The Sentinels

When she was very young, too young to remember how old she was, Penny Rose had dreamt strange things. Night after night large winged creatures wheeled in the sky, and fire made points of light in odd shapes upon the moors. These things she dreamed over and over, and then, as quickly as they had come, they went. And with them went her parents.

Penny Rose awoke with a start. The room was dark, and her heart was beating. As difficult as it was for her to fall asleep in the first place, it was yet more so fall asleep in the middle of the night after awaking. She didn't move in bed, but her skin prickled tensely, as if every hair was a sensor tuned to the frissions of the night. She felt sweat at the top of her brow, and everything beneath the covers felt close and clammy. The room was dark; with no moon in the sky it was as if a deep mist suffused everything out of the closest range. But it wasn't mist, in this case. It was the heavy black of shadows heaped all around her. Then she heard it. A clicking of claws on wood floor. It was what had woken her, and now they were nearing her bed. Her heart beat as if to run from her and escape. She saw movement at the side of her little bed, and wished fervently she was dreaming. Was she dreaming? She must be dreaming.

The little box with the strange writing nestled warmly in her hand, a dull glow lighting her skin. She clung to it, her head still and motionless on the pillow as the dark figure neared her. She peeked at its approach through lids only slitted open. If thought to be still asleep, surely she would be safer. Movement only made matters worse, made violence worse, made others more angry. She tried to calm her breathing, but her heart pounded as if it wanted to be heard. She gripped the little box harder and it glowed stronger in her hand, its warmth growing a little more. The clicking stopped at her bedside, and a pair of eyes turned on her, silver and bright in the night. She closed her eyes against its sharp gaze. She would die, no doubt.

There was a crash through the window, and suddenly the beast at her side hurtled through the air, leaping at whatever it was that had come in. The other thing struggled and thudded, huge gusts of wind seemed to come from it, even as the night air was quiet beyond the broken glass. There was scrabbling of claws on wood, a crack as they fell into one of her small dressers, and then silence. Penny Rose had shot out of bed at the first distraction, and run to the door. But like all bad dreams, the door would not open, and she stood there, white nightgown gone gray and short dressing her goosepimpled form, little box glowing calmly in hand. As suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped. Everything stopped. There was a low, sad whistle, and another gust of wind. Then tap, tap, tap. The claws on wood again.

"Don't fear," said a kind voice. It was the silver-eyed thing, walking toward her, limping slightly, it sighed, and she heard a small thud as it sat down near her. "It has gone where it came, little the wiser."

Penny Rose tentatively lifted the little box, shining now ever more brightly, to see the supine form of what had woken her. It had brindled fur, soft and thick, a rather canine set of ears, like a shephard dog, and the whiskers of a cat. Its eyes were the strangest of all; like mirrors without pupils, looking at her with a calm and curious expression. "You are very young to hold the book," said the thing in a gentle voice, and turned its head to the side. "But these days we are rushed to the end without preamble..." The strange eyes turned to the distance. "Are you mute?" It asked, very nicely indeed, rising and putting its nose in her hand for a small sniff.

"No," replied Penny Rose. She had been told not to pester people with questions, and searched for one suitable to such an elegant creature. She couldn't find one, so she stayed silent.

"You are an odd creature," it said without malice, "most I know ask a great many questions. They are the key to life, you know... questions."

Penny Rose nodded, frightened and intimidated. Her tongue was tied in a knot of nerves. "My name is Penny Rose," she informed the beast, trying for politeness if nothing else was possible for her. "It's... nice to meet you."

The thing chortled. "How nice to meet you too, my dear. I am Lucif, and that was a terrible thing they call a Badona; horrible winged things with bad tempers and no morals to speak of. They generally have terrible breath as well." Lucif began to lick its paw delicately.

"Why was it here?" queried Penny Rose softly after a moment or two of watching Lucif cleansing itself.

Lucif raised its head, "why don't you know, my little girl, that it it is you and that thing you hold? It brings them." Penny Rose looked at the box in alarm.

"Well, then I do not want it," she said sadly, though she had grown to like the bright gold warmth it exuded. "The old man must not have liked me very much."

Lucif's eyes snapped wide at that. "He came to you himself? He must have thought you exceedingly special."

Penny Rose stepped a little back, and looked at her toes. "Well... he did not come to me so much as... I was there with him while he was in my schoolroom, by accident you see?"

Lucif's eyebrows arched slightly more. "No, I don't my dear."

"Well... when I looked at him he seemed less stiff, and so when he took my hand it just dropped from his cloak, like a forgotten key or something," she said very quietly indeed.

Lucif's tall and pointed ears pointed towards her even more, and easily caught the words that stumbled from Penny Rose's lips. "I see..." it said, pensively.

"I didn't mean any harm," said Penny Rose, afraid perhaps she had done something wrong. "Oh no, my dear, you didn't do anything at all," said Lucif, absentminded. It had risen and was slowly pacing up and down, shaking its head. "This is much more complicated than I had thought before."

It was some hours before Penny Rose went back to bed, and Lucif lay there beside her, dark and large, brindled creature of strange dreaming eyes that it was.

The morning dawned cloudless. And Lucif was gone.

Come the evening, and bedtime, Penny Rose knelt beside her bed for prayers, and was startled to open her eyes to the mirrored ones of Lucif once again.

She fell asleep to the soft sound of a deep, beast breath beside her. And woke to the sound of her own panting. The dream was back again.

Penny Rose didn't know what to do. But the box in her hand was not glowing. She debated. She wondered. Should she wake the thing beside her? Should she bother it with her odd fancies? She looked at the darkened box. She thought about the beast last night. She mulled Lucif's words that questions were the key to life. The key to it!

She whispered ever so slightly. "Lucif?" The breathing stopped and mirror eyes swam up toward her. "Yes, my dear," it said, urbanely. "I'm dreaming of the winged things and fire again," she gulped, "does that mean anything?" Lucif's eyes became a whiter silver. "Fire?" "Yes, fire in spots all over the hills. Strange shapes, like when I was little...er." "Yes, little one, it means a great deal!"