Akropolis

by Catherine McCallum

  “I knew the earthquake was coming, too late. I closed the Garden, there was nothing more I could do. I remained behind‌—‌how could I die? When I saw the destruction, the rubble and debris where the rock had stood, I was devastated. The three identical fragments are all that’s left of it.”

  “Yoshiki said only one fragment had the power to warn of danger.”

  “The fragment is yours. Guard it well.”

  “It failed to prevent the barrier between Seb and me.”

  “The rock is a warning device. It can’t override barriers,” said Kenji.

  “Who has the power to do that,” said Nat, “to create a barrier?”

  Kenji hesitated. “Most of us. Maybe even all of us. But we’ve forgotten how to use our powers, it’s been so long. We forget where our forebears came from.”

  Nat drew in a breath. “Where did they come from?”

  “The First Transition of Survivors took place more than two thousand years ago from a planet similar to this one, in the system orbiting the star NGC-1097. Here on Earth we call the planet Zelos. Those who came had greater abilities and a more advanced science.”

  “So here they became Survivors. Of what?”

  “Zelos is dying and their coming was inevitable. With Earth’s growing curiosity of the universe, we had to expect that sooner or later we would be noticed.”

  Nat thought of Seb, a hybrid whose father had come from a place other than Earth. If I were facing my brother now, he thought, would I see a stranger?

  Kenji said, “The original Survivors gave birth to hybrid Descendants and Earth became their home. Now the Second Transition threatens the life we’ve built here.” He looked at Nat. “Sebastian’s father was to save us from this. He came from Zelos to lead the Second Transition, with orders to prevent the more radical Ascendants from rewriting Earth’s history. They defeated and destroyed him, and now they’re coming to destroy his son.”

  * * *

  Following their evening meal, Nat had fallen asleep on a mat on the floor of the temple, wearied from his discussion with Kenji. He woke at dawn tormented by doubts and with dreams of the garden still vivid in his head.

  It was the day of the earthquake. They would soon need to leave.

  While Kenji prepared a meal of rice and miso, Nat took out his phone and checked his images, hoping to find something he’d missed.

  The Delaneys. Something he’d noticed at their home had worried him. In his mind he retraced his steps through the cottage, tried to visualise the kitchen, the living room. Go back. It was something he’d seen from outside, looking in through the window, before they arrived.

  Over the meal it came to him. He stopped eating and put down his chopsticks.

  “Kenji. I need to return to St Annes.”

  Kenji was surprised. He had encouraged Nat to consider alternative directions but this was ill-considered. “To go back to St Annes involves taking unnecessary risks. I don’t advise it.”

  “I need to talk to the Delaneys. That’s all. Seeing my parents at this time would be difficult‌—‌” Nat’s voice trailed off.

  “Your parents must not be involved,” Kenji said.

  “They won’t be.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s not possible.”

  Nat stood, waited a moment, then turned and walked away. Kenji looked at the sky. It was getting late. He would allow Nat ten minutes before they had to leave.

  Alone in the garden, Nat considered his next move. He willed himself to relax, to think rationally. I don’t need a Guide. He knew he could go where he wanted, to any timespace. Being a Descendant was not the only way. It just required the knowledge to do it, and the belief.

  He could return to the Delaneys’ cottage. All he needed was an image on his phone. He remembered some photos he’d taken further down the coast from the cottage, when he was tracking the sea eagle. At one point the bird had flown low over the cottage and there was a chance the roof was included in the image.

  He took out his phone and scrolled through the photos he’d kept from that day. One showed an expanse of sky and against it a section of the Delaneys’ roof, out of focus and at an angle. It was the image he was looking for.

  When the ground started to rumble, he figured it was time to go.

  27

  Warwickshire, England, 1911

  Lady Wincroft was arranging roses in a vase in the drawing room. Maggie had gathered them from the garden only that morning and their perfume filled the room. Satisfied with the arrangement, Lady Wincroft carried the vase across to the small table under the window and set it down. She loved fresh flowers in the house. Since Edward returned to school, Emmeline spent much of her time reading in her room and the manor had become a gloomy place.

  She stiffened slightly. Something was different. What?

  “Is someone there?” she said calmly.

  She turned at a soft knock on the door.

  “Yes, Wilson?”

  “My lady, Maggie tells me she saw a pigeon fly in the front entrance. We haven’t been able to find it anywhere. I can’t imagine it would still be in the house but I’m checking the rooms.”

  “Thank you, Wilson. I’ll deal with it.”

  She waited until the butler had departed, then walked to her writing desk where she sat down and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper which she folded in two. She replaced her pen and raised her head.

  “Nike?” she said.

  Nike had been perched on top of the bookcase at the far side of the room. She now flew down to the desk. Lady Wincroft leaned back and smiled.

  “Nike. How nice to see you again.”

  “Spare me the welcome, Eileen.”

  “As brusque as usual, I see. What do you want?”

  “Sebastian will be protected. Do you understand me?”

  “His brother and Norika were here, you know. I rather liked them, but they became a nuisance.”

  “Don’t underestimate them. If they succeed you will be exposed and banished, or destroyed. Take this as a warning.”

  “Destroyed? My, my. Such strong words from such a small pigeon.”

  “Who shot Finn?” Nike said.

  “The interfering old badger?” Lady Wincroft smiled. “I shot him from the terrace, wearing Rick’s coat. It was foul weather at the time, as I recall. I knew I wouldn’t be recognised.” She looked at Nike with curiosity. “No great loss, I should imagine?”

  Nike was silent.

  Lady Wincroft stopped smiling. “You know your problem? You’re weak.”

  “I don’t commit murder.”

  “You and Yoshiki were fools. You believed you had control, when it was Kenji who controlled the Committee.”

  Nike hesitated. “Who better? The rest of us grow old and die while Kenji lives on. The world is simpler for us.”

  “Simpler? This planet has always been simple. They fight and squabble, all for nothing. If they could see our dying world they would appreciate their own more.”

  “Zelos is no longer our planet. For most of us, it never was our planet. Earth is our home. It’s our forebears who have corrupted it.”

  Lady Wincroft laughed. “So dramatic! You know that’s not true. Planets evolve. They nurture the brightest. Now it’s we who should be in control. Why not? Our science is more advanced. We have assimilated, become like them. There’s very little to tell between us now‌—‌a few extra faculties. Even the stories of the First Transition will eventually be lost to history.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “You and I were born here and we will die here,” Lady Wincroft said, her voice cold. “I don’t have the strong sense of place our people once had.”

  “You can’t lose it. It’s hardwired into us. I see Zelos in my mind, the path of its destruction.”

  “I doubt my sons and daughter feel the same way.”

  “Let them be. Rick has escaped you. The others will.”

  Lady Wincroft’s face was expressionless. “Rick prevented me f
rom removing a threat. He will pay for that.”

  “What are you afraid of? Exposure? You will always be an outsider because you feel like one. Many of us are tired of being different. We belong here.” Nike’s voice hardened. “You’re not the sister I knew. You’ve chosen the wrong path, Eileen. It will lead to destruction and chaos. The Committee allows one warning. After that, I will kill you myself.”

  “I thought you were the peaceful kind.”

  “Not always.”

  “Be careful, Nike. I’m not alone.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Through the open window Nike could hear the church bell ringing faintly across the fields. It was pointless remaining here. She would deal with her sister in other ways.

  She flew to the mahogany sideboard and from there out the window.

  * * *

  Tasmania, 2020

  Nat was lying low in the grass outside the Delaneys’ cottage, watching for any movement. He waited ten minutes, then made his way cautiously in a wide arc around the house. The car was parked at the back. He returned to the front and walked through the gate.

  Cade Delaney answered the door.

  “Nathaniel,” he said. “You have a habit of surprising us. I haven’t seen you in quite a while. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Mr Delaney.” It was habit, to think of him as Rick’s father. Who was he really?

  The man smiled. “Cade. Please.”

  “Could I talk to you about Rick? It won’t take long.”

  “Of course. Come in.” He stood aside and Nat walked past him to the living area. A pot was cooking on the stove. “I’m just cooking a stew now that the weather has set in. Sarah is away. Sit down.”

  Nat took a seat at the table. “Mr Delaney‌—‌Cade‌—‌I’ve discovered that Rick is still alive. He didn’t drown.”

  Cade Delaney sighed and sat opposite him. “Nathaniel, we have asked you not to pursue this. Rick is gone. None of us knows for sure what happened on that night. We don’t blame Seb. Tell him he can come home.”

  “Seb is still under suspicion. I want to clear his name.” Nat took a breath. “Have you heard from Rick, or seen him?”

  Cade stared at him. “I must ask you to leave. You sound upset. Shall I call your parents to collect you?”

  “No, wait,” said Nat. “I came to ask you something else. There’s a photo on the dresser in the front room. It’s of you on a beach. I thought the photo had faded in the sun, the colours had changed. I was wrong.” He hesitated. “The sea was orange. Where is that place? Who are you?”

  A short silence. Cade said, “The place is mine. My planet. On Zelos the sea is orange because of its mineral composition. The sand is black. I have lived here for a long time, but still I miss it.”

  “You’re an Ascendant.”

  “I returned once, to recruit others for the Second Transition. The planet won’t survive the destruction of our star, but some will remain until the end. They’re wasted there. We need them to join us on a healthy planet, to help establish our culture and science before we lose it forever.”

  “We have our own science,” Nat said. This was a mistake. He glanced nervously at the back door. He had misjudged the situation, now he needed to get out of there.

  “Your science is flawed, soft. Our science is about the numbers.”

  Nat froze. Declan had warned him. It’s the numbers that count.

  Cade said, “You must know by now that Rick is not my son. He was repositioned here, as I was. As Sarah was.”

  Nat thought if he could keep him talking long enough he could get outside. “You were here for two years. Why did you stay?”

  Cade looked at Nat through narrowed eyes. “At first, everything went according to plan. We settled in. Rick made friends with Sebastian, he even got work on Jake’s boat.”

  Nat could hear his heart beat faster. “What plan?”

  “Rick was here to kill Seb. I was Rick’s controller. We were to leave within a short time, but things went wrong‌—‌missed opportunities. I was too patient.”

  Nat let him talk. An idea of escape was forming. He tried to think calmly.

  Cade’s voice drifted back. “I tried to finish the job myself‌—‌an accident on the rocks, a stray shot‌—‌but Rick prevented it each time.” Cade paused. “I finally realised he was sabotaging our work here. He had to go. He disappeared from the boat before I had a chance to deal with him.” His tone changed. “Rick was weak. He left rather than kill Seb‌—‌a risky decision.”

  Nat was listening in increasing fear. Why did I come here? “Seb had done nothing to you‌—‌why kill him?” he said, stalling. Cade had the advantage of weight and bulk, and he was blocking the door.

  “Seb has always been someone of interest to us.”

  “But Rick refused to kill him. Why?”

  Cade Delaney looked at Nat, a curious expression on his face. “You didn’t know?” he said. “Rick was in love with Seb.”

  Nat stared blankly, testing his memories of his brother. He had envied the way girls fell for Seb. Girls always want what they can’t have, he used to think. Seb’s containment, his aloneness attracted them. But he’d never seen Seb date a girl. He wondered now if it had been indifference but dismissed the thought. Seb would have told him. He wished he’d known Rick better, had understood him more. But Rick had never needed Nat’s friendship. Rick had never needed anyone other than Seb‌—‌Nat realised that now.

  Cade Delaney was speaking. “Rick kept a diary.” He gave a bitter smile. “I doubt Sebastian ever knew. If he did, he kept it to himself.”

  Seb would have known. Nat rose from the table, trying to appear confident enough to walk free from the cottage.

  Cade Delaney remained seated. “I don’t think so, Nathaniel,” he said pleasantly. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go just yet. We need to talk about your brother‌—‌where he is, what his plans are. I’m sure he would like to be found.”

  Nat suddenly realised where he’d heard that voice before‌—‌in the room in New York, as he and Sabine had listened through the window to the conversation inside the tenement. One voice had been Rick’s, the other speaker had been Cade Delaney.

  They were startled by a knock at the front door. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, as sharp and insistent as a woodpecker. After a second’s pause the sequence was repeated, over and over. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat‌—‌rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.

  Nat turned and grabbed the pot off the stove. In one swift movement he hurled its steaming contents at Cade Delaney. Cade screamed in pain and staggered from the table. Nat ran past him and fumbled with the latch on the back door. He flung it open as the scalded man lunged towards him, grasping at his sleeve. Nat broke free and bolted outside into the clean cold air, his heart pounding, as Cade fell to the floor.

  He knew the cliffs well and scrambled towards the rocks. The sea eagle was overhead and he slowed, watching her circle, wondering about her powerful beak, about the insistent knocking at the door. She remained for a while, then flew in a slow deliberate path away down the coast.

  She’d been there. She knew.

  After following the rocky shore he made his way inland towards the road. Despite the danger, he would need to return home. It was the only one place here, in their own timespace, where Seb would leave a note.

  He kept on the road for another hour and speeded up as dusk was falling. Around St Annes Bay, along his street, a sense of homecoming overwhelmed him and forced him to stop and take deep, gulping breaths. When he recovered he diverted to the laneway behind his house and slowed to a walk.

  So far, so good.

  The lights were on at the back of the house. He could see his parents preparing the dinner, moving to and fro across the kitchen. They looked worried. How long had it been since he’d last seen them? He moved silently‌—‌his mother was always alert‌—‌across the yard towards the hen shed, calming the hens, talking to them softly. After a while their gentle clucking subsided and
he released the latch and entered the run. Most of the hens were inside the shed on their roost. He cleared the straw in the first nest and lifted the loose board. Under it was a note.

  Nat‌—‌get out of here fast! You need to find the last map segment. GO! No time to explain. The jetty is the portal‌—‌Seb

  The rock had started to hum. Nat shoved the note in his pocket, quickly replaced the straw and backed out of the shed, unsettling the hens. In a rush of fear he moved away from the yard and into the night.

  Luisa D’Angelo had been slicing vegetables when she stopped and looked towards the window. Her husband was instantly aware of the change in her mood.

  “What’s wrong?” Paul said.

  “It’s Nat. I think he’s here, outside.”

  “Nat?” Paul stared at her. “I have to go to him!” He moved swiftly to the back door.

  “No!” she said. “You can’t, Paul. Leave it.”

  “Luisa, he’s our son!”

  “So is Seb! Nat will be tracked. He’s better off on his own. He’ll lose them, you know Nat. There’s nothing we can do to help him.”

  Nat was running towards the jetty. There was a thin moon, enough to see his way with the help of an occasional streetlight. The rock was silent but he started at any sound. He caught his arm on a shrub and pulled back, looking around wildly. The familiar streets and unlit nature strips were unrecognisable, distorted by the night and his fear.

  The jetty stretched out over the water from a small bayside park at the base of a sloping bank. By the time he got there the local anglers had departed with their day’s catch and the jetty was deserted. He stopped to look around, checked the nearby bench, the gravel path down to the water. All clear. He would see anyone approaching by the path, or hear them if they attempted to scramble down the bank.

  He bent over, catching his breath, slowing his heartbeat. If he entered the portal now he had no control over his destination. The image is the key. He would find the right image only by solving the fourth diagram.

  He heard a sound and looked towards it. Someone was on the path, walking quickly towards him. Someone he recognised. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting his sight to a point beyond the dark shrubs on the bank.