Arianna was so happy to be walking and chatting with her new friends, she nearly walked right passed her class.
“Oh shit, this is my class, Mr. Dickinson’s room.”
“Whoops! We almost took you with us!” Josh commented.
“Almost,” Arianna smiled and started to go inside.
“I’ll save you a seat in the cafeteria,” Paul said and smiled then disappeared down the hallway.
Arianna was left clutching her books over her chest with a warm feeling in her heart for the first time in what seemed like eternity. Though it was not long ago that she’d had a boyfriend, someone to hug and kiss and talk with, her relationship had been cut short, violently. Luke’s death, and her mother’s death, had left her feeling as though she’d never smile again, never be truly happy again. Desmond had been the only glimmer of hope on her otherwise bleak horizon, but even he had hurt her in a devastatingly monumental way. Yet, here she was, impossibly, enjoying the newness and excitement of a group of strangers that were fast becoming her friends. She smiled and turned to go inside.
Mr. Dickinson’s class, and all of her other classes, flew by. Lunch, in particular, had sped by so quickly that if someone had told her the hands on the clock had been manipulated forward, she would have believed them unquestioningly. The entire day had felt like that. Before she knew it, she found herself standing before her locker gathering her belongings and about to leave. She’d slung her backpack over one shoulder and was about to leave when she saw Beth approaching. Arianna stepped in front of her, so that there could be no confusion as to whether or not Beth had heard or seen her, and spoke.
“Hi Beth,” Arianna said flatly.
“Look, I was joking yesterday,” Beth snapped. “But now I’m beginning to think you’re into me.”
“What?” Arianna asked confusedly and stepped back. “No! It’s nothing like that!”
“I’m not interested, sweetheart,” Beth said and held up a hand. “Take a hint.”
Arianna was about to launch into one of her signature tirades when Beth slipped by her and out the front door.
“Damn it!” Arianna muttered.
She didn’t know what it was about Beth, why she felt compelled to make friends with her. She’d originally thought that perhaps Beth possessed powers. Now the notion made her cringe. How cliché would that have been, a witch who dressed from head to toe in black, wore black lipstick and black makeup? Beth might as well have worn a pointed hat and towed a broomstick behind her. All of it would have been too absurd to be possible. Arianna had felt the slightest tingling whisper through her when they’d first met and thought it would be worth a try getting to know her. But not now, not after Beth’s continued accusation that Arianna was interested in more than just friendship. She would not keep making an ass of herself with Beth. She’d been drawn to Hallowed Hills; that much she knew. Why or to whom she’d been drawn remained a mystery. One thing she was certain of: she would not be wasting any more time or energy on Beth.
Chapter 8
Arianna’s features flashed in Desmond’s mind repeatedly. Her large brown eyes, the curtains of dark hair that fell in straight panels around her face to her shoulders, her perfect lips, each of her exquisite attributes, drifted hazily in his mind’s eye like a lagoon mirage would to a man wandering the desert. His vision of her kept his freezing legs moving, kept him from turning back and fleeing the harsh land he walked upon. Fierce winds lashed against his body as he trekked along an ice-crusted path toward Ellsworth Land on the Antarctic Peninsula. Despite the fact that it was spring there and boasted light-filled days, the temperature hovered around negative twelve degrees Fahrenheit and was getting colder the further south he traveled. Desmond had used his powers to create a protective field around himself, to guard his mortal body against the elements.
While his powers warmed his body, love and faith warmed his insides. His love for Arianna, his belief in her goodness, pushed him onward. But love and faith were not the only motivating forces heating him. Anger and betrayal had ignited a considerable fire as well.
His father had written a chapter in the Tome of Ares, and had withheld that fact from him his entire life. Desmond needed to know why. Why had his father betrayed him? Why had his father written such lies about the Sola, about Arianna?
Thoughts of his father’s misguided chapter riled him and sent a bolt of rage surging through his veins. The flare of energy was so potent, the section of air before him that quivered and shimmered like heat radiating off pavement, his field of warmth, faltered briefly. Allowing his emotions to rise erratically as they had could get him killed. He needed to control them until he reached his father’s compound.
The Antarctic Peninsula was dotted with numerous research stations. All squat buildings that housed scientists from around the world, the terrain on which they sat maintained multiple claims of sovereignty. Of course, none of those countries that sought to claim sovereignty knew that the land also housed the most powerful living warlock whose abilities would only be eclipsed by that of the Sola.
Desmond’s father, Agnon, lived beyond the acreage that accommodated global scientists. He lived deep in the hostile heart of Ellsworth Land in a building that rose like an ashen fortress from the colorless landscape. Protected by an invisible barrier that guarded against sifting, Agnon’s stronghold was impervious to any supernatural being capable of teleportation, including Desmond.
He had been able to teleport from Herald Falls, New York in the United States to Ushuaia at the southernmost point of Argentina in South America. He rested there then teleported to the Peninsula. But the closer he drew to his father’s compound, the more he felt his sifting abilities wane. The continual flow inside of him that raced like electricity along with his lifeblood came to an abrupt stop. The effect was dizzying and disorienting. He felt as though the most vital part of his being had been stripped from him. He knew the reason for it, knew it was his father’s need to survive at work, but never felt prepared for it, no matter how many times he experienced it.
He paused before the looming structure, taking in the imposing scenery around it. A dark silhouette stood framed by a second-story window, his considerable form backlit by a soft glow of light. He would have known it was his father even if he had not seen the shape behind the glass. He could feel the leaden weight of his stare. It also helped that his father was the only year-round lifetime inhabitant of Antarctica. Like a phantom, his father lived, nestled between snowy peaks, without anyone knowing of his existence, hiding in plain sight.
The figure disappeared as Desmond made his way toward the compound. The front door opened and his father waved him inside.
“Desmond!” his father greeted him. “It’s so good to see you.”
Desmond stepped over the threshold and into a mudroom. His father clasped his hand and pumped it vigorously. Never a man who favored affectionate gestures, a handshake from Agnon was the closest thing to a hug Desmond had gotten since he was a boy.
“How are you, son? You look tired. Did the journey drain you of strength?”
“I am well, father. I’m a bit tired. The cold, you know, I’m not used to it. I had to use my powers to keep myself warm.”
His father gave a half smile. When he did, he looked like a man far younger than he was. Born centuries earlier, Agnon had seen the rise and fall of empires, dictators, prophets and madmen. Yet, he didn’t look a day older than his fiftieth year. With meticulously groomed silver hair and matching beard, few creases lined Agnon’s face. His blues eyes were the exact azure of Desmond’s eyes and matched the sky on a clear day and his body was large and fit.
“Take some of those layers off, and your boots, and come in. We will have coffee by the fire.”
Desmond minded his father’s instructions and began removing the outer layer of clothing he wore. He laid his snow pants, coat, hat and gloves atop a wooden shelf and made his way into the living-room area, but not before removing the Tome of Ares from the backpack h
e’d brought.
His father sat with impeccable posture in a leather chair, his regal profile outlined by a roaring fire.
“Come,” his father ordered him. “Sit down,” he gestured to an identical chair beside him.
Desmond could feel the panicked pound of his pulse hammering in his neck as he sidestepped the chair and stood, instead, in front of his father clutching the Tome. He dropped the book in his father’s lap and worried his voice would waver with the words he was about to speak.
“What is the meaning of this, father?” he asked and was pleased that he sounded far more confident than he felt.
His father opened the book and flipped through its pages casually. “It is exactly what it claims to be. It is the Tome of Ares.”
“The original Tome of Ares,” Desmond corrected.
“Yes,” his father replied unimpressed.
“The most sacred text of our people, the very one that speaks of the prophecy, of the Sola, right?”
“Yes,” his father answered.
Arrogance waited just beneath the surface of his father’s nonchalant attitude, waiting to pounce like a coiled snake. Desmond could feel the tautness of his energy wafting in strained waves.
“And the last chapter, it was authored by you?”
“Yes it was,” his father replied tightly.
Desmond wanted to scream in his face, accuse him of unspeakable betrayal for not telling him of his role in the Tome, of not telling him the truth. But he knew his father’s temperament well, knew of the cruel and vindictive streak he possessed. He would never get the answers he came for if he indulged his father in a shouting match. So he measured his words carefully.
“The chapter about the Sola, your chapter, is different from what I was taught growing up.”
His father remained silent, staring at the fire, his face an enigmatic mask of stoicism.
“What does it mean, father?” Desmond asked and struggled against a turbulent rise of anger swelling within him.
“It is exactly what you think it is: the truth, the prophecy. It is what I have been waiting my entire existence for,” he said curtly.
“This is not what you told me,” Desmond said through his teeth. “This is very different from what I’ve known my whole existence.”
The mighty warlock Agnon turned to face his son, Desmond. Desmond trembled with rage and breathed to keep from lunging at his father.
“Desmond,” his father began. “You are a capable warlock, physically, at least. But you lacked the internal strength to handle this,” he said and gestured to the Tome. “You still do. You have compassion for mankind, the same beings, mind you, that would kill you where you stood if they knew what you were.” His father paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully before he added. “Mankind will fall. It is inevitable. I’ve lived for centuries, have felt it coming. Global unrest, climate changes, reality television – each is a sign of impending apocalypse. What we will do is an act of mercy, really. We are sparing them a long, drawn-out, self-inflicted demise. We will rise and build a world that will be far greater than any human could ever imagine.”
Desmond stood, stunned. His mouth had gone dry and the back of his throat tasted of ash. His father had never spoken of such things, had never expressed his disdain for humanity.
“The Sola would never lead any of us to do what you’re suggesting,” Desmond argued.
“She can, and she will. It is her destiny,” his father said with certainty so smug, Desmond’s temper escaped him.
“No! No Father! You are wrong! She is a kind and decent person!” he raised his voice in an uncharacteristic act of contempt toward his father.
“No!” Agnon thundered, his voice filling the room. “The only reason she maintains the slightest shred of meek or mild qualities is because her powers have just manifested themselves. She has not yet learned to manage her powers, to wield them. But she will, and soon. You’ll see. She is nothing like you. She is not weak. She does not pity foolish creatures. The Sola has risen. She is gathering her powers, learning to use them. Before long, she will be ready to destroy cities on her own, and we will follow her.”
Desmond could not envision the Sola, his Arianna, destroying cities, killing innocents. That was not who she was, who she’d ever be. He was certain of it.
“She will not,” he said to his father firmly. “I know her. I have known her for her entire life. She is not what you think she is. She is not what the prophecy claims.”
“Claims?” his father asked incredulously. “The prophecy is not a ragtag magazine that reports on drunken celebrities and makes unsubstantiated claims. It is our guidebook, the benchmark by which we’ve lived our lives for centuries!”
Desmond desperately wanted to engage his father, to answer his provocation. But Desmond knew he was right. He knew his father was wrong about Arianna. She would never develop into what his father had predicted.
“You are wrong, father,” he said calmly. “And when I tell her what is expected of her, she will be horrified, and you will see.”
He turned from his father, intended to leave when a question rushed to the forefront of his mind.
“Why did you appoint me her guardian if you knew what she was to become,” Desmond asked from the entryway to the mudroom. “You’ve known me my entire life, known I was, what did you call me? Oh yes, weak. Why would you put me with her in the first place?”
His father paused for a long moment and Desmond could feel his heart slapping wildly against his ribcage, waiting for his father’s answer.
“You were the only one. There was no other choice. No one is more capable than you. You are the strongest, brightest, most cunning warrior I’ve ever trained,” his father surprised him by saying. “And I have trained a great many men. None of them could touch your abilities. I knew that if I charged you with her safety, with protecting and preserving the good in her, you would do it. I knew your honor would compel you.” His father shook his head and mumbled, “You’re the most honorable man I know.”
Desmond felt himself soften. He should have been inflamed by his father’s deceit, by his open admission, but wasn’t. He was touched.
“Too bad honor leads men to make unwise, reckless decisions,” his father continued and drove a spear through the core of any kindness Desmond thought he’d bestowed. “I mean really Desmond, did you honestly think that we would need her to protect us? We are more than capable of protecting ourselves. We need her to lead us.”
With his fists balled at his sides, Desmond wrestled with the desire to descend on his father and rain down upon him with his honorable wrath. But he did not have the time to waste. He needed to get to Arianna.
“I will not let it happen. She will not let it happen. She is not who you think she is.”
Agnon stood slowly and turned, seizing Desmond with his steely gaze. “Your faith in her surpasses the false teachings you’ve received,” he began, his eyes tunneling into Desmond’s brain. “Ah, yes, I see it. They are born of something else entirely,” his father hissed through clenched teeth, his penetrating gaze growing sharper with each second that passed.
Desmond lowered his eyes for a fraction of a second, and in that time, the truth left him as easily as air expelled from his lungs. He’d flinched first during his father’s searching stare, a mistake he regretted immediately. His father sprung from his chair and crossed the room. Desmond readied himself for battle with each step his father advanced.
“Are you in love with her?” his father asked, his face equal parts disgust and shock.
“Yes,” Desmond admitted.
His father reeled backward as if he’d been shoved. “She is not to be with you. You know that.”
“Whomever she is with, she will not lead you. She will not destroy mankind. I will not allow it.”
Desmond turned his back on his father, an act of disrespect he’d never imagined himself doing. “I am leaving, father. I am going to tell her everything.”
“Des
mond! Stop this instant!” his father roared at him as he quickly dressed.
“You cannot stop me, father.”
Desmond opened the front door and stepped out into the icy daylight. Cold quickly penetrated the layers of his clothing and blistered against his flesh. He summoned his strength, and threw his warming shield up before him. Warmth immediately drove down the bitter air. But a chill still remained in Desmond’s bones. His father, the prophecy, his purpose, all of it had been a lie.
As he contemplated the validity of the prophecy, he realized there was an advantage to its faults. He no longer had to live by its words. He could be with Arianna. He did not give a damn about ancient predictions and oracles anymore. He loved her and he suspected she had feelings for him as well. He would return to Hallowed Hills, beg for her forgiveness and tell her everything. And if he had to spend the rest of eternity proving to her that he would never reject her again, in any way, he would be happy to do so. She would be his, and he would be hers.
Chapter 9
Agnon watched as his son had swept out his front door in a self-righteous flurry. He stood, glaring at Desmond’s disappearing form with his arms folded across his chest, seething and wondering how it was possible that the two of them shared the same DNA. Desmond was a fool, a sympathetic, sanctimonious fool who wore his weakness for the world to see. He’d always been that way. Since he was a boy, his compassion for all living things, human beings in particular, had been evident. Agnon had known it would be a problem someday. However, he’d just assumed that rigorous training and minimal affection followed by time spent submerged in society would change his views. That once he saw them for what they truly were – arrogant, selfish creatures who’d raped their planet of its precious resources – it would harden him. But it hadn’t. To the contrary, being appointed the Sola’s guardian and living among humankind had not had the effect Agnon had hoped it would. In fact, each time Desmond visited, he seemed softer than when he’d left. And softness had no place for what was to come.
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