by HR Moore
*****
After two long hours of not being able to concentrate, having spent most of the time running her hands irritably through her shoulder length brown hair, Anita was thinking maybe she should have gone for a run after all, when she felt a sudden surge of energy in the Temple. She looked up, and from where there had been a circular stone in the floor, in the centre of the Temple, moments before, there was now a hole with a man emerging from it. Like Bas, the man was tall and athletic, but whereas Bas was thick set, this man was lean. He must be a Councillor, Anita mused, almost losing interest, but as he turned, Anita’s breath caught involuntarily in her throat. He was exquisite; ruggedly handsome with broad shoulders and tanned muscular forearms. These were just visible under his heavy, red, floor-length cloak, protruding from a loose white shirt with casually rolled up sleeves.
His mind was somewhere else, the stone sliding closed unnoticed behind him. His face was angled towards the floor, brow furrowed, deep in complex thought as he started walking towards where Anita sat, transfixed, at the back of the Temple. When he walked, he seemed weightless, moving apparently without effort, yet purposefully, with the grace of a highly trained dancer. He looked up and Anita’s blood seemed to stand still in her veins. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, with both a depth that could have been a century old, and a life that hinted at a rebellious intelligence. His face was framed by tousled blond hair, neat enough not to be outlandish, but messy enough not to be conformist. His jaw was locked, lips a little pursed and twitching, betraying his all-consuming concentration.
Much to her confusion, Anita felt her energy start to bubble uncontrollably inside her. She felt it rise rapidly, as though riding on the back of a bird, frantically flapping its wings, thrown upwards from her stomach to her chest. Here, she could contain it no longer, and it burst free with a force so strong that Anita feared she might find an actual hole, not that she could muster the will to tear her eyes from the form in front of her and look down. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked immediately alert, his radiant energy rapidly diminishing as he tracked Anita’s energy back to its source. His eyes found her without difficulty and ran searchingly over every contour of her body, taking in the potential threat before his shocking blue eyes locked with hers. Anita couldn’t begin to read what she saw there. Confusion? Aggression? Wariness? Intrigue? It was all she could do to hold his gaze with her own inquisitive eyes, her energy shamelessly betraying her emotions as he considered her from afar.
He stood stock still, she sat spellbound, each considering their next move, when a crisp, impatient voice rudely shattered the silence. ‘Alexander,’ it said, as a second man strode confidently into the Temple.
Alexander? Surely not? Anita’s energy changed; she turned defensive and panicked, and Alexander smiled, intrigued by her reaction. ‘I’m coming Marcus,’ he responded, not taking his eyes off Anita for a second, ‘is Gwyn ready?’
Shit, it is them, Anita managed to compute, unhelpfully diverted by Alexander’s voice, which was rich and smooth like melted chocolate. She struggled to regain some composure. Why are they here, she questioned, dimly, as she gathered the tremendous strength required to tear her eyes from Alexander to take in Marcus’ form. She was completely unprepared for what she found. Holy Gods, he too was perfect. He was as tall as Alexander, but his thinner form made him seem somehow more refined. Whereas Alexander was wearing a loose shirt, slacks and beaten up soft leather mules, Marcus was impeccably dressed in expensive, well cut attire. Everything seemed flawlessly in place, from his shiny leather brogues, to his pressed white shirt and expensive gold knot cufflinks, to his perfectly quaffed, short, dark, hair and chiselled cheekbones. His eyes were dark and opulent and contrasted with Alexander’s for reasons more integral than just colour. Marcus’ contained none of the grounding of Alexander’s. Instead, they flitted playfully, looking for something, anything of interest. They were impulsive, giving the impression that most of life bored him. Their sole occupation was to find something entertaining, to supply at least a small diversion before life returned to its usual dull monotony. He too sported a floor-length red cloak, but he wore it with a different kind of authority, an audacious authority. Whereas Alexander seemed to flow when he walked, Marcus was more overtly commanding, arrogant almost, with clipped, impatient strides. His energy was the most potent she had ever felt, and as it flowed over where she was sitting, it had a drug-like effect on her. Once again, Anita felt the pressure in her chest build, knowing, like a bottle being filled from a tap, there was nothing she could do to stop it from erupting without the source being shut off. Given that Marcus remained where he was, it once again poured out of her. Alexander turned casually back to look in her direction, the side of his mouth twitching almost unnoticeably, raising one, infuriating, mocking eyebrow as he flicked his impertinent eyes over her once more.
‘Come on. We haven’t got all day,’ came what must have been Gwyn’s voice from the entrance. It was curt and officious. Anita couldn’t see her, but she sounded horrendous. Wow, thought Anita, you haven’t even seen what she looks like yet, let alone talked to her, and already you’re insulting her. You’re a total bitch, she thought, as she struggled vainly to get her energy under control.
Marcus spun briskly around, striding past Anita to join Gwyn outside, without sending as much as a glance in her direction. Alexander followed him out, but stopped as he came close to where she sat. ‘You should learn to control your energy,’ he said, in a voice soft and low but commanding, ‘with energy that strong, you are a very desirable asset.’ With that he flowed out of the Temple, leaving Anita dumbfounded, head spinning, drained and empty, wondering what in the world had just taken place. That he could obviously read her energy was horribly embarrassing, but why did her energy rise like that towards both Alexander and Marcus? That had never happened to her before. Her energy was usually so static, unless of course she found a new challenge. Was this a challenge? How? What did Alexander mean about her energy being so strong? And what did he mean about her being an asset? Most of all though, why were the Descendants in Empire? They usually lived in Kingdom so they could be close to the Grand Temples, and very rarely came out here.
Anita spilled out of the Temple and almost ran headlong into Bas and Cleo, who had just finished their Body lesson. ‘Oh my Gods, did you see her?’ Cleo practically sang. She was bristling with delight, swishing wildly the ends of her thin cotton scarf; Cleo’s equivalent of rubbing her hands together with glee.
‘Yes, I saw all three of them in the Spirit Temple. Alexander appeared out of the centre, and then Marcus came in, and then Gwyn called for them from outside. So I suppose I only actually saw two of them, but oh my Gods, what are they doing here?’ Anita blurted out in a jumbled rush.
‘All three of them?’ said Cleo, jealousy clear in her tone. ‘We only saw Gwyn. She appeared from the centre of the Body Temple, all flowing golden locks and cloak,’ she said, cattily. Anita was glad to see she wasn’t the only one reacting badly to Gwyn. ‘What are Alexander and Marcus like? I bet they’re gorgeous, just like everyone says.’
Anita could feel Bas’ jealousy at the mention of their names, noting that boys seemed to have the same negative reaction to Alexander and Marcus as girls did to Gwyn. Given she wasn’t sure she could find the words to adequately describe them, even if she tried, she changed tack. ‘More importantly, why are they here?’
‘Don’t know. Nobody in our class knew either. Well, the Councillor probably did, but he wasn’t letting anything slip,’ Bas replied.
‘It’ll give me something to find out at work then,’ said Cleo. ‘If there’s any gossip to be shared, then The Island’s the place. I’ll see you there later?’
‘Yep, sure, see you later. Have fun at work,’ said Anita, shooting Cleo a knowing smile. Cleo was about to be in her element; fun was an understatement.
Cleo worked at The Island, a bar on an
island, in the middle of the river, on the outskirts of town. It was pretty much the only place to socialise in Empire, so that’s where everyone went, and Cleo used her place of work to keep abreast of anything and everything that might be going on. She wasn’t above slipping a few free drinks across the bar to help people on their way, and she was incredibly persuasive, so she was right of course, the quickest way to find out why the Descendants were in town was through Cleo, at The Island.
