THIRST

Chapter Three: Lineage (Bane)

The last student exited the bathroom as I took to the large handicap stall in the back and locked the door. I set my bag down on the floor and remove a small package containing a handwritten note and a beautifully hand carved stone with a red jewel inserted into the middle as it dangles from a silver chain. Placing the jewel on my lap I open the note and feel the overwhelming rush of emotions as I recognize my mother's own handwriting.

My darling Bane,

If you are reading this letter then it means that your father and I are no longer with you and must place an awful burden on your shoulders. By now I'm sure you've been given the family amulet that once belonged to your great grandmother and her daughters. The women in our family where described as powerful leaders who ruled with an iron fist for thousands of years. But since you are to be the first born son in a long line of female warriors, I sense that our noble lineage shall live on through you for generations to come. I know this might all sound strange to you right now, but in time you will come to understand the fabrications of my world.

And remember: you carry the power with you. Wear the amulet at all times, always and forever. For it will protect you in times of great need. Your father and I will always love you no matter what happens. Take pride in yourself, Bane.

Sincerely,

Eden.

A tear slides down my face, landing on my mother's name as the ink starts to smear. I fold up the letter and place it back in the envelope as I pick up the amulet and stare at it. The crimson red jewel sparkles in the pale overhead lighting as the last passing bell rings throughout the school. I quickly stuff the envelope in my backpack and place the amulet around my neck. I emerge from the bathroom as I walk through the common's area with its massive skylight window and gorgeous red oak wood beams. The gymnasium appears to be blacked out as I cross the threshold.

The smell of a specialized cleaner mixed with bleach causes me to wrinkle my nose as a loud bang sounds throughout the gym just to my right. Curiosity gets the best of me as I head for the door that leads me straight down a stairwell. Placing my hand on the metal railing I begin to descend the stairs until I reach the bottom and come face to face with an iron-clad door showcasing some very ancient language and a slot for a peephole. Three knocks later, and a pair of hazel eyes appear followed by a male's voice.

"You have no right to be here human. Leave now if you know what's best for you."

"Well, maybe you can help me than. I think I'm lost. My schedule says that I'm supposed to have Combat Training next? What room is that in?"

The man sighs. "Show me your schedule."

I reach into my back as I pull out the white sheet and show it to him through the slot in the door. After a minute he says, "Well I'll be damned. You are in the right place. All right, come on in and speak to a guy named Pierce. He's the instructor who you'll be working with throughout the course of your training. And do not worry, you're in good hands here."

He shuts the latch as multiple locks and bolts unlock before the door swings open revealing a long glass walkway with a large room directly beneath my feet. Training mats, various weights and equipment align the far side of the room while a weapons rack sits opposite the locker room. I glance over my shoulder at the doorman as he stands facing me with his back towards the door and his arms folded across his chest. I don't think we're in Haven Maine anymore Dorothy, I thought to myself as I walk down the corridor. Placing my hand on the door handle, a chill runs up my spine as I shudder slightly and take a deep breath.

But before I can turn the knob, the door swings open and there stands Setekh. He never says a word and just nods his head in my direction as he walks right past me. A man sits behind a polished desk with a whistle around his neck wearing the usual coach's uniform. This must be Mr. Pierce. His hair is short, espresso brown while his eyes are the color of the midnight sky in late August. Hands that are neatly folded together connect to a pair of muscular arms that bulge beneath his black thermal shirt. And his shoes are barely a week old. He waves me forward as I shut the door and sit down in the empty across from him.