Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3) by Jennifer Martucci, Christopher Martucci Page B

up.”
    His father remained silent, staring at the fire, his face an enigmatic mask of stoicism. 
    “What does it mean, father?” Desmond asked and struggled against a turbulent rise of anger swelling within him.
    “It is exactly what you think it is: the truth, the prophecy.  It is what I have been waiting my entire existence for,” he said curtly.
    “This is not what you told me,” Desmond said through his teeth.  “This is very different from what I’ve known my whole existence.”
    The mighty warlock Agnon turned to face his son, Desmond.  Desmond trembled with rage and breathed to keep from lunging at his father.
    “Desmond,” his father began.   “You are a capable warlock, physically, at least.  But you lacked the internal strength to handle this,” he said and gestured to the Tome.  “You still do.  You have compassion for mankind, the same beings, mind you, that would kill you where you stood if they knew what you were.”  His father paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully before he added.  “Mankind will fall.  It is inevitable.  I’ve lived for centuries, have felt it coming.  Global unrest, climate changes, reality television – each is a sign of impending apocalypse.  What we will do is an act of mercy, really.  We are sparing them a long, drawn-out, self-inflicted demise.  We will rise and build a world that will be far greater than any human could ever imagine.”
    Desmond stood, stunned.  His mouth had gone dry and the back of his throat tasted of ash.  His father had never spoke n of such things, had never expressed his disdain for humanity.
    “The Sola would never lead any of us to do what you’re suggesting,” Desmond argued.
    “She can, and she will.  It is her destiny,” his father said with certainty so smug, Desmond’s temper escaped him.
    “No! No Father!  You are wrong!  She is a kind and decent person!” he raised his voice in an uncharacteristic act of contempt toward his father.
    “No!” Agnon thundered, his voice filling the room.  “The only reason she maintains the slightest shred of meek or mild qualities is because her powers have just manifested themselves.  She has not yet learned to manage her powers, to wield them.  But she will, and soon.  You’ll see.  She is nothing like you.  She is not weak.  She does not pity foolish creatures.  The Sola has risen.  She is gathering her powers, learning to use them.  Before long, she will be ready to destroy cities on her own, and we will follow her.”
    Desmond could not envision the Sola, his Arianna, destroying cities, killing innocents.  That was not who she was, who she’d ever be.  He was certain of it. 
    “She will not,” he said to his father firmly.  “I know her.  I have known her for her entire life.  She is not what you think she is.  She is not what the prophecy claims.”
    “Claims?” his father asked incredulously.  “The prophecy is not a ragtag magazine t hat reports on drunken celebrities and makes unsubstantiated claims .  It is our guidebook, the benchmark by which we’ve lived our lives for centuries!”
    Desmond desperately wanted to engage his father, to answer his provocation.  But Desmond knew he was right.  He knew his father was wrong about Arianna.  She would never develop into what his father had predicted.
    “You are wrong, father,” he said calmly.  “And when I tell her what is expected of her, she will be horrified, and you will see.”
    He turned from his father, intended to leave when a question rushed to the forefront of his mind. 
    “Why did you appoint me her guardian if you knew what she was to become,” Desmond asked from the entryway to the mudroom.  “You’ve known me my entire life, known I was, what did you call me?  Oh yes, weak.  Why would you put me with her in the first place?”
    His father paused for a lo ng moment and Desmond could feel his heart slapping wildly against his ribcage, waiting for his father’s