The haunting gleam of fire-lit knives cut midnight’s curtain in two as it draped low over the alienated town, hugged as it was by a depressed wasteland on one side and a presumptuous cliff on the other. Heron glanced over at the oriental clock that controlled the town as an ominous dong thrummed through the dust infested streets. As according to the laws of Dancer’s Curvature the Abbey’s acrobats stole the town’s peoples’ eyes with their dancing knives while Jokers snuck among them, getting ready to make exactly three children of their choosing disappear. One of the three Jokers was sneaking through the crowds, anyway. Calese, another Joker, was making fast work of heading away from the masses, and towards the southern section of Octuren. Heron would have hissed if she could. The impatient idiot was going to ruin all her plans in his quest to prove her disloyalty to the Abbey, and ultimately, Cretin himself. A quest that the rest of the Abbey made fun of him for, unable to grasp the truth in it. She was Cretin’s pet after all. Heron shuddered as she remembered the feel of the creature’s fingers stroking her head, as if she was no better than a dog, while she was forced to sit at his feet. Oh, she would betray Cretin, with joy in fact. But not for herself, oh no, she would betray the creature who had stolen her name and life for her sister, Natielle. Heron had been selfish once at the cost of her sister; now, she refused to let such a thing happen again.
Checking her wires, Heron’s eyes crinkled in her version of a smile. Her inability to talk aloud had left her with the habit of leaving her mouth immobile. Finally, she would be to fly again, or at least as close as anyone could get. Standing up, so she stood on the edge of the ragged cliff, Heron peered down again at the people pretending to be entertained by the acrobats even as they kept a firm grip on their children or kept close to the circles of torch light. A glide of movement, so different from the rest of the mass, caught her eye. It was the Joker; in his hands was a blonde girl with ragged clothes. Heron’s breath caught. For an instant she had thought it was her sister, but no, as always her sister would be locked up in that hated house.
Heron glanced back over at the clock; she was running out of time. This was the one hour every year that Cretin allowed people to leave the Abbey and that was only because they were bringing more children in. Truly, being a Joker herself, Heron knew she should be following the other Joker’s example but this time it seemed things would not be going so smoothly, thanks to Calese. She had planned to sneak out of the Abbey with all of her supplies she had hidden there during the next three months, when the Abbey’s security was most lax, and disappear with her sister then. But no, of course not, that wouldn’t be hard enough.
Turning her back on the town she strode away from the cliff’s edge. When she was the needed distance away she turned around. Testing her wires again, Heron let out a breath.
Now was not the time to be afraid; it never was.
One long stride forward, two, three! And she was over the cliff, in shrieking hands of empty air as she plunged towards the unsteady lines of the buildings’ flickering silhouettes. She waited until the last moment to press the button that released the wires on her ankles. Heron brushed over the heads of the onlookers as the wires caught on a roof and flung her into the starry sky like a wingless bird.
There was a moment, at the top of the arc, where she felt weightless, invincible. A thing she could never be; not when she continued to let herself be manipulated. Then gravity regained its jealous hold and the misleading feeling was gone. Heron pressed the button again so her wires zipped back to their holders. She was suspended by nothing. Like a diver performing a trick, Heron folded herself so that she flipped in dizzying circles as she fell until, at the last moment, she shot out her wires once more and was hurled into the unreachable sky.
Eyes crinkled, she repeated this several more times; she traveled over the crowds and, contrary to everything she had been taught to do as a Joker, Heron made her presence known. She refused to sneak around as a common criminal. If she had to be feared then she would show the people what they were afraid of.
When Heron reached her destination she pressed the button earlier. The wires latched themselves into roofs at a shorter distance, stopping her momentum from slamming her into the packed dirt and dusty road. As it was, her momentum was a very determined thing. When it failed to slam her into the ground, it rebounded and tried to make her do the same to the sky, only to be checked by her wires. Not fond of being flung around like a limp doll, when she began to fall again Heron pressed the button so the wires released their hold on the roofs and zipped back their holders. Breaking her fall by tucking herself into a ball and rolling to her feet, Heron completed her dramatic way of traveling with only a bit of dust to complain of.
As they always did when she arrived on this particular street, Heron’s eyes travelled to the little alley on the left. Suddenly, it was as if she was ten again and back in the hateful, dusty alley waving around her crackling sparkler, desperately seeking a Joker’s attention. After forever had long passed and eternity was beginning to set in, it was as if a shadow moved on its own. In the next moment, a man appeared from the shadow, an eerie image of what Heron pictured a grandfather would look like.
Crouching down on his knees so his eyes were level with her own, the man smiled even though a soft sadness clung around him, “Were you waiting for me, little one?”
Placing her hand on his temple, she asked, “Are you a Joker?”
He only let his eyes flare with surprise for a moment as he felt her mind touch his before replying, “Yes. Cretin has named me Jesiah.”
Heron felt her eyes well with hope, “Will you take me to the Abbey?”
Jesiah frowned, “And why would you want to go there?”
She answered eagerly, “I noticed the Jokers only take the kids who are rumored to be abused, neglected, or had a family member die recently. That has to be because the Abbey takes them in so can live a better life, right? Well, it’s my turn now.”
Jesiah rubbed a hand over his face and then gripped her by the shoulders. The despair in his eyes was so deep that it echoed Heron’s memories of watching her mother die, “Listen, kid. The Abbey teaches everyone in this town three things: fear, obedience, and sadness. The only other things you get for entering that place is desperation and the inability to leave. You lose your name, and eventually your humanity, in exchange. Those children weren’t taken so they could live a better life; they were taken because they have nothing to go back too.”
Heron glared at him, not yet able to comprehend what he meant; the Abbey, no, Cretin, was something that could only be hoped understood through experience. All she had known in that alley was her selfishness, driven by desperate fear of her father, and that her only hope of escape was rejecting her, resolute and not knowing what was ahead, she pressed on, “Take me with you.”
Jesiah stared into her eyes and then sighed, defeated, “You seem like a determined girl, if a bit delusional, but who wouldn’t be in this town? Just remember this, use that determination to your advantage, and do whatever it takes to avoid being sent to the fields. If you go there, the only escape is to die. Don’t try to hold onto the identity you have now, it will only drive you insane. And, no matter what, no matter what, do not use this ability you have. Never again touch another person’s mind with your own. I don’t care if that means you can’t talk, I don’t care if that means you feel alienated. If you use your mind-speech, Cretin will find out and you’ll be worse than dead. Do you understand?”
Heron was about to reply before pausing and dropping her hand to her side. Unwavering, she nodded.
A slight smile braved Jesiah’s mouth, “Good girl.”
Then the tired, old man scooped her up in his arms and they were headed to the Abbey. Just as he had said Cretin stole her name and gave her a new one of his own choosing. Just as he had said Heron realized that no place worse or more cloaked with fear than the Abbey, that wretched monument to terror. About a month later Jesiah was killed on suspicion of trying to leave the Abbey without permission, and Heron never failed to remember his words to her. Using her brain, she became Cretin’s mute pet with the single goal of escaping the town, the Abbey, and Cretin with her sister, Natielle.
A shrill scream split the air and drove Heron from her reverie. Her head whipped toward the house it had come from on the other side of the street. Her old home. If it could be called that. There was only one person in that dreadful house that could make such a noise and on this particular night, Heron didn’t doubt as to why. Calese had made it there before her.
She sprinted down the road and then jumped over the short, rickety fence that added to her father’s feeling of paranoid security. Not having the time or patience to pick the lock on the front door, she broke through a window with the lead pipe she had hidden beneath it for that very reason. After plunging inside without regard for her safety and rolling over broken glass on the splintered wooden floor, she ran up the only flight of stairs and into her sister’s room.
What she saw made her stomach sink and her heart pound with rage. The wide empty room was lit only by moonlight through a few dusty windows, one of which was open and letting a dry breeze wander across the lone worn teddy bear and a skinny bed with a ragged blanket. That was all her father had left her little sister while he drowned himself in beer, a futile attempt to settle his chronic nerves.
Now, though, at the center of the room was a dark figure struggling with a little girl, distinguishable only by the shock of her golden hair. Heron took a step forward to save her sister even as her stomach twisted. If she did this, if she attacked Calese, Cretin would know. She and Natielle would have to leave tonight without any of the preparations she had hidden back at the Abbey…without any plan except to escape. She would also have to hope that those she had taken to the Abbey during her years as a Joker would be able to escape by themselves and remember where to meet her.
The dark figure looked up, finally noticing her, “Why are you here, Heron? Shouldn’t you be off catching your own mouse? Or will you finally prove your disloyalty?”
Heron’s blood ran hot and cold. She knew why Calese was so desperate for her to be disloyal. He wanted someone else to be like him, someone else unable to let their individuality go to Cretin’s tyranny. He wanted to escape but couldn’t try because Cretin held him too tightly in his hand. Calese was Cretin’s other favorite. One night, though, however long ago, she had given him hope when she had succumbed to her selfishness again and kissed him. Heron had been watching him, and she recognized something of her own goals in him. That night, after the kiss, soft words were exchanged and she had hinted at her plan for escape. It had been her only slip up since Jesiah’s death. It was only after that, that she realized Calese was so lost under Cretin’s control that he couldn’t make his own choices anymore, and did whatever he could to gain more favor, such were the pervasiveness of Cretin’s rules. Calese’s internal conflict between loyalty to the twisted creature and his attempt to cling to the person he had been before the Abbey, was driving him mad, and he was unable to stop it himself. So by some twisted logic he thought proving her disloyalty would help him, because then they would be alike. Never mind that if she was proven disloyal she would be tortured and then killed. Never mind that at all.
A cackling laugh erupted from his throat, “Oh, I forgot you can’t speak.” Heron felt her eyes narrow in distaste. “You had to be an overachiever and give Cretin that too when he welcomed you to the Abbey. Instead of just your name like the rest of us.”
At that moment, Natielle took advantage of Calese’s distracted grip to free her mouth from his hold and gasp, “Help me!”
Cursing, Calese tightened his grip. Once he regained control he asked, almost eagerly, “What are you going to do, Heron? Save your sister and prove me right after all these years? Or will you become the cold-blooded embodiment of the Abbey’s beliefs that we all love?”
There had been a time when Heron had allowed her selfishness and fear win…and she had abandoned her little sister to her father’s crazed notions, only to go to a life of further terror and the endless threat of being disposed to the fields herself. There had been a time; however, now she never had time for fear and her selfishness pertained to her sister’s survival as well. Shoving her unease into the pit of her mind, Heron sprang forward and snapped her foot at Calese’s knee. He tried to catch himself, but he was forced release Natielle as his leg buckled.
Natielle ran over to Heron and immediately assumed the vacant look that meant she had slipped off into her imaginary worlds. Just as Heron turned back to face Calese, he lunged at her, dragging his hurt leg. Dodging the attack, she shoved him to the floor and yanked his arm back. If he tried to escape, it would snap.
He glared up at her out of one eye, “What do you want?”
Placing one finger on his temple she replied, “Come with us and you will be free as well. Even if you do return after this they won’t trust you. Cretin won’t trust you. You’ll be placed in the fields never able to realize your wish.”
Calese bucked under her as his eyes clouded with shock, “What did you just do?”
Her eyes smiled dryly down at him, “Cretin didn’t take my voice. I never have been able to speak aloud, probably as a price for this ability.”
The staircase then emitted the irregular thump-thump of a dullard’s bare feet hitting wood. A few long moments later and Heron could hear her father’s incoherent mutters. The disjointed sounds never ceased, unless he gave into his craving to gulp down some of the obscene smelling beer from the bottle he eternally held. As her father came into view, her eyes burned. The oily skin, the flickering eyes: he was still the same. He was still the monster who strangled her mother to death. He was still the monster who played keeper for her sister and destroyed their childhood. Yes, he was still that monster. Slowly, she released Calese from the hold and stood.
The doorway seemed to wither as her father reached it. He slipped when he tried to step into the room and ended up lying on the stairs. A wild piece of colored glass from the now broken bottle in his right hand had cut his cheek, and foul beer soaked his front. Even the room didn’t want his presence.
Heron recognized the moment her father saw her as he pulled himself up onto his elbows: his cloudy eyes turned into a mad, hate filled sea. When he spoke his voice was the rasp of someone already dead, “You!”
The sound of his voice was enough to make Natielle flinch in her daydreams. Sputtering out a yell, their father managed to throw the destroyed bottle far enough so it splintered into little pieces of oblivion at Heron’s feet. The crash shocked Natielle out of her imaginary worlds with a startled scream. Calese flinched back from the flying glass, but otherwise didn’t move. The Abbey had no rules about such a situation that he could follow.
The crazed man stood, half hunched and sagging, by gripping the sad door frame, “You! Why are you here?” His voice caught as he tried to chortle; instead, he ended up doubled over in a coughing fit. Regaining himself, he rasped out, “Little bird, quiet bird, it’s all your fault. Your fault mama bird’s face got so, so pale. Your fault littler bird is caged.” Then he began to chant, “Your fault. Your fault. Your fault, fault, fault.”
Heron felt Calese’s questioning gaze bore into her back as she stared at the accusing monster that was supposed to be her father. The crazed man who was so deep in beer and twisted thoughts that he couldn’t even own up to the horrible things he had done. There was a reason she had thought life at the Abbey would be so much better, why she had been so desperate to go. Her father’s paranoia mixed with alcohol made a lifestyle that wasn’t hard to beat for any place but the Abbey. No, that had just introduced a new type of horror.
Unable to take their father’s chanting her sister did something Heron knew she never did: she confronted reality. Natielle ran over and gripped their father’s wildly swinging arm while sobbing, “Daddy! Daddy, stop! Stop being mean to sister!”
He did stop but Heron could feel the cold shiver from his eyes, “Sister? Who?” His eyes fixated on Heron, bulging, “Quiet bird?” Focusing back on his daughter, his eyes seemed to scald Natielle’s skin as tears dripped from hers, “Have you gone over to her side? Have you betrayed me, my golden little bird?”
It seemed as though the thought was too much for him because his eyes rapidly became vacant and his mutters resumed. Too scared to move, Natielle clung to his arm as if it was her last life line; a line he soon broke when he suddenly regained himself and rested his mad eyes on her quaking form. He released his grip on the door frame just long enough to connect his palm to Natielle’s cheek with a sickening splat, so she lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.
Heron’s vision went black and the next thing she knew she was kneeling over her father’s limp body where it was slumped against the door frame. Letting out a breath to calm her still seething anger, she checked his pulse. When she felt it, Heron almost felt sorry for the delusional man. Then staring into his oily, slack face and finally silent lips, Heron felt like laughing. Unable to do so, she settled with pressing her finger against his temple to whisper, “You have actually gotten one thing right, you mad, drunken fool. We birds are going to fly away…far away.”
Remembering why her father was on the floor in the first place, she stumbled over to her sister. Her eye’s crinkled their biggest smile when she heard the faint breath of Natielle’s breathing. It was only then that she realized Calese was next to her and had placed her sister’s bear in Natielle’s arms. It was probably the first thing he had done in a long time that wasn’t somehow dictated by Cretin’s laws.
Turning to face him, Heron guided his face softly towards her own. She pressed her lips softly against his before pulling away. Interlacing her fingers with his with one hand and placing a finger against his temple with the other, she spoke, “Thank you.” With her eyes she directed his attention to the bear. When he was about to speak, she shook her head slightly, cutting him off. “Listen. I know why you’ve been trying to prove my disloyalty to the Abbey. You wanted someone else to be like yourself. You wanted someone who could help you. I hope you understand this is my answer.” Heron looked deep into his eyes with her own cat-like ones, “Stay or follow…it’s your choice.” Then she pulled away and turned back to her sister. Just as she was about to pick Natielle up, she paused and pressed her finger to his temple one last time, “Fly or be flightless.”
Then the first Joker to ever break away from the Abbey swept her sister tenderly up into her arms, and disappeared through the open window like a wingless bird.