The First

by A. Claire Everward

  Kyle let go of the doorknob and faced Jennison, shocked.

  Jennison rumbled on, realizing what he'd said. “Yes, I know how it sounds, I know what we did. But we had no choice. You don't know everything, you don’t know what we know, what they could do if they wanted, what the two of you together could do if you were who we thought you might be. So yes, we took you. Separately. We placed her as an unwanted baby in a fully human environment, and not a very nice one, on purpose. Yes, okay? On purpose. We watched and made sure, in the hope that whatever she is, whatever the stories say, wouldn’t be, that they were really just that, stories. There. That's the truth, there you have it. And you we took, made you one of us. Made you what you were destined to be, but on our side, with her as your enemy.”

  He sighed. “If it's any consolation, while your father was carefully selected because he was the best man to make you into what you are today, he really did lose his wife, only that was before you were given to him. And he really did come to care for you as his son. That part was not a lie.” He rubbed his face with his hands, tired. So tired. All this for a plan that failed. He failed. And he had said too much, he realized. In a sudden burst of frustration, he stood up. “We'll come after you, you know. Both of you. All of you. Until none of you remain.”

  Kyle turned and left.

  He half expected Jennison to raise the alarm and send security after him, but nothing happened. It made sense, in a way. Admitting that Kyle got into the facility unobserved, while he was supposed to be hunted down by another operative sent by Jennison, would only get Jennison into more trouble, it would be perceived as yet another failure. He was after all, Kyle now realized, responsible for Kyle's presence in the organization in the first place. And if what Jennison said was true—although Kyle still couldn't fully comprehend it—Kyle himself was the organization's worst breach of security ever.

  He quickly managed to get out the same way he got in, still in the cover of darkness, and was soon walking away from the organization, from the lie that had been his life. As he distanced himself from the facility he walked faster and faster, finally breaking into a run, as if this would take him away from the deceit.

  It took a while before he was calm enough to think. Jennison hadn't confirmed that it was Semner he had sent after them, but it didn't matter. Kyle knew the organization’s killers and their training, how relentless they were. And if they would keep coming after Aelia and him, as Jennison said they would, it didn't matter in what order. All he could do was return to Aelia as quickly as possible, and make sure she was safe. No matter how good the security at Aeterna was, he needed to be there himself. Jennison's words resonated in his mind. Born to protect her . . . he had more questions now than he did before, but at least now he knew his best chance at getting them answered was at Aeterna.

  He found the motorcycle and rode it directly to the airport, ditched it far enough off and continued on foot to the hangar where he'd disembarked from the jet. The security detail was inside, deployed around the aircraft.

  “Sir.” The head of the detail approached him. “We're fueled and ready to go on your command.”

  Kyle nodded. “Let's go.”

  In Rome, Semner stood in the shadows outside the cathedral, looking with unveiled hatred at the people coming and going. He tried to recognize them, tell them apart from the tourists or the cathedral staff, the staff that had the right to be there, that is. He switched his weight from one leg to the other restlessly. There was still no lead. The man who was in charge of locating the targets said that the indications were that they were not in the cathedral, but Semner wanted to see for himself. He also wanted to see this place—he'd never before been allowed to come anywhere near here.

  He wondered if Jennison would let him come back here. Perhaps after he got Kyle and the woman, perhaps then Jennison's anger at him would be forgotten and he would have the status he'd always wanted. And then perhaps the organization would grant him his wish.

  Come back here and destroy them.

  Chapter Eleven

  The night was yet to give way to dawn, but Aelia was already awake. She was sitting in her bedroom, its lights dimmed, on a window seat that was comfortably cushioned to allow her to lean back and look at Aeterna's vast grounds outside. In the deep of the night, with the sky so clear and the stars so bright and the silence reigning in the great house, it was as if it was only her here, her and the endless questions in her mind. She leaned her chin on her folded arms, her eyes on the world beyond the glass. She would have liked to open the window, or better yet, go outside, but she had been asked not to. Security, she was told. That organization, its killer, was after her, and Aeterna's security was not taking any chances.

  This brought her thoughts back to Kyle. He had left while she slept, gone to confront those in his past. To understand why, and to try and stop them from coming after her. She wondered why he hadn’t come to her before he left. She wished he had, maybe she would have managed to talk him into staying. She was worried, scared that they would hurt him because of the choice he made, to help her. She kept trying to find him in that place within her but couldn't. Was it because he was so far? Was he blocking her out in his quest for answers?

  Would he come back?

  She knew she belonged here, with these people. Her people, Neora had called them. But she was feeling his absence. Missed that subtle sense of safety that she felt, with him. Protected, with him, her killer turned protector. Aeterna felt empty without him. And so the peace that she would finally have felt, perhaps, on this quiet night, eluded her.

  She wasn't able to sleep again after she had started awake earlier, feeling that he was no longer there. It was only a short time later that Sonea had come, accompanied by Rolly, who had told her that security around the great house had been tightened, that he was putting a security detail outside her door, that it would remain with her, that she must be protected. That Kyle requested that it be so. Rolly was the one who had told her with marked gentleness where Kyle had gone, about the mission he had set for himself.

  When they had gone, Rolly and Sonea, she had withdrawn back to her bedroom, to this seat by the window. Looking out into the night.

  There, by the window, she must have fallen asleep again, had thought she wouldn’t be able to but hadn't realized how tired she was. She slept for a few hours only, but deeply, again without darkness in her dreams. She woke up with the sun on her face, bright and warm, welcoming her to the new day. The great house around her was calm, peaceful, as if a piece essential to its existence, long missing, was now back in its rightful place. She could feel it, the place, its people. She had no words for the feeling, it was just there, a part of her that was beyond her grasp. Perhaps later, as I understand more, the thought passed through her mind.

  She stood up and looked around her, really looked, for the first time. The room was spacious, but despite its size it retained a coziness that came from its furnishings, its decoration. Quiet, deep colors, meant to instill peace and a subtle sense of antiquity that would be a reminder of a past, of roots. Of belonging. At the same time, everything in the room, from the lights to the windows, to a semi-hidden control screen beside the door, all responded to her voice, her touch, anticipated her, as if she was in fact not centuries in the past, but miles into the future.

  She found she wasn't surprised.

  She exited the bedroom and walked through the other rooms. All equally spacious, all equally meticulously furnished and maintained, all equally state of the art where it counted. All so very beautiful, their luxury tastefully understated.

  All for her.

  It amazed her, the richness and comfort of it all. She seemed to have everything she might need around her in these rooms, this apartment that appeared to have been waiting just for her. She returned to the bedroom, showered, and then walked into her closet for the first time. Even here, there were numerous possibilities of each item, as if these people, who were so attentive to her needs, were trying to e
nsure she lacked nothing without actually knowing her preferences. It baffled her, this deference she was being treated with. She'd never been treated this way before, never felt cared for in this way. And she didn't feel worthy of this treatment, didn’t quite know how to react, act, in the face of all this.

  Neora's words came to her mind, the way she spoke, the hope she conveyed, her hope and her people's, for the return of what they had lost. She still couldn't grasp it, couldn't accept that it was even possible, certainly not that it could be her. But just then, standing in this closet, in this smallest of gestures that reflected the extent of the effort these people were making to ensure that she was comfortable, she resolved to do the only thing she knew. To be all that she could, do all that was within her, for them.

  The thought, its oddness, struck her. What could she do?

  She picked out clothes she would feel comfortable with. A pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, a light-color blazer that accentuated the soft gray of her eyes. She turned to walk out of the closet and halted. Along an inner wall, well away from all other items, hung outfits that were difficult to disregard. Robes, white, flowing robes, which she recognized as what Neora wore, as what each and every one of the women in the paintings along the main staircases of the great house wore. Except that the light band of colors wasn't there. These robes were completely white, and the delicate material, one she didn’t recognize, looked different, so that the white was just that much lighter, translucent almost. She reached out and touched one of the robes, and it shimmered lightly. A distant image surfaced, too fleeting to catch, and she let the garment go, taking a step back. A frown on her face, she turned and walked out.

  A little later she left her rooms, startled for just an instant at the man and woman who stood at opposite sides of the corridor, then realized they must be part of the added security Rolly talked about. She acknowledged them with a nod, not really knowing how to deal with this, with them, then made her way to the main staircases.

  Sonea, her lady's maid, met her at the top of the stairs, agitated. “My Lady, why didn't you call for me? I would have come to you.”

  “It's all right,” Aelia said gently. “I just wanted to come downstairs.”

  “But did you have everything you need? I wanted to see what was suitable for you, so that I can make sure you have what you need.”

  “It’s all perfect, and could you please stop calling me ‘My lady’? I'm just Aelia.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Sonea said, and Aelia gave up. “Would you like some breakfast? The Keeper was hoping you might dine with her.”

  “Yes, of course, I'd like that.” Aelia was eager to speak to Neora, to hear more, to understand.

  They descended the stairs and Aelia stopped beside one of the paintings. She scrutinized it, then looked around her, up and down both staircases, at all of them, all past Keepers. “What all these women are wearing, the . . . Keepers. I've got similar clothes in my closet. And Neora, she wears them.”

  “Yes Ma'am, the robes. The Keeper's robes. Or”—and Sonea stammered as the realization of who she was speaking to hit her—“yours, I should say, Ma'am.” And she hurried down the stairs, flustered, and quickly showed Aelia into the drawing room she had sat in with Neora the day before.

  The old woman came toward her with a smile and took Aelia's hands in hers. “Good morning, child. Have you had a good rest? How do you feel?”

  “I'm fine, thank you,” Aelia answered, her mind still on her unanswered question. “I was just asking Sonea about what the women in the paintings are wearing, what you're wearing. These . . . robes, she called them? I've seen them in my closet.”

  “Not quite the same ones,” Neora said. “For the Keepers it is part of the symbol that we are. From the moment the chosen woman becomes the Keeper, she dresses as the Light did. In Her case, the Light dressed in robes that were made of a special material, which looked white when unworn because of its nature, and when worn captured the Light that She emanated, simultaneously reflecting and containing it. It is a unique material made especially for Her, and for Her only, by us. The robes of the Keepers are of a different material, more like the silk you know, because we do not have the Light within us. Nor are our robes entirely white. A band that encompasses all colors is added at the edge of the fabric used for the Keepers' robes, to signify that the Keeper is not Her.”

  At Aelia’s frown, Neora added, “It is your decision what you wear. The robes were placed in your closet because they are rightfully yours, and it is your choice when you wear them. You are not a symbol, a reminder, after all, you are the real Light.” She smiled. “Give yourself time.”

  The idea of symbolic robes, of the entity they were designed for—Aelia quickly pushed it aside and changed the subject. “You’ve gone to such an extent to make me comfortable here, there was really no need for this. And I don’t understand, when did you have the time?”

  Neora laughed. “The rooms you are in, that entire wing of the house in fact, was originally designated for the Light. It has never been used, of course, was kept closed, but it was maintained and renovated periodically. Kept prepared, in case you appeared, as you did. When we received word you were found, it was finally opened for use.”

  “It's beautiful. This entire house is.”

  “Yes, I think over the centuries we have managed to keep it in the spirit it was built in.”

  “But even the clothes in my closet, they . . . well, they fit.” Aelia indicated what she was wearing.

  “We only had partial footage of you from the security system in the cathedral in Rome, but it was enough to start with. Now that you yourself are here, Aeterna's staff will work quickly to adapt everything to your specific preferences.”

  “It's too much,” Aelia objected, her mind reeling from the way she was being treated, and from the underlying inference of what she meant to these people.

  “It is as it should be,” Neora said. “You will find that they are all happy to do whatever they can. They had longed to see you return in their lifetime, and they feel privileged that this has been the case. They . . . we have all seen the disappointment of our ancestors, and your being here gives us much needed, much awaited hope.”

  Aelia didn't know what to say. It all felt surreal. Surreal and undeserved and so very overwhelming. Neora smiled, understanding. “Come, Sonea tells me you refused to eat last night. We'll have some breakfast.”

  And so Aelia began her first day at Aeterna.

  In Rome, Semner answered the call, and a cruel smile appeared on his face. Finally.

  Neora was worried about Aelia. The young woman had been torn from the world of the humans she had always thought she belonged in, torn in body and mind, in abilities and knowledge. Neora wanted, on this calm morning, to tell her more about this place she found herself in, to show her that she was home.

  And so over breakfast, served to them in the comfortable drawing room by staff who kept sneaking covert looks at Aelia, the Keeper told her about Aeterna. She told her how Firsts have always been in the area, and how they had created a home for themselves deep inside the mountains when humans came here. How, when the humans advanced, building homes and villages, the Firsts built the great house, making a stake for themselves under the guise of rich gentility, which was acceptable back then, and easy to keep through the centuries. Among humans, money and power were still untouchable, and it helped that the Firsts had people in the right places.

  The house itself, Aelia heard, had always had a private wing that housed the First's rooms, where Aelia now lived, and an adjoining wing for the Protector. Aelia asked what that was, the Protector, but Neora only smiled, saying she would meet him later. She then took Aelia on a tour of the great house, and they strolled through corridors that displayed a history Aelia had never seen before, while Neora’s words took her far into the Firsts' past and back to the present, when they lived hidden in plain sight.

  When the Keeper was called away to speak to the Council, provide th
em with her eagerly awaited impressions of Aelia, Aelia finally exited the house to the grounds outside it. But she did so accompanied by Rolly, who insisted even then that the security detail he had assigned to her remain close by. Nor would he venture too far from the house with her, until the security situation, the fact that there was a killer after her, as he bluntly put it, was resolved.

  Wherever Aelia walked she saw people stop, stare at her. Bow their heads in deference when she passed them by. She felt ridiculously watched and even more ridiculously protected, and was glad to return to the drawing room, where Neora already waited for her.

  The Keeper answered her questions readily. She spoke of herself, but she was most interested to hear more about Aelia, the life she had. Aelia was hesitant, but she wanted to speak, wanted the Keeper to know. To understand the impossibility of her hope. After all, how could such hope be manifested in her, in Aelia, when the life she had lived was in such a sharp contrast to that which the girls born with the Light invariably had? Theirs was so protected, so carefully made to free and strengthen all that they were. Hers could surely do nothing but destroy it. Still, no matter what Aelia said, nothing changed in the Keeper's eyes. Her faith in Aelia as the Light could not be shaken.

  They were deeply engrossed in their conversation when the doors opened and an elderly man stepped into the room. Aelia stood up in surprise.

  The white-haired man walked over to her with a smile. “You remember me.”

  “Yes,” Aelia said. “The cathedral, it was you there.”

  He nodded.

  “You were . . . you looked at me like . . .” Aelia searched for the right word.

  “Like I'd seen the impossible, I suppose.” He laughed. “Yes, I apologize for that, I imagine I frightened you. You took me by surprise, I wasn’t expecting our encounter.”