Descendants

by Rae Else

  ‘I used to think that way about myself,’ she said.

  She felt Dan’s eyes running over her face, but she picked up the picture again, focussing on it instead. It was easier to open up when she imagined she was talking to the lost boy in the photo. Whereas the man opposite? His expression seemed too hard to welcome any openness.

  ‘My grandma told me when I was very young that our line was born from the blood of Medusa, but with no one else around who was like me, I went through a stage where I was obsessed with the Bible. She said our line was of Greek origins, and from way before Christianity, but there was something so terrible about my power that I couldn’t help connecting it with the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

  ‘I think it was the fact that it was from my grandma’s side, knowing our power had been passed onto my mum, and then me. I used to wonder if we were carrying Eve’s sin: to always bear the temptation of the serpent.’

  ‘Descendants of Eve and the Devil,’ Dan said. ‘That’s dark.’

  She shrugged. ‘Course – now I know that the earliest arete kerykeion can be traced back to the Sumerian deity Ningizzida as far back as the twentieth century BC.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Alex gave me some books,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not training you enough if you’ve got time to read.’

  ‘Who needs sleep, right?’ she said with a shrug.

  He leaned forwards. ‘You should try to get some.’ He looked thoughtful, as if he wanted to say something more, but his lips didn’t move.

  El’s heart raced. She couldn’t go back to sleep – she had awoken from a particularly vivid nightmare, and knew that as soon as she shut her eyes it would be back.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she said.

  Dan’s eyes locked onto hers. ‘You can. You will.’

  At the beginning of the week she’d have taken affront to the forcefulness in his eyes and tone. Now she felt reassured by his certainty, his sense of purpose. She wished that she could borrow some of it. She wished too that he was coming with her, but it was too dangerous for him to enter the Olympia earlier than the planned attack next week. He was well known to the Order and had been involved in some major attacks against it. There was too much risk that he’d be recognised by someone.

  ‘The nightmare,’ El said, ‘in it, I’m in the final arena. Mum’s there too, but when I look at her she turns to stone, and crumbles.’

  A hush fell over them. The Triad had foreseen El attaining the full power, but she hadn’t yet allowed herself to voice what that meant. Neither Dan nor Alex had broached it either. She was afraid of her future, her destiny – afraid of becoming a murderer.

  ‘The Triad may have foreseen you using your power in the final arena,’ he said, ‘but that doesn’t mean that you will. Besides, you know that as soon as you qualify for the final arena – we’ll be there. You will never have to fight in it.’

  El frowned. How could that be true? That’s what the Triad’s power was, wasn’t it? To foresee the future. When the graeae had had their premonition, they’d taken away her future. She was fated to kill. Worse still, the sense that she’d always known it stole through her again.

  Dan shifted in his chair and sighed. ‘They don’t know everything. I mean, they didn’t foresee that Anna was a double agent. I don’t believe that everyone’s future is entirely foretold; the power they wield is to make people believe that it is – to make people believe they have no power over their own decisions and actions.’

  El nodded but still looked worried.

  A smile crept over his face. ‘Come on, they’re nothing but prophecy-wielding psychos. Since when are you afraid of crystal balls?’

  El met his eyes. Warmth fluttered across her face, but the gleam in them was hard as usual. She searched them for traces of the boy from the photo. She couldn’t see him. That boy had been lost as though swept away by one of the rivers he’d been photographed beside. The determined glint in Dan’s eyes was brittle like Anna’s had been. He’d learnt to bury his feelings too. Like ice over water, El couldn’t see what was below the surface.

  Dan rose and went down the corridor. El thought he was going to his room, but instead he went to the cupboard and slid a covered board over to the desk; much wider than him and almost as tall.

  ‘Your mum was saving this for your birthday,’ he said. ‘But I think you should open it.’ He left it propped up against the wall and went quietly to his room at the end of the corridor.

  El sat for some time, her eyes boring into the brown paper. Her mum had got her an eighteenth birthday present. But Anna had never got her anything before. El didn’t know if she wanted to open it. Her first, last, and only present from her mum.

  She peeled the paper off slowly, as though afraid of what was behind. Her heart raced as she caught sight of the mix of stormy and muted blues. Her eyes widened. It was a Burne-Jones painting. El had received one each birthday from the Perseus Cycle, since she’d turned eleven. All those years her granddad had taken credit for getting them. When he’d passed away, Helena said that she’d hunted them down online with help from the estate manager. El’s birthday wasn’t for another month but she smiled, pleased to have it early.

  This one depicted Perseus with the gorgon’s head as he flew past the giant Atlas. The Titan held up the heavens on his shoulders, the beautiful, glowing cosmos represented by images of the named constellations. Her eyes ran over the glittering centaur, Chiron, and the Nemean Lion.

  The giant was already half turned to stone in the depiction and El remembered the way her grandma told this part of the story. Perseus took pity on the giant and, showing him the baleful head, turned him to stone. Back then she’d never realised how much death Helena had seen; how much death her own eyes had brought. She thought of her grandma’s grave face and knew it was remorse that affected how she’d told the story. A power was neither good nor evil; it was how it was used that mattered. El felt her resolve steady. If she did have this power, it was hers. Only she could decide how or when to use it.

  Tears moistened her eyes as she read the postcard, tucked into the bottom right-hand corner of the frame:

  For she who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, may she know both her strength and the joys she holds.

  El snuck out onto the terrace with new purpose. It was her power to do with as she saw fit. The shining glass of the skyscrapers reflected thousands of lights that streamed from the windows of flats and offices. She could feel the heat and power emanating from their surfaces. She allowed herself to feel the energy around her. She smiled to herself at the thought of Dan giving her the present. He was so cloaked in his own armour that he struggled to show that he cared in words but giving her the painting tonight showed that he did. Just like each of the gifts he’d chosen with care and sent back to Anna. She stared out with a new determination and took in the city and its power.

  - Chapter Nineteen -

  Kindled

  El stole a few hours’ sleep before morning, then was back to training for the last few hours available to her. At noon, she stretched the fire across the room like it was a banner unfurling in the breeze. She felt quick and lithe as she evaded Dan’s attacks and returned her own. When evening drew in however, her confidence and energy diminished with the setting sun.

  She was dressed and ready to leave at seven but loitered on the terrace.

  ‘El?’ Alex called. ‘You need a jacket.’

  It was summer. Even for a doctor he was being OTT. She didn’t want to borrow any more of her mum’s things. Earlier in the week she’d worn Anna’s stuff but her mum’s trousers were a little too long in the leg and her tops on the snug side. Tia had picked up a few things for her yesterday and it was a relief to have comfortable fitting clothes again.

  El frowned, ready to make her case as she came into the living room/arena. Alex wasn’t just holding a coat, he was holding a fur coat. She eyed it with mistrust. Her
mum might have been able to pull off wearing fur, but she was more of a tomboy and was surprised he hadn’t realised. Not to mention that it looked like real fur. She wasn't keen on draping herself in an animal carcass; it made her think of all the taxidermy at home. It was one thing on the walls, as part of the history of the place, but wearing the stuff was totally different.

  ‘You’ll be pleased of it in the cold,’ Alex said.

  She picked up the coat and shrugged it on, catching sight of her reflection in the window’s glass.

  ‘It's not like we're going to the Arctic is it?’ she asked. Despite her reservations, she couldn't help examining the woman in the glass with satisfaction, her pale skin and blue eyes were complimented by the soft silver. El had spent a little extra time getting ready this evening, taking care to choose a pair of jeans that she could move in easily, pairing them with a lace top. Of course, she still wore her usual military boots, but the fur lifted the casual outfit and she looked more stylish than she ever had.

  ‘It depends,’ said Dan, appearing from down the hall. For a moment El thought he was going to make fun of the coat, but he fell silent. His gaze lingered instead on her made-up face and skimmed the neckline of her top.

  ‘On what?’ she asked.

  ‘On which type of arete is predominant.’

  When they left, Alex did his best to look unconcerned and gave her a hug, telling her she’d do great. Yet she could tell by the way he ran his hands absent-mindedly through his hair that he was worried. She tried not to think about all the eventualities that might occur and to communicate through her hug how much it meant that he was here for her.

  They took another car from the basement: a Z4 Roadster. She recognised it from one of the glossy magazines that had been upstairs. When she’d realised that they’d belonged to her mum, she’d read them all. Apparently she was into cars now.

  As Dan climbed into the driver’s seat, she wondered whether there was such a thing as a poor serpent.

  She jumped into the passenger side and closed the door. ‘I haven't asked what you do work-wise or if you’re full time rebel?’

  Again, she was keen to turn the conversation to Dan, feeling the need for a distraction. She wondered for a second if she’d put her foot in it. Perhaps he was being supported by Alex and her mum – surrogate son and all.

  El was relieved when he gave her a rare smile. ‘Been working since I was nine. Cam – who’s taking you to the Olympia tonight – works with me. We had to find something we could do from city to city so we formed a fire troupe. I do shows with the group you’ll meet tonight – Summer, Christmas, Easter, big festivals over the year.’

  ‘That's cool,’ she said. She thought of all the photos of squares and street art; places he’d performed. He’d had an artist’s education.

  ‘It’s always good fun. We might catch the end of tonight’s show.’

  She gulped, thoughts of tonight creeping into her head. It seemed odd to be thinking about entertainment. The matches didn’t start until ten o’clock though so they had a few hours to kill. Cam was going to report back to the Opposition on El’s progress through the arenas. She was also going to be the one to draw the kerykeion inside the Olympia – one with Dan’s blood in it, allowing him and the rebels to infiltrate. It was too much of a risk for El to do so, not knowing whether she’d have any time alone when she entered or if she’d be immediately taken into the Order’s custody.

  El wondered if she’d fight well enough tonight to qualify for the second arena tomorrow. How long would she be at the Olympia thereafter she wondered. How long before she qualified for the final arena? Her heart began to thrum at the thought of competing. She tried to steady herself – she had to stay calm and level-headed.

  They soon turned away from the river and started to pass theatres. El looked out at the ads for shows. The static pictures distorted as her eyes ran over their surfaces and activated kerykeion. Arete cast members beamed out against a backdrop that declared their particular expertise: siren singers surrounded by moving waves or webs of arachnid actors. With the ever-changing images it was dazzling and as the number of people swelling the streets grew, so did El’s unease. The crowds rushed around, hurrying to pre-theatre dinners and early shows.

  They parked up on a street corner and Dan secured a piece of paper with a kerykeion under the windscreen wiper. As they entered Covent Garden, El admired the colonnaded entrance of the market, as well as the quaint, cobbled streets. There were tables and chairs set out before canopied restaurants and bars, the light from shop fronts and stalls mottled shoppers and diners.

  ‘Does it make you think of Europe?’ she asked.

  El moved around another group of people that were walking towards them. Her heart skipped as she veered away from them. She hadn’t been out since she’d arrived at the flat. Not for a week, since the catacombs. The bustling Friday night streets were making her nervous.

  ‘Not quite,’ Dan said. He steered them into the light of a shop front and reached into his leather jacket. He held two brooches in the palm of his hand. One was a simple silver kerykeion: the single snake curving up the vertical staff. The other had two snakes that knotted at the top, their fine-scaled skin blending with the feather work behind to form the wings of Hermes.

  ‘May I?’ he said.

  El beamed and he pinned the ornate one to her top. She thought of those old movies with couples at prom, where the guy gives the girl a corsage.

  When they went back out onto the streets, no one looked at them. Instead people gave them a wide berth. She grinned at Dan. There was a veiling of serpent blood worked into the silver brooches.

  ‘Now it’s like Europe,’ he said with a gleam in his eye. He looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. They moved like shadows about the square, stopping at stalls and lingering wherever they wanted. They were both more comfortable fading into the background.

  She’d been allowed a closer glimpse of his life. The vanishing boy. The one who’d no doubt worn a kerykeion most of the time due to his suspicion of humans. His hiding place had been a street full of people, not an empty manor house, but he’d spent most of his life in a kind of limbo, just like she had.

  They put away their kerykeion to get pizza from the market in the centre of the square. Food in hand, they watched the acts that gathered. They saw a siren still a fountain, step onto the pool of water and walk across. To top it off, he reversed the water, sending its spray heavenwards. The next act was underwhelming for an arete: it consisted of a disappearing act. The arete went into the box and when the container was opened, it appeared empty – to the human eye. El and Dan grinned at the arete in the box, who had put on a beanie hat that had a serpent veiling worked into it.

  When Dan caught sight of the fire lighting the dusky sky, they hurried towards the church. A large crowd had congregated around the fire performers. He grabbed El’s hand and jostled through to the front. Up ahead, the firelight danced through the crowd. El felt a thrill as they stopped at the front. For a moment, all worry fell away as the comforting warmth suffused her face. It felt as if the day was returning.

  Rounds of applause and cheering erupted through the audience and El's smile grew as she watched the performance. She could see that the faces of all the drakon in the act were upturned, all of them immersed in their art form. None of them were manipulating the spectators. El beamed, watching the central performer juggle balls of flame.

  She felt a twinge of pleasure that had nothing to do with the show – Dan was still holding her hand. She looked up at him, seeing that the light had banished the shadows from his face and eyes. His elegant cheekbones, hard jaw and long lashes were defined as the fire traced his profile. She had the urge to copy the light, to stroke the path across his cheek.

  The crowd gasped and El’s eyes wound back to the performance. The central drakon was broad and muscular, his bare chest bore a network of grey tattooed flames, which trailed down the backs o
f his arms into coloured ink, blending with the spheres he juggled. He’d just added a fourth ball of flame.

  Two women circled him. They wore full-skirted dresses and twirled as flames rose up and down their forms, in time with their movements. Both wore their hair in short jagged cuts and looked like pixies swaying in the torchlight. One had a nose piercing, the other a series of earrings along the top of her ear; their studs glimmered in the flickering light. The woman nearest to them whirled by. She had luscious, dark skin and winked at Dan as she passed. The other woman was ivory-skinned and luminescent in the light. They made a pretty, contrasting pair and their forms charmed the audience as much as their skill.

  The ivory-skinned woman on the other side of the circle diverted El. In the flames, her face was cast in their direction. Her gaze sparkled as she eyed Dan with recognition but sharpened as it fell on El. The next moment, it wasn’t just circles of flame dancing around this woman but a fiery ball in her palm. The crowd gasped at this unexpected event, so unlike the rest of the choreography. The woman threw the ball of fire which arced over the man in the centre and rushed towards El. Before El could decide whether to mime catching the fireball or to extinguish it, Dan moved in front of her. He caught the flames. Applause erupted.

  He joined the circle of performers, Dan’s conjuring mirrored the woman’s opposite. Their performance was seamless; the fiery patterns of one were answered by the other. Watching them, El was reminded of the peacocks at home displaying their tail feathers in displays of courtship. Fiery swirls, spirals, figures of eight, and snake-like curves bathed the air. Even as the man in the middle quickened his movements, Dan and the woman stole the show, their flourishes of fire becoming ever more elaborate.

  The performers were gradually closing the distance between one another. Dan and the woman were close. Their palms almost touched and a thin membrane of fire sprang up between them. It was as though the contact between their fingertips was the cause. The dark-skinned woman on the outskirts took this as cue and twirled in, landing in the arms of the man in the centre. All the flames flickered out.