by HR Moore
CHAPTER 3
Alexander got up and made his excuses. There was only so much of Gwyn and Marcus proclaiming they were masters of the universe that he could take. He had never enjoyed spending time with them, but since Philip's death, he found them tedious.
He decided to go back to the temples and see how Christiana was doing; she was always a sound source of advice. Maybe she could help him understand why the Body girl was having such an effect on him.
He, unlike the girl, was able to control his energy, so no-one would know, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. Maybe it's her energy, he thought, as he descended through the center of the Temple of the Spirit into the lower chambers; raw and unrefined. She has no idea how powerful she could be.
But he knew that wasn't all it was. His brain flashed endless images of her pale lips, smoky eyes, slender hands, creamy skin, dark hair, the dip between her neck and collarbone, the curve of her toned arms…she invaded his every thought. For some inexplicable reason, his mind kept drawing him back to her.
Alexander entered the plush private chamber that now belonged to him underneath the Spirit Temple. His spacious accommodation consisted of a study, a bedroom, a bathroom, a sitting room, and a small kitchenette. His grandfather, Philip, had had the whole place overhauled when he had ascended to rule. Alexander hadn't even thought about changing it; he didn't see the need.
He pushed a small square at the side of the worn wooden paneling covering the wall at the back of his study. It was the only wall not covered in bookcases laden with Philip's dusty old manuscripts. A secret door sprang open. He ducked through into the gloomy corridor beyond, lit only by the occasional lantern, and followed it towards the chambers underneath the Temple of the Body.
Alexander's mind wandered as he walked…wandered to her. He barely noticed the twists and turns, feet seeming to follow their own path. But as he approached Christiana's chambers, the sound of muffled voices jarred him back to life.
The only people allowed down here were the Descendants, a small handful of trusted and very well-paid servants, and occasionally a councilor, accompanied by a Descendant. Alexander listened, picking out the harsh tones of Austin, the Mind Descendent, and Christiana's weak replies.
Unsettled energy radiated from them both, and Alexander knew something was wrong. He snuck forward as far as he dared and hid behind an ornate grey pillar. He positioned himself so he could see what was going on, and strained to hear their every word.
'I've got to find her; I have to tell her. She's here. What we did…' said Christiana.
'You're going to tell her?' said Austin. 'I thought you just wanted to find her and see her. What good can telling her possibly do now?'
'The energy. Once I'm gone, who knows what will happen. Only the Gods should have the power we took. It's my greatest regret.'
Alexander felt Austin's intentions. Waves of malicious, negative energy rolled off him, rising to unprecedented levels. Christiana would know; she had surprising Spirit skills for a Body.
'Austin, she will find out. The prophecy will one day be fulfilled. The true bloodline will be restored,' said Christiana, her voice strained.
'No, she won't,' Austin sneered, brushing Christiana's words aside. 'We're the only two who know the truth now Philip's gone. And soon it will just be me.' His voice was a terrifying mix of wistful longing and startling cruelty. Austin reached down and put his hand on the pillow next to Christiana's head, his brutal intention plain. Christiana didn't fight. She had accepted what was to come, her face relaxed, energy calm, unconcerned with the imminent danger.
'The true bloodline will be found, Austin,' Christiana repeated, her voice soft but insistent, like this was so obvious an observation that anyone would be a fool not to see it. 'This is bigger than you; it's in the hands of the Gods,' she said, pausing and looking openly up at Austin, her eyes still sparkling, full of life, a smile playing around her old, thin lips. 'The Gods who you are about to help me join.'
Austin's eyes flew open. He grabbed the pillow and furiously covered Christiana's face, using all his weight to hold it resolutely in place. Christiana didn't struggle. She lay totally still until Alexander could feel her energy no longer. He could have intervened. Should he have? But Christiana could read energy; she would have known he was there, and she hadn't appealed to him. He had a better chance of fulfilling her final wishes if he wasn't at war with Austin, but now he knew exactly what Austin was capable of, and it made him sick.
Alexander turned and left, navigating quickly back through the black corridors. He rushed into his chamber, swinging the panel swiftly and firmly closed before retreating up into the temple and out into the night.
He vomited violently as he reached the cool night air, still not quite able to believe the act he had just witnessed. He left the temples and somehow stumbled to the river before letting his legs give way, sinking gracelessly to the hard ground of the riverbank. He sat all night, not feeling the cold or the damp that penetrated his clothes, numb, barely even hearing the river swirling by.
Eventually, as the sun started to rise, a greyish light illuminating the water, tears trickled down his cheeks. He held his head in his hands, staring into nothing, a deep sense of loss growing inside.
Hours later, when the sun was fully in the sky, but blocked out by determined black clouds, he returned to his chamber, full of questions. What had Christiana meant about taking the power of the Gods into their own hands? And about the bloodline, and the prophecy? Did Christiana have a female heir? Was that who Christiana had wanted to find? What had they done and why? His grandfather, Philip, had known something and never told him? Had Philip been involved in whatever this was?
There were too many questions to answer all at once, but Alexander knew the place to start his search was in the archives. Maybe an examination of the birth and death records would cast some light.
* * * * *
Ever since the encounter at The Island a few days before, Anita had been restless. People were gossiping, trying to determine why she had attracted the Descendants' attention. Anita wanted nothing more than to fade into the background. She had gone to the observatory every day and had been sullen and moody with Bass and Patrick. For that, she felt bad, which made her even more frustrated.
She had turned to Body pursuits, but no amount of riding, sailing, climbing, or swimming could seem to lift her mood. To add insult to injury, the Descendants had gone quiet since that night at The Island. Nobody had seen them or heard from them, and even Cleo had nothing to share. They could be anywhere. They could have left Empire. Nobody knew.
Anita desperately wanted to understand why her energy had reacted to Marcus and Alexander. She had no idea how to control her energy, as Alexander suggested she should.
Today's attempt at distraction was a run by the river, with her grandmother's springer spaniel, Thorn. Surely the combination of exercise and playing with Thorn would do something to pick up her spirits…
Anita was preoccupied with thoughts of embarrassing displays in bars when she felt powerful energy approaching from behind. She was instantly wary, her automatic reaction to most people since Alexander's words in the temple. She was guarded as she spun to see who was there.
Her energy leapt when she saw Marcus' blissful form coming towards her. For Gods' sake, get a grip, she said silently to herself. Unfortunately, this seemed to spur on her energy's disobedience, Anita feeling once again like she might explode. At least Marcus didn't seem to have Alexander's reader skills; that should save her one embarrassment at least.
'Well hello,' drawled Marcus as he approached. 'Fancy seeing you here.'
'Hmm,' Anita replied, feigning disinterest and calling to Thorn.
'Mind if I join you?'
'Umm…'
Anita was trying to think of a suitably offhand reply, when Marcus said, 'Great!' His smile that of a naughty five-year-old.
'Right,' she said, setting off across the field, not pulling any punches. Marcu
s kept pace with her, but he wasn't in any state to make casual conversation. Anita smirked and increased the pace.
They reached the fence and Anita jumped straight up, making to climb over into the next field. Marcus reached out a surprisingly strong hand, grabbed the back of her top, and pulled her roughly back down.
'I think that's enough of that,' he gasped, trying to catch his breath. 'You've made your point.'
'I'm sure I don't know what you mean,' said Anita. The run had improved her spirits no end, and now she was in a mischievous mood. She liked the way this encounter was going.
'I think you've got a fair idea,' Marcus fired back, having recovered enough to assume his usual, superior stance. 'How did you get so fast?'
Anita shrugged. 'I don't know,' she said, softening a bit. 'I've always been fast and strong and able to beat anyone I've competed against. At first people thought I cheated, but now they just think I'm weird.'
'Well, I know what that's like.'
'What you know is adoration and envy and jealousy. Nobody thinks you're weird.'
'What's so different about how people treat me? They stare at me, they talk and point, they whisper and snicker…'
'…ahh, the poor little Descendant…'
Marcus exploded forward, his face inches from Anita's, the smell of vanilla washing over her. Her stomach dropped, her heart rate rocketed. The informality of the run had made her bold; had she pushed him too far?
'You think it's funny? You haven't got a clue.'
His energy was…all over the place; he was an intriguing animal. 'Then enlighten me,' she said, her voice soft.
The side of Marcus' mouth curled into a smile. He inched forward, crowding her, Anita instinctively stepping back. But her route was blocked by a tree, her back now flat against its bark. There was nowhere for her to go.
Marcus placed his arms either side of her, pinning her in place. Her pulse quickened. He leaned his head down, looking straight into her eyes, amusement dancing across his features. To her surprise, Anita liked it, despite his misguided assumption that he was in control.
His features smoothed and the mood between them shifted. There was a tension in the air as they waited for what seemed like forever to see what would happen next. Faces inches apart, eyes boring into each other, breath mingling, Anita's pulse beat loudly in her ears. The intoxicating smell of him invaded her lungs, clouding her mind. She tilted her head up slowly, holding his gaze, challenging him to make the next move.
His eyes flicked to her lips, a shot of triumph punching through her. He bowed his head warily, watching her cautiously, as though she were a wild, unpredictable animal. He brushed his lips against hers, a shocking jolt of electric energy running between them, her head twitching in surprise. She fought the urge to pull away as Marcus pressed his lips more purposefully to hers, the feel of it so intense. He was surprisingly gentle, moving his hands to her face, kissing her more deeply.
She relaxed into the kiss, mind racing, not sure if she were really in a dream, her lips responding willingly, seemingly without instruction. He finally pulled back, slowly running his thumb across her now sensitive lips, before replacing his hands on the tree. He leaned back in towards her, flirting, making her think he was heading for her lips once more. He changed course at the last moment, moving his mouth to her ear, where he softly commanded, 'Come to the ball with me.'
Anita froze: she had not expected that. A flurry of thoughts poured into her mind, adrenaline-fueled panic filling her body. Given what had just happened, she was struggling to think at all, let alone clearly. She had to buy herself some time…
Anita looked down at the ground, searching for inspiration, before taking a deep breath and returning his gaze once more. She paused, savoring his confusion, impatient intrigue in his eyes. 'Maybe,' she said, huskily, then quickly, before he had time to process her response, ducked under his arm and out into the open field.
'Maybe?' Marcus called after her.
She put her fingers to her lips, still tingling from his touch, gazing back at him. 'Maybe,' she confirmed, sporting a triumphant look as she turned, called to Thorn, and ran back the way they had come.
Marcus sank to the ground, leaning back against the tree trunk. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his perfectly quaffed hair. Why the Gods did he like her?
Anita's mind exploded as she ran. What should she do? She didn't want to hurt Bass, who she had already turned down. She didn't want the other girls to hate her, or to have the attention that going to the ball with Marcus would bring. But Anita had kissed plenty of guys, and she had never felt an energy jolt like that before. In fact, she had never felt an energy jolt at all. Had Marcus felt it too?
She sprinted home. She would avoid Marcus; she needed time to think about her answer…and why did the memory of Alexander striding across the Spirit Temple keep invading her mind?
* * * * *
Alexander had spent the last two days buried in the archives. He'd waded through the birth and death records for the ten generations of Descendants before Christiana, but couldn't find anything suspicious. It looked like she was authentic, so he turned his attention to Christiana's heirs. The problem was, although everyone else had to register babies with the relevant council, Mind with Mind, Body with Body, Spirit with Spirit, the Descendants were able to enter their births into the records themselves. There were two entries in Christiana's line. First, Peter, on 21st May 1310, and then Gwyneth, on 20th March 1337. Again, it looked fine.
The only thing he could find was that, for some reason, they had waited for three days after Gwyn's birth to enter her into the records. Other than that, there was nothing. No other children of Christiana, and no indication of record tampering. It was a dead end.
Alexander had also looked through the newspaper archive, hoping for a clue in some seemingly innocuous article. He'd found a story about a woman dying from childbirth a few days after Gwyneth was born; not a regular occurrence, but not unheard of. There was an article about a strange shipment of chocolate from the Wild Lands that had had to be burnt; again, not regular, but no obvious connection. And the multitude of articles about the bloodline and whether it was still intact was to be expected, given that the birth of Gwyn's father, Peter, had meant the end of the all female line.
Alexander wasn't surprised not to find anything, given the control the Descendants had over the newspapers, but a small part of him had hoped.
He put back the book that held newspaper articles from March 1337, then moved further down the row of records. He stopped by the book for March 1340, the month his father, Theon, had died in a fire in Empire's Body Temple.
Nobody knew why Theon had been there late into the night. Everyone assumed he'd been in his chamber beneath the temple, coming out to help when he realized a fire raged above. The whole thing was deeply suspicious.
Alexander's mother, Celia, had died shortly afterwards, which everyone had attributed to a broken heart. Alexander's grandparents, Philip and Lyla, had brought him up, but every time Alexander had tried to bring up the subject of his parents' death, Philip had looked pained and swiftly changed the subject.
Alexander had tried, of course, to find answers, but other than the archives and family libraries, there was nowhere to look for clues. Information was tightly controlled by the ruling Descendants. He had tried to identify people to ask, who would have been around at the time, or who might be able to put him onto a new lead, but there was no one obvious. That, and Alexander didn't want to run the risk of getting some poor, unsuspecting person into trouble by probing where he shouldn't.
Now it seemed there was something more that Philip had been hiding, and Alexander desperately wanted to know what it was.
CHAPTER 4
Anita entered the observatory, still reeling from her latest encounter with Marcus, and still with absolutely no idea what to do. On the upside, her mood had improved considerably. She managed a beaming smile at Bass and Patrick as she reached the t
op of the stairs.
'Morning,' she said, happily.
'Morning,' Patrick and Bass responded, in downbeat tones.
'What's up?' asked Anita. It was unlike these two to be so down in the dumps.
'They're about to make an announcement, totally out of the blue and without any preparation,' said Bass, bitterly.
'No…' stammered Anita, 'she hasn't…surely not so soon?'
'Yep, dead,' said Patrick, darkly, but with the edge of something else in his voice…excitement maybe. 'Found in her chamber a couple of days ago. Apparently passed away in her sleep.'
Anita knew why Patrick wasn't entirely unhappy; this would be the most significant energy event the world had ever seen, and the three of them had front row seats. Despite this, Anita couldn't help but be annoyed at Patrick; he was so insensitive.
'That explains why the Descendants disappeared over the last couple of days,' said Anita, keeping to herself that she had seen Marcus, who hadn't displayed any obvious signs of mourning.
'They're going to stand on the steps of the Body Temple and make an announcement,' said Patrick. 'Broadcast it over the airwaves, so everyone knows. Just like that.'
Anita turned her back on Patrick, shocked to find that Bass had gone pale. 'Bass? Are you alright?' she asked. He was usually so strong in a crisis.
'Aside from the fact that we're about to see an unprecedented fall in energy, that will probably destabilize our entire world, I'm peachy, thanks.'
'Right, I see. Fair point.' Anita shot a questioning look to Patrick, who shrugged in a way that said Bass had been like this all morning.
'They're about to start,' said Patrick, looking at his watch and walking over to the radio receiver to make sure it was correctly tuned. 'Here we go,' he said, almost as though he were announcing the start of a fairground ride.
A brusque yet buttery male voice cut across the room. 'Citizens of the world, we have come here today, to the Temple of the Body, to announce a terrible tragedy.' The voice paused, the trepidation of the crowd palpable. Whoever it was speaking, Anita didn't like him.