A few moments later there was a vibration in Calla’s left trouser pocket. Were it not for the repeated reverberations, Lupus would have failed to notice it, so intent was he on just holding her. Even so, when she took the device out of her pocket, which resembled a marble-like tablet with a digital interface, he couldn’t help but break his attention from the film and her and read the message that popped up brightly the small screen.
He read what it said and to some extent he wasn’t surprised. Still, he felt it was a little cold and completely unfair. The message was from Raina, Calla’s ostensibly best friend.
You’re an idiot. It declared. He cannot be trusted. You know this is wrong.
Calla tried to read it and hide it quickly, but it was too late. She knew this by the way Lupus turned his eyes back to the screen and winced with a suppressed emotion that she couldn’t quite place. She decided to say nothing and placed the tablet back in her pocket without replying to Raina.
After an awkward silence, which was unheard of between the two of them, Lupus couldn’t fight the nagging voice in his thoughts anymore.
“Do you agree with her?” he asked, a tone of sadness in his question. He continued to passively watch the film as he waited for an answer.
Calla was at a loss of what to say, as if her feelings towards him had suddenly been changed by force. In truth, she trusted her sister completely. Raina had a way of knowing things about people and rarely was she ever wrong. She had to be honest with him.
“Raina can…she can know the nature of a person. Their spirit, if you like…and she’s usually right…” Calla said, unwilling to wrap it up in a lie but reluctant to tell him what she was saying in a blunter way.
As she spoke the words she began to realise that in reality, Raina’s words had an effect on her that she didn’t want. Had any of her other sisters suggested that Lupus was untrustworthy, she would not have listened. Yet, Calla knew that Raina’s judgement had never failed her. This fact tore with the feelings deep in her heart; the very same ones that told her Lupus was nothing short of perfect for her.
By now, he had seen the inner conflict written on her nervous lips and heard it on wavering voice. It was engrained in her eyes and he couldn’t tell which side was winning. Unconsciously, Calla moved away from his embrace ever so slightly. To anyone else, the distance would have been imperceptible, but he felt the difference as clearly as though a rift had opened between them.
Before he could talk to her about it, her family intervened once again, this time by accident. “Calla!” her father called.
She looked at Lupus with an uncertainty that turned into sadness, then resolution. The transition took mere moments, but the change of emotion and reconciliation that Lupus was witnessing felt like it lasted a lot longer.
“What is it, Father?” she called out, her gaze never leaving his. Her voice trembled, a reflection of the obstacle that had arrived for them so suddenly and with so much external pressure that now became internal struggle. Everything she had hoped for with him was now in jeopardy and she could feel Raina’s insistence as strongly as though it were her own conscience.
“We’re just going out to the night-market. Do you two want to come with us?”
It was obvious to them both that it wasn’t an option.
“No thank you, Father, it’s alright. We’re going to finish the film” Calla answered. Her tone almost betrayed the unstable situation in her room, but she needed to take advantage of being alone with Lupus. Their next conversation was not going to be easy on either of them.
ONCE CALLA’S FAMILY had left the house, Lupus felt an urge to depart as well that he hadn’t ever expected. The way Raina had unsettled Calla so easily had the same effect on him and he suddenly felt wary that his connection to her was far greater than hers to him.
“I should go. You’re upset and I won’t help if I’m here. I’m sorry your sister feels the way she does. If what you say about her is true, perhaps she is right about me…” he resigned and made to move from the sofa-bed.
He left the bedroom and heard her come after him. Descending the stairs with an earnestness that he didn’t notice until it had gotten him near the door, he grabbed his coat and turned to see her waiting at the bottom to see him out.
“I’m sorry” she told him guiltily. Her hands were in her pockets, she was frowning and he could see the genuine sadness in her eyes.
He had never seen her so mixed up and the fight between her emotions and her head was clear for him to see. Despite what her sister meant to her, she didn’t want this to happen. She really did want him just as much as he wanted her, but it wasn’t about desire anymore, not now that familial disapproval was involved. It inspired him to fight for her against Raina’s usurping words.
“Calla…” he began while moving closer to her, but she edged back, making him stop. He held out a hand in a show of his calmness and sincerity.
“Why must you listen to her? She knows nothing about me, but you do. How could she possibly discern my spirit when only you have ever gleaned what’s in there?” he asked.
She was staring at the floor, embarrassed and awkward. He looked at her, resplendent there with the light from upstairs spreading into the darkness down into the hall, giving her rich blonde hair a perfect halo. She truly was angelic and she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He couldn’t just give in and let someone who barely knew him ruin this for him, not now after allowing himself to fall so hard for Calla.
“It doesn’t matter what others say!” he cried out, angry now that the one thing keeping him human was slipping away. “It’s about us…if you’re happy and I am happy also, then who is right to deny us? People put so much stress on a consensus of love, but what could be more righteous than the way we feel? It is our decision, not anyone else’s…”
Calla started to cry. The tears ran down her cheeks tortuously slowly and the sight of her pain speared into his very core. He had only seen her cry once when other people had ridiculed her at the Academy for slipping on a sheet of ice on the way into the grounds.
He saved her that day, uplifting her spirits with his kindness and his gentle heart. But now, it was him causing the pain. He was desperate to say the right thing and yet all he could say seemed to hurt her further, betraying his intentions.
“Please, just give us a chance...” he whispered as he moved nearer. He hesitated as she shrank away. He had never before been so sentimental, never before so openly emotional to anyone. She knew this and it hurt all the more because she couldn’t respond in a way that wouldn’t confuse him. Here he was, finally opening up and yet it felt so wrong to them both.
“I can’t, Lupus, not now…” she murmured, hiding her tears with her arm.
The answer stopped his heart’s plea in its tracks. He couldn’t have her. After all this time and all his stringent efforts to avoid falling for her, he had done exactly that. He couldn’t help it, there was no way to prevent it, but he let her capture his heart and now that risk was revealed as foolish faith.
“Please…Lupus, please…leave” she breathed.
He felt a surge of words rush to his defence, ready to convince her to give them a try. He had so many things he wanted to say to her, to make her see that they were right for each other…that she was what he needed and no-one else could fill that void. Yet, deep down, he couldn’t deflect the truth of what she was saying any longer.
He turned around, threw his coat on and left her house through the same door that had promised so much just hours before.
INSIDE, CALLA FELT a shockwave of regret course through her body. She grabbed hold of the staircase bannister and, with a controlled fall, hit the carpeted step. Her head fell into her hands and she wept at the injustice of it all. Lupus was right; who really had the right to call the shots for their own lives?
Yet, a powerful fact endeavoured to brush her resistance aside as she considered what Raina had said. It was true, she had rarely been wrong about people. Actual
ly, Raina was never wrong, as though her mind was attuned to the reality of people’s characters. Calla even knew something about her sister that Raina herself did not know. It was a trait she could see in Lupus as well; a sign of something greater, of singular authority and that alone gave weight to her opinion, one that she couldn’t just ignore like he asked her to.
Her heart wrestled with her mind. One wanted to reveal what she knew and finally make the connections between them all that needed to be made, but the other insisted that it wasn’t yet time. Before her was a selfish path, the one that would show Raina that Lupus was far greater a man than her sister could anticipate, but the other, the path of secrecy, was the only right way forward.
Then, to confuse her further, both parts of her heart asked opposing, equally potent questions, the answers to which would change her life forever.
What if Raina was right?
What if she was wrong?
IF EITHER CALLA or Lupus had known of the events unfolding elsewhere in the city, their personal concerns would have seemed trivial and tiny.
Deep in the heart of Cygnus stood a bastion of a building, more like a fortress than the pinnacle of democracy it was supposed to represent. A thick wall made of dark grey stone, appearing and feeling as ancient as it really was, surrounded the main structure. Inside this protective net, what appeared to simply be a very large house sat in defiance of any potential enemy to the government of Gothica.
Its defensive curtain was manned by a company of soldiers, all thick-set, determined and loyal. They were veterans of a war long past, but they were garbed no more ornately than their younger brethren out in the fringes of the Empire. They were rugged, old, but lethal men. Dressed in plated armour of a royal blue, a cotton-weave material covering it all, they looked no less brutal than their protection made them bulky. Yet, for all the safety of it, it could not reduce their murderous speed or their surprising agility. This reason, amongst many others, was what made them the selection of choice to protect the mighty Senate of Gothica.
Despite their training, expertise and physical prowess, it all paled in comparison to the six figures dressed in black approaching the main gate. Had the veterans known how dangerous the men who approached them were, what they had fought against and survived, their years of battle-hardened resolve would have fled their hearts through intimidation alone. Without this knowledge, their spotlights targeted the group, arrogantly calling them to a halt.
LUPUS WAS HOME again and he let himself in with a furrowed brow. Whilst Raina may have had her suspicions about him, it was unusual that such normal sibling worries had the effect it did on Calla. He found it ironic that while she could ‘see’ his spirit and reach vastly inaccurate conclusions, he felt a twinge of doubt about her own.
He resigned himself not to dwell on Raina; it would do him no good and he could clearly see that there must have been a strong connection between her and Calla. He suspected that had any other of her sisters said anything, they would not have been so influential. He knew Calla better than he knew anyone and were he to cast modesty aside, he knew more about her personality than anyone else did too. She was strong, resilient, independent and passionate. When she was certain about something, practically nothing could tear her away from it.
It was this observation that told him to give up hope. He couldn’t fight something as indestructible as a family bond and in some ways, he didn’t want to. If they weren’t meant to be together, and Raina was the one that could somehow determine this, then he had to accept their fate.
Yet, as he made his way to his bed, shedding his clothes and resting his head on his gentle arrangement of pillows, he could not bring himself to be comfortable with what had transpired. Something else was happening; he could feel it. There was more to Raina, and indeed to Calla, than met the eye.
Resigning himself to sleep, he experienced the rare state of indecision rampaging through his thoughts. What it was he wanted and what it was he had to do, he could no longer decide.
THE FIGURES IN black, their faces covered by long hoods, approached the main gate of the Senate House casually, yet their gait spoke of a restraint that was at once both daunting and comforting. The veterans on the wall could tell that they were well trained, but somehow it was almost obvious that they came in peace.
Reaching the massive metal doors of the gatehouse, the group stopped and gazed at the tops of the towers. They simply waited for an audience, as if they knew the expected procedure for entrants and were just acting it out to prove they weren’t a threat.
“Who goes there?” one of the guards called down, an officer by the triple line markings on his shoulder armour.
It was a moment before the lead member of the mysterious group took a step forward and replied.
“We are friends of Gothica, ambassadors on a democratic mission. Allow us entry”. The voice was deep, but gentle and sincere, despite the power behind it.
“The Gothic Senate is not expecting a visit from any of our allies, for there are few left for the Empire to claim” the guard told him. “Reveal your identity and surrender to us, or we will refuse you passage and arrest you”.
The leader of the group was joined by one of his comrades who began to whisper into his ear. He nodded at the comments and directed his attention back at the gatehouse.
“You don’t want to try that out. We bring news of the Prophecy,” he announced, an air of authority imbued in his answer so profoundly that the officer could not attempt to deny its truth.
Speaking into a device attached to his armour, the veteran called for a contingent of men to stand ready in the courtyard beyond the gatehouse.
Then, with a shudder of uncertainty, he gave the order. “Open the gate. All guards to arms. We can only afford to trust with our guns, not our hearts”
Huge gyros were forced into action as pistons and levers manoeuvred to open the massive doors of the aperture. The sound could be heard for a mile around, which served as an alarm that forces, friend or foe, were entering the state’s own grounds. It helped to put the guards on the defensive, wary for any signs of trouble. Outside, the black group converged as one and entered the domain of the Gothic Senate.
WITHIN SECONDS THE group was surrounded on all sides by the Senate Guard. They were unflinching and betrayed no sign of agitation, as if they were expecting this to happen. Two ranks of ten men formed a ring around them and with rifles raised, they held firm against the foreigners melting into the darkness.
The officer from the gatehouse had made his way down through the tower and was now approaching them through the circle of his own men.
“I am Gate Captain Ashdown. You will surrender any arms to my men,” he commanded.
Without hesitation, the group obliged. Until this point, their cloaks had concealed their arsenal of weaponry. As they reached beneath them and began to loosen their armaments, Ashdown was both in awe and in shock of the amount of firepower they managed to carry without effort. Shoulder-slung rifles were handed over, pistols were freed from their holsters and grenade belts were unsnapped.
Then there were the knives. Metal blades that gleamed in the moonlight came in all shapes and sizes, each ornately decorated with engravings in a language that Ashdown had never seen before. When the lead figure finally gave his last weapon over, taking a long sword from a sheath on his back, Ashdown stepped closer.
“What are your names?” he asked the stranger.
“Is it really necessary that you should know? We wish to speak to the Senate, not to you,” was his answer. The figures behind the leader in black chuckled softly without remorse.
Ashdown felt his blood boil at the insolence. Whoever these people were, they had no respect for him or his men. There was no excuse for this; the Senate Guard were held in high regard through all the Empire and rightly so. After all, the lives of the Senate, the rulers of the Gothican Empire, were in their care.
“Answer me, boy, or I will have you shot where you stand,” Ashdown grun
ted. He meant every word.
The leader took his hands to his hood and revealed his face. Ashdown was surprised to see that he was no young boy at all; this upstart was a man, who certainly appeared younger than him, but his eyes held an age and a wisdom that a thousand youths could not together have shown him. His dark hair and hard jawline gave him an austerity that demanded the captain’s appreciation of his authority and nature.
“I am Commander Sabre of the 617th Black Guardian Legion,” he smiled with genuine warmth. “Now that you have my name and know who we are, please take us to the Senate.”
Despite the discipline of the veterans, they could not help but murmur and whisper at the revelation. Ashdown himself could not hold back the excited shock that was written across his face. This was what they had all been waiting for; confirmation that the Prophecy was true. Here was a real legionnaire, the first to come forward to the Empire. Fear mingled with his elation as well, for this fulfilment could only mean one thing.
Whether Ashdown was right or not, he did what any sane man would have done in his place. He obeyed Sabre and led them into to the mighty Senate House.
FROM THE COURTYARD Ashdown took the legionnaires to the Senate building. Climbing the wide berth of steps, almost a hundred white marble levels, they reached the far from modest, dark oak doors. His men had come with them, through curiosity alone were it not for protocol. Usually their concern for security would have kept them wary, but since each had been stunned out of their sense of duty, they were forced to remember it and be conscious of the possibility that these legionnaires were imposters. It would not have been a first, even if this group were more convincing than any before them. The fact that they were numbered seemed to help their case.
As they reached the entrance, Ashdown ordered the doormen to open the way without hesitation and they did so obediently, unwilling to question a veteran of his status. He practically stormed through them, determined to get the legionnaires to where they asked to be lest he face any kind of wrath, whether from them or the Senate for any delay. The Prophecy didn’t say much about the Black Guardian Legions, but any Gothican knew enough not to get in their way were they to meet a legionnaire in person.
The Deian War: Vermillion's Apostles Page 5