Celestial

“A Celestial.”

“A Celestial?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“That is… that is impossible.”

“It is not.”

“I forbid it.”

“With utmost respect, the stars do not care what you forbid of them, my Lady.”

“No one shall ever know what the stars have foretold.”

“My Lady––”

“Hush, Maam Astrid. I demand your silence. You will never speak of this again. The stars are wrong this time.”

///

Mother leads me down the long stairwell, her long black dress trailing behind her.

“Prepare yourself, my darling. He is grotesque to behold.” Her voice echoes against the stone, filling the narrow space, melodious, ringing. And disgusted, while she speaks of him.

“Yes, Mother.” I follow along behind her, clenching my hands into fists. My heart beats rapidly.

I have never seen one of them before.

We walk lower and lower beneath the upper floors, deeper and deeper into the dungeons. Finally, the stairs end, and we step into a long, dark tunnel. Torches line the walls, throwing strange shadows across the stone. The space smells damp and musty. I wrinkle my nose. My fingers fiddle with the ruffles in my dress nervously.

“This way, my darling, this way.” She sings the words lightly, walking elegantly through the dark corridor. We pass stone doorways on either side, closed and locked.

I shiver. There are only rumors of what lie behind the doors here.

“Here.” Mother stops at the end of the hallway, where it is darkest. “Follow me. And stay close.” She waves her hand in a small figure-eight, and the stone doorway begins to move slowly to the left, displaying an opening behind it.

My heart flutters. I swallow.

“Come along.” She enters the dark space behind the stone door, and I follow closely behind, careful not to step on the long black train of her dress fluttering behind her.

The space is quite large. A high, vaulted ceiling sits above us. A small bed rests in the corner, a pile of dirtied sheets lying upon it. It is the only object in the space; there is no trace of light here.

Mother sees to that quickly. She snaps her fingers, and an orb of blue fire appears in her right hand, about the size of her fist. It hovers above her palm, illuminating the room, flames twirling and intersecting in endless circles. I stand near her, attracted to the warmth and light, and peer around her cautiously.

There, sitting against the back wall, is a young man. To my surprise, he cannot be much older than I. His white shirt is in tatters, as are his pants and shoes. Dirt and grime are caked in odd places upon his skin. His hair is long and disheveled. But, to my surprise, his face is rather pleasant. Cleaner. I can see the warm amber in his eyes, shining in the light of the fire orb.

He is not... what I expected.

I breathe deeply, attempting to calm my racing heart.

He smiles crookedly. “Ah. If it isn’t the Queen.” His voice is deep. Perhaps even... kind.

Do not be fooled; he is dangerous. Far more dangerous than any being you've encountered.

I shake my head sharply, and turn my focus back to Mother.

“Do not speak until spoken to,” Mother snaps, the sing-song quality gone. Her tone is biting and cold. “You will address me as Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. And who is the damsel that cowers in your shadow?”

“How dare––”

“It is alright, Mother,” I say boldly, coming to stand beside her. I smile at her. “I consider it an honor to stand in your shadow. Much more honorable than rotting in a prison where escape is impossible.” Good. Ensure your power.

Mother smiles warmly back at me, eyes softening. “I could not agree more, my darling.”

I turn to face the young man. To my surprise, he stares at me with a peculiar look in his eyes. Awe. Wonder. I step behind Mother again, taken aback, before realizing my place. I step forward. I try to rub away the shivers that have begun to slither up and down my arms.

“Well, well, my Majesty. You neglected to tell me that I am not the only one of my kind in this prison tonight,” he says softly, raising an eyebrow.

There it is.

As soon as he says the words, I feel it.

The Itch. My Itch.

It is a peculiar but familiar feeling. A tingling, right in the back of my skull. I feel it edge across my skin, down my arms and my spine and my legs. I shift upon my feet, shaking my head imperceptibly. It has been happening more and more as of late, at least one instance each day. I breathe deeply, ignoring it.

I catch the man’s eyes staring at me with interest. I stiffen. The Itch fades.

I glance at Mother. Her face is pale, and her eyes are blank.

“Mother?” I murmur, touching her arm gently. She jumps, before composing herself. “Mother, are you alright?”

“I am fine, my darling,” she says hoarsely. She stares at the man, her eyes distant, guarded. “He knows not what he says.”

The man laughs. “I think it is the other way around, is it not?”

“Come, Freya. We are leaving now. I hope you got a good look at this... this thing. You will not see him––or any of his kind––again." She snaps her fingers, and the orb of fire dissipates abruptly. She grabs my arm, nails digging painfully into my skin, pulling me from the prison cell.

I glance behind me. Just before Mother waves her hand to shut the stone wall again, I meet the man’s eyes. They are soft as they stare into mine. Curious. He flashes a small smile before the doorway hides his face from view.

///

“Mother, what did he mean?”

“By what, my darling?” She says, her voice still distant, far away. She stirs her tea slowly, staring out the glass window to the forest beyond the castle walls.

It is much brighter here than in the dungeons. Light seeps into the windows. Mother sits in a large, ornate chair beside the fire. I sit at the table.

“About not being the only Celestial in that room. Was there another?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “He is not the only one in our captivity.”

“More Celestials? In one hunting? How is that possible?”

“We are very good at what we do, Freya, darling. It is the job of our kind to hunt them. To rid of them.”

“I know. I was under the impression that they were quite impossible to catch.”

“Not with our skill and our magic,” she says simply. Her tone indicates that it is the end of the discussion. She takes a sip of her tea.

I follow her gaze to the window, staring at the lush forest. We have not caught a Celestial in many, many years. A decade, at least. I have never seen one––until now. And, suddenly, we have multiple Celestials in our grasp?

It does not seem possible.

///

The Itch is strong tonight. I feel it there, scratching, irritating, tingling, hungry, at the back of my mind.

I slip from beneath the warmth of the covers to stand beside the bed, the stone floor cold beneath my feet. Quickly, quietly, I pull my shawl over my shoulders and tiptoe to the door. It opens silently––a blessing. A miracle, rather. These doors are prone to creaking. I would know the matter well; my many midnight escapades have seen to that.

I walk swiftly down the corridor, keeping to the shadows on the left wall, where breaks in the stone allow moonlight to wash across the portraits on the right wall. Queens and kings and royal lineages line the stone, composed of slight frowns and heads held high and large, unseeing eyes.

I quite loathe this hallway.

I know the route like the back of my hand; turn right, then two lefts, then straight, then the third door on the right. She is already awake when I knock quietly on the door; I know, because I see light flickering through the large, empty keyhole.

Maam Astrid stands beside the fire, arms folded. She has always been stern looking, reminiscent of angles and edges and points. She stands there with stiff shoulders, a straight neck, and sharp brown hair that frames her triangular chin. She stares at the flames of the fire burning before her in the mantel for a moment more before turning toward me, her bright blue eyes piercing and icy.

“You’re late.”

“I am sorry, Maam Astrid.”

“That was not an accusation.”

“I know. I believed I could handle it. But it is becoming more… intense.”

“How so?”

“I awoke. The Itch––it was so strong that I awoke.”

“Hm. I suspected as such.”

There is something guarded about her voice, about the way she glances away from me, back to the fire, arms folded across her chest.

“Do you have a concoction that may help? Like last time?”

“I’m afraid that I do not. Not one with a potency that will be of any benefit to you.”

“I do not think I can sleep with this… feeling,” I say, sighing.

“Then, perhaps, you shouldn’t,” Maam Astrid murmurs.

I peer at her, cocking my head. “Shouldn’t what?”

“Sleep.”

“Why ever not?”

“Some of us experience the night. Live the night. Far more than we live the day,” Maam Astrid says easily, without hesitation. I continue to peer at her quizzically. She continues to look into the fire.

“So… I should not sleep?”

“It is a possibility.”

“Mother would be angry.”

“She is angry at many things,” Maam Astrid says, again, without hesitation, though quietly this time.

I do not know how to respond.

“There are no potions at all? No medicines?”

“I’m afraid not, my Lady. None at all. You’d do best to try to get some rest, at least until morning.”

“I thought that you said I should not sleep.”

“Yes. I did say that. What I am suggesting is for you to… rest. Perhaps that will aid you.” Her eyes are cold and blank. “The night air might do you some good.”

“I believe it to be rather dangerous at this hour, is it not?”

“You will be watched; don’t fret. I will make sure you are safe.”

Though her eyes are distant and guarded, I hear the truth in her words. I nod and make to depart.

“My Lady,” says Maam Astrid as I near the door, “moonlight will do well to heal you.”

“Moonlight?”

“Yes. A stroll in the moonlight. A remedy of which I think will suit you.”

“Thank you, Maam Astrid. Good evening.”

She nods at me as I slip through the doorway, shutting it quietly behind me.

I walk through the castle silently, weaving through hallways and corridors and stairwells until I face the grand front entryway doors. I veer right, to the small hidden door to the side of the grand entrance, the door used by the servants. I open it gently and edge through to the cool night air beyond the castle walls.

I keep to the shadows. They know me well. As I walk alongside the thick stone of my home, I look beyond, to the forest. It is thick and dark in the night. Cloud cover smothers the land in further darkness.

I come to a rest upon the edge of the castle and lean against the rough rock behind me. A slight breeze kisses my skin pleasantly. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the Itch, there, in the back of my mind, an irritation, a nuisance… I inhale, imagining the peculiar feeling to disappear, to fade into the night… exhale… inhale…

Light. The moon. I open my eyes to see the clouds part, and the luminous orb shines upon me.

And the Itch disappears altogether.

I stare at the moon. And then I look down upon myself.

My skin tingles. It is… strange. My skin has changed––it retains a pearly, luminous glow, opaque and beautiful.

It is not just my skin. I know it. I feel it. A lightness. Something deep inside me, becoming lighter, and lighter, and lighter…

“Ah. So it is true. You are one of us.”

I jump, leaping backwards, deeper into the shadows. I hunt for the voice.

“Who is there?” I hiss, my voice shaky, uneven.

“You cannot recognize my voice?”

I narrow my eyes, still searching around me, cowering against the wall. There was something rather familiar…

“The Celestial.” I spit the word, gritting my teeth.

A sigh. “And, clearly, I am not the only one.”

I still cannot tell which direction the voice comes from. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you. You are one of us. A Celestial. Is it not obvious?"

“No.” I shake my head sharply, my breathing rapid and shallow. “No. I am Daemonic.”

“You are incorrect.”

“It is the duty of my kind to hunt creatures like you. I am not like you.”

“Again. You are mistaken. Look at yourself.”

I look away, at the castle, glaring at the stone, refusing to make sense of his words. But all the while, the lightness is there, deep in my core, lifting me, far and away and above…

I look down.

My skin glows in the darkness. And there is something else, now. Something tucked against me. Upon my back. Soft. Moving. Does it belong to me? How do I move it––

And with that thought, a pair of enormous, white, feathered wings spread behind me.

They are mine. And they are beautiful.

End of Part One