He pulls out an intricate chrome arrow. It has all sorts of etchings, patterns, and symbols across the body, the only anomaly being a single clump of grapes on the head. Ámpelos casts Demetri a sideways look, scandalized. Demetri is smirking, clearly trying to hold in the inevitable “I told you so.” The others laugh silently into their hands, enjoying the shattering, albeit a brief one, of Ámpelos’s cool demeanor.
Demetri then casts his gaze towards Callida. She crosses her arms, a stubborn frown on her face. Demetri leans forward, his lips pursed. Callida doesn't budge. Only her eyes dart from side to side. After a long silence, she uncrosses her arms in resignation. She pulls a ring off of her finger, a plain golden band with a single owl ornament in the center. The ring unfolds into an arrow. Silver and golden olive branches twined together. The owl is on the arrowhead, glowing a pale yellow. “Happy now?” Callida snarks.
“Very much so,” Demetri replies, not in the least dampened by her sour mood.
“I have one as well,” a weak voice calls from the doorway. The injured boy, now up and about, holds an arrow of his own. It’s a nice light glossy maple with winged fletching and two golden serpents intertwined around the body.
“Glad to see you're up and about, Nuntios.” Demetri says.
Luna makes a questioning face. ‘Nuntios?’ she mouths to her brother.
He raises his hands in a placating gesture, ‘Just go with it.’
Luna turns to look at the boy again. Bandages are wrapped around his shoulder, but his face looks fine, now. There is still a sallow look to his face. His skin has a yellowish tinge to it. His startlingly blue eyes stand out in contrast to the dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair looks as if he just took a shower. His eyes move in and out of focus, like flashing lights.
“So what burned off half your skin?” Callida asks, a perfectly innocent smile on her face.
“Callida here is known for her tact and sincere commentary,” Ámpelos says sarcastically. But as he says it, he laughs, and Nuntios laughs too.
Then a shadow of fear crosses over Nuntios’s face. “Armifer! Is Armifer okay?” No one sees him move, but he is now clutching at Demetri’s shirt in agitation. “I heard him screaming!” Nuntios is yelling now, tears welling up in his eyes, “I heard him screaming when I was down.” He steps back, twisting his hands. “But I couldn’t help him.”
“It’s okay,” Demetri says, pulling Nuntios into an embrace. “Armifer is fine. You’ll see him soon, don’t worry.” Nuntios nods, his shoulders still shaking with sobs. The group looks on with awkward pity. Demetri points for them to go out into the hall. “Sorem will show you to your rooms.”
Callida looks back briefly as the others file into the hall. Demetri is still holding Nuntios. He strokes his hair, murmuring comforting words to him. You would have thought that they were brothers the way Demetri talks to him, not strangers who met some hours ago. Her eyes swim as she thinks back to a certain riverside dinner not so long ago. At least they have each other. She trudges down the hall, following in silence.
19
teenaged rebellion, be careful of the broken glass
“Tell me again why these rooms are so special,” Luna says exasperatedly. Sorem gives her a harsh look but continues to lead Luna and Arden down a corridor. They'd just spent the past few minutes climbing a cramped, dusty staircase that wound all the way around the back of the building to reach the attic space of the mansion. It was nothing like a typical attic, however, with high ceilings and clean brick walls. There are no torches, but the corridor seems to emit its own light, despite the pointed scarcity of windows.
“These are the rooms designed to strengthen the powers of the Arte and the Apol,” Sorem says. Arden gives her a blank stare. Luna gives her an incredulous stare, her eyebrows arched. “Those gifted with the powers of the light of the moon,” she says, pointing to Luna, “and the powers of the sun,” pointing to Arden. “These rooms were made for you two. It's important that you use them to focus your powers.” Luna rolls her eyes but continues walking.
The trio reaches the end of the corridor and approaches two doors. Both are a plain ashen color. They are smooth and unmarked, save a black circle, about the height of a peephole. But neither door has a handle.
“How are we supposed to open doors without handles?” Luna asks sharply.
“Observant as always, Luna. Now what you have to do is—”
“What do you mean by always?”
“I mean just—never mind.”
“Have you been spying on me?” Sorem refuses to meet Luna’s gaze. “Well? Have you?”
Arden tries to catch Luna’s attention. ‘Don’t make a scene’ he mouths. Luna pointedly ignores his comment. “Tell me, or I’m leaving,” she says, putting a hand on her hip.
“Luna, you have to try and understand—”
“No, I do understand. All you've done is told us some crackpot story and expected us to buy into it. For all we know, you could be pedophiles or something!” Luna smirks triumphantly at Sorem’s stricken face.
“She’s got a point,” Arden quips.
“Not helping,” Sorem spits. “You can’t leave anyway,” she adds in a matter of fact voice. Had the setting not been so ridiculous, they could have been two sisters arguing over which movie to go to.
“Really?” Luna snarks. “I can’t leave?” she says with faux innocence. “I’ve been practicing.” She points to a nearby window, just large enough for some pale light to come through. “Leaving people on their own can be dangerous,” she says with a wicked grin. She raises her finger and fires a beam of light, shattering the window. “I’ll see you two in hell.” She takes a running start and leaps out the opening, disappearing from view.
“Of course Luna is the difficult one,” Sorem mutters. She brushes her hair out of her face angrily. “You stay here,” she orders Arden. Without further thought, she vaults over the glass fragments and out into the warm night.
Arden sits down with a sigh, resting his back against one of the doors. The problems really did start on my birthday didn’t they? As the muggy air blows in, Arden shakes his head yet again. What mess did I get myself into this time?
***
Luna loves her dramatic exit. She considers it fitting seeing all of the creepiness that was in that house. What she did not consider was the fall. A green-brown hillside rushes towards her at an alarming speed. She hits the ground with an unceremonious thud. Shit. A wave a pain shoots through her ankle.
She had never been the most athletic girl in school and probably got injured the most. Not the best quality when jumping out of a building you didn’t realize was three stories tall. She hears a swishing above her. It’s probably Sorem coming after me.
Ahead she sees a craggy stone pillar. She half crawls, half hops towards it, taking shelter behind it. Satisfied that she is sufficiently hidden, she rolls up her pant leg to examine her ankle. A purplish hue has begun to creep up her foot. Out of all the things that have happened recently, a sprained ankle is perhaps the most mundane, and, therefore, the most ridiculous. But the pain is the only thing to remind her that it’s all real.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Busted.
“Now are you gonna yell at me again, or will you at least let me fix your ankle?” Sorem admonishes.
“Yes, please, Mom,” Luna says savagely, still bitter at her failed defiance. Sorem crouches down, wrapping Luna’s ankle in silvery strands.
“Stop moving so much!” Sorem snaps.
“Well, I’m sorry, but it tickles in an annoying fashion,” Luna says, thoroughly ruffled.
“Well, you like to jump to conclusions in an annoying fashion but that hasn’t exactly stopped you has it?”
“Touché” dies, unspoken, on Luna’s lips.
Arden has never liked staying still. He switches to pacing not long after trying to sit down. Luna has always been the bold one. Sitting on the sidelines must be my job. He turns to re-examine the
doors (because the first hundred times weren’t enough).
Luna did ask a good question, though. How do you open doors with no locks, handles, or holes? There were no secret pressure spots. He’d tried tapping everywhere, everywhere except for the circles. Something had rubbed him the wrong way about the dark blotches on the doors. They seemed to change shape or color ever so slightly whenever he put his hand near.
Here goes nothing, I suppose. He splays his fingers and gently places his palm on the door to his right. A dim golden glow emanates from the entryway. The circle morphs into a golden eagle, sparking and moving about the wooden surface till it comes to rest in a picturesque in-flight pose. Arden traces the carving. Had this, only moments ago been a moving creature? Arden has no time to think, however before the door swings open. He enters the room cautiously.
The ceiling is a giant glass half-dome. Now the stars twinkle overhead, but Arden suspects the room will be flooded with sunlight come morning. Sunlight! He feels giddy at the thought. The rest of the room is a rather neutral beige, fairly bland considering the rest of the house. Then he notices the floor. It’s an ornate mosaic, set with hundreds of different kinds of stones and gems. He can make out a semi-circle of opal, but not the symbols scattered around the border.
“I see you’ve discovered the solar calendar,” says Sorem, who had entered only moments earlier with a rather sullen Luna. “You should both probably get some sleep. Tomorrow we begin training.”
Luna tries to speak to Arden. Something along the lines of “I wasn’t trying to abandon you” would probably be good. But the words refuse to come. Even as Luna tries to catch his gaze, Sorem is dragging her into the hall. He slams the door behind them with a resounding thump. Well, good night to you too, dear, sweet brother.
20
unexpectedly returning to gym class
“Good morning, good morning,” Callida says as she walks in, bouncing lightly on her heels. “I trust everyone slept well.” Arden glances up, then stares deeply into his mushy bowl of cereal.
“What’s it to you?” Luna snaps. Her foul mood, already darkened by Arden’s lack of response this morning, is only made worse Callida’s chipperness.
“I just care,” Callida replies, a wide grin on her face. She is, of course, perfectly aware of the events that transpired last night, having overheard the conversation Arden, Sorem, and Luna were having through an air vent. Still smirking, she helps herself to a piece of toast from the tray in the center of the table. Just as she is buttering the toast, a pair of voices comes streaming down the hall.
“Do I have to go? I feel so embarrassed about … you know … yesterday.”
“They don’t know what happened. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I can, and I will!”
I can almost hear his chest puffing up.
“At least have a muffin or something.” Nuntios and Demetri round the corner and appear in the doorway. Callida notices Demetri place his hand lightly on Nuntios’s back. Demetri’s right. Whatever happened, Nuntios doesn’t need to be ashamed. He looks like a china set that will shatter if you brush your finger over it.
Nuntios saunters over to the table, his arms crossed protectively. His hand quickly darts out to grab a blueberry scone, and he eats it with his head down and his arms kept close to his sides.
“Where are Terrance and Ámpelos?” Luna blurts, eager to break the silence.
“They got up early,” Demetri replies. “Sorem has already taken them down to the training room.”
“Training room?” Callida asks sharply. “Training for what?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Luna doesn’t trust Demetri’s smug attitude.
“Go back to the main hall. You’ll see a long flight of stairs going down on the left.” Callida bursts out of the room, eager for a change of scenery. Arden begins to run as well but trips over the edge of the carpet beneath the table. He falls with a resounding thump, the carpet fibers scratching his face as he goes.
“Are you alright?” Luna asks, rushing to help her brother to his feet.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles without looking at her. He brushes her hand away and runs to follow Callida.
Luna sighs. It’s hard to imagine that, only weeks ago, he was a timid boy standing in the rain. That boy would have stayed and hid. He would never have run. She looks up at Demetri, her eyes clouded in confusion. Demetri nods, gesturing towards the doorway. She shuffles awkwardly out of the room, hunched over like a wolf separated from its pack.
The most striking thing about the training room is the blue. The walls are covered in chips of cerulean gems that glimmer beneath the eerie torches. The torches themselves are lit with flickering blue flames, casting a turquoise hue over the room. The floor, in contrast, is more translucent, giving it the appearance of glass.
Upon closer inspection, water is flowing down the walls into small pools around the perimeter of the room. Luna marvels. They’re like waterspouts, waterspouts from the gargoyles on cathedral rooftops. Or tears. Yeah, let's go with that.
At the far end of the room, she hears the clack of wood on wood. Two figures holding wooden swords circle each other in mock combat. The swords have metal handles and leather grips, but mock blades made from hickory. One of the figures lashes out suddenly, resulting in a cry of pain from the other.
“Arden! That was my bad foot!” Nuntios yells, clutching at his wounded limb.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Callida says, smirking. Nuntios shoots her a look. Luna coughs sharply, trying to stop the squabbling before it starts.
“Ah, Luna,” Sorem remarks, “Nice of you to join us.” Those silver eyes could almost shatter her own.
She knows. She just has to know. My brother and I shouldn’t be her business. But, somehow, we are. And that gives her power. Power she doesn’t deserve. “I don't understand,” Luna says sharply. “We're supposed to be ‘magical,’ aren’t we? What are we learning ‘swordsmanship’ for?”
“What are we learning swordsmanship for?” Ámpelos repeats, mocking Luna’s air quotes. Luna pretends not to notice the stifled sniggers of the assembled crowd.
“Magic cannot be taught in the way books can be read,” Sorem replies calmly. “The magic is an extension of you. And to learn magic, you must first learn the limits of yourself.”
“And did you learn swordsmanship when you began?” Luna questions, the acid in her voice quite clear. Who does she think she is with this wisdom stuff, Luna wonders, the Buddha?
“I did, along with my darling brother here,” Sorem says, gesturing to Demetri. “But this is not about me, this about you.”
Cop out much, Luna muses.
“I’d like to have a go.” Callida steps forth, a determined look on her face.
“Uh, you?” Ámpelos says skeptically.
“Why not, Greco? Is it because I’m a girl?”
“Not just a girl, a little girl,” he says in mock sincerity. “You’ll be my first opponent then.” The gleam in his eyes signifies his eagerness.
“You’re on.”
Nuntios and Arden hand off their drill swords and step away from the sparring floor. Luna urgently tries to make eye contact with Arden, but he brushes her off and stands on the other side of the boundary.
Meanwhile, Ámpelos and Callida stand in ready position. Callida swings her sword experimentally. Ámpelos attempts to the same, but nearly drops his. Callida snorts, albeit very subtly, but Ámpelos still notices. Ámpelos breathes heavily through his nose like an angered bull. Little twerp. She’s in for it now.
Gripping the handle tightly, he rushes forth, his sword poised like a skewer. And then promptly falls on his face when Callida moves out of the way at the last second. There is no laughter, only silence. Sorem and Demetri are cradling their heads in their hands while the others look on with fear. They are all thinking something along the lines of that could have been me. We don’t know anything! This is impossible! But all lips remain s
ealed.
Ámpelos, further infuriated by the small smile creeping up Callida’s face, leaps up with a vicious backhand. Callida blocks it easily, almost too easily. Then the fight really begins. The hall rings with the crack of wood on wood. Callida floats gracefully over the tiled floor, parrying with finesse like a deadly ballerina. Ámpelos’s great strength does not break her poise and so the minotaur and the coryphée twirl across the floor.
But strength cannot hold forever. Before long, Ámpelos is panting and reeling from Callida’s wicked fast strikes. The others stand dumbstruck. How is she so good? Callida exudes confidence in her elegant blows, but the reality is quite different.
Aim for the joints.
Wait, how did I know that?
Uppercut, knock him down.
What is going on?
Keep a good stance.
I have no idea what I’m doing!
At last the dance comes to an end. Callida gives Ámpelos a good smack on the ankle and sends him sliding to meet the floor. His blade leaves his hand and flies across the room. Luna grabs it mere moments before it slaps Arden in the face.
“Good catch,” Arden murmurs, nodding appreciatively at Luna.
“I just didn’t want to see you hurt.” She pauses for a moment, then continues. “I don’t want to ever see you hurt.” Arden nods, an awkward haze of appreciation over his eyes.
“Thanks,” he whispers. Luna sighs exasperatedly and then hugs her idiot brother, happy to have made up with him.
“Will someone help me up?”
Demetri and Sorem look down at Ámpelos’s crumpled form with a mixture of distaste and amusement. “I could do with a bit of ice.” The laughter that ensues travels through the walls out into the open air, and fades into the lingering shadows.
21
sightseeing and psychosis
“The first age of Troy began in the third millennium BC. Since the Bronze Age, the cities built on this site have been flourishing mercantile establishments ….”
The Rise of the Fourteen Page 12
