Oriana's Eyes
Authors: Celeste Simone
Oriana’s Eyes
BOOK ONE OF THE GREAT OAK TRILOGY
Celeste Simone
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
Copyright © 2009 by Celeste Simone
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-4401-8724-7 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-8722-3 (dj)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-8723-0 (ebook)
Printed in the United States of America
iUniverse rev. date: 02/17/2010
Contents
For Carolina and Natalie.
CHAPTER ONE
The bleached ceilings, walls, and floors gleam in perfection. Drained of color, wiped of contamination, forever untainted they exist; a cold reminder of my purity.
I walk down a blank hallway lit by a series of white lights from above. Each one is a half orb, emerging from the ceiling like an unblinking eye. They’re practically blinding as their glow reflects off the stark white walls. There are no openings for us to see out of—only for Odon to see in.
A clump of books rests on my hip while my arms cradle them close:
The History
,
The Faith
. They’re practically attached to me. I can’t remember a time when they weren’t close by. I’ve read them over and over for class, but no matter how many times I read them, I still can’t find the answers I’m looking for.
The History
, which takes up two of the volumes, speaks of how Odon created us and rescued our race from our own ignorance. At first the Rebirth did not exist, and we were of many races that thrived on violence. We battled constantly for anything we could contrive to fight for. Then Odon arrived and divided us into our purest forms, the Winglets and Finlets. The Winglets have a light complexion, while the Finlets are a darker people.
He taught us that being pure made us stronger and brought us peace. Of course some didn’t agree with this, because they were not pure, and they started to rebel. Odon decided the only way to stop this was by separating the races so that we were only in contact with our own.
My other two books, held tightly, tell of our Faith: how to follow Odon, how to live life in accordance with his standards. I know all his rules well. I must not question them. It would not be approved of. It would cause suspicion among my peers, regardless of my pureblood. In this place everyone has the potential to disappear.
I try to avoid the gazes of other purebloods. Some are male Winglets, searching for some meaningless connection with the opposite sex. Their interest in me doesn’t go beyond my golden hair and blue eyes, both Winglet features. The purest Winglets achieve both traits with the palest skin to match these hallways. I am no exception in that regard either.
Some show the darkness of the Finlets in their eyes or hair. They are called part-bloods. Finlets can be part-blood too if they have Winglet in their blood, but these combinations of races hardly ever happen anymore. Odon makes sure of that.
It’s the half-bloods that are the least respected. They’re barely thought of as Odon’s children. They are neither Winglet nor Finlet, yet equally both. They’re rarely seen in the University. Following the Rebirth there are said to be none at all. They have a habit of simply disappearing, never to be seen again, but no one cares.
I head to the library. I have a test tomorrow, and I’ve decided to study a bit more before I go to sleep. Another male Winglet passes, and I avoid his eyes completely. The effect is the same as if I had made eye contact: a dull pain in my stomach.
I notice immediately a passing half-blood. His combination of black hair and blue eyes upon darker skin are a beacon in the crowd of identical features. Something urges me to look straight at him, maybe to test him. He is expected to look away. It is unheard of for a half-blood to meet the gaze of a pureblood. Our history says that his race doesn’t deserve to exist, much less live with us. It’s because of what he is. He is the offspring of two purebloods, the ultimate defiance of Odon.
It frightens me to even think of going against Odon. All the books tell of his limitless power, endless knowledge, forgiveness and insatiable wrath. I have no doubt he would find me, persecute me if I ever—the half-blood continues toward me. He is the representation of two fallen servants of Odon, and yet my eyes will not turn away. Something leaps inside me when his eyes meet mine. I have a moment’s thought—
Doesn’t he know I’m a pureblood?
—but he doesn’t seem to notice at all.
I’m surprised by my initial dislike that fades into an aching fear. He continues to meet my gaze. I wonder what expression has formed on my face, although there should be none at all. When we pass on opposite sides of the hallway, an unmistakable smile forms on his face. I gasp and drop my books. He is nowhere in sight as purebloods help me gather them back up.
The thought of him follows me into the library and festers at the back of my mind among other open sores. The question whether I should report him continues to resurface in my thoughts. I’ve only told on a student once before.
She was a part-blood, and we were eleven years old. I remember her brown eyes and wavy blond hair. The Finlet in her had given her the darker eyes, but they were not as black as a pureblood Finlet’s would have been. She had fair skin that wasn’t quite fair enough to be pure. It was obvious she was a part-blood.
We were waiting in line for lunch. A part-blood is always expected to sacrifice their spot in line to a pureblood, another privilege we are taught to uphold. But when I asked this girl to let me take her spot, she wholeheartedly refused. Her mouth twisted into a pout and her eyes narrowed into a stubborn glare. Even after I politely explained that I was pure and showed her my eyes and pointed at my hair, she just shook her head.
I was surprised, but pressed no further. Instead I did what I was told to do, being too young and ignorant to fully understand. I approached a nearby teacher and explained what had happened. I was told I had done the responsible thing, I was told I was a good little Winglet—and I never saw that girl again.
The memory makes my stomach cringe. Despite the time that has passed, it remains vivid. I try to keep it hidden, to save myself from the wave of anxiety that overcomes me each time I recall her face. Do the others suffer in silence like me? If they do, it never reaches their eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
I consider for a moment asking Lenora what to do. Should I report the half-blood for his curious behavior? After all, he not only met my gaze, but defied mine with a smile. But I already know what she will say. She will tell me the only honorable thing to do is to tell one of the professors and let the faculty deal with him. I decide I’d better not tell her.
The softer light of the library is a relief to my eyes. I enter between rows of square desks. At the back of the room a single bookcase holds two shelves worth of the four different books that each student already has: the two of History and two of Faith. Looking at them now, I can’t understand their purpose. A student would
never
lose their own copies, not if they wanted to remain at the University.
From here I can see plainly that the library’s books have never been opened. Their bindings were never creased; the pages have never seen the light of the room. When I start to covet them, I turn away to quickly take a seat at the side of the room that is furthest from the Odon’s Eyes.
The only way to describe Odon’s Eyes are as large oval mirrors that sit on at least one wall of every classroom at the University. Hideous in their enormity, they are unbearably blinding when they reflect one of the many lights ranged in rows above the students. When one happens to align, it’s impossible to ignore. The beam bores into my eyes, practically burning through them.
What’s worse is that, no matter where I sit in a classroom, they seem to reflect my pale image, a hollow ghost. When my eyes meet the look of indifference on my face, it frightens me—the lack of affect even more so. Other times it doesn’t seem to be me at all, but another being staring out of the blue eyes. Sometimes she’s screaming.
The Eyes are meant to keep us from disobeying and maintain our focus, but I can never fully concentrate around them. I feel their presence penetrating through my mind, glaring into me as if I’m transparent, as if I’m a blank board with my thoughts scribbled out for them to read. I fear glancing in their reflection, afraid I might find some grotesque embodiment of myself staring back from another plane, or worse: I’m afraid I might see Odon, a knowing look in his eye.
I steal a glance at their imitation of our white world. For a moment I attempt to find a flaw in its interpretation, but see only the infinite glow of perfection.
My white robe moves with my body, falling lightly around me as I shift to an upright position and prepare to focus. With an inaudible sigh, I pull my books onto the desk. Placing my bare elbows on the smooth frozen surface, I open a book and attempt to study.
The silence is heavy now that I’ve settled. The other students around me don’t seem to notice. They gaze solemnly into their books as if they are staring forlornly at their own reflections. I turn back to my own, the words looking like a foreign language of absurd symbols and spaces. I suddenly see the half-blood’s smile … the forbidden connection he dared to share with me. It remains so solid in my mind. The way his eyes showed the smile with an unspoken depth that I had never seen before. I try to describe it to myself but fall flat. There was life there that went beyond movement.
I try to control myself, narrowing my eyes to focus them on the page. I steal a moment to glance at the Eye. I see my own haunting twin, reflecting back a side of me I thought I left behind. I stifle a shiver.
“Odon is everything. Life is lived for the sole purpose of pleasing him.”
I finally manage to begin reading a paragraph.
“Was it not his hand that placed life on this earth? Was it not his hand that gave the people such a privilege?”
Then why does my mind formulate these thoughts against him?
I shut the book in frustration. A few students look up from reading, their eyes in a glazed shock.
I gather my things and, face averted, hurry out. I let my hair fall from behind my ears, trying to hide behind it. It’s what makes me like them. I wonder if it even matters. Is my face recognizable anymore? Does my name even matter? Or is the title
pureblood
enough?
I walk outside past a few pureblood girls from another sector. They smile at me and nod. I notice now more than ever that their smiles don’t reach their eyes, not like him.
I return the gesture. They go inside, probably only out to prove their superiority. I start across the grass toward the garden. It’s hardly ever used and never spoken of. I’m not even sure I could explain why it exists. Yet it has become a place more inviting than my own bedroom that I share with Lenora.
Square-cut plants surround the garden on four sides. The walls of shrubbery reach well above my head, so it’s hidden from outside observers. On one wall, the hedges break briefly to form an entrance.
My pace quickens as I stride down the dip of grassy earth to the small valley where the garden sits. I don’t bother to look back at the University looming behind me. I know what I would see: the many Odon’s Eyes watching me leave, glowing red in the dying rays of the sun.
I allow my mind to drift. The smells are strong outside, though I cannot identify them. Nothing like that is described in Odon’s history books. The grass surrounding the University is freshly cropped to a uniform height. I feel no remorse in tramping through it; the sole of my sandal leaves no trace of my passing.
I arrive and set my books outside the garden entrance. I feel uncomfortable walking without the weight of them in my hands. This is the only time I part with them. It never seems proper to bring them in. They don’t belong, I don’t see any reason for them inside, and no one is around to judge. I enter devoid of any supplies and follow the pathway to take a seat on the hard stone. It has become a welcomed seat, in a way more comfortable than the metal chairs of the University that never seem to warm beneath me. My robe settles around me in a white pool. I feel the bottom hem wet upon my ankles from the damp grass.
Around my feet small clusters of yellow flowers smile up at me. There is strange company in their faces, and I find myself wishing there were more. I stare down at my sandaled feet planted straight in front of me on the smooth stone surface of the pathway. I have unknowingly placed them that way; I seem to always situate them in neat parallel lines. I slide my right foot slowly out of place. It looks awkward, at an angle next to my other foot. I move it again, seeing how long I can withstand the oddness of it, and then bring it straight again. I smile at the new effect it has over me. My reaction to such a simple adjustment is alarming. How else have I been unknowingly trained? Will I ever learn to resist it?
I blink hard, trying to focus in the dimming light, and it jolts me from my suspended reality. For a moment I was a separate being, testing my limits, challenging my surroundings. Now I must return to my room and get some rest; the guards will be making their rounds soon.
I stand to leave and notice a shadow at the far corner of the garden. I haven’t heard anyone enter, and I gasp with a fear that is more exciting than it is paralyzing. The shadow surrenders to the last dying rays of sunlight, and I recognize him.
Has he been watching me the entire time?
It is the half-blood.
“Stay away!” I am surprised by the sternness in my voice. I hope it has overshadowed all the fear at the back of my throat. I look around to see if anyone has seen us together, though it seems unlikely in the fading daylight. I’m not sure what I would be hiding from.
“You remember me?” A flicker of nervousness causes him to fidget in his beige long-sleeved tunic and plain loose pants. They are not the silky white of my own clothing, but a rough woven cloth material. His hesitation passes quickly, and he stands tall, brave and unmoving. I note his courage and admire it before pushing the idea far from my mind.
“Yes. I should
report you!” I try to be threatening, try to bargain my way out of the situation.
He only laughs. “Should? You won’t then, will you?” He gives me an odd look. “You’re curious.”
I hold my lips tense to hold back an answering smile of embarrassment. He should not have that effect on me. He is a half-blood; his existence is wrong.
“I’m not curious. Please, just leave.” I speak calmly, assertively. I think he will listen, I think he will obey and leave, but—he remains.
“Dorian.” He offers his hand in greeting. I’m intrigued as I place my own in his gently. He looks up, and his face is barely visible in the dying light; only in memory of the bright hallway do I see him. Still, it is hard to focus in the faint light of the University, and I wish to see his face properly. The surrounding greenery casts shadows on his face, and give him the look of some wild animal.
I stare in fascination and find the words trailing from my lips, “My name is—”
“Oriana!—Get away from her, you trash!” Aurek shouts, rushing toward us. He is a pureblood. I can imagine the pride that plays upon his face. I need no light to tell me it’s there behind his brief severity. I don’t understand why he finds it necessary to come to my rescue. It’s his nature to play the hero.
He certainly looks it. His broad shoulders, fierce height, and a masculine face complete with chiseled jawline and prominent nose, perpendicular to two impressively blue eyes. He wears the clothes of a pureblood, long-sleeve shirt and loose pants, similar to Dorian’s though made of the same smooth material as the gown I wear.
He is well respected at the University. The females admire him, and the males have good cause to fear him. Everyone knows him, but not everyone likes him, if I alone am proof. Despite obvious efforts on my part, his feelings for me will forever linger.
He dashes to my side, with his part-blood devotee, Fisk, not far behind him. Fisk is an odd creature. His skinny limbs must struggle to keep up with Aurek’s long strides. His face resembles that of a rodent, with a narrow, crooked nose and two hazel eyes deeply hidden within a forest of brown eyebrows and bangs. His upper lip always seems to be in a snivel, curling atop two large front teeth. I wonder for a moment why he is out so late, but presume it is Aurek’s doing.
I look for Dorian. He has left.
“Did he hurt you at all? Touch you?” He searches my eyes like a false hero.
“No, of course not. He’s just a half-blood,” I reply with a shrug, partly to nudge his hands off my shoulders.
“I can’t believe he’d actually talk to you, much less touch you,” Aurek says with distaste.
“Yeah, that’s sick!” Fisk chimes in.
“Shut up, part-blood, you’re no better!” Aurek gives him a glare that silences the emaciated figure and leaves him shivering in the garments draping his slight form. I now notice that the part-blood wears a material of a coarser substance than my own, yet of better quality than Dorian’s. Every detail of our lives seems to be a matter of ranking.
Aurek turns his back to me. “I promise you, Oriana, next time I see that scum, I’m going to teach him a lesson. Half-bloods need to know a little discipline,” he states matter-of-factly. “Trust me, you won’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.”
I wince at Aurek’s demeaning tone, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. He believes he is consoling my disgust at what has happened with Dorian. He is wasting his time. I walk away from his arm heading for the exit. “Please, Aurek, just leave him alone.”
“And what will I get in return?”
I turn and glare at him. “What did you say?”
“What will I receive in return for my favor to you?” he asks again. The white of his teeth is visible in the glow of the setting sun as he smiles at his own cleverness. I know Fisk wastes no time imitating his grin, but my patience is waning too quickly to investigate. I wish to escape that impudent smile.
“Maybe some salvation from Odon. He’s the only one who can help you now!” He won’t apologize, only beg for my attention tomorrow.
What a heartless, self-absorbed, arrogant
… I try to control the words coursing through my mind as I turn to grab my books. I almost storm away without seeing the slip of paper float from the inside cover of a textbook. I stop and pick it up; it has grown too dark to read, so I wait until I’ve reached the inside of the University.
There I unfold it delicately with anxious fingers.
The garden. Meet me tomorrow night.
Dorian.