by Rae Else
El nodded, not knowing why Medea was telling her this.
She asked, ‘You called her Helen of Troy. Is she really the Helen of Troy?’
‘Yes,’ Medea said. ‘She was in Troy during the Trojan War. The Greeks were some of the original arete seeking to capture her and my son, Seth, then named Paris.’
‘So the arete went to war to capture Helen and Paris. But why?’ El asked.
‘For their blood – it was the last great war fought over the empousa that I witnessed,’ Medea said.
El was still gawping and wanted to ask more, but Medea’s staid expression silenced her.
‘But now to the matter at hand,’ Medea declared. ‘You must understand: I was stronger then. Although the empousa blood has restored me, it is a temporary measure. I have spent much of the remainder of my energy in guiding events so far.
‘Your graeae ally, Janos, almost discovered me. He came to the Waseem Villa and could sense my manipulation of the timeline.’
Yia Yia interrupted, ‘Janos was at the Waseem—’
‘Now is not the time to discuss this,’ Medea said. ‘Many things have depleted my power, and it wanes. I cannot be what I was in my youth … for now. What I need to make me strong again can only be brought about with your help, El.’
‘Me?’ El said.
‘I would have you take up your birthright – the power that came to me, that forced me to awaken once more. It longs to go to its rightful place: to you.’
El paled. She had been wrong to celebrate her lucky escape from the full power. ‘So, I don't have a choice…?’
Yia Yia opened her mouth to speak but Medea continued.
‘You have more of a choice than any of your ancestors had before you. They inherited the full power automatically … you have not.’
El kept her eyes on Medea. Was this powerful witch really giving her a choice? ‘And what happens if I refuse?’
Once more Yia Yia attempted to speak but Medea cut her off.
‘As I said, my power wanes. My ability to divine the future diminishes. The future is an ever-changing beast so I cannot say for sure what will be. But I can tell you this: without possessing the full power, I fear neither you nor the wider world will fair well.’
El baulked. Her. The wider world. Great.
Yia Yia spoke up. ‘It is your duty El, to your family, to ensure that justice—’
Medea held up her hand, her eyes hard, silencing Yia Yia. ‘I have seen enough of the future to know which words are of import. Some things are best left unsaid.’
Yia Yia looked vexed at Medea’s dismissal.
Medea continued, ‘Although my power is depleted, I have enough to show you something of value. Something that may help you make up your mind. Take my hand.’
El’s lungs contracted but she stepped closer to Medea, apprehension prickling over her as she looked at her hand, anticipating the burn.
Medea seemed to interpret the fear accurately in her expression. ‘Forgive me for the last time. I was not wholly myself and the full power alone drove me to seek contact with you. The burn you experienced was the power trying to make its way into you. It will not happen again … not until you’ve seen what I would show you and made your decision.’
Was this a trick, El wondered? Should she take her hand? She stared at the witch, whose caramel eyes scrutinised her.
She thought of what Medea had said: that her decision to take up the full power would affect the wider world. If there was some way in which El might be able to make things better, she had to try. This time when her hand clasped Medea’s, only a white light manifested from their touch. The last thing she saw before she had to shield her eyes was Yia Yia cowering away from the glare.
- Chapter Twenty-Five -
Fissure
El lost all sense of herself in the bright light. Even with her eyes closed the dazzling illumination was too much. She wondered if she’d gone blind. It was as though she’d become part of the radiance itself: she was an orb of light.
Finally, the brightness dimmed and she became aware of her body again, her heart thundering in her ears. She blinked her eyes open. When her vision cleared, sheer, white cliffs towered above her. The sand shifted beneath her feet as she turned around and she threw her arms out afraid that the ground would give way. How had she got here? The shore was ordinary enough. In fact she recognised this beach: it was where she’d let her anger loose and where the cavern was in which she and Luke had made love.
But this was impossible. She’d been on Helen Island a minute ago and … it had been dawn. She stared up in confusion at the sun, high in the sky and then out at the rolling waves. It looked as though it was midday. They couldn’t have been on Helen Island that long. She gawped at the lack of burn marks on the cliff. She knew she’d left plenty upon its surface only two days ago. They couldn’t have been erased so soon. This didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
El scanned the beach for Medea, then searched the rocks as if the witch might be perched upon them. There was nothing. Nobody.
‘Medea!’ El yelled. ‘Medea!’ She cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Medea!’
Where had she gone? She couldn’t just vanish. Well, she was a witch: given that she’d transported her to Carras Island in an instant, vanishing was probably fairly simple. Perhaps she’d cast a veiling somewhere along the shore and was nearby, watching. El drew closer to the opening in the cliff. Was she perhaps inside … inside the cave?
El heard a murmur from the southern shore. A voice. She frowned as she caught sight of two figures in white dresses. Their height and the pitch of their voices told her that they were girls. She blinked. How had two girls wandered onto the island? There were no children on Carras Island. Both girls giggled as the wind lifted their white dresses upwards, exposing their knickers. They were coming towards El but they didn’t look at her. They proceeded to the mouth of the fissure by which she stood.
‘Excuse me?’ El said.
The girls ignored her and darted into the opening. ‘Got you!’ they cried.
They came back out, frowning.
‘That’s the last place,’ the older girl said.
The smaller one looked around her. ‘Maybe she’s gone to Nomia.’
The older girl made a face. ‘It’s off limits, you know that.’
El blinked again, feeling strange that they were acting as if she wasn’t there. She reached out towards the taller girl to touch her shoulder. As her hand inched towards the girl, her skin began to glow. When she made contact, El’s skin was so bright that she had to shield her eyes. She couldn’t feel anything as if her hand had gone straight through the child. She wrenched her hand back. What was happening? She edged away from the girls. They clearly didn’t see her or the weird light when El got close.
Who were they? Who were they looking for? She wondered if they were looking for Medea too.
‘Lou,’ said the elder girl, ‘go and check the grove.’
‘There’s nowhere to hide up there.’
‘Now, Louisa!’
El’s gaze swung to the small girl, who couldn’t be any more than seven or eight. Louisa stood her ground, glaring at the other girl. A smirk marred the tall girl’s features and she flicked her gaze to the ocean, where slivers of water started to run up the beach.
Louisa trembled. ‘Stop it.’
The water twisted, lashing like a whip at the younger girl’s legs.
Louisa whimpered. ‘Okay.’ The liquid hit her leg again and she hollered. ‘Helena!’
El gawped at the girls, scanning the taller one. Helena was a common name here, she reminded herself. There was a rational explanation. Perhaps some of her relations’ children had arrived on the island. The world seemed to tilt and El felt as if it was going to fall out from underneath her. The girls were so similar in looks that they could be sisters. Sisters called Louisa and Helena. Her heart hammered. She stood, transfixed.
Helena was laughing.
‘W
hen I get my powers, you’ll be sorry,’ Louisa called back but hurried away.
As her figure receded, El watched Helena. It couldn’t be, could it? She studied the girl’s face. It didn’t have the width it would attain in adulthood, but when she caught the hazel hue of the eyes, with the circle of green that she’d only seen once, she recognised her. Somehow, Medea had brought El to the past. Stunned, she watched on.
Helena was oblivious to her audience and meandered down to the shore. She played with the water: crafting it with her gaze into the shape of fish, which jumped through the shallow surf. El was reminded of Luke crafting shapes in the pool. Next, Helena’s creations became sea snakes that thrashed as if fighting one another. When watery starfish rose, riding the surface of each wave that came into shore, El found herself smiling. She was spellbound. How could this be her grandma, using her power so complacently?
Louisa pelted back. She stopped and shook her head, gulping in breath. ‘She’s … not … there.’
Helena surveyed the sea surrounding them, its calm water unchanging, and exhaled. El noticed that the tide was pushing into shore. They had gradually been edging up to the fissure in the cliff, which was directly behind them now. Soon the waves would cut off this part of the beach.
Helena seemed to be listening to the surf as it frothed and foamed. She stared at the water, which began to wind into the opening of the cliff. The water slapped against her calves. She looked down at the rollers fondly.
Helena concentrated, closing her eyes as if meditating. She was magnifying the minute sounds around her, searching for something. El did the same, perceiving the tiny swish of fish fins in the water and the scurry of minuscule shrimp in the sand, the sound of life happening at the smallest of levels.
El searched alongside Helena, taking in everything. She detected someone else’s breath. Not Helena’s, not Louisa’s, not her own, but another’s. Helena must have heard it too: she followed it, going further into the opening in the cliff.
Glaring at the chalky rock, Helena looked as if she wanted to do what the water had done for thousands of years: pummel it, eat at it, break it. El’s tension heightened. Someone was in there: they had enfolded themselves into the rock.
Helena marched away, her arms swinging and her fists clenched. She shot Louisa a warning look.
Louisa watched her older sister summon her power. Helena focused on the bubbling surf. The water rose in forceful breakers, lashing against the bottom of the cliff as if suffused with Helena’s anger. She called the power up again and again so that the swell rose rhythmically, beating against the wall as if the tide was fully in.
Soon, tiny vibrations in the ground beneath them pulsed, then grew. Little by little, the rock in the passageway began to move. A small section of the cliff parted in a smooth movement like a curtain, and a girl snuck out from behind it.
The cliff fell back into place and knit itself together. El’s stomach lurched, just as the pretend tide did against the rocks. The emerging girl looked very like the other two, her hair slightly darker. El was sure that this was the third sister, Maria.
The question beat through El, why was she here? She didn’t want to be here. Again, she cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Medea!’
Helena and Louisa crouched nearby, lying in wait for the other girl jumping through the surf. She was getting closer to them.
El shouted. ‘That’s enough. I want to go!’ But she kept looking at the girls.
Suddenly, Helena pulled the surf away from Maria. Maria’s lips turned down in confusion, her gaze trailed up the beach and her mouth fell open.
Helena charged. ‘You cheat! You didn’t tell us you got your power!’
Maria grinned, her two front baby teeth missing. ‘You use your power all the time when we play.’
Helena flooded the beach, knocking Maria over. The wave washed back, revealing Maria spluttering.
‘You didn’t tell us,’ Helena said. ‘That makes you a cheat!’
Maria sprang up and cast her gaze back. A crack sounded and pebbles leapt out of the cliff, flying at Helena.
Helena screamed as one struck her arm. She threw herself onto the sand to avoid another, glowering at her sister, tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not fair,’ Louisa shouted, ‘everyone has their power but me!’
The older girls had eyes only for each other and started to circle.
El wanted to shout at them, wanted Medea to come back, but still watched as they tracked one another in a predatory fashion.
Helena was the first to strike again, throwing a wave over her sister.
Maria, still on her feet, let out a thin laugh. ‘Water’s rubbish. I’m a ladon – I’ll bury you alive!’
Helena leapt forward, grabbing the white collar of her sister's dress and brought a torrent of water up, forcing Maria’s head into it. Maria coughed, groping at Helena’s dress, trying to get away from the gush of sea water that belched out as if rupturing from the earth.
There was nothing El could do. Nothing. There was no changing what was happening because it had already happened. El could only watch the grotesque sight of Helena holding her sister beneath the water.
‘Stop it!’ Louisa shouted, pushing Helena.
Distracted, she let the water recede.
Maria freed herself. El felt a rush of relief despite what she knew would happen. Maria’s eyes were bloodshot and she was wheezing as she staggered backwards.
Helena still stared at Maria, the water in her line of sight rose, ready to do her bidding. El couldn’t believe that this was the woman who had raised her, who had spoken about the value of gentleness and kindness.
Louisa clutched at Helena’s skirt. ‘Leave her. You win, Helena, you win.’
Helena smirked at the girl still spluttering and threw Louisa off, before stalking away.
Nothing prepared El for the huge boulder that was hewn from the cliff and careened towards Helena. Maria screamed as she gouged and thrust the rock through the air. If it hadn’t been for the vibration of the moving rock and Maria’s scream, Helena wouldn’t have seen it coming. But … she did. She rolled to the ground and into the arms of the sea, which pulled her to safety.
Helena emerged bedraggled. She marched up the beach, her sights set on Maria. She looked livid as if she meant to bring the whole power of the ocean down on her. But there was no spectacular elemental display. In fact, it was anticlimactic. Helena merely strode towards Maria, her body clenched with anger and then … Maria toppled backwards.
Helena halted. Louisa ran to Maria. El followed. She gazed back at Helena, who was still staring straight ahead: she’d gone into some sort of trance. Then Louisa’s scream pierced the air. Helena snapped out of it and ran towards them.
Louisa was kneeling in the surf beside Maria. The water caught at Maria’s dark curls and they drifted in the eddy like seaweed. Helena drew near and looked down into her sister’s eyes. They were opaque like ice over a pond, leached of colour. Neither power nor life swam within them anymore. Helena was still staring down at Maria, watching the water tug at her dress and hair as if starting to play with a new toy. El felt disgusted by her grandma. Her heart went out to Louisa instead, who sobbed beside the dead girl.
An exultant smile came over Helena’s face. ‘It’s mine.’
The look Louisa and El both threw Helena were startlingly similar: shock and abhorrence. What was it that Helena was seeing as the triumphant smile played on her face: her future with the full power? Glory? Fame? She didn’t pause for a moment to contemplate her sister’s death.
Instead she skipped away through the surf. ‘I’m going to tell Yia Yia.’
Louisa clutched her dead sister while Helena ran off. El felt like a wisp of her former self. She collapsed in the water beside Louisa as if, by mirroring her movements, she could overcome the obstacle of time that separated them and offer some comfort to the grief-stricken girl. Louisa watched Helena’s departing figure, the first embers of hate kindling in h
er eyes.
El couldn’t bear the sound of Louisa’s sobbing. She closed her eyes and covered her ears, trying to shut it out. Then the ebb and flow of the surf was gone. No … not gone. She could still hear the waves but couldn’t feel them. El was afraid to open her eyes again. Afraid that the dead girl would still be there.
She eventually opened her eyes. The shore was empty. The tide was out. Night was falling. The darkening sky was such a contrast to the brightness that had, a moment ago, lit the place. As her eyes adjusted, El noticed a figure wandering towards her. Medea.
El didn’t have the energy to get up, but as the witch drew near she said, ‘You had no right to make me watch that.’
Medea paused, then sat down next to her. ‘I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to watch.’
El opened her mouth to argue but realised she hadn’t tried to walk away, to remove herself from what she knew was going to happen. No. Instead she’d been mesmerised by Helena and Maria’s fight. For a moment, she felt sickened by herself as if she’d been in an Olympia, a willing spectator.
‘It’s been thousands of years since I’ve been able to intercede like this,’ Medea said. ‘It’s been even longer than that since I’ve had a good feeling about someone … as I do about you.’
El frowned. ‘What do you mean? What do you want?’
‘I’ve already told you – for you to take up your birthright – the full power.’
‘You thought showing me that would convince me?’ El asked, incredulous.
‘Your fear of possessing the full power stems from the fear you have of becoming what your grandmother was – an assassin for the Order. You cannot become her because you did not have her beginning. You needed to see what she was like in her youth. It’s natural that you cannot fathom how the woman you knew could be a murderer. Yet, it’s important for you to know that she was merely the remnants and regrets left over from what she’d once been. I think you’d concede that the girl you observed was capable of committing atrocities. You needed to understand that monsters are made, not born.’
