Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3) (11 page)

Chapter 8

Arianna’s
features flashed in Desmond’s mind repeatedly.  Her large brown eyes, the curtains of dark hair that fell in straight panels around her face to her shoulders, her perfect lips, each of her exquisite attributes, drifted hazily in his mind’s eye like a lagoon mirage would to a man wandering the desert.  His vision of her kept his freezing legs moving, kept him from turning back and fleeing the harsh land he walked upon.  Fierce winds lashed against his body as he trekked along an ice-crusted path toward Ellsworth Land on the Antarctic Peninsula.  Despite the fact that it was spring there and boasted light-filled days, the temperature hovered around negative twelve degrees Fahrenheit and was getting colder the further south he traveled.  Desmond had used his powers to create a protective field around himself, to guard his mortal body against the elements. 

While his powers warmed his body, love and faith warmed his insides.  His love for Arianna, his belief in her goodness, pushed him onward. But love and faith were not the only motivating forces heating him.  Anger and betrayal had ignited a considerable fire as well. 

His father had written a chapter in the Tome of Ares, and had withheld that fact from him his entire life.  Desmond needed to know why.  Why had his father betrayed him?  Why had his father written such lies about the Sola, about Arianna? 

Thoughts of his father’s misguided chapter riled him and sent a bolt of rage surging through his veins.  The flare of energy was so potent, the section of air before him that quivered and shimmered like heat radiating off pavement, his field of warmth, faltered
briefly.  Allowing his emotions to rise erratically as they had could get him killed.  He needed to control them until he reached his father’s compound. 

The Antarctic Peninsula was d
otted with numerous research stations.  All squat buildings that housed scientists from around the world, the terrain on which they sat maintained multiple claims of sovereignty.  Of course, none of those countries that sought to claim sovereignty knew that the land also housed the most powerful living warlock whose abilities would only be eclipsed by that of the Sola.

Desmond’s father, Agnon, lived beyond the acreage that accommodated global scientists.  He lived
deep in the hostile heart of Ellsworth Land in a building that rose like an ashen fortress from the colorless landscape.  Protected by an invisible barrier that guarded against sifting, Agnon’s stronghold was impervious to any supernatural being capable of teleportation, including Desmond.

He had been able
to teleport from Herald Falls, New York in the United States to Ushuaia at the southernmost point of Argentina in South America.  He rested there then teleported to the Peninsula.  But the closer he drew to his father’s compound, the more he felt his sifting abilities wane.  The continual flow inside of him that raced like electricity along with his lifeblood came to an abrupt stop.  The effect was dizzying and disorienting.  He felt as though the most vital part of his being had been stripped from him.  He knew the reason for it, knew it was his father’s need to survive at work, but never felt prepared for it, no matter how many times he experienced it. 

He paused before the looming structure, taking in the imposing scenery around it.  A dark silhouette stood framed by a second-story
window, his considerable form backlit by a soft glow of light.  He would have known it was his father even if he had not seen the shape behind the glass.  He could feel the leaden weight of his stare.  It also helped that his father was the only year-round lifetime inhabitant of Antarctica.  Like a phantom, his father lived, nestled between snowy peaks, without anyone knowing of his existence, hiding in plain sight. 

The
figure disappeared as Desmond made his way toward the compound.  The front door opened and his father waved him inside.

“Desmond!” his father greeted him.  “It’s so good to see you.”

Desmond stepped over the threshold and into a mudroom.  His father clasped his hand and pumped it vigorously.  Never a man who favored affectionate gestures, a handshake from Agnon was the closest thing to a hug Desmond had gotten since he was a boy. 

“How are you, son?  You look tired.  Did the journey drain you of strength?”

“I am well, father.  I’m a bit tired.  The cold, you know, I’m not used to it.  I had to use my powers to keep myself warm.”

His father gave a half smile.  When he did, he looked like a man far younger than he was. 
Born centuries earlier, Agnon had seen the rise and fall of empires, dictators, prophets and madmen.  Yet, he didn’t look a day older than his fiftieth year.  With meticulously groomed silver hair and matching beard, few creases lined Agnon’s face.  His blues eyes were the exact azure of Desmond’s eyes and matched the sky on a clear day and his body was large and fit.

“Take some of those layers off, and your boots, and come in.  We will have coffee by the fire.”

Desmond minded his father’s instructions and began removing the outer layer of clothing he wore.  He laid his snow pants, coat, hat and gloves atop a wooden shelf and made his way into the living-room area, but not before removing the Tome of Ares from the backpack he’d brought.

His father sat with impeccable posture in a leather chair, his regal profile outlined by a roaring fire.

“Come,” his father ordered him. “Sit down,” he gestured to an identical chair beside him. 

Desmond could feel the panicked pound of his pulse hammering in his neck
as he sidestepped the chair and stood, instead, in front of his father clutching the Tome.  He dropped the book in his father’s lap and worried his voice would waver with the words he was about to speak. 

“What is the meaning of this, father?” he asked
and was pleased that he sounded far more confident than he felt.

His
father opened the book and flipped through its pages casually.  “It is exactly what it claims to be.  It is the Tome of Ares.”

“The
original
Tome of Ares,” Desmond corrected. 

“Yes,” his father replied unimpressed.

“The most sacred text of our people, the very one that speaks of the prophecy, of the Sola, right?”

“Yes,” his father answered.

Arrogance waited just beneath the surface of his father’s nonchalant attitude, waiting to pounce like a coiled snake.  Desmond could feel the tautness of his energy wafting in strained waves. 

“And the last chapter, it was authored by you?”

“Yes it was,” his father replied tightly.

Desmond wanted to scream in his face, accuse him of unspeakable betrayal for not telling him of his role in the Tome, of
not telling him the truth.  But he knew his father’s temperament well, knew of the cruel and vindictive streak he possessed.  He would never get the answers he came for if he indulged his father in a shouting match.  So he measured his words carefully.

“The chapter about the Sola,
your
chapter, is different from what I was taught growing up.”

His father remained silent, staring at the fire, his face an enigmatic mask of stoicism. 

“What does it mean, father?” Desmond asked and struggled against a turbulent rise of anger swelling within him.

“It is exactly what you think it is: the truth, the prophecy.  It is what I have been waiting my entire existence for,” he said curtly.

“This is
not
what you told me,” Desmond said through his teeth.  “This is very different from what
I’ve
known
my
whole existence.”

The mighty warlock Agnon turned to face his
son, Desmond.  Desmond trembled with rage and breathed to keep from lunging at his father.

“Desmond,” his father began.
  “You are a capable warlock, physically, at least.  But you lacked the internal strength to handle this,” he said and gestured to the Tome.  “You still do.  You have compassion for mankind, the same beings, mind you, that would kill you where you stood if they knew what you were.”  His father paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully before he added.  “Mankind will fall.  It is inevitable.  I’ve lived for centuries, have felt it coming.  Global unrest, climate changes, reality television – each is a sign of impending apocalypse.  What we will do is an act of mercy, really.  We are sparing them a long, drawn-out, self-inflicted demise.  We will rise and build a world that will be far greater than any human could ever imagine.”

Desmond stood, stunned.  His mouth had gone dry and the back of his throat tasted of ash.  His father had never spoke
n of such things, had never expressed his disdain for humanity.

“The Sola would never lead any of us to do what you’re suggesting,” Desmond argued.

“She can, and she will.  It is her destiny,” his father said with certainty so smug, Desmond’s temper escaped him.

“No!
No Father!  You are wrong!  She is a kind and decent person!” he raised his voice in an uncharacteristic act of contempt toward his father.

“No!” Agnon
thundered, his voice filling the room.  “The only reason she maintains the slightest shred of meek or mild qualities is because her powers have just manifested themselves.  She has not yet learned to manage her powers, to wield them.  But she will, and soon.  You’ll see.  She is nothing like you.  She is not weak.  She does not pity foolish creatures.  The Sola has risen.  She is gathering her powers, learning to use them.  Before long, she will be ready to destroy cities on her own, and we will follow her.”

Desmond could not envision the Sola, his Arianna, destroying cities, killing innocents.  That was not who she was, who she’d ever be.  He was certain of it. 

“She will not,” he said to his father firmly.  “I know her.  I have known her for her entire life.  She is not what you think she is.  She is not what the prophecy claims.”

“Claims?” his father asked incredulously.  “The prophecy is not a ragtag magazine t
hat reports on drunken celebrities and makes unsubstantiated
claims
.  It is our guidebook, the benchmark by which we’ve lived our lives for centuries!”

Desmond desperately wanted to engage his father, to answer his provocation.  But Desmond knew he was right.  He knew his father was wrong about Arianna.  She would never develop into what his father had predicted.

“You are wrong, father,” he said calmly.  “And when I tell her what is expected of her, she will be horrified, and you will see.”

He turned from his father, intended to leave when a question rushed to the forefront of his mind. 

“Why did you appoint me her guardian if you knew what she was to become,” Desmond asked from the entryway to the mudroom.  “You’ve known me my entire life, known I was, what did you call me?  Oh yes, weak.  Why would you put me with her in the first place?”

His father paused for a lo
ng moment and Desmond could feel his heart slapping wildly against his ribcage, waiting for his father’s answer.

“You were the only one.  There was no other choice.  No one is more capable than you
.  You are the strongest, brightest, most cunning warrior I’ve ever trained,” his father surprised him by saying.  “And I have trained a great many men.  None of them could touch your abilities.  I knew that if I charged you with her safety, with protecting and preserving the good in her, you would do it.  I knew your honor would compel you.”  His father shook his head and mumbled, “You’re the most honorable man I know.”

Desmond felt himsel
f soften.  He should have been inflamed by his father’s deceit, by his open admission, but wasn’t.  He was touched. 

“Too bad honor leads men to mak
e unwise, reckless decisions,” his father continued and drove a spear through the core of any kindness Desmond thought he’d bestowed.  “I mean really Desmond, did you honestly think that we would need her to protect us?  We are more than capable of protecting ourselves.  We need her to lead us.”

With his fists balled at his sides, Desmond wrestled with the desire to descend on his father and rain down upon him with his honorable wrath.  But he did not have the time to waste.  He needed to get to Arianna.

“I will not let it happen. 
She
will not let it happen.  She is not who you think she is.”

Agnon
stood slowly and turned, seizing Desmond with his steely gaze.  “Your faith in her surpasses the false teachings you’ve received,” he began, his eyes tunneling into Desmond’s brain.  “Ah, yes, I see it.  They are born of something else entirely,” his father hissed through clenched teeth, his penetrating gaze growing sharper with each second that passed. 

Desmond lowered his eyes for a fraction of a second, and in that time, the truth left
him as easily as air expelled from his lungs.  He’d flinched first during his father’s searching stare, a mistake he regretted immediately.  His father sprung from his chair and crossed the room.  Desmond readied himself for battle with each step his father advanced.

“Are you in love with her?” his father asked, his face equal parts disgust and shock.

“Yes,” Desmond admitted.