Chapter 2

Elaine grunted as she whirled her silver saifas sword into the wooden practice prop before her, the force of her swing cutting a good couple of inches into the side of the solid structure. Her jaw locked as she yanked it free, her grip tightening as another wave of rage flared.

She stood small in the large, paneled room, the ceiling rising to an arch high above her head. Dark stone tiles covered the floor, covered in cuts and scratches from countless practices and duels before her. Windows rose along two walls, facing each other to make an almost cathedral-like flare to the space, the view of the oak wooded forest bland and brown at this time of year. Behind her stood the main doors, leading to the rest of the barracks, the wood carved carefully in a beautiful archway. The bright light of midday filled the space, negating the need for lights.

She narrowed her pale, colorless eyes, flourishing the five-foot blade, just less than a foot shorter than herself, in one hand before spinning into another swing. It bounced off, impacting just below its shoulder. Her breaths were shallow, muscles tight as she stalked her way around the dummy. She pictured his face on the statue, striking it again. A chunk of splintered wood broke from its head, falling with a soft clatter to the black stone floor of the training room. She took a small step back, taking a moment to breathe.

She tossed her snowy white hair absently, her hand lifting to trace along the twisting metal that encircled her head, a reminder of her mother’s country, before trailing down the thick braid that flowed down her back. Ancient, symbolic black marks contrasted her white irises, her lips painted a deep purple, bold against her hauntingly white skin. Her muscles, exposed by the halter neck of her silver practice gear, flexed as she tightened her grip on her sword.

It had been six months. Six months since she had seen her brother’s face; since he had told her he was going to be away for only one month on his ‘mission’. He talked about how he needed space, that he needed to rebuild himself after what had happened. It had been six months since their lives had been ripped apart.

Her thumb reached the locked switch located at the center of the hilt, flipping it easily. Instantly, spikes of different sizes protruded from both sides of the blade, each one pointed back at her. She scooped down from her position behind the figure, cutting its legs as she spun into a crouch, the resistance of the hooks sending a warm shiver down her spine.

After six weeks and no sign of his return, they had naturally begun to think the worst had happened. The following week had been a struggle, trying to get their father to admit where he had sent him, but he had been characteristically uncooperative. It had taken Ryan, the idiot that he was, sneaking around the council building after everyone had gone home to even find where her brother had even gone off to.

She remembered the knife that had dug into her heart when she heard that he was only a twenty-minute drive from their home. The next day, she had gone with Cameron to the school he had been watching, only to have that knife twist when she saw him.

Her leg muscles tightened, the memories fueling her as she pushed herself up into a barbaric onslaught. Slicing deep gashes into the figure’s chest. Her teeth ground together, her breaths ragged, though not from movement.

She watched him as he walked to the school from his host’s house, a strange enthusiasm in his step. Cameron had held her back when he met two students, the grin on his face happier than she had seen him in years. She watched as he joked with the redheaded girl, all the grief and stress were seemingly non-existent. She’d made Cameron stay parked across the street until he had disappeared into the building, her mind desperately trying to deny what she had seen.

She had known he was struggling under the demands of his new position under their father, even before it had happened, he had seemed so defeated. Seeing him so carefree, the obvious care he held for those strangers he had known for such a short time… It was worse when it became obvious that he had clearly been in communication with some of the members of the council, he couldn’t even bother to reach out to his family or who were supposed to be his friends.

She lopped off another part of its head, her jaw beginning to sting from how taut she held it. Her limbs tingled with purpose as she struck again, her vision red. The speed of her attacks only grew, shards of wood flying across the large space. She stopped only when she realized what had started as a body-shaped dummy was now nothing but a chopped-up pillar. In one final swipe, she sheared through the already narrowed placement of the neck. The ‘head’ softly thumped to the floor, rolling towards her slightly as she watched it, her head tilted. In a split second, she slammed her blade down into it, skewering the wood on the end of her sword.

“I think you killed it,” the tenor voice at the door sent her hand whipping to the jagged dagger at her waist, her heart pounding at the sudden interruption. Without thinking or even aiming, the blade left her fingers, flipping through the air before embedding itself in the doorframe next to a nervous-looking Ryan. “I surrender,” he raised his hands mockingly.

She growled as she disengaged the spikes on her sword, and slammed the ‘head’ loose on the ground. She moved the point away from its earlier target, placing it straight down beside her, holding the hilt with one hand as she stared him down frostily. “What do you want?” Her voice, which usually held a slight hoarse texture, was rough even to her own ears.

He turned to pull the dagger free, inspecting the multi-pointed ends with a slightly raised blond brow. He flipped it in his hand with a snicker as he walked towards her slowly, holding it out for her to take. “Here you are, ice princess.”

She sneered at the humorous light dancing in his silver eyes, snatching it back before shoving it back into her belt, waiting for him to give her an answer. He was shorter than her by a few inches, but it didn’t stop him from standing his ground against her presence. His sandy blond hair was combed back neatly, freckles covering every inch of his pale skin that she could see. His features made him look more mature than she knew him to be, his downturned eyes, straight nose, and thin lips giving him a naturally serious look; if only he didn’t constantly twist them in smirks and idiotic grins. She had been tolerating his presence as her brother’s best friend for years now, but now that he was gone, her patience wore thinner every day.

“Just thought I’d let you know,” he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, rumpling his t-shirt that showed a picture of some cartoon she didn’t care about. “Eleanor made noodle goop,” she rolled her eyes at his name for alfredo pasta. “And she’ll cry if you don’t come try it.”

“I’m not hungry,” she stared him down, her face blank of emotion. It wasn’t true, she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. The truth was, sitting at the table with the rest of them, was only a grim reminder of the state of their team. Seven months earlier, the seats had started emptying, now with her brother gone, there were only four of them left of the original ten. The sight was more than depressing and made their absences more blatant than anywhere else.

Of course, she could go to other observances and the homes of the others who had left, but the most painful, the catalyst to everything, would never walk through the grounds again. Roselle’s room, her armor, her equipment, still as she had left it before she had been brutally murdered within the borders of their people’s last sanctuary by one of their other team members. The murderer’s being the other permanently empty chair, executed by none other than her brother after the trial had taken place. The observance continued to fracture from there.

Ryan shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind…” He trailed off, eyeing the shredded dummy. “Just let us know how many more of those we need to pick up, I’m pretty sure half of our budget is going straight into those at this point.”

She bristled at his comment, a scowl twisting her features. She snapped her sword up from the floor, the tip of the blade scratching the stone tiles lightly on its swing upward. Turning on her heel, she walked away from him and the deformed figure, heading towards the smaller door on the far side of the room. Ryan could shove it and leave forever for all she cared. His ‘jokes’ were more irritating than anything else and his existence kept reminding her that he wasn’t there and off gallivanting with some redhead who was obviously a cheap replacement for Roselle.

She shot him one last poisonous glare before throwing the door open, having to angle the saifas in her hand carefully, as to not damage the doorframe. Once in the small, darkened room, she let herself take a deep breath. The equipment room was sectioned off for each member of the observance to have their own space for any equipment they had. At the moment, six of the ten were filled. Two stood facing each other, untouched, a small window shining light onto the shelf that held her brother’s practice gear.

She huffed, moving on to the back corner where her equipment was stored. She moved her blade to lock into its sheath that hung from the wall, the familiar magnetic pull urging her hand forward until the sheath locked closed around it. She shed her gear and flat shoes expertly, replacing them with her regular, plain black shirt, jeans, and knee-high, high-heeled black boots. She pulled her navy leather jacket over top, glancing in the mirror she had placed there when she had first joined the Order of Observances three years prior when she was only thirteen. Her eyes immediately went to the black symbols around her eyes, speaking of her grief and anger for her, just as they had for hundreds, even thousands of years for the Wotakouran people. The moonstone seemed to glow from where it rested centered near the top of her forehead in her daeis, the symbol of her mother’s family, silver curling around it, curling around her head to where it held more stones. She looked like the product she was: a Hecathian raised in a human world.

She remembered when she had gone to the humans’ schools when she was young, trying to blend in, they had taunted her for wearing them, along with her albinism of course, until she rammed one of their heads into a locker. Once her father had finished the Academy, opening it to the lost children and families of their once-great empire to teach them about everything they had lost, she had been set free from her torment. Now, the academy was a shelter for them, secluded from humans, as much as possible that was. They had begun to rebuild what they had, and what Elaine and others her age didn’t know, as they were too young when their people were slaughtered.

She shoved her gear onto the shelf unceremoniously, knowing that the wrinkles would be irritating to get out later, but she really wasn’t in the mood to fold clothes. She grabbed the dagger that stuck out of the tangle of toughened material, hanging it back on the wall beside the mirror where it belonged.

She exited into the grand lobby of their barracks, the sounds of Eleanor, Cameron, and Ryan emanating from the kitchen just to her left. Her feet moved on their own across the marbled floors, moving past the small garden planted in the center of the floor. She turned onto the stairwell, leading up to the second-floor balcony that was held up by black, twisting pillars. Her room was the fourth and final door on the right, placed at the front of the building. She had always been grateful that Cameron, her only room neighbor, was silent when on his own, meaning that she could easily pretend no one was there at all. And fortunately, or unfortunately, the room directly above hers was empty, though she knew that the status was only temporary.

She cleared the doorway, just managing not to slam it behind her. She stopped just beyond it, the sudden feeling of safety settling over her. She opened her eyes with a final shaking breath, her nails stinging the inside of her palms at her sides.

Her suite was simple, yet held the distinct elegance she loved. The walls were pale blue, black accents that she had painted long ago rising along the wall to her right in a diagonal diamond-like design, each one holding its unique flair. Something that might be unnoticed by most would have been the distinct lack of any color patterns, her furniture, rugs, and even clothes all singular colors with the possible exception of small black or silver flairs.

She passed one of the gray chairs and the round table in the sitting area that took up most of her space, sinking onto the curved, indigo settee that filled the corner of the room. She stared blankly across the room at the sheer white curtain hanging from the rounded archway, hiding her bed behind it. The open door of the bathroom beside it revealed that she had forgotten to hang up her towel to dry the night before.

She just sat there for what felt like a few minutes, not really thinking, but just feeling the sorrow that had been steadily growing for a long time now. She blinked, jolting herself as she pulled her legs up, careful to keep the soles of her boots off the furniture.

Her blatant fury had dulled, now a simmer just under the surface of her being. Her fingers absently twisted the black ring on her hand, questions filling her head, not heeding her attempts to shove them away. Why had he turned his back on all of them so easily? Did he ever think about her at all? Had he forgotten them all so quickly? What did he get out of staying away from them?

Would she ever be able to talk to her brother again?

____________________________

Anna closed the front door of her house behind her, leaning against it for a moment, lost in thought. To say that what had happened during her first day of school was unexpected would be an understatement. A smile pulled at her lips, a small laugh conveying her disbelief escaping from the back of her throat.

Even if they were a little odd, especially Jacob, their kindness had blown her away. After they had finished lunch, each one of them had made some kind of effort to say hello in the hallway or walk to shared classes. Even Ben, still silent as a ghost, had walked hesitantly through the hall with her at one point. It had been a little awkward, but she got the feeling that even if he did want to talk, he would have the same trouble knowing what to say as she did.

She had gotten a sense from him that there was something deeper to his shyness; if it was even that he was shy in the first place. She hadn’t needed to know them long to see just how protective Rachel was of him, the girl’s eyes flashing dangerously as soon as anyone so much as looked at him. Anna got the impression that they had a long history between them, while Jacob was probably the newer addition to their group.

It turned out that Rachel was popular in a non-traditional way, though she clearly wasn’t a fan of the attention. It seemed that everyone knew who she was, several of her other friends coming up to them while Anna had walked with her between their tech class and English. Thankfully, Evan hadn’t made another appearance, though after hearing what others had said, she wouldn’t be surprised if he came to bother her again.

She pushed herself upright, sliding her backpack down her arm to place it on the floor. She looked into their small living room, the low ceiling and eggshell walls not exactly pleasant to the eye, but it was a home. Footsteps from where the kitchen was in the back corner of the house caught her attention as she pulled her arms free from her coat, her father coming into view a moment later.

There had been many people over the years expressing how she looked nothing like him, and no, their doubt wasn’t from nowhere. He stood at around five and a half feet, though there was just something about him that made him seem taller. His skin was a rich tan, with dark chestnut curls atop his head that stopped just above his shoulders, a five o’clock shadow covering the lower half of his face. He looked young for his age, she knew, not a greying hair in sight, though his worry lines became more obvious the more you looked at him. There were similarities though, her high cheekbones and the upturn on the outer edge of her eyes.

He currently looked exhausted, bags forming under his shockingly violet eyes, the product of a mutation that she long suspected may have contributed to her own strange eyes. His body seemed to wilt, even while he straightened, offering her a smile. “Hi,” his voice was light, cheerful even. “How was school?”

She watched the anticipation in his eyes, the regular hint of guilt floating across his face before it was gone. “It was good,” she felt the grin return to her. She leaned down, untying her boots and freeing the lower part of her jeans.

“That’s great!” His face lit up. “Did something happen?”

She wanted to laugh at his excitement, but she knew it was because she had stopped answering the question a while ago, much less given any hint of a positive experience. “I think so,” she couldn’t help the small amount of doubt. “I met some people.”

“Wonderful,” his face relaxed, though his eyes continued to shine.

She looked at him carefully, the weariness he felt ran deeper than he was trying to portray. She knew that he had hardly slept the night before, the sounds of him having another night terror waking her at sometime around midnight. She had never asked him what they were about, but it was because he hadn’t ever wanted to talk about them. He knew that she was aware of them, their rooms hadn’t always had the best insulation over the years after all, but knowing was the furthest they got to acknowledging them.

He lowered himself down into one of the two chairs they had, a slight grunt escaping his lips as he did so. Immediately, his eyelids drooped, as though now that he wasn’t on his feet, his body had decided it was safe to sleep anywhere.

She bit her lip, trying to keep her concern from showing. After a moment of silence, she turned away, feet moving quickly across the creaky wooden floor. She entered her room, shutting the door softly behind her. A quiet trill sounded from the heap of blankets at the foot of her bed, a fluffy black head shooting up to regard her with blue eyes.

She shuffled over to the cat, sinking her hand into Isa’s long silky coat. She had immediately stood up at Anna’s ministrations, arching her back, balancing precariously on her tiny clawed toes. Isa, or Isabelle, as Anna had named her when they picked her up from the streets of Istanbul two years before. She was small for a cat of her breed, a Turkish Angora, only coming out to weigh just over two kilograms. Isa looked up at her with narrowed eyes, a soft purr rumbling to life in her chest as Anna scratched a sweet spot along the side of her neck.

She looked at the framed picture that she had on her bedside table, the old photo one of the few she had of their family before it was torn apart. Her father was holding her mother from behind, Natalie, he had told her. Anyone would know that she was her mother in an instant, her father saying many times that she had gotten ninety percent of her looks from her. She had many of the same facial features and the same golden blonde curls; even her height in relation to her father seemed to align almost perfectly. She was holding a young toddler version of Anna, platinum blonde wisps just starting to curl from the top of her head and her face blotchy from obvious tears. At Natalie’s side stood a small girl, around four or five years old, brown hair curling tight in a wild mane around her rosy cheeks. Her sister, Arabella.

She looked into the deep violet eyes that matched her father’s, filled with joy and innocence as most at that age were. Her father hadn’t wanted to talk about her often, and when he had, it was only in short comments. Over time, she had been able to determine that Bella had died in an accident of some kind only a few months after this photo had been taken. The incident lined up, timewise, with her mother leaving as well, though she couldn’t help but wonder if she had died in the same incident. If that was the case, however, she wondered why her father just didn’t say so.

She knew her father didn’t necessarily want to hide the past from her, but it was extremely painful for him, even when he began to try. His life before what she could remember was a mystery to her, other than the occasional picture and the short stories he would talk about her mother. In a sense, she understood why he couldn’t talk about the past, the lack of any family presence before he had told her about his recently found older brother, along with his nightmares… it was a dark picture to paint indeed. She remembered the look of utter amazement when he had told her about Joseph, after at least twelve years of silence.

In truth, she didn’t even know where her father had even grown up. She knew her mother was American, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t from the United Kingdom either, or any of the other places they had lived. His accent was impossible to identify, like a bizarre mix of Arabic, Swedish and French with a minimal addition of English pronunciation as well.

A paw lightly smacking her wrist turned her attention back to Isa, the cat rubbing her fingers as soon as she started moving them again. A small smile played on her lips at Isa’s affection while she reached with her other hand to scratch down the length of her spine. Blue eyes slowly blinked up at her, her claws lightly pricking her leg through her jeans as Isa climbed into her lap.

Her hand stopped at the base of her tail, frozen as her fluffy tail was dragged between her fingers and palm. Her eyebrows furrowed as something pricked the back of her mind, like an itch that she couldn’t reach. It was as if something was calling her, though the ‘voice’ was more of a pull.

She stood slowly, Isa mewling in protest as she jumped down onto the floor at her feet. She exited her room, wincing at the sound of the floorboards under her feet. Her father was hunched over in the chair still, his eyes closed and chest rising in a slow, steady fashion. She passed him in a blur, her socks sliding slightly on the slick floor.

She rounded through the kitchen, the dark cupboards covering the outside walls with a small window over the sink. The basic, discoloured ivory tiles stretched beyond the small dining table and into what could hardly be called a hall with doors to their utilities and laundry/storage room.

Her eyes landed on a large box that was somewhat hidden behind a pile of others. She recognised it easily, as it was one that she knew had never been unpacked from when they had first moved from London. They had gotten rid of a lot of the unnecessary knick-knacks and books they didn’t read over the years, but this one particular box had remained, unexplained. Now it was drawing her closer, luring her in.

What was in that box?

Pressure against her ankle told her that Isa had followed her, a quiet chirp coming from the cat. She didn’t lean down, her eyes locked onto the plain, unprinted cardboard. Her hand instinctively raised, reaching out before her with fingers spread just ever so slightly.

Her eyes bulged as the box almost looked like it shifted under her gaze, her breath stuttering as her hand began to shake. In the low light that strewn in from the open doorway, a second source appeared. A turquoise glow seemed to originate directly above her, dimly lighting the white walls in a blue-ish sheen. When she looked up to see what it was, however, the light followed the path of her line of sight.

She snapped her head back to look at the box, the glow following once again. Her breath was coming faster, her legs feeling weak under her weight. Her hand, still outstretched, flexed absently, the muscles in her arms tightening. A tearing sound just caught her attention, her breath stopping altogether when she saw the makings of a hole just starting to show on the side of the box.

Anna ducked into a crouch without thinking as a rip rang through the room, her arm moving from in front of her to being raised above her head. She could just see the silver flash at the top of her vision, her fist abruptly closing around something cold and solid.

She opened her eyes from their sheltered position staring at the floor, the blue light was now gone. She felt her arm lower back to her side, gripping whatever now rested in her hand with white knuckles. She didn’t dare breathe, she didn’t want to raise her gaze to look at the box, nor to see what she held. Her eyes moved on their own, straining from her bowed position to see the jagged hole that punched outward from the cardboard.

Slowly she forced her head to turn to her right hand, her fingers slipping slightly on textured metal. A silver blade expanding outward from her backhanded grip sent a gasp that shuddered her body. Crystal, wing-like structures jutted out on each side of the hilt in an admittedly gorgeous guard. A silver V-shaped joint connected the simple length of the blade which was almost as long as her forearm to the hilt, with only a sharp hourglass indent two-thirds down the blade interrupting the classic shape. She shifted her fingers slightly, the ridged lines on the grip making it easier for her hand to balance the alien object in her palm.

She flipped her hand, the blade now directly below her face as she continued to inspect it. Amazement wasn’t a powerful enough word for the surreal feeling that burnt through her body. Her fingers tingled with energy, trembling slightly, her breath held as she gaped. She stood frozen, her body tensed in the small room with the small bit of light streaming in from behind her.

She looked back at the box, swallowing the sting that was growing in her throat. What in the name of all things holy just happened? This wasn't real. This was real. How was she supposed to explain this to her father?

She made a split-second decision, hopping to her feet with renewed vigour. She crossed the room to the box, looking at the dagger in her hand one last time before shoving it back through the hole it had come out of. Then, she braced her hand on the small counter behind it, shifting its position with her feet to turn the hole away from the door.

She left the room in a flurry, her feet skidding as she made the arch around the house, going back by her father, and into her bedroom. She paused with her door poised in her hand, heart pounding in her eardrums. She watched her father for a moment, his peaceful form still asleep, eyes shifting in a dream. She quietly shut her door with a trembling hand, bringing it to a fist just below her collar, her heart pounding beneath her fingertips, as she wilted against the solid structure.

She stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, her whole body screaming in alarm at what she had seen, the cool remaining tingle on her hand reminded her of how the dagger had felt in her hand; like it somehow belonged there.

What the hell?