!” I screech. She turns towards me, her eyes widening in shock. She’s just coming to get me when another fireball rains down and – and –

She’s gone. My trembling intensifies, noises of pure greif escaping me. Watching my best friend, incinerated by the fireball…this cant be happening. Grace, laying in the garden, most likely dead. Shame tears through me. I have to go back and get her.

And then I notice the next fireball.

It rips down out of the sky, right in the center of the garden where Grace was. My throat closes up. If she wasn’t out by now…she’s dead. I sob and howl. Why is this happening?

I have to get out of here. My weak, trembling fingers reach out for a Teleporter. I let out a weak joyful sound when I feel the electricity running along my fingers. I manage to drag myself in, not noticing the agony.

“Rubesdawn,” I whisper-croak, feeling Teleportation begin. Before I go, I notice the bodies of my parents, charred. A miserable sense of numbness comes over me. I slump down and let myself deflate.

This morning, everything was perfect.

Now, everything’s gone.

————

The flashback’s over. I close my eyes against the surge of emotions it brings. When I open them, we’re in front of the Room. The capital of Twentful, the biggest prison base in the Starshimmer Galaxy. I stiffen as the Guard opens the door. She’s giving me a look, but I can’t figure out what. As we enter the dread-filled room, a tall girl with brown hair and hazel eyes hurries out, eyes narrowed in irritation. Luckily, the Judges don’t see. She turns around as a Guard followes her. They exit in silence.

Even before I sit down, I can feel the tension in the atsmosphere. Whatever happened with the last girl the Judges didn’t like. They fidget uncomfortably in their chairs, their expressions foul. I feel like I might like this girl if I ever met her.

“Court case 27807056 is called to order!” The Head Judge slams the mallet down, and I wince against the amount of sound it produces. “On this 18th of September!” The Judges take their seats, and so do the Guard and I. Well, not that I can sit in a chair in cat Form. They have a spot for Prisoners, right in the front of the Room, victims of their prying, hateful gazes. I shudder quietly as they all unnervingly stare at me.

“Prisoner Identification?” The Head Judge peers down his nose at me in disgust.

“Frostfire,” my Guard answers.

“It’d be better if you called me by my human name,” I snap, wishing they could understand me.

“Alright,” the Head Judge mutters, hastily sorting a pile of messy papers. He clears his throat, looking at my Guard. “What did Frostfire do in receval of her sentence as a Prisoner?”

For the next hour or so, I try to tune out what they’re saying. I know what I did – fought as a rebel. But here they are, an entire court, discussing my punishment. How long should they starve me for? Well, that answers one of my questions – they do starve Prisoners. But now they’ve moved on to when to execute me. As soon as I hear the words kill her, my heart drops into my stomach and I fight back a scream. They’re going to kill me. With the torturous…thing. A sense of growing dread fills me. I have to get out of here.

I begin to tremble. I know what I have to do. I have to escape, but if I’m caught…I feel the nasiousness coming on again. I can’t escape. I’d be caught before I’d taken two steps.

So what do I do?

Panicked, my eyes flit around the room. I notice a dagger on one of the walls, and I frown. Why is it there?

All I know is that I have to get it.

The silver glint of the weapon draws me in. If I get it, I can escape. And I’ll be caught for sure if I’m slow. So I dart as fast as I can across the room, snatching the dagger in my jaws. I hear cries of outrage, and something sharp and painful sings into my leg. I gasp against the agony, turning to see scarlet blood gushing from my wound. Something is embedded in my leg. I grit my teeth so I don’t cry out. But whatever was in the thing that impaled me must’ve been drugged, because I suddenly just feel…so…tired. My eyelids droop, and the room spins.

Sleep. What a wonderful word. How nice it would be to slip into the blackness and not feel this pain…something’s hovering over me. I laugh weakly. “Why…are…you…funny…looking?” I drowsily stammer. It’s true. The thing is tilted and distorted.

Is it normal, this spinning feeling? I want to go to sleep. I feel…I don’t know what I feel. But unconcioucness invites me in, peaceful and…and…

It takes me into a blanket of darkness.

———

“Is she awake?”

I open my eyes, tense. They caught me. I’m going to die. Panic sets in, and I try to struggle out of whatever’s holding me down. I try to scream, but hands clap over my mouth. I try to bite the hands, and suddenly I realize I’m back in human Form. But…they never let Prisoners out of cat Form. I look up in confusion, but the person covering my mouth isn’t a Guard at all.

She’s my age. Her frizzy hair sticks out in different directions, and she looks at me with wide eyes. “Don’t talk,” she whisper-yells, and takes her hand away.

“Umm, what…?” I stammer in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Don’t talk! Dang it!” She exclaims.

“You’re talking,” I point out.

“I’m talking VERY QUIETLY,” she points out very un-quietly. “I’m Rose,” she continues. “That’s my name. For the question. That you asked. Wait – no. My name is actually Rosetta, but…”

“Rose!” Someone hisses. I jump in surprise to see another girl, a little older than Rose, step out from a rock. A rock – wait.

“Where are we?” I breathe, looking around. We’re in the desert.

“We’ll tell you everything, I promise,” the girl answers. “I’m Cheetah, and that’s Rose, obviously. And Jazzy’s over there.” She points to another rock. “But I thought it’d be a little better if we all introduced ourselves one by one. Anyway, you’re probably wondering why are names are so…unique,” she snorts at the word unique.

“I kind of was,” I admit quietly.

“Well, we’re Prisoners, just like you – um, what’s your name?” Cheetah interrupts, looking at me.

“Brook.” I stare at the ground, watching an ant. My mind in spinning with hundreds of questions, not to mention the knowing fear of being tortured to death.

“Okay, Brook, what’s your Prisoner name?” Cheetah inquires.

“Prisoner name?” I repeat, dumbfounded. What if she’s a spy? “F-Frostfire,” I reply nervously.

“Can I name her?” Rose squeals unexpectedly.

I frown. “Name me?”

“Well, since we’re rebels, we like to go by nicknames – our Prisoner names, shortened,” Cheetah hastily explains. “So they can’t figure us out by our real names or our Prisoner names.”

“Okaaaaaaay.”

“What about Frosto?” A third girl, the same age as Rose, steps out from behind a different rock. She smiles at me. “Hi. I’m Jazzy.”

The girl – Jazzy – is tall, with beige skin, shoulder-length butterscotch hair, and forest-green eyes. She’s wearing a soft-looking pink the-dye shirt with denim shorts, sandals, and circle sunglasses. But what startles me is tiny puncture marks on her arms and neck, still healing. Shocked, I back up. Those same marks are on the Prisoners that die. Which means, that whatever they do to the Prisoners…you can survive it.

Jazzy must’ve seen me, because her eyes darken. “I know. I should be dead, right? Well, you know what I mean. But somehow, I survived the shockivy. Cheetah saved me.”

“Shockivy? That’s what it’s called?” I shudder. What a fitting name for something so horrific.

Jazzy just nods numbly, reliving the incident in her mind. A pang of pity hits me. How horrible it must be to be reminded every day of that awful time, to remember the agony.

“I like the name Frosto,” I gently say, trying to change the subject.

All of a sudden, I get a strange feeling. “Does it feel like we’re being watched?” I hiss, taking out the dagger I stole from the Twentful court.

“Shh,” Cheetah whispers, stiffening.

And then I hear it. Footsteps. A cold feeling of dread opens up in the pit of my stomach.

She steps out from behind our shelter, the sun beating on her pale skin. Her blazing blue eyes lock with mine, and I swallow nervously.

She has a raised bow and arrow. And I can only think of one possible reason.

She’s going to kill us.