Ordained (4 page)

Emily could barely hear Chancellor Moore. She had to press her ear directly on the vent.

Jonesy was the first audible voice she heard. “You aren’t seriously thinking of bringing her here, are you? She was kicked out for good reason. She murdered-”

Murdered?

Groaning, Marie quickly cut him off. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear that gruesome tale again.”

“Are we sure it’s really her?” asked Brit doubtfully.

“I suppose we won’t know for sure unless she comes,” answered the Chancellor. “If it is, she has proven irreplaceable. She alone defeated Eraticus. That’s something hundreds of hunters failed at.”

“How could she not die like the others? Did he miss her?” wondered Merle, though the tone in his voice doubted it.

“I find it hard to believe Eraticus just happened to miss the one hunter that is alive and kicking to this day,” Lincoln alleged. “I’m willing to bet she fell to him just like the others but managed to find a magical out to cheat death.”

“Reincarnation?” the Chancellor suggested.

“Possibly. What do we know about this Noel? If he’s alive as well, it may be his doing, not hers,” said Lincoln.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Marie. “It doesn’t change history. She’s unstable. We won’t feel safe living in the same quarters with her.”

The Chancellor contemplated for a moment. “Regardless of what happened in the past, we no longer have the ordained huntress. Our hunters are not sufficient. We need someone like Abigail.”

The advisors fell silent and fearfully glanced at one another. The two women in particular were uneasy at the prospect of embracing the couple in question.

Chancellor Moore continued. “There are two ways to vote on this. Either we invite Abigail here to confront Morphus, or we sacrifice every hunter we have now to try to do the same. Whose life would you rather risk?”

The advisors glanced awkwardly at one another, slowly contemplating. None were brave enough to verbally rebut.

Finally, Susan found her voice. “Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll kill each other in battle.”

Evil
witch
. Emily never did like Susan - so cold and impersonal. She was always grateful she didn’t fall under her supervision.
Didn’t the twit realize that if we died, the advisors would die too? Abby may be the only one who can make a dent in Morphus and they wished her death in return!

Emily pushed herself off the floor and left the closet to wander and think. The hallways in the manor were in need of attention. Like all aspects of this place, they were aged and dark. Old fashioned oil-burning lanterns were spaced far apart, allowing the shadows to come and go as they pleased. Sometimes they danced around playfully, other times they stopped and stared. Did they see her the way she saw them? The one slowly flickering towards her made her think they did. She shook her head as if caught in a daze and continued on.
This place is gonna drive me to the nut house!

She focused her attention on everything but the shadows. Weapons adorned every wall, part for admiration, part for protection. Sickles, spears, scythes, battle axes, tridents, swords, throwing daggers and stars - a weapon always within reach if needed. A little odd, since the manor had always been under magical protection from evil. If needed, they would most likely be used on nothing more than the common man. Not to mention the possibility of arming those whom you wish to attack. It seemed dim-witted.

Friezes and sculptures of Athena, the Greek Goddess of Wisdom and War, were portrayed throughout the manor, donning her armor and helmet. She was the only god celebrated by the hunter lineage. She was truly a brilliant strategist in war, but the hunters often questioned why they didn’t honor the true God of War, Ares. None of the advisors ever offered an explanation - probably didn’t know themselves and didn’t want to admit it.

Traveling through the main lobby, Emily passed the murals depicting the methods used to kill or thwart off a vampire. One showed death by sun exposure, the vampire burning into nothingness. The second and third murals used holy water and crosses to singe the sallow skin. The last mural, and albeit the most effective method, showed a hunter puncturing the heart of the vampire with a wooden stake, causing the body to burst into dust and ashes.

Emily followed the hallway to the conservatory. She always ended up here. No one else ever seemed interested. Perhaps that was the most inviting lure of all; a quiet room all to her lonesome when tranquility was what she desired.

The conservatory was one of the few rooms that weren’t original to the manor. Added on in the late twentieth century to the back of the manor, the Order wanted to offer a place in which the hunters could unwind from the stress of their exhausting daily routines and enjoy the peace and serenity. Still, most tended to collapse in their dormitory bedrooms or the lounge, not here.

The glasshouse was more than five thousand square feet with pebble paths leading off every which way. The ornate metal and glass structure panels led up twelve feet. From there, the roof angled in and up using decorative and curved shingle-styled glass. The structure continued up again with glass overlaid by metal shutters, finally topping off the conservatory with a massive dome-shaped sphere.

The subtropical plants and heaters were a nice change from the frost-covered environment going on outside the conservatory. Winter had set in by the time she’d arrived last month. The snowy weather was invigorating the first few days, but was hard to take long term when you’ve acclimated to the sunny, mild weather of Sausalito, California, her home for the past two years - particularly when you’re stuck in a place that still ran on individual oil heaters. The conservatory was the only room that ran on automated electric heaters. And sprinklers, which to her dismay, she learned only of when they soaked her during her first visit many years ago.

Emily settled down on a padded bench next to the oleander bushes and the jasmine vines that crept up the trellis. Her view overlooked the top of the cliff that dropped slightly down to the frozen lake below (not that she could see it through the steam-covered glass). The lake was once a valley that connected three peaks of the mountain. Now filled with water, the lake is frozen or filled with slush most months of the year.

Unlike those outside the manor, the plants inside thrived. The room was filled with lush greenery, perfumes, fruits and flowers. Sunset was her favorite time here. The night jasmine would bloom and release an intense and invigorating fragrance that soothed her nerves and cleared her mind.

This moment of clarity was what she was seeking. Now able to free herself of all the memories and questions circling her mind with tornado-like force. Now able to organize her jumbled thoughts into coherent ones. Now able to think about the days to come.

Abby and Noel would soon arrive. With them they would bring questions of their own, but mostly answers. Answers that would reward Emily for her loyalty and patience these past two years. Answers to questions they’ve placed on hold. Answers about Morphus – about themselves.

Chapter Six

A slightly muscular female emerged gracefully through the shadows of the dim hallway. Physically, she appeared to be in her mid twenties, but inside, she was an older, wiser woman beyond her years. Her emerald eyes, long, flowing red hair, ivory skin and light freckles differed greatly from the other hunters in the manor. The back of her shoulder bared the familiar mark of the hunter.

Abby Sorrensten ran her hand along a wall of pictures of hunters and advisors and scanned those that had fallen before her. A passage explained each death. Few hunters died of natural causes - all were young. The color photos faded to black and white around the early 1970’s. The further she scanned, the more worn the photographs became. Around the 1850’s, the pictures were replaced with hand-drawn portraits that had browned and curled with age. She couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t depicted on the time table.

Her attention was drawn to 1810. Five advisors died on the same day, November eighteenth. One in particular mesmerized her, confused her - Nathaniel Watts. He seemed so familiar. The five pictures lacked a corresponding passage. Only a single line was present, stating ‘circumstance of death not recorded’.

Abby knew she attended the school from 1797 to 1810 but she could remember nothing of the time she spent here. Yet this face, these dark eyes, reminded her of something. And the deaths she couldn’t place. One would think five deaths in a day would be burned into your memory, your soul. But then again, Abby wasn’t sure of when she left that year. Perhaps it happened afterwards. She would have to ask Noel.

She would have to ask him a lot of things, though he seemed to remember as little as she did from this particular time period. She attended the school from four to sixteen but she couldn’t remember any part of it. Even the building itself. It clearly hadn’t undergone many upgrades in the past two centuries, but nothing looked familiar.

Sounds and vibrations of clanging metal drew Abby farther down the hallway. Voices soon followed. She stepped onto a balcony overlooking the arena floor. The hunters were being trained by the advisors, or at least that’s what they thought they were doing. Though skilled in particular areas, none compared physically to the hunters they instructed. Fencing, gymnastics, knife-throwing and kickboxing were all being practiced. The hunters seemed somewhat adequate but none seemed as talented as Emily had become.

Abby felt a twinge down her spine and turned around. She had sensed something behind her – still did – but nothing was visible in the darkness. She thought for the faintest moment that a set of glowing eyes were watching her. Having always trusted her instincts, she knew they were not failing her now. But sensing no danger from the anomaly, she turned back to the arena floor.

The advisors and hunters had become alerted to her presence. All had stopped, frozen in place. Each set of eyes looked up to her. The female hunters looked up in awe. The alpha male carried a sense of annoyance.
Shocker
. Men often received her in this manner. But it was the reactions of the advisors that really surprised her. Many seem frightened. Some backed themselves into the shadows, others whispered.

Emily seemed to be missing from the evening workout. No surprise there either. Abby knew she dreaded being here, forced to take orders from those she despised.

“Abby? They’re ready to see us now.” Noel stepped out of the darkness into view. The creamy beige-skinned man was in his mid thirties. Good-looking but rough around the edges. His dark brown hair was long enough to cut in around the eyes, but still too short to tie back. His chocolate eyes were warm and affecting. Abby had always been drawn to them. She found them soft and soothing.

Noel was generally calm and collected but extremely protective of Abby. She was impatient and high-maintenance at times. Noel was her perfect complement.

Ignoring the unwavering eyes below, she joined him down the hallway. As they turned to leave, Abby once again stared into the darkness. She still felt a particular presence watching her, but still nothing was visible. They appeared to be alone.

Chapter Seven

Noel Berekin had been dreading this day for two hundred years. Always mindful of the horrible memories lingering here, he had kept Abby far from this place and the stories associated with it. Never did he open the conversation. When she did, he changed the topic to something more pressing to their current situation. Quite often he feigned memory loss, blaming the many years that had passed for his inability to recall. But he knew all too well the horrors that took place here - and he was quite certain the current Order did too.