He glances briefly away, and instantly I understand that his words are going to disappoint. His eyes come back to mine and he says gently, ‘You’re not getting your wings yet, Ethan. Have patience.’
But the disappointment, coming after the nightmare from last night and Mum’s depression this morning, hits me like a flood surging through the lower valley. My hands fly up in the air as I demand an explanation. ‘Oh, come on, Arkarian! I completed my apprenticeship years ago, and I’ve been an active member of the Guard for ten years at least.’
‘Yes, but you started when you were a mere infant.’
I nod, admitting this. ‘But I’ve heard of others who’ve received this power years ahead of me.’
He puts it simply. ‘They were ready; you are not.’
I groan and slump, realising that there’s nothing I can do. Nothing beyond what I do already, that is – keep trying to prove myself. ‘So what’s this other news?’
He releases a soft sigh, produces a matching stool for himself and sits opposite me so that we’re on eye level. ‘You’re to be given an Apprentice.’
It takes a full minute to register. The impact of this honour finally hits and has me springing up again and pacing the windowless underground room, punching the air with my fist. ‘An Apprentice! Of my own?’
Arkarian’s eyes follow me. When I stop and search his face for confirmation, his eyebrows lift with a gentle nod of his head.
For the Tribunal to give me this responsibility must surely mean my wings are almost assured.
‘Almost,’ Arkarian confirms, reading my mind as usual. ‘All you have to do is train your Apprentice, complete your next mission successfully, and you’ll have your wings by your next birthday.’
‘Yes! This is brilliant, Arkarian. How did you swing it?’
He gives me a tolerant grin. ‘I’d like to take credit for your promotion, Ethan, but you did this yourself with your own good work. Now that I’ve admitted that, don’t let your advancement go to your head as I’m inclined to think it might.’ He looks at me hard. ‘You want to prove you’re worth entrusting with this ultimate power, don’t you?’
I nod fiercely. ‘Oh, yeah.’ I come back to the old wooden stool and try to sit still long enough to make sure I understand it all, but my right leg can’t stop jumping up and down. I put my hand on my knee to hold it still. ‘So you’re saying, if I successfully train this Apprentice, I could have my wings within three months?’
His lips don’t move, but his eyes are saying heaps.
‘There’s a catch, isn’t there?’
‘Not at all,’ he quickly assures me. ‘But there is a certain urgency developing …’ He nods towards the circling holographic sphere of Westminster Palace. ‘You don’t have a lot of time before your next mission.’
‘How long?’
‘A few weeks.’
Weeks? What could Arkarian, or the Tribunal for that matter, be thinking? To train a small child would take years. It did with me. I remember some of those early lessons – Arkarian was patient (’cause I had two left feet in those days) but relentless. We trained here in a variety of rooms, learning skills most people wouldn’t learn in a lifetime, from self-defence to self-existence. But it was years before the Tribunal thought me skilled enough to handle my own mission.
‘I only have a few weeks to train an Apprentice?’
Arkarian nods. ‘But it won’t be as hard as you’re thinking. Remember, you were an infant when you came to me, an unusual occurrence. Your new Apprentice is more adept than you imagine. She’s skilled in her own right.’ He chuckles, glancing down at his slender, ageless hands. ‘Quite surprisingly so.’
I’m still taking in the part where he uses the word ‘she’. ‘I’m going to be training a girl?’
‘Correct.’
‘How old is this girl?’
‘Fifteen.’
Suddenly the idea of training a girl takes an interesting spin. ‘Oh, really?’
His head tilts with a small smile.
‘What’s her name? Do I know her?’
He remains silent and my body hair starts to prickle all over my skin with a sense of foreboding.
‘Her name is Isabel,’ he says softly.
Even though it’s an unusually old-fashioned name, it draws a blank. Arkarian keeps looking at me as if I should know this name, or this person at least. Slowly a recognition somewhere deep inside my head starts happening. Isabel.
‘I think I do know that name. Remember, when I was younger I had a best friend called Matt? His kid sister’s name was Isabel. But you said my Apprentice wasn’t a child. And anyway –’ I dismiss this crazy idea quickly – ‘the Isabel I remember was a wild little monkey, a nuisance to society, always tagging along with Matt and Dillon and the rest of us guys when we had important things to do, like build fortresses in the woods, scour the dump for motorbike parts, play rugby. Stuff like that. It couldn’t be her.’
Arkarian stares at me stubbornly, a funny knowing smile tugging at his lips.
‘No way, Arkarian. I’m telling you it can’t be her. Isabel’s a pest. She’ll only get in the way. She couldn’t possibly be right material for the Guard. You have to believe me. This girl is nothing but a headache. You must go back to the Tribunal and tell them. They’ve got it wrong this time.’
‘When was the last time you saw Isabel? The last time you exchanged words with this girl?’
I glance away as I think, trying to recall. We have mixed-age classes at school, so it’s possible we have a lesson together, but surely I would have noticed her? I do remember, though, a couple of years ago, when Matt was still my best friend, a few of us guys went down to Devil’s Creek for a swim. It was a hot day and we’d stripped to our underwear. None of us knew Isabel had tagged along. When Matt spotted his sister halfway up a tree, he told her off for following us. The rest of us laughed and teased her about perving on us until she went beetroot red in the face. She clambered down that tree faster than a Ferrari in a drag race, disappearing into the woods. We went back to jumping into the river from the rope we’d fixed to an overhanging tree. None of us realised until hours later, when we were ready to go home, that the little pest had taken all our clothes. Matt was mad as hell, and Dillon went feral, calling Isabel every swearword he could think of until Matt got so defensive that Dillon finally shut up. We had to ride our bikes twelve kilometres in nothing but our wet underwear.
Arkarian is waiting, and for a second I have trouble recalling what he’d asked. ‘Oh, yeah, I haven’t seen Isabel for a couple of years.’
He gives me one of his superior knowing smiles. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Chapter Two
Isabel
I’m late. Of course this is nothing unusual. But if I hurry I could still make the bus, otherwise I’ll be walking again. School is such a waste of time. I’d rather be on a mountaintop, abseiling down a hundred-metre cliff.
‘Isabel!’ Mum’s voice rings out from downstairs. ‘Ten minutes! Can you make it?’
My brother Matt surprises me at my bedroom door, leaning his back against the door jamb, shaking his head and looking superior and smug as usual. He’s fully dressed in school uniform, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, towering over me. When did he grow so tall?
‘Yeah, sure,’ he says sarcastically, knowing Mum won’t hear a word. ‘She’ll make it, Mum.’
He just wants to annoy me.
I shove him backwards into the hallway and slam the door in his face, grab my uniform in bits and pieces from my wardrobe, glance quickly around the room for my shoes, throwing everything on as fast as I can. With my blue shirt half hanging out, I spin towards my dresser mirror, quickly brushing my hair into a ponytail high at the back.
When I open the door, Matt’s still standing there. He startles me into taking a step backwards. Regaining my equilibrium, I push past him. ‘You need a life, brother.’
He follows me down the hallway. ‘I’d have a better one if
you could look after yourself for a change.’
This comment has me spinning round. But I shouldn’t be surprised, really. For as long as I can remember, Matt’s taken his ‘big brother’ role way too seriously. When we were little and our father walked out, Matt decided to take over the parental role. At first I didn’t mind, but hey, we were only kids then, and I loved the attention from my one year older brother. But it soon grew annoying, and now that I’m fifteen, his dominance is just interference, and I can’t stand it.
I glare at him, but my grumbling stomach helps me decide to drop the subject. I jump down the stairs two at a time, running straight into the kitchen. He follows and stands at the doorway. ‘You haven’t time for breakfast. I’ll give you some money so you can pick something up at the school canteen. Something healthy.’
I cringe, muscles tightening all over, and throw him the most evil look I can manage over my shoulder. ‘I have my own money, thank you. Now get lost before I dice you with this paring knife.’
He starts to turn away, but can’t hold back a cautionary warning. ‘Watch that knife, it’s new and way too sharp.’
Oooh, he drives me crazy! ‘Yes, Dad.’ The second I say it, I wish I could take the word back. Matt looks at me, his eyes dark and disturbed; and it’s as if the earth suddenly stops spinning, time hanging motionless between us. I don’t remember my father, but from what Mum says, Matt both hated and adored him. Dad would get drunk often, and violent, and afterwards he’d always go to Matt and cry like a baby on his shoulders. Matt would instantly forgive him, even while strap marks scarred his little ankles. I swallow hard and take a deep breath. ‘I didn’t mean anything.’
He nods. ‘Just watch that knife, OK?’
He walks out and, half in a daze now, I grab an apple and go to cut it into two halves, the idea being to take the halves and eat them on the bus. But Matt’s reaction has unsettled me. The apple slips, shifting sideways, and the knife slices through the top of my finger. Blood spurts over the knife and on to the chopping board. I can’t help squealing.
Of course, now that I really need him, Matt is nowhere in sight. I grab a paper towel and wrap it around my bleeding finger, taking a quick look at the cut. It’s deep. ‘Great, now I’ll probably need stitches.’ I hold the towel tightly, trying hard not to focus on the sharp pain darting from my sliced fingertip right through to my palm. ‘Heal, you stupid thing. Heal, heal, heal!’
‘What’s wrong now?’ Matt suddenly asks from the doorway.
I drop the paper towel and hold out my hand. ‘I cut my finger, OK!’
He comes straight over. ‘Here, let me see. You’re probably making a fuss over nothing.’
‘I know when I’ve cut myself. Tell me, were you born this arrogant?’
He takes my hand, becoming singularly focused on examining my finger. He takes it between two of his and turns it gently, making sure to view it from every angle.
‘What are you doing?’ I realise that Matt’s frown is not one of concern but more of amusement. ‘What’s that look for?’
He snorts and peers at me kind of weirdly. ‘Are you playing some sick game with me or something?’
‘Huh?’ I snatch my finger back and glance down at it, suddenly stunned. Lifting my hand to face level, I examine the fingertip from all angles. ‘I can’t believe this,’ I mutter. There’s no blood any more, and more amazingly, there’s no sign of a cut either.
Nothing.
I realise the sharp pain’s gone too. I lower my hand, still examining it with disbelief. ‘This is impossible.’ My voice is just a whisper. I glance up at my brother. He has to believe me. ‘I tell you, Matt, I cut myself.’
His head shakes while he laughs at me like I’m some dumb airhead trying to get attention. ‘You know, sometimes I think you’re as weird as Ethan.’
This has my head snapping back up to his. ‘You’re not going to bring Ethan up again, are you?’ He does it all the time, knowing full well how I’ve felt about his best friend (ex best friend, I should say) since we were little children. No matter how hard I try to convince Matt I’m over all that now, he still teases me endlessly. My only consolation is that Ethan – hopefully – has no idea how I felt as a kid when I tagged along with Matt and his friends looking for something interesting to do. I’ve never been a stay-at-home child. I hated ‘tea parties’ and ‘dressing Barbie’ games. Those little doll clothes that never fit properly made me want to scream. I wanted to climb and jump and run, and still do, but confine myself to organised sports these days. And I didn’t tag along with Matt all those years just because Ethan was with him, although Matt insists I did. I just loved doing things guys did. That’s all there is to it.
Not that it would make any difference today. I haven’t hung around Matt or his friends for a couple of years now, and Ethan no longer knows I even exist. He’s in my history class and I swear he doesn’t even know who I am. Never once has he acknowledged my presence.
A loud rumble outside has Matt tugging on my arm. ‘Come on! It’s the bus.’
Quickly I look for where I put the apple. I grab it off the chopping board, find where I dropped my bag and make for the front door. Just outside I glance down at the half-carved apple in my hand. What I see gives me such a start that the apple flies from my suddenly trembling fingers. But even on the moist grass where it lands, I can still see the rich red stain of blood on its shiny skin.
My blood.
From the cut that doesn’t exist.
Chapter Three
Ethan
Isabel Becket is going to be my Apprentice. What lousy luck! And it’s not that I mind because she’s a girl. No way. Sure, at first I was a little surprised, but only ’cause I always imagined myself training an excited and willing child, who would be in awe as each new facet of this other world was revealed. But Isabel Becket?
I walk into my history class, quickly scouring the back row, checking for a vacancy. I chose history six weeks ago, thinking I could breeze through the course, what with my personal knowledge of the subject, but I never counted on Croc-face Carter taking the class. He’s had it in for me for years, I don’t know why. I never did a thing to him, not that I recall. I only started calling him Croc-face after he put me on detention for not having my shirt tucked in three times in a row. How pathetic! I was punished because I’d grown too fast for my uniform. After that, well, the name just seemed to fit. It’s not my fault he has an enormous jaw full of huge white teeth.
The man just hates me.
Out of the corner of my eye I see some girl diving for the last vacant seat in the back row. A quick look around and I realise the only other seats in the class are either right up front under Carter’s nose, or worse than that, right next to Matt’s girlfriend Rochelle, second row from the back. But she was the cause of our friendship bust-up.
Definitely no way.
I just have to have that back-row seat, so I take off down the centre aisle as if I’m suddenly in a race to save my life. But the girl stays ahead of me, and if I don’t do something drastic, I’ll end up sitting so close to Carter I’ll be able to smell his body odour, or trying hard not to make eye contact, or any kind of contact, with that she-devil Rochelle. The thought of these two scenarios has me pushing roughly past the girl making for the seat with my name on it. She falls to the side, right on top of Leanie Hall’s lap, just as I slam down in the seat, claiming ownership.
‘Hey!’ Leanie calls out while helping the girl up and giving me an irritated look. ‘What’s with you today?’
‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I have to have the back seat, Leanie. You know how Carter hates me. If I’m in his direct line of vision, he’ll hound me for the entire lesson.’
‘That’s because you’re always ticking him off.’
‘No way.’
She gives a little disbelieving laugh.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask the other girl, who’s now standing and looking around for somewhere else to sit. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t me
an to shove you over like that.’
She nods and kind of gulps, her eyes flicking away across the room.
‘Here,’ Leanie suddenly says to the girl, offering up her prime back-row seat. Then, looking at me, she says, ‘I don’t have the same hang-ups as Ethan. I think Mr Carter’s sexy.’
I feel my jaw drop so low it’s a wonder it doesn’t hit the floor. I can’t believe she just said that. Carter sexy? No way.
Leanie takes off and the girl sits in the seat across the aisle. Carter walks in and starts muttering something, but I can’t focus on the man. My mind’s doing a double take on the girl beside me. She’s sitting examining a finger held up right in front of her face like it’s the first time she’s ever seen it. As she does this, I recognise something familiar about her. She realises I’m staring, drops her hand and goes red in the face.
Apparently Carter’s noticed my preoccupation too. He comes down the centre aisle, stopping about midway. ‘Is there a particular reason your interest in the opposite sex is far more obvious this morning, Mr Roberts? Did you wake up and suddenly realise you’re of the male persuasion?’
The class sniggers.
‘No, sir,’ I mutter, hoping to get him off my case.
He looks at me as if I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being, then finally backs off, starting to talk about our lesson today – Alfred the Great and what a superb ruler he was, explaining how in his twenty-eight-year reign this king exhibited incredible military skill, excellent government and the ability to inspire and motivate armies of men. Carter’s actually doing a pretty good job until he starts describing King Alfred’s appearance, the clothes he wore and stuff like that. The descriptions are straight out of a textbook, which is, as usual, mostly inaccurate and definitely biased. And much as I would love to correct Carter, and the textbook for that matter, I keep quiet. I have to, or I could be punished with expulsion and memory erasure for breaking one of the Guard’s three vital codes.