Rise Up from the Embers

by Sara Raasch

  He tried to lash out at her. He tried to fight—but fog overcame him and he started to slip away again. He relented, panicked.

  She was still in control.

  Where were they going?

  “To prepare our winners.”

  Madoc didn’t have to see Anathrasa’s face to know she was gloating.

  Would they tithe on them? He couldn’t even summon the energy to be disgusted. He was so tired from fighting her. It was like standing in a room with Aera, feeling the breath pulled out of his lungs.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they turned, the path twisting into a broad hall. The fighters were crowded in cells, lined with metal bars easily manipulated by the Earth Divine, but reinforced by a line of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder. A quick glimpse told Madoc these people suffered from the same affliction that those in the palace dungeons had—their eyes were blank, staring mindlessly ahead. Their skin was paper-thin, showing shadows of sinew and bone beneath.

  There was something very wrong with them, and Madoc wondered if that’s what would happen to his body should Anathrasa be left unchecked in his brain.

  The winners were being held like prisoners. They’d suffered a few scrapes and bruises but seemed all right overall. Circle members in white robes tended to them, carrying jars of water slung over their shoulders.

  Elias? He tried to look inside a cell, but his head wouldn’t turn the right way. He could only catch sight of Lucius, sneering in his direction, arms threaded through the metal bars. Madoc could see the dark stains on his hands and remembered with another turn of his stomach that he’d last seen Lucius raising Florus’s heart in his fist. Had he won? Madoc hoped not, now that he had seen what Anathrasa did to Deimos’s fiercest warriors.

  “Looks like you’re a champion after all,” he spat as Madoc passed. “How does it feel, son of Petros, to cheat your way into the company of gods?”

  At the mention of his father, Madoc felt sick.

  “Bring Lucius,” Anathrasa said, without slowing. “The fight’s victor will be the first.”

  Regret pinched the base of Madoc’s neck.

  “Or perhaps I’ll be the last,” Lucius tossed back, a clear threat to end the Mother Goddess’s reign. “Why don’t we meet in the arena? We’ll see how your soul energeia withstands the power of an Earth Divine gladiator.”

  Madoc didn’t watch the centurions beat the man, but he heard the grunts of pain.

  “Madoc?”

  He managed to turn toward the sound of his name and found Elias pushing through the winners to get close to the edge of the cell. Madoc’s body didn’t stop, so Elias had to keep moving to match his pace.

  “Madoc, you have to stop her. She has—”

  “That’s enough,” Anathrasa said.

  Madoc lifted a hand, and Elias’s words were cut short by a surge of anathreia. Elias scratched at his own throat, his eyes wide.

  Panic strangled Madoc’s relief at finding Elias alive. He focused all his energy on loosening his hold on his brother, and thankfully, Elias crumbled to the floor a moment later.

  Had Madoc done that? Or had Anathrasa simply grown bored with hurting Elias?

  They were escorted to the end of the hall, to a room like those Madoc had once prepared for matches in. Inside, the low light pulsed, and the decadent scents of meat and fresh bread wafted from a table against the far wall.

  “Mother Goddess.” One of Anathrasa’s priestesses brought her a goblet of wine, the smear of chalk on her mouth already thinned by sweat. “Are you ready to begin?”

  Madoc’s consciousness rippled with horror as he recognized the woman.

  Ilena.

  She wasn’t dead. She was here. She was . . .

  “Mine,” said Anathrasa. “Yes. She’s mine, as are you, Madoc. You didn’t really think I’d dispose of her completely, did you? She still has much to give.”

  Ilena didn’t look at Madoc. She didn’t look at anything. Her hands stayed slack at her sides as she awaited further instruction.

  What will you do? Madoc’s silent demand echoed through his soul.

  “What I must,” Anathrasa said, then patted Ilena’s head and sent her from the room. “We need a suitable army to defeat Hydra and Florus’s Plant Divine, do we not? The strongest fighters in Deimos?”

  He thought of the people who’d been called to join the celebration games. It didn’t matter if they’d been trained as gladiators—if they were strong, they were welcome, regardless of age or ability.

  Two centurions appeared in the threshold of the door, carrying a limp Lucius between them. His head hung forward, his short hair matted with blood.

  Despite everything, Madoc pitied him.

  “You were right when you said I meant to take over the six countries,” Anathrasa continued, stalking toward Lucius. She extended the goblet of wine at her side, and Ilena raced in from the doorway to take it. “But it’s not as simple as sailing off and claiming them. As long as people have power, there will be those who mean to destroy me.”

  The gods, he thought.

  “Not just the gods, Madoc. Those the gods created. The Divine.”

  Panic trembled through him. She meant to destroy the Divine?

  Anathrasa glanced back at him, a patronizing smile on her lips. “Come now. You of all people should recognize the danger they pose. A god’s power was never meant to live in a mortal body. I see now what a failure this Divine experiment truly was. They were always meant to be fuel for our own energeia, nothing more.”

  Madoc didn’t understand what she was saying. She couldn’t drain all the Divine in the world. There were too many of them. They would rally against her.

  “They’ll be too busy fighting among themselves,” she said. “It’s already begun. The most powerful Deimans, Laks, and Cenhelmians have already volunteered to join our cause. Look at how much happier they are to serve.” She strode to Lucius, grabbed his hair, and jerked his head back. With a moan, his eyes blinked open, focusing unsteadily on Madoc.

  Anathrasa was using her gladiator games as a way to rid the world of Divine. She pretended to honor them, raised them up in Geoxus’s name, then she turned them into what Madoc had seen in the dungeons.

  Empty soldiers. An army that would fight without fear, without emotion. Without their souls. She would tithe the entire world, becoming more powerful by the moment, and when all were shells, she would use them as she pleased—by controlling them with anathreia.

  Anathrasa didn’t just want to take over the six countries; she wanted to destroy them.

  Ash. She had to hear this. She had to know.

  He tried to focus on her in his mind, but he couldn’t see her clearly. He couldn’t remember the shape of her eyes or the sound of her laugh. He couldn’t remember the last thing they’d talked about.

  He couldn’t remember anything they’d talked about.

  He tried to hide his thoughts too late.

  “Oh, she knows, my dear. The first wave of my army has already attacked Kula. I hear she mounted an impressive defense, but it did not save all her Fire Divine brothers and sisters. Aera tells me your Ash is gathering a sad little army, meant to face me.” A smile. “She will find more resistance than she expected here.”

  This was bad. He needed to stop Anathrasa. He needed to . . .

  “What?” she asked, dropping Lucius’s head. With another groan, he attempted to stand, but he stumbled into one of the men holding him. “You need to what, Madoc?”

  Help you.

  He needed to help his mother.

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “And soon, the Divine will be gone, just like you always wanted. You won’t be that awkward boy fighting his way through the stonemason’s quarter any longer. The Undivine will flourish. You’ll be their champion, and I’ll lead them all, a true Mother Goddess. The only one responsible enough to yield the power of energeia.”

  He watched as Anathrasa placed her hands on the sides of Lucius’s jaw and sipped in a steady
breath. Lucius struggled—quietly first, but then with the desperate movements of a man on the brink of death. He screamed and thrashed as he fought the guards.

  Madoc did nothing to stop it.

  The woman raced from the door, dropping to her knees beside Lucius. “He’s ready, Mother Goddess.”

  Madoc blinked, and her face came back into focus with a sharp bite of clarity.

  This was his mother. Not Anathrasa. Ilena.

  “Complete the circle,” Ilena said in a flat voice, controlled by Anathrasa’s soul energeia. “Complete the circle.”

  He forced himself to focus, not to fall to Anathrasa’s control. He willed Ilena to look at him. He reached for his anathreia, trying to force her to comply. Was she locked inside her body as he was inside his? The thought sickened him.

  With a breath, Anathrasa lifted her hands, and Madoc could feel the surge of power in his own veins. Her mouth opened. Her eyes rolled back.

  Lucius went still. He straightened. With renewed horror, Madoc watched as Lucius blinked and stared ahead with wide, blank eyes.

  “Ah.” Anathrasa lowered her arms. When she smiled, not a wrinkle lined her mouth. “Look at that. Isn’t he wonderful?” She strode toward him, the use of her power not slowing her down in the slightest.

  “Wonderful,” said Ilena.

  Madoc looked at Lucius again, at his pale face and slack mouth, and his head grew blissfully silent.

  He couldn’t remember where he’d seen this man before.

  “Wonderful,” Madoc said.

  “They’ll fight without fear,” Anathrasa said. “The ultimate soldiers. Unafraid of death. Only willing to do what I ask.”

  “Wonderful,” Madoc said again.

  “This is how we win,” Anathrasa said. “How we beat the Divine. By turning their strongest into true believers.”

  “The circle is complete,” said Ilena.

  “Go get Elias,” Anathrasa told Ilena. “Bring him in next. He’ll make a fine subject for Madoc’s first attempt.”

  Elias.

  Elias was his brother.

  The last remaining shreds of Madoc’s consciousness dug into his soul. He was losing himself, he could feel that now. There was little time left before he was completely Anathrasa’s.

  He had to protect Elias, but how? He couldn’t move his body. His thoughts were betraying him. He was slipping into a black hole.

  Ash.

  Ash would pull him out of that hole.

  He forced himself to rally. Ash was the goddess of fire and earth. She could help him.

  But how? She was so far away.

  The shame piled on him, weighing him down. Ash had always been a better fighter. Stronger. Smarter. She’d been able to hold the power of gods when it had nearly killed him. He’d thought that if he could help her, she’d see his worth. She’d keep him. But he’d always known it was just a matter of time before she’d see the truth.

  He couldn’t help her.

  He couldn’t even help his own family.

  The things that matter live inside us, and we protect them as we protect any other part of ourselves, with the power we’ve been given. The words came from far away. An echo, already fading.

  They lit one final spark of hope inside him.

  He was still Deiman. Still that pigstock boy, fighting in street matches with lies and luck, fighting for Geoxus’s blessing to keep him alive. Going to the temple. Kneeling before the golden statue. Touching the stones in the hope that the Father God would hear him.

  Now Deimos had a new god.

  With all his might, he wrenched his body toward the nearest wall. Automatically, his hand lifted to brace against the stones. Then he did the only thing he had left to do.

  He prayed.

  Ash, if you can hear me, help Elias and Ilena. Protect them from me. Save them.

  And then his grip faltered, and he lost his hold on brother and mother. On Danon and Ava. On the stone yards where he’d once been a mason and the arenas where he’d fought on the streets. On Petros, and Cassia, and Tor, and finally on Ash.

  It all slipped away until there was nothing. Until he had no name but servant, and the shell of his body belonged to the Mother Goddess.

  Twenty

  ASH

  THREE DAYS AFTER Anathrasa’s attack on Kula, Ash had actively shut her mind to the onslaught of prayers in her name. The city of Igna had embraced her as their new goddess and set her up in Ignitus’s dormant volcano palace. Day and night, servants and staff and warriors funneled into the grand receiving hall to swear fealty to her. Brand, who had once been a champion devoted only to Ignitus and to bloodshed, rarely left her side, overseeing her transition as Kula’s ruler with surprising skill and allegiance.

  Her display against Anathrasa’s navy had been more than enough to turn the country’s loyalty to her. But by the time Hydra left to join the fleet of Water Divine and Plant Divine sailing into Igna’s harbor, Ash felt no more ready to face Tor again than she had right after their argument.

  She stayed long enough on the shore to let her Fire Divine warriors see her accept the fleet as friendly, not threatening. Then she nodded at Brand, who would organize the chaos of coordinating the Apuitians’ and Itzans’ lodging. Not that they would be here long—they were all due to depart to attack Crixion at dawn.

  Before Tor could disembark from the lead ship, Ash vanished in a flare of blue flame.

  She reappeared in the bedchamber she had taken, a massive room carved into the dormant volcanic rock. The walls were roughly cut, following the natural divots and texture of the black obsidian, and the floor was covered with a vibrant orange-and-gold rug. The bed sat just next to an open balcony, letting in a salty breeze from the Hontori Sea.

  Moments alone had been rare the past few days, but for each minute of solitude Ash had salvaged, all she could bring herself to do was lie on her bed, stare up at the canopy as it rippled in the sea wind, and ache.

  Hydra hadn’t really spoken to her since the attack, and her last words to Ash resonated as strongly as Tor’s—all doubts and reprimands and horror at how Ash was behaving. She’d thought Hydra, of all people, might understand that Ash was simply accepting what she was now, but even the water goddess had pulled away.

  So while armies converged in Igna and time ticked down to Ash’s confrontation with Anathrasa, she was in a room in Ignitus’s place, alone.

  And she would walk into that final battle, alone.

  And if they defeated Anathrasa—when they defeated Anathrasa—Ash would leave that victory alone too. She would still have this strange power inside her, and it would still cause a rift between her and Tor, between her and Hydra. Would Madoc see the same flaws that they saw? Would he cringe away from her?

  Ash squeezed her eyes shut. She’d missed him every moment since he’d left, even when she’d seen him in the library and been in his arms. She felt like she was forgetting who he actually was, and all these worries would vanish if they could just be together without fear of attack or intrusion—

  Ash.

  She bolted upright, eyes darting around her room. But it was empty; even the sea breeze still for a moment.

  Ash, the voice said again.

  Ash stood. The scarlet gown she was wearing brushed her ankles, her black hair loose and curling against her shoulders as she tipped her head.

  Maybe she was going insane. Because that voice sounded like . . . It sounded like Madoc.

  If you can hear me. His voice was rough and desperate and exhausted, as though he was using the last vestiges of his strength to speak to her.

  Gods. He was praying to her. He was Deiman, and he was praying through stone.

  “Madoc!” Ash didn’t know how to talk back to him. The only reason she could hear him was because she was geoeia now, but there were no rocks in this room that obeyed geoeia—in any room in this palace, thanks to Ignitus’s paranoia.

  Ash spun in a circle. How had she listened through fire before? She hadn’t practic
ed any more with stone—

  —help Elias and Ilena, Madoc told her. Protect them from me.

  “Madoc!” Ash stopped, eyes welling. “From you? What do you mean? What is she doing to you?”

  Save them.

  “Madoc!” Only silence followed. Ash gasped, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  She said his name again. She shouted it, and she heard her warriors in the hall thundering toward her cry.

  The door burst open. “Goddess? Are you all right?” one asked.

  Ash drew in a shaky breath. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips and willed herself not to disintegrate.

  Madoc had prayed to her. Not to Ash, who was the goddess of Kula—just Ash, who had powers he knew of but didn’t shy away from.

  And in that moment, that was all she was. The layers of her power stripped away, her destiny pooling at her feet. She was just a girl who loved a boy who needed her to save him.

  She replayed Madoc’s message.

  If you can hear me, help Elias and Ilena. Protect them from me. Save them.

  A familiar defiance almost had her launching away to help him right then.

  But she stopped herself.

  Breathed.

  “Bring Hydra and Tor to the receiving room,” Ash told her guard. “We’re accelerating our plans.”

  There were only a few warriors and servants bustling about the receiving room when Ash entered through a side door that put her right next to the throne Ignitus had often sat on.

  It was beautiful. Carved entirely of Kulan glass, the seat jutted out from a fanning back of opalescent scarlet, orange, and yellow. It looked like a fire that had been frozen somehow, each twisted strand of glass mimicking a shoot of flame.

  Once, Ash had chastised herself for thinking anything Ignitus touched was beautiful.

  Once, she would have scowled at the throne and ordered it shattered, as though doing so would avenge her mother.

  Ash hesitated, her hands fisting at her sides. Through all the pomp and reception she had endured the past few days, she had stood, thanking everyone who swore themselves to her cause. She had purposefully put Ignitus’s throne at her back so she didn’t have to think about it.