Descendants

by Rae Else

  The pain in El’s chest woke her. The tenderness she felt was similar to the time she’d fallen from her horse, Rika, and cracked a rib. When she opened her eyes she half expected to find herself at the manor, the evening’s shadows settling on the eggshell walls and sheets of her bedroom. Her eyelids fluttered open to darkness.

  She took in the pitch-black room and, remembering the vaulted underground area, everything came flooding back. Her keen sense of smell picked up the musty, dank odour of dirt and mould in the old brickwork around her. The cold floor seemed to press into her bones. It was a space devoid of comfort: a prison.

  Everything was still. She tried to hear outside but realised that, just like the lead door, the walls were lead lined and the material was too dense for any sound to penetrate. She was almost relieved, not wanting to sense the air manipulator again. El stroked her throat. It felt raw and painful. She relived the sense of choking and her eyes watered. She shuffled away from the door, backing up into the corner furthest from it.

  She wondered how long she’d been unconscious, whether it was minutes or hours. The loss of time made her feel more scared. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to ward off the sense that the darkness had stolen hours or even days. She wondered where her mother was. Luke’s father had taken her, but where? Was she in a cell nearby? The tumult of worries consumed her. She remembered her mother’s admission: I gave her the blood. Only one thing seemed to make sense. Anna was an Order member but had been working for the rebels in secret. El had blown her cover.

  Pain swept through her, but she remembered she wasn’t the only one to blame. Luke had been at the lab to watch Alex or at least watch for rebel activity. And he’d found it. Her. She didn’t know if any of his words had been genuine or if all his interest in her had been a guise. He’d seemed sincere in wanting to get his father’s help and had even tried to intercede between El and the air manipulator. However, he’d lied when they first met. He’d clearly come after her to find out about the rebels. Ultimately, she’d put her trust in him and she’d been wrong.

  Hot tears welled up as the thought cut her. Had any of his words been real – that stuff about his mother? She doubted it and felt a stab of anger at her own naivety. She recalled his father’s words about Luke’s reward for reporting on rebel activity: a place in the elemental matches. She remembered how animated Luke had been on the topic of competing in the Olympia. All she’d been was his ticket to an elemental match. And all it had taken to fool her was for him to show a little affection.

  Her reflections were shattered as the metal bolt was drawn back. Her breath caught in her throat, fear threading through her as a dull, metal thud sounded on the floor. Louisa, the raven-haired woman, in the same tunic and boots, strode into the cell. She held a flickering torch and slotted it into the iron holder by the door. The aroma reminded El of log fires at home. The manor house was tinged with it year round. Necessary, whatever the season, to protect the old house from damp. It made her ache, and then filled her with fear at the thought of everything that might be lost.

  The clang of the heavy metal rang through the cell when the door fell shut. The woman strode into the centre of the room.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you properly, El.’

  The polite tone and turn of phrase sounded ludicrous in the barren room but, although El felt like smirking, she wasn’t about to forget this woman’s viciousness.

  ‘I…’ El’s voice was strained. ‘I remember you from Cobbold House.’

  The woman’s smile stretched across her thin face. ‘I’m pleased that I made an impression. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself then but you seemed awfully busy.

  El felt a surge of sickness at the way she made light of what had happened.

  ‘I’m Louisa Carras,’ she said. Her conversational tone was a deceit. El knew it was the calm before the storm. ‘I could tell that you liked my present.’

  El frowned, wondering what she was talking about. She felt sick; was Louisa suggesting it was funny that she’d fallen for Luke’s charms?

  ‘The screen I sent you,’ she said. ‘It seemed to interest you.’

  El thought back to the walnut screen, an anonymous donation. Every so often donations like it came into the house, but when she’d seen the artefact for the first time, it had surprised her. She remembered thinking that it was a strange coincidence that the panels were on such a pertinent theme to her. She had wondered about it but dismissed it.

  The whole of last weekend she’d pored over those emblems, her manager happy to have her translate them when she’d expressed an interest. One side of the screen had messages concerning the theme of vigilance, on the other side, the theme of concealment.

  Images of the emblems flashed through her mind. A man standing before a blank mirror, bearing the caption, “Quis es?” Who are you? Another bore a skull with a lily growing through one of its eye sockets, the motto, “Tam occulta, et manifesta.” Both hidden and clear. She remembered the picture of the sun in eclipse, “Nec moror videri.” Nor do I care to be seen. The old, worn images seemed to grow more vivid in her mind’s eye as though they were materialising before her. This woman, Louisa, had known about her at least a week ago. Probably before. She’d known about El for as long as it had taken her to plan and arrange for the screen to be delivered and find its way into her hands. Louisa had not only been there but had been teasing her; sending her this item had been like throwing her clues in a game.

  The red bricked façade of Cobbold House loomed clearly in El’s mind as she remembered working in the collection room. On the morning she’d spent there, the day had started off clear and sunny. Over the course of the day the weather had turned. She remembered being startled a few times as she worked at the force of the wind rattling the shutters: a gale that seemed to come from nowhere. Only now did she realise that it had been this woman conjuring the storm. Louisa had been there, signalling to her, wishing for her to take notice: wanting to be seen. The realisation that she’d been watching her all this time made her skin crawl.

  El remembered too, after her loss of control during the talk, how she’d struggled to regain control of herself. No doubt due to Louisa still watching her. It had only been when the elderly couple steered her away from everyone and into an empty room that she’d finally regained control of her breathing.

  ‘You,’ El whispered. ‘You’ve been watching me for weeks.’

  Another thought struck her. Ingrid had been there that night. Louisa could have seen her with El. Was her friend in danger? What about her grandma? She’d had no word from her since being here. Anna had seemed to think contact with Helena was dangerous, but had Louisa already been to the manor?

  Louisa smiled wickedly in agreement.

  ‘My grandma?’ El said. ‘Please…’

  Louisa’s grin was grotesque and El’s eyes teared up.

  ‘No crying,’ Louisa said. ‘Your dear grandma is fine. I want her to be around for all that’s left to come.’

  El wiped her eyes, a surge of relief spreading through her despite Louisa’s sinister tone. Her grandma was safe, for now. She knew she should be worried about her own skin, about what this woman wanted from her, but she needed to know about Anna.

  ‘And my mother?’ El asked.

  ‘She will witness your punishment when the Triad get here. Then, she will be punished for conspiring against the Order. And finally, your grandma.’

  A shiver ran down El’s spine at Louisa’s venomous tone. There was a deep grudge rooted in her, for all of them. She thought back to her grandma running away from the Order, cutting her power out to escape. Were they all being punished for that? Had the Order finally caught up with them?

  ‘But how?’ El asked. ‘How did you find my grandma?’

  Louisa tilted her head thoughtfully.

  ‘I suppose it’s alright to tell you a short story. I never got to tell you any when you were young.’ She began to pace.

 
‘Once there was a powerful hydra called Helena. She was the most powerful arete in the Order and was the favourite of the Triad. She served for fourteen years and killed hundreds of arete at the behest of the Order. But one day she decided that she was too good for such a life so cut out her eyes and ran away.

  ‘For many years she remained hidden. But, when she started to age, the cells in her body mutated in such a way that a little of her power was repaired – she was once more visible to the All-Seeing Eye.

  ‘Her sister, Louisa, a faithful servant of the Order and powerful typhon, was instructed by the Triad to kill her. Yet Louisa believed she deserved not just to die for the power and honour she’d thrown away, but to suffer. Louisa made the littlest serpent use her power. Predictably, mother gorgon came to save her baby but, in doing so, tarnished her with rebel blood and revealed her own treachery too.’ The lightness in her tone ebbed. ‘And so, before I kill Helena, she will witness the granddaughter and daughter that she tried so desperately to shield from the Order die too.’

  El shook her head. This was a lie. Her grandma had never been an Order member. She wasn’t capable of killing anyone, nevermind hundreds of arete. The woman who had brought her up to respect all life, to be careful never to bring harm to the humans they shared their lives with … no, she wouldn’t believe this.

  But, Louisa was right about her grandma’s aging. It must have been over the last month alone that her wrinkles had deepened and her dark hair become peppered with grey. Louisa had the same shade of hair as her grandma, the same olive complexion. Sisters? Could it be true?

  El traced Louisa’s face. There was a similarity around the long chin and high cheekbones, but this woman looked closer to Anna’s age than Helena’s. She shook her head again. No, she wouldn’t believe it. This wasn’t her grandma’s sister. Anger shot through her and she clenched her fists. She wouldn’t let this woman get inside her head. She glowered at her.

  ‘Don’t worry, little serpent,’ Louisa said, ‘you won’t have to bear the truth for long. When the Triad get here, you and the rest of my sister’s line will find peace.’

  Louisa took in El’s pale face before she picked up the torch and exited the room. The clang of metal reverberated in El’s skull as the bolt scraped the brickwork. The silence left in its wake was worse. In the stillness, doubts and terrors seemed to breed in the gloom. They tormented her with thoughts of never seeing her grandma and mother again, and that this place was to be her tomb.

  - Chapter Twelve -

  The All-Seeing Eye

  El didn’t have to wait long before she heard footfalls. The even sound of the click on stone made her think of the metronome her grandma sometimes used while playing the piano. She felt a swell and rise of emotion as if responding to a powerful piece. No melody was necessary though; the monotonous step was menacing enough.

  As the door opened, Louisa barked, ‘Come.’

  El stood up, still hugging herself. Her limbs felt stiff and cold from sitting in one place for too long. Louisa motioned for her to go in front, and she walked through the gaping door. Soon she was walking along the cavernous tunnel, the snap of each heel behind setting the pace of their march. Her heart raced faster with each step as though challenging the imposed rhythm.

  They came to a stop in the vaulted room where the meeting had been. It still had the three wells of elements. The crackling fire cast a glow over the walls, as well as a figure who stood in the centre. El’s gaze flitted to two others who sat on the main platform further back, ensconced in the shadows.

  The central figure turned to her. Even in the light of the flames it was difficult to see his features. His whole form was hazy, like he was standing in a thick fog or as if she were looking at him through murky water. She thought it was a man’s form: broad and tall, black-haired, clothed in dark colours, but it was hard to tell for sure.

  ‘We occupy the past and future as much as the present,’ he said. ‘As you can see, it is rare for our bodies to be wholly in one place.’

  As he spoke his form quivered, his voice rippled through his body like a pebble over the surface of a pond. El’s skin crawled. She cast her eyes to the figures approaching on the man’s right: the other graeae. The Triad. She remembered her mother’s words: The most powerful graeae lead the Order.

  These two were more distinct – two women in dark dresses, one to the floor, the other knee length. Their hands and faces were stark against the dusky material of their clothes. The man’s features grew more defined and his pale eyes turned to the same grey as his companions. All three had such similar colouring and features that they could have been siblings.

  It was unnerving to see the results of their gift in the way it affected their bodies. It was as if their fibres were spooling into the past and future. Even as she understood their strange appearance, El felt sickened by it. It looked like time was devouring them.

  She felt lightheaded. A chill ran down her spine as she realised the sensation was caused by their hollow stare. The male graeae came towards her, his palm raised. El shrank away, but Louisa gripped her roughly, yanking her arm and held out El’s hand to face his. He pressed his cool palm against hers. She watched the colour drain from his eyes and his form distort. Her worried gaze met Louisa’s and she found their hazel hue, despite their sharpness, comforting.

  The graeae’s hand fell away and Louisa let go of her arm.

  One of the female graeae spoke. ‘So?’ Her tone was muffled like it was coming from far away.

  ‘I see nothing of import,’ the male said. ‘But our blood is still masking her power.’

  El frowned. Their blood? She thought of the serum. It was graeae blood that had shielded her power.

  ‘We should attempt to see her power,’ the male graeae said, ‘before she is executed.’

  El’s heart sped up. Was it certain that she was going to die? Was there no trial?

  ‘Please,’ El said. ‘I didn’t know–’

  ‘Silence,’ the other, female graeae snapped. Her voice was sure. Her form strengthened; her hair was umber in the soft firelight. ‘You concealed your power from the Order with graeae blood. All power belongs to the Order. This treachery warrants death–’

  ‘Exsanguination,’ the male graeae said. ‘Once enough of our blood leaves her system, we can observe her power.’

  El felt her knees tremble but wasn’t in control of her body any more. She was carried into the air as though invisible hands clasped her. She yelled, but Louisa’s stare held her and brought her down on the main platform at the far side of the room. She tried to move her body but was held in a vice-like grip, the air pressure pushing her down onto the stone stage. Her eyes darted around, examining the vast slab she was laid on. The edges of the podium were an arm’s length away. She remembered spying the ditches around the stage, deep enough for contestants to hide from enemy fire. She couldn’t see down into the channels but pictured the trenches below.

  ‘No, no, please,’ she murmured, realising that as well as her eyes, she was still able to move her lips.

  Louisa came closer to her, a cruel smile on her face. The bright flames from the fire pit reflected the metal knife she held.

  El’s gaze flew from the typhon down to the fine cracks in the stone as she imagined her blood flowing through the fissures.

  Louisa watched her dispassionately as though she was already a corpse on a morgue table.

  ‘A deep vertical incision in the wrists will suffice,’ the male graeae said.

  El tried to move, but all she could do was cry as she felt the bite of metal slice into her wrist. She screamed again at the next incision, her eyes darting down to watch her blood. Its warm trickle spilled over her hands. This was really happening. But surely someone would come? Tears bathed her face. Who else but her mother knew that she was here? Maybe the Opposition would be alerted by Anna’s disappearance, but who knew how long it would take before they were aware of her absence. She tried to
slow her heart rate; its desperate beat dilated her blood vessels. Its fight was betraying her, pushing the blood at a faster rate out of her body.

  She felt cold and, as the minutes drew on, wondered whether her hands were numb because of the loss of blood or whether they had been that way from the start. She had been cold when she was laid on the surface but was sure she was growing chillier. Her gaze flicked down to look at the sheen of blood on the surface, forming tributaries that found their way through the minute grooves to the edge of the platform. She pictured her blood pooling below like slurry running through a trough. Each time she caught sight of the fluid, a fresh wave of panic coursed through her.

  She was going to die. How much time did she have? How long before she lost too much blood? She pictured the guest from Cobbold House, the young man with the glaze of blood staining the floor. He had survived. He was recovering. As her thoughts began to swirl, she kept seeing the man lying on the floor, the stain spreading around his head like a dark halo. When her eyes drifted to the fluid that was growing around her, it was as though she was lying in a pool of his blood. Perhaps, making up for what she’d done. Each drop was reparation for him. Blood for blood. An eye for an eye.

  Numbness crept into her hands, her arms felt heavy like she was exhausted. She couldn’t tell if Louisa was even holding her down now or if she didn’t need to. Her mind felt slow and fuzzy. Her feet were icy. The scent of the burning torches caught in her nostrils and she was at home again, lying on the sofa in the library. The log fire painted her in its warmth whilst she read. Its light stained the page before her and danced across her skin. The warmth was wonderful. It made her think of Dan’s eyes. Amber flecks like embers in the hearth. She hadn’t noticed that the fire was dying down, but there was barely enough light to read the words on the page. The logs were blackened in the grate, only cinders buried beneath. Dan’s warm eyes stroked her cheek, her lips, and lingered like a kiss on her forehead.