Rising

by C B Samet

  “You didn’t tell me I needed your water,” I said softly and as inoffensively as I could muster.

  “We do not allow our water to leave the sanctuary,” he explained.

  “Then how do I give it to the Champion?”

  “You must drink the water, perform the ceremony, and the Champion will emerge.”

  I sighed in an impolite manner of which I was instantly ashamed, but I was too tired, too drenched in sweat and bleeding from splinters to conjure an apology.

  Ignoring my behavior, he nodded toward a table with goblets be- side the pool. I picked one, knelt down and filled it. Then, I lifted it to my lips and drank. It was cool and refreshing. As if activating some memory part of my mind, I saw flashes of my parents, my childhood and Paul. I saw—no, felt—the warmth of my mother’s embrace, felt the swirling motion of my father picking me up and swinging me around the room, felt Paul’s loving kindness pushing me on a swing. I remembered the green iridescent geode on my parents’ mantel. I felt immense sorrow reliving the hugging and crying we did when the Queen’s emissary came to tell us they had died—shipwrecked in an ocean storm.

  The memories sucked me down in a swirl like water down a drain, reminding me of what I once had and lost. I felt a swelling of warmth followed by a hollow chill. Tears welled in my eyes. Pulling away from the memories felt like a laborious climb, reminiscent of going through the freezing fog. I stood and turned back to Zack, my head dizzy and my heart weak.

  “You are ready,” he commented.

  “Thank you for your help.” I closed my eyes to return to the cliff.

  “Thank you for your sacrifice,” I heard him softly say as I departed.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of the ocean and felt an unusual newness and calmness. I wiped tears from my eyes. It was as though the water, as I digested it, was coursing through my body and lifting the tension of the past days. Taking a deep breath, I was ready to perform the summoning ritual.

  Hours later, I was infuriated and exhausted and disheartened. I had done everything! The Ballik blade was lying tangential to the bonfire, which was no small feat to arrange. There had been a lot of wood to stack and a lot of fanning the fire to get it robust. Smoke billowed up into the purple sky. The elephant ashes, crushed and mixed with rosemary oil, rested in an alabaster bowl next to the sword. The Che stone was at the tip of the blade.

  But still there was no Champion. At first, I threw rocks over the cliff in frustration. Then, giddy with fatigue, I began to hum one of my favorite songs. The music filled my mind and lifted me into the air.

  Boom, boom, boom

  Lift your hands and

  Dance, dance, dance

  Zoom, zoom, zoom

  Circle the fire and

  Chant, chant, chant

  Move, move, move

  Stomp your feet and

  Clap, clap, clap

  Step, step, step

  Jump up and

  Shake, shake, shake

  Irrational and free of inhibition, I danced around the fire— clapping, skipping and spinning. No one was there to see the fool I was being, and it was wonderful to be a fool. It felt good to be just a woman, dancing, and full of life. I danced and sang until exhausted. Collapsing into the sand, I gasped for breath. The sun had set, taking the purple sky with it and leaving a dark blue night lit by the glow of the moons.

  I began to braid my hair in the Caballus style, hypnotized by the burning fire.

  Later, bored and frustrated once again, I walked away from the fire and sat near the cliff’s edge.

  How was I going to tell everyone I had failed? I had failed myself and them!

  Waves crashed against the rocks below, creating a foamy surface lit by the moons. It was a beautiful sight, but it stirred the anxiety I always felt when I looked into the ocean and imagined beastly swells pulling my parents’ ship into its churning belly. Then, merciless waves tossed them onto the rocky volcanic island.

  I rolled away from the edge and turned my back unforgivingly to that body of water. The distant roar of the ocean below and the crackle of fire behind me lulled me to sleep.

  Bolting upright, I realized that I had fallen asleep. The scar on my chest burned ferociously. The sun had risen and it must have been late morning. A large, dark figure loomed beside the smoke and ash of what had been my large bonfire. For an ecstatic instant, I thought the Avant Guard had arrived. As my eyes adjusted, I realized with revolting dismay that the grotesque figure before me was none other than Malos.

  He seemed to be somewhat bored, poking at wood and ash, as though he had been waiting for me to wake up.

  I stood shakily and looked at the sword, so near to him and so far from me.

  Stupid, careless, Abbey.

  He arched an annoyed eyebrow. “Are you done with your little séance, Cross?”

  “What do you want?” I spat.

  “Domination,” he snickered in his miserable high-pitched voice. “Are you ready to give up this nonsense and surrender? You and your people are no obstacle for my army. You are outnumbered and out- skilled.” He rose off the ground a little higher, and I could see he was carrying his glowing yellow scepter.

  “I will not let you conquer this kingdom,” I replied with false bravado.

  Malos laughed—an eerie, chilling laugh. “That, my dear girl, is inevitable.”

  Yes, I felt that, too. I had no Champion and no real army. I had nothing with which to defeat him. No Energy Stone, no Fire Stone. I had a Warrior Stone without a warrior.

  “No one ever mentioned to you that you might fail, did they?”

  I looked at the dying embers of fire. I had followed all of the instructions but had not produced our fabled leader. I had failed. I had not summoned the Avant Guard. We had no Champion. The people—my people—on the beach below were doomed. I didn’t want anyone else to die.

  “Then what would you accept in exchange for harming no one?” I asked, stepping forward.

  He cocked his head to one side and stroked the amber gem in his scepter. Then he released a short, high-pitched laugh. “Well, that’s very poetic of you, Cross. The sacrificial virgin in exchange for sparing lives. Yes, yes. I accept.” He clapped his hand against the scepter in delight.

  I looked down at my open palms and my overall body language. That was what I was suggesting, wasn’t it? Perhaps this was what I was intended to do. The whole journey was nothing more than a ceremony before death. Was “defeat” code for sacrifice? Hadn’t Zack thanked me for my sacrifice? Hadn’t the Queen given me a heartfelt goodbye?

  I thought of everyone’s encouraging looks. Was it all a ruse that I was going to raise a Champion? Were they all half pitying me and half hoping I’d make the sacrifice? One life to save thousands?

  I thought of the Queen’s words over the course of our journey: ...in all her purity she knows what is right. Was I only here to sacrifice myself? Who better to make the commitment than someone who had seen the devastating force of the Malanook, felt the putrid evil of Malos and had no family left to abandon?

  I don’t want to lose her, Joshua had said to the Queen. He must have known from his mythology studies that this was the inevitable end of the journey to raise a Champion. And he had not made love to me. Was it because he wanted to wait or because I had to remain pure? A sacrificial virgin? The thought devastated me.

  And the Queen had called me savior once. Buried in her confession of the role she had played in my parents’ death. ...You have been manipulated into playing the role of servant and savior. Was I both at this very moment?

  Malos sliced through a nearby smoldering log with little effort as though to show me how his blade would cut through flesh like butter. He raised it higher as I walked forward. I knelt down and lowered my head; the Ballik blade and red Che stone rested at my knees. I felt my heart sinking into the sand along with my knees.

  “It won’t hurt,” he slithered as he drew back to decapitate me.

  Servant and savior.

&
nbsp; All things considered, it was a good day to die. The warm sand pressed against my hands and knees. The roaring of high tide resounded on the distant rocks below the cliff. The setting sun cast elongated shadows. Salty air and wood smoke scents floated through the air. I looked at the burning embers near me—a dying fire. I didn’t want to die, but I could see no other option. My purpose was to die—on this day, at this moment, by the hand of Evil.

  As I knelt, the scent of rosemary mixed in with the elephant ashes drifted into my nostrils, and I thought of Paul. He used to cook for me, and my favorite dish was a roasted duck with rosemary. Then, I thought of his death and a boiling anger coursed through me. It had been so hard to tell Joshua that Paul was gone, to acknowledge his death aloud to his best friend. Joshua, whom I’d become so fond of, would then lose me.

  And for what? So that the Queen’s kingdom could be enslaved? Sparing lives only meant that Malos would have more people to en- slave. Surely, evil could not be defeated by surrendering to it.

  I recalled something else as the voice of Laos echoed in my head. ‘You will feel fear and anger and remorse and devastation. But you are more than the sum of your emotions. You must accept your feelings, but then act on your values, your morals.’ This must have been something he had said in my trance by the water’s edge. I felt the truth of it. I had experienced all of those emotions, but acting on my values meant defending the kingdom, not enslaving it.

  Then Inok’s death flashed before my eyes. He was murdered by a Slasher, one of Malos’s vicious canine pets. My entire journey and the sacrifice of those involved could not have been just a march to my death. I felt my right hand tighten around the hilt of the Ballik blade and the other around the Warrior Stone. The people of Crithos had a strategic plan and ten thousand ready for battle. I remembered how Malos had violently died six times in the past.

  Sacrifice was not the solution.

  “No!” I screamed. Swinging the blade behind my head, I stopped Malos’s blade from striking me. The clash of metal against metal was deafening. I appreciated the strength of the Ballik ore as it stood its ground against the bladed scepter. Standing with my sword, I pushed away the blazing scepter. The force of movement caused Malos to float backward several paces. Glaring at him, I savored the look of surprise in his beady black eyes. Then they hardened and narrowed.

  “War it is,” he snarled.

  I watched him glide away. From the vantage point on the cliff, I could see his army of evil far in the distance. Fifty thousand fearless black figures waited for battle.

  I looked down at the Ballik blade in one hand and the Chevorik Ambria in the other. The ashen oil had spilled onto my feet. The stone looked brighter by the light of the rising sun.

  A distant neigh startled me. I looked up as Phobus arrived at the top of the cliff. I hugged him fiercely. Then, he knelt down. I put on my red cloak and breastplate armor and climbed on his back carefully, keeping hold of the stone and sword. We began the descent back down to the beach.

  The elation I had felt at standing my ground against Malos dwindled into a sinking feeling of disgrace. I tried to think of what I might say to everyone when I arrived at the beach. I had not summoned a Champion. Were they destined to fight a losing battle? Ten thousand against fifty thousand.

  As we approached bottom, I saw everyone standing and armed with swords or bows or axes in one hand and shields held firm in the other. Their eyes were narrow and their jaws set. They looked like a real army. Beneath me, Phobus picked his feet up high with each step, parading before everyone.

  A rumble of excitement spread through the crowd. Their eyes filled with hope and encouragement. As I pranced past on Phobus, some of them were chanting, “Champion.” I looked again at the Warrior’s Stone. It now undeniably glowed ruby red.

  Then in the reflection of Allis’ silver shield, I saw the Champion. She was magnificent, with Gunthi blue eyes, red flowing cape, and tightly braided hair. In one hand she held a shimmering Ballik blade and in the other, the glowing ruby Che Stone of Strength. She sat atop a glorious horse, looking like a fierce warrior.

  I am the Avant Guard! The Avant Champion. Abigail Cross. AC. Avant Champion. I thought of the seven-pointed blue star on my palm. I am the seventh Champion of the year 7,077.

  I reached the end of the row where the university students were. They cheered and whistled. I looked down at Joshua, who gave me a smile and a nod. He helped fasten a shield on my arm where I could wear the shield and still hold the Warrior Stone.

  Had he known all this time? The pieces made sense now. The Queen had been put in my custody. Inok’s jealousy, then sacrifice. Joshua incessantly believed that I was stronger than I thought myself to be. Baird and Laos had been full of encouragement. The blue fortune-teller’s words finally made sense. When love is lost and truth is learned, you must choose the way to save us all. Servant and savior.

  I spun Phobus around and raised my sword high into the air. My army roared. I dashed with Phobus down the sand, rallying everyone to battle.

  Returning to the center of the army, I motioned with a twist of my sword. In unison, we advanced away from the water’s edge and toward the sand dunes where the Malanook were encroaching.

  Laos and a thousand horse-riders joined me on either side at the front of the army. We were a formidable cavalry. Allis was smiling, as though happy to see that I had realized my destiny. Joshua trotted up beside me, riding Laos’s white stallion, Unis.

  “Apparently, I am the Avant Champion,” I said.

  “Of course you are, Abbey,” he replied.

  I wondered if everyone had known all along, except for me. But I was too filled with elation and awe to let my own ignorance deflate my mood.

  Behind us, the sun was setting. When we were within one hundred paces of Malos’s army, Baird called for the arrows. To our right, the university students launched two hundred arrows into the Malanook. Dark figures fell in the distance, dispersing in small clouds of dust. It thinned them, but only mildly. From what I could see, the Malanook had no weapons. Who needed weapons when you were capable of swallowing a man whole? There were thousands of daunting Swallowers and snarling Slashers and several dozen boar-headed beasts like the ones I had seen back at the train station. Stompers, according to A Tale of Champions.

  When we were within five hundred meters, Baird ordered the launch of another hundred arrows. I saw more dusky figures fall, but the swarm’s pace did not falter.

  When we were within two hundred meters, I thrust my sword overhead and we charged. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, I let out a battle cry along with everyone else.

  10

  Phobus’ hooves clamored on the ground. Mixed with a thousand other horses running on either side of us, we sounded like a thunderous wave that soared past the beach and was overtaking the land. If there had been anything other than soulless beasts in front of us, they would have been terrified by our mighty charge.

  Small and mighty.

  My father’s words. The twenty wagons from Taxco pulled by oxen and bison gathered momentum and formed a V in front of us. They drove hard to wedge the cavalry closer to the center—closer to Malos.

  The blades on the wagon wheels cut down the tock Stompers’ legs. Like a tsunami, the cavalry smashed into the wall of Swallowers, trampling many of them under the horses. I swung my blade, reducing them to black ash and dust with every stroke. They were twice as tall as me, but on top of my horse, I was level with their hollow eyes and pointed noses. Their slender necks made excellent targets. They died with brief, high-pitched squeals of agony.

  There was some satisfaction in knowing they were capable of feeling pain. For a moment, I felt elated and invincible. It was the same rush I’d had when Joshua and I had the arrogance to think we had tamed the rapids, only to plummet perilously minutes later.

  All around me were cries from the slaying of soldiers and their horses, which sounded far worse than the death of the slain Malanook. Phobus spun and thrust the full stre
ngth of his powerful hind legs into the face of a Slasher. The creature crumbled to the ground and dissolved.

  We advanced again, penetrating deep into the swarm.

  Joshua was trying to fight by my side. He leveled Slashers and Swallowers with apparent ease. The noise was disorienting—screaming victims, screeching Malanook, whinnying horses and clashing blades. The swarm of Malanook amidst the black ash and flurry of red capes resulted in our inevitable separation.

  I kept focus on my plan, trying not to think of how desperately outnumbered we were. I had to get to Malos. I had to cut the head off the snake.

  A Swallower lashed a long arm toward me, but I ducked and thrust my sword, killing the creature.

  I felt the power of the Warrior Stone coursing through my veins, making me faster and stronger than I was on my own. The energy hummed in every muscle of my body like a finely tuned violin.

  In the distance, Malos’s bulbous figure emerged. Three Caballus and their horses had already reached him and were lying dead beneath his floating body.

  At some point in my peripheral vision I saw Unis, Joshua’s white stallion, rear, and Joshua tumbled off. He took the fall in stride, man- aging to avoid any serious injury as he landed on the sand and dune grass. He was fighting on foot from there.

  The sun was gone and the two moons shone brightly in the sky. Mother and infant united. They watched the battlefield, their silver light casting long shadows from the fighting figures. The moonlight reflected off Malos’s black, evil eyes.

  Needing little encouragement, Phobus charged. I held out my sword. The Warrior Stone shone bright in my other hand.

  Malos drew back his scepter, then thrust it in my direction without releasing it from his grasp. A bolt of yellow lightning shot forth. It was an unexpected and powerfully advantageous weapon.