Willowburn

First Expositional Chapter!!!

 

Part One:

Magnet

 

 

 

 

 

 

Willowburn

 

     The sun fingers the buildings of Eloin, the first golden rays making the most mundane divine, the divine, paradise. Eloin is one of the five major cities of Firon- but Eloin is undoubtedly the most beautiful. Every building is centuries old, built with tearful hands, built on the backs of conquered men; it is said on the foggiest of days the calls and cries of people long dead are heard.

     The streets are wide, so the now replaced coaches, buggies drawn by horses, are wide enough for BMWs Limousines. The streets began as dirt, then were cobbled, in the mid 17^th century. People refuse to tear the red bricks from the earth; they say it is akin to tearing an infant from its mother.

   That of course, is a blatant lie. People are just afraid to see the old s**t they’re responsible for brought to the surface. No one wants to bring up the bones.

     As you go deeper into Eloin, you will find the new Parliament building- a glittering spire, reflecting the city and sky in its many panes of glass. Deeper still, you will find the museums, each style screaming its own need into the air: ART! FUEL THE SOUL! HISTORY! FUEL THE MIND! WAR! FUEL THE TESTOSTERONE!

Please pay five fir (fear) to the clerks. Enjoy your visit.

     And deeper still, you will find the most beautiful building in Eloin.

Its brick walls are wrapped in ivy, the lawn so green, the peacocks that strut on the lawn are jealous. Naturally, willows- the National tree of Fiŕon- dot the lawn. They’re in bloom, and flowers full of pollen flash their colors. Honeybees swarm.

     A wrought iron fence, voice activated by the security inside, tops the lawn. It is 16 feet tall, and guards the valuable people inside. All people are valuable, but some more then others. The Hale-president, king, ruler- and his family are the most important. This is Willowburn.

     Wyders-the Special Forces, name meaning Hale’s men (though women tinge their ranks)- live inside. They are not body guards. They are commanders, the most skilled, the military force in all of Firon. A private, newly enrolled, would top a five star general, and could relieve one of duty.

     At that moment, I linger in the cavern. The teens- us- call it that. It was dark, foreboding. It just had a hangover, almost as bad as my fathers- he’s come home three o’clock in the morning, the last night- and was great for hanging banners.

     This one, white with the words “WELCOME HOME WYDERS!,” in red, hangs loosely from the left side of the hangover. It’s ridiculous. A few balloons, like lonely children, cling to the paperweight. Most had floated to the top of the high, domed ceiling. The long wooden table is empty- and the maid, and me, of course, are the only ones here this early. I want to puke.

     She wears a tasteless lumpy blue sweater, and an ankle length plaid brown skirt.

     “Do it yourself!” I spit. The last of the balloons have floated away.

     “B-But, M-ms L-l-Lyria-”

     “Lyra.”

     “M-ms L-l-l-Lyra, y-you ha-ha-ha-have t-t-t-”

      I always wonder what she was about to say. Too bad I stormed out the door.

     I’d been called a “genius!” I was thirteen then, and my IQ was 210. I was, and am, a piano virtuoso. Since aged six, thank you. I’d been accepted to Julliard, and Halia- the premier musical university in this part of the world, happily located in Firon. I’d also played at Carnegie Hall, several times. Mostly Chopin, but a few of my own compositions. Do you remember   Excusez mon français? Of course you do. Both opinions are right.  

A newspaper, abandoned on the floor, headlines read, WILL HORRORS CEASE? FIRAENIAN-ERIANS CONTINUE TO BE SHIPPED TO CONCENTRATION CAMPS IN ERIE. Ah, Erie. We’ve been fighting them the past fourteen years. They kept trying to take our coastal islands. Either way, my stomach dies.

I feel guilty- something about being the nationality the latest madman felt like persecuting will do that. My thoughts again, turn to Leran, and his family. I loath all his daughters- he had four, two pairs of premature twins- and they don’t care much for me. But no one deserved that. No one. Arye, the redheaded rebel- literally, he’s waging his own War against the rest of Firon, arguing for a weird form of government, weirder than the current- had been taken along with his partner and children. The cubs, as I think of them, were cute, but Elaine was awful, at least then.

Grandpapa, my only real parent, had torn his hair out- literally- over it. Of course he was worried. He’d sent HIM out with the rest of the quintet almost biweekly. Good. He could get drunk somewhere else. Emma didn’t deserve to clean up any more puke. Ollie didn’t deserve to be lied to any more.

     I didn’t know, that on the days before, they’d been successful.

***

     I hear the low grumble of an SUV- or jeep, or some other car- through the door. I run down the hallway, a calm sky blue with white carpet, spotless of course, go to the red door of the elevator, hop inside, and hit one. Just as it descended, it groans to a stop. I groan, slightly less rusty then the elevator. The door opened with a bing and I grinned.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Gemma McAlly. McAlly is the second of the five most powerful families in Firon, after Paendragon. Paendragon, McAlly, Ollivander, Volturi, and Carle. (Kar-Lay)

     Gemma has always had thick black hair, a puree of freckles, glowing green eyes and olive skin. The only difference today was the sunglasses and swim suit.

“Whatcha up to?”

 “Going down for a swim.” We have an Olympic sized swimming pool and Jacuzzi.

“Checking out the jeeps.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You know who’s in said jeeps, right?”

“No. Who?” I can’t keep the curiosity out of my voice.

She flashes a grimace and we both groan. The elevator had stopped. She’s wearing a bikini, and the A/C worked better then it should. Then we both grin.

     Annie Ollivander. A grin that defied the laws of nature. Dark brown hair, shoulder length. Big brown eyes, a pixie nose. Tan, fit, lean. My buddy; Gemma would always be my best friend.

 “Aren’t we a welcoming committee.”

 “Shut up, Ollivander.”

She snorts with laughter.

Lexi Volturi, and Lisa, who happened to be my cousin. Lexi was Amazonian tall, perpetually tanned, with spiked black hair, muscles, and a butch attitude.

Lisa’s petite, innocent looking, with glossy hazelnut hair in tight brown ringlets, big blue eyes, and pouty red lips. She’s been an orphan since age 5, and was born with an acid tongue. “Did you see that geeky butch dressed in a lumpy blue sweater?”

“Of Course.”

Her twin, Riley, is as dead to us as her parents and older sister are, who’d been eight. Riley was a Rebel- she’s Lisa’s identical twin, but had her hair spiked, dyed red. She was famous for intercepting all the moves of the Wyders- Special Forces- in 2008, passing it to the rebels, and sitting smugly on a throne of threats and praises. We never talk about Riley though. Never. The elevator stopped. Second floor.

And the most beautiful person in the world gets in.

Emma is my best friend since conception. We’d spent our first half hour of life as single celled organisms together, then grown and grown. We were born together, fifteen minutes apart. We lost our mother together, cleaned up HIM together. Managed without Tello, our 19 year old brother together. He’d taken care of everything since our Mother died, when he was 13. He left five years later, for the Wyders. Of course he was accepted immediately. Raised our Ollie together.

She kept her glossy chestnut hair spiked, and the same green eyes as mine looked back at me. My hair was long, styled, thick and the same color as hers. Her IQ was the same as mine. The girls in the elevator, all with IQs ranging from 180 to 210, and we were all gifted.

Lexi and Lisa were sociologists. Lexi philosophized, while Lisa studied the mind, what made people tick. They both wrote books, like Gemma’s plays. Annie studied psychology, and was a comedian. We were all content with each other, all fast friends. Our fathers were commanders- except Gemma, whose father directed the intelligence agency. We called him James Bond.  

We all feel like everything would stay the same.

     And then we walk out together, into the sunlight. I can see it in my minds eye: six teenage girls out into the sunlight. It is cliché; we laugh, we talk, we giggle. What we say didn’t matter.

And then the SUVs opened.

     Tello was out first. Short, wavy dark hair, tan, grin, tall. He strode inside, eager to get back to his girlfriend, Claire. Then my father. Emma waved, called “Papa!” his face lit up, and he blew her a kiss. She pretended to catch it. I just stood there. He didn’t see me. He never saw me. I was from him, a part of him. To him I was just Pianist, girl-in the-pent. Not his daughter. Not something to love. But Emma was.

     Julian, Gemma’s uncle, then Jack, Annie’s papa. They both waved- they looked almost exactly alike. Then the rest.

     And then Leran. Black curly hair, olive skin, golden eyes and roman nose. Arye had red curly hair, green eyes, olive skin and a pixie nose. They were fraternal twins.

I thought I would see that. I was wrong.

     Leran’s a skeleton, skin yellow and stretched taut against his skin. His thick black hair’s gone. Black stubble topped his head. He’s on a stretcher, and orderlies wheel him inside. Arye was the same.

     And then Lena, 5’5”, weighing all of eighty-five pounds, strode out of the SUV. Her hair was gone, but she stood tall, and gazed evenly at the world, daring any one to say anything. Every bone was visible, and yet she was… immense. Powerful, strong, seemed like a titan. She was still Lena, IQ 215, celebrated author, Paendragon. Her twin, Cornelia, seems to appear out of nowhere, all red hair and golden eyes and razor blade tongue and pale. Lena had black hair and golden eyes, once tanned. Olive- I didn’t know it then, but was mute-blonde stubble, skin still clinging to the last of a tan, large, wet blue eyes. And Jackie- red stubble, grin through chapped lips and blood stained teeth- grinned, and held Olives arm as they limped quickly out of the car.

     But Lena… I remember Lena best. I knew Elaine got out of an SUV further down. The cubs were already inside. I’d heard she had writers block.

     But no. Lena- Lena was intense.

     And, more importantly, she scared the hell out of me.