by AP West
Ascension
The Rising Son
by A.P. West
Copyright © 2014 A.P. West
This book is a work of fiction.
It comes entirely from the imagination of the author.
Any resemblance to any events or real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Apollo
I hate myself. The thought creeps in my mind again as I stare at the pale-white square tiles that make up the floor of our empty classroom. I'm the first one to arrive because the bus from the Orphanage leaves everyday at 6:30 sharp. I'm always alone. Yesterday was the sixteenth anniversary of my birth and I still don't know who my parents are. I hate myself.
The other kids start to slowly trickle in, one and two at a time. Everyone is excited. One more week of school, and then it's off to start a two-year apprenticeship at the Acropolis. I've never been to it, but I see it every day; you can't help but see it. It's by far the biggest building in our City. Its elegant white marble walls tower at least five stories into the sky. A dozen or so gleaming golden windows adorn each of its four walls. It's not only our academy; it's the home to our leader, the Doyen, Oriah Lex. He has protected and governed our City ever since the peace that followed the Last War.
But before our apprenticeship begins, we're given genetic tests consisting of simple DNA scans and aptitude exams. Then our occupational assignments are chosen based on those results. We were taught in class that before the War, people where not just born, they were bred. The initial embryos were developed with certain traits so they would produce children more genetically enhanced until the eventual descendants would come together and form a complete harmonious society. But the Last War changed all that.
I'm not looking forward to my results though. I've tried to track down my heritage, but found nothing. And I don't mean a few clues or some information that eventually lead to nowhere. I mean nothing; not a birth certificate, a renouncement of parental rights, a family tree, nothing. So I can just imagine what those results are going to be. I'll probably be branded some kind of reject, freak, or failure. I'll have to live my life as one of the Waif, no ceremony for them, just training; then a life of being moved from one custodial job to another. I hate myself.
“Cheer up Apollo.” I hear the familiar voice as my best friend Solomon, walks around behind me and gives a hearty slap to my shoulder. I grimace at his cheerfulness, “What are you so happy about?” He just shrugs and sits at his usual desk in the back. I already know why he's happy, he loves being here. His mother is our teacher, Miss Jon, and his life has always been centered on this school. He loves learning and helping others, just like his mother. Miss Jon always encourages us to learn everything we can, despite what our futures might be. She tells us, “Knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to Heaven." I never really related to or cared for what that means. The only place I'm probably flying is to the life of a servant, trash collector, or something else demeaning.
Then my spirits lift when I see her walk into the room. Her long graceful strides, she is dainty and beautiful. Her dark wavy brown hair, streaked with the slightest hints of red, frames her creamy complexion and deep brown eyes perfectly. Grace. Her parents named her well.
The way our desks are assigned, Grace has always sat directly behind me. I always look forward to seeing her. I guess you could say we're friends, but she's friendly to everyone. It's probably more like she's been stuck staring at the back of my head for ten years, so she makes the best of it. And I can't help but keep my distance ever since it came out that I was an orphan. It wouldn't exactly be fitting if I hung around with the prettiest girl in school.
She catches me watching her and gives me her usual smile. I quickly look away toward the blank screen of the monitor mounted on the wall, feeling the warmth in my cheeks from my embarrassment. "Good morning Apollo," she says as she walks behind me. I can only mutter back as I catch the sweet scent of the perfume that always follows her. I remember the first time I saw Grace, we were six and it was the very first day of school. She wore this white lacey dress and my first thought was she was an angel. In my eyes she still is.
Everyone has now arrived and is sitting quietly at their designated places. At precisely eight, Miss Jon walks in and stands before the class, “Students, please give your attention to the monitor, the Doyen, Oriah Lex, has an important announcement.” Then she quietly takes a seat at her desk and turns sideways, looking up toward the screen as the lights dim slightly and an image of a man's face appears.
“Good Morning Students, as we all know, this week marks the end of the final year in the first stage of your education. And soon, you will be taking the next steps toward Ascension. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your accomplishment, and wish you much success in this next important endeavor. I also look forward to welcoming you to the Acropolis on Monday. So with those sentiments, I would like to announce that your last week of school has been canceled, effective immediately. You are to report to your parents at once, as they have already been informed and will be waiting for your arrival. Thank you and have a great day."
I look around the room and all of the kids are smiling, knowing their school life is now over. I feel enraged; my usual morning mood of disdain toward life in general has twisted into frustration and anger. How dare he take the last thing I had left; my last week of freedom. I take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. I'll have to walk back, alone, to my lonely prison at the Orphanage. I really hate myself.
While the other students are cheerfully gathering their things, eager to make the trek back to their happy homes, I throw the few things I have, a couple of styli, my Notebook, and a keyboard emitter into my satchel. Miss Jon approaches me with her usual smile, leans down and speaks in a low whisper, “Come with me Apollo, Principal Deacon needs to have a word with you.” I think, Oh great, what did I do now? I rise from my chair, stuff my jacket in my satchel, and sling it over my shoulder following Miss Jon out into the hallway.
As we walk down the corridor, she slows her pace allowing me to walk beside her. She places her hand on my shoulder, “Everything's going to be fine Apollo, you have nothing to fear.” I know she is just trying to reassure me, but her effort makes me feel worse. What do they possibly need to talk to me about? I am nothing, only one of three orphans in the whole school, no surname, no family, no real future, only destined to be a submissive, a nobody. Miss Jon begins to speak, “You've done nothing wrong, Apollo..I..” She holds her head down as we walked down the hall. I don't think I've ever seen sadness on her face like that. She says, “I'm really proud of you.”
Her last words hit me like the dead of winter, proud of me? Although I've never been in any trouble, I'm sure I've never done anything to make anyone proud of me, so I say nothing and just nod.
When we arrive at the door to Principal Deacon's office, Miss Jon puts her other hand on my opposite shoulder and gives me her customary smile, “Be well Apollo, you're going to do fine.” She pulls me to her and gives me a tight hug, but it's not all that surprising. I've spent a lot of time with her and her son over the years. They always seemed to try and include me in their little family. I always wrote it off because it was all I ever really knew, but now that I approach this uncertain moment, I get the feeling maybe she really did care. I feel this weight in my chest as I watch her walk back toward the direction from which we just came, leaving me alone, perhaps forever, to face whatever there is behind the black metallic door.
Opening the door, I anticipated a crowded room of people, but for some reason only one man stands in front of Principal Deacon's desk. He wears a long, bright red robe with golden trim. The colors so deep and vibran
t the whole thing seems to glow, it just screams royalty. He turns toward me with a pleasant look on his face, his arms folded in front, “Hello Apollo, I'm Viceroy, special assistant to our Doyen, it would be my honor for you to accompany me to the Acropolis.” He seems to be in an awfully good mood for someone leading a talentless nobody for no apparent reason. I snap at him, “I still haven't been told why I'm even here; I need to get back to the Orphanage, Doyen's orders.” My sarcasm escapes my new companion as he just brightly replies, “In due time, haste my dear boy!” He pushes at me and ushers me out the door, and down the hallway until we're outside.
Sitting out in front, I'm mesmerized by the most awesome automobile I've ever seen. Its body is long, lustrous, and gleams a brightly polished white, almost to the point to where you have to squint to look at it. The intense color is in stark contrast to its blackened mirror-like windows. It all looks futuristic to me and so out of place for the ordinary surroundings.
As we approach the vehicle, I hear a deep, strange, but familiar rumble. At least twice a week it happens. Growing from the distance, it sounds like a hundred roaring engines. I look around at the great wall that surrounds our home. At at least ten meters tall, it always obscures everything beyond our boundaries, including whatever is making all the noise.
The thundering disturbance vibrates throughout everything, in a ripping crescendo, only to fade away as quickly into the wind. The dust rising up from beyond the wall is the only real sign, well besides the blaring roar, that anything ever took place. Viceroy seems strangely oblivious to the event, only extending his hand toward the sleek-looking car, beckoning me to enter its luxurious space.
I open the door and sit down. The plush interior is even more extravagant than I expected. Soft, thick red fabric covers both seats and cradles my underside comfortably. I reach out to get a feel of the fine wood paneling that endows the dashboard. The sweet scent from inside smells like entitlement and authority; fine leather wrapped in money. I don't know whether to be awestruck or envious, knowing that this is the first and last time I'll ever be this close to something as amazing as this.
Viceroy steps in from the other side and looks at me with a smile. “It is an honor to be the first to meet you.” An honor? This has officially become weird. Looking straight ahead to the road that is now speeding towards us, I try to downplay his sentiment. “I would feel better if I knew what was going on.” I think maybe my words will entice him to elaborate about all of this, especially since no one else has felt the need to let me in on the secret.
My new acquaintance tries to explain, “You're going to meet with Doyen, he has something very important to share with you, and I think you should be excited about that.” How can I feel anything but fear when I don't know what he is going to share? For all I know I'm going to be executed. I look over at Viceroy and notice something I didn't realize at first; his robe matches the upholstery of the entire car, exactly. It reminds me of those crazy people I see around the City, walking their dogs, both with matching outfits. Viceroy and his pet car. The image brings a smile out of me. I think this is the first time I've done that all day, but then I remind myself of my situation and remember I have nothing to smile about.
“We have arrived!” his voice is almost ecstatic as we pull around to the side of the Acropolis. I've seen it almost every day of my life, but not like this. It always looked impressive up on its hill, but at this close it's downright magnificent. The radiant white marble entirely covers the outside. Terraces, each equipped with a balcony, jut out from every side of its pale-green slate roof which looks like it has its center cut out. The whole structure resembles four thick ramparts surrounding an opened square. I think to myself, maybe there's a pool, as I count the stained glass windows that ornate each wall in rich hues of reds, oranges, and golds.
I remember occasionally admiring the Acropolis, back in those summer days playing chess outside with Solomon and his mom in their backyard. I always tried to stay with them as much as I could, because it was way better than the Orphanage. Every once in a while we would play late into the day, and she would call to tell them I was going to stay at her house. The Orphanage never objected, one less mouth to feed I guess. Come to think of it, those two are the only people in my life that ever made me feel good about anything, and now that I'm facing the unknown, I really miss them.
The car finally comes to a stop, and the scene isn’t what I imagined. I pictured rows of servants whisking me away to the royal chamber of our precious Doyen, blaring horns and ridiculous confetti showering everyone in his supposed “greatness”. Instead there was only one man, him. I'm taken back by the apprehensive look on his face, his lips are pressed tightly and his eyes are wide open. What on earth does he have to be nervous about? I should be the nervous one; I am the one being led in the dark. I open the car door and step out directly in front of him. His eyes squint and his gaze rises until we make eye contact, “Well the day has finally arrived. Welcome Apollo, we have much to discuss." I want to spit, you probably just want me to be your new servant boy, so let's just get this over with, but my nerves get the better of me.
Oriah continues, “There is so much to tell you, so much to explain, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I really hope you can give me the benefit of your doubt. I know people have purposely withheld the reason you are here, and I don't want to perpetuate that any further, so I'm just going to come out and say it.”
I notice as Oriah begins to move on to his next statement, the distressing expression strengthens on his demeanor as he speaks, "An important time in your life is now here. You deserve to know the truth about who you are and where you came from." Oriah then takes a brief pause, swallowing hard as though his words are trying to devour him from inside.
"Apollo, you are my successor, and my son.
Chapter Two
Oriah
I always kept track of his progress more closely than anyone else, but now that he stands before me, I'm clueless as to what to say to him. I know he hates me. Besides, it's poignantly projected on his face. He stares at me with eyes sharpened from his annoyance. I don't blame him, I'd hate me too. I notice he looks just like I did when I was young, same golden brown hair, same expressions, but with his mother's pale eyes. Deep down she hates me too, she left when I sent Apollo away. Even though she understood why I had to do it, her love for me could not bear the burden of the guilt for allowing it. She tried her best to make it up to him, so I decided to let her. I also decided to let Apollo take the lead in this conversation, “I know you have a lot of questions, so ask me anything and I will respond openly and honestly. There will be no more secrets.” I cringe inside with the acknowledgment of the lie I just told my only son, but I can also feel his resolve loosen a little. It's a start.
“Well if you are my father then why did I grow up in an Orphanage?” He laughs at the absurdity of his words as I answer them, “Because a person who is going to grow into a man in this position can't afford to have a childhood enveloped in privilege.” I don't know why my response was so cold, maybe to numb the feeling that I did wrong him, or maybe I know he deserves the bare truth, or both. “I wasn't aware that having parents was considered a privilege, did you not want me, or even love me a little?” That one hurt. “Yes I did ..I do love you, son” I can see that last word wounded his pride. “Yeah, whatever.”
Becoming proud of his defiance, he doesn't ask me anything else. I just get this insolent glare that shoots right through me. I don't want to provoke him anymore than I already have, at least not without a good reason, so I instruct Viceroy to show him to his room as well as give a basic tour. Before I leave, I turn back to Apollo and say, “The Acropolis is at your disposal, we will continue this later.” He still doesn't give me any concession other than the same look of contempt, but I can feel he is beginning to open himself up to what awaits him, and that's progress.
I notice Viceroy leads Apollo toward the cafeteria, I should have known he would be hungry. I
really need to get better at this whole parenthood thing. I cannot allow my failure as a father be the very thing that tears Alcazar apart. I walk up the steps, turn left down the veranda, through the side door and up the stairs to my study. I have recently gained a better understanding of what's going on with our neighbors, the Corsair. Their gangs have been traveling closer and closer to our borders with growing frequency. They are looking for a fight but they won't find one.
Their late dictator, Varius Kaine, was just recently and gruesomely dispatched by his maniacal son, Brutalius. It is the way in that heretic community; new overthrows the old. I've always found their empirical fascination morbidly disturbing, and more importantly, detrimental to the entire region's longevity. However, it does adequately clue one in to what they're all about. Subtlety was never their strong-suit, only greed and a lust for power. Varius and I had reached an understanding in that regard years ago, but I'm afraid his son will need a more persuasive incentive than his father. That is something I'm going to need Apollo's help with, and I've got a long way to go.
I walk over to the window that provides a view of the ceremonial square in the center of town. The last rays of the sun are feathering their way through the trees and onto the stone walkways. The focus of my attention is on what Brutalius is up to. He is in his father's old court with his counsel, Vitus. I've gained a respect for Vitus over the years for he's learned the valuable lesson of sacrifice and I’m hopeful he'll steer his nephew down a path that doesn't include our mutual destruction. The Corsair rely on their access to the ocean as a means of sustenance, fish, salt, oil. But they still need our grain, our milk. They also strive on technology, so over the years we have struck a beneficial balance, grain for whale oil, milk for salt, beef for computers. But now I fear Brutalius' youth is going to fail him into thinking he can just take what he wants. Alcazar is a peaceful community, and its people, my people, aren't made for a fight. Besides it's a fool's errand, something his uncle knows all too well. There is a tone to their mood that makes me uneasy. I try to get a feel for what they are discussing, when something breaks my concentration and I notice a small figure walking along the street to the right of the square.
