The Battle of Tyrell: Cynthia by Nicola Collings (new books to read .TXT) 📖

barely see her through the mass of bodies. Every street was filled!

                When she reappeared, she stood, surrounded by a sea of people. She looked up at him.

                “Everyone’s here. Even all the people who don’t usually go! People I’ve never seen, never even met! Old Larry with his broken leg even turned up in a wheel chair!”

                She merely stared up at him. Not in shock, but in utter disbelief and confusion.

 

                                                                                                *

 

                I just wanted to curl up and forget. These people wanted something form me that I couldn’t give them. I so wanted to ignore them, but their voices were fresh in my head! And just when I didn’t want any more, the madness continued.

                I was at the top of the stairs again, looking down on the party, watching Deadlight play their music and the people throng and pulsate around it.

                The front doors were open. There were more people outside than there were before. Some sat, some stood. It made me wonder, so I descended the stairs and went to the room opposite the gig hall, to where there was a kitchen and a lounge that joined it, open plan. People in every corner. I’d never seen so many people in my house!

                I moved through other rooms, smaller rooms. The people! The noose of their voices! What was more, most of them recognised me. Some smiled, waved, saluted, gestured. There were so many faces I didn’t recognise, so many I knew I’d helped in the past, so many I didn’t know existed. Why were they all here? Why were they all converging on this point?

                “Cyn! There’s...there’s more strange people asking for you!” yelled Rhiannon’s voice form behind me. I looked into her mildly amused face and followed her, once again, to the main hall.

                This time, 6 people stood in the doorway. Two of them held hands while one of the stood before the others, as though flanked. They had a certain robotic air about them. An order. What baffled me more was the way they were dressed. All of them bar one were dressed entirely in black; suits made for a special reason. The guy holding the female’s hand was dressed in black clothes. Something about the way they stood made them seem threatening. As though they were ready to attack anyone who came near them.

                Luckily, they remained perfectly still as I approached.

                The leader had a mop of black hair and startling green eyes that picked me apart, atom by atom as I came to stand in front of him.

                “I’m looking for Cynthia Duskgate.” He said, flatly.

                “What do you want?” I asked with a sigh.

                “We’ve come looking for-”

                “War?” I asked, interrupting him.

                He looked at me, a knowing expression that told me everything.

                “I am Nate. Can we talk. There are things that have happened that you should know about.” He replied, his face never faltering from stone cold serious.

                I nodded and gestured to the stair case. The 6 of them went ahead. I looked at Rhiannon, who also followed me. I had a bad feeling in the very pit of my stomach. Whatever they wanted to tell me, it wasn’t good.

                I led the 6 strangers to a study, one of the studies that my parents had used. This one in particular was filled with old paintings. There was an empty desk and a single chair. I felt apprehensive about choosing this room, as it was quite small and being in a small room with lots of people wasn’t something I enjoyed. I sat at the desk, Rhiannon behind me and watched the 6 strangers look at me.

                “If you’re looking for war, then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. The stories of the Black Parade are not true. What people say about me being a descendent is not true. If it was, I would know the secret to the people of Shamar. I do not. Therefore, the stories are nothing more than stories.” I said, looking at my hands which were clasped together on the heavy wood of the desk.

                “Things have happened. Things that would normally instigate war.” The one called Nate stood over me. “The first move has been made. I’m afraid on our part. War will come whether you want it or not.”

                “And why is that?”

                Nate paused. “Because people from Wyvern Industries have died. Two of them were extremely important. We’ve heard of even more deaths, some of those from Boundary, some from The Wynde.”

                “And what do you suppose I do about it?”          

                Nate looked at me, his iron stare burning holes in me. “You are a figure of authority on The Wynde. People look to you for wisdom and advice. Just look around you. You give people everything! The death toll is rising and you are the only person who can gather the people as a whole. You alone can call them to arms! Stories and myths are of no interest to us!”

                I looked at him. This time, however, I really looked. There were bags under his eyes, a certain air of fear and something indecisive about him. He was so straight and formal, as if he was in the army. He was a robot and I was beginning to see what lay beneath. The others looked to him. I could tell; the way they followed him, mirrored him.

                “8 people have now come to me looking for war. One of them wants revenge, the other is in sane and should be locked up. Why do you want this?” I asked, my voice cold and turning hostile.

                He answered immediately, as if he trusted me. “We are a product of Wyvern Industries and a mistake on the part of Tarragon Industries. They made us kill and torture people from The Wynde. We are nothing but their experiments. We are looking for new leadership. Someone who will do the right thing.”

                I leant back in the chair. Why did I feel as though everyone on The Wynde was watching me with eyes as intense as Gus’?

                “Who are you?” it was the only question I could muster.

                “I am Nate, This is Gale, Rafe, Seth, Kayla and Corey.”

                “But...who?”

                He nodded in understanding. “There will be a time and a place, but not now.”

 

                                                                                *

 

                Gus sat up.

                He wanted to fall back down onto the velvet and sleep. His body yearned for the deaths of those he hated but until them, he felt tired from the heart ache. It sent painful waves of lightening through his bones.

                He looked around what Cynthia had called ‘The Archives’. He’d never seen so many books! Nor electric lights that actually worked. Now he knew why so many people looked to this place for help. Yet, if so many people came here and asked Cynthia for help and actually received the help they needed, why would she not do the same for him?

                More than once he thought of going to the depths to find her. Of begging someone on Boundary to send him into the darkness!

                Something else also nagged at him. If Amelia’s father had sent her to the Depths, then that meant the stories were true...right? There really was the chance of the Black Parade!

                “Awake at last?”

                The voice made Gus jump. Looking to the shadows, he saw a muscular man leaning against a small desk. He was smiling.

                “What were you dreaming of?” he asked, regarding Gus with a look of fascination.

                Gus looked down, avoiding his uncomfortable stare. He thought for a moment. “The Depths.”

                “Ha! The depths! Been there, mate.” He laughed. “Believe me, it ain’t pretty. People go there to die.”

                Gus paused. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silvery object.

                “If people go there to die, how come you came out alive?” Gus asked, not really sure why he was engaging conversation with this strange person.

                The man paused. “I didn’t. I died.”

                Gus looked at him. There was something in his expression. Something...haunted.

                “What?”

                “I don’t know how many times. I don’t know how long I was down there for. I don’t know what happened to me. Only that the Shamar did this to me. And I got out.” He fingered the object, catching it in the light.

                It happened in slow motion. He turned the object in his hand and Gus looked to it, only for a moment. As fleeting as it was, the image of the light flashing on what he saw was like someone burning his eyes with red hot iron.

                A silver ‘A’ on a silver chain...

                Something in him died...

 

 

                                                                                                *

 

                Rick followed Nicki through the crowd. Something was definitely happening. And all the things he saw could only have suggested that whatever was happening was going to be nothing short of monolithic.

                He could feel it. There was a strange taste in the air; something tingled on the wind and people’s voices were buzzing with adrenaline and energy. He caught glimpses of children running, the very few elderly people who had survived on The Wynde hobble, sometimes people stopped to help, some people pushed past...

                Everyone was here. Even as he looked back into the dark streets, he felt the burning desire to know what was going on. The same desire he could feel surrounding him in every direction.

 

                                                                                                *

 

                I look back on that moment and I find myself glad that the last of the soldiers didn’t come to me that night. Instead, she remained hidden within the crowds that were slowly gathering. If she had come to me there and then, she may have been the tipping point, but my decision to leave the party and take off into the forest led to the same end anyway.

                The forest had reached a certain peak of calm when I stepped out to wander through the emerald ferns. The ivy-covered forest floor brushed against my bare feet, sinking a little into the damp earth. It was this time of night that I enjoyed; enough of the light from the moon to send silvery slivers of light down in shafts, giving everything an ominous air. I turned back and could just make out the shape of the pale brick mansion through the deep brown trunks. I carried on, leaving the sounds of civilisation behind, despite how isolated the mansion was anyway. The ground sloped downwards slightly, the ferns thinning a little and pink blossom trees started to ooze their way through. Soon, I came across the remains of a cemetery- a small, rusted iron fence stuck up in places, marking the outline of an area in which stone graves stood. Not many, five of six, but old and moss-covered nonetheless. Over the years of coming here, I still couldn’t make out the names, but was sure that some of them must belong to Duskgate family members- my ancestors maybe? Yew trees stood towering over the graves and, past these stood a church.

This church was very special to me. I took pleasure in seeing it’s fragile skeleton, the wood and flesh corroded to leave the perfectly preserved white of it’s beautiful bones. The pale bricks built around lavish carvings and the tower, whose jagged line wound downwards, leaving some of it’s ancient debris at the base. The door was just an archway, with evidence of rusted iron hinges. Inside the church, visitors were greeted with a detailed statue of an angel that looked like it was praying, but could easily be mistaken for miserable lament.

There were no pews, only the ivy-covered forest floor that caressed my feet and evidence of fallen brick and structures. Sets of cloisters flanked either