by Rae Else
Her vision swam. Eirene was on the ground, bent over him. She was pulling at Rosa. El knew what she was thinking … if they could get some empousa blood into Alex he’d heal, but El had heard his heart give up. His body was already cooling. He was gone. It had happened before she’d managed to rid herself of the blindfold. As Eirene’s trembling hands grasped at Alex, the finality of it tore at El. The ache in her chest was far worse than the searing pain across her face.
Anger rushed through her as she thought of Janos, dragged to safety by the Opposition. If only she’d done more: looked him in the eye and taken his despicable life. She scanned the bodies of the Triad in the centre of the floor … Talus. He’d been in the middle. Rosa had ripped his throat out. He was face down in a glossy pool of blood, his black hair in disarray. Her eyes glistened as she remembered him sat beside her, bed-headed and tired. El had failed him too … just like Alex.
Luke and the others had managed to free everyone. Yia Yia, Gregor, Zhu, and a few of their retinue were standing … alive. Andreas was holding Yia Yia’s arm to support her.
Eirene clutched at Yia Yia’s dress. ‘Please, Yia Yia. You have more empousa blood … please…’
Theon was trying to pull Eirene up and hug her. El noticed his bloodshot eyes, the tears threatening to break free, his gaze resolutely turned away from Talus’ lifeless body.
El’s gaze fell to the sea fans on Yia Yia’s dress, swirling like blood dispersing in water. So much blood. Fragments of the last hour swam through her mind: the graeae’s blood dripping into the goblet, Talus’ blood spilling across the marble floor, Yia Yia’s words, “born of blood.” The arena seemed to sway as El collapsed to her knees.
She could feel eyes lingering on her: weighty, warming, cooling, and those that quickened her breath. She didn’t want to look at them, afraid of what she’d see. Now that they’d seen her power, would they be afraid? Luke was beside her and scooped her up, carrying her away to the side of the arena. He laid her down by the channel of water.
A weighty silence filled the vast arena. The mangled and broken bodies of the Waseem, Opposition and Order alike, dominated everyone’s thoughts and senses.
Luke examined El’s face. He took off his tunic and ripped it into some makeshift bandages before dipping them in the cool water. He froze the water in the sodden material and laid the strips across El’s burns.
She lay on the ground and gazed up from between the bandages at the blue sky, framed by the curve of the arena.
‘Right,’ Luke said. ‘Zhu gave me a little empousa blood. He and Gregor are rationing their supply to treat as many of the wounded as they can. This won’t heal the burns completely but should soothe them.’ He started to unscrew the vial in his hand.
‘No,’ El said. ‘I don’t want it.’
The idea revolted her. She felt nauseous at the thought of drinking the thick, metallic liquid.
Luke put the vial away and looked at her. ‘What you did—’
‘Wasn’t enough,’ El said hoarsely.
‘You saved us.’
She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Not everyone … not Talus … not … Alex.’
The tears pooling in her eyes seeped below the cold bandages and into her burns, making them sting. The physical pain felt good compared to the raw ache in her chest. Alex had been here for her. He’d had a fleeting moment of happiness over the last few days, alongside Eirene and now that was gone. He was gone.
Luke lay down and draped his arm over her, stroking her shoulder.
‘When you went for Rosa … I thought I’d lost you…’
His bright green eyes were tender, but his taut expression showed the powerlessness he’d felt. He hadn’t known she had the full power: he’d thought she was attacking Rosa with no possibility of surviving.
She tried to make her tone playful. ‘I don’t scare you then?’
He smiled, answering earnestly. ‘You’re good. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.’
She’d hidden the full power from Luke, worried that it would change the way he looked at her. She remembered the fear in the eyes of the Opposition members. Luke’s clear, unchanged gaze made her eyes swim once more with relief and love.
As her tears pricked her raw skin once more, Luke insisted, ‘Please, take the empousa blood.’
‘You couldn’t learn to love this terrible face?’ El asked mischievously.
Luke narrowed his eyes. ‘You already know I’d love you with no eyes. I’d love you if you had scales. I’d even love you,’ he added, stroking the top of her head, ‘with short, red hair.’ As his eyes widened with mock-incredulity, a smile broke across her face.
‘Fine,’ she agreed, ‘but can I have some wine?’ She didn’t want to taste the blood.
Luke soon brought her a goblet of wine, into which he tipped the empousa blood. The damaged tissue on her face quickly renewed itself and no longer felt raw and sore.
The others were carrying the dead into the centre of the arena and collecting wooden furniture from the Council chambers to build a funeral pyre. El wanted to help, but Luke insisted that she rest. Both Zhu and Gregor were very efficient at treating the survivors, rationing the empousa blood to make most of them a little more comfortable. Yia Yia had used all of her empousa blood to heal her eyes and had taken to sitting in the front tier, watching the others work.
El lay on one of the top tiers as the treatment continued, gazing up at the passing clouds. It wasn’t until the funeral pyre was ready for lighting that she came down and joined everyone. The bodies of friends, family and Order members were laid in rows in the centre of the amphitheatre: Laius, Talus and Alex were among them. Broken chairs and tables were stacked up beneath and around the bodies, surrounding them. The other dead: the Waseem and the Opposition, would have to be disposed of later. This was a time to commemorate their loved ones.
El was relieved that no one suggested saying anything. It didn’t seem right with this mass funeral pyre. It was devoid of ritual. The four drakon, including El, simply used the torches still burning around the outskirts and drew down jets of flame, engorging them. Then, in a furious burst, a huge blue furnace blazed in the centre of the arena.
For a while they all stood in the archway of the amphitheatre, watching the flames grow. As the curling smoke started to rise from the pyre, El was reminded of the countless times she’d watched Talus’ shape collapse and disappear. She thought of how he’d freely thrown off his earthly confinement again and again, likening his disincarnation to finding bliss. This was the same, she thought, only there was no coming back.
She thought of Alex. A man of Science. She knew that he hadn’t believed in an afterlife. A little part of her hoped that he was wrong and that her love would reach him and the rest of her family: her grandparents and mum.
El pictured her mum’s urn that Alex had wanted to put in the Devereux Crypt. She thought of how much she’d taken for granted, how much time had been wasted on bitterness. If she ever got back home, she’d do that for him at least. Could Alex and Anna be together now? Did they know how sorry she was that she’d failed them? Did they know how much she loved and missed them?
As the sickeningly sweet aroma rose, they left the arena.
- Chapter Thirty-Two -
Caged
They left Athens as quickly as possible. Neither Gregor nor Zhu could make sense of how the Opposition could have captured their empousa. They resolved to return home and assure themselves that they were secure.
Yia Yia was worried by the notion of Helen escaping. Although her urgency should have been to protect millions of innocent lives, El knew her motivations weren’t as selfless as that. The empousa were the families’ legacies, the way they ensured their lines dominated the arete world. Without them, the heads of line were like any other arete.
If the worst had happened and Janos had secured Seth and Attys, Helen would be their next target. Getting back to solidify the defences was their top priority. Louisa had b
een freed, which made the island particularly vulnerable.
Once back on board the yacht, Theon and Andreas took charge of navigating. Eirene and Yia Yia retired to their cabins: Yia Yia deflated by their defeat, and Eirene wanting to grieve alone. El and Luke had the top deck to themselves throughout the day. With Rosa and the full power out in the open, El was now able to share everything that she’d held back from him. She confided in him about Medea and what she saw her grandma do in the past.
As the evening drew to a close and the sun went down, the sea took on an air of mystery. El watched the waters shift through a myriad of shades. With the play of light, it transformed from silver-pewter to blue-green. As the day died, it faded from grey to velvet darkness.
Shadows took hold of El: shades that were occupied by regrets of the past and worries for the future. Luke climbed up onto the deck, the aroma of something spicy wafting on the air.
He sat down beside her and handed her a cup. ‘I made you some tea.’
She breathed in the aroma of cloves and cardamom. It wasn’t the spices that made her eyes sting or the lump rise in her throat: this was Talus’ drink. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the hot steam and fragrance filled the air.
Luke put his arm around her.
She let the tears fall and took a gulp of the hot liquid. The peppery taste was good. Steadying. She thought of Tia back in Camden: Tia’s Tea. If El ever got back home, she’d share Talus Tea with her.
Luke stroked her hair, kissing her temple where her hair had been burned away. She had taken the bandages off, no longer needing them as the skin had healed to scar tissue. Around her eyes, across the bridge of her nose and over her forehead was a lattice of scars. She found herself touching the rough texture. It reminded her of the tough leathery feel of her grandma’s skin around her empty eye sockets. The memory was strangely comforting.
They sat in silence, Luke’s warming touch reassuring. The stillness around her seemed inhabited by Talus. How many times had he dwelt in the spaces in between here and elsewhere? She sipped more tea and stared at the empty air. She kept expecting him to appear.
She thought of what Janos had said about time: that it was ever changing. The suddenness of it, tearing apart one’s life in a moment. It seemed that, with Alex and Talus gone, she only now knew how much they had meant to her. As the minutes slunk by it seemed as if time was the real enemy, intent on devouring everyone she loved.
Yet … she could still feel them. She could feel them in the way they’d affected her and made her stronger.
Alex had been brave enough to claim his place in the arete world. No power had bound him to it, only the responsibility and love he’d felt for her and Dan. He’d helped her to see her own place in it, counselled her to express her opinions, to be truthful and not to hold bitterness in her heart.
And he’d tried to deter Dan off the destructive path he was on. El experienced another searing stab of loss. She felt nauseated. She was haunted by the way he’d pleaded with Rosa to save Alex: offering up other innocent humans in his place. The way he’d spoken about El rang through her head too. As long as he’d saved her, he’d have been fine seeing everyone else in that arena executed: Luke, Eirene … all of them. He’d have seen them killed.
She pictured him pouring over his paperback of Paradise Lost, rereading the passages about the serpent, about guile and deceit. Before she’d thought he’d fixated on those pages because he’d been tormented by past. But now she wasn’t so sure. She wondered how long he’d known about Janos’ goal to unleash the empousa. She remembered his refusal to speak about the Opposition’s plans and the grim silence he had cultivated between them.
She recalled his words: he must be willing to sacrifice everything to succeed. If he’d known back then that Alex’s life would be the cost, would he have followed the same path? Bitter tears pricked her eyes as she knew the answer. The warning signs had been there. How had she not seen them? Even back in London, his zealous tone had been fanatical like Janos in the arena, talking about a new world order where empousa and arete ruled over humans from on high. No: the chasm between her and Dan could never be closed. They were on opposite sides.
The sea breeze continued to stream by the boat, carrying away El’s tears. Eventually her thoughts stilled and she sank into the silence and space that Talus had introduced her to. For her, he would always live there.
Sometime later, Theon climbed up the ladder and interrupted the stillness. ‘We’re getting hungry – I’m gonna put something on for us. Luke, your father wondered if you could give him a hand?’
El noticed that Theon couldn’t meet her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering if he blamed her for not saving Talus. His heartfelt voice in the stillness of the gardens, imploring Talus to come back to him, drove another stab of pain through her. Of course Theon blamed her. She blamed herself too.
Luke kissed the top of El’s head and went to help Andreas while Theon went off to the galley kitchen. Left to her thoughts, El looked up at the night sky, lit with the earliest stars. The breeze was picking up and she shuddered. Her tank top and shorts didn’t keep out the biting wind. She should grab a hoody from her room. However, she continued to sit, turning her face to the breeze as if it were a gentle summer’s day.
She sat up straighter, stretching out her arms, feeling the torrent of wind and smiled. The cold gale caressed her bare skin. As the wind rushed over the masts and rigging, she wished that she could go tumbling about them too. There was something satisfying about the billowing of the sails: strong and forceful.
She frowned. The thought felt strange to her as if the wind had blown it into her head. She’d obviously sat still for too long: the wind’s movement was what her stiff limbs wanted.
Standing up, she moved towards the front of the boat. The yacht was pitching, its movement making it hard to keep her balance. To her surprise, she didn’t feel queasy at all. She seemed to have finally found her sea legs. It was probably best not to push it though: it would be foolish to stand here at the choppiest part of the boat for too long.
The rush of wind was glorious, cleansing her as it buffeted her hair and skin. The breeze was picking up, ferocious in the rigging. The flapping sound of the sails made her look up. She was drawn to something in the air: something … distorting. As the wind rippled, a shadow stretched along the sail and fear swelled through her. She squinted at the shape amassing on the air … from the air. She thought of Rosa, but as the shape of a person collected beside her on the deck, she recognised the familiar form: dark hair, blue dress and caramel eyes. Medea.
El found herself expecting some part of Medea to be shadowy but she was wholly there. She reminded herself that Medea wasn’t like a graeae. She was more like an empousa. Like one, but not one. She was an unknown quantity, with unknown powers.
Medea stood brazenly as if she’d climbed up the ladder to the deck instead of morphing into existence from the blowing gale. She leaned on the railings and looked up at the night sky, studded with stars.
‘Let me assuage any doubts you have, El. You acted exactly as I hoped you would. You’ve done your duty in a way that no other arete has since the early days of your kind. You killed an empousa. When you killed my daughter, her power came back to me. I am stronger now – stronger than I have been in millennia.’
El recalled how the full power had been drawn back to its origin when it couldn’t come to her. A ripple of heat flared in her chest like heartburn. The sensation reminded her of using the full power. She’d been consumed by darkness, lost in it as if she’d fallen into death with Rosa. She shuddered as she pictured the jet-black eyes and the obliteration that she’d caused. She shook the memory away and hugged herself.
‘You said that using the power would bring me freedom: from Yia Yia using me as a weapon. But being the only one with any power to stop three ancient vampires doesn’t feel like freedom.’
Medea was silent for a moment, her expression impassive and centred on t
he distant stars.
‘No one made you board this boat. You fought your way out of the arena today, claiming your life and your freedom. How you choose to use it is up to you.’
El frowned, Medea’s response seemed cold and impersonal. If she had been the one to restore Medea’s power, shouldn’t the witch be more grateful?
Her anger bubbled up again. ‘Well, now that your power’s restored, I guess you can take it from here.’
Medea raised her eyebrows. ‘I have learnt from the past that it is better to intercede as little as possible.’
El’s rage became concentrated. ‘You gave me the full power, you told me nothing about how to use it, you didn’t warn me that Talus … that Alex would die … and you expect me to clean up your mess! The empousa are your children!’
Medea was very still, staring at her. Cold stole through El as she wondered if she’d gone too far. Was the witch about to throw her overboard or toss her up into the night sky?
Very quietly Medea said, ‘To undo the wrong I wrought in this world, in the shape of my children. This is my only desire.’
El thought of the stories about Medea in Greek mythology: renowned as the mother who killed her own children.
‘Yes,’ Medea agreed, ‘in that story I was successful.’
The emotionless way she spoke about her children made El wonder if she’d always wanted to kill them.
A bitter smile crossed Medea’s face. ‘No … not always. But when they used my craft for evil, I knew that I must.’
Questions flashed through El’s mind. Was Medea talking about witchcraft? Was she talking about blood magic: the kerykeion and its veilings? She remembered the pensive way she’d looked at the earliest kerykeion on Helen Island: confirming it as the first and that the two snakes symbolised her children, Rosa and Seth. There were so many questions El wanted to ask. How had the war with the empousa begun? What of Medea’s sister, Circe? Where was she?