She Who Rises

by Rachael Arsenault

  His fist shot out, sending a chunk of earth rocketing out from the ground toward Masika. She darted out of the way with a grace and speed that was unnatural for her age.

  “You’re confident for someone who still bears the scar of his last fight with me,” Masika said coolly, though slightly out of breath. “Whatever magic you’ve found to keep yourself alive, it still wasn’t strong enough to undo the damage I caused.”

  Arman’s lips curled into a snarl. The ground underneath him shifted and he became a human rockslide again, careening after Masika while trying to simultaneously trip her with the earth under her feet. She deftly evaded him and, as Arman swerved closer to her, she let out a strange hiss, spraying him in the face with a green mist. He reared back, losing balance and momentum on the moving earth as his hands flew up to protect his eyes. She hurled another fistful of flames at him, catching him in the shoulder as he hit the ground. The skin there was reddened, but otherwise unharmed.

  “Why isn’t he burning?” I asked, glancing over at Farida.

  She was watching the fight with a tight-lipped, grim expression. She didn’t answer me.

  “You know an awful lot about the Ivory Circle,” Masika said as she raised another column of flames around Arman. Sweat was beading steadily on her forehead and she was growing more out of breath. “How did you learn so much about a secret organization? We were careful to make sure people only learned of us when they were about to be killed.

  A pillar of rock rose up above the flames, supporting Arman. “Your secret had a very dangerous leak.” He leapt from the top, the pillar collapsing forward, toward Masika, throwing her own flames toward her along with the heavy stone. She narrowly managed to dive out of the way; the ground shook from the pillar’s impact. “And you have a poor track record of making sure your enemies are dead.”

  “I’ll just have to be more thorough this time.”

  The earth shifted beneath her, throwing her forward on a rockslide of her own. I thought, for a moment, that this was another power of hers — but Arman’s fist swinging toward her made it clear that this was his trick, much like Imani had done to Farida. Masika ducked out of the way at the last second, letting out another hiss of poison straight into Arman’s unguarded face. He cried out, stumbling back, hands flying up to shield himself again.

  “Even you can’t fight blinded,” she said simply.

  He uncovered his face, snarling, “But you’d have to blind me first.”

  A wall of rock burst up in front of Masika. She darted around the side of it, hands glowing with fire — and was pelted with a shower of rocks, followed closely by a fist to the jaw. She spun, falling backward and hitting the ground. Arman was on her in an instant, slamming an elbow into her ribs. She cried out in pain — and swung a hand at his face, clawing just under his eyes. It was enough of a distraction for her to follow with a blast of fire powerful enough to throw him off of her.

  I didn’t know if I should cheer for her. It didn’t feel right. Not when Farida had sunk to her knees, face buried in her hands as she sobbed. I tried to crawl over so I could rub her back and offer her some attempt at comfort, but my limbs were locked up. I could only lay there and watch through the flickering flames that surrounded us.

  Masika was thrown backwards by the bucking earth. She rolled when she hit the ground, pushing herself onto her knees. Arman had barreled toward her as she fell; a spray of poisonous spit met him once more as he bore down on her. He swung through the pain, fist slamming Masika’s cheek. The spray of poison turned red with blood.

  There was a flash of light beside me and a great grey heron soared onto the battlefield. Farida was gripping her necklace, tears streaming down her face but jaw squared with determination. I tried to focus on my own stone, imagining my brilliant red dragon — the world turned grey and strange, noises muffled like I was underwater, and for a moment I lost all sensation.

  When I came to again, Arman had turned toward us. His eyes were dark, smile threatening. “Is it already time to bring the beasts out to play?”

  He raised the fist that bore the ring he had played with earlier, which I now saw was encrusted with a fat, green gem. With a burst of light, an enormous man appeared. I blinked spots from my vision and tried to peer through the fire. No, not a man — not exactly. His upper body was human, but he had legs like a bull. And horns. Massive, sharp horns that he was now lowering, preparing to charge Masika as she struggled to her feet. She reached for the dark red stone on her necklace with a shaking hand.

  A rearing cobra appeared in front of her in a flash of light, fangs bared as it hissed. The bull-man kept charging. The cobra struck toward it, a jet of flames spewing from its mouth. The fire caught the bull-man across the eyes; he veered and collapsed to the ground with a roar.

  Another cry of pain sounded almost in tandem. Arman was trying to fight off Farida’s heron, but his earth-based magic was useless against the soaring bird. One hand was covering his left eye, which streamed blood, while the other swung a punch that never connected. Watching as the bird climbed high and flew a wide circle overhead, he let out a wordless scream of rage. Red-faced, he turned to us. He looked like a demon through our shielding and entrapping circle of flames.

  “The old woman has taught you well,” he growled, “but not well enough.”

  The earth beneath us rumbled; I felt my stomach drop in warning. He was going to pull us into the earth again, trap us, crush us—

  “No!” Masika’s voice was a weak rasp, but the ball of fire she hurled at Arman was powerful enough to knock him off his feet. The ground stilled.

  And the bull-man caught her from behind, goring her left ribs with one of his horns.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Masika!” Farida shrieked. Both hands flew out. Another enormous pillar of fire burst to life around Arman, chasing him as he tried to landslide free from her fiery wrath. With a roar, he changed coarse and charged toward us, a storm of fire and stone rushing us like a freight train.

  But then Masika’s cobra darted between him and us, spitting a wide, poisonous mist that had him crying out and losing momentum again. Masika was on her knees several yards away, but Farida’s bird still circled overhead, keeping a close watch on Arman.

  “It’s over,” Masika said. Her threat was undercut by her breathless and shaking voice and the blood soaking the ground beneath her.

  Arman snarled. Then, with another roar, he swung both fists up over his head and slammed them down against the ground. An explosion surged out all around him, sending dirt and rocks showering over us. His bull-man had pulled back, safe from the onslaught and leaving Masika, already broken and bleeding, to be thrown like a ragdoll. Her snake was, too, vanishing in a burst of light as it passed through our fire. But Farida’s bird dove. Through the cloud of dirt and ring of flames, I couldn’t see what happened — but I could hear it. Wild squawking and beating wings mixed with howls of agony. When the dust settled, Arman was on his knees, clutching his face as blood poured from between his fingers. With one last grunt of pain, he collapsed.

  The flames surrounding us sputtered and died.

  “Mut!” Farida sobbed, running toward where her grandmother had fallen. I tried to follow, but my legs seized halfway through standing. I collapsed, useless.

  And too breathless to warn Farida when I saw the bull-man charge. Head down, horns soaked and gleaming, he barreled toward her.

  But the horns skewered flaming feathers, not flesh. The heron’s last shriek of pain before it vanished was warning enough for Farida to whirl around, tear-streaked cheeks glowing in the blaze of fire she hurled at Arman’s monster. It was gone when the flames died.

  “Mut! Grandmother! Masika!”

  I managed to slowly crawl over, limbs jerking and seizing the whole way, my gouged and bloodied arm especially weak and useless. Masika lay crumpled, her own body seized by sporadic convulsions as she fought for breath. When she coughed, there was blood.

  “Why?” Farida sobb
ed, cradling Masika’s head in her lap. “Why did you have to come? You were safe. They didn’t know how to find you.”

  “But I knew the fate of the stones would be set if you died,” she rasped before coughing up more blood. Farida wiped the mess from Masika’s chin while the elderly woman fought for breath to speak again. “You are young; you are the future. I am old and belong to the past.”

  “Don’t say that. I — I still need you.”

  Masika smiled faintly. “We always need someone most once they die.”

  At that last word, Farida whimpered, choking back another sob. Then she was a flurry of motion, the hand that wasn’t supporting Masika’s head glowing as it frantically, desperately darted all over Masika’s chest and stomach. Her bruises and gashes healed, but she still struggled for breath, life fading before our eyes.

  “You know this can’t be healed,” Masika said. Her eyes drifted to me. “Focus on taking care of the one who can actually be helped.”

  “You knew this would happen,” Farida choked. “You knew using magic again would kill you.”

  Slowly, shakily, Masika reached a hand up to touch Farida’s face, thumb wiping at her tears. “I did what I had to… to protect the stones… and my granddaughter.”

  Her breathing faded and her eyes eased shut, arm falling back to her side. In less than a minute, the shallow rise and fall of her chest stilled. Farida hugged the limp body, bawling, her sobs long and keening like a wounded animal. I managed to find the strength and control to lift my uninjured hand to her shoulder.

  “I don’t…” she choked out after a minute. “I don’t even know if she wanted to be buried or cremated. I know what I wanted when I died, and Imani, and my parents, but… We never talked about her death. Never. Masika… Masika is the one who doesn’t—” But she couldn’t finish.

  Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed. And then another. And another.

  I tried to jump up to see who had arrived, but my limbs wouldn’t move. Farida, thankfully, turned to survey the area. She sniffled, dragging the back of her hand across her tear-streaked cheeks. “Wh-where’s Arman’s body? He left a body, right?”

  Tires crunched over gravel and debris. One by one, I could see the cars speed away in my peripheral vision.

  That was what got Farida to let go of Masika’s corpse. She hurried over to the crater Arman had left, then into the dilapidated house. I lay there, heart in my throat as I waited and wished. Wished Masika hadn’t done this. Wished I knew what was going on. Wished I knew if my parents were safe. Wished I could get up and run and search myself.

  When Farida came back, she was bawling again. Time froze and a million horrific thoughts flooded my mind — but those images shattered when she choked, “No one’s here. No one. They — they left! And they took your parents!”

  “We have to—” I tried to get up as I spoke but immediately collapsed. I wanted to slam a fist against the ground, but my hand only twitched and spasmed.

  Useless. Useless! Useless!

  Farida fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands she sobbed and wailed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  I didn’t know who she was apologizing to — me because of my parents, Masika for walking into a trap, both of us, or maybe something else entirely. I didn’t know how to respond. So I didn’t. I lay there between Farida and Masika, a sobbing woman and her grandmother’s corpse.

  We were three women, broken and defeated like the property that surrounded us. And no magic in the world could fix us.