AN at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 6
A Long And Winding Staircase
"III"
February 8, 2008
Peter Johnson is new to the unit. He was transferred to the remote island as a punishment. He knows it and his new officers know it. And now he is just trying to get by.
Just follow your orders, don't do anything to draw attention to yourself, be a good soldier and maybe you can get off of this rock someday soon, he repeats over and over in his head as a mantra. Just follow your orders.
And that is how he ends up standing out on the docks awaiting some important visitor his Commander is being decidedly vague about. Not that he deserves any answer. Which is exactly what Captain West shouted at him for his impertinence when he asked.
He often gets singled out by the officers for the tasks no one wants to do. And currently, standing on the dock getting whipped by wind and water, blinking the salt out of his eyes, he can't help but feel a bit miserable and sorry for himself.
Why me?
"You're to act as escort for the consultant. Keep your eyes ahead. Keep your ears closed. And your mouth shut. You're only getting clearance for this position because of the departure today. DO YOU UNDERSTAND MARINE?" Captain West shouts in his face, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves, howling wind, and clanging siren of the approaching ship.
Marine Johnson snaps to attention, "Sir, yes sir!"
And he tries his best. He really does.
But God. Damn. He is not expecting the consultant to be so... so, captivating.
As she strides purposefully down the gangway, his eyes track up the black leather boots, up long slender legs, up her torso wrapped tight in a form fitting turtleneck, a shoulder holster strapped around her chest, the black leather bindings accentuating her form in an entirely distracting way. An all black Heckler & Koch USP pistol is strapped to the right side of the holster, and what looks like a long stick is on the left side. But the strangeness of that stick isn't enough to distract Johnson from her eyes, her hair, her face.
Her eyes are a bright startling blue, almost white. They stand out stark against the bright mane of red hair that flows around her face. She appears entirely unbothered by the spray of the waves and frigid wind.
She pauses to pull the hair that is whipping around her face up into a high ponytail, glancing around at the dock, taking in the island, the base, him. Her eyes meet his for a brief moment — his mind stutters and he feels laid bare. Stripped, his soul scraped out across the rocks for her to see. And, he knows, in that moment, truly, that he is but chaff beneath her.
Then the moment is over, her eyes moving past him, as she strides over to the Captain.
"Ah Oliver, nice to see you again," she says, shaking Captain West's hand. Her voice lilts, drifting through the howling wind like a leaf in a glade.
"And you, Burya. Always glad to engage your services."
She smiles slightly, "Shall we?"
"III"
Captain Oliver West is a man who accepts nothing short of simple perfection in his life, his unit, and his base. He wakes up at 0500 sharp every morning. He eats three eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. He runs. He stretches. He maintains himself, his body, his health, and his appearance. This morning was no different. Right up until Admiral Attwood knocks on his door at 0600 and hands him a small metal cube made of pure solid bronze.
As soon as his fingers make contact, a rush of images, thoughts, and memories come spinning in. And then, he remembers; and his world doesn't seem quite so simple anymore.
West can barely contain his eye roll at Marine Johnson's behavior when the consultant arrives. Not that he truly blames him. Chloe Burya is a marvel. Beautiful, yes, she is a head-turner in any room, but she has a presence about her. Something alluring. Something dangerous.
He can understand the boy's stunned slack-jawed stare.
But Oliver West knows. He knows about her. And, he isn't ashamed to admit it, he is frightened by her. He reckons anyone in their right mind would be frightened by her if they know what he does.
She steps towards him in greeting, extending her hand, her eyes piercing him like a bolt from the heavens.
It is all he can do to string together his polite response, thankful when she lets go of his hand and he can turn away, to lead them back into the base.
"Let's get out of this frightful weather, shall we?" He shouts.
She glances around, looking like she just noticed the tempest howling around them.
"Mm, I quite enjoy a nice storm, don't you?" she ponders, a spark of mischief in her tone.
The door closes with an aching boom, locks churning into place, the roaring of the wind cut off, replaced by an echoing silence.
West turns toward his commanding officers lined up on the inside hallway — the ones with clearance — and reintroduces them to Chloe Burya. She nods politely to each of them, moving down the line, ending at the Admiral, where she pauses.
"Ah, Admiral Antony Attwood. Admiral Fields and General Clayton give their regards," her voice cold and sharp.
The Admiral's smile falters, snapping under her brittle tone.
"Oh and Harmon wanted me to say hello." Her grin is almost predatory now.
Attwood swallows with an audible click.
"Yes… yes, well that is good. You must give them all my regards when you see them next." He is unable to hold her gaze.
The air feels stuffy and humid. The silence stretching on and on.
Then Captain West clears his throat loudly, and calls for the consultant's escort company to move out.
"III"
The group of five marches with studied solemnity down one of the grey corridors. Two in front, the consultant in the middle, and two in back. The noise of their boots clang on the metal grating, echoing off of the walls.
The woman, standing in between the four men, wears all black. The four men walk with brisk formality, standing ramrod straight in their pressed grey uniforms, a contrast to the woman's casual ease. The only color in the place comes from her bright red hair, pulled back in a high ponytail.
Marine Peter Johnson is confused. He doesn't understand what's happening. It's the consultant, Burya, the captain called her. Her gaze feels alien. He shivers, remembering it. And then the consultant gives the Admiral (the Admiral of all people!) a dressing down, and, and, he looks cowed.
What the hell is going on!?
Captain West leads their group into the elevator. He inserts a key into a hidden slot that Johnson has never noticed before, looking at Burya who pulls that stick out of her shoulder holster and places it next to the key.
What is going on?
The elevator rumbles into service, and they begin to descend; the elevator creaking and groaning as they move.
"III"
Ginny sighs internally. These navy men are always the same. Stiff and stern with their ranks and orders shoved so far up their asses they can barely walk without turning it into a march.
Whenever she is on one of these assignments, she stays cold and aloof, pushing a bit of her legilimency training to the forefront, barely brushing against their feeble minds. And with that, all the stiff stuffy men's composures go crumbling about her feet.
They don't recognize what she's doing as mind reading — they are muggles after all — but they do know something is wrong and that it has to do with her.
She can feel the marine's thoughts from where she is standing without even making eye contact, he's thinking so loudly. His confusion fills the tense air in the elevator.
She sighs again, rubbing her temples.
She needs to do something about the Admiral as well. Another thing to deal with.
With a groan of protest, the elevator rumbles to a stop. Captain West slides the door open with a clash, and gestures for her to go first.
The elevator opens into a small room painted grey like the rest of this miserable base. There's a heavy metal door across from the elevator. It has no apparent handle or way to open it. For a good reason. Ginny is the only one who has access to this door. She's the only one who knows about this door most of the time.
She presses her wand against the door and mutters, "Crepito."
With a loud clunk the door swings open, she motions for them to proceed. Candles flicker on as they step through the door, down, down, down out of sight. They're standing at the top of a long winding staircase circling around a long cylindrical shaft.
"Let's go marines!" West barks.
And they begin their march down.
And down.
And down.
May 8, 1997
The long staircase twists it way up, winding between the stone walls. A clack… clack… clack... echoes in the stairwell as the stone steps slide ever higher. Ginny stands motionless on the first stair she stepped on, watching the magical stairs twist and wind their way up to Dumbledore's office.
With a hollow ssnnnk, the stone she's standing on slides into place at the landing. She looks up at the large door, wipes her hands on the inside of her robes, and reaches up to knock.
"Enter," comes the call from inside, before her hand can make purchase with the door.
The door swings open of its own accord and Ginny walks in.
"Hello Professor, you wished to see me?"
"Ah, yes, Ginevra, do come in and make yourself comfortable," Dumbledore replies, gesturing to the plush chair in front of his desk, "Would you like a lemon drop? I find them quite enjoyable."
Ginny shakes her head, "No, thank you sir."
"Well, I find myself intrigued, Ginevra, by some of your more recent questions that you have been posing to your professors. And I wish to be of assistance," he says, looking at her over steepled fingers.
"And which questions might those be, professor?"
"Those inquiring into the nature of magic. I believe you have some questions regarding the basic laws of magic, correct?"
She sits up straighter in her chair, leaning forward. "Oh, yes sir! I've been wondering, do we have an unlimited amount of magic available to us? Is magic a resource? Or is it 'alive' in a way? How do we, but not muggles access it? What are its limitations? How is wandless magic possible? Why isn't it taught?"
Dumbledore chuckles, lifting a hand to cut off her litany of questions.
"Magic is the universal energy of the cosmos. Muggles know it by a different name, although they don't yet know what it is."
"Really? What do they call it? What do they think it is?"
"They call it Dark Energy. Now, they don't mean dark in the way you and I would when we talk about Dark Magic. The muggles labeled it as such because they are able to recognize it's force on the universe, but they are not able to see it, or describe it.
"But we are at a slight advantage. While most wizards cannot explain to you what magic is, there are those among us, myself included, who have made a study of such things. While muggles cannot inherently interact with their Dark Energy, or our Magic, we can. I believe a muggle would call us the next-step-in-evolution.
"We can get into why we, wizards, are able to interact with Magic later, but let us first answer your other question: what is magic? How does that sound?"
"That sounds great sir, thank you!" She bounces on the edge of her seat, leaning forward in her excitement.
Dumbledore chuckles, "Alright, let us begin."
February 8, 2008
After nearly a quarter an hour of descent, the stairs finally come to an end.
"Johnson, Quail, you stay here." Barks Captain West.
With a salute, the two marines snap to attention. They're standing at the bottom of the long cylindrical shaft the staircase wraps around. It seems to be carved out directly from the island bedrock, deep underground. Across from the bottom of the stairs is a large arched opening leading to another room hollowed out from stone. The room glows with a red light, emitting from a large stone in the middle of the floor.
The stone protrudes from the floor, a rough spear of rock, like an obelisk keeling over.
Johnson's heart pounds loud in his ears. The stone seems to flicker as if heatwaves are rising off of it. The air crackles and shimmers. His skin aches.
What is this. What is going on.
Burya pulls a square bag the size of a small notebook out from one of her pockets. She reaches inside, far too deep for the size of the bag and brings out a long bar of bronze. It flickers gold and red in the light of the stone, rippling like water.
Johnson is beyond confused at this point. So many things have happened that he cannot explain, his mind has just given up. This whole bizarre morning has been so strange. Maybe, maybe someone will explain what is going on. Eventually.
Burya is using that stick again, muttering things. The bronze bar is wrapping itself around the stone, setting itself into it. The light changes from a dark red to a brilliant white, flaring around the room. The air cracks and hums with a loud retort.
Johnson shields his eyes from the sudden brightness.
When his eyes adjust, the Captain, the Commander, and the consultant are back in the stair room. The archway is gone. A perfect seamless wall fills where it was.
The air feels cool now. Static. No more of the crepitations.
"Alright Oliver," Burya is saying, "The wards are now set, they should hold, bar any serious magical attack. This is the last installment I needed to make."
What? Magical!?
Johnson shakes his head, sure that stone thing has messed with his hearing.
"Alright men, onto the circle," she commands, gesturing to a circle etched on the floor.
They all step on to it, Johnson notices no one says anything about her giving out commands now.
"Ascendio," she snaps. And with a smooth motion, the circle begins to rise.
"III"
The wind whips across the docks. The storm throws waves against the rocks, their spray filling the air.
Ginny breathes in the sea air with relief. The anger of the storm makes her shiver with glee. This is what it means to be alive! The wind pulls at her clothes, grabs at her hair like a needy lover, and she laughs out loud. A pure joyful sound.
The men around her break into smiles, unable to help themselves under the force of her joy.
She takes a deep breath again, turning back to the men standing behind her. All the serious soldiers.
"Here," she says, passing out flat square metal coins to each of them, "Take one please."
They each take one, they all know what they are by now. Besides the young one, Peter, his name was. He looks at his with confusion.
"Don't worry Peter," she calls "All will be okay soon."
He looks startled as she addresses him, perhaps a bit frightened.
But it doesn't get to her. It can't, not among a storm such as this. She feels too alive to be bothered by his fear.
She nods at the soldiers, and boards the ship waiting for her.
As the ship pulls through the angry waves out to the open sea, she issues a soft command to the square coin she holds in her hand, and just like that, every last man on the island has all forgotten about a strange morning visit from a woman named Chloe Burya.
They're left standing on the docks, wondering where their Admiral got to, and why they're all out in the cold.
Metal coins drop to the ground, completely forgotten and completely ignored until the sea takes them away and they are truly gone for good.
On board the ship, as they pass out of the wards she set on the island, Ginny passes out more coins to the sailors on the ship.
With a crack, she apparates away, and the sailors too forget about a woman named Chloe Burya.
I realized after I published Chapter 5 yesterday that it was Wednesday and not Tuesday! Having the day off on Monday messed up my days, anyways, here's the next chapter only a day later! I hope you all enjoy it.
I appreciate every review and love to hear your feedback! So please read rate and review
Cheers!
-upstater-