The Rise of the Fourteen

by Catherine Carter

“Callida?” Faber asks in concern. A white glow swirls around her, forcing him to shield his eyes. “Callida!”

  “What’s happening?” Lacria asks. She suddenly has a knife in her hand and grips it protectively, her knuckles whitening. Magic will makes corpses of us all, she thinks. The glow swirls around Callida until it enters through the crown of her head, making her shine with an inner glow. Lacria has to suppress a gasp of horror as Callida lights up like a beacon.

  “Nobody move!” A shrill voice calls from the doorway. Lacria turns to see Demetri and Sorem sprinting towards Callida, dragging two kids behind them, a pale girl with scrapes on her knees, and a tanned boy with a dusting of freckles on his cheeks. They all watch as the aura around Callida fades, except for her eyes. Her eyes are now an eerie glittering white, her face an expressionless mask.

  Callida walks, in a trance-like state, towards the approaching quartet. Her fingers are almost like glass. Every sinew, every vein is visible as Callida moves. But is she really Callida? Faber thinks. Whatever is inside her controls her now. When Callida reaches Mortas and Ferula, her eyes flare and spark, and Demetri and Sorem have to resist the urge to stand between their new mahi and the creature before them.

  “We have to believe this was intended,” Sorem whispers to her brother. “That this is part of discovering the ritual.”

  “I know,” Demetri breathes back. “What else can we do?” He takes his sister’s hand and squeezes it encouragingly. Sorem rewards him with a strained smile and squeezes back, taking comfort in his warmth.

  Callida turns her hands upward, offering one to Mortas and one to Ferula. “Your arrows please.” The voice that leaves Callida’s mouth is not her own. It is old and brittle, raspy with disuse, and almost sickly.

  “She’s been possessed,” Sorem murmurs to her brother as Mortas and Ferula silently hand over their arrows, one jet-black, the other fiery red. “The sanctuary is supposed to have all the necessary protections to prevent that.” In all her years in the sanctuary, Sorem had been afraid that the defensive systems would fail and it terrifies her that fourteen kids now may be at risk.

  “Trust that it is Sapienter,” Demetri replies. “I mean, he built this place.”

  “We can only hop,” Sorem whispers.

  “You must guide the twelve,” the raspy voice says, moving Callida’s lips, “to restore the gift. The instructions lie where the map shows a rift.” Mortas and Ferula exchange jolted looks. “You will know the place to seek. Of wet and darkness, it will reek.” Sorem and Demetri approach Callida. If Sapienter has truly come, perhaps they could ask some questions.

  “But heed this warning. The—” Callida begins to shake and shudder once more. The voices dies, and the ivory glimmer leaves Callida’s eyes and the color returns to her limbs. She blinks once trying to right herself, but the pull of darkness is too strong. Voices speak on the edge of her consciousness. Callida allows herself to sink into the abyss of blackness. As her unconscious body falls to the floor, the arrows clatter against the wood. They are no longer arrows, but rollers on the ends of an elaborate map.

  ***

  When Callida wakes up, she finds herself back in her room, on her bed. The endless bookshelves comfort her jittering nerves as she pulls herself to a sitting position, her back propped against the headboard.

  “Look who’s awake,” Luna says, coming in through the bathroom door. “How are you feeling?”

  “What happened?” Callida asks. “I've got this massive headache.”

  Luna’s face freezes momentarily but soon slips into an easy smile. “After you sparred with Faber, you went into a trance ….” Luna sees Callida’s horror-stricken face and raises her hands placatingly. “It wasn’t that bad! You were just—possessed by a spirit.”

  “Just possessed by a spirit?” Callida asks incredulously as Luna wrings her hands. “What else happened?”

  “According to Sorem, your body rejected the spirit, so you went back to normal.” Luna realizes it’s not a very good explanation but, quite frankly, she didn’t understand half the words Sorem said after Callida blacked out. “Anyway, you’ve been unconscious for a while, and I’ve been taking care of you.”

  “Thanks,” Callida mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

  “It wasn’t all me,” Luna says ruefully. “I did force Arden to help.” Callida giggles at the thought of Arden being her attendant. “And, Faber wouldn’t have left this room if Sorem hadn’t yelled at him to leave.”

  “Really?” Callida asks, doubtful of her words.

  “He does care about you, you know, even though he doesn’t act like it,” Luna says.

  Callida doesn’t answer for a moment and merely sits in silence, breathing. “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Luna admits. “You can never be sure sometimes, but that's what you have us for, right?”

  Callida smiles at her. “Right,” she replies.

  Luna puts a comforting arm around her. “Why don’t you get some more rest? We’ll be going to find the ritual’s instructions tomorrow, guardians’ orders.”

  Callida lies back and floats into a dreamless sleep as Luna inches towards the door, careful to not make a sound. “Sleep well, little sis,” Luna whispers. She closes the door softly behind her and makes her way back down the hall.

  36

  there is always time for your outfit, even while questing

  “Do I have to wear this?” Anima grumbles. “This color really doesn't suit my complexion.” Frustrated, she tugs at the fuchsia fabric of her cloak.

  “They’re ceremonial, Anima,” Sorem says coolly, “and they offer protection against enchantments.”

  Anima snorts in contempt and lifts her nose high in the air. All of this is rather ironic considering the cloaks were Anima's idea in the first place. While the group had prepared weapons and supplies for the trip, it was Anima who had suggested that they have matching outfits. “We should present a united front. Make it clear who we are and what we intend to accomplish.” And it is due to that suggestion that she is unhappily wearing the ceremonial cloak of the Aphrodit and cursing its rosy color.

  The rest of the mahi, on the other hand, seem perfectly content with their garments. Even Armifer is satisfied with his mantle, a striking raiment of crimson with the crossed spears, the insignia of the Are, embroidered on his breast. Together, they create a strange rainbow with Erus, in a stunning gold, leading the cavalry and Ferula and Mortas, in wispy cloaks of black, bringing up the rear. Sorem beams proudly at her mahi, but Demetri maintains a grim smile.

  “Why the long face, brother dear?” Sorem asks. “You should be proud of all that they’ve done!”

  “I'm more worried about trying to keep them from getting killed.”

  “We’ve trained them to the bone,” she insists. “And I bet Ferula and Mortas have more skills than they’re letting on.”

  “But we don't even know what form the instructions will be in! We could be sending them directly into danger, and we wouldn't know!” Sorem tries shushing her brother, but he continues on. “They’re just kids Sorem! If we lose any of them, any of them—the gift will fall for good.” And I could never live with myself, he adds silently. Sorem looks at her brother tenderly, smiling as she takes a moment to fluff up his untamable shiny bronze hair.

  “Yes, they are kids, Demetri,” Sorem states flatly. “I’m not blind.” She gestures at Armifer and Nuntios, currently engaged in a sissy fight of epic proportions. “But they are also warriors.” She points to Callida, readjusting her broadsword, to Luna, checking the points of her arrows (and subsequently being mocked by Erus), and to Nuptia, experimenting with little purple sparks dancing on her palm. “They understand what's at stake here, Demetri. They’re strong enough. But you have to believe that too.” She gives her brother a meaningful look.

  Demetri embraces his sister, hugging her tightly. “Just don’t lose me out there, okay?” he whispers into her ear, squeezing her tighter.

  “As if. Re
member the statues in the synagogue?” Demetri grins at the memory. “Of course I'll stay with you.” Demetri releases his sister, and she goes to rally the troops, to ready them for battle and, most importantly, to conjure the portal.

  “Welcome to the underground city,” Sorem says chipperly as the group materializes amidst a throng of tourists. Nobody notices them, however. They are merely more faces in the crowd.

  Nuntios takes the opportunity to pickpocket an unsuspecting sightseer and now holds a brightly colored sitemap. He studies it carefully for a moment, but something doesn’t quite add up. Hang on a minute. He jostles through the gang, making his way towards the latest additions to the group.

  “Um, Mortas right?” Nuntios says. “Can I see the gift map a minute?” Mortas silently slips her hand into her coat pocket and pulls out the scroll. She spreads it out for him, careful not to cut herself on the rollers. Nuntios’s aqua eyes flicker back and forth between the maps.

  “This print shows rooms beneath the visiting levels,” he murmurs aloud.

  “That’s where we come in,” Ferula sighs. “We have to guide you or something.” Nuntios makes a strained face, not reassured by the boy’s words.

  “It’ll be fine,” a voice whispers in Nuntios’s ear.

  “Easy for you to say, Armifer,” Nuntios retorts, instantly recognizing the gruff tones of his fellow trickster.

  “It’s their job,” Armifer replies. “Someone wasn’t listening during the briefing.” Nuntios rolls his eyes. “Just chill out.”

  “I just can’t help but think—”

  “You? Thinking?” Armifer asks.

  Nuntios pulls a face, but his expression hardens. “What if … what if we have to face that thing again when we go underground?” Armifer’s eyes glaze over.

  ***

  Go get help!

  Move!

  I’ll be back for you.

  Nuntios!

  ***

  Armifer blinks and returns from the realm of memories. Nuntios is still looking at him intently, eagerly awaiting an answer. He looks into Nuntios’s cobalt eyes, searching for an answer himself. He sees a milky fear. But there is also courage. And he always thought that I was the brave one.

  Armifer’s eyes gleam with newfound tenacity. “Then we’ll beat its ass into the ground,” Nuntios grins at his friend, and they continue with the crowd towards the dusty ticketing booths.

  “Now I know what I did wasn’t strictly legal, but —”

  “Demetri! We can’t just latch on to a tour like this! I don't care how much you want to avoid detection, it’s not okay.” Their whispered argument continues as the group squeezes through a narrow passageway, accompanied by a dithering tour guide and some classic tourists toting huge cameras and the usual assortment of gimcrack souvenirs.

  “What’s all that noise about?” Erus asks a disgruntled Luna, currently squished in front of him.

  “Demetri didn’t buy the tickets like proper. He nicked them from behind the desk.”

  “Ah,” Erus replies with a nod. “Do you think there will be a lot of fighting in this big chamber we’re looking for?” He tries to play the question off smoothly and hide the nervous pit in his stomach.

  “Maybe,” Luna says. “Then I’ll get a chance to save your sorry bum again.” Erus can just picture the smirk on her face and is grateful when the tunnel finally opens up into a larger cave.

  The tour guide instantly begins blabbering on about the cooking facilities of the ancient peoples who lived there and how they would store food. While tourists are eagerly snapping pictures, the mahi fan out, searching for even the smallest of clues.

  This is the lowest visiting level, Ámpelos thinks as he runs his hands over cracks in the cave walls. Even these dunderheads should be able to find the entrance. He hears someone nearby cry out in pain. He turns to see Ferula crouching on the floor, clutching at his hand. On his palm, is a symbol of a flickering flame, seemingly burned into his skin. Luckily for them, the tourists have begun ambling into a neighboring cave and take no notice of the collapsed teenager.

  “What happened?” Mortas asks, at Ferula’s side in an instant. Ferula grunts non-committedly and points to the wall. There, low on the rocky face, a symbol is etched into the stone, identical to the one on his hand.

  Mortas and Ámpelos watch silently as Ferula crawls over to the rock and aligns his hand with the emblem. A line of red light shoots up the cavern wall and cracks the ceiling, shattering the granite. The shadow of another tunnel is barely visible in the fading ruby glow.

  “This way!” Mortas yells. The mahi frantically crawl through the cavity as the ceiling crumbles and falls. Lacria brings up the rear and squeezes through the gap just as the last stones seal the entrance. They race through the tunnel, pushing and twisting as fast as they can, trying to get as far from the collapse as possible. Only after they are some ways away does one of them turn around and question.

  “Where are Demetri and Sorem?”

  37

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

  “Sorem—”

  “I’m not panicking, Demetri.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not panicking! Okay?” After the ceiling had collapsed, blocking off the passageway, the rocks had glowed with a white aura and pressed together, hardening into an effective barrier. When Demetri went up to touch it, it was indistinguishable from the cave wall. Since then, Sorem has used all sorts of magic bombardment, but to no avail.

  “Sorem,” Demetri says sharply, grabbing his sister’s wrist. “We can find another way down.” Sorem breaks his grip, making her way back over to the closed wall.

  “How?” At this point, Sorem has dissolved into pure desperation and begins to kick at the piled stone. The air smells like dust and failure as she weakly pokes at the rock with her foot.

  “Come with me.” Demetri grabs her shoulders and steers her up a narrow pathway. Sorem follows mutely, her eyes still trailing back to gaze on the rubble.

  “Here we are,” Demetri says triumphantly, pointing at an opening in the wall.

  “The well shaft,” Sorem says in disbelief. “You want us to go down the well shaft.”

  “This will take us down for sure.” Demetri swings one of his legs over the edge and holds out his hand for Sorem to follow. “Come on.” Sorem hesitates slightly, her hand shaking even as she reaches out to grab Demetri’s. “What is it?”

  “They seem so alone,” Sorem says quietly. “No matter how much we trained them and took care of them, they always have to face these dangers as mahi. I don’t know if we can help them.” Her hand drops back to her side. Demetri hears voices as another tour group begins to descend.

  “We will reach them in time,” he says firmly. “Now, do you trust me?”

  “Not in the slightest, brother dear.”

  “Then this should be fun.” Sorem reluctantly takes his hand, and Demetri pushes off the ledge, sending the pair plunging into a narrow shaft of darkness.

  “Is everyone still alive?” Erus asks the clump of dusty mahi.

  “No, I'm a ghost,” Lacria says acidly. Her hands are still shaking, but she would sooner die than betray that.

  “Okay, now I know Ferula is like the fire dude,” Erus says, gesturing at the Australian boy, currently carrying a rod of fire in his left hand, “but can’t any of you conjure some light?”

  “What about yourself?” Luna snaps.

  “I’ve tried, but it hasn’t worked,” Erus admits. He waits for Luna to comment on his stupidity.

  “I can’t conjure anything either,” she sulks, head hanging down.

  Nuptia flashes a secret smile. A little willpower can placate even those most acerbic, she thinks, flexing her hands. She ducks into the shadows briefly, to conceal the fading purple fog swirling around her fingertips.

  “Well, of course you can’t,” Callida says in her usual matter of fact tone. Luna and Erus look as if they could pulverize the girl then an
d there. “We’re underground.”

  “Callida, if you’re going to make a point, get to the end of it,” Ámpelos states flatly.

  “Underground there is no sunlight or moonlight for either Luna or Arden to manipulate,” she says coolly, pointing at Luna and Arden respectively. “If they can’t use light as their prima magic, none of us should be able to.” Luna and Arden exchange stricken looks.

  “I hope everyone brought their swords,” Callida says with a sour smile. Nuntios’s eyes widen as he reaches for his blade, and it’s nowhere to be found. “Hey, Nuntios, catch!” Nuntios reaches up just in time to grab a heavyset crossbow as it sails towards him. He turns to see Callida grinning at him from the other side of the room. “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you know?” Nuntios asks incredulously.

  “I can read minds, remember.”

  “You have a spare crossbow?” Armifer asks, mildly impressed.

  “Of course I have a spare crossbow. Don’t you?” The majority of the group stands silent, impressed with this small bundle of warfare. This girl never ceases to amaze me, Anima thinks silently. Callida turns to speak to Erus once more. “Now, you’re the leader, apparently. Shouldn’t you and our two lovely guides start leading the way?”

  A miffed Erus re-straps his sword to his side and starts down through the warren-like pathways, closely followed by Mortas and Ferula, with the remaining mahi bringing up the rear.

  The next hour is relatively uneventful, as Ferula has taken the lead, illuminating the passageway now with twin scepters of fire, one in each hand. Erus makes sure that no one falls behind, doing a head count every fifteen minutes.

  Meanwhile, Mortas is running her hands over the wall, trying to discern more passageways. She knows roughly where the openings should be, via the map, but only the telltale feeling in her palms will let her know for sure.

  She feels the pricking yet again and feels up and down the wall until she finds a rough etching of a theta in the stone. A symbol of death, she thinks, how appropriate. She aligns her palm with the engraving and a line of black luminescence streaks up the wall. The rock splits evenly in two and falls away in a cloud of dust.