Cinders [Completed]

Chapter 52: And Found

\\tw: claustrophobia, violence\\

Dr. Harold doesn't know much.  

He doesn't tell us where. Before they cart him off to the dungeons where they kept my dad, he gives three names that I don't recognize. Because he's a normal wolf - because he's not stunted - his nose is already healing crooked by the time he leaves.

"Well, now we know for sure," I say into the oppressive silence. My voice is not especially optimistic.

Wordlessly, Nokomis turns me to face her and pulls me into a hug.

"It's not your fault," she murmurs, "they've been trying to get him his entire life. It's not your fault."

Weakly, my arms return the embrace.

"What do we do?"

"Well," she says gently, "now that we know it's the Order, maybe we'll revisit the coordinates. It's possible we missed something."

Oh, I want to cry, we are definitely missing something.

My shoulders sag as she and Alaric begin speaking, talking in the same circles we've already discussed. The pain behind my eyes throbs.

It's so much worse that we've gotten so close. We know all of the wrong things. But not where he is.

It's so hopeless, holding on to the ghost of him.

I tell myself the tears are Orion's. I wipe them away.

"We just have to think about it like we haven't already," Nokomis says.

What would my father do? How would my father think of it? I remember all of the late nights, when he would teach me about the stars. Those used to be my favorite memories of him, before I had to wonder what he meant by them.

"The Order is a bunch of crazy Goddess-worshippers, right?" I say, tired, "There's a different coordinate system for the stars, isn't there? Maybe that's what they went by."

Alaric's eyes turn contemplative.

We send the order ahead of us to the investigative team that had been working on Orion's case. They're already in the middle of a frustrated tirade when we arrive.

"Celestial coordinates," a delta is saying, irate, "don't work like that. They change all the time - the night sky is like a clock. It just keeps spinning. They're not measured by their relation to the prime meridian - they're measured by their relation to the sun."

"So," Alaric says, and it startles the delta so much that he jumps, "where do these coordinates lead to in relation to the sun?"

After apologizing, the delta scrambles to calculate the star position. He types something hurriedly into his computer. Pauses. Types. Pauses.

I feel irritation broiling in my throat. I want to snap at him - why is he just sitting there, looking at it blankly?

"Majesties," he finally says slowly, "you should look at this."

It looks almost as empty as the first coordinate results, at first.

"So, the celestial coordinates don't apply to a point on earth on their own, but if I recalculate it as a point on the earth in relation to the sun -" the delta continues, but I really don't understand it at all.

I just know that we're looking at a huge expanse of space with nothing but trees. The tiny seed of hope that had been bursting in my chest shrivels.

"This is expanding the search field by a few dozen miles in every direction to account for the shift," he says absently, "and it's pinging a structure right - here."