The Named

by Marianne Curley

  ‘Are you going to vomit again?’ the prince asks while keeping his eyes riveted to the duelling pair.

  I shake my head and try to have faith in Isabel, but I’m assuming the assassin is no novice, Isabel is. This mission was supposed to be observation only. But Isabel does well, holding her position and forcing the assassin back several paces until his back hits the wall. Then, with an amazing display of swordsmanship, Isabel maims the man, slashing his left arm. But it’s probably only a flesh wound.

  Beside me, the prince cheers. But I can hardly see him any more, the room is swimming and I feel as if I’m about to pass out. Something is terribly wrong.

  Suddenly Isabel screams. For a second I think she’s been hurt and I try to get up. It seems the assassin, frustrated and annoyed, has found a new strength. He disarms Isabel, whose sword flies off and lodges on the window ledge. She’s in trouble now, and there’s nothing I can do to help.

  The assassin aims his sword with the intention to kill, but Isabel uses her karate skills, bringing the man to his knees and causing him to drop his sword. The prince cheers again and rushes for the weapon. It’s heavy and he has trouble picking it up. In the meantime the assassin gets his bearings back and flips Isabel on to her back. From within his boot he flicks out a dagger and aims it at the prince.

  ‘Look out!’ I call.

  As he throws, Isabel jumps on the caped man, knocking the dagger off its course. It lodges in the leg of a wooden desk.

  At this moment the doors fling open. John of Gaunt and several soldiers come charging into the room, quickly sizing up the situation. The assassin, realising his work here tonight will remain incomplete, takes a flying run and leaps out of the window. It’s a long way down, but I know he’ll not leap to his death, but back to wherever and whenever he came from. The only consolation tonight is that even though I totally stuffed the mission, thanks to Isabel, the prince still lives.

  John of Gaunt orders his men to pursue the assassin and bring him back alive, which of course they won’t ’cause they won’t find him, that’s for sure. But off they go, running out the door, and John of Gaunt checks that the young prince is all right. Noticing the pool of vomit spread out over the floor he watches carefully where he puts his feet. He then helps Isabel into a standing position. ‘My lady, His Highness and I are most grateful.’

  He offers a hand to me, but I cannot move. The violent nausea and chest pain have increased so much in the last few minutes that I’m starting to think I may not make it back to my own bed alive. Breathing is too hard now as my lungs struggle to inflate.

  ‘He’s ill, my lord,’ Isabel crouches beside me. ‘What do I do, Hugo? Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Arkarian,’ I mouth in a hoarse whisper against her ear. ‘But not in front of …’

  She looks up at John of Gaunt. ‘We need a room.’ Within seconds John of Gaunt has two of his men lift and carry me to a bed in a room down the hall. Isabel thanks them while shoving them out the door.

  ‘Arkarian!’ she screams, and in the same second the two of us are returned to the Citadel, where Arkarian is waiting, a deep frown carved into his forehead.

  ‘Ethan, you must hurry.’

  Isabel tries pushing Arkarian out of her way to get to me. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is it something I can heal?’

  ‘Be patient, Isabel, he’ll be well again soon.’

  The pain eases and my lungs inflate again. ‘I think I’m getting better already.’ I try to sit up but fall back down.

  ‘That’s only because you’re closer to your body. But you will be well again soon,’ Arkarian explains. ‘As soon as you return to your mortal state. But there’s something I have to tell you first. It’s about your—’

  My stomach churns and I think I’m going to throw up again. I roll over as pain tightens like a rubber band around my head. Isabel jerks backwards and starts yelling, ‘Hurry, Arkarian! Are you blind? He needs help!’

  Arkarian nods and waves his hands over me with a strange impatient expression on his face. ‘You’d better go then,’ he commands, and before I have a chance to wonder what he was going to say, the room and everyone in it disappears.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Ethan

  I wake to see Dad gazing into my face, his hands on my shoulders shaking me. I have to think quickly: how long was I out? It couldn’t have been much more than a couple of minutes, but the time spent in the Citadel is the unknown factor. We took so long to get going. Still, a few minutes at most, surely. All I have to do is act calm. He can’t know anything. And he mustn’t find out. It would be dangerous – for me, for those associated with me, and even for Dad. And there was my breach of one code already last week, and again with the handwritten note. My appearance before the Tribunal is coming up shortly. Hell, I have to be careful!

  ‘Dad, stop shaking me! What’s the matter?’

  ‘Ethan? You were out cold.’ He encloses me in a grip so hard his fingers dig into my shoulders. Then he stiffens and pulls back, eyes squinting and dark. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was just sleeping, Dad.’

  ‘No, you weren’t.’

  All I have to do is make him think he imagined my comatose state. He’s talking through fear. It should be easy to allay those fears, now that I’m here and fine and talking to him. ‘Dad, you had your hands on my shoulders the whole time. Look at me, I’m fine.’ In fact a heavy lethargy has gripped my limbs. I just hope he doesn’t ask me to get up and prove anything.

  ‘Something strange is going on.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! What could possibly be going on?’ I stare him straight in the face, forcing myself not to blink, not to falter in any way. It’s now, as my thoughts start to settle into some sort of order, that I wonder what he’s doing here, in my room, in the middle of the night. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Mum?’

  ‘She’s all right now.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He shifts his glance to the door as though watching for her to make an appearance. ‘She had a bad dream again, that’s all. You must have been in it. She made me get out of bed and check on you. But you were so deeply asleep, I couldn’t even tell if you were breathing or not. And when I shook you, you didn’t respond.’

  ‘I’m a deep sleeper, Dad.’

  He peers at me as though, on some level in his mind, he’s not buying my explanation. Then his head drops, a defeated gesture. ‘I … I’m confused.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be confused about. I was just so tired I fell into a deep sleep. I was in dreamland.’

  This reference to dreams has his eyes open wide again. He sits at the side of my bed. ‘Were you having a nightmare too?’

  Although I did have one earlier, I still don’t feel up to talking about it. Right now I’m too drained. ‘Nah, just sweet dreams tonight, Dad.’

  He almost smiles. ‘There must’ve been a girl involved.’

  Isabel’s trusting face as she looked up from making the stone castle at the lake foreshore flashes into my brain. The sensation of evil about to drop on her from the surrounding woods hits me at the same instant.

  ‘Ethan? Are you all right?’

  I push the horror to the back of my mind. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really tired, Dad.’

  He gets up and walks to the door, but doesn’t leave straight away. ‘If there’s anything you want to tell me … Anything …’ He turns his face slightly. It catches the light from the moon, and I see a glimpse of tenderness and concern. This look, this rare show of emotion, almost has me confessing my soul to him. Fighting this urge hard, I turn away, rolling on to my side, letting him know our conversation is over. Telling Dad, or anyone else for that matter, about the Guard would be a major violation of the code. But worse than that, Dad just wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Isabel

  A week passes and Ethan fully recovers. What happened to him scared me and I don’t want that happening to me. Tonight we g
o to Athens to the year 200 BC, a thousand years after the Tribunal was first established. Now it’s the Guard’s headquarters, where the Lords of the various Houses live unaffected by the mortal measurement of time. I’m going to be initiated as an Apprentice before the Tribunal. We’ll be staying overnight, as Ethan’s trial is on the second day; Arkarian is allowing me to stay for it but probably not to watch. It couldn’t happen at a better time, because Mum is away with Jimmy for a weekend in the high country trying to catch some early snow. I just have to make sure I don’t do anything stupid to make Matt want to check on me during the night, which is highly unlikely anyway. With Mum away I’m sure he’ll make the most of the house this weekend with Rochelle.

  I’m kind of looking forward to meeting the Tribunal, which is made up of the nine Lords of the Houses, even while I’m nervous about it too. There are apparently four women, four men, and an immortal who is neither. I have so many questions, but doubt I’ll get to ask even half of them. Arkarian says that to even look upon their faces takes courage, let alone to stare into their eyes to ask a question.

  ‘Are they ugly?’ We’re seated in Arkarian’s main chamber, on his favourite stools. Mine feels as if it’s going to collapse beneath me.

  Ethan laughs. ‘About as ugly as Arkarian.’

  Arkarian gives Ethan a barely tolerant look.

  ‘Do they have strange-coloured eyes?’

  ‘Like mine?’ Arkarian asks, looking straight at me with those deep violet eyes that are completely breathtaking this close up.

  Ethan answers for me, which is good as I seem to have lost my ability to speak. ‘Mostly, but it’s how they look at you, or I should say through you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘They’re all Truthseers.’

  I stare at Ethan, then at Arkarian.

  ‘They can read your thoughts. Every one,’ Ethan says with a grin. ‘Even the thoughts you don’t consciously think. Like the silly ones that just pop into your head.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘The first time I met the Tribunal I could hardly stop staring at Penbarin. You’ll know exactly who I’m talking about when you see him. He’s massive, in every direction. I didn’t say anything out loud, of course. And I did stop myself from staring, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, Wow, isn’t he a fat pig? That was my first thought, then, I wonder what he ate for breakfast, a side of cow?’

  I can’t help laughing, but Arkarian’s voice is dry.

  ‘Personally, I don’t think about what people eat for breakfast. I have better things to do with my thoughts.’

  So now I have to watch not just what I say, but what my thoughts say as well.

  Arkarian touches my shoulder gently; a comforting warmth spreads right down my arm. ‘Pay no attention to him, Isabel. He’s matured somewhat since that first meeting.’

  Something clicks. ‘How old were you exactly when you had these runaway thoughts?’

  Ethan smiles. ‘Five, I think.’

  It’s a relief, but only slightly. I know my own mind, and it hardly ever follows its own orders. I recall the first time I met Arkarian and how blown away I was by that blue hair. And then I saw his eyes – purple! Just looking into them had made me self-conscious and tingly all over. The thoughts I had were just plain sinful. But eventually I pulled myself together and started noticing other things, like his skin, pale and silky smooth. And as for his physique, well, I couldn’t help noticing the strength in his upper body, like – wow!

  I stop when I realise they’re sharing a look that at first I don’t understand. And then I get it. It’s embarrassment – on my behalf. ‘What is it?’

  Ethan breaks it to me. ‘You know when I told you Arkarian’s title is that of TruthMaster.’

  An uneasy feeling kicks into my stomach. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Well, the fact is, the “Truth” half stands for Truthseer.’

  ‘Arkarian’s a Truthseer too?’ I ask just to check.

  Arkarian’s eyebrows lift, while Ethan grins at me.

  ‘How wonderful,’ I whisper mostly to myself, recalling in a flash the multitude of embarrassing thoughts I’ve had about Arkarian while in his presence. I try hard to resist putting both hands over my face in an attempt to hide. ‘I mean, isn’t this just great? Thank you for telling me, Ethan. Some Trainer you turned out to be. And your speciality is embarrassing your Apprentices, correct?’

  They both laugh, then Arkarian gets serious. ‘You two had better get going. We leave in only a few hours.’

  As Ethan and I walk out of the mountain and down the long track home, I can’t help drilling him with some of the thousand questions jumping around inside my head. He tries to answer them, but sometimes I sense he’s purposely leaving stuff out. I wish I was a Truthseer so I could read his mind right now, but really I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Imagine what silly thoughts he would have.

  But there is one question that I know he’ll love to talk about. It’s about getting what the Guard call his ‘wings’. It’s an honour, one of the highest possible. And Ethan is close. He’s mentioned it several times while training. Apparently he’s expecting to be awarded this power on his next birthday in a ceremony in Athens. ‘What happens when you earn your wings?’

  His eyes light up, I see the blue in them shimmer even in the semi-dark of early dusk. ‘They’re not physical wings or anything,’ he says, ‘not like a bird or an angel. You don’t actually grow them either. It’s a power you have to earn. They don’t give it to everyone. Only those they can fully trust not to misuse it.’

  ‘What can you do with this power?’

  ‘It’s the ability to dematerialise your own body and rematerialise it at will somewhere else.’

  ‘Wow, that’s incredible!’

  ‘Yeah, why do you think I can’t wait? It’s the ultimate.’

  Ethan is excited and I can’t blame him. The trip into the past last week is still buzzing in my head. An absolute adrenalin rush from start to finish. Imagine being able to take yourself from one spot to another in an instant! The ultimate in self-defence. ‘How long does it take to earn these wings?’

  ‘There are three levels: Apprentice, Trainer and Master. But you can earn your wings at any stage, it’s up to the Tribunal. Some members don’t ever earn them, but it doesn’t mean they’re unskilled, just that the Tribunal doesn’t think they can handle that amount of power.’

  ‘Ah, I think I understand. So what would Arkarian be?’

  ‘He’s a Master, and he’s had his wings for about five hundred and ninety years, or so he boasts.’

  Boasts? Now this I find difficult to believe. I haven’t known him long, but he doesn’t seem the type. Right from the start I felt he was genuine, not putting on an attitude like most people I know. ‘He doesn’t boast. And I know he has the skill that keeps him physically young, but six hundred years? That’s really hard to comprehend ’cause he just doesn’t look it.’

  ‘His body will always be that of an eighteen-year-old.’

  An interesting thought! ‘Are you sure he’s not immortal?’

  Ethan shrugs. ‘Nah, it’s just his skill. Others have it too, but it’s rare.’

  A thought hits me. Arkarian must have a life other than the times we see him in his high-tech chambers, monitoring history. Where does he go? Who does he see? ‘Does he …? Um—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know, have a …?’

  He looks at me as if I’ve just grown two heads. ‘A girlfriend? Is that what you’re trying to ask?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Well, I am, actually, but Ethan’s amused reaction has me dropping the subject quickly. I can’t help thinking a lot about Arkarian since meeting him. Maybe it’s his mysterious lifestyle I find fascinating. I don’t know. He just intrigues me.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Isabel

  I go to bed as usual, though Matt is nowhere around. He’s probably with Rochelle. Whether he’s with her or not makes n
o difference as far as I’m concerned. His love life is none of my business. The first time Matt started going out with Rochelle, and I could tell how serious he was about this girl, I thought perhaps the two of us could be friends. But it didn’t work out, and even to this day, Rochelle always acts indifferent to me. Matt thinks I exaggerate, but in his eyes Rochelle can do nothing wrong. And I can’t say anything bad about her or he bites my head off. Boy, has he got it bad! Well, hopefully I’ll be back in my body by the time he gets home.

  I drift off to sleep quickly, waking with a sudden drop in one of the many rooms in the Citadel. This one resembles a museum, with sculptures (mostly statues of naked little boys) spread around the room.

  Ethan is waiting for me again. Together we go to one of the wardrobe rooms, this one completely different to the last. I end up dressed in a white tunic made of some soft yet subtly reflective material, sashed at the waist with a light-blue corded belt, a matching white cape draped over my shoulders. My feet remain bare, my hair unchanged, except for being contained in a single thick plait. I move to the mirror to inspect my new face and see my familiar reflection staring back.

  ‘Your identity can’t be concealed from the leaders of the royal Houses, nor from the immortal.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Ethan smiles at me. ‘I should congratulate you,’ he says, attempting to maintain a happy look, I suspect solely for my benefit. ‘You’ve been elevated already. The white tunic represents your novice status and so should your belt, but you’re wearing the first shade of blue, which stands for suitably honoured Apprentice.’

  Inwardly beaming, I stand back as Ethan begins his walk. Moments later he spins around to face me, dressed in a similar floor-length tunic and cape, except his are all black, including the sash. ‘What does your black tunic stand for?’ I ask, but hardly need to. His crestfallen face tells me heaps.

  ‘Dishonour,’ he says softly. ‘At least I haven’t been stripped back to Apprentice status.’