Ignatius-Valdis [Heaven’s Curse, #0]: Chapter 3

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When Gothalia, Anton and Danteus arrived at the Cetatea—the Capitol building where the Grand Elders reigned. Anxiety filled Gothalia when she stepped out of the car parked in one of the many lots. Gothalia glanced at the family insignia on the car, then closed the door and locked it once everyone climbed out. The vehicle powered down, no longer connected to her élanocytes. Then, she strode the main path with Danteus and Anton towards the building guarded by Centurion Peacekeepers and Cavalier Cratians.

They watched them as they climbed the lengthy stairs. Before one held up his hand to stop her and the others. Gothalia handed him her holographic identification card. Moments later, she was verified by the device on his wrist before the Cratians permitted Gothalia and the others entrance.

The black marble floor reflected their figures and echoed each step taken. Men and women from different Armed Cores marched back and forth. Briskly, Gothalia moved to the reception desk.

A meticulously clean blond-haired woman sat behind a holographic computer and continued to voice type and type. Without looking at any of them she queried. “May I help you?” she asked Gothalia. Her attention pulled from the graphics.

“I’ve been summoned.” Gothalia replied and handed her the same card she handed to the Peacekeeper moments before. The woman took Gothalia’s card and placed it into a device behind the counter. It lit up green and the screen supplied information on who summoned her, for what time and for what purpose. The woman regarded the information and her eyes reflected surprise.

“Have you chosen your station yet?” she asked Gothalia.

“I have.” Gothalia replied, and both Danteus and Anton shared a look. The woman digitally sent the code back to Gothalia and informed her to enter the hall. However, she was quick to inform that Danteus and Anton could not follow.

“But—” Anton began, wanting to argue with the receptionist.

“I’ll be fine.” Gothalia urged. “Danteus.”

Turning her heel Gothalia vacated the reception hall.

Danteus stepped before Anton and ushered him to the chairs off to the side. Once Anton sat, Gothalia travelled the hall, following the lines on the ground, etched in silver that read ‘Council Chamber’.

The more she followed the lines the less people wandered the halls freely and the more Centurions, Cavaliers and Legionnaires guarded it. Until she arrived at the final hall that led to the Council Chambers, lined in Cratians, she stopped. Taking in their impassive expressions and rigid postures. She knew they watched her, both out of curiosity and mild hostility. She knew it wasn’t their fault. She recalled L’Eiron telling her that the Cratians were very protective of the Royal Family and the Grand Elders, as was their station.

Taking a deep breath, she entered the hall and strode towards the large doors. When she arrived, she took in the massive design on the doors in gold and the insignia of the Fire Reserve. A Peacekeeper stepped forward and held out his hand. She handed him the same card and his armour lit up green before tapping his staff on the ground twice. Silence permeated the air, before the same sound echoed from the other side of the door which soon opened.

Inside Gothalia noticed a bon fire in the middle of the room before two large stairs lining the left and right walls of the room that she knew led to the Grand Elders on the upper level. Silence permeated the air and her footfalls echoed loudly. Internally, it made her cringe, but she pressed on. Passing the bon fire, that she knew symbolised power, she climbed the stairs, and a man greeted her. The Grand Elders’ escritoire, among many other things, gestured to the room, with a smile on his face that unsettled Gothalia. When she entered, he closed the final doors behind her with a nod of his head.

The Grand Elders sat on their balconies overlooking her while the Cratians stood beneath each balcony. The higher ranking Cratians, she knew, stood on either side of each Grand Elder.

Silence permeated the air for a moment. Gothalia searched her brain on what to say until she heard a familiar voice, “Welcome young one.” Grand Elder Michalis said from where he sat before her.

Gothalia dropped to her knee and bowed her head. “I’ve been summoned my lord.”

“You have.” Grand Elder Michalis replied. He watched her steadily. “Rumour has it you’ve chosen a station.”

“I have.” Gothalia answered.

“With the scholars.”

“Yes.”

“Your field?”

“Economic Forecast.”

“Isn’t that something our Discretionaries would take care of?”

“It is Sir. We just record and advise your Appointees on their next move. Consider us as the achieves, Sir.”

“I’m aware of what to consider you Gothalia. However, I’m simply curious out of all the different fields, why did you choose to be a tactician?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Gothalia queried.

“You have your father’s blood and his connections. You could have chosen to be a healer, or a physician and live comfortably why didn’t you? Especially, since you achieved high results in all disciplines.”

Gothalia fell silent.

“Then again, the females in your mother’s clan were often used as trackers and scouts or Legionnaires while the males used as Centurions. Still nothing shows why you’ve chosen to become an economic strategist and tactical scholar.”

“It’s just something I’m good at, sir.”

“I’ve seen your scores during the tournament you entered,”—Michalis held up his hand as Gothalia motioned to interrupt—“a few months ago. You have a natural talent for leadership and hand-to-hand combat. You’re a fast learner and quick on your feet. You didn’t even hesitate to take out your opponents like the other Civilians did. Which tells me you’re either brave or you knew they’d take you out if given the opportunity and you didn’t give them that opportunity.”

“I don’t understand, my lord.” Gothalia replied after some time. “What are you implying?”

“I’m implying maybe Civilian life isn’t for you.” Michalis regarded Gothalia carefully, searching for her comprehension of his insinuation. Though, all he saw was confusion and shock.

“I’m sorry?” Gothalia remarked. “I’m not a soldier. I don’t meet the requirements. I never did.”

“And who said that?” he asked, curious.

“The recruitment agent,” Gothalia replied.

“When was this? When you’d just finished at the academy?” Gothalia remained silent. “Was this Lieutenant Larkin by any chance?”

“I think so.” Gothalia said. “It was years ago I barely remember her.”

“If it was who I think it was. She did not turn you away because of that reason alone. She would have turned you away to give you a life away from war that all the others like you with high élanocyte count don’t have. After all, I’m sure you’ve been taught from a young age that our élanocytes and our ability to control it is what makes our military powerful. You know it’s mandatory, for those with high élanocytes to enter the military and serve on the front lines for seven years and you haven’t been a part of our ranks for far too long. The war is getting worse, my dear and new enlistments is how we keep our strength.”

“I have unstable élanocytes,” Gothalia declared refusing to acknowledge his last comment. “And I’m twenty-three I’ve been given a station.”

“You are. You have and you’re not getting any younger. Your unstable élanocytes are from your mother yes but from your father you have a high élanocyte count. Your count is enough for you to be a Commander or a Captain in the Centurion division, but we’ll start you off as a lieutenant. If you pass.”

“What if I don’t want to.”

“My dear, you don’t have a choice. The vote is unanimous. Report to the main barracks tomorrow. I’ll inform your station Commander and theirs of the transfer and if you don’t, you’ll be marked as a deserter. A public whipping will be your punishment along with L’Eiron and Anaphora and anyone else I deem. So, I suggest you turn up. You’re free to leave.” Gothalia didn’t move at first then climbed to her feet, bowing with her hand over her heart. She vacated the room with quicker steps and didn’t acknowledge the soldiers lining the walls as she made her way back to Danteus and Anton.

When she arrived, Anton’s face dropped when he recognised the frustration on her face. “They didn’t?”

“They did and I don’t have choice, or they’ll whip us.”

“But Gothalia you have a station. You’re contributing—why do they want to stop that?” Anton queried, confused.

“Because we’re losing the war,” Danteus concluded. Both Anton and Gothalia regarded him with shock.

“How do you know?” Gothalia asked.

“I overheard some soldiers a few days ago talk about it and ever since then I’ve noticed the Grand Elders have been recruiting anyone from the aristocrats through to the general masses with high élanocyte counts or délanocyte counts and the potential to become Centurions or Legionnaires.”

“Why not positions as general soldiers they don’t need high counts?”

“Because they maybe planning on sending everyone off to the frontlines after basic training.” A chill ran through Gothalia, and she was certain nothing could get any worse than this.

“Don’t worry. I got you.” Anton declared.

“What?” Gothalia queried, perplexed, as he turned his heel and marched towards the receptionist. Gothalia and Danteus regarded Anton curiously. He spoke to the receptionist who shook her head. Then Gothalia noticed the tension in his posture before moments later he raised his voice at her. Gothalia knew then something was wrong and moved to Anton, but Danteus caught her wrists as the Peacekeepers marched toward Anton and restrained him shocking him with their electric batons. “Anton!” Gothalia screeched and struggled against Danteus’s grip. “Let him go!” she called glaring at the Peacekeepers, as they dragged him away. “Anton!” she called again. “Let me go!” Gothalia yelled at Danteus.

She glared at him, and he equally returned her glare. “Will you calm down?”

“Why?” Gothalia asked, her voice cracking.

“Because look at the receptionist.” Danteus declared and when Gothalia did she noticed the receptionist nodded and rounded her desk. Moments later, another woman manned the desk. The receptionist walked over to Gothalia and Danteus.

“They’re not going to hurt him,” she said at once.

“I hope not.” Gothalia remarked.

“He’ll be fine. He was simply trying to put on a front. Not that it could convince anyone.” she said, then winked before walking away. Gothalia and Danteus shared a look. Gothalia regarded the woman then yanked her wrist free of Danteus’s grip.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re not going to wait for him?” Danteus asked.

“He’ll be fine. I need to get home and pack. I’ll drop you off wherever you need to go.” Gothalia replied.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m already here. My quarters are not too far. See you around?”

“Maybe.” Gothalia vacated the building and strode towards the car. Entering the vehicle, she ran the back of her wrist over the scanner. Then a computerised voice called, ‘Élanocyte confirmed. Ignition activated.’ Gothalia pressed the button and pulled out of the driveway before heading home. When she arrived, she didn’t bother parking the car in the garage. Climbing out of the car, she ran up the stairs and into the manor. Crossing the foyer, she entered the common room and searched for L’Eiron or Anaphora. She called out their names and did not hear anything before moving to the main staircase and sat down against the hallway wall. Placing her head in her hands, she pulled at the roots of her hair tightly and counted back from ten until she calmed down.

“Gothalia?” L’Eiron questioned worried, he recognised that position and mild panic filled his gaze. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“L’Eiron!” Gothalia called, turning around she climbed to her feet and ran up the staircase to where he stood at the top. “I need to talk to you.”

“Ok, what’s wrong?”

“The Grand Elders. They sanctioned me to join the Centurions and I do not have a choice. If I don’t go, they’ll flog us.” L’Eiron’s face dropped and Gothalia was certain she saw the blood drain from his face. “What is it?”

“It’s happening.”

“What is?”

L’Eiron moved from the railing then marched down the hall and towards his room. Gothalia stopped outside the threshold of his quarters, aware she should not enter. “What do you mean?” she asked, staring after him as he disappeared around a corner and into another room. She contemplated walking into the room but didn’t and leaned against the wall beside his door. “You know you should really tell me what’s going on.”

Silence instead filled the room and the hall.

“Please.” Gothalia breathed and slid down the wall again. On the floor, she placed her hands on her knees and bowed her head, the wall giving her little comfort. The frustration she felt at the Grand Elders, the Centurions and the past bubbled to the surface and tears slid down her face, dripping onto her gaiters. She wiped the tears and didn’t look up as L’Eiron stood beside her. “What do you mean by ‘it’s happening’?” Gothalia urged, not looking at him as he crouched beside her.

“There’s something Anaphora and I have been meaning to tell you,” L’Eiron declared.

“And what’s that?” Gothalia queried, resting her head against the wall before glancing at him sarcastically.

“Drop the attitude.”

Gothalia rolled her eyes and stretched her legs out in front of her then sighed. When Gothalia didn’t speak, L’Eiron began, “Do you remember that day?”

Gothalia took a deep breath and exasperated, “Not really, why?”

“Let’s just say there’s more to that day than what’s been recorded. I can’t tell you until Anaphora returns but considering that what Grand Elder Michalis sanctioned you to do it's just confirmation of their promise.”

“What do you mean?” Gothalia inquired, warily observing him. “And how do you know it was Grand Elder Michalis?”

A heavy silence shifted between them. Until, L’Eiron declared, “Because he promised when you turned twenty-three, you’d be forced to enter the Military specifically the Centurion division.”

“What?” Pulling away from him. Then recognition flashed across her eyes as she watched L’Eiron steadily before adding in a softer voice. “Is that why you and Anaphora had always encouraged me to do what I loved? You knew.”

“Yes. We knew, it was decreed after what happened to your mother and father that you would be forced into the ranks as punishment for your parents’ actions, but you’d be enlisted for the rest of your life.”

“Why would they teach me to fight and survive if it’s a punishment?”

“It’s because if you died on the frontlines or on duty, no one would question your passing and the Grand Elders could record it as missing in action or you’ve been killed in action without the Royal Family investigating it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Honestly, we were surprised that you hadn’t been killed sooner when we were forced into the ranks, and we believe it’s because of the King himself.”

“How is that fair? Why are we being punished for my parent’s actions? What did they do that was so bad to warrant such cruelty?”

“It’s not cruelty. You were given a chance at life but not the freedom that comes with it. So were we.”

“What did you guys do?” Gothalia queried, frightened.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.” L’Eiron said. “When you head to the barracks tomorrow do everything, your trainers tell you to do, and stay out of the other recruit’s way as much as you can, because unlike them you’ll be shunned much worse than what you already are or have been. There’ll be tournaments at the end of every week. You must fight to the death in them. It’s the Grand Elders way of weaning out the weak. If you died in one of these tournaments—the Grand Elders will do as I said before. So, you’ll need to make allies if you are to survive until the end of training periods and beyond that. Basic training will go for two months while the specialised training will go for eight months and all of it will be intense. You’ll have only enough time to sleep and eat before you start training again.”

“How come no one knows about this?” Gothalia asked.

“Everyone knows, they just don’t talk about it. Talking about it is treason and we all know what happens to traitors.”

Gothalia swallowed. “Public execution.”

“It’s how the Grand Elders stay in power. They instil fear in the general populous and the Royal Family.”

“Why hasn’t there been a rebellion?”

Heavy silence permeated the air until L’Eiron declared, “There was.”

Gothalia’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”

“—Just promise me, you’ll stay alive.”

“But—”

Then a voice they recognised declared, “They’re going to try and kill her?”

“Anton? Maximus?” Gothalia enquired, confused. She hadn’t heard them enter the hall and she knew by L’Eiron’s expression he hadn’t expected it either.

“Why would they kill Gothalia?” Anton growled, storming over to L’Eiron. “Because of her parents? Gothalia’s done nothing to warrant such hatred but breathe.”

“Anton calm down,” L’Eiron urged, glaring at both men.

“Why should he?” Maximus growled, equally angry. “The Grand Elders know she may die and by your words may even encourage it.”

“They wouldn’t encourage it?” L’Eiron replied. “It’ll come back to them.”

“You don’t know that? They might even get someone to assassinate her whether it be at the Grand Elders hands or not.”

“That’s why she’ll be trained like everyone else. It won’t cause suspicion. The higher ranks will let the recruits try and kill her in the tournaments, so they’ll be able to wash their hands of her. The sooner we’re wiped from this world to them the better. That’s why you three began training at a young age. We had no choice. Keep your training from them as much as possible—if they think you’ve been taught prior you will be assassinated by another more experienced Centurion and they will make it look like an accident.”

“Then she can’t go in there alone.” Anton declared at last.

“You wouldn’t?” Gothalia queried, climbing to her feet and marching over to him. “I’m not letting you follow me into a bloodbath.”

“If he won’t, I will.” Maximus responded, from beside his brother.

“None of you will!” Gothalia growled at both men, daring them to go against her. “You will stay here. Where’s it’s safe.”

“Have you seen our home?” Anton whispered with seething eyes, “Not even here is safe. There’s still dried blood and skirmish marks that can’t be removed in the houses at the edge of the estate from the members of our clan including here and you want to tell me it’s safe. Don’t bullshit me. You know as well as I do that’s a lie.”

“What do you think it’s safer on the barracks?” Gothalia yelled back. “They’ll kill you along with me, both of you!”

“That’s why we’ll be together. All the time.” Anton uttered, placing a hand on Gothalia’s shoulder, attempting to calm her down as well as himself. “As much as we can.”

“L’Eiron, tell him he’s not coming.” Gothalia urged turning to L’Eiron. “Don’t let him. Don’t let either of them.”

“It’s your best chance at survival.”

“They’ll die.” Gothalia croaked.

“Then they’ll die with honour—protecting what’s left of their family.” With that L’Eiron glanced up and spotted Anaphora in the hallway carrying black and silver sheet. “You, have it?”

“I have all of them,” she replied, with a sorrowful expression as she glanced at the fabric within her arms. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell any of you this sooner, but we wanted you to enjoy as much of your lives as you could—even if others outside of these walls wish you dead.”

“What is it?” Anton asked.

“They’ll help you survive.” Anaphora declared. “You’re allowed to bring in weapons of your own to the barracks. You’ll need to record them with your supervisor. We had these forged from what was left of your parents’ swords and their blood when all of you became of age. We just didn’t know when to give them to you. We figured now is the right time. Along with their cloaks.”

“Cloaks?” Gothalia queried.

“Yes, they’re fire resistant, bullet proof and will allow you to camouflage into your surrounds. They don’t make the cloaks like they used to, not anymore anyways. Swap the cloaks they give you with these. We’ve modified it to look exactly like the latest ones without ruining the nanotech.”

“What do you mean?” Gothalia queried. “Isn’t these what the current Centurions wear into combat?”

“It was. The latest ones aren’t bulletproof they were too heavy and—”

“—Would slow down the Centurions in battle. If someone shoots at you in the barracks or out of the barracks, you’ll be killed. It makes long ranged assassination that much easier.” L’Eiron added. “These are detachable and can be reattached when you need it. Keep them with you at all times.”

Gothalia stared at the cloaks as Anaphora unravelled them to reveal three sheathed swords. Each the same design with their family shield. Gothalia noticed there were two shields on hers. She picked up the covered sword with two shields and unsheathed it before ran her fingers over the fine steel. “Why does mine have two shields?”

“Because you are not just Gothalia Valdis you are also Gothalia Ignatius. It’s to remind you of who you are. Anton and Maximus only have the Valdis crest on their swords because their mother was not an aristocrat nor a Regalis or even an Excelian, but I made sure to have her language etched into it.”

“It’s French.” Anton noticed. “Max look.” Anton showed the hilt of the sword to Maximus who read the inscription. Immediately, tears fell down his cheeks as he ran his fingers over the engraving.

“What does it say?” Gothalia asked.

“Forever, you are my strength.” Anton declared. “It’s something our mother would always say to us when were children.” Anton glanced at Anaphora. “How did you know?”

“I always heard her say it to you two. It was her wish that we have those words immortalised. And this was the only way we knew how. We’re hoping that everything we’ve taught and given you will be enough to help you survive but we know the tournaments, and we know the hidden war within the militia. And we fear this may not be enough.”