The Rise of the Fourteen

by Catherine Carter

  the RISE of the FOURTEEN

  by

  Catherine G. Carter

  Caitycat141@gmail.com

  Catherine-grace-carter.tumblr.com

  Published by Catherine G. Carter

  Cover design by: Dale Pease

  Amazon Edition

  Copyright © 2015 Catherine G. Carter

  All rights reserved

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  to everyone else who loves to tell stories

  Apollo (apol)-Arden Lewis-15- music, light, freedom

  Artemis (arte)-Luna Hughes-15- moonlight, answers to none, maiden

  Aphrodite (aphrodit)-15- Anima Meadowlark- beauty, love, loyalty

  Athena (aten)-13- Callida Interlengi- craftiness, wisdom, war

  Demeter (demetre)-15- Terrance Cardoso- life, nature, earth

  Dionysus (dyion)-16- Ámpelos Argyris- chaos, wine, energy

  Hephaestus (haetus)-13- Faber Wilson- metal working, resilience, fire

  Poseidon (posie)-15- Lacria Fors- water, fluidity, no control

  Zeus (zusite)-17- Erus Babineaux- power, strength, force

  Hera (era)-14- Nuptia Rodriguez- marriage, willpower, love

  Hermes (erem)-14- Nuntios Ehrlichmann- trickster, messenger, traveler

  Ares (are)-15- Armifer Szabo- war, rage, sorrow

  Hestia(estia)-16- Ferula Smith- fire, home, warmth

  Hades (hadesi)-15- Mortas Taylor- death, shades, mourning

  contents

  prologue

  1 finding out your English teacher isn’t human, and other things that ruin the school day

  2 when communicating with the dead ruins your social life

  3 bad divorce settlements with syrup on top

  4 birthday cake frosting that tastes like calories and deceit

  5 a hands-on guide to destroying your arch nemesis, paint not included

  6 realizing that graveyard sitting is not a family friendly activity

  7 disappointing your parents with tequila and bad decisions

  8 accidentally attracting evil, one of the unfortunate results of family conflict

  9 boarding school and other ways to kill optimism

  10 destroying the Parthenon with a rave, an easy mistake

  11 choosing to ignore stranger danger for money or when you realize a decision is bad too late

  12 breaking up with your best friend, one of the many dangers of airplanes

  13 date night turning deadly, why being single is right for you

  14 how to make friends, involving a bitter old man and sugar packets

  15 communicating with the dead ruins your social life, part II

  16 school orientation, but with more screaming

  17 the group questions Demetri’s mental health and then listens to a bedtime story

  18 storing one’s arrows, questionable tattoos encouraged

  19 teenaged rebellion, be careful of the broken glass

  20 unexpectedly returning to gym class

  21 sightseeing and psychosis

  22 sadly, no one is too cool for school

  23 the terrors you encounter while going to church

  24 a necklace, one of the many repercussions of staying out late

  25 if you’re going to wake up all your friends, do it for a girl

  26 don’t swordfight and text

  27 a tragedy involving bread

  28 surviving a small town and battling a faceless evil, all in a day’s work

  29 why family reunions are terrible, and how to sneak away with your friends after

  30 do you think you’re experiencing demonic possession? it’s more common than you think

  31 accidentally terrorizing your friends with bonus relationship drama

  32 dealing with a prat in order to save the world

  33 the gang attempts to reenact fight club

  34 casual tourism that ends in tears

  35 two guests accidentally invite a spirit into the training room

  36 there is always time for your outfit, even while questing

  37 we finally figure out how to use a map and group bonding ensues

  38 putting our training to the test with supremely bad timing

  39 the thirteen mourn

  glossary

  about the author

  prologue

  The steps are old and rickety. Dust billows up from the floorboards as agile feet scrape through the centuries old grime.

  “Demetri, what are you doing? We’ll get in so much trouble!”

  “Lighten up, sis,” he replies as he goes farther up the stairs.

  Sorem opens her mouth to protest but thinks better of it. Her brother won't listen. She races after him.

  “Demetri, you get back here!” As she ascends, the stairs begin to dissolve behind her. No other visitors follow her. The stairs are gone, and there is nothing but a stone wall to catch anyone's attention.

  When Sorem arrives at the top, she sees her brother pulling on the handle of a large wooden door. He yanks with great force, but the door doesn't budge.

  “It's locked,” he says.

  “Let’s go then!”

  “Not yet.”

  “Demetri, may I remind you we’re not supposed to be here? This is a restricted area!”

  “Does that matter?”

  She blows a raspberry at him, as he turns to inspect the door again. His hand traces the outline of the massive keyhole. Rimmed with gold and inlaid with jewels, it clearly guards something important. They try looking through it but are blinded by a beam of sunlight.

  “See, Demetri, there’s nothing there!”

  Unconvinced, he tries stuffing his fingers into the keyhole. There is nothing at first, only the warmth of sunlight and the bite of the metal rim, but then he feels something cold and hard, barely within his reach. He draws his hand out to find that he is clutching a large golden key.

  “How did you do that?” Sorem asks.

  “It was just hanging on the handle on the other side,” he says nonchalantly, trying to mask his own surprise and confusion. He inserts and turns the key. The door swings open and Demetri and Sorem file through, filled with awe and curiosity. They do not notice as it clicks shut behind them.

  Despite the initial glowing aura of sunlight, there isn't much to see, just a few musty manuscripts here and there, sprawled open over tables ridden with rot. Some cobwebs and rat bones decorate musty carpets, as if the scuffed wooden floor could look any more hideous. A high window at the far end of the room illuminates this hidden splendor. Sorem nearly chokes on the dust and the misery of the place. Despite the immense length and height of the room, she feels claustrophobic in the space. There really is nothing here, she thinks.

  Then Sorem notices the statues. The statues, one on either side of the high window, stand in tall, narrow niches. By contrast, the statues are squat and somewhat grotesque, and Sorem finds herself wondering how (and why) on earth the statues were placed in such high crevices.

  Their marbled faces are spotted with age, their bodies dressed in cracked tunics, and it appears they once had muscular features. Both warriors carry broadswords, gleaming wickedly in the light. There are traces of faded silver and gold around them, but nothing else seems precious.

  Sorem taps her brother on the shoulder. “Demetri, let’s get out of here,” she whispe
rs. He gestures around the room, a cocky grin on his face.

  “Sorem, there’s nothing here but cobwebs and a couple of ugly statues. What's scaring you?" Her eyes watering in the fading sunlight, Sorem points towards the window, her finger shaking. Demetri turns to see the statues stretching as if waking up from a long sleep, flexing their muscles, rubbing their legs, and polishing their weapons. Only now do the siblings notice suspicious blood-esque stains splattered across the legs of the soldiers.

  “The door,” Demetri yells, “go for the door!” As they break into a run, the statues leap down from their perches, landing in crouching positions with a resounding thud. Sorem looks back for a moment, and shrieks when she sees the statues stand upright and begin walking. “Keep moving!” Demetri urges, but their efforts are in vain. They reach the door to find that it is locked and the keyhole has vanished. The statues slowly begin to advance, taking great strides, swinging their weapons. Demetri and Sorem begin screaming. They pound on the door, hammering at it with their small fists, now feeling the youth and inexperience of their fourteen years now more than ever.

  Down below all seems peaceful. The visitors are leaving the building as lockup starts, and the moon begins to emerge in the sky. Some people might have heard a door creaking in the distance. Some may have even seen a golden key nestled at the base of the wall and the ground floor. But no one can hear their screams. No help is coming.

  Demetri and Sorem remain huddled at the door, as the first ray of moonlight comes through the window to greet the last ray of sun, trying to make themselves as small as possible as the statues keep advancing.

  Her anxiety reaching new heights, Sorem tries gouging at the door with her fingernails. She finds herself trying to carve the words “help us” into the wood, but only succeeds in making a few shallow scratches. The little marks mock her plight, and she cries out in frustration.

  Even the moon appears to be taunting her, its light trickling through the window only to illuminate their doom. The moonlight also shines on her words, and they transform into shimmering wisps. As Sorem’s anger grows, the wisps harden into milky shards, floating in the air. She stares in amazement as they swirl around her. She flicks her wrist experimentally, and the shards shatter against the hard wood of the floor. Demetri should try this, she thinks.

  “It’s not like it’s actually going to work,” Demetri says. Sorem looks at him incredulously. Did he just hear that?

  “I’m pretty sure I did,” Demetri replies.

  It’s magic, they think in unison.

  Demetri extends the fingers of one hand, and the last ray of sun curls around them, creating a fiery halo around his left hand. He moves his palm about, allowing the light to coalesce and swirl above his fingertips.

  He flicks his hand, and a bolt of bronze strikes the stone floor, singeing it. The glow returns to his palm, albeit a little fainter, and Demetri looks over at his sister, his eyes shining with amazement, his mind racing with possibilities. There is no time to celebrate their discovery, however.

  “Demetri, look out!” Sorem screams as a statue raises its broadsword, aiming for Demetri’s head.

  “Use your light, little girl. Your brother will not have his for much longer,” a voice in the back of her head says, barely audible in the chaos of her mind.

  Not knowing what to do, Sorem grabs a handful of the shards around her, and tries throwing her moonlight. Little silver daggers fly at the statue upon her command. Only a few cracks appear in the alabaster body, but it is enough to give Demetri time to get away. As the second statue advances, Demetri blasts it with his fire, searing the statue's torso. Meanwhile, Sorem throws swarm after swarm of silver daggers as the first statue begins to crumble.

  Demetri’s statue is well crisped, but still fighting. Despite the seemingly endless fireballs, the warrior is unaffected, and it doesn’t help that Demetri’s power grows weaker with each strike. Eventually, the sun's last rays disappear from the sky and Demetri’s light fades entirely.

  Demetri stops, mid throw and looks at his hand in horror. He tries to will the flames back into existence, but with no luck. In his momentary confusion, the crumbling statue takes its chance and slices at him. Demetri collapses, clutching his bleeding cheek.

  Angered by the fall of her brother, Sorem engulfs the two statues in a cloud of silvery flame in a flash of rage. The statues disintegrate, and Sorem runs to her twin brother, frightened by the blood she sees smeared on the floor. More blood drips from his face, and she hurries to staunch the bleeding. Meanwhile, the ashes have begun to clump together. Soon, two arrows are lying on the blackened floor: one golden, the other silver.

  “Demetri! Are you alright?” Sorem asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, just a little dizzy.”

  “Good, I need strong ones for my mahi,” a third voice says.

  Demetri and Sorem jump. Wondering what fresh hell was to come, they turn to face the third speaker. A ghostly man in white, flowing robes is sitting by the metallic shafts, clapping enthusiastically.

  “The first of the twelve, I see. Good. Good. I have much to tell you. Come, make haste, it will be so much better if we make it to the sanctuary before morning!”

  A rainbow vortex opens in the center of the room. The man enters it and simply vanishes, taking the arrows with him. Demetri and Sorem force themselves to blink hard, sure that they are hallucinating.

  “Well, are you coming?” the man says as he pokes his head out of the whirling iridescence threatening to swallow the room. In a dazed stupor, Demetri and Sorem rise from the floor and step through the swirling spectrum of colors.

  1

  finding out your English teacher isn’t human, and other things that ruin the school day

  “Anima,” a voice croons from down the stairs. Anima groans and turns on her side, covering her head with a pillow.

  “Anima!” The voice is louder this time, and more insistent. Anima further cocoons herself in her sheets, grumbling.

  “Anima Annabelle Meadowlark, you get down here this instant!” Anima can no longer ignore the commands and crawls out of her bed. She trips on the stairs going down and lands on her face in a most ungainly fashion.

  “Was that intentional?” her mother inquires, her plucked brows arching.

  “Absolutely,” Anima says, “just how I like to greet the morning. Speaking of which, Mom, it's three a.m. ; what do you want?”

  “Is it?” Her mother glances at the clock. “Oh. Sorry. It’s around breakfast time in London. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “No problem,” Anima mutters as she stumbles back up the stairs. This sort of thing is routine for her. Her parents are executives at Nigh-Nil Beads, a jewelry company specializing in exotic stones. Because of this, they are often on trips to far-off countries, hence the occasional “3:09 Fun Times.” She is almost at the top of the staircase when her mother calls,

  “Oh, and Anima—”

  “What now?” Anima snaps, turning to look down the steps.

  “We’re going on a Mediterranean Stones tour.”

  “And?” Anima spits. She knew they would be taking off on another trip as soon as the sun rose again, but she felt smothered with rage every time they decided to announce it like it was some big happy adventure.

  “You’re coming too. After school. Pack your things, please. We need to get on the eight o’clock flight this evening.”

  With that, Anima trudges the rest of the way to her room and slams the door shut. After an hour of tossing and turning, she sits up and rubs her eyes. No more sleep for today, she thinks. She hisses with annoyance. Her parents have always cherished her and pampered her, but she resents their lifestyle.

  Now they want to make her one of them, a bright-eyed, bubbly, all-night business traveler. Two words: no way. Nevertheless, she begins to stuff her suitcase, her face grim and her eyes hard and cold, like chips of steel. Gradually, her face softens, and she begins yawning. As the sun begins to rise, her mother comes
in to ask if she wants breakfast, but Anima is sprawled next to her suitcase, fast asleep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Anima wakes up in a flurry of wild movements and ends up falling into her suitcase. After dusting herself off, she drags herself to her bedside and turns off her alarm. She then plunges into a cold shower, hoping the water will make her wake up from this horrible dream. No such luck. She reaches for the soap only to find that it’s gone. Someone must have been up late packing last night—or should I say morning?

  She grabs the bar of soap by the sink and tries to make do, but it keeps slipping out of her hands. She huffs in frustration. All her life she has felt abandoned every time her parents embarked on one of their journeys but, now that she is finally invited to come along, she just feels angry and confused.

  Why should I be a part of their life when they didn't want to be a part of mine? I don't even know if they love me. This whole trip seems … forced. I don't want to go, no matter how much I love my parents and how much they claim to love me. She finally gives up the hopeless endeavor of showering and lumbers out of the bathroom, searching for a towel.

  The porridge is lumpy and flavorless as usual. One thing that didn't come with her mom's business degree was any cooking ability. Anima's only consolation: the food at school is worse. After depositing her “sustenance mush” down the garbage disposal, she grabs her bag and races out the door.

  The subway is packed with everyone from well-dressed men in suits, to uppity college seniors, to fresh-faced middle-schoolers, to those “unsavory characters” from the bad part of town. Even in this vibrant mix of moneymakers and money takers, Anima always feels like she stands out.

  As she goes through the entrance gates and swipes her card, she can feel people turning to look at her, their gazes burning like runaway embers from a campfire. She continues to strut down the platform as if she doesn't notice. She was very embarrassed about the looks she got the first time.

  She remembers running through the underground to get away from the groping eyes and the varied proclamations of “beautiful girl, beautiful girl” from random street bums and businessmen alike. But whatever she did, people seemed to notice. Now she sashays down the grimy stairs each morning, casually flipping her ebony hair at the bottom, then swaggers her way towards a platform.