Descendants

by Rae Else

  She noticed the giant screen that was positioned to the left of the elevator. It had the current combatants listed and the arena number they were in. From her bird’s eye vantage of the rings, El saw the numbers worked into the floor before the entrance of each one. Her stomach somersaulted as she noticed something else about their design. There was the faint line of a triangle carved into the marble around each arena. The circular shape of each arena, with the ring of water on the outside and rocks in the centre, made each one look like an eye. The burning flame in the middle was its pupil. Each one formed the symbol of the All-Seeing Eye.

  El felt a flurry of surprise as she recognised a familiar figure in arena four. The Asian girl – who had painted the room in the catacombs with fiery blossom – was competing. She wasn’t doing very well and seemed to have taken up permanent residency in one of the trenches as a hydra kept sending streams of water over her, hemming her in. A loud klaxon sounded and the hydra stopped and looked around, as the drakon got out of the trench and exited the arena through a glass door. The same was happening in the other arenas. Both combatants from arenas one and two came out and the winners of the round entered arenas three and four.

  The names of the winning combatants scrolled across the screen. There would be another round after this one, which would determine the winner from the first batch of eight. El wondered whether she’d be in the next batch. Her eyes ran over the screen to see if there was a listing for the entrants in the next round. However, it still only listed the current competitors. She returned to scrutinising the fighters below, trying to determine who had the upper hand. Were there any patterns in their movements? Could she predict who was the strongest in elemental power? If she fought well she might be up against one of these four in the final match.

  A flutter of cold mixed with a tingle crossed her cheek and startled her. Before she spotted him, she knew who it was. She narrowed her eyes as Luke came up the glass staircase. There was surprise in his emerald-green eyes. She tensed her jaw and fists but forced herself to ignore him. She couldn’t afford to lose focus just before the match. She wouldn’t let him get to her.

  El shrugged off her jacket. It was getting warm with the amount of heat the drakon were putting out in the arenas. El rolled up the sleeves of her top and fixed her attention on one of the matches below. She thought that Luke wouldn’t have the nerve to approach her and was startled when he came to stand right beside her.

  ‘You’re alright…’ he said.

  El’s gaze shot up. She felt contemptuous that he was talking to her. He called this alright! Locked into competing in the Olympia in the hope of saving her grandma. But, of course, being here was all that he’d ever wanted: to compete in the arenas and have the chance to join the Order was a dream come true.

  Her cheeks burned as she remembered how much she’d liked him and how he’d lied to her. She winced. He’d only had to say a few nice things to get her to follow him to the catacombs. However, she swore that he wouldn’t find her so malleable now.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said and walked past.

  ‘Wait.’ He put his hand on her arm. She frowned, recalling how he’d pushed her up against the wall in the meadow when they’d first met. How he’d held her there, forcing her to listen to all the lies about the Order. He’d got under her skin and made her doubt her mum, Dan and the Opposition.

  Red-hot anger seared through her and she twisted his arm, pushing him down into the glass railing. She crouched down and glared at him. ‘Touch me again and I’ll kill you.’

  His eyes flooded with shock, but even with pain contorting his face, his tone was concerned. ‘What happened, El? What did they do? My father won’t tell me … and when I went to see Alex, he said he didn’t know where you were.’

  For a moment she was surprised that he didn’t know. She smarted at his choice of word though: they. She fixed him with a grim look.

  ‘You … you and your father and your precious Order are murderers,’ she said. ‘You killed my mother.’

  His eyes were wide as he stared at her. He shook his head. She let go of his arm and straightened up.

  His eyes shone with confusion. ‘But, you’re here–’

  ‘The Order has my grandma. If I don’t compete, I won’t see her again.’

  She started to walk away, unsure of where to look, feeling annoyed at herself for letting him get to her. This was probably what Louisa wanted. El’s eyes skirted the arenas down below and she saw that it was the last round. There was only a drakon and a ladon competing in the fourth arena. She wiped the tears of frustration from her eyes and tried to analyse the thrusts and parries of the arete below. A few hushed conversations were going on nearby. Their argument had caused a stir. She looked up from the match and realised that most people were watching her, not Luke.

  He watched her confusedly as he saw the looks El was drawing. When the listings changed on the screen, a hubbub of chatter sprang up amongst the arete on the walkway and around the arenas. The babble of voices rose in surprise and excitement, the surge and swell filling the room. El heard the repetition of certain words carried through the space in an array of exchanges. ‘Her,’ they said. ‘The one, yes Devereux, foreseen.’

  She looked up at the screen and finally saw her name: Devereux vs Laukas, Dome 1.

  El started down the glass stairs, her legs feeling shaky, one phrase ringing in her ears as it crested on the tide of voices: ‘The full power’. A lump rose in her throat and her stomach somersaulted. Everyone’s eyes were pinned on her.

  It was almost a relief to enter the glass dome. The impervious glass meant that she wasn’t distracted by the feel of everyone staring at her. She was certain that she’d been scrutinised by every arete present. It hadn’t occurred to her that the Triad’s prediction would have been known to others. She felt like a spotlight was on her as she waited for her opponent to enter the arena too.

  She tried to still her heart and breathing, wondering what type of arete would be her first opponent. She looked to see a strawberry-blond haired man coming down into the arena. She sighed.

  ‘I’ve got a match, Luke.’ She didn’t feel so much as angry with him now, as peeved. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

  ‘Me too.’ He moved over to the other side of the arena.

  She stared upwards through the curved walls of the dome and past lots of figures and faces in the tiers, gawking down at them. She found the raven hair she sought. Louisa smiled viciously; this was her pairing. El drew her eyes away from the typhon. Louisa was getting a kick out of increasing her turbulent feelings. She mustn’t rise to the bait.

  Luke was standing in front of the trench on his side of the arena. He looked thoughtful. His open stance and clear eyes made him look unprepared, vulnerable even.

  ‘I’m so sorry, El,’ he said. His eyes fell to the floor. ‘I didn’t know what they’d–’

  El felt her anger simmer. ‘Don’t.’

  The automatic glass door of the dome was closing.

  ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to do any of this.’ He looked around dismally. ‘Not after what you’ve told me.’

  She glared at him, daring him to be stupid enough not to defend himself.

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about how much I’d like to fight you,’ she said, ‘every minute of every day…’

  The klaxon sounded through the dome, bouncing off the glass and reverberating. El whipped up the fire in the centre of the pit and sent it whirling towards Luke, forcing him to dive into the trench behind. She wanted to send flames after him, make them roar along the ditch and engulf him but smothered the urge. She waited for him to get back out. As soon as he did, she fired a jet of flames at him. He ducked and rolled out of the way, drawing the channel of water from the edge of the arena into a wall to defend against her. His eyes were uncertain as he crouched behind it. He couldn’t move towards her, not with the streams of fire she was still th
rowing in his direction.

  Luke stared in amazement. He didn’t expect her attack. A week ago, when he’d met her she hadn’t even known how to use her elemental power. Perhaps it was her venom that was causing him to look at her the way he was. He proceeded more cautiously, but as he summoned a flood of water to douse her flames, he didn’t propel it forwards or even keep it up as a shield. His bright eyes made the mistake of beseeching her again.

  El wouldn’t let him interfere with her plans again. So what if he’d grown a conscience now? So what if he no longer had the stomach to fight? She needed to get through this match. Needed to win. There was more than just her ambition riding on the outcome of this match. She was doing this for her grandma. She was doing this for Dan and the Opposition.

  As soon as his wall of water disappeared, El sent another burst of flame at him. His reaction wasn’t quick enough. He dropped to the floor. Her flames caught his clothes as he rolled into the ditch. With a cool jet of water, he saturated the fire that slithered along his arm and torso. Steam sizzled off the singed material and raw skin. With El’s direct hit, the klaxon sounded signalling the end of the match.

  Adrenalin still pumped through them as they stared at one another across the wide arena. The fight was still visible from the tension within their bodies. El tried to savour her victory as she looked at how battered and wounded Luke was. He deserved this. This was for her mum. She watched him pick himself up, supporting his burnt arm across his chest as he limped out of the arena. She was convinced that she detected something beyond physical pain in his face. She felt a twinge of guilt. Would his father have empousa blood – was he of high enough rank? She shook the thought away. He didn’t deserve her pity.

  Luke looked back and his emerald eyes caught hers. She was surprised to see that they were empty of malice. They were as clear and sincere as they had always been, but now there was a desolation in them. And despite everything, despite her anger that still festered, part of her wished that she could take it away.

  - Chapter Twenty-Three -

  Burning City

  A ladon was waiting for her in arena four. As El transferred from one dome to the other, she saw that the crowd in the Gymnasium had grown significantly. Once again, curious eyes examined her and she was in no doubt that the Gymnasium’s popularity tonight was because of her.

  The fight between her and the ladon didn’t last long. Earth manipulators had the severest handicap in the matches as the walls and floors were off limits and impervious to their power. The rock in the centre was the ladon’s only weapon. Although he made use of these, El successfully avoided his assaults. In frustration, the earth manipulator disintegrated the rocks and eventually had nothing to counter El’s fire with. When he was forced into sheltering in the trenches, the final klaxon sounded.

  The final opponent that El had to knock out of the round was a harpy. The poor girl looked terrified as she entered and El gazed up to see that every one of the seats in the stadium was occupied. El enjoyed whipping up flames and letting the glass grow coal black, obscuring the audience’s view for a few seconds. The harpy managed to hold her own for a while, snuffing out El’s flame, but was too hesitant in her attacks. El could see the fear etched in her eyes and suspected the rumour about her full power stayed her hand. The harpy lost her nerve, took to the trench and ceased trying to land a hit at all.

  El knew the crowd had swelled outside the arena but was unprepared for the sight that met her when she exited: the walkways above were teeming, the sheer volume of arete blocked the screen. She gawped as she recognised some of those gathered – they’d been in the Elysium too. Elite members of the Order had come down to the first arena – to watch her. She tried to still her thoughts and searched the crowd for Cam. She’d love to see a familiar face right now. With surprise, her eyes located the black-clad girl nearby, in the third row. El felt a jolt of fear as she recognised the person next to her: Dan. He was sitting beside her like it was completely normal for him to be here. A soft smile played in the corners of his lips that made El’s heart quicken. His warm eyes held her. Even as she enjoyed the sensation and his being here, her stomach tensed. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t safe. There were Order members who would recognise him; and now, thanks to all the rumours about her power, there were dozens of them present.

  El quickly looked away to avoid drawing attention to him. She took a step or two back, peering up through the crowd in search of the screen.

  A clear voice reverberated through the room. ‘Carras, drakon,’ Louisa announced, ‘versus Devereux, drakon – arena one.’

  Surprise flitted across El’s face. For a split second she thought that she was going up against Louisa. A chill went through her as she recalled how quick the air manipulator was with her power. But the Carras she was going to be fighting was a drakon. She turned and descended into the pit. As she stepped over to one side of the arena, a woman entered the dome. She was a little taller than El, her golden hair tied back in a ponytail emphasising her narrow face.

  ‘Devereux,’ the golden-haired woman said.

  ‘Carras.’

  Carras continued to scrutinise her from head to toe as if she could grasp everything there was worth knowing about her from her appearance.

  ‘My advice,’ Carras said, ‘if you want people to go easy on you don’t go mouthing off about your traitorous connections.’

  She’d clearly heard El’s argument with Luke earlier. El wondered what else Louisa had told her to make her look at her so spitefully. She thought too about the number of times she’d wished to have more family. She’d take all of it back now if she’d known that they would be answered in the guise of this unfriendly, distant cousin or whatever relation she was.

  ‘Don’t go easy on me,’ El answered, ‘and I won’t on you.’ She hoped that she looked more confident than she felt.

  The spectators were leaning in. El tried to ignore their wide eyes, beginning to feel like she was in a goldfish bowl.

  The girl’s eyes twinkled in the glowing flames of the central pit. ‘Better deliver, Devereux, because it’s burn or be burned.’

  El could see it wasn’t an empty threat; an expectant look crossed Carras’ face, reminiscent of the ladon’s in the Elysium. The one he’d worn as he’d waited for confirmation of his opponent’s death. This arena may be a pale shadow of what played out on the top floor but there was a foreshadowing of what was to come. It didn’t take much to imagine Carras happily landing a deadly blow.

  El tried to remind herself that she and Dan had practised all week in the arena, against one another. She’d had most practice at fighting another drakon. It wasn’t just about avoiding their attacks, it was about having confidence and dominating the shared element. El was going to have to turn Carras’ own flames against her.

  A sharp announcement sounded in the dome. ‘Carras, drakon versus Devereux, drakon. Match commence.’

  El swallowed the lump in her throat. The words brought another unwelcome reminder of the match in the Elysium. The announcement seemed to echo through her mind as it had around the final arena. This confined space, with the glowing hearth in the middle, contrasted starkly with the cold, open aired theatre above, but again the sense that the fight could end the same way beat through her.

  Within a few seconds, Carras drew a ribbon of flame from the centre and lunged towards El, the fire streaking the air like a whip. El dropped to the floor and rolled sideways, straight into the trench. She flushed, aware of the onlookers. Focussing on the heat in the centre of the pit, she summoned the flames to her. As she jumped up and out, her own fiery weapon flared and rotated like a drill head towards her opponent. Carras drew a little of the flame into her own and it roared with greater power and heat back at El.

  El tried to do the same but the flames changed and multiplied. Fronds of fire flew towards her, their heat wild and angry. She knew she had to banish her fear to dominate their shared element – to welcome it instead
– but she couldn’t. Afraid, she was forced to roll backwards into the safety of the ditch again.

  This time Carras laughed loudly. ‘Is that it, Devereux?’

  A wave of embarrassment ricocheted through El, but as she looked across at the golden-haired girl, her sharp features took on a different aspect: wider, more angular. El imagined her opponent with raven-hair, supplanted with Louisa’s face and sneer.

  El leapt back up onto the platform, imagining it was Louisa she was fighting. She felt the pain and anger infuse the power in her core, creating such immense heat that it couldn’t be contained. She thought of Louisa, thought of how defenceless her mum had been – blindfolded and bound – and how Louisa Carras had been the one to abruptly and mercilessly end her life.

  Carras leapt forwards, a whirl of flames surrounding her being. Like a burning cannonball, she was coming at her. Keeping her cool, El managed to steal the fire away from Carras and turned it into a wall between them. In surprise, Carras only had the presence of mind to shield her face with her hands and arms as she met the fire and rolled through. Her scream rent the air and El extinguished the wall of flame.

  The golden-haired woman fell to the floor. She battled the flames, which threaded through her hair and along the top of her head. El was quick to will the fire out.

  ‘Are you alright?’ El said, trying to see past the cloud of smoke that reeked of burnt hair.

  ‘Don't touch me,’ shouted Carras, jumping to her feet. El could see that one side of the woman’s face was red raw, the first formations of blisters rising along her cheek and a large bald patch evident on the top of her head. Along her arms – where she'd shielded herself from the fire – angrier splotches were appearing. El cringed. The klaxon signalled the end of the match, a blare that didn’t fill her with the relief she’d expected, but jolted her back into the moment. What had she done? Is this what success looked like? She watched Carras dart out the door, then exited shakily.