House of Guardians

by Beatrice Sand

  “Friend, are you all right?”

  “I am not your friend.”

  “Maybe not, but you know what they say—keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.”

  “Back off, man. I’m leaving.”

  “Hang on. There’s one more thing.” He gets a little closer. “Next time you kidnap my date, I won’t let you get away with it so easily.”

  “Fine, you have my address.”

  “I strongly advise you to leave her alone, Sampson. Seriously.”

  “Oh yeah? And when was the last time I asked for your advice?”

  Adrian gives me a long, dark look. “Have you endangered her life yet, Sampson? Has your grandfather scared her already?”

  That’s all I need to know. Adrian betrayed me.

  Without thinking, I put my glass on the table and immediately feel a sharp pain. Disturbed, I look down and discover a piece of glass piercing my palm. I pull out the shard from the damaged tissue and examine the gaping wound.

  “You didn’t succeed, did you, getting her to join you at the school prom? So you went to her house. How desperate are you exactly?”

  I snort and hold the piece of glass against Adrian’s ribs.

  “Do it!” he encourages me. “Or aren’t you hardcore enough?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” I hiss through my teeth, “me being disqualified? You want me to lose control in front of the Keepers. What is it, Adrian? Afraid that I’ll finish you at pankration?”

  “You’re arrogant, Sampson,” he hisses back. “Arrogant and stupid if you think that the precepts don’t apply to you. Nobody likes arrogance.”

  “And you’re a rat,” I growl. “Nobody here likes rats.”

  Adrian’s teeth flash. Outraged, I toss the shard aside, grab a napkin from the table, and press it against the mangled flesh of my palm. “Stay out of my life,” I warn him and walk away.

  “Your life isn’t yours,” he whispers after me.

  Quickly, I walk back to the hotel, but outside the grove I suddenly feel dizzy. I feel as though I’m suffocating and my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest. I loosen the bow tie and yank the top buttons of my shirt open. Leaning forward I wait for the stabbing sensation in my head.

  It’s as though a vision wants to come through, but the pain stays away and nothing appears. I wrap the soaked napkin tighter around my sliced up hand and rush to my room. The only thing I long for now is the hard water pressure of an ice cold shower and someplace to lie down.

  24

  laurel

  With the excuse of wanting to say hello to my old colleagues, I drive to the homeless shelter. I even didn’t have to make up a story, because I’m really looking forward to seeing Jules again now that I’m done with my community service. That I have an ulterior motive—hoping to find out everything there is to know about Greek aristocracy—is none of their concern. Whether or not it is going to give me more information about Sam’s origin, I have no clue. But I have to do something because I’m at a dead end.

  I put the van into the parking space in front of the stone building and see several people walking inside. They’re about to have dinner. Perfect timing.

  I walk in and scour the place. Jules is standing at her usual spot behind the gourmet trays with a couple of colleagues, and I move in her direction. “Hello, Jules.”

  “Laurel, what a nice surprise!” Jules pulls me close and gives me a hug. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. Passed with flying colors.”

  “I knew it, congratulations. Have you made a decision on college yet?”

  I press my lips together. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, you’re going to be okay, I’m sure of it.”

  Unfortunately, not everyone at home seems to agree with that. I spot Lou somewhere across the room and wave at him. With a deep frown, he turns his attention to me. I know he is already preparing his questions. Well, this time I’m going to surprise him with a few questions of my own.

  “Bumped into a door?” someone else asks.

  My hand automatically touches my cheek. “Yeah, something like that,” I say bitterly.

  “How are things with that handsome guy?” Jules wants to know. “Good gracious, those arms… I remember him scooping ice cream. He hardly fit in the kitchen.” She gives me a wink. “If he was my boyfriend I’d make him scoop ice cream all day long.”

  “I believe I’ve dumped him, or he’s dumped me, I’m not sure yet.”

  Jules looks at me as if I’ve just told her that I dumped her own son. “No, you haven’t… why?”

  “I don’t quite understand it myself. It probably happened in a fit of insanity.”

  “Maybe it’s not too late yet, and otherwise you’ve made a lot of girls happy.”

  I manage to twist my mouth into a smile.

  “Are you staying for coffee?”

  “I’d like that. Can I help you?”

  “No, we’ll be fine. Just take a seat. I’ll be right up with coffee.”

  “Thanks, Jules.”

  I walk up to Lou.

  “Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?”

  “Hi, Lou. I’m okay, thank you. I was wondering if I could speak with you.”

  “You came here to talk to me? I’m flattered.”

  I smile at the gentle, wrinkled face with the white beard. “You told me once that you have a Greek background, and I have some questions about… Greek people.”

  Lou raises an eyebrow. His gaze briefly rests on my bruised skin. “Problems with Mr. Laurens?”

  I’m surprised that he remembered Sam’s last name, but then I remember how he was swept off his feet by Sam’s appearance in the shelter.

  “Oh, no, well, he does have something to do with it. It’s about old aristocracy and royal families. I was hoping you can help me with it.”

  Lou gestures to the chair next to him. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me more.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you during dinner. We could talk another time.”

  “Not so fast, young lady. I can eat and listen at the same time.”

  I nod and pull back a chair. “So you know about Greek aristocracy?”

  “My ancestors were all Greek philosophers. All their thoughts, reflections, and investigations are written down. So I know quite a bit about the old aristocracy because my ancestors were a part of it.”

  And now he comes to the shelter for a plate of food, I think wryly. “Can I ask what happened to you? How you ended up in this situation?”

  “I lost my job at the university where I gave lectures in philosophy. Then my wife became ill, and she was sick for a while before she died. I lost everything in a short amount of time: my job, my wife, and finally my house.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, sweetie, but don’t let me bother you with my problems. First we’ll solve yours.”

  Feeling glum, I can hardly manage to maintain eye contact. “My problems are nothing compared to yours.”

  “But they’re still your problems, and you’re worried about them. I’d really like to help you, if I can. Now, tell me—why are you so interested in Greek aristocracy?”

  I clear my throat. “I’ve heard from a source that Sam Laurens—the guy you met here—descends from an old aristocratic lineage, where everything revolves around power and glory.”

  Lou nods. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No, he radiates it. He commands respect. If he asked me to crawl around on the floor that evening, I probably would have done it.”

  My eyes almost pop out. “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve never experienced something like that with such a young person. Are you worried about his ancestry?”

  “A little.
Lou, can I trust you?”

  “I certainly hope that you would.”

  I sigh. “His ancestry is not what I’m most worried about. It’s his behavior. He…” It’s weird to talk about Sam to a complete stranger, but he leaves me no other choice. “… well, he’s physically very strong, he’s incredibly intelligent, and he knows beforehand what you want to say or ask.” I lean forward and lower my voice as if worried we’ve been bugged. “He can feel things happening before they actually happen.”

  Lou takes a bite of his food and slowly begins to chew. “And you know this how?”

  “He told me himself.”

  Lou falls back into a long silence. For a moment I think he’s forgotten me. “Lou?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “The last time I saw him he literally said ‘I can’t be in your world.’”

  Lou frowns. “And did he say why not?”

  “Earlier that evening he said that he couldn’t tell me things without placing me in danger. And then I mentioned that word…”

  “A word?”

  “I had to promise him I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. I don’t want to break that promise, Lou, but…” I get my sloppy notes out and place them on the table. It’s an indecipherable mess, and even though they’re in my own handwriting, there are too many loose ends to make something out of it. At school I would have gotten an F for the effort. “The word is in the middle. It’s circled.”

  His eyes become as big as saucers. Without even blinking once, he stares frozen at the papers. Briefly, I wonder if I scribbled down the formula on how to turn metal into gold.

  “You know what it means?”

  Lou flips the pages. “Not here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not so easy to explain.”

  “You know what… who… they are?”

  Lou sighs. “Maybe, but I’m not completely sure. I have to think about it, consult some notes of my ancestors.”

  Desperately, I scramble to think of a way to get it out of him. I’m so close to a possible answer—he can’t just quit now!

  “Where is Sam Laurens right now? Is he around? Where does he live?”

  Maybe I’m wrong, but Lou suddenly seems nervous. “He lives in a log cabin by the lake. It’s secluded. And no, he’s not around now. He’s in the mountains with family.”

  “You know the coffee house by the river?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right then. Saturday morning at eleven o’clock. I hope I know more by then.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. And Laurel?”

  “Yes, Lou?”

  “Listen to what Sam told you. Don’t talk about this to anyone. Destroy those notes.”

  “Lou, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  “Saturday, Laurel. I don’t have any answers for you now.”

  Just as nervous as Lou, I jam my notes into my bag and push back my chair. I know I’m not going to get any more answers out of him.

  Lou points at my eye. “Did he do that to you?”

  I shake my head and smile. “No, he prevented far worse from happening.”

  25

  sampson

  Before sunrise, I leave the hotel. The temple grounds are still blanketed in darkness, but in the east the sky is slowly turning orange. In just a few seconds, a new day has dawned; a day when a lot—everything—is at stake.

  I jump over the wall and land in the forest. Storm has followed me and starts to dig. I guess he may have caught something big earlier and buried it for later. The cloven hoofs of a deer confirm my suspicion.

  I put in my earbuds, turn up the volume, and start running.

  After warming up, I slowly run back to the compounds. Storm has expertly torn apart his breakfast, and for the most part he’s eaten it—only the head, bones, and skin remain.

  I continue walking to the restaurant for my own meager breakfast and sit down with the others.

  I eat my protein in silence, listening to all the speculation over the still mysterious announcement. The opinions range from taking out the Titans to immortality. The only ones not participating in the discussion are Adrian and Bow. I notice them looking at each other meaningfully at one point. It wouldn’t surprise me if the two of them already know what’s going on. Whatever it is, I don’t care. The only thing I care about today are the matches.

  The first match is wrestling, a sport that is highly valued because it requires a combination of strength, agility, and self-control. Personally, I’d prefer to finish with wrestling, but that’s impossible because of the other battles: boxing and pankration. These battles can severely damage the body, making it physically impossible to wrestle afterwards. However, the order of the games shouldn’t matter to me. I have kept to my own strict workout regime over the past few years. I’ve trained in the scorching heat, and I’ve trained in the freezing cold, and I have done so with so much dedication that even a Spartan warrior could learn something. I feel like I want to feel: vigorous and focused. The life force is flowing through my body, my stamina is inexhaustible, and I have a tremendous urge to perform. I am absolutely confident about one thing—tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be crowned with three olive wreaths. And then I’m going to blow off that cursed marriage.

  After breakfast, I go up to my room and begin the final preparation. I put on some heavy metal music and I lay out the things I will need today: oil, scraper, leather straps, scarlet chlamys, brooch… When I’m finished, I take a relaxing shower and walk at a leisurely pace to the palaestra.

  I can proceed directly to the oiling room. Consistent with the old customs, olive oil is rubbed into my skin, and a thin layer of yellow powder is spread all over my body.

  When I’m all set, I tie my hair together and the chlamys is thrown over me and fastened at the right shoulder with the brooch. I join the others and together we are guided toward the crypt. A loud cheering already rises from the sacred grove where the fights will take place.

  In the passageway, ten members of the Hellanodíkai await us, some of them armed with sticks to enforce the rules. Earlier, there was noise, but once we emerge from the crypt there is no sound at all. Total silence has fallen over the sacred grove.

  “Today,” one of the officials shouts, “is the day the heavy events take place. Sports reserved for only our best athletes. And today is the day our demigods will participate in the Games for the very first time in their lives. They will compete against each other in wrestling, boxing, and in the most dreaded discipline of them all: pankration. We will witness their strength and stamina. Dear guests, we proudly introduce our young future heroes: Don, son of Poseidon; Sebastos, son of Dionysos; Adrian, son of Hades; Filemon, son of Eroos…”

  In the blink of an eye, all hell seems to break loose. The crowd goes wild as we walk onto the field, as though we just vanquished some Titans.

  “Bow, son of Hermes; Kai, son of Hephaistos; Andreas, son of Ares, and Sampson, son of Apollon.”

  Relieved that the official part is over, we take off our cloaks and position ourselves in a circle on the field. While I size up my opponents, an official with a silver urn enters the circle. When it’s my turn, I put my hand in the urn and take out a shard. I look at the character on it and stretch my arm out in front of me. The moment of truth. My eyes wander along the shards of the others. Kai is the other one who holds the gamma.

  We exchange an adversarial look, but inside I smile because I know I will make it through to the next round without much effort. Adrian is lucky too—he’s drawn Filemon. The small boy—no matter how strong—is no match for Adrian, who is a heavyweight.

  Once we are paired up, we take our places and shake hands. With bent torsos we face each other and wait for the go-ahead.

  Kai approaches me with his big hands outstretched, while I stay in a neutral po
sition, looking for a place to grab him. Kai has the strongest arms of all of us, and his huge neck has thick muscles, but I know his weak spot: his legs.

  I dive to the ground and seize his ankle, giving him no opportunity to make a move on me. With my free hand, I snatch his other ankle and give it a quick tug, causing Kai to fall flat on his back. There is cheering and screaming all around us. I jump up and get back into position. Kai’s defense sucks, and without much difficulty I take him down twice more. Along with Filemon, Bastian, and Bow, he slinks off through the crypt. No applause for them, just a lot of yelling. For now, they’re not demigods, they are just athletes that failed to win.

  Again, I grab a shard from the urn. The real showdown is about to begin. When I look up, I see Adrian is holding up the same character. We give each other a solid handshake and take our positions.

  When the referee gives us the hand signal, we stay forehead-to-forehead and we both keep our hands in motion. There’s little opportunity to grab each other.

  “Come on,” Adrian hisses, “wrestle me!”

  I respond by snapping his head down. I duck under his arm and grab his thigh. I pop my hips, lift him, and pin him to the ground.

  Seething with fury, he jumps to his feet, and we get back into our starting positions. Adrian makes a few attempts to grab my head, but I shake him off. When he gets a hold of my wrist and tries to pull me down, I clamp my hand around his and push him backwards with my head. He grips my neck and with my freed hand, I try to loosen the headlock. Adrian’s grip is strong, and I feel my knees crack. Before I get the chance to plan my escape, I find myself face down to the ground, and Adrian locks my leg to my upper body and flips me onto my back.

  “Filemon gave more resistance,” he pants in my face.

  Moments later, we grab each other by the arms and try to work the other to the ground in every possible way. The referee is breathing down our necks, ready to use that damned stick at the very first offense.