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Untitled Document
"Angel? Angel, snap out of it!"
Her facial expression had barely changed for a few minutes. A look of pure
shock now engulfed her once-pretty face. Her eyes bulged, and her beak dropped
as her mind swirled with many thoughts and theories as to what had just happened.
She blinked, coming face to face with Saf who looked absolutely mortified
with worry. Her head spun round frantically, meeting the astonished gazes of
the crowd that had come to watch.
"What is wrong with you, Angel? It's this island, isn't it? Jen warned me
this might happen. Let's just tell Angle to find someone else to fill this mission.
Come on, let's go home."
She pulled away violently.
"No! I mean, where did he go?"
"Uh, over that hill. But …"
"Keep Ambron with you for protection, alright?" said Angel, tripping over
her feet as she galloped over her the hill in the direction the Eyrie had departed
before Saf even had a chance to respond.
"Oh no. Angel? Angel?"
Finding this to no avail, the Halloween Aisha shrugged and picked up a small
rucksack full of equipment, smiling weakly at the many pets and owners who were
still staring rudely at her with anticipation.
"That girl! We're gonna have to start keeping a leash on her, the number of
times she runs away. Isn't that right, Ambron? Ambron?"
But the annoyingly high-pitched squeak that usually came from the little Snarhook
just didn't come. He wasn't there.
"Oh great. Now where did he go?"
***
She wasn't too far down the line when Angel encountered a problem. Too many
footprints. The mounds of disturbed earth which indicated the large-pawed Eyrie
had ventured through this part of the jungle had mingled in with the footprints
of many other pets and owners. She leaned on her haunches and grumbled angrily,
her eyes focusing on the mass of footprints like someone trying to make sense
of some dreadful equation.
Angel clicked her beak and took off her locket, attaching a small probe to
the end. "Now, if I could just measure the acidity of the earth …" she muttered,
tapping away furiously with the tips of her talons on a really tiny, wafer-thin
keyboard she had got from Safyre. Almost immediately, a holographic screen popped
up in mid-air and started to roll off a load of digits and figures.
"Okay, here we go. Upload the acid and alkaline data files… in the last ten
minutes … Skeiths, Grarrls, a Buzz … ah, here it is! Eyrie! Just the one." She
pressed a button, and the locket started to cough, and splutter, and a small
rectangular printout of paper came out of the end. Angel smiled contentedly
and scanned across the paper before pocketing the instructions and jumping to
her feet.
"SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!"
A familiar noise echoed from the bushes. Angel winced and turned round, an
acidic expression spreading across her troubled face.
"Ambron? Come here!"
Ambron crept forward with the air of a child who had been caught in the cookie
jar - i.e., doing something they knew they should be doing.
"You know you should have done what Saf and I told you. I'll let you off this
time, but for now go find Safyre. And don't follow me again," she said to him
before carrying along the path which had printed out as a map.
It's a shame Petpets can't talk, because inside the little Petpet's mind,
he was thinking the exact opposite. 'No way,' he thought as he trundled sheepishly
along behind her. 'I've never listened to a word you big people have ever
said to me, and I'm not gonna stop now.'
***
After dismissing Ambron, Angel continued to follow the recent trail left by
the mysterious stranger, which led her through the dense and humid Mystery Island
jungle and eventually out of sight of the fight scene. Now all that lay behind
her was a haze of branches and trees, trapping her like a net, and urging her
to move forwards onto the dusty track. The stranger's footprints were now very
distinct in the dirt, and there was no further need for the map.
The trail dragged her deeper into the jungle, deeper than she had ever been
before, even when she confronted Malkus in the Retsinis Jungle so long ago.
That was where she first met Rincham. The corner of her mouth curled in a smile
at the memory of that time. How strange it was to be dragged away from the cries
of her friend and towards the mountain peaks around Denholm Valley. Wait a minute…
wasn't that exactly where she was heading now?
She stopped in her tracks and raised her head in alertness to scour the area
around her. Denholm was still a fair distance away. She could still see the
black and jagged mountain faces rising from the mists like something from a
horror movie. Yet she was undoubtedly going in that direction, for that was
the way the footprints were leading her. The memories of the night in Retsinis
clouded her judgement of the matter. 'Maybe it is just a coincidence,' she thought,
'or maybe this guy really does know something about me. I'd better stand my
ground. Malkus Vile too knew something about me, but he wasn't exactly the nicest
of characters either.'
A few minutes later she entered a part of the jungle she had never seen before,
not even in any brochures. It was like the whole island was transformed from
this tropical paradise to a dark and cold crypt-like scenario. The jungle was
just … dead. Just dead. The beautiful tropical trees that once glossed with
life and health had become drab, ghostly and unfeeling. Leaves were drained
of their vigour and reduced to crisp and crackling skeletons that whipped round
and snapped at her paws. Tree branches became gnarled and mortally perilous
to touch, and seemed to reach out for her as she stumbled along the path, the
atmosphere depressing her own optimistic views of Mystery Island. It seemed
the joy and happiness of the rest of the island had given up on this particular
stretch of land, and all that remained were memories - the faintest smell of
the tropics perfuming the air, the odd pocket of sunshine struggling to pierce
the dense canopy above.
The air of mystery that surrounded the stranger had caused Angel to expect
something like this. But even she was shocked at the transformation. From a
beautiful island paradise to a long-forgotten tomb, hidden away from innocent
eyes that couldn't bear to look upon the stark and haunted scene. She shuddered
and shook her head, pulling herself together. This was no time to be warned
off by a few dead trees and darkness.
A few paces later and she met even more trouble. The sand that the footprints
were stamped in began to thin out, becoming more easily spread, and rapidly
diminished, leaving a coating of black dreary ground and a pile of rocks at
the base of the mountain for her troubles. Angel clicked her beak and snarled
to herself, and in her rage, kicked a tree. Immediately a half-shrivelled coconut
fell to the ground and split, spilling yellowish milk onto the rock at her feet.
She screwed up her nose at the foul smell of sour milk, and looked around frantically
for a new lead. There was a dull thump from nearby, the sound of another coconut
tumbling from the treetops. She growled menacingly and turned around, ready
to give it a good kick … but there was nothing. No coconut. She stopped and
waited. The sound occurred again, but it was duller now, as if more distant.
Then she had a hunch. A gut feeling or suspicion. She padded gently over to
the broken coconut and peered over the rock pile. And sure enough, there it
was. A tiny cave entrance, only just big enough for her to squeeze through.
She'd spent so many lonely hours on duty at the NSPA HQ - I'd guess she'd know
what an echo sounds like. And it was still continuing - the dull thump of a
coconut hitting the ground echoing round the cave. She squeezed through, but
only just, and lowered herself into the cavern.
As soon as her feet met the solid, cold ground again, she was met with an
awesome sight. A wondrous cavern hideaway, hidden directly under the mountain,
cut - almost carved - into the cold grey slate, which was decorated with moss
and a few tropical plants. Every now and then this pattern was disturbed, obviously
where someone had scrawled graffiti notes and tallies on the walls. But the
moss was beginning to creep over them still. She couldn't tell how old those
marks were, or who made them, or even if these caves were still occupied. Pools
of water glistened, projecting a jigsaw-like pattern on the ceiling that twisted
and turned with the slightest draught. The faint trickle of running water could
be heard in the distance and provided a gentle aria to the scene before her.
Curiously, she lifted a talon and scraped away some of the moss, which parted
from the stone and drifted gently to the ground. A few hieroglyphs were easy
to decipher: 'Day, unknown. Time, afternoon, soon after the attack on Denholm
Valley. I have claimed this as my home. Do not enter, should you wish to escape
with your lives (or food, whichever comes first) still in tact.'
The attack on Denholm Valley? Angel never even knew there was an 'attack'.
Wasn't it a 'stampede'? She shrugged this off and continued to stalk warily
through the moss-adorned porticos that bordered her path.
Gradually, the muffled echoing sound of water became more clear-cut and concise,
more focused and less distant. She became defensive in manner, more careful
where she stood or how deeply she breathed, despite the searing amounts of adrenaline
pumping through her bloodstream. Eventually, she literally saw the light at
the end of the tunnel - within the honeycombed structure or caverns and tunnels,
one stood out above all the others as the brightest and most susceptible to
light, glowing with the faint - but distinct - island's morning light. Angel
ruffled her feathers and pushed her head through the veil of weeds and plants
above the entrance, all her senses on guard.
The source of the water turned out to be a very small waterfall flowing somewhere
above the mountain, trickling down into a basin carved roughly into the rock,
which spilled into the ground and collected in veins that ran throughout this
new cavern. It was as though she had stumbled across Aladdin's Cave. The place
was a stark contrast between the graveyard-like appearance of the area outside:
so vibrant, vivacious and full of life. Faint patches of light etched their
way through the honey-sweet air in beams and slithered down to the ground. The
same rippled water effect plastered the ceiling, reflecting off rocks in a display
of nature and art. Exotic butterflies and other such insects looped in and out
of the hanging gardens that ran along the perimeter of the cavern in garland
upon garland… not that Angel was complaining or anything. It was beautiful.
But what was even more beautiful was the object in the middle of the floor.
Raised onto a mound of rock and earth, and gleaming with a kind of pulsating
glow that had drawn her there in the first place.
It was a microcosm. A tiny little world that someone had tended to, cared
for, lavished upon and created to be as beautiful as it could be, and it was
now at the pinnacle of its beauty. A strange sense of awe and respect surrounded
the Eyries. As if the microcosm had given her the privilege of seeing it, not
that she had stumbled upon it by the off chance. With every step she took towards
the mound, the less it throbbed; as if it was drawing her towards it. An Ultra
Pinceron that had been napping on a patch of moss and flowers peered lazily
up at her, wagged its antennae twice and went back to sleep.
She wasn't given much chance to dwell on the beauty of the cavern. In a split
second, she felt a tremendous force strike her side: her legs fell from under
her and she skidded across the floor and hit the wall. In a moment she was up
and into the air, narrowly avoiding another attack from her assailant. She glared
down at the Red Eyrie who was wearing a very similar expression of loathing,
circled him, and landed on a ledge just above him.
"What are you doing here?!" he screeched. "You should never have followed
me here, you idiot!"
"Hey! Who are you calling an idiot?"
The Eyrie gritted his teeth and glared, his pupils reduced to pinpricks in
the dark. "First you interrupt my fight with Keilani. Then you pick a fight
with me, while impersonating a member of my dead family! How dare you!"
Angel ruffled her feathers. "First of all, bozo, you don't just go picking
fights with whoever you want in public. Second, you started it! You called me
something …" her voice trailed off a little before she picked it up again, not
wanting to show weakness in the eyes of the enemy. "… I dunno what it was, but
you started it anyway. Thirdly, I'm not impersonating anyone! What in Neopia
ever gave you that idea?"
"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Darkgon."
"Stop calling me that, you jerk!" screamed Angel, clamping her paws over her
ears.
"You come over here, pretending to be a Kumlaa just so you can get rid of
me and discover the key to the Dragonmist! What did you use, Darkgon? Water-based
paint?"
"Paint? What the heck are you on about?"
"Paint. For your wings, dufus!"
"Why in Neopia would I want to paint my wings?"
"To look like a Kumlaa."
"Kumlaa!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The Eyrie's words caught in his throat. He stood for a while, fixing his glare
on Angel and studied her face with the precision of a mathematician trying to
figure out some complicated equation. It was a while before he spoke again:
"Alright. Come down here."
"No. You'll attack me."
"I'll only attack you if you're lying to me. Come here, and I'll determine
whether you're a Darkgon or not."
Angel hesitated.
"What? Don't want to come down here? Don't trust me? listen, if you're anything
but a Darkgon, I have no beef with you, and therefore no reason to hurt you.
Don't tell me you're not confident enough to come down here …" He sighed a long
and drawn-out sigh. "Alright. If you can't prove otherwise, you must be a Darkgon.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to attack you." He stretched his wings casually,
preparing to take off.
"No! No!" Angel cried in horror. "I'll come down. Just promise you won't attack
me anyway." "Unless you're a Darkgon."
"Aye. Unless I'm one of those things … which I'm not."
"The you should have nothing to worry about."
Angel pondered that thought for a second. Her eyes softened slightly, and
she spread her wings and leaped from the edge, her wings slicing through the
air, and landed in a half-pounce five meters from the Eyrie.
His face immediately paled to a custardy white. His pupils constricted and
focused on her wings. The silver-tipped feathers sparkled, marbling the light
around them. The Red Eyrie stretched out his paw and touched the wingtips, separating
the feathers. This was no paint. He swallowed loudly and took a step back.
"Are you alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"I think I have," he murmured, his voice furred and weakened by sudden shock.
He fell against the waterfall and took a long drink from it, shaking his head
to clear his sinuses. "Seventeen years ago you were taken in and raised by someone
in Sparklestream Creek. You can remember nothing of your life before that. You
carry around a golden locket - a memento of your lost childhood - wherever you
go. And your name is Angel_72_21."
Angel stopped and turned slowly to face him. "How did you know that?"
The Eyrie obviously didn't expect a response of recognition. He snapped back
at her: "What did the memento say? What's engraved on it?"
"Uh …" she picked up her locket. "Our darling daughter. We give to you all
the love in our hearts, and wish for you the courage to touch the highest zenith
of your soul. Never forget your calling."
He didn't reply. He merely stood in the same position and never lifted his
eyes from the waterfall. A few seconds later he cursed under his breath. "Great,
just great. This ruins everything!"
"Ruins what? What ruins everything?"
The Eyrie looked at her with an expression a mixture between amazement, relief,
and something that Angel couldn't quite put her finger on. Recollection, perhaps.
He sighed whilst still lost amidst his own wild thoughts, and turned to her,
facing her with sincerity seeping from his very presence.
"I know that…" he said, dryly. "… because my own name's Aren_57_21. I am the
last of a long line of respectable Eyries from the Clan of the Kumlaas. Or,
at least, I thought I was."
For a little while, Angel's expression lay frozen and unchanging, trying to
take the information in. She blinked, and made a dismissive snorting sound.
"No, really, how did you find out? You haven't been talking to Twist, have you?"
"I'm being serious!" he snapped, trying to keep his welling anger under control.
"Your name is Angel_72_21, isn't it?"
"Aye."
"Well then…" he drew himself up and looked her in the eye with all honesty.
"… in that case, you have more to your history than you first thought. A lot
more. You are the daughter of Thyora_45_20 and Iagan_22_20. You are the youngest
and thus the last of the Kumlaa Eyries, an ancient and illustrious family of
Eyries, most of which were destroyed almost seventeen years to the day. I am
Aren, the son of Thyora and Iagan… and your brother."
Author's Note: Aww, come on! As if you hadn't guessed already! But
how can Angel's brother have lived all these years without her knowing? Wait
a week, and you will know. I love to know the audience's opinions on
my stories, so if you have any compliments, criticisms, whatnot, send
'em on in!
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