SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Orion's Kiss

The night was cold, clear and dark. Down below the town had fallen into another black out. It seemed to be happening more and more often these days, now that the power sources were failing. Who would have thought that the scientist would be proved right after all?

She smiled to herself as that thought sank into her mind. How she hated the scientists. The ones which kept her here, imprisoned under the pretext of research. Rare condition, ha! She didn’t have one when she arrived here, but she sure did now.

Another sigh to add to the string she had left around the room, and she settled on the bed, knees drawn protectively up to her chest as she gazed out of the west facing window. A brief glance at the clock on the dresser told her it was 23:45. She should be sleeping. They were restarting the physical tests again tomorrow. With a heartfelt sigh, which ended up as a growl, she rested her folded arms on the windowsill, and planted her head on top. The tip of her nose was freezing; a sure sign of the cold to follow, but still she reached upwards and unfastened the catches on the window, flinging them open.

Might as well take advantage of the pure darkness.

Her eyes searched the silky blackness, dotted with sequined eyes, before fastening on the one she wanted. Sirius, the dog star, brightest of the constellation of Canis Major, the great dog. Good, she smiled to herself, allowing the reassuring brightness of Sirius to soothe her. Her eyes wandered north and east from there and soon rested on the one she sought.

Orion.

The first constellation she had learnt, the one she had been born under. The one she always looked for. When Orion was in the sky she knew she had nothing to fear, not from anything or anyone. November to March, sometimes April, if she was lucky, she would be able to feel his influence. The rest of the year she was alone.

A slight gust sent chills nipping down her spine, but she ignored them. Revelling in the clear sky she could see the seven major stars; Betelgeuse, Bellatrix, Rigel and Saiph, all shining around the corners, with the three making up Orion’s belt, which she could never remember the names of. Tonight was so dark that she could even make out Orion’s sword, hanging from his belt, the slightly fizzy haze of the nebulae which was also there. Even his bow was visible.

Freyda could hardly believe her eyes. She feasted on the stars before her, not noticing the goose bumps which were covering her arms. Eyes fixed on the celestial hunter she made a wish from her heart.

Please, she begged him, or whoever would listen. Find a way to free me.

“Freyda!” The sharp voice of the warden broke through her wistful gazing. “Have you got a window open in there?”

“I just needed some air,” she mumbled back.

“Shut it at once.” The woman snapped, the torch sweeping into the room and near blinding Freyda with its brightness.

“Yes ma’m,” she sighed and did as she was told, climbing under the duvet for good measure.

“You do know there’s an energy shortage on, girlie. Can’t go round leaving windows open.” With a final sweep of her torch, the old woman backed out of the room, shutting the door with a click. Freyda clamped the pillow over her ears, not wanting to hear the fatal clunk of the lock, but no matter how much she piled on her head, she could still hear it. The sounds of her prison.

The harsh reminders of her predicament closed in around her and she had to bite the pillow to stop the tears. It was no good, she no longer had the heart to look at the stars. They were distant, too far away, they couldn’t help her now. With silent tears slipping treacherously from her cheeks, she drifted into saddened sleep.

As she dreamed he came to her bedside. A silent vigil he held above her sleeping head. Eyes the colour of stars pierced the darkness, while the rest of him was shrouded in shadow. “Do not give up,” he whispered when dawn began to draw near. “I will be watching, ké nalama naoí.”

As the light filtered through the uncovered window, Freyda rolled over and woke with a start. She glanced round the room, instantly up on her elbows. She had heard a voice, but there was no one there now. She was alone.

Always alone.

“Now Freyda, we’ve been through this before. Do you remember what you have to do?” She looked at the anxious faces before her, small eyes magnified by the rims of glass, balanced in metal frames, resting on their noses. Small noses, stubby and protruding, faintly glowing with the chill. Their skin, sallow with no light, had a faint blue tinge as the cold stole into the blood in their veins. Such clever minds, she thought to herself, yet they couldn’t work out a way to stop shivering. They were bundled up, their thin white lab-coats covered with synthetic fur-styled coats, or great puffy jackets, which made them look three times larger. All in the pursuit of warmth. The way they were rubbing their thick gloved hands, and tugging on their synthetic wool scarves, it wasn’t working.

Freyda didn’t notice the cold, she never did. Her thin legs, too thin, were exposed to the elements, just thin nylon shorts, and a baggy nylon t-shirt to cover her. Like sticks, her limbs protruded from the required holes, with muscles clinging desperately to the bone. There wasn’t an inch of fat on her, that had all gone long ago. It made her look even more strange, as her skin refused to shiver, or turn blue, as all normal people’s did. Her long, elegant fingers tapped out a rhythm on her crossed arms, while her rich, dark eyes watched the shivering scientists, with cold, pitiful glares.

“Well, g-go on then.” The head scientist pointed to the field track, pushing his glasses back up his nose, with shuddering hands.

Rolling her eyes, with a faint nod, she turned around and began to jog along the broad, empty track. As her feet settled into a smooth rhythm, pounding the track beneath her, eating the icy ground, with easy, loping strides. She didn’t allow the cold to get to her, instead she imagined the sun filtering through the clouds, and warming her skin. She imagined the mud soaked fields around her to be green with summer life, strewn with the daisies and dandelions. She remembered them from when she had been younger, before she had come to live here. Back when the fields were green, back when the sun was warm. Ten years can change much in the world, she mused as she ran, barely taking note of how far she had travelled. Her breathing was still steady, but only because she imagined she was walking in fields, not running on some track in the middle of an industrial heartland.

Ten years ago the industry of this place had been booming. Unemployment had been low, almost to the point of non-existence. Everyone had homes to live in, schools to go to, and money to survive on. So there had been little left over for luxuries, but then the interest rates and taxes had been so high that people were used to it. You were content to survive and that was all. On the outskirts of town, there had been the rich land of the greenbelts, put there to ensure the countryside was protected from the never-ending sprawl of cities. Out here the children played, doing what children do best; imagining things will always be this way or better.

Not even Freyda could imagine herself out of what was to come. Recession struck with the force of a natural disaster. People began to lose jobs as the industries struggled to find buyers of their products, or even contracts for their resources. One by one they began to fade. Houses were repossessed, and the squatters moved in, because no-one could afford to by them. Interest rates dropped, but it was too late. The taxes stayed high, but few could pay them.

No one worked anymore.

The inner-city was a ghost-town, where no one worked, and no one could afford to live. The green fields were gone. Affordable houses had been put in their place. By affordable they meant little more than shanty towns. Those who still had jobs were hated and outcast by the unemployed. Then it had happened.

The energy crash.

The factories could barely run. Electricity was so sparse that it was priced out of their reach. What little jobs remained were lost. Everyone was in the same boat now. There was no health service, no schools, no public transport…not that there was any oil for the petrol anyway. Wood was like gold-dust, and coal was just a dream. Since the disaster at Preston, nuclear energy was outlawed, no one wanted to risk that again. Imagine it, three hundred square miles eradicated in one fell swoop. Not to mention the dead zone which resided around that. The whole of the north west was a No Man’s land. The country had fallen into fear.

All in ten years.

Freyda stopped automatically when she had jogged back to where the scientists were waiting for her. Suddenly the reality of the world hit her and she could no longer imagine the feel of the sun. It too had ceased to exist in this forsaken place. Winter here was cruel now. During the day what factories could still function belched out clouds of noxious gases, which blocked the sky from dawn until dusk. They had little fuel so used whatever they could get their hands on, regardless of the population who had to breathe the air. They only worked half days, it was all they could manage, but the smog still clung to the air until some hours after dark. Then the bitter winds would sweep in from the coast and clear them all away, leaving clear, cold nights, to make the homeless shiver.

At least she had walls.

Her chest heaved as she fought to breathe suddenly, but the air was too thin, too full of the gases of the factories which marred the skyline. Too tired, too cold, too much. With a last gasp, she collapsed into unconsciousness.

The ice crackled as it began to form on the liquid ground, full of contaminated water, where even the rats feared to drink it. It began to glisten as it stretched chilled fingers to connect across the surface. A dull crack and it was shattered, having to start all over again as the foot passed. His breath crystallised on the air in front of his face, warmth stolen in less than a heartbeat as the ice attempted to crawl into his lungs. He was not made for mortal death and so ignored the implications of the season’s grip.

Instead he walked a slow, languorous walk around the training field. Every step followed in the ones she had taken in the hours of daylight. He followed her easily, still able to see the faintly glowing residue where her imagination had passed. The further round the oval he went, the more aware he was of how the light faded. At first it was as brilliant as the sun on a clear summer’s morning, but gradually it weakened, soon to the weak, cold power of moon glow, before a shadow crept in and stole it away all together.

He pieced together the events of the day, from the evidence of the residue in the air and bowing his head, he tugged his cloak further onto his head and faded into the star light.

Only to reappear by her bedside.

He watched her, face hidden in the shadows of his hood, though his eyes, the colour of stars, still had the power to shine. His head was tilted to one side as he took in all aspects of her sleeping form. Her face, the skin tight against her bones, was smoothed of all wrinkles and worry. Her thin hands, lay palm on palm, beneath her head on the pillow. Bony shoulders rose from beneath the covers, while the rest of her lay swathed in blankets and duvets, in an attempt to keep the cold away. Her breathing was soft and even, though the smile on her face betrayed that she dreamed.

He smiled too and hoped that they were good ones. “Ké naoí ,” he whispered as he leant forward. “Imagine yourself to freedom, and so it shall be, Aeafreydán.” He gently pressed his lips to her forehead, stepped back and began to fade.

Freyda stirred in her sleep, muttering, before thrashing about with her arms and forcing herself awake. “Actaé kwá aesk éuy?” She spoke the words in a tongue she didn’t understand, before whispering softly; “Did you call to me?”

“You can only call yourself.” Came the soft, almost unspoken reply.

“But how?” She wondered, feeling at a loss and close to tears, yet not understanding why.

“Imagine, ké naoí , and it shall be so.”

She heard the words, though she could not see the speaker, and knew that who ever it was had gone. She suddenly felt weary, her heart heavy and tired. Lying down she closed her eyes and thought back on the words. “Imagine, huh?” She snorted. “If it was that easy I would have freed myself long ago.” She thought back on all the times she had wished to be free of this place, of the experiments into how she could survive such strange extremes. All the times she had placed her memories to the forefront of her mind, remembering what it was like before she had been brought here, before the world had thrown itself into this damnable pit. With these memories still whirling around her mind, she fell back into deep, restful sleep.

The shadow faded back into the room, drifting in on the shards of starlight and watched over her as she slept, no longer dreaming. “I said imagine, not remember,” he whispered, knowing she would not hear him, and wishing he could tell her. Yet there are some things which cannot be given, they must be worked out alone.

But unlike all the other problems she had faced in her life, this time she was not alone, nor would be again.

Freyda sat in the middle of the floor, almost a week later. It was the last of the tests for a while, until there was enough energy stored up anyway. She tapped her fingers on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, while she rested back on her hands, elbows locked, so she was fully supported. Her head was thrown back as she gazed up at the ceiling. There she imagined the stars and they came instantly to her mind. She remembered the beauty of seeing Canis Major as it slipped out from the confines of the day and glittered into being. Following Sirius up in a diagonal line, she let her eyes drift over her image of Orion’s belt, following the line all the way up to Aldebaran in Taurus. She imagined the icy chill of night time, as it nipped in through her imaginary window, raising the hair on her arms and neck. She didn’t notice how her body responded to this imaginary thought.

Outside, watching the scene with avid interest, the four scientists scribbled down each observation on their clipboards. One of them kept an eye on the screen before her, one of the few computers they still managed to run in these dark days, and then only for a few sparse moments a day. Like now. They had been storing their energy allowance for almost a month to allow these tests to happen. The female scientist kept an eye on the temperature of the room, but was struggling to concentrate when she compared it to the body and skin temperature which were being recorded from Freyda.

“I don’t believe it,” muttered the head scientist as he glanced over her shoulder.

“By rights it shouldn’t be possible,” she concurred, watching the temperature of the room tick towards thirty-six degrees Celsius. Even after all this time, she could still surprise them.

“She’s never lasted this long,” another scientist muttered, watching with jaw-dropping amazement as goose bumps broke out across Freyda’s elbows and she shivered. “She should be sweating!” He exclaimed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, but one quick look at his fellow scientists and he knew he hadn’t been imagining things.

“Her body temperature is stable, but her skin temperature seems to have dropped to eleven degrees and falling.” The woman on the computers told them, trying her best to keep her tone detached, but it was so exciting. They had little to be impressed by these days, except this girl.

“All right everyone,” the head scientist declared as Freyda confounded them yet more. “Get her out of there.”

“Freyda, are you even listening to me?”

Eyes dragged back from oblivion she blinked up at her tutor for the day. “Sorry Miss Rance,” she muttered, fiddling with the pens on her desk.

Irene Rance, computer scientist for the failing institute looked down on the marvellous child and smiled. “Come Freyda, let’s talk of other things, hmm?” She folded the history book closed, seeing the girl’s relief that she wouldn’t have to ignore any more on the feudal systems of medieval Britain. “So…” Irene began, but stopped as she grabbed for something to say.

“Are the tests going well?” Freyda decided to help her out, her dark eyes curious.

“Oh yes, very,” the scientist nodded enthusiastically. “It is just such a shame we are almost out of electricity. You are an amazing child…” she stopped again as she noticed she’d said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” she muttered, placing one hand over Freyda’s. She tried not to look too hurt as the girl pulled away. She always had done from physical contact. It wasn’t a personal rejection. Still Irene felt hurt.

Freyda saw the slight flinch in the woman’s face as she moved away. It was hard to explain that she couldn’t bear to be touched by the people who kept her here, against her free will. The same people who still called her child, even though she would be eighteen in less than a month. The same people who treated her as an experiment, rather than a human being, unless forced to, or plagued with an attack of the guilt. To them she was just research, something to keep them in their jobs a little longer. She had seen the fear in their faces when one of the experiments they were working on failed; whenever a letter arrived from the government; even when she herself was deciding to be difficult.

She tried to put herself in their shoes, tried to understand the possibility of losing everything that mattered to you; home, work, your livelihood, your friends, your family; but she found it hard to feel sorry for them. After all it was what they had done to her all those years ago. “How long have I been here?” She asked at last, letting her thoughts spill out into words.

“Must be…” Irene wrinkled her nose as she thought, “Almost eight years now. You came here on your tenth birthday, my how you’ve grown.”

Freyda winced at the patronising words, even if they weren’t intended that way. Was it only eight years, it felt so much longer. “Is there anything else I am supposed to be learning?” She asked in a deadened voice, anything to take away the shining gaze of nostalgia with which the woman was now regarding her. Freyda knew that look, it was the one all people got when remembering something dear to them; a moment of triumph, joy, freedom. But she knew from experience that the scientists’ greatest moments all revolved around her, and one of the various experiments they had subjected her to. She found it hard to like them.

“It’s almost your birthday,” Irene pointed out gently, wanting to keep talking to this most strange of girls. “Is there anything you want to do? Anything special? You can have anything you want.” Freyda shrugged and Irene knew she had lost her again. She sighed heavily, it was so rare to break through the armour Freyda always wore. Others were better at it than she, Irene had a tendency to always say the wrong thing. No one really knew the girl though, had never, in the eight years she had lived here, been able to get through that tough exterior, to find out what lay beyond. Irene took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with another sigh. How they had failed the girl.

“All I want,” Freyda began, but stopped when Irene replaced her glasses and looked up at her with an eager look.

“Yes, yes, go on,” the scientist prompted, causing Freyda’s blue eyes to go almost black with wariness.

“I want…” she paused wondering how to phrase it. “Scímagéa,” she said at last, wondering what she had said. “Ziu yun daimed écinúo scí . That’s all I want.” Then feeling her eyes fill with tears, she fled back to her own room and locked the door.

“What did you say to her?” Ormour, the eldest of the scientists asked as he doddered into the room. He was supposed to be the curator of the laboratories, but his age had since rendered that role as a title only. He mainly resided in the libraries and meticulously copied their notes out by hand for them each night.

“I only asked what she wanted for her birthday.” Irene shrugged, feeling terrible for having failed so miserably with the girl.

“And what did she say?” Ormour couldn’t help but pry, his brown eyes seeming more bright than usual, almost as if they were shining with stars.

“Something about sky,” the scientist sighed. “Skymagiah or something, I don’t know. I’ll never understand that girl.”
Ormour gave Irene a shrewd look, rubbing one shaking hand across his elderly chin. “Scímagéa,” he mused. “Was that what she said?”

“Yes that was it!” Irene smiled, eyes turning to Ormour with excitement. “Do you know what it means?”
“Freedom,” the old man told her solemnly. “She just wants to be free.”

Once back in her room Freyda felt the urge to cry dissipate. She was disappointed. She threw herself down upon the bed, willing the tears to come, needing to lose herself in the depths of self-pity, but they wouldn’t obey. Growling with annoyance, she sat up on the bed, legs folded to one side and gazed out the window. Well, glared was more like it, as her eyes took in the sight of the city as it sprawled out below her. Her room was only on the second floor, but the laboratory itself was situated on a hill above the main industrial district. She let her eyes wander over the factories, beginning to wind down for lunch, ready to remain cold and empty for almost eighteen hours, before they would be reopened again the next morning. They lurked in the landscape, like great, malevolent giants, squatting and waiting for the hero to go galloping by, when they would rise up and give chase. She smiled to herself at this image, as it careered across her imagination.

She was brought back to herself when she heard harsh laughter from below. Her eyes dropped to the yard below her window, which led then to the training ground. Inside the concrete square was the old scientist, Ormour, Freyda thought his name was, not that she’d spoken to him much. Their conversation was usually limited to him chasing her out of the library. Now as she watched, she saw him holding out his hands, full of crumbs of something or another, while birds perched all over him. He was laughing, something she had never heard the doddery old man do before, and she wondered how he was keeping himself upright.

The harsh laugh rang out again and Freyda realised it was coming from the birds themselves. She looked at their plumage, black and white, well it would have been white, but it had a dirty hue, and she was amazed. There were no birds in the city any more. There was little food and the air was foul, but here right before her eyes were five magpies, all mobbing the usually misanthropic man. One was perched right on his head, its beady eyes searching for anything that glittered.

With a sudden jerk of its head Freyda found herself gazing straight at a magpie, one whose eye was bright with intelligence. That is no ordinary bird, a thought unbidden rose in her mind. Shivering from the weight of that stare she told her inner self to shut up. The magpie crackled a laugh at this, as if it had heard her, and the old man lifted his head, following the gaze of the five birds which were perched upon him.

Ormour’ eyes had always been a strange shade of brown, dark and introspective, rimmed with red from too much reading, but now they pierced her with a sudden clarity, and a light that reminded her of stars.

“Ho! Away.” He flapped his arms, unseating the four which were perched there. They scattered, chattering at him as they landed on various items around the yard. “Get away with you,” he shooed them. One was particularly vocal and chattered loudly at him. “I know what you would say Pauper, now away with you.” He flapped his hands at the four birds in turn, and eventually they all flew away, though their chattering curses could still be heard for a good deal longer than they could be seen. Lifting his hand to his head, the fifth and final magpie stepped on to his arm, which the old man lowered so he could look the bird in the eye. “Thank you, Messenger,” he whispered to it, brushing the gleaming feathers gently. “Now away.” He lifted his arm and the clap of the bird’s wings echoed around the yard.

Freyda found herself looking at the old man again, his eyes fixed on her too. She expected him to speak, to say something, or expect her to do the same, but neither said a word. Instead, after looking at her for a long moment, he inclined his head and moved away. She felt disappointed.

Turning away from the window, feeling thwarted at every turn, she climbed off the bed and walked across the room to her book shelves. There she lifted down her book on the constellations and sat down at her desk, allowing the book to fall open on her favourite page.

She was just tracing the outline of Orion with her finger, when there came a knock at the door. Grumbling to herself at this invasion of thinking space, she unlocked the door and let the visitor in without even looking at them, instantly returning to the desk and her book, with an insolent, “Yes?”

“You have need of manners, Aeafreydán.”

She looked up at the rebuking tone of the old man. She failed to hide the shock on her face, not because Ormour was here in her room, but because of the name he had called her by. “What? What did you call me?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“I called you by your name,” he said calmly, his eyes twinkling at her.

“But, how did you know?” She was beginning to feel scared. First the birds in the yard, then his eyes, now her name. No one knew her real name, she had almost forgotten it herself. To everyone in the institute she was Freyda, nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh pish child,” he dismissed her fears with a wave; “You honestly think I spend all that time with books and don’t know the true identities of all I work with?”

She shrugged but couldn’t shake the unease she was feeling. “I guess.”
“No guess about it. Now, I wanted to talk to you…”
“Why were you feeding the magpies?” She interrupted him.

He shot her a reproving look, eyes glittering from under bristling eyebrows. She flushed and apologised. “They were hungry,” he said curtly. “Now where was I? Oh yes, I wanted to talk to you. About your imagination.”
“My imagination?” It was her turn to look reproving. She didn’t talk about her imagination. It was not something which could be scientifically proven, therefore it was none of the scientists business. “What about it?” She half-growled.

“No need to get defensive,” he told her, with another dismissive wave of his hand. “I just wanted to know about when you control your body. Say when they put you out in the snow or something, do you imagine you are warm, or do you remember how it feels to be warm?”
“I imagine it of course,” she told him shortly, wondering what the point of these questions was.

“Ah ha,” he nodded. “Why don’t you just remember the feel of sunlight on your skin?”
“It doesn’t work,” she told him with a petulant sigh, as if all this was far too obvious to even talk about. “Feelings; pain, warmth, happiness, stuff like that; they don’t really remain in the memory. Not strong enough to produce real warmth anyway,” she elaborated. “It is far easier to imagine how it feels to have the sunrise upon your face, warming you with its glow.” As she spoke her eyes reverted inside, as if looking somewhere different, while a faint blush warmed her cheeks.

“Hmm,” Ormour nodded, bringing her back from her imaginings, slap back into cold winter. “Interesting.” He got to his feet.

“What, that’s it?” She asked, incredulous

“Yup,” he nodded and shuffled towards the door.

“You climbed all those stairs, and came all this way, just to ask me some stupid, irrelevant question about imagination versus memory?” Her forehead was heavily creased, her eyebrows almost touching as she frowned.

“Irrelevant is a matter of opinion,” he told her with a reproachful tone. “Think about it.” And with that he was out of the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

“Strange man.”

“Have you figured it out yet?”

Freyda woke from the dream, still feeling the words in her mind. “Have you figured it out yet.” What? She asked herself that same question over and over again, trying to remember the last time she had spoken to the voice. It was almost two weeks ago. What had he said?

“Imagine and it shall be so.”
Imagine what? If it was as simple as imagining her way out of here then surely she would be free already, wouldn’t she?

This thought on her mind she lay back and cleared all thoughts. What would it be like to leave here? She didn’t think she had ever imagined what she would do if she wasn’t here. She remembered freedom, recalling the first ten years of her life, before the institute had even existed in her conscious, but never thought about afterwards. Often she had begged for freedom, but never imagined it.

She looked out of through the glass of her window, head resting on the pillows, and kept her eyes fixed on Orion as she slowly let her mind take over.

Freedom.

It whispered from the stars.

She blinked, but kept her eyes fixed on the sky as something detached from the constellation. It looked like one of the stars had come loose, but that was impossible. Anyway when she looked back they were all still there. She blinked again, but the light was still moving, and getting bigger. She forced herself to stay calm as she thought of freedom, freedom, freedom.

A bright light filled her room, causing her to shut her eyes against the flare. It throbbed and pulsed beneath her closed eyelids, and gradually, still shielding her face from the brightest, she opened her eyes. The light faded slightly, until she was able to look.

And gasped.

“Who-who are you?” She asked the man who was standing in her room. The light shined from him, and his glorious wings, which were splayed out behind him, only half folded. They were black, but like a magpie’s carried a range of hues within, from green and blue to indigo and violet, with white patches to shine all the brighter. He was robed in a soft black robe, but it was thrown open, revealing his light. She could barely see him. Sensing this, he drew the cloth closer to himself, shutting off the light, as he folded his wings behind him. He lifted his hood, masking his hair, which was white and glowing. He left his face to show though, golden and sun kissed, with eyes that shone like stars.

“Who are you?” She demanded, but such was the awe in her voice that it came out as little more than a breathy whisper.

He smiled, and instantly all her fears were removed, such was the kindness and warmth. “I am the stars.”
“Orion?” She asked incredulously, remembering that he had come from that constellation.

“If you like,” he shrugged and smiled, happy for her to call him such. He had been given many names in his long lifetime, and all would suit, never too far from the truth.

“Have you come to rescue me?” She asked, voice trembling. “Have you come to take me to freedom?”
He shook his head slowly, and Freyda thought she saw the light in his eyes dim slightly. “I cannot.” She felt her hopes dashed. “Not yet.”

She looked up in hope. “When?”

“Who can say?” He shrugged, offering her a tentative smile. “Only you have the power to decide.” He reached out and touched her chin gently. She felt both heat and ice in his touch, yet it was not uncomfortable. It was the feeling of being touched by something wonderful, which you didn’t understand. She was relaxed and calmed by it.

“But then why are you here?” She managed to force the words out.

He removed his hand, folding his arms beneath his smooth cloak. “To tell you that you are on the right track. You are close now. Soon the time will come, do not give up hope.”

“I won’t give up,” she promised.

He smiled at her words, as a father to a beloved daughter. “Kwá rhou jor irith ur khartan khanéi, ké nalama naoí ,” he whispered, almost sadly.

“I do not understand,” she frowned.

“Hush child,” he soothed. “In time you will. Have patience, and trust, I will come for you. Only you can free yourself.” He leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss upon her forehead, and she felt love and peace wash over her, leaving her exhausted. She curled up on the bed and he lightly covered her with a blanket.

“Sleep well,” he whispered and faded from view. Freyda didn’t respond, for she was already asleep.

“Happy birthday!” The scientists cheered, as they burst into her room one morning, the warden scowling from behind.

Freyda woke up, groaning at the early hour and rubbing at her eyes. What were they doing here? And why now? Then she remembered it was her eighteenth birthday, and again the questions were asked. They had never bothered with her birthday before. She caught Irene’s eye and realised that this was their way of apologising to her, for not treating her as a person, merely an experiment. She smiled at them all and thanked them as they placed a parcel on her lap.

Scrabbling at the paper, she noticed they were all holding their breath with excitement, until with a final tear the wrapping came free. “Oh, my!” Freyda exclaimed, prising the model from the box and staring at it with wonderment. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” She raced out of bed, tugging down her pyjama top and hugged each of them in turn. They all seemed surprised by this display of affection, but as she placed the model on the desk and span each planet in turn, on its orbit around the sun, they realised that such a small, simple gift, had really meant the world to the girl. Each one hung their head in shame for not caring enough before to even notice.

“This is wonderful,” she grinned over her shoulder at them, too wrapped up in her own feelings to take note of theirs.

“Last experiment today,” Irene told her warmly as she added the last bucket of ice to the water, checking the probes one final time, to see they were positioned correctly. Freyda nodded absently, too busy imagining playing with her new model to care about what the scientists were up to. She couldn’t believe it. In the eight years she had been here it had been the first birthday present they had given her. They weren’t bad people, she realised, just focused. What care had they for a lonely young girl, struggling through her life alone and isolated? They had never meant to be cruel, yet they had been. She sighed and settled herself lower into the ice bath and let her imagination run loose.

Only she had the power to free herself, she thought. What would freedom be like? She thought back to the man in her room, she was positive it hadn’t been a dream, it couldn’t have been. Orion had come to her, she had asked him to help and he was. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get out of here.

As she let her thoughts wander her body became susceptible to the cold, and she began to shiver. “No,” she muttered irritably, imagining the feel of the light which his wings had given off once more. She stopped shivering.

What would it be like to have wings? She allowed her mind to travel down that path, imagining herself with the power of flight, drifting amongst the stars, with Orion and others like them. She wouldn’t be alone then. She imagined a world beyond that which she already knew, a life other than what she had lived, and a body which did not need to rely on the power of her mind.

The further she drifted, the less she paid attention to the world about her. Her body felt the effects of true cold for the first time. The muscles instantly shuddered, trying to generate heat.

“What’s going on?” The head scientist looked to Irene to clarify. All she could do was watch in horror as Freyda’s body temperature dropped.

Freyda was flying, far, far away. She had wings of her own, black and rich with hidden colours. Not the gloss of a magpie, it lacked the hidden colours, or the splashes of white. More like the rich hue of a blackbird, with extra flashes of orange across the tips of her feathers.

She felt so free.

Her body was causing the water to splash now as it juddered more and more violently, going into shock.

“For God’s sake! Get her out of there!” Irene pleaded with the head scientist.

“Not yet,” he told her, warning the other scientists not to enter the room. He could do this, after all he held their jobs in his hands. There were plenty to replace them. Irene pressed her face against the glass, watching in horror as Freyda’s condition worsened. She couldn’t bear to watch the computer screen, seeing the numbers fall. “She’s a person, not an experiment!” She pleaded again, but the head scientist was a hard man to break.

“Stubborn, pig headed, selfish,” she muttered under her breath as she took her life, literally, in her hands, and wrenched open the door. Before anyone could stop her, and she noticed none of her colleagues actually tried, she pulled Freyda from the water, wrapping her blue body in the blankets near-by. The girl was so thin. She had no natural fat to insulate her. What had they done to this child? Had she been so poorly fed? Why had they never noticed? Freyda was so light that Irene was able to carry her all by herself. She detached the probes, then rushed from the labs, heading for the girl’s own room. Once there she got all the blankets and clothes that she could and wrapped the still shivering girl, tightly inside them all. “Please don’t die,” Irene begged. “I am so sorry, I want to tell you I am sorry.”

Behind her, the other scientists all gathered, even the head scientist was there, his face pinched with worry. Irene didn’t spare him a thought, he was probably more concerned about losing the experiment, rather than a girl losing her life.

Ormour was there also. Irene hadn’t seen him come in, but suddenly he was kneeling on the other side of Freyda, gently lifting her face up, so that she would look at him, if her eyes were open. He bent low over her, allowing his lips to brush her forehead, before he ran a finger beneath both his eyes, collecting tears, which he wiped gently across the girl’s eyes. “Filloidas, ké naoí , awake,” he whispered gently.

With a gasp her body arced up, which Irene caught in her arms, holding the girl tightly to her. Freyda blinked slowly, as if in great pain, and looked up into the face of the woman which held her.

“Hello,” Irene said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

“C-c-cold,” was all Freyda could say, her lips were blue, her face pale.

“I’m sorry,” Irene told her, while biting her lip, trying not to sob. Tears fell silently from her eyes, washing the face of the girl she held.

“Do not cry.” Irene looked up in surprise, seeing that it was Ormour who spoke to her, his strange eyes once more glittering like stars.

“I-is t-t-th-hat you?” Freyda whispered, fighting the cold catch, which was making speaking difficult. “O-orion?”

“I have been called many things,” he told her with a smile, letting his warm palm rest against her frozen cheek.

“I-is it t-t-ime yet?”

“Poor child,” he sighed. “Kwá rhou jor irith ur khartan khanéi, ké nalama naoí .”

She nodded, understanding his words. You were not born for mortal death, my sweet dreamer. “Y-you s-s-said I w-wo-would underst-t-tand,” she smiled.

“So I did,” he chuckled, letting both palms rest on her cheeks. “Ready?” She nodded.

“Wait,” Irene protested as he took the body from her arms. “Wait!”

“I f-forgive you,” Freyda told her, looking across with eyes almost so dark they were black.

“But I don’t,” Irene whispered.

“You cannot keep me here.” As the warmth of Ormour’s hands on her face seeped into her skin, she felt a measure of strength return. “You asked me what I wanted for my birthday, you said I could have anything.” She reminded her faintly.

“Of course I remember, and you can. Anything, anything at all, ask and I will give it.”

“Scímagéa; Freedom, give me my freedom.” Freyda was begging now, her eyes desperately asking.

“Of course,” Irene said at last, tears staining her face as she bowed her head, knowing what she had just granted.

“Thank you,” she whispered as Ormour stood up with her in his arms.

Casting off the body he wore, his black and white wings were unfurled. The light was unleashed and all who watched were forced to shield their eyes. In his arms Freyda cuddled up to him, no longer feeling cold, no longer feeling anything, just safe, and loved. He bent and kissed her forehead lightly and she felt the skin of her shoulder blades begin to tighten, as wings she never knew she had, began to grow.

“Come with me, Aeafreydán. I will find a place for you,” he whispered softly and wrapped his wings tightly around the both of them, before they began to fade from view. “Come with me, Imagination, you are one of us now.”