by HR Moore
'I have no interest in abusing the power and authority bestowed on me. I'm no different to anybody else really. I'm powerful, yes, but so are others, and I have no desire to rule in a world where people aren't happy.
'I told you, Sprit Descendants are different to the rest. We're philosophical and less power hungry. Maybe that's something to do with the skills of our bloodline. Minds respect grand displays of mental and physical power, as do Bodies. Spirits acknowledge that it only takes one person to change the course of history. Maybe Anderson is that one.
'Austin can put as many barriers in Anderson's way as he wants, but if Anderson continues to fight, maybe he'll be the one to free the world from energy instability. To a Spirit Descendant, Anderson's work, motivated by a desire to do the right thing, is far more wonderful than the prospect of ruling for eternity.'
'But what if sending the Relic back causes chaos?'
'I don't buy that. People are good at accepting change when they have to, especially when it's change they've been asking for for centuries. And besides, as you pointed out, the world is heading for chaos as it stands anyway.'
CHAPTER 12
Helena bowed before the Great Spirit Leader. She perched precariously on a small, round, stone ledge above a heart-stopping drop down the mountain to the ground below. It had been designed to put visitors on edge, to help the Spirit Leader get the measure of his guests.
Helena had been here a number of times before, and not once had she managed to keep her energy stable. She tried in vain to hide her reaction, and her failure made her angry. The Great Spirit Leader could, of course, read her energy like an open book. Coming here was always a stressful, frustrating experience, so she didn't relish her visits to the mountain.
'So nice to see you again, Helena,' said the Spirit Leader, in calm, even, almost bored tones.
He sat in the center of a mat, in the middle of a small, pillared room, open on all sides to the elements. The wind gently toyed with the fabric draped from the ceiling. He was a short-ish man of medium build, with thick, wavy, sandy colored hair. His voice had a way of penetrating to a person's core; one couldn't help but sit up and listen. He had wise features, gravitas, and an aura severity, the kind of person you would always want on your side.
'The pleasure is all mine,' replied Helena, her words louder than she had meant them to be. 'How can I be of assistance?'
The Spirit Leader chuckled. 'Typical Body,' he said. 'No preamble, just straight to the point.'
'My sincere apologies,' said Helena, 'how's the family?'
He snickered.
Helena's blood boiled; she hated not being in control.
'Very well, have it your way,' he said. 'I summoned you here to see how you're getting on with Anita.'
He hadn't moved a muscle the whole time she'd been here, and even now, as his words hit her ears like bullets, he sat still, watching for any slight reaction.
Helena froze. Who had let slip? Did they have a mole? 'How do you know about Anita?' she said. He would've already read her surprise, so there was no point in trying to hide it.
'There isn't much I can't find out if I put my mind to it Helena, you should know that by now.' He sent a meaningful look her way, then stood in a swift, seamless movement. He made his way to a small stone table at the edge of the open room. 'Please,' he said, indicating to the chair next to his, 'come and join me.'
Helena went to the seat, making a point of doing so at a dignified speed. A shock of cold hit her as she sat on the stone chair, and it was all she could do not to gasp. She'd never worked out how he could meditate here all day in such unpleasant temperatures, dressed only in light robes. He seemed to radiate warmth and she wondered if he cheated and snuck a hot water bottle under his clothes. She'd asked him about it once and he'd spouted something about harnessing the power of the Mind, her least favorite discipline, so she'd left it there.
'How are you getting on with Anita?' he repeated, patiently.
'I'd be getting on a lot better if I hadn't had to come all the way here. I told her I'd be expecting an answer several days ago. I haven't been able to follow up, given that I've been travelling.'
'I wasn't too late with my invitation then. Good.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
He fixed her with eyes that made Helena feel like an impatient schoolgirl. 'Anita needs time,' he said. 'Your natural inclination is to bully her, but she won't respond well to that approach; she's a lot like you.'
'That's why you summoned me here? To bully me into doing things your way?'
'Touché. Hopefully by the time you get back she'll have had enough time. Until next time, Helena.'
'I'll look forward to it, I'm sure,' she replied through gritted teeth, making no attempt at all to hide her angry energy.
The Spirit Leader's face remained neutral as he got up and made his way back to his mat. He sat down and started to meditate, ignoring Helena's continued presence.
As she made her way out, making sure she walked close enough to him to disturb his energy field, she marveled, as she always did, at his age. He was no older than her…
Helena had reached what most would consider dizzying heights at an early age, but he had reached the pinnacle. She'd always been jealous. 'One day I'll find out how you did it,' she said under her breath, as she made her way down the stone steps to the main chambers below.
* * * * *
Alexander sat at Philip's desk, pondering the recent developments. Anita had been distant since they'd returned to the house and he had no idea what to do about it, or indeed if he should do anything at all. Maybe a healthy distance between them would be a good thing, although he couldn't think of anything worse…
Then there was the key he'd found, still bugging him, mostly because he didn't know where to look next. He got up and started pacing to try and channel his frustration. The mess everywhere thwarted his efforts, until he was so wound up, he kicked over a stack of books.
He grabbed hold of the curtains and yanked them open; it was stupid not to let any sunlight in. Bloody Philip, he thought, as light poured into the room for the first time in an age and the true extent of the mess became apparent. Philip had always harped on about the 'illuminating power of light', and how wise the one who came up with the Spirit motto, 'look to the light' had been. Hypocrite.
Alexander's irritation abated a little as a result of his reckless acts. He stooped down to reassemble the pile of books, then turned to redraw the curtains; it was disrespectful to overturn Philip's wishes so soon after his death. As he snuffed out the last chink of light, he froze, an idea finding root in his mind that grew into an epiphany. Look to the light.
Alexander reached for the patterned lamp on the desk and turned it over. What if the key unlocked a light? Philip had loved when the literal and metaphorical collided, so what if he'd taken the motto literally and the key unlocked an actual light?
Unfortunately, the lamp on Philip's desk had a smooth base with no keyhole to be seen. Undeterred, he inspected the rest of the lights in the study. When none of those produced a result, he went to Philip's old bedroom and inspected each of the lights there, but again, nothing.
Finally, he tried the garden sheds; Philip had loved his garden. There were only single bulbs dangling dejectedly from the ceiling and nowhere to hide a hole for a key.
Deflated, Alexander returned to the study and sat back down in his Grandfather's leather chair.
'What does the key unlock, you old sod?' he asked out loud, pulling the desk lamp towards him once more, hoping for inspiration.
He rested it on its side and re-inspected the base, trying to think of any other way that a lamp could hide a keyhole. Finding nothing, he set it upright, but as he was doing so, his fingers felt a tiny, almost invisible seam running around its base. He paused, the first flutter of hope taking hold, then turned it onto its side again and carefully inspected the seam.
The line ran all the way around and looked like nothing out of the
ordinary, except, on closer inspection, the color of the base was very slightly different from the rest. He tried to slip a fingernail into the seam, but the join was too tight. He tried twisting instead. To his amazement, the base swung smoothly outwards from a point near the edge, exposing a second layer of brass below.
Alexander's heart almost stopped as his eyes made out a perfect, key-shaped hole in the center of the newly exposed metal. 'By the Gods,' he said out loud.
He reached into his pocket, retrieved the key, and inserted it into the hole. He twisted lightly and it turned easily in the lock, making a delicate clicking sound as a panel in the top of the lamp sprung open.
He swung the panel cover back, noting the exquisite craftsmanship that must have been required, and carefully retrieved the piece of folded parchment that sat inside.
Unable to contain his excitement, he unfolded the paper and held it up to the light, moving his face closer to make out the words. There were several lines of text, and, to his surprise, the first contained only one word: his name.
Alexander,
Remember the lessons from Philip & Fred.
Be a good scholar.
Jeffrey will help you unlock the light.
Destroy this note when you have memorized my words.
I have faith in you.
Philip
Alexander felt sick. How had Philip known he would find this? Why had he written it? What did it mean? And why had he gone to such pains to hide it so thoroughly?
As far as Alexander could see, there was nothing here that could be considered contentious. Philip & Fred were nicknames that Philip had used for two famous children's authors. They'd written a book of fairy tales that Philip had read to Alexander when he was young. The stories were varied, containing moral messages similar to most other books for children.
Philip's favorite story had been about a princess who'd been banished by her father, the King, who had gone mad when a group of powerful sorcerers came to court. The story was about the princess' quest to retake her rightful position and rid the land of the evil sorcerers, which, naturally, she did. She also found her prince and lived happily ever after, of course.
Alexander stiffened as Austin's final words to Christiana came flooding back to him, 'We are the only two left that know the truth now that Philip has gone'. Philip had known the truth about Christiana's bloodline. Was that what Philip was talking about here? Could Anita be considered the princess in the story?
The second line was clear enough. Philip had often used the words be a good scholar. He meant that one should question everything, even the facts we think we know for certain. What Alexander was supposed to be a good scholar in relation to however, he had no idea.
The third line was confusing. Who was Jeffrey, and why, or more to the point, how, would he be able to help unlock the light? What did that even mean?
Alexander racked his brain, but could think of no one he knew called Jeffrey, either in the real world or in a story book.
Philip's instruction to destroy the note seemed a little melodramatic, however, given that Philip had hidden the note so well, Alexander thought it prudent to follow his instructions. He picked it up and took it to the fireplace, making sure that he both remembered what it said and that he hadn't missed anything.
He took a match from the mantelpiece, lit it, and set the paper alight. He held onto the parchment for a few seconds before placing it in the fireplace. He waited to ensure there was nothing left but ash before turning to one of the shelves and picking up an old, worn book: the stories of Philip & Fred.
* * * * *
The trip back to Empire was subdued. Cleo had, for the first time all weekend, stopped talking. She was lightly dosing with her head propped against the window. Bass was silently staring out, watching the scenery go by, presumably contemplating all he'd learned and discussed with Anderson over the last two days. Anita was sure they'd see each other again; she'd never seen two people get on so well after such a short acquaintance.
Anita had been trying her best to avoid speaking to, looking at, and certainly being alone with Alexander. She was so confused about what she should do, what she felt for who, and how she should proceed. She spent the journey looking out of the window, feeling hollow as she considered her options. She could sense Alexander's scrutiny, so worked to keep her energy steady, not giving anything away.
The problem was that she had feelings for both Marcus and Alexander, her energy reacting to each of their special allures. Marcus was, for the most part, fun and carefree, flirtatious and frivolous in a way that Alexander could not be. Alexander was a ruling Descendant. Marcus was yet to assume the heavy burden of responsibility, living instead under the ominous cloud of his power-hungry father.
Alexander seemed to carry the weight around with him, understanding the world's perilous position, and that it was his duty to address it. Marcus, on the other hand, was light as a feather, as though there were nothing in the world that should be worried about with any kind of gusto.
Alexander was closed and protective of himself. Marcus had opened up to Anita, had told her about his family, and to some extent, his past. But what if Marcus did turn into Austin over time? He was already protective of her, possessive even…
Alexander was trying to do what he thought was best for her…or was he? Maybe he'd pushed her towards Marcus because his feelings weren't that strong after all…
Anita turned it around and around all the way home, but was more confused at the end of the journey than she had at the beginning.
They dropped Bass off first, then Cleo, Anita feeling Alexander turn to look at her when they were finally alone in the car. Alexander closed the glass screen separating them from the driver. 'Is everything alright?' he asked, his energy uncertain.
Anita looked at him, searched his glorious blue eyes. 'Not really,' she replied, dropping her eyes to her lap, surprised at her honest response. 'I think I need some time to work all this out. I have no idea what to do.'
She paused and looked out of the window. 'I have feelings for Marcus. I feel guilty and I don't want to hurt him, but I don't want to hurt you either,' she said, looking back at him. A horrible thought erupted in Anita's head. Her eyes went wide. 'Sorry,' she said, her cheeks reddening, 'you might not…'
They pulled up outside Cordelia's house and Anita made for the door. She swung it open, but Alexander grabbed her hand, gentle tingles spreading underneath her skin. She stopped and looked back at him.
'I do,' he said huskily, quietly, so the driver, who was now unloading Anita's bags, couldn't hear.
A car turned into the end of the road, ostentatious enough that it could only be one of Austin's. Alexander begrudgingly let go of Anita's hand. 'Looks like you have company,' he said, as the car stopped.
Marcus threw open the door, his long, lean body moving rapidly in their direction.
'See you soon,' said Alexander, sending a nudge to the edge of her energy field.
Marcus took hold of Anita's hand and drew her away from the car, into his space.
'Alexander,' said Marcus, nodding curtly; he would take things from here.
'Marcus,' said Alexander, nodding back. He pulled the car door closed, stealing one last look at Anita before his driver pulled away.
* * * * *
The following morning, Anita headed to the garden for her usual yoga session, but her mind wasn't in it, vivid flashbacks from the previous night rudely interrupting. She decided to ditch the yoga in favor of something more vigorous, so donned her running trainers and headed for the river.
As she ran, she contemplated, revisiting the conundrum that had been preoccupying pretty much all of her conscious thought for the last two days: Marcus or Alexander?
Last night had been fun. They'd gone to some councilor's daughter's twenty-fifth birthday party and had danced for hours. Marcus had ignored everyone but Anita for the whole evening, much to the annoyance of all the female guests, as well as the councilor hosting the
event. He'd kept trying to find reasons for Marcus to dance with his daughter, but Marcus had refused every time.
Gwyn had been at the party too and had made a snipe at Anita as she and Marcus passed. Marcus was oblivious to it, and when Anita had brought it up, he'd unhelpfully suggested that Anita might be paranoid. How were men so blind when it came to the relationships between women? How could they so successfully ignore what was right in front of them?
After the party, they'd walked along the river back to Cordelia's house, dancing as they went, pausing every so often to kiss in the starlight. Marcus had brought up the weekend, clearly unhappy about the trip. He warned Anita off Alexander, saying it was bad enough she had to have lessons with him; weekends away took it too far.
Marcus had resembled a pompous, puffed up bird, feathers all ruffled. He'd told her that next time he would show her Kingdom, as, unlike Alexander, he knew the city's best sights.
Anita had distracted him by saying she'd seen Marcus' home, telling him how enchanting she thought it was. The conversation had been lighthearted and fun for the rest of the walk, until they'd reached Cordelia's gate, where Marcus suddenly turned serious.
Marcus kissed her, hinting in every unspoken way that she should invite him to stay. She didn't take the hint. Instead, she'd thanked him for a fun evening, gave him a lingering yet firm goodbye kiss, then turned away.
Anita snapped out of her daydream to find herself a good five miles further along the river than she'd expected. She turned around and headed back in the direction she'd come, trying to work out her next move.
Guilt was her constant companion, and she knew she was going to have to make a decision soon. Marcus would eventually find a way to put an end to her lessons with Alexander, and Alexander couldn't be expected to continue as they were indefinitely.
And she owed Helena an answer. The decision weighed on her, but deep down she'd known what she would do all along.
