Descendants

by Rae Else

  When the bartender came over, the guy let El put her order in first.

  ‘Whisky ambrosia, please.’

  It was Dan’s advice on what to drink. When she’d reminded him that she wasn’t yet eighteen he’d said that human restrictions had no relevance in Olympias. He’d never tried it but Anna had vowed it was heavenly.

  El baulked as she accepted the drink and handed over her card for the two-thousand pound charge. Just as well it was her mum’s. She could see how subsidising the upkeep of the manor all these years could seem like a trifle if this was the lifestyle she was used to. Over the years, El had worried that her grandparents must be keeping things from her about the manor and its businesses. She knew that in previous generations the upkeep of the place had meant that the grounds had gradually been sold off, as well as antiques and other heirlooms. She was sure that her grandparents were doing the same but keeping it from her. Now she knew the truth; just as her mum had been the one to buy her the Burne-Jones’ paintings – originals no less – she must have kept the manor ticking over.

  El stared at the honey-coloured liquid and knew what she was about to taste. She'd read about it in one of the books Alex had given her. It was a very rare herbal extract, of which no living arete knew the origins. Most conjectured that the plant it originated from was extinct. Many nymphs had spent their lives searching for it, and there were often false reports issued to say that its source had been discovered and that its supply would no longer be scarce. In reality its origin was a mystery, and no matter how much nymphs enriched their produce during the growth period, nothing could equal the taste of ambrosia.

  Older families of arete had stores of it that were handed down through generations as a highly prized and valuable heirloom. Otherwise, arete could purchase food and drink infused with it, but it came at a high price. Drinks and dishes mixed with it cost thousands of pounds and were only within the reach of the wealthiest. Or – in other words – within the reach of Order members.

  El experienced a twinge of guilt but as soon as she took a sip, the liquid obliterated everything. In the space of a few seconds, she tasted the barley – how it had absorbed the sunlight in the fresh air, how it had dried in the smoke of burning moss. It was as though the wonderful vapour was wafting through her veins, coursing through her and filling her lungs. The liquid trickled down her throat as thick as caramel and yet as light as air. Every part of the whisky’s journey was transparent. The ambrosia not only illuminated each individual component, it fused them back together and magnified the taste.

  It was liquid fire. It didn’t just warm her in the inclement environment: it both invigorated and calmed her. Best of all, it offered her a modicum of control as Louisa approached.

  The typhon reached her. ‘How lovely of you to come. I don’t think your grandma would have survived another weekend without seeing you.’ She smiled. ‘Follow me.’

  El felt a tremor of fear but the warmth and light distilled in the drink burned through her and helped stave it off. It reminded her of her own power, of its similar nature, hidden, but lying just beneath the surface. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and clasped the kerykeion brooch that Dan had given her, pressing the cold metal into her palm. Just like the talisman, there was power in her; she just had to summon it.

  ‘I can see my grandma now?’ El asked.

  A smile hovered on Louisa’s lips. They reached the elevator. ‘You are funny, El. I don’t think after running away you deserve that, do you?’

  Louisa pressed the button to go up. El understood from Dan that the first arena was on the tenth floor, the second on the sixtieth and the final on the hundredth. The other levels contained bars, restaurants, hotel suites and several arete businesses. As the numbers increased on the display panel, so too did El’s anxiety. The levels continued to rush by, three gone within a second and with them, El seemed to leave her stomach behind. What did Louisa mean by bringing her up to the top floor? To the final arena. To the Elysium.

  - Chapter Twenty-One -

  Elysium

  The hundredth floor opened up and out. Before they’d left the lift, Louisa opened a vial and poured the few drops it contained into El’s glass.

  ‘Drink,’ she said.

  El tipped her glass back. The metallic flavour of empousa blood muddied the liquid.

  ‘All of it,’ Louisa commanded as El brought her glass down. She swallowed the rest of its contents.

  El recalled what Alex had said about the final arena. One had to have empousa blood in one’s system to enter it. It would be physically impossible to enter the arena without it. But this empousa blood was only available to the highest-ranking Order members. Only to elite members and … combatants of the Elysium.

  Her stomach lurched when they exited the lift and she saw the tiered seating rising around the central floor: a stadium. The stage in the middle wasn't level but had platforms of wood and stone built at various heights, linked by staircases. El realised the throbbing in her leg was melting away; the few drops of empousa blood were curing the injury. As she moved on, the pain was entirely gone.

  The staircases and platforms stood at angles, some were even upside down. It made El think of an Escher painting. There were no walls further up so the staircases and platforms connected to the outer steel frame of the building. Without glass between the metal beams, the frame looked bare, like carrion long picked clean by the birds. However, El could still trace a shape in the unadorned metal. Wings. The wings of Hermes: the very top of the staff-like structure.

  She followed Louisa to the far side of the arena, taking a seat where they could observe the space more fully. Most of the rows nearer the front were already occupied. Her gaze skirted the faces of men and women and her spirits quailed. There were dozens of them. Perhaps a hundred gathered. All high-ranking Order members.

  She stared up through the steel-winged frame at the open sky.

  ‘Most of the central arena is decimated each match,’ Louisa said. ‘It’s practical to make it open aired.’

  El thought of all the space surrounding the building. That's why there were so many miles around it: to limit the damage from the falling debris that likely rained down hundreds of metres to the ground. The fragmented sky was a patchy grey through the metal beams; the night’s darkness reduced by the city lights.

  Something caught El’s attention. Something glinted above them. El thought that the snake that twisted up the building had ended further down the structure but saw that there were layers of kerykeion worked into its glasswork. It morphed from out of the grey sky, its scales changed from grey to midnight-blue. She traced its sloping head and open jaws. There, sitting within its fangs above everyone, were the Triad. They sat higher than all others as if occupying the best box at the theatre. The female graeae, with black hair, Katia, was nearest. El remembered her strong voice. Katia’s gaze found her and El’s head whirled.

  A voice issued from out of the murk. El looked up at the steel wings, then down at the staircases and platforms of the central space. She found the source of the noise in the front row as speakers pumped out a repetitive, electronic beat. A few sirens had taken up position on the stairs, their voices, although aggressive, were hauntingly beautiful. Their raw power was palpable in their song. The sound was mesmeric; its waves churned something up inside the audience and grabbed their attention.

  Close your mouth and hold your tongue

  I'll take your words and bind them.

  One of the sirens squeezed the corset she wore and threw it off into the crowd as lots of arete whistled and cheered. She looked lethal; her moves hostile as she continued to voice the words, directing them with power at the other siren.

  Your shallow sea cannot protect thee.

  She drew lashings of water and twisted them towards the male siren, shaping the spirals into coils. The movement was sudden, the waters imbued with the fury of stormy seas. A few people in the crowd cheered but th
e other siren twisted and turned to avoid her clutches.

  The woman directed her dangerous stare back to the crowd and the male siren’s voice dominated this time.

  Crimson coughs gushing out,

  Flooded skull foaming through.

  Threaded blood spinning round,

  Velvet sea, look at me.

  This time the water he shot twisted around her body, curling up until it reached her throat. The crowd whistled and cheered and the sirens’ act ended. They took their bows.

  Expectation rippled through the crowd as the music ended. The anticipation was brittle. El had sensed the atmosphere was edged with danger as soon as she'd come out onto this level. Even without the snow and ice that cloaked the rooms below, these beings belonged to the cold and dark. Her eyes took on a note of desperation and flew around the stadium, looking for an escape route. She didn’t want to be sitting amongst this crowd that had just been warmed up for the match, for the violence she could feel brewing. She trembled. Was she about to be ordered into the stadium?

  El wished she hadn’t finished her drink. She wished for that all-consuming sensation again that the ambrosia in her bloodstream gave, where everything else faded away. She’d read that arete could become addicted to the powder that disassembled everything and yet connected it all back together again with more meaning. She was beginning to see why.

  The flames of torches roared into life on the outskirts of the stadium. The channel of water surrounding the circular space was illuminated by the fire. Despite the light and warmth, El shivered. This wasn’t meant to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Combatants competed in arenas one and two first, only then were they allowed into the final arena.

  A typhon and ladon stood side by side between the brightest flames. At first, El thought these were the competitors and her heart’s thunderous rhythm eased. Louisa smiled, savouring El’s turmoil. Two platforms rose from the dark pit in the central space, illuminating two more figures. The real combatants. The audience thundered into life again, cheering for their favourite. Their noise boomed through the arena and the proceedings halted until it died down.

  The typhon at the top of the stadium issued a decree, his voice rumbled around the whole arena, his speech catapulted by the air currents he manipulated, ‘Use of powers by spectators is forbidden. In the event that the arena is destabilised, I or the ladon overseer, will repair it.’

  The ladon took up the cue and came forward. ‘Hunter, typhon versus Mitchell, ladon. Match commence.’

  A deafening applause erupted. At once Mitchell sent the platform his opponent stood on crumbling. The rubble crashed down into the pit, sending a deafening reverberation throughout the stadium. Hunter rose easily and the crowd roared in approval. He took to standing upside down on one of the upturned staircases. The rock beneath him crumbled but he ran down, pretending to step on each one, whilst in reality floating through the air.

  The two competitors appeared evenly matched. Below, Mitchell was speeding up the vibrating particles in the platforms and stairs, hewing off material in an attempt to knock out his opponent. Hunter used the air current in turn to push the material back at him.

  A few minutes went by in which both combatants crossed the arena, sending hunks of stone and wood flying. The falling material and near misses caused flurries of excitement through the crowd. The overseers ensured that the arena remained intact around the crowd. Each time debris came within a few metres of the audience, it ricocheted off, as though an invisible bubble existed around them. The overseer soon directed the wayward material down into the pit.

  Hunter had a few near misses but seemed to have the upper hand. Most of the time he evaded Mitchell’s rocks and propelled himself out of harm’s way. Whereas the ladon was tiring and his evasion was becoming less effective. A few times he only managed to erode the material as it crashed into him, sustaining the impact, his arms raised protectively to shield his face and head.

  Hunter kept up the onslaught of his attacks and the ladon’s strain was evident. The typhon took to the staircases, walking upside down and started to somersault in the air, much to the crowd's delight. His twists and turns became more ostentatious as he sensed his fast-approaching victory. Each chant of, “Hunter, Hunter, Hunter!” seemed to infuse him with more daring and showmanship.

  The audience applauded him while Mitchell lay winded on a platform a few metres below. Hunter was on a wooden staircase, turning to the right and left to survey his adoring audience when the stone staircase a metre above him collapsed. Caught off guard, he was swept down with the next two proceeding stages, disappearing into the depths of the pit in a cloud of rubble and dust.

  Mitchell was about five metres below Hunter when the first level crumbled. The ladon had enough time to roll down the platform, grasp the next staircase and bolt up before launching himself into the air. He clambered up onto a side platform, watching as Hunter and the sheets of rock and wood were swallowed by the abyss.

  The crowd gasped and watched Mitchell in astonishment. The ladon continued to pant on the stage, inspecting the pit below as if he too – with the rest of the spectators – expected Hunter to fly back up into the arena. The seconds ticked by. Despite the audience holding its breath, each arete present could hear the hollow pit. Not a whisper or a pulse issued from the space.

  The silence broke when the ladon overseer announced, ‘Mitchell, ladon, victor.’

  El watched in a daze as lashings of fire and water, ice and snow, even ribbons of earth were let forth, decorating the air like party poppers. With the victor named and the match over, the ban on powers was lifted. She slipped from her seat, following Louisa past the applauding crowd. Her eyes were raised to the elements that floated above the arena like confetti but her thoughts strayed to the levels below – beneath the dirt and debris – where the dead man lay.

  - Chapter Twenty-Two -

  Matched

  El felt cold as they descended from the hundredth floor. She knew that Louisa had brought her up to the final arena in order to unnerve her – to fill her with dread. She kept replaying the moment when the staircase had broken and swept Hunter down into the depths. With all her dreams about her mum turning to stone, El had been fearful of the final arena because it was foreseen that she would kill there. Now, after seeing a fight to the death, it was a different kind of dread that disturbed her. If she didn’t fight well enough – even in arenas one and two – there was a chance that she might get hurt or worse. The idea, which before had seemed so abstract, was now palpable.

  Louisa’s honey-sweet tone sounded, ‘Oh, you do look pale. I hope you’re going to be well enough to compete.’

  They were nearing the tenth floor, where El would go up against another arete. She felt herself calming in spite of Louisa. The typhon had intended to unhinge her. She wanted El to lose whatever self-control she had mastered over her power. El was unnerved but at the same time things seemed to be slipping into place, to make more sense. Over the last week, she’d agonised about the Triad foreseeing her kill in the last match. She couldn’t imagine it though. How could she ever intentionally kill? After seeing the match however, she couldn’t help think that if someone was coming at her, intent on taking her life, that it would be natural for her full power to manifest. She shook away the thought. There was no need to be thinking like this. It would never come to that. She wouldn’t have to fight in the final arena because Dan and the other rebels would infiltrate the building before her final match.

  The elevator halted at level ten and El tried to comfort herself. On this level there were safe spaces – trenches in which to seek cover – just as in the practice arena she’d fought in all week. Besides, after what she’d just witnessed, this arena would seem like child’s play. The lift doors opened. A huge circular room lay ahead, in which four glass domes rested, above sunken pits. Tiered seating climbed up around them, as well as steps leading up to an elevated walkway and viewing platform.

/>   The space was kitted out in a similar way to the rest of the building; the floor and tiers were marble and the outer walls and viewing decks glass, making observation of the matches within the domes easy. She followed Louisa past the first two pits and stared down into them. She observed the familiar training structures: trenches hollowed into the floor. There was the mound of rock and fire burning within the centre of each arena, and the channel of water encircling the whole area.

  El was surprised at how many people occupied the tiered seating around the arenas but realised matches were already going on within. There was a pair of arete: a drakon and typhon who were competing in the first arena on her right. El gulped momentarily. The typhon threw himself into the trench just in time as a corridor of flame erupted towards him. The drakon’s bare chest was bathed with sweat and his face bent with determination. She stared wide-eyed, scolding herself for thinking that this would be easy.

  El climbed the glass stairs and stared down at the domes. The glass that should have been broken by the intense heat, emanating from the fighting drakon as if from a furnace, wasn’t affected at all. Even the soot that dimmed the glass soon faded and disappeared as though absorbed by the material. Upstairs in the Elysium, the overseers had been present to protect the audience and stabilise the arena but down here the impervious glass around each arena meant that every match was self-contained. She thought about the empousa blood making the glass and floor within impervious, that which ran in her veins. It made her think of Cam too. She hoped she’d found a moment in which to mark a kerykeion. Now that she’d seen a real match in the Elysium, it was comforting to think that if she ended up there next week Dan and the other rebels would be able to get in to stop the match.

  Louisa moved along the walkway, surveying each of the matches below. El halted and peered down for a few seconds, examining the manoeuvres, and trying to think of the competitors below as though she were critiquing one of her own training sessions.