The Rise of the Fourteen

by Catherine Carter

  He couldn't have pinpointed the exact moment when everything started to go wrong, but he would have said it started with the lemonade.

  “Oopsy!” Adrienn says with mock sincerity as a pitcher of sugary liquid goes flying at Armifer, drenching his clothes. Adrienn had been tasked with passing out drinks for the picnic luncheon arranged by his lovely aunt.

  And what a fine job she’s doing, Armifer thinks as he feels his shirt sticking to his skin.

  “I am soo sorry,” she simpers. She grabs a silky napkin, which does absolutely nothing to absorb the juice, already beginning to form a gooey sheen on Armifer’s shirt.

  “Hey, watch it,” a woman's voice calls from the far side of the lawn. “Those are my good cloths! Don't let Armifer ruin them.” She says his name like it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. Armifer feels raw bitterness boil through his veins. He clenches his fists, though, and keeps it down.

  Adrienn tosses her hair angrily. “It wasn’t me! It was all him!” She punctuates each of her words with a poke at Armifer’s chest.

  You don’t feel anything; there is no emotion. “I didn’t do anything. Please don’t yell at me!” A roaring waterfall cascades past his ears. Hand gestures and words lose all meaning. His aunt comes over, adding more jibes to the fray. Someone is insisting he clean something or other, and Adrienn has broken down into petty sobbing.

  The entire family seems to gang up on him as Adrienn screams and howls, pointing an accusatory figure at Armifer. Armifer can no longer hold back and lets the blind fury wash over him, and bring him towards his fate.

  The blanket is the first to go. He lifts it with a great flourish and brandishes it outward, hurling plates of sandwiches and cakes at the assemblage of “family.” His inner tumult grins at the sounds of shrieking and the shattering of plates. He runs across the greens, picking up random dishes and firing them at random targets.

  Aunt Flóra is in a right state, with mustard dripping down her lovely blouse. Armifer’s fury only burns brighter, and he doubles his pace. Glasses are shattered. Jackets are torn from unsuspecting backs. Helpless lawn chairs are bashed to bits.

  Even the kiddy slide is not spared as Armifer picks up a large branch and swings hard at it. The metal rings like a bell until its eminent cracking. Armifer cackles ever more with delight, allowing his demons to devour him utterly. I am raw destruction. And none of them will ever stand in my way. He tosses the broken bits of slide into the air, making it rain glittering blades on the horde of people.

  ***

  “Callida, there’s no way I’m letting you do this. You were out cold until about an hour ago!”

  “And who’s gonna do it, Faber? You?” Faber looks on in disbelief as Callida puts her hair up into a ponytail and confidently straps her sword onto her back. He turns to Sorem and Demetri.

  “I can’t believe you’re hiding in the shadows while Callida faces that … that thing,” Faber says, pointing at Armifer lighting a tree on fire. He gestures urgently at the rising column of smoke.

  “Faber,” Demetri says in his best attempt to placate the boy, “Callida’s combat magic is the only thing that will convince Armifer to come with us. Armifer is … very stubborn at times.” As are you, Demetri thinks.

  Faber eyes the scene worriedly, not too impressed by his latest chaperones. Callida tenses, ready to spring from their hiding place (a convenient bush). Faber grips her arm in a final attempt to stop her, but she shakes it off gently and, without missing a beat, vaults over the shrubbery and into the thick of the chaos.

  All of the people have left by now, but Armifer is still having fun destroying, burning things, and letting the world go to pieces. After ages of bottling up his feelings, he is realizing them in a vibrant maelstrom of fire and smoke. And he is content until a certain dark-haired girl enters his domain.

  “What do you want?” Armifer asks coldly, displeased at the intrusion.

  “To take you somewhere safe.” She pauses then adds as an afterthought, “Actually, I don't give a flying fig about where you go, but my orders come from higher powers.” Faber is surprised that the sound of Sorem’s face palm isn't more audible. Armifer’s stance shifts uncertainly. Taking kids places? A horrible flashback ripples through his mind—a memory of a limp body being carried by a strange man.

  “Nuntios,” he spits, barely aware of his words, “Where is Nuntios?”

  “Nuntios?” Callida says confusedly, “probably eating. Why?” Armifer goes into a furor, the world bathed in a haze of red.

  “You took Nuntios!” He grabs his discarded stick from earlier and advances on Callida. Callida smiles grimly and draws her own weapon, the steel gleaming in the flames.

  It’s not a fight that begins; no, it’s a deadly waltz. Callida ducks and strikes with the grace of a ballerina, her steel ringing true each time. Armifer hacks and swipes, whirling about with great speed, as if he is dancing the Trepak. Neither side is gaining. Callida’s tactics make up for her lack in size and wisdom and strength dance on, even as the sun begins to set.

  “You fight well for a little girl,” Armifer snarls, making an uppercut at Callida’s face. She parries it deftly and makes a strike of her own.

  “You fight well for a whiny boy.” He lunges again. His approach is faltering, but he refuses to give up. Callida parries again, moving softly, on the tips of her feet. “But how will you know for sure unless you come with us?” Armifer nearly stops dead, barely raising his sword in time to block a wicked backhand from Callida. A tiny spark of hope flares inside Armifer’s core.

  “Will you let me see Nuntios?” he asks cautiously, his sword still raised.

  Callida raises an eyebrow. What’s with Nuntios? “Yeah sure, I guess.” Armifer lowers his weapon slightly but keeps a guarded stance.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  “How else would I know he puts jam in people’s milk for fun at breakfast?”

  That does sound like Nuntios, Armifer thinks. He stands still for a moment, unsure of himself. This is a trick, a trap, don’t do it. She’s lying. Liar liar liar. He breathes in sharply. But this is my only lead that he could be alive. With a sinking pit in his stomach, he plants his ‘blade’ point in the ground. “Then take me to him.”

  From behind the bush, Sorem opens a portal and Callida leads Armifer towards the beacon of light.

  “They're back!” Anima calls from her lookout position at the top of the stairs. The group races down to the marble foyer, eager to meet the newcomers. Faber and Armifer look around in a daze, attempting to take in everything at once.

  “Armifer?” a voice calls. Armifer looks up to see Nuntios running towards him.

  “Nuntios!” Armifer grins at the sight of the twin sapphires approaching him. They embrace each other fully, their arms wrapped so tightly around the other. “Nuntios,” Armifer whispers, running his fingers through the boy's blond hair. “You’re alive.”

  “I didn’t know if you were,” Nuntios replies, drinking in Armifer’s essence. Tears begin to stream down Nuntios’s face as he feels Armifer’s cheek caress his own. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Ever. No almost dying on me.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” They laugh, in spite of themselves, each happy to be back safe with his fellow prankster. They hold each other for a long time, wanting to savor this beautiful moment.

  At least, it could have been beautiful, had Arden not been mouthing ‘no homo’ in the background, even as his sister elbows him forcibly in the ribs.

  30

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

  Dinero, dinero, dinero. That is the word that is repeated over and over again every night when Nuptia listens at the kitchen door. Ever since the break-in, the family has been struggling to get by. Father has had to begin working at the manufacturing plant because the pay there is double.

  The problem is, the plant is several miles away, and he often finds himself riding his rickety b
icycle across the uneven dirt roads at dusk, barely able to see by merely the light of the stars. He always seems to come back with more wrinkles and dark bags beneath his eyes. That’s when he does come home. Sometimes it is simply easier to sleep on a pile of sacks next to the machines.

  Nuptia’s mother is not much better off. Her paranoia is palpable. One member of the family is set up on watch every night, and no one ever leaves the house unattended, not even for a moment. What little money they do have is in a leather pouch around her mother's neck. The high-strung atmosphere of the house is what drives Nuptia to slip out the back door in the early evening.

  The sun hasn’t set as Nuptia begins walking down the earthen road. Most people have gone home for dinner already, so she doesn't see anyone. Having no sense of destination, she ambles aimlessly between the houses and stores, taking in the dusty, spicy scent of the air. She pauses for a moment in front of the church, staring at the peeling paint. She hasn't been inside since the incident with the face in the window. And I suppose it’s going to stay that way.

  ***

  Dusk is beginning to fall as Nuptia finally forces herself to go home. If she could have her way, she might have run free with her thoughts forever. But I have a responsibility, a responsibility to take care of my family. When she reaches the house, the lights have already been dimmed. Strange. Supper should still be going.

  Nuptia slips back in the way she went and makes her way towards the kitchen. The sounds of shouting are audible. They’re arguing again. Nuptia is tempted to flee the house once more, but she holds her ground, slowly making her way towards the noise.

  “You need to work more hours! You saw their faces when we gave them barely a bowl each for dinner!”

  “I am bone tired, woman. I can’t change what happened!”

  “We have mouths to feed! School tuition to pay!” She pauses for a moment, struggling over her words. “And Nuptia has disappeared.” Nuptia makes a noise of discomfort from behind the doorway, but neither of the quarreling adults hears her.

  “Well, maybe you should have fewer kids!”

  Both women gasp simultaneously. That isn’t father. Father would never say that.

  The fighting continues and Nuptia has begun shaking. They’ll come to blows soon. She looks on nervously as her mother advances towards her father, a fire in her eyes. What can I do? Her father picks up a fork in self-defense and brandishes it at his wife.

  Stop! Please! Don’t do this! She pours some of her feelings into the room, gesturing urgently and feels a surge of power ripple through her. Her parents blink hard, suddenly dazed and drop their aggressive stances. Then the world turns black. Nuptia slips and knocks her head on a table. While she is lying on the floor, an arrow-shaped scar appears on her scalp.

  When she wakes up, her parents are kneeling over her, talking with concern and worry.

  “Nuptia, Nuptia speak to me.”

  “Are you okay, dear?”

  “Of course she’s not! She’s just had a bang on the head.” Nuptia sits bolt upright, aware of the lingering tingling sensation in her limbs. What happened? She looks up and sees no trace of anger in her parents’ eyes. I … I must have been … possessed. That's why I can't go back to the church. It must be some kind of demon. She springs up and sprints out of the house, sure that she has been affected by some dark being. Soon after she goes, the yelling begins again, but it does not mask the distinct sound of fists on flesh.

  Nuptia doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t see anything. She is running, running as far as she can from that house. She doesn’t feel the tears come out. Suddenly they’re just there, whipping across her face and dispersing into the wind. She has no sense of destination, again. But, this time, she has no intention of going back.

  ***

  “Demetri that made her cry, I don’t think we should take her this way.”

  “Sorem, she would never have agreed to come if we hadn’t made her feel like she had no choice.”

  “Well, the way you're planning it, she won't have a choice, no matter how she feels.”

  “If you have any better ideas, I would be happy to hear them.”

  ***

  Nuptia turns and runs down a back alleyway, still blocking out all sensation in her limbs, and trying to ignore the glowing mark on her forehead. As she runs, a hand reaches out from a window and grabs her. But, before she can scream, a crescent convergence engulfs her, and she is whisked away into the night in a sluggish dream state. She wakes up some hours later, sore from napping on a large marble floor.

  31

  accidentally terrorizing your friends with bonus relationship drama

  Lacria grins triumphantly over the sweaty body of Ámpelos, brushing back her white braid. “You lose,” she says happily, “again.”

  “How are you so good?” Anima asks incredulously, wiping down a wooden drill sword.

  “I’ve had other training.” Lacria casts a sideways glance at Terrance, willing him to keep his mouth shut. They haven’t spoken properly since what happened in the olive grove.

  Maybe I should keep it that way. Although she admits Terrance helped her a lot, in ways that she can’t even begin to describe. Even if it was only for a few hours. But now it feels … awkward. Is that even a thing? After living her life in solitude, talking to people, doing communal things seems foreign to her. I don’t even know who should be apologizing in this situation or if an apology is needed at all.

  Anima just rolls her eyes. “You’re like a friggin’ master or something.” Anima tosses the aforementioned sword on the floor. There’s a great crack as wood smacks against stone, followed by the sound of swearing and hurried footsteps.

  “Anima!”

  “Oh relax, Sorem.” Anima raises her hand slowly, as if trying to lift the sword.

  “Let me do it,” Callida says, pushing past Anima. With one fluid hand motion, the sword lifts from the ground and slides neatly back onto the rack.

  “Show off.” Anima says.

  Callida blows a raspberry at her.

  “Telekinesis just isn’t your prima magic. Focus on your ward magic,” Sorem says sternly. Oh god, she thinks, I sound like my brother.

  “Great, I can make pink shields, big whoop.” Anima mutters. She shakes her hand in frustration and accidentally sends a magenta sheet of energy flying at the other training mahi. Anima turns around as soon as she realizes and sees a frightened Lacria pinned against the wall by a fuchsia shell.

  “Oh, sorry,” Anima says, cringing. “That tends to happen.” With a wave of her hand, the shield lowers. Lacria blinks quickly, trying to hide the raw fear going through her.

  “Why does magic bother you so much?” Ámpelos asks.

  “It doesn’t.” Lacria replies coldly.

  Ámpelos shrugs, but he’s not the only one who has noticed. While Sorem and Demetri had begun allowing them to use some basic magic during training, Lacria always seemed to stick to the weapons. Only Terrance knows the real reason. But I can’t talk to him, can I?

  Silence reigns in the training room, the blue torches flickering. The room seems to have evolved as more and more mahi have come. The wooden sparring floor has expanded to encompass nearly the entire room, save for the “moat” around the edges. The waterfalls on each side of the room still flow ceaselessly. Several racks of weapons, most of them wooden, have sprung up around the room as well.

  Lacria holds onto one of these racks to steady herself while the others restart their sparring sessions. As if to add insult to injury, every pair begins to duel with magic. Soon the room is full of flashes of light and brilliant sparks. Feeling physically sick, Lacria excuses herself and leaves the room, eager to get away from the swirling flares, bouncing about the chamber.

  ***

  Lacria has been lying on her bed for some time now, just staring up at the ceiling. She has retreated into the only place where her fear cannot get to her—in her memories. She remembers the barest image of the smile of her mother, the warm han
ds of her father, and a happier time. She is so lost in her labyrinth of thought that she barely registers when Terrance slips into her room.

  “Lacria?”

  “Mm,” she replies drowsily. She rubs her eyes in an attempt to see him clearly, but his face keeps shifting in and out of focus.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She looks at him blankly, her eyes glazed. “Earlier,” he says nervously, making extraneous hand gestures, “you snuck out of training. I thought you might be sick or something.”

  “I’m fine,” she says quietly, avoiding eye contact.

  “Okay then.” He makes his way back towards the door.

  “Terrance ….”

  “Yes?” He apprehensively turns to face her again. Her eyes are locked with his now.

  “Thanks for checking on me.” A half smile creeps up her face as she says it. Terrance swallows hard and then nods.

  “You’re welcome.” Terrance feels a frisson ripple through his body, as Lacria blinks gratefully at him.

  “Lacria?”

  “Yes?”

  Whatever he might have said is cut off as Luna unceremoniously bursts into the room. “You have to come and see this,” she says, a wicked glint in her eye. “Demetri and Sorem are having a most excellent row!”

  Terrance runs out of the room after Luna, with Lacria quickly following suit.

  ***

  “I was aware of the fact we would have to reach out and grab her, but I was not aware of the fact you gave her a somnum draft!” Sorem’s shrill voice pierces the air as the trio makes their way towards the foyer.

  “It was just to knock her out—temporarily. She was very distressed. How else were we supposed to put an iris on her! Didn’t you want her to be able to understand the other mahi who weren’t speaking Spanish?" Demetri is most definitely on the defensive, the strain showing in his clenched jaw.

  “Just to knock her out. Just to knock her out! Do you know how powerful that potion is? And Lacria was very distressed when she first came here, and you didn’t drug her.”