Ignatius-Valdis [Heaven’s Curse, #0]: Chapter 4

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The next day, trepidation consumed Gothalia, as she stood before the gate of the Cetatea—the fortress that trained, guided, and housed all martial personnel. Not even with Anton beside her, did it quell the fear rushing beneath her skin. Not even Maximus’s snarky remarks could take her troubled mind from the dawning possibilities of her fate. “So? You think they’ll care if we’re late?” Maximus queried, with a raised brow.

Gothalia ignored him and marched forward. “What do you think?” Anton remarked, within ear shot of Gothalia, before striding after her.

Maximus replied: “I don’t know that’s why I’m asking.”

A Centurion Peacekeeper manned the gate while other recruits entered the Cetatea carrying their chosen weapons. Gothalia pulled at the bag-strap that hung over her shoulder, her grip tightened around it as she approached. The deep red uniform of the Peacekeepers, the colour of blood, stood out against the clean pearl stone grounds. While their black faceplates, complemented their Centurion attire, covering half of their features.

Gothalia paused in line with the rest of the recruits, while Anton, and Maximus waited behind her. “You know it’s not too late to back out.” Gothalia muttered, not entirely believing her words.

Maximus scoffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah right, and miss all the fun?”

“And besides it’s either this or a public whipping.” Anton replied.

“You won’t be whipped.” Gothalia remarked. Hoping she’d stay true to her word. If she complied, everyone would be spared. Not that she understood why she was singled out. She just was. For whatever reason, she knew she couldn’t defy them.

“You don’t know that for sure. Do we really trust anything the Grand Elders say?”

Gothalia didn’t answer. No one in their home trusted them. They were reminded frequently never to trust them. Her eyes lingered over the red-haired man in front of her. His hair, she identified was the same shade as the Peacekeepers uniform. As such, she could not help but stare in admiration and recognition. Seconds later, the trance ended.

“Your pass.” The Centurion Peacekeeper declared, impatiently. Gothalia pulled out her pass and the Peacekeeper scanned the card over his armour. The armour lit up green and Gothalia proceeded. As she entered, she spotted the same red-haired man casually speaking to Grand Elder Michalis.

“What’s he doing here?” Gothalia muttered, scowling at the Grand Elder.

Gothalia’s thoughts paused when she heard Anton’s agitated voice from behind her. “What pass?” he growled.

Gothalia sighed and squeezing the bridge of her nose between her eyes. She counted back from five before muttering, “Here we go, again.” She turned around and faced the Peacekeeper where Anton and Maximus stood. “He’s with me.”

“You may be allowed entry, but they aren’t.” the Peacekeeper declared, dismissively gesturing at Maximus and Anton.

“That’s discrimination!” Maximus growled and crossed his arms. “Why I never—” Anton elbowed Maximus in the side hard when footfalls approached.

“What’s the problem here?” Grand Elder Michalis queried, his hands neatly behind his back. His distant gaze assessed everyone carefully.

The black and grey uniform he wore, much like the other Grand Elders had a reminiscence of red. The same shade as the Centurion uniform, often reminding everyone of their power, authority and his grip over them. The silver shield of the Grand Elders insignia sat upon his right chest, almost mocking her. While his grey eyes lingered over all of them, impassively. His well-groomed dark red-hair and neatly clipped peppered beard may have distinguished him from many. However, it didn’t hinder the fact Gothalia found him much too unsoiled.

That was the expectation.

“My Lord.” The Peacekeeper began, with a hand over his heart before adding. “These two don’t have a pass.”

“Of course, they don’t. I sent for Gothalia Ignatius-Valdis not these two.” Grand Elder Michalis told the Peacekeeper.

Anton stepped forward to attack and Gothalia held out her arm once she reached him. Stopping him. Anton examined Gothalia with obvious surprise, while her eyes lingered on the Grand Elder with an unreadable expression. Grand Elder Michalis stared her down before adding. “However, I’m also aware we need every soldier we can get. Let them through.” He turned his back with a small smile marring his ageing features. “Good luck.”

When Gothalia, Anton and Maximus entered the Cetatea, Anton remarked, “Good luck? What did he mean by that?”

“Who knows.” Gothalia sighed, aware she already knew the answer. They just crossed the gates and there were already problems. She took a deep breath before crossing the large courtyard.

“What do you mean by ‘who knows’ obviously he knows we’re going to die.” Maximus butted in, disgruntled, following them.

Eventually, they paused before the other recruits in the large foyer of the Cetatea. The same foyer Anton was dragged away in, the day before. The thought of it sent chills down Gothalia’s spine while a familiar pair of eyes watched her from behind the reception desk. Gothalia caught her gaze but as quick as it ensued, the receptionist glanced away after, she flashed a brief smile at Gothalia.

Gothalia returned her gaze to the hall that led to the Grand Elders chambers and to the Centurion, Legionnaire and Cavalier barracks. An unfamiliar man entered the foyer from that same hall she had been eyeing earlier and paused in the centre of the room.

His features hardened at the sight of her when his eyes coasted over her group filled with the familiar look of disapproval and disgust until his gaze rested upon Gothalia a little longer than she knew it should have. His gaze drifted over the rest of the recruits with surprising disinterest. “Welcome,” he began. “I’m Squadron Commander Nicolas Ignatius-Gerado and I’m here to greet our latest volunteers.”

“Huh? Does he know not everyone volunteered?” Maximus inquired, beneath his breath.

“Shh!” Gothalia softly hushed Maximus who turned his gaze from her and to the front. Gothalia listened attentively, as Nicolas urged everyone into equal lines that covered the entire foyer. Anton and Maximus—true to their word did not leave her side. Even once everyone lined up and Nicolas marched dauntingly before the first row of recruits.

The smile he had fell from his face and shifted into something almost sinister and cruel. Regardless, she did not turn away when his voice echoed around the room, “I trust all of you graduated the academy while I see some of you, found your stations,”—His gaze locked with Gothalia’s in the back row before he continued— “Regardless, of your chosen station, if you’ve transferred. You’re more than welcome here. We appreciate and respect those who willingly fight for our freedom and our people.” Nicolas continued but Gothalia’s gaze drifted to the familiar face in the crowd of Centurions who had gathered along the stairs that lined the walls.

She recognised his soft mahogany hair and piercing green eyes that complemented his tanned skin. He wore the familiar Centurion non-combat uniform, a standard uniform for those who wandered the Cetatea and anywhere within New Icarus unlike the black combat uniform they rarely used unless necessary.

Gothalia’s eyes lingered the unform, the red-silver tunic and black skin-tight leggings before eyeing the red, black silver combat boots. All of which complemented the silver armour of his forearms and shin. As she eyed him, she was unaware of his eyes drifting to her. Quickly she glanced away, aware she could still feel his gaze on her. She was almost in the wrong. Others watched her. Fear washed over her. She stared ahead. “Now that’s over. Let us begin.” Nicolas said, and Gothalia regarded him curiously, recognising she hadn’t heard anything he said prior. She frowned.

Everyone marched down the hall in three standard lines through the halls of the Cetatea and to Gothalia it had not taken much longer until they arrived at a large arena. She glanced at Maximus who in turn regarded her with similar perplexity. “What is this?” she asked him.

“Were you even listening?” he tested.

“Not really. No.” Gothalia responded, her eyes gazing over the others.

“It’s our first tournament. They’re not expecting anyone to do well, but I think they’re trying to determine who has potential and who doesn’t.”

“Why not wait until tomorrow when everyone’s fresh?”

“If what Danteus said is true. The war’s at our door. They wouldn’t want to waste time trying to figure out who’ll last and who won’t. They’d do it now so they can focus on those who they know have what it takes. It’d save time and money.” Maximus muttered, his scrutiny on the other recruits, as they tossed their bags, they brought with them, to the Centurions and Legionnaires who strode through the room confiscating anything that would slow them down.

Gothalia glanced at the bag on her shoulder. It didn’t hold much just enough. She knew her items, Maximus’s and Anton’s, shielded the cloaks they brought in.

A Centurion paused before them and held out his hand. Silently, Gothalia handed him the bag and watched him walk away before collecting the others.

“In one minute, you’ll have chosen your three-man team. When that timer goes off”—Nicolas declared gesturing to the timer above the arena—“The tournament will begin as I said before. This isn’t a game. When you’ve taken down your opponent they’ll be removed from the simulation.” Legionnaires in their green uniform secured metal bands to the wrists of each would-be-recruit and Gothalia recognised what they were as they’d placed one on her, Maximus and Anton. It was their life bands—something that would monitor them in the arena. “Your goal is to use any means necessary to take out the other teams. There are no rules but one rule: you must take out your opponent, mercy is not an option.” A smile greeted his face and Gothalia regarded him, strangely as he glanced at the timer which indicated time up. “Have teams been chosen?” he asked one last time. A silent confirmation greeted him in return. Then, he voiced, “Good luck.”

Immediately, the Commander faded from view as did all the other combatants. Swiftly, the environment around them changed and she recognised where they were. In the thickets of a humid jungle. The scent of salt water hung in the air while the crashing of waves thrown against the sandy beaches in the distance caught their ears. “Where are we?” Anton asked, after some time.

“I think, we’re on an island.” Gothalia believed, scanning the shore from over her shoulder, taking in the smaller islands not too far from the large bit of land she was on and the massive expanse of dark blue ocean.

A nearby voice yelled. Not of pain, but of battle. A recruit she recalled seeing in the arena moment’s ago ran to them.

Maximus stepped between Gothalia and their opponent, deflecting the impending sword, with his unsheathed sword and struck. Forcing her from them. While Anton’s sword impaled her torso and blood pooled. Shock engulfed Anton, who caught her when she fell. Panic marred his face, while her fearful grey eyes watched him, with uncertainty before dissolving within his arms as if she were never there. Moments later, Anton climbed to his feet and glanced at the blood on his sword. Wasn’t this supposed to be fake?

Each of them, tried to make sense of what had happened, before he sheathed his sword and declared with such detachment, “We need to keep moving.”

Gothalia and Maximus didn’t say a word. Instead, they nodded and marched through the tropical rainforest in silence. Humidity stuck to their skin and soiled their clothes in sweat and grime, but they continued. “How many more are alive?” Maximus asked, after some time.

“I’m not sure,” Gothalia replied. “I’m not even sure how we can tell.”

“Surely, they would have allowed us to keep track of their numbers.” Maximus uttered.

“Does anyone know how many of us total there were?” Anton asked.

“No.” Both Gothalia and Maximus replied.

“We’ll I guess we keep fighting until they tell us not to.”

“What about the others?” Gothalia asked.

“What others?” Maximus asked from beside her.

“The other two that were supposed to be with the woman who Anton . . .” Gothalia couldn’t finish the sentence. She glanced away and infamy flashed across his features.

“Not sure but we should keep an eye out.” Anton retorted. “They may not have known her well, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they attacked while our guard is down.” Gothalia paused and glanced at the foliage behind and around her. Her eyes took in the stillness of the jungle and the silence that accompanied it. Satisfied, they were alone, she shadowed Anton and Maximus. Unaware of two pair of eyes watching them, as they travelled through the jungle.

Hours passed and Gothalia’s group didn’t encounter anyone much to their relief. “Why haven’t we seen anyone for the past hour?” Maximus asked suspiciously, his eyes scanning the horizon in the distance.

“Not sure,” Anton replied, equally alert.

“Surely this island is big enough that we can all keep our distance,” Gothalia remarked, climbing up the hill between Anton and Maximus. She paused for a moment, her gaze lingered over the numerous foreign plants and foliage she knew she’d never learn the names of before continuing after Anton. He led them through the jungle and towards a riverbank before kneeling beside clear water. Scooping the water in both his hands, he drank. Quickly, Gothalia and Maximus mimicked, thirst branding their throats. All of them, unaware of the approaching footfalls them from behind.

The edge of a sharp blade pushed against Anton and Maximus’s throats. “You took out our comrade. It’s only fair we take out yours.” the man commented, his eyes on Gothalia who froze under the scrutiny and slowly turned to face the voice. His blond hair glistened beneath the artificial sun while his brunette comrade regarded Gothalia with clear disapproval before he pointed a pistol at Gothalia’s head.

“I still can’t believe they allow women in the Centurion division. Didn’t anyone tell you? You won’t last. Especially you demon.”

A sudden call of a horn echoed in the distance and confusion flickered across every face while every eye stared in the direction of the sound further down the river.

Swiftly, Gothalia disarmed the man who pointed his gun at her, using the same gun, she shot both men in the knee. She glanced at Anton and Maximus; without a word they ran after her sprinting through the jungle, fleeing their dismantled pursuers. The call of that same horn trilled a little longer before it ceased.

A haunting stillness culled the air. Gothalia paused further along the river, with Anton and Maximus among the thick leaves. She glanced around, her apprehensive eyes carefully regarding her unfamiliar environment. Gothalia crouched low in the foliage, hidden from sight, with Maximus and Anton.

The rapid splashing of water and the clashing of pebbles against stones on the riverbed reverberated as the mud-covered foreign warriors sprinted towards the injured recruits on horses further up the beach and past them. Gothalia, Anton and Maximus watched as both injured men, who were unaware of the approaching threat.

Quickly, Anton pressed his hand against Gothalia’s mouth when she jumped, recognising a stranger observe the bushes above where they hid with meticulous speculation. Maximus, equally terrified, regarded both Anton and Gothalia until they heard his footfalls recede from where they hid before advancing towards the other recruits whom of which screamed in pain before being met with an unsettling silence.

Gothalia, Maximus and Anton peered through the opening of the plants and watched as a man speared a recruit in the chest while the other slit his throat. Just like the woman before, they vanished into thin air as if they never existed. “We need to get out of here,” Anton recognised. At those words, Maximus vanished into the forest leaving a trail of blue and black smoke behind. Gothalia and Anton followed. Even as they ran, Anton couldn’t help but search over his shoulder every few hundred meters.

When they were certain they had put distance between them and the strangers, Gothalia queried frightfully, “What the hell was that?” Catching her breath.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Anton responded, hesitantly.

“Nobody knows who they are Talia or what they are.” Maximus replied, catching his breath. “Let’s just try not to get caught by them.”

“Sounds like a decent plan,” Anton replied and straightened himself. His gaze searched the foliage behind them once more. No one followed.

Gothalia listened to the environment, and silence greeted her. She jogged through the jungle for a few meters and towards the beach she heard and smelt nearby. A timer hovered in the morning sky before her. She eyed the sky and noticed the birds that flew through it, but the clock remained untouched. “A hologram,” she muttered, confused. “What’s the point of this tournament again?”

“To survive,” Anton replied, from beside her.

“Right . . .” Gothalia muttered not impressed.

“And that’s until the timer stops?” Maximus enquired.

“Something like that, I guess.” Gothalia responded, kneeling on the white soft sand. “Until then, we’re stuck in here.” Anton and Maximus faced the forest, stepping protectively before Gothalia at the sound of a snapping twig.

* * *

“Is it true? There are Valdis in the simulation? Think they’ll last?” A Centurion asked, with humour and sarcasm on his lips. Danteus glanced at the man opposite him, who sat at another table, surrounded by other Centurions, Legionnaires and Cavaliers. Danteus ate the rest of his food, in the cafeteria and listened as he continued, “I mean, I doubt the Valdis will even last the first few hours let alone a week.”

“But they’re demons remember killing is what they do.” Another soldier declared; his uniform almost identical to Danteus’s except green. The colour of the Legionnaires.

“True.” The Centurion declared. “But in a weird way that’s what we need.”

“Shh!” the Legionnaire hushed, throwing her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that too loud. Someone will hear you.” The Centurion gently slapped his friend’s hand from his mouth. Danteus slowly shook his head, at their lack of secret, then noticed his comrades’ approach with their trays of food. Pulling out their chairs, they sat opposite Danteus who greeted them.

“You look worried, why?” questioned Asashin Brutus-Marius immediately.

“Not sure,” Danteus affirmed. Asashin and Altair Augustin-Grimory shared a look.

“Does it have something to do with those new recruits?” Asashin queried, his dark eyes watched his friend closely appearing black upon his almost paper white skin.

Quickly, Danteus remarked. “They’re not recruits—not yet.”

Both Altair and Asashin studied Danteus. “That’s very meticulous of you.” Danteus considered Asashin’s comment, with a raised brow for a moment, then shrugged at his old friend’s expression. “Just saying. Even if, the reports suggest there is an unusual spike in Xzandian activity. Everyone’s still trying to figure out why.”

“Well, they’re probably going to be at it for a while,” Danteus remarked with a sigh. “It’s not really our problem.”

Altair added, “No, I guess not, and neither was picking a fight with Rufus and the Barak clan. What was that all about?” He watched Danteus with eyes as black as Asashin’s subtly upon his bronzed skin.

Danteus glanced at Altair, “We’re really going to go there?”

“Why not? I think it’s appropriate, especially considering that there are problems as you say but you insist on taking no responsibility for such problems.” Altair remarked, examining Danteus, with a baleful smile. “Unless this time you did?”

“Don’t speak to me like that. I hate it when you do. You know that.” Danteus growled, glaring at his old friend.

Altair’s smile grew. “What? You don’t like the truth?”

Asashin’s sudden wholehearted laugh caused the surrounding Legionnaires, Centurions and Cavaliers to regard them questionably before returning to their lunch and menial conversations. “Not very many people do my friend.”

“Whatever,” Danteus remarked.

“But Altair’s right, what made you attack them?” Asashin enquired.

Danteus conceded defeat. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but it’s not how it sounds, and I didn’t attack them—per say.”

“What did Garret accidentally end up in the sanatorium with the others?”

“Okay, Garret was not by my hand but some of the others perhaps.”

“And what? That’s supposed to justify your actions?” Altair asked, with a raised dark brow the same shade as his kempt hair.

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just saying there is a reason why I tagged along.”

Asashin and Altair shared an uneasy glance but did not utter another word on the topic. As such, Danteus returned to his meal. His table of three, filled with a comfortable silence and a hint of misgivings. It was not long after until Danteus, Asashin and Altair found themselves at the edge of the town cladded in their winter furs with their next mission on their mind. A coat of artificial snow surrounded them, boundless and empty with no sign of life.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Altair questioned, following after Asashin and Danteus. Their trail marking the blanket of snow behind them.

“Anything that appears out of the ordinary.” Asashin commented, brushing his long black hair from out his face.

Danteus paused. Asashin and Altair noticed his sudden rigid posture and vigilant gaze.

“Like what exactly?” Altair questioned, hesitantly. At those words, a loud roar echoed throughout the white meadow. Quickly, Asashin, Danteus and Altair glanced at the mouth of a cave in the distance, far from the Fire Reserve. There stood a Chenoo—a snow monster—its golden eyes regarded them with anger and hatred. Two more Chenoo pulled themselves from the snow surrounding the men. Then the largest Chenoo at the mouth of the cave disappeared into the snow and reappeared metres in front of them.

“Like that.” Asashin muttered, his gaze narrowing on the threat.