by Mary Fan
Flynn rubbed his head, searching for any sore spots that would tell him where he’d hit it, but he didn’t feel anything. His stomach felt a little woozy, and he wondered if maybe he’d passed out from the smoke.
He pushed off the brown fleece blanket and stood. As far as he could tell, he was in some kind of communal sleeping quarters, which meant the building had to house an organization of some kind. But where’s everyone else? What happened to the girl? Is she okay?
He didn’t know how to feel about all this. On the one hand, someone had rescued him from the Triumvirate, and at least he wasn’t about to be executed. But he had no idea who had taken him or why.
What about Brax? Did they rescue him too? Flynn had a vague memory of searching for his friend after being freed from the vehicle, but it was a blur. He closed his eyes and tried to recall if he’d seen Brax anywhere but came up with nothing. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing or hearing anything about his friend since the explosion, and he hoped that meant Brax was in a hospital, being commended for his efforts to stop Flynn’s crimes.
Somewhat unsettled, he approached a window, hoping to get some inkling of where he was. Outside, the sun retreated into the treetops, leaving the sky a pale blend of red and yellow that faded into the grayish-black of the approaching night. He had no idea what time it had been when he’d been taken from the dungeon, but it had to have been hours ago. A fair amount of grass-covered space surrounded the building. Having spent his entire life in the crowded, concrete-covered Capital, he found the greenness bizarre. All he could discern was that he was in a building sitting in a field at the edge of a forest. I’m in the middle of freaking nowhere.
Since there wasn’t much else he could glean from the sparse room, Flynn approached the cracked wooden door and pushed it open. A long corridor stretched ahead, overlooking a large, open hall. More white spheres hovered above it, except some of these glowed. Definitely enchanted lanterns. Probably automatically activated by the encroaching shadows, as the ones in the Academy had been.
A wooden railing separated the level Flynn stood on from the air above the scratched wooden floor of the great hall below. Looking down and counting the other visible levels, he found that he was on the fourth story of the building. The hallway’s thin brown carpet looked as though far too many people had trampled it, and scraped wood peeked through many holes. At the end of the hall, a staircase with chipped white paint zigzagged from the level below to the level above.
Flynn regarded the other doors lining the wall. Whichever way he looked, he didn’t see anyone. The largeness of the building and the lack of people made him uneasy.
“Hello?”
No one answered. Maybe I died and became a specter, and I’m haunting some abandoned mansion. Considering all the crazy things that had happened during the last day or so, he wouldn’t have been too surprised if that were true. But he felt solid enough, and he was pretty sure specters didn’t get knots in their stomachs.
Hoping to find someone on another floor, Flynn approached the staircase and walked down. When he reached the level below, a voice became audible in the distance, too muffled for him to make out any words. Okay, so there is someone here. And unless they’re talking to themselves, there’s gotta be at least one other person around.
Following the voice, he sped down the stairs and turned into a hallway on the second level, which looked similar to the one he’d just left. The voice seemed to be coming from behind one of the closed doors, and as he approached, he was able to make out words.
“We can’t allow these latest developments to discourage us.” The man’s voice had the firm, gruff quality of a seasoned leader. “Never forget that we are but the small core of a much larger operation. When the time comes, the masses that have silently endured the Triumvirate’s injustice will join us in ending the oppression. Millions of people willingly give up their freedom for the sake of safety, but it’s their protectors they should be afraid of. No more being slaves to their corruption. The power belongs to the people, and we shall claim it. The Rising shall prevail!”
The Rising? Flynn recalled the interrogator mentioning the Rising in the same breath as the Defiants but in a way that made it seem that they were different groups. Judging by the rousing tone of the speech, the Rising was an anti-Triumvirate rebel group. What have I gotten myself into?
The man behind the door stopped talking, and from the sound of muttered voices, those he’d been speaking to were now conversing among themselves.
The door flew open. Flynn backed up against the wall as several people walked out, tensing as he watched them go by. A few gave him fleeting looks, but no one said anything. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting rebels to look like, but he was somewhat surprised at how… normal… they appeared. No militaristic uniforms, no weapons, no insignias—he might as well have been watching his instructors back at the Academy file out of the teacher’s lounge. They strode with purpose, as if each had someplace important to be.
Flynn peered around the doorframe to get a look inside the assembly room. Several mismatched chairs—some wood, some plastic, and all looking beat-up and worn down—faced a low black stage before a tall window. Plain walls covered in peeling taupe paint stretched between the scuffed wooden floor and the high ceiling, near which several of those white spherical lanterns bobbed like balloons.
An old man with a pale, weathered face, a thin nose, and short white hair approached from the narrow aisle between the chairs, catching Flynn’s eye.
“Nightsider!” His expression brightened. “Glad you’re finally awake.”
Flynn recognized the man’s gruff voice as being that of the speaker. “Who are you?”
The man pointed at himself. “Frank Calhoun. Ever heard of me?”
Flynn shook his head. Should I have?
“Good. I’d be dead if you had.” Calhoun curled his thin-lipped mouth into a crooked smile. “You must be so confused, poor kid. Don’t worry. The Triumvirate can’t get you here. We went through a boatload of trouble to make sure of that.”
So I was right about the Rising busting me out of the Triumvirate’s prison, but why would they do that? Why me?
He started to ask, but Calhoun’s gaze shifted past Flynn, and a look of amusement crossed his face. Before Flynn could see what the old man was looking at, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders. A force knocked into his back, and startled, he stumbled from the impact. Two denim-covered legs wrapped around his middle, and he realized someone had just jumped onto him.
“GOTCHA!” A girl’s voice rang in his ears. She pushed off and landed on both feet behind him.
“Hey!” Flynn whirled.
He immediately recognized the giggling girl in the hallway—the one who’d just jumped onto him—as the person who’d pulled him from the convoy. She wore the same black tank top, and her black hair, no longer tied back, framed her face in wild waves.
“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” she exclaimed between laughs.
He shot her an annoyed look. “What the hell?”
“Flynn, meet Aurelia Sun.” Calhoun’s eyes twinkled. “She likes messing with people, but don’t let her scare you.”
At the mention of her name, the feeling of familiarity hit Flynn again. He was certain he’d seen her before the rescue, but he couldn’t put a finger on where.
Calhoun gave her a jokingly stern look. “Play nice with the new kid.”
Aurelia crossed her arms. “I am! I haven’t called him a lazybones for staying in bed all day, have I?”
“That’s not his fault. Did you really have to trank him?”
That’s why I was knocked out? Flynn shot Aurelia an indignant look. “You used a tranquilizer on me?” Suddenly, he felt like he’d been kidnapped rather than rescued.
She cocked her head. “Be glad I had a trank gun with me, ’cause otherwise, I would’ve whack
ed your melon.”
Calhoun chuckled. “Now, now, what did I just say?”
“Whaaat?” Aurelia drew the word out, widening her eyes innocently. “The idiot went running right back to the bad guys, and he fought me when I tried to turn him around.” She glanced at Flynn. “Why’d you do that, dummy?”
“I couldn’t leave Brax.” Flynn suddenly recalled all the questions he had about Brax, and his anxiety returned. “Do you know where he is? Is he okay?”
“Cool it, kid,” Calhoun said. “I got word a few hours ago that the Triumvirate released your friend. After all, he was just being a good citizen and trying to stop your anarchist plot.”
The tension dissipated in a cooling wave of relief. Good, they believed me.
Aurelia twisted her mouth. “Must suck, having your buddy turn on you like that.”
“That’s not how it was,” Flynn said. “I lied so he wouldn’t get in trouble too. I’m just glad he was smart enough to play along.”
“Oh. That’s… noble.”
Flynn shook his head. “It was my fault he got into this mess in the first place.”
Before he could continue, someone shouted behind him. “Calhoun!”
Turning, Flynn saw a man in a gray suit approaching from the staircase. Though he recognized him immediately, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. “Professor Williams?”
Williams gave Flynn a quick nod of acknowledgement. “Hello, Flynn.” He turned his attention to Calhoun. “I need to speak with you.”
A look of concern filled Calhoun’s expression. He glanced at Aurelia. “Show Nightsider around. I’ll find you when I’m done.” He reentered the assembly room and motioned for Williams to follow.
Flynn watched Williams close the door, still incredulous. “Williams is a rebel?”
“Yup, he’s one of our Triumvirate insiders.” Aurelia tossed her head, flinging a thick lock of hair over her shoulder. “He got his hands on the convoy’s travel plans so we could find you.”
“I would never have guessed.”
“Neither would the Triumvirate, which is kinda the point.”
“But I barely know him. Why would he stick his neck out for me? Why would anyone in the Rising bother rescuing me?”
“That’s a question for Calhoun. Anyhow, follow me!” Aurelia sped down the hallway, her hair fanning out behind her. Though she wore tough-looking black boots, her feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
Flynn rushed to catch up, curious to see where she wanted to take him. So many questions spun through his head, he couldn’t seem to pick one to start with. But his previous nervousness was gone. Though he still didn’t know much about the Rising, something about meeting Calhoun and Aurelia—and knowing that Williams was involved—reassured him. At least they didn’t seem to be murderous anarchists like Tydeus Storm and the Defiants.
He followed Aurelia down the staircase. “Hey, Aurelia—”
“All right, Nighty.” She glanced back at him. “Here’s what happened, in case you haven’t figured it out. Williams tipped us off about you getting arrested, and we grabbed you while you were in transit to the Palace and brought you to our hideout. Why did we bother, you ask? I’d love to tell you, but Calhoun wants to explain it himself, and he’s the head honcho around here. He’s a Norm, by the way. Surprising, right? All these Enchanters with their special powers, and yet they listen to the guy with none because he’s got brains. And vision. The magical and non-magical are treated the same here. That’s how it should be, don’t you think?”
“Uh… Yeah.” Flynn wished he had a more eloquent response.
Aurelia leaped over the last few steps then spun to face him. “We are the Rising, and we have one simple goal: to overthrow that filthy, slimeball-ruled regime of evil known as the Triumvirate.” She turned and started walking.
“So… you’re anarchists?” Flynn tried to put into words some of the question marks circling his head. “Like the Defiants?”
Aurelia whirled and jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t associate us with those evil jerks. We both have hidden bases, and we’re both considered enemies of the state by the Triumvirate, but that’s all we have in common. The Defiants don’t believe in anything. They just want to see the world burn. And they hate us as much as they hate the Triumvirate.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “We are the Rising.” She spoke slowly and exaggerated her articulation, as though addressing an infant. “We want to overthrow the Triumvirate and restore freedom, justice, equality—everything this country stood for back when it was the United States. Make sense?”
He nodded. Sounds like my kind of cause.
“Okay, good.” She put her hands on her hips. “The Defiants are evil dirtbags. Everything bad you’ve heard about ‘the anarchists’? That’s about them. They like to throw monsters at people, including us. And they do everything Tydeus Storm says because they’re all brainwashed by his spells. Tydeus Storm, by the way, is a Class-A crazy person whose head is all out of whack because of the dark magic he practices. So Defiants—bad. Triumvirate—bad. Rising—good. Got it?”
Flynn nodded, relieved to find that Aurelia shared his views about both the Triumvirate and the Defiants. Apparently, he’d found in the Rising the third side he’d been looking for—the side that wanted to fight the Triumvirate and weren’t violent dark-magic practitioners. “How come I’ve never heard of the Rising before?”
Aurelia scowled. “The Triumvirate does its best to make it seem like we don’t exist. They want everyone to believe that all people who fight against them are evil like Storm. But we’ve also been keeping our existence quiet so they won’t realize how big we’ve grown.” A slight smile crept onto her lips. “When the time comes to take them down, they won’t know what hit ’em.”
“Hey, Firedragon!” a male voice called out behind him.
Flynn turned, wondering who had spoken and who was being called. The Firedragon is here?
A skinny young man with red hair stood at the top of the staircase, holding an orange wand.
Aurelia lifted her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
She’s the Firedragon? Flynn regarded Aurelia in a new light. No wonder she looked familiar. Though he hadn’t crossed paths with her at the Academy, he’d seen her image on some propaganda posters two years back. Hers wasn’t an easy face to forget, but she certainly didn’t look like the humorless champion of the Triumvirate the posters had depicted.
“Just wanted to remind you that we’ve got that training melee in a few minutes,” the young man said to Aurelia.
“Gotcha.” Aurelia nodded, and the young man continued down the hallway. She turned back to Flynn, jerking her thumb at the other’s departing figure. “That’s Tamerlane Brooks, one of our resident Enchanters.”
But Flynn hardly noticed the person she was pointing at. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that he was speaking with—and had been knocked out by—a legend. “You’re the Firedragon?”
Aurelia pressed her mouth into a line. “Let me guess. You thought I had a nervous breakdown and dropped out of the Academy.”
“That’s what they told us.” Realizing that he was staring, he broke his gaze. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t really believe them.”
“They lie about everything,” she grumbled. “I used to only care about winning against the monsters, but then I realized the Triumvirate was the monster and that they’d always treat me like dirt for being a Norm. I was never anything more than a weapon to them. We don’t have any stupid caste system here, though. Enchanters like Tamerlane and Williams treat us Norms as equals instead of trying to divide up the Citadel into freaking rings like in the Capital.”
“How many Enchanters are there among the Risers?”
“They make up about a fifth of us, I think?”
“That’s… more than I expected.�
� Flynn had always assumed that the Enchanters were happy with a nation that put them ahead of the non-magical majority.
“The Triumvirate isn’t all roses and sunshine for Enchanters either, you know,” Aurelia said. “They’ve gotta worry about getting black-bagged, same as us. Doesn’t matter how magical you are—the Triumvirs still own you, and plenty of Enchanters hate that. In fact, we’ve even got some Sentinels in our ranks as sleeper agents. They may have cushy lives, but at a certain point, even those with everything want freedom.”
“Makes sense.” He glanced around the cavernous hall. “Where are we?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you!” Aurelia sprinted forward.
Flynn followed her to the large double doors, which stood about twelve feet tall and looked almost bluish underneath a floating spherical light. She pushed them open and stepped out. An emerald field of wild grass waved under a cool breeze at the edge of a dense forest, carrying the scent of damp earth. Something silver shimmered on the horizon beyond the treetops, which were silhouetted before the sinking sun. Flynn narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was.
“That’s the Capital.” Aurelia pointed. “We’re so close we can see the perimeter, but they’ll never find us, not with all the spells guarding this place.”
Flynn turned to see what “this place” was. An imposing stone building stood before him, rectangular in shape and grayish brown in color. A tattered red flag fluttered from the metal pole mounted on the building’s roof, which was flat except for one circular tower in the front corner. The building wasn’t nearly as tall as the Capital’s skyscrapers, and its façade looked as though it had been blasted by smoke. Nevertheless, its wideness and the semicircle of columns gave it a majestic air. “What’s this building?”
“We call it the Scarlet Citadel. It used to be one of the Sentinels’ outposts until Calhoun and his followers seized it nearly twenty years ago. That was the Rising’s first victory. They freed about a hundred political prisoners destined for the mines or worse. Then they faked an explosion and enchanted the building to make it look destroyed. The Rising hasn’t done anything nearly so bold since, but back then, when Calhoun first put that red flag up there, it represented everything that could happen.”