“For now, I’m told there’s peace in the Earth Reserve and no threats to our home from the surface world. So, there’s nothing to really worry about.” Gothalia added, not entirely believing her words.
“Right?” Demetria articulated, “And how long is the peace in New Eorthen supposed to last?” She saw the contemplating look cross Gothalia’s face at her words.
“As long as it needs to.” Asashin interrupted.
His blank sepia eyes peered at Demetria, with intellect and acuity. It readily, reflected his strong features, enough so making Gothalia question, how he worked. He was a man that could be difficult to read at times but there were moments Gothalia could catch a glimmer of his personality, not that she’d ever voice it out loud.
Demetria, on the other hand, could be read effortlessly even when she assumed, she wasn’t. “Then we have to go and pick up the pieces again?” she probed then almost dejectedly sighed which quipped a raised brow from Asashin. “Why can’t some people just don’t cause trouble.”
“Not everyone thinks like that.” Asashin remarked and crossed his arms, peering down at Demetria, amused by her comment.
Demetria responded grudgingly, “Don’t remind me.”
Gothalia smiled, at the memory. How time flies, she thought and peered at the light blue sky above.
She often forgot it was artificial, as it could be very realistic. Especially, when she felt the fake heat of the rays of the false sun and the brief cool breeze that would filter through the compound cooling the warm summer days.
“Either way,” Asashin enunciated disinterested, before articulating with mild vigour, “Let’s get going otherwise we’ll be late.”
“For what?” Gothalia questioned, confused. Her eyes watched him.
“The tournament, they’ve announced new competitors.” he added as if it were the obvious thing in the world and wandered passed her with Demetria trailing after him, clearly aware of this new feat.
“Why is it always violence people enjoy? What I wouldn’t give for a good book.” Gothalia muttered beneath her breath, never understanding the hype and followed.
It hadn’t taken long for the Centurions of the Dragon Core unit to stumble upon the Colosseo. The uproar of the crowd grew, the closer they ventured to the amphitheatre.
Below and surrounded by onlookers were men dressed in traditional Excelian armour their swords drawn and shields steady.
Deceased artificial competitors surrounded the men.
Gothalia knew why they hadn’t disappeared, yet. The moderators needed to list every fallen contender and all the injuries sustained. From Gothalia’s perspective there were too many strikes, on most of the bodies which drew her conclusion—they weren’t too skilled.
“That’s too many cuts, he shouldn’t need that many to take down an opponent. It’s a waste of time.” Demetria expressed in thought from beside Gothalia. Her eyes reasoned with her words, as she dissected the contenders.
“Look at them. They’re going to collapse before they can even deliver the final blow.” Asashin declared, acknowledging the sturdy built men who struggled with stamina—clearly less than impressed. “Sloppy.”
Gothalia hadn’t said anything.
A voice, off to the side and on the furthest chair at the back caught every Centurion’s attention, “Betheous, is struggling. That’s a surprise,” a middle-aged man added, stroking his peppered beared. His brown eyes watched Betheous, with a scrutiny a child would expect when being reprimanded.
“Heard he was drinking it up and whoring last night.” a man noted, from beside the older man.
“Serves him right I suppose.” the first man announced, from where he sat on the first seat at the back of the stand.
Gothalia, Demetria and Asashin shared a knowing look then glanced up at the timer.
Four minutes left until the end of the competition.
If either man didn’t fall before the timer ceased, they were going to call a draw. Considering the time left, they wouldn’t be given another chance to fight each other. “I say Betheous will fall after two minutes.” Gothalia proclaimed, eyeing his rapid breathing and the hand that held his sword. It trembled, from over use and excessive strain.
“I say, one.” Demetria announced. “I bet five silver stones.”
“You’re on. I say, he’ll fall within the next minute and a half.” Asashin added. “They don’t look like they can last much longer, to be honest.”
Gothalia’s laughter echoed when the crowd hushed in intensity at the competition. “Sounds like we have a wager.” She watched the men, amused.
As time drew on, Demetria groaned aggravated, when Betheous dropped to one knee just after a minute and staggered to his feet once more, muttering “why are you so stubborn”—or—“why didn’t you fall?”. Regardless of her unheard words by the contenders. The vigorous fight continued, to Demetria’s palpable loatheness.
The bodies that once limited their range of movement, faded away. Eventually, Betheous fell, at two minutes and fifty-five seconds until count down, rendering the other competitor victorious.
Betheous’s contender was crowned champion. It hadn’t taken long until the spectators slowly departed, leaving the older man who spoke of Betheous, cussing at his regret of not considering the skills of the other contender.
When Demetria and Asashin moved to flee the arena, they were hauled in once more by Gothalia who cleared her throat and held out a hand. “I believe I’m to be rewarded.” The sly look on her face annoyed Demetria more than it bothered Asashin.
“Don’t get smart.” Demetria replied and handed over five silver stones, quickly not meeting her gaze.
Gothalia held out her hand to Asashin who hesitated. “You said at the two-minute mark.”
“No, I said after two minutes.” she clarified and waited, with a rather smug look.
Asashin glanced at Demetria, “I won’t tell anyone if you slap her.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m considering it.” Demetria muttered and folded her arms when Asashin relinquished his silver coins.
Gothalia tucked them away in her belt and walked ahead, “pleasure doing business with you, both.” She didn’t look back and headed to the debriefing room, pleased she’d make it on time.
Demetria and Asashin watched her leave, stunned by her unexpected insouciance, “I could always take her out from behind and you snatch the money. Then we run for our lives.” Demetria prompted, lamenting to the gamble.
Asashin’s contagious chortle echoed the halls, catching the attention of nearby Centurions in the middle of their own early morning tasks and wrapped a playful an arm around Demetria’s shoulders, who never felt uncomfortable by the contact. She watched him absurdly, as he laughed at her comment, “let’s just get to work, ‘kay?” Releasing her, he sauntered after Gothalia.
Demetria huffed and shadowed him, wondering, if he knew she was serious...
When Demetria and Asashin arrived at the debriefing room, they were unexpected to discover it filled with other Centurions of different ranks and from different areas across the Cetatea. They noticed Gothalia sat at the front corner seat with spare chairs beside her.
Taking their seats, she said, “Took you guys long enough. What were you doing?”
“Planning on taking you down.” Asashin decreed somewhat insouciantly. “Demetria’s idea.”
“Hey!” Demetria growled, glaring at Asashin who sat unbothered beside her. “Whose side are you on? I thought you wanted your money back too!”
Gothalia grinned at the statement.
“Demetria.” Gothalia sung with purpose to mock her old friend, “If you want your money back so badly, you’re going have to win it back.” Still, she beared an endearing grin.
“I’m considering wiping that smug look off your face first. Anyway, you’ve always lost in the past so what makes you think you won’t lose.” Demetria responded with a sinister smile of her own.
“Bring it but I assure you like the pr
evious time I held back.” Gothalia tempted, holding Demetria’s equally dangerous glare who muttered “yeah right”.
It was Asashin who deprived their death stare of any further anger. “Do I have to sit between you two?” he questioned, with a stern tone. Both Gothalia and Demetria didn’t comment, before Demetria murmured to Gothalia:
“This isn’t over.”
“Of course not, it’s just getting started.”
“Again, do I need to separate you, two?” Asashin intervened, calamitous to the idea of reprimanding his comrades like children.
Demetria and Gothalia fell silent, with one final shared glare, they turned their attention to the front where, Lieutenant Colonel Anaphora Regan-Valdis stepped forward with Lieutenant Colonel L’Eiron Augustin-Valdis. Two equally dangerous members of the Triarius veterans.
L’Eiron’s golden eyes lingered over the gathering of Centurion Excelians, his black-brown hair buffered beneath the golden torches.
Gothalia wasn’t initially surprised by their intimidating presence. Instead, she was intrigued.
According to Demetria, it was rare to see two deadly Centurions in the same room at the Cetatea. Gothalia on the other hand would see them together a little too often not that she minded.
She’d become accustom to their need to chastise her for something she did or didn’t do, explaining why she tried not to anger either of them too much. A lot of the times she was just confused, especially when half of the time she had no idea what to do to avoid it.
“New found threats have transpired, on the surface world.” Anaphora proclaimed sharply and like the edges of a recently cut diamond. Her voice silenced further wittering from the group. “As expected, the chances of Humans stumbling upon our existence increases.”
“Extra measures have been put in place, to ensure their numbers remain limited. Yet, intelligence suggests they’re spread too thin throughout the country to cause much trouble on their own. In a group, they can take out hundreds. As the upper echelon of the Phoenix Order you are to undergo excessive training or missions to be prepared for this elevated high priority missions as decreed by the Grand Elders.” Gothalia heard the mumble of other Centurions around her.
“I thought there were safeguards in place to prevent the increase in their numbers to begin with,” Demetria muttered to Gothalia.
“I know what you mean. She’s being pretty vague about this too.” Gothalia whispered back.
“Shh!” Asashin scolded glaring at Gothalia who couldn’t help but ask “what”. Unsure, why she was being blamed.
A Centurion woman of the Ranger Squadron heard Asashin disciplining the younger Excelian women before glancing at Gothalia and Demetria.
Her eyes were criticising.
Both Gothalia and Demetria, returned their attention to the front, without another word.
Information about the Xzandians hadn’t shocked anyone in the room. It was when Anaphora informed the group that the Xzandian presence was proportional to the increase in Alastorian sightings.
And this, was when everyone collectively inhaled or stared in stunned silence.
It was news that frightened everyone in the room, regardless of how hard they tried to mask their anxiety.
They hadn’t expected it and by Gothalia’s standards; she knew, the threat of her home unravelled to the world above would only grow that much more, enough so her people would be thrown into the darker ages once more.
2
IN THE SMALL CITY OF DARWIN.
Furthest north of the Territory. Thick prison walls guarded dangerous criminals. Individuals who were no less affected by the bucolic air, of the small peaceful watchtower.
An office, elevated above the ground and barricaded from the cells below where it sat in the far corner of the prison overseeing everyone who’d been unfortunate enough to reside within.
Noel-Len Ignatius hadn’t expected, when he’d embarked on his position within the watch tower over a year ago, filled with an unsettling culture and the dangerous stigma. He kept quiet on such matters, not out of fear. Instead, aware of the need to record undignified behaviour.
Phillip Lee remarked from beside, Noel-Len. “I can’t believe this.” He articulated with disinclination. Noel-Len had not been acquitted to borne disinterest with the topic. Still, listening but not as attentively as he once had.
Phillip’s chestnut eyes, scowled curtly at the screen in the far corner, forever critical of anyone and everyone portrayed on the television.
Beneath white fluorescent lights, Noel-Len’s tidy dark hair toned his fair russet skin and dark mysterious eyes, often difficult to decipher upon first glance. Eyes that worked to remain on the printed ink before him.
When Phillip grumbled under his breath a few more times; Noel-Len’s attention briefly flickered to the security monitor, exposing the inmates in their cells and the empty halls. Then, to the television.
Finally, returning to the local newspaper he held.
The paper was feeble yet grainy in texture and printed with perfectly letters that drew his concentration. He searched for information that could explain the bubbling rumours throughout the town. That is until, his focus wavered, though he knew it had more to do with his shift partner, than himself.
“What’s that?” Noel-Len tested, still disinterested but felt inclined to ask, nonetheless. Readily, he established his comrades response and, Noel-Len knew what his shift partner was referring to.
“Why are those people attacking our soldiers?” Phillip catechised, with a string of curses beneath his breath. His eyes glinted in detest, at the small television.
The low volume didn’t escape Noel-Len’s ears but as per usual, whomever Noel-Len shared a shift with, wouldn’t bother turning on the television, but it was Philip. He always wanted to watch the six o’clock news, regardless of how many times Noel-Len told him not to.
The anchor-woman on the television articulated about the most recent assassinations and attacks, so it was rather unnecessary for Philip to start a conversation about it.
“Because they have a problem with us,” Noel-Len replied, flatly. Not in the mood to discuss Current Affairs. It was bad enough the soldiers talked about it at the Barracks.
Still, he didn’t entirely believe Phillip’s words, being an officer of the law in the recent years, he understood there were both good and bad people amongst the human race. Regardless of where they were from or what they looked like, everyone had a choice to do either, that will define their actions.
And, this is why we don’t meet outside of work, he wanted to say and folded the newspaper loudly at the thought.
“Yeah, but what did we do? We fed their poor, healed their sick and allowed their refugees into our country. Some of those-so-called Australians we let migrate here had TAL backgrounds. Now, they’re re-joining them with hopes to wipe out the government that sheltered them and guess where that leaves us?” Phillip growled, running his thick tanned hand over his oily dark brown hair.
A question Noel-Len heard repeated, from the time.
Phillip had worked for the Police for a while and became an Auxiliary Officer class two while Noel-Len was merely a class one.
There were times when Noel-Len would stop listening to Phillip when he declared his opinions about the world, simply because half the time, it was nothing but a conspiracy at best but there were times when Phillip was worthy of attention.
Stillness and tranquillity invaded office and that far side of the Prison. However, Noel-Len knew earnest threats waited beyond the red door.
The younger man leaned back in his seat, his dark eyes flickered to the pale ceiling above in thought. He stretched his arms behind his head and folded his fingers beneath it, contemplating everything that happened and everything that may happen.
He had another hour to go before he would be free but mentally queried why he was placed with Phillip again. Every time he was, he secretly wanted to disappear not that he’d let him know. “That leaves us wit
h traitors and a never-ending war,” Noel-Len replied, at the same time as Phillip.
Quietly, Phillip watched Noel-Len.
Confused by the silence, Noel-Len glanced over at the man, surprised by his critical speculation and budding reticence. “Are you mocking me?” Philip asked at last, more confused than disgruntled.
“No.” Noel-Len replied, with a raised brow.
The buzz of the red door, evaporated the uncomfortable air, revealing a blue-uniformed man. Both Philip and Noel-Len regarded the familiar man, with surprise and discretely sat up straight. As usual, Philip switched off the television before their superior officer noticed.
Noel-Len had the urge to stand and salute, but he knew that was not necessary here. Before Senior Constable Mark Roberts could speak, the ground trembled beneath their boots.
Fear settled in their stomach, as they discerned the unusual flash of the fluorescent lights overheads. Mark opened the door and scanned the hallway, checking the surroundings and spoke into his radio. Noel-Len and Phillip readily heard his inquiry on the channel.
“That was strange wasn’t it?” Philip asked the humour in his voice replaced with one of intense sincerity. Noel-Len glanced at Philip, while Phillip’s gaze drifted out the high window before inspecting the images of the prisoners in their cells on the monitor.
The oddity of it had nothing to do with the earthquake but how the inmates acted as if they were not alone. Their backs to the bars as they cautiously examined the walls of their prison, before their gaze returned to the flickering lights overhead that mimicked the ones in the control station. “It’s got to be an earthquake or something, right?”
When Senior Constable Mark Roberts re-entered the room, his next words were haunting, “We don’t have earthquakes in Australia.” Noel-Len knew earthquakes near Jakarta could be felt if they were big enough. So, he wondered where in Indonesia, was the earthquake emanating from. At the same time, he had a sinking sensation. It had nothing to do with an earthquake as he recognised the familiarity of this sensation.
It was the same as that day.
Midnight Eclipse Page 2