by E P Lenz
Uncle Gregory rushed out of the door, dark drops running down his armor. In the light of the torch that he carried, Chiara could see the prematurely graying hair, the wrinkles on his forehead. But it was his eyes that froze her to the ground. They were dark and angry. Uncle Gregory stopped short upon seeing her in the hallway, a fleeting expression of panic crossing his features before he schooled them into one of concern.
He strode up to her and roughly grabbed her by the shoulder, heedless of the tears on her cheeks or the blood dripping from her knee. “Go back to your room, little girl. It is not safe for you out here,” he said gruffly.
Chiara was surprised to see him in their villa so late at night, but surely he had been helping her mother and father in whatever fight that had taken place inside their chambers? With that comforting thought, she went back to her chambers to wait for her father or mother to come to her.
Chiara waited ... and waited ... but neither her mother nor her father came to her. She didn’t know when she fell asleep again, or if she even did.
She woke with a start on hearing the door to her chamber open, expecting to see her mother. Her face fell when she saw that it was not her mother, but Aelia. Next to her mother, Aelia was the most involved in Chiara’s daily life. It was not uncommon for Aelia to come to her in the morning instead of her mother.
One look at Aelia’s face and Chiara knew something was very wrong. Aelia sat next to Chiara on the bed and took her hands in her own. The familiar, calloused feel of her hands felt strangely soothing to little Chiara after the traumatic night she’d had.
“Lady Chiara,” Aelia began, “I have to tell you something very bad today.”
Chiara knew what the something very bad was. She had known it since the moment she had woken up last night with the owl’s whispers in her mind. Her eyes filled up and tears rolled down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. As if closing her eyes would make everything go away.
And then came Aelia’s gentle pronunciation, the hammer to a nail stuck in her heart.
“Your parents were killed last night, my lady.”
Brooch of Destiny
Chiara looked up from Aelia’s shoulder, where she’d buried her face to mute her cries, to see Marcellus enter her chambers. Aelia’s husband, Marcellus, was a large man with a bushy black beard. Most children of their villa were scared of him, but Chiara knew he was a gentle giant. He worked as a groom for Lord Dennison and Chiara knew that he loved his horses very much. For that one thing alone, she would have loved him. But he was also a very kind person.
Marcellus came in and handed Aelia something. She held it up and Chiara saw that it was the brooch her mother had always worn. Chiara was sure it was made of gold. The brooch depicted a wreath of entwined vines and a large moonstone hung from the top. It looked like the full moon with hunting bow studded with diamonds in the background. The brooch had been her mother’s favorite, most prized possession, and it physically hurt to see the brooch without her mother in tow.
Aelia put it on a gold chain and said, “Lady Chiara, Marcellus was able to retrieve these from your mother before they took her away. The brooch was dear to Lady Diana. She would have wanted you to have it.” Without further delay, she placed the gold chain around Chiara’s neck.
“You must hide this from everyone, my lady. Let no one see it. But always keep it with you,” Marcellus added. Chiara was not sure what was so important about keeping the brooch hidden, but she promised herself then and there that she would never part from it. It was the only thing she had left of her mother.
Aelia gently wiped the tears from Chiara’s face and said, “Hush, child. No more crying now. Marcellus and I are now going to tell you something very important. You must listen carefully, and never tell anyone else.” She waited for Chiara to nod her understanding.
Aelia let Marcellus take a seat next to the bed and began, “Lady Diana was the rare direct descendent of the House of Dianna, known by the Greeks as the Goddess Artemis. When the ancient gods of old began fading, they saved the smallest of their essence, of their powers, and placed it in the heart of the priests of their temples. Lady Diana was blessed with this power.
“Dianna, or Artemis is the goddess of the hunt as well as the goddess of wild animals, wilderness, childbirth, and virginity. Chiara, you are now the rightful heir of this legacy.”
Chiara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother was descended from the gods! And her too!
“The goddess of the hunt and wild animals,” she mused. Suddenly, she understood her own fascination with animals and how she had always thought that she could hear the speech of the animals. She now recognized this as her power, given to her by her mother. The daughter of Goddess Diana. She now understood why the owl had spoken to her. Why the owl had been worried for Lady Diana. So many of the things that had made her feel different, now made sense. She was no longer ashamed of her strange thoughts, for she knew they were the manifestation of great power. Great power that she held!
She was pulled from her thoughts by Marcellus’ voice. “My lady, Lady Diana was guided by members of The Order. Aelia and I are also part of The Order. We will guide you now and help you to understand, control, and wield your powers as you come of age.”
“What is The Order?” Chiara asked, confused. “Why do I need guidance?”
“It is a great power that your mother passed on to you, Chiara,” Aelia explained. “You will need to learn how to use it so that you don’t end up hurting yourself or others instead of helping. Because you are special, you will also need to learn a lot of other skills. Like different languages, court behavior, and number skills.”
A bright smile lit up Chiara’s face. Aelia hugged her, happy that the little girl had found something to smile about on such a dark day.
“I love languages and I love numbers. I want to learn so many things, Aelia. Will you help me with all this? Marcellus, you also?” Chiara beamed and Aelia nodded.
“There is something else you should know, my lady,” Marcellus said, bringing little Chiara back to reality with a jolt.
She looked up at him, the bright light in her eyes gone.
“I am sorry.” Marcellus looked truly contrite at having to snuff the bit of happiness that Chiara had managed to find.
“But you must know this. We suspect that it was Lord Gregory who was responsible for the murders of your parents. He is going to be your guardian now. You must be very careful around him. Never let him know that you possess the same powers as your mother. If he gains knowledge of your powers, your life may also be in danger.”
Chiara nodded solemnly, but impatiently asked, “Will you please tell me what The Order is now?”
Marcellus gave her a kind smile and started talking. He had a very rapt audience as he told the story and history of The Order.
Chosen
“The Order is a secret society named in ancient scrolls. No one knows how far back in time their history goes, though some say it’s a society with origins before the Great Flood. It would, at least, explain why there are so few written documents, with most references on sacred cuneiform carved pillars and monuments. The Order is interwoven in the stories of the people. They are said to have orchestrated great events, changing the very course of history. They also changed the lives of many. In some cases, they not only changed lives, but ensured people’s very survival.
“Away from its public persona, The Order has a highly guarded purpose, one that Chiara was grateful to be a part of. Its ancient, secret directive is to safeguard the ancient and royal bloodlines of the Chosen. To teach these few rare and powerful youths the hidden truths of their heritage and the power that comes with it. The Order teaches the Chosen how to control and wield their powers so that they do not destroy them, or the rest of mankind. The Order trains the Chosen so that they are ready to fulfill their destiny when called upon to do so.”
Marcellus stopped talking to take a sip water, and Chiara urged him on, “Tell me more
, Marcellus, please.”
He smiled and said gently, “I am, my lady. Let me just take a sip of water.” But then he continued with his story.
“The Order has worked with the Chosen throughout the centuries. They shape the Chosen for political advancement so that they are capable of attaining and maintaining high positions in the government and society. It is imperative that the Chosen remain in positions of power and influence, not for political and personal gain and wealth, but for a much deeper and nobler purpose. One that even they, themselves, can’t scratch the surface of.
Sometimes, when Chiara was feeling particularly uncharitable, she would think that The Order was not that different from Gregory. Afterall, even for them she was a pawn, just in a different game. All the Chosen were pawns, on the grand celestial chessboard. Called upon only in dire times, to fulfill their destiny, to perform the duty they were born to perform, not chose to perform!
“According to the ancient prophecy, the bloodline of the Chosen will, ‘Preserve mankind and creation to bring justice to the innocent and afflicted throughout time until the return of the true and eternal King.’ On the Day of the End, this sacred remnant of the once great lineage was commissioned to bring about the redemption of their fallen ancestry.
“The Chosen are said to be the offspring of the fallen angels, the sons of God. Many Angels saw the daughters of men, who radiated beauty and innocence, whom the angels could pick and choose from. Angels could marry whomever they liked, and they did, too. The children of these fallen, some even go as far as to say cursed, Angels that these women bore, are the Chosen.
“The heroes of old who were recorded in ancient Greek literature as men and women of renown, the demigods whose stories are told with gusto around the fireplace, the feats of whom were recorded on marble pillars. The Order’s mission is to guide the Chosen to fulfill their destiny by carrying out redemptive acts on behalf of mankind in accordance with the sins that were committed by these fallen angels, the tarnish growing on their radiant wings as they fell alongside humans.
“No one knows how many Chosen there are. They are said to have been scattered around the world along with the rest of the human population in the Great Diaspora, sometime after the Great Flood. Legends say that the Great Diaspora is the same event that occurred at the Tower of Babel, when God scattered the world’s peoples by confounding their languages so that they could not understand one another’s speech. The people eventually divided into language groups and dispersed around the world.
“Thanks to their divine bloodline, the Chosen are believed to have strong powers bestowed upon them by their celestial parent. Some can communicate with the animals, while some can control nature itself, being able to command natural forces to their will. However, the skill to control and use these supernatural powers is hard-earned.
“The Chosen need training and education to be able to responsibly use these powers. The Order helps them with learning to master their powers, to bend their powers to the will of the Chosen when the time arose. The Order makes sure that mankind will have a divine army who are masters in both the political and physical arts of war, if ever the need arises to use it.
“In today’s Rome, the picture the Order paints for the public is one of academia and philanthropy, with no ties to politics whatsoever. They finance libraries full of ancient writings supposed to preserve mankind’s intellectual and artistic development, while also employing historians to record history in the making. The Order is what makes sure civilizations don’t fall from the same mistakes that burned the empires of their ancestors; they are the people that keep humanity moving forward.”
Chiara listened to the entire tale with fascination. “Am I one of the Chosen?” she asked.
“Yes, my child. You are. Just as your mother was,” Aelia confirmed.
“Is that why The Order is going to teach me? But how can they? Uncle Gregory is a very angry man. He won’t allow them,” Chiara wailed. She was right. The little girl had understood well.
***
In the years that followed, members of The Order came in the guise of tradesmen to deliver supplies to the house as craftsmen or gardeners. They performed their tasks and then secretly met Chiara, either in her chambers or in the garden. They taught her all about animals. They also taught her how to care for wounded animals and birds. They helped her improve the way she communed with wild animals. Under their tutelage, she also learned how to command the wild animals, birds, and critters to do her bidding. It never ceased to amaze Chiara how she could simply ask wild animals to do things for her, and they would follow her command.
The one thing she never got to do was learn to read and write. The member of The Order who tried to teach her Latin was caught by Gregory and sent away. Chiara was devastated. But there was nothing she could about it. Gregory thought it unseemly for women to know how to read and write, and that was the end of the matter.
Yearning
At ten and seven, almost eight, years, Chiara loved horseback riding. Ever since she was a little girl, the times she was allowed to ride her horse were the highlight of her week. It still was the only place she truly felt free. When she was alone, she was no longer Lady Chiara of Titus; she was no longer the obedient ward of Lord Gregory, the henchman of the queen. She was just herself, Chiara. Here amongst the grass and the wildflowers, she was separate from the political jargon that seemed to encompass her entire life.
Chiara could not have cared less about the political influence that her uncle, Lord Gregory, commanded. She did, however, fear his endless appetite for advancement through the ranks of the Senate. Chiara had grown up in a hostile environment, choked with orders to kill, and politicians looking only for their own gain. Chiara had always been disgusted by the horrifying actions Lord Gregory and his second in command, captain of the Royal Guard Romanus Clavus, committed day after day. The missions Lord Gregory left on every other week seemed to always connect to the enslavement, or even murder of wealthy families she had known since childhood. Gregory and Clavus always said it was in the name of the queen. Terror campaigns. Public executions. Bloodbaths. All in the name of the queen.
Captain Clavus had been with Uncle Gregory for as long as Chiara could remember. He was a tall, muscular man honed by battles that had given him an ugly scar running down his face which twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer. His nose was flat from being broken more than once. Accentuated by a square jaw and short, graying hair, Clavus was the perfect image of violence and war. Still, more than anything else, Chiara was always unsettled by the captain’s eyes; a cool, piercing gray, they were like live things which made her tremble like a child caught with her hands in the cookie jar.
Chiara had been called beautiful by many, but the first time in what seemed to be forever, she felt that way. Standing taller than most young women her age, with thick, long auburn hair with golden highlights, piercing blue-green eyes that sparkled with intelligence, and a shapely figure, toned from daily horse riding, she was a gentle soul who wished for nothing more than to be able to study like other young women of her status did. Ever since the death of her parents, she had been denied that pleasure.
In fact, she had been denied most things considered normal for girls and young women of her station ever since she became Gregory’s ward. She hadn’t any formal education in languages or art, which left her woefully behind in any conversations with Gregory’s nieces or visiting royals’ daughters.
The members of The Order had secretly taught her a lot of skills, and she was grateful for that. But the person who had started to teach her to read and write had been caught by Gregory and sent away forever. So it was that Chiara had not been able to fulfil her desire to read and write.
The one thing she was still allowed to do was ride her horse, and only because Gregory thought she did that far less often than what was been truthful. Life was so much harder than what she remembered when her loving parents were alive.
She was ever so lonely within the
stone walls of Uncle Gregory’s villa, with no friends but Livy, her betrothed. It wasn’t that Uncle Gregory treated her badly, but she simply had no one to talk to!
She had always been betrothed, for as long as she could remember, to Titus Livyus Patavinus Savoy of the Royal House of Savoy. Her late parents had had very a good relationship with the House of Savoy and wished to strengthen their friendship by combining the two great houses through uniting their children in marriage. However, ever since her parents died and Gregory became her guardian, Chiara had always felt the lurking fear of waking up betrothed to someone else, someone who wasn’t Livy. Her uncle was nobody’s friend and cared for nothing but politics, power, and money.
Livy had always been her best friend, and Chiara had trouble thinking of him as anything but. It was what it was, and he would one day be her husband. Still, Chiara was happy with the match. She shuddered thinking about some of the other girls from noble families, forced to marry men twice their age. All for the sake of politics. With Livy, she could be sure that he would be a good husband, and that she would find an understanding and loving family within the House of Savoy.
The wind rustled, flowing through the trees and singing a song in a language of its own. The sun had started to dip lower into the horizon, and Chiara decided it was time for a break. She gingerly dismounted Cassius, her dear horse. Cassius was a two-year-old colt with a coat as black as night, with a shiny white ring around his eyes and the base of his tail. Chiara had taken care of Cassius ever since he was born and he was more human to her than horse. She stretched, trying to rid herself of those nasty kinks she always got in her back. It was the calmest she had felt in some time; surrounded by nature, her mind clear of doubts or worry.
