The Rise of the Fourteen (10 page)

The cool mountain air is refreshing after the six-hour bus
ride. It almost masks the smell of incarceration.
It’s a shame, really. It
looks like such a nice place. But I won’t be staying long, that’s how it always
is.

Armifer grunts as he wrenches the door open, the iron bolts
rough beneath his hands. Peals of laughter echo in the stone corridors.
Cheerfulness.
He spits, trying to remove the foul taste from his mouth. A bubbly redhead
skips over to him, beaming. Armifer looks her up and down. Her chartreuse
blazer sears his retinas.

“Are you new here?” She sticks out a perfectly manicured
hand. “My name’s Sarah.”

Armifer crosses his arms. “I’m looking for an Eric Berger.”
He says stiffly.

She withdraws her hand, a sour look on her face. “His office
is just down the hall and across the courtyard. There’s a big sign. You can’t
miss it.” Armifer nods distractedly. “I can show you if you like!”

 “I can manage,” he says gruffly and brushes past her, shoving
her beckoning arms away. Messenger bags and backpacks litter the floor. He
nearly trips several times as he walks. Something crunches beneath his feet.
Sugar
packets? Whatever.

He enters the courtyard to find a rambunctious crowd.
Of
course I have to go to school with a bunch of idiots
, he thinks as he
swings his gaze around. He pushes through the throng, less than eager to get to
his destination.

The windows are shuttered in the headmaster’s office, not
that Armifer is disappointed. A gilded panel reads “Sir Eric’s Office” in
crystalline lettering. Everything is so swanky. He turns on his heel and sniffs
angrily.
Trust my parents to not organize anything.

Armifer ducks into a nearby hallway to get away from the
ruckus and ends up colliding with a foreign figure. “Watch it, filth!” he
snarls, nostrils flaring.

“Just chill, broski.” A pair of twinkling blue eyes lifts to
meet his own cerulean pools. “I don’t recognize you. You a newbie?”

The very question makes Armifer’s face blaze with fury, but
the boy appears unruffled. “What’s it to you?”

 “I’m Nuntios,” the boy says calmly as if he had not heard
Armifer’s remark.

“That’s nice,” Armifer mumbles, trying to walk past Nuntios.
Nuntios holds out an arm to stop him.

“You need help finding your room? I can talk to Sir Eric for
you if you like. He’s such a pain in the
—
”

“I can manage myself, thanks.”

“Okay,” Nuntios says. “But if you need a hand just ask. This
school isn’t always kind.”

Armifer is puzzled by the sudden gray pallor that crosses Nuntios’s
face. It leaves as quickly as it came, so he doesn't say anything. Nuntios
takes off at a brisk trot, leaving Armifer to turn the other way and continue
trudging down the hall.

Armifer soon gets lost in the labyrinthine corridors.
Flickering light shines down from the wall sconces. As his combat boots clack
against the marble floor, nothing stirs. It is drafty and Armifer shivers,
tightening his leather jacket. At every corner, there is another right, another
left, and he walks on.
Surely there is someone in this massive place.
But
all is quiet.

Armifer takes another right and connects with something
solid.

 “Clumsy, stupid boy!”

And I spoke too soon.

The man is middle-aged, with an over-gelled comb-over and
mint pinstripe suit. At least, it was mint until Armifer wrinkled it. “I will not
stand for such impertinence!”

Is he going to burst a blood vessel?
Armifer contains
his inner mirth.

“And why are you not in uniform?”

“Maybe ’cause I just got here.” Armifer knows he will regret
those words as soon they leave his mouth. But when has that stopped him? He
keeps a straight face as the man grows livid.

“My name is Sir Eric Berger! I am your headmaster, and I
demand your respect!”

Who does this guy think he is? I mean other than the
headmaster, of course.

Looking ruffled, Sir Eric straightens his collar haughtily.
“Might I enquire as to your name, miscreant?”

“Armifer Szabo.”

“Armifer Szabo,
sir
!” It takes all of Armifer’s
self-control to contain his snort of derision. “Come with me,” Sir Eric says,
beckoning with his milky white hands, “I shall fetch your housing papers.”

They make an odd pair, Sir Eric with his nose in the air
like a self-proclaimed lord and a sulky Armifer with clenched fists. Even as
they saunter back through the passageways, Armifer is counting down the seconds
to his imminent expulsion.

***

Communal dinner?
Armifer sucks his teeth in distaste
as he enters the great hall. A buffet table sits on a central dais, surrounded
by swarms of students. After most of the crowd has dispersed, he cautiously
grabs a plate and plops a large portion of beef stew and mashed potatoes on the
dish. He snatches a fork and then makes a beeline for an isolated corner,
wanting to get away from the throng. He sits down, huddling close to himself,
and eagerly digs in, practically inhaling huge mouthfuls.

“The food is good, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind him.

Armifer nearly chokes on his food. He turns to see a
familiar cheeky grin. “What do you want?” he growls. “Nuntios,” he adds as an
afterthought.

“Just wanted to welcome you properly.” The scraping of
chairs adds a pointed undertone to his words. Soon, Armifer is surrounded by a
gang of grinning boys. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat but doesn't say
anything.

“You already know me,” Nuntios says with a wry grin. “This
is Rick, Malone, Lukas, and Elias.”

Why are they all looking at me like that?
Armifer
wonders. He hopes they don’t notice how tense he is as he grips his fork. There
is some chatter about school, homework, bad teachers, the usual. Armifer feels
nauseated by the end of the meal and bolts for the door after returning his
plate.
Sitting with these people makes me feel like I’m at war
with
myself.
He feels someone grip his arm as he exits the hall.

“If you need any help, just ask,” Nuntios says, regarding
Armifer with brilliant cobalt-blue eyes. Armifer nods, and continues out.
Something in Nuntios’s gaze bothers him. It stays with him, like an
unscratchable itch, even as he falls asleep.

Armifer is tempted to skip breakfast the following morning.
Only after listening to his grumbling stomach for some minutes does he begin to
rise from his bed. He opens the wardrobe to examine his school uniform once
more.

Chartreuse is still as horrible as it was yesterday.
With a sigh of resignation, he buttons up the stiff, white collared shirt and
slips on the neon blazer. He can hardly stand the sight of himself, but an
effort needs to be made.
At least here is better than home.

Armifer’s appetite still hasn't fully returned since last
night, so he only eats a slice of dry toast. Other people pile their plates
high with bacon and eggs, but Armifer’s stomach is roiling. He sits in a corner
seat and nibbles on his toast. As he lifts his arm to take another bite,
something crinkles in his pocket. He thrusts his hand in and pulls out a folded
card-stock schedule.
Sir Eric may be snotty, but he is
good
.
He
skims the paper, rolling his eyes. Math, science, history, the list goes on.

“Oh cool, we both have English first period.”

Nuntios.
Armifer sees the smile before he turns his
head.

“Mrs. Skimmer is so chill. She’ll totally be happy to catch
you up. Mr. Lehner, on the other hand ….”

Armifer zones out, only half listening to Nuntios’s words,
as the sea of chartreuse flows into the hallways of the lower classrooms. The
English room is one of the worst. It has only two windows and is cold and
drafty. In the winter, it would be miserable. Armifer slides into a seat near
the back as the rest of the class files in. Strangely, Nuntios has disappeared.
Funny,
Armifer thinks,
his chatter was almost starting to grow on me.

“Class, can we please settle down?” A tall, thin woman in a
gray pencil skirt swishes into the room. Nuntios stealthily slips into the classroom
behind her and slides into the seat by Armifer.

He always looks like he's up to something
.

“Now, is everyone here?” The door clicks open as three girls
rush in. “Ah, the late trio, I see.” The classroom erupts into sniggers.

This must be a regular thing.

“Shall we start? Please get out your books. We will be
continuing with our previous lesson on verse and prose and
—
”

A shriek erupts from the center of the room. “My bag! It’s
full of sugar!” One of the girls who just came in stands whining, her front
covered with white granules, a newly candied English text in one hand.

“Amelia, when you come to class late, you do not come in and
disrupt it,” Mrs. Skimmer remarks. “Clean up, please.” She snaps her fingers
for emphasis and laughter ripples all around.

Armifer feels something drop into his hand underneath the
table. It’s a lone sugar packet. He glances over at Nuntios. Nuntios’s face is
expressionless, but his eyes are twinkling and, despite himself, Armifer can’t
help but crack a smile.

The day continues as a dull blur of classes. Then lunchtime
comes. Armifer pulls up a chair next to Nuntios, realizing that there is no
escaping socializing. He nibbles on a small ham sandwich, trying to look
somewhat interested in the conversation around him. Then he hears the scraping
of dress shoes on a stone floor. He sees Sir Eric's grim face even before he
turns around. Beside the teacher is an irate girl who seems vaguely familiar.

“That’s him! He’s the one who did it!”

Armifer now recognizes her as the girl from the sugar prank.
Not her again.

“Ah, yes, I remember you,” Sir Eric says, a hungry look in
his eyes, “you’re the miscreant who was late yesterday. Already causing
trouble?”

Armifer stands, his mind a storm
. Bastard,
he muses, his
thoughts going to Nuntios
. I knew he was only pretending to be nice.
I’ll
be expelled anyway, so why does it matter? Why does it matter?

“Actually, sir, it was me.” Sir Eric whirls around to face
Nuntios. Armifer would not have been more surprised if Nuntios had started
singing Cantonese opera. “Guilty as charged.”

“Detention, Nuntios. I shall escort you to my office.”

As Nuntios walks out the double doors, he sends a half-smile
Armifer’s way. Armifer is still in shock.
Did he just take responsibility?
Is that something people do?
This is the question he turns over in his mind
for the following hours.

Later that evening, Armifer grabs his jacket, resolved, and
sets out to find Nuntios and ask him about the French homework.

“Why on earth is Sir Eric dragging us here during free
period?” Armifer asks Nuntios.

“Knowing Sir Eric, someone probably TP-ed his office again.”
They guffaw at the thought. It had only been last week that Sir Eric had come
in one fine Monday morning to be greeted by some new two-ply drapes that he had
acquired overnight. Charming Ultra is very chic,
n’est-ce
pas? Of course, no one had been able to discover the culprits, but Nuntios and
Armifer looked a bit tired that morning. Toilet paper has surprisingly good
value.

As they enter the great hall,
a throng of students is already present. The usual gang soon joins them. Rick,
Malone, Lukas, and Elias are busy having a chortle of their own. Armifer isn’t
one of the “Fab Five,” so he hangs back, taking in the scene around him. When
he first came to this school, he never imagined staying so long. More
importantly, he never imagined having someone to call a friend.

 “Please! Quiet,” Sir Eric says as he steps onto the dais. This
morning Sir Eric's face is not the color of pureed prune, so it is doubtful
that sanitary tissue is the reason behind the summons.

 “I’m glad you’ve all made it,” he says half-heartedly. He
regains his composure and continues. “I would like to announce the upcoming
alumni dinner.” Confused whispering flows through the halls. “We have invited
several of our alums for a series of workshops and speeches for a week,
culminating in a grand communal dinner at the end of the month.”

Armifer and Nuntios exchange looks. The buffet dinners
aren’t exactly McDonald’s style. Grander? They conjure up images of caviar and
sparkling elderberry juice.

“I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Several
prominent educators will be in attendance.” With that, Sir Eric descends the
dais and dismisses the crowd. Armifer can barely contain a derisive snort. As
soon as he and Nuntios exit into the foyer, they double over.

“Seems Sir Eric needs to have a wider audience for ego
stroking,” Nuntios jests, holding his sides.

“The bootlicking of the student body just isn’t enough,”
Armifer says, nodding his head with mock sincerity. “I suppose this kind of event
requires first-class entertainment.”

“Of course, my good Sir Armifer,” Nuntios replies with a
knowing smile. They traipse off to class, fizzing with ideas of trickery.
A
performance Sir Eric shall have
, Nuntios thinks,
and I know exactly who
to ask
. Even as the thought forms in his mind, a gaggle of pale figures
materializes around him, ready for his command.

***

The weeks pass in a blur, an endless flow of class work and
preparation for the event.
Subtlety is clearly not Sir Eric’s strong suit
,
Nuntios muses, noticing the multitude of flyers posted around the campus.

No pranks had occurred during these weeks, though. Not one
missing textbook or duct-taped office. People still opened their lockers
slowly, bracing themselves for the imminent shower of goop, slime, or munchies
(it varied from day to day; diversity is always healthy). But none came.

The lack of mischief had put people more on edge. It had
worked them up in anticipation of the return of the impishness. Even Sir Eric
seemed more jittery than usual. So, on the Monday the workshops begin, Nuntios
and Armifer are the only ones totally at ease, striding into the auditorium with
confidence.

The auditorium, of course, isn’t actually an auditorium at
all. It’s just the dining hall with the floors swept, newer chairs, and a
projector. Sir Eric’s delusion of grandeur is only slightly evident.

The student body cavorts in, bouncing in the velveteen
chairs and joking about the speakers. One speaker is completely bald and has a
rather round head. Nuntios remarks that the speaker resembles an egg and
Armifer chokes back a snort. Another looks as if he had just graduated, his
greenness showing in the naïve grin on his face.

Many more could be described, but Sir Eric marches in at
that very moment, strutting with his head held high, carrying a microphone
aloft like a torch. “Quiet, everyone,
please
!” he cries, his strident
voice ringing in the throng. "The disciplinary workshop is about to
start."

Various teachers come around, forcing students into seats,
admonishing the occasional talker, and surrounding rowdy students. Nuntios and
Armifer are squashed into the middle of a row next to Lukas, Elias, Malone, and
Rick.

Nuntios tries to wave a greeting, but they all just shift
uncomfortably in their seats. After that business with the sugar packets,
Nuntios and Armifer became inseparable. The guys thought Nuntios was just
extending a shoulder, and that the matter would be over within a week, but they
were wrong. Lukas especially developed an aversion to Armifer. Ever since, none
of them have had a proper conversation with either of them.

All of this swirls about Armifer’s mind as the speaker
begins his flat monotone. He inadvertently catches Elias’s eye. Elias gives him
a piercing, yet lofty stare, as pointedly as he might give the finger. Armifer
rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the speaker, who has just begun
distributing pamphlets containing information on the importance of
self-restraint.

Saying that the workshops were only slightly more boring
than class would be the biggest understatement of the twenty-first century.
Unless you were Sir Eric, of course, and actually enjoying the sessions that
week. Either way, there is a big sigh of relief each day for the break during
lunch. Rather than having a myriad of food choices, there were usually some
cold cut sandwiches and bags of chips, but the promise of the special Friday
night dinner was enough to keep the peace.

Nuntios and Armifer had been waiting for this week in the
hope of wreaking havoc, but supervision had been too close. They had gone weeks
with no screams of horror, no loud crashes. And now, their prize was being
stolen. They fume in the back of the hall, plotting, but to no avail.

Even as the sessions end for the day, Armifer says to
Nuntios resignedly, “It looks like our glorious prank week isn't turning out as
we’d hoped.”

Nuntios looks at his new friend’s retreating form,
wholeheartedly agreeing.
But tonight will be a night to remember, make no
doubt of that.
Nuntios does feel bad about not telling Armifer his plan,
but he doesn't know how his friend might react to Nuntios’s “abilities.”
Whatever,
I’m sure it will still work.
Nuntios turns on his heel and walks the other
way, running through the details of his glorious mega-prank one last time.

“It is my great honor to make a toast to the great legacy of
our school, our glorious alums, and, of course, the student body,” Sir Eric
says, addressing the assembly of students, alumni, and guests. There is
scattered clapping from the students, but that is drowned out by the thunderous
applause from the adults, most of whom are already quite drunk. Sir Eric
certainly pulled out all the straws for this event. Everything, from the
gilded candleholders to the polished silverware and intricate tablecloths
represent the highest luxury, but not for long.

Now,
Nuntios whispers
,
calling to his wraiths
.

Dozens of spirits flit about the hall, ripping goblets out
of people’s hands, tossing platters through the air. Sir Eric's glass appears
to fall out of his hand of its own accord, spilling its contents all over him
as it does so. The glass then appears to chase him about the dais, repeatedly
smacking his back as Sir Eric cowers in fear.

The students erupt into deafening laughter, even Miss Amelia
Evans, at the moment free of sugar or any other food items. Of course, that
changes when she is lifted by an unseen force up onto the table and then
dropped into a platter of mashed potatoes. Everyone turns to point and jeer at
her newly acquired snowcap. Little “accidents” like these occur throughout the
night, eliciting peals of laughter each time. No one laughs harder than
Nuntios, however, as he watches his puppets dance.

“How did you do that?” Armifer asks as he and Nuntios stroll
down the main hall, their blazers caked with powdered sugar. A whole pudding had
suddenly gone flying and had rained the fine grains upon the students.

Nuntios gives him a winning smile. “Why do you think that I
had anything to do with it?” he replies, coy.

“Come off it, I know only you could pull something like
that off.”

“Whoever did it must have as great a sense of humor as I
do.”

“Dude, just spill, I gotta try that sometime!” As they
playfully argue, a ghostly mist engulfs the hallway.

“Okay,” Armifer says, his voice quavering, ever so slightly.
“What did you do?”

Nuntios just grins. “Come, meet the friends who made this
night possible.” All around them, ivory shadows begin to flicker beneath the
wall sconces.

“Nuntios, are you crazy?”

“What? I've known them all term.”
I knew he would react
like this,
Nuntios thinks

“Something’s not right, Nuntios.” Armifer’s voice falters. “We
should … we should go.” His eyes glaze over, a black mist crossing his corneas.
But when Nuntios leans forward to look closer, it is gone as soon as it came.

“The boy does not lie you know,”
says a woman with a
raspy voice.
Nuntios shivers. He has not felt this chill since … the
beginning. But even now, he feels icy fingers, creeping up his spine.

“How do you mean?” he asks defiantly, standing protectively
in front of Armifer.

“You think the spirits are to be trifled with, little
mahi?”

“Delusional, even for his kind,”
croons another.

“But we have two prizes now, let us not tarry.”

“Very well.”
The raspy-sounding woman turns to face
Nuntios and Armifer again.
“We summon forth your captor. Resistance is
futile. Evomo
does not take his dinner lightly.”

Nuntios and Armifer exchange uneasy looks. Armifer is not
even thinking about saying, “I told you so.” Nuntios stares at his shoes in
shame. He had trusted the spirits after what happened at the beginning, and now
Armifer would pay the price.

Nuntios cannot tell how long they have sat, with their backs
pressed against the wall. His mouth has long since gone dry. He and Armifer
have been watching helplessly as the shades began their chant. His eyes dart
from side to side, searching for a means of escape. The woman notices and
smiles cruelly.

“Let it be known, mahi, that the eidolons were the
bringers of your undoing.”

Whatever they are summoning is almost here. An inky vortex
grows above the chanters and a strange form begins to emerge
—a
mass of ebony feathers and
talons. Then comes the screeching.

It is worse than you could possibly imagine; several dying
goats would be melodious in comparison. The din only grows louder as the head
emerges. Armifer covers his ears in pain as Nuntios looks up in horror.

It looks like a griffin, lacking any of its majesty. The
entire creature is a deep onyx color. The black talons almost distract from the
spiny feathers on the creature's back. Almost. The creature snarls, gnashing
its serrated teeth. A dribble of spittle lands next to Armifer. In spite of
himself, he dips his finger in the murky liquid. He immediately begins waving
his finger about and wincing.

“Acid!” Nuntios’s stomach tightens.
This is my fault.
Armifer trusts me. He is not going to pay for my mistake.
Nuntios steps
forward and speaks in a voice that is not his own.
“Kerykeion, I summon thee.”

An amber staff grows in Nuntios’s hand. Two serpents slither
up the rod, meeting the pair of flapping wings at the top. Nuntios again speaks
in his eerie voice, croaking as Armifer stares in amazement.

“Stand and fight,
Evomo.
”

That certainly gets the creature’s attention. Evomo lunges
for Nuntios but his claws slice through the air. Nuntios is now on the other
side of the hall, waving his staff encouragingly. Evomo
is more than
willing to take the bait and lurches forward again. This happens several times,
with Evomo
flailing about to catch the invisible Nuntios. Nuntios
suddenly appears next to Armifer.

“Are you okay?” Armifer grips his friend’s shoulder. Nuntios’s
breathing is shallow, his face pale and waxy.

“Go,” Nuntios breathes, his words more ragged now. “Go get
help. I’ll hold him off.”

“You won’t last much longer,” Armifer cautions, his eyes
widening.

“Move!” Nuntios grabs Armifer’s arm and the two boys appear
on the other side of the corridor. Armifer feels as if all the wind has been
knocked out of him. He reaches for Nuntios, but Nuntios has already teleported.

“You all right?” Nuntios calls.

“Nuntios, look out!” Armifer screams. Nuntios turns around
just in time to feel the acid waterfall, streaming down his body as it pours
from the creature’s mouth.

This is all a bad dream. Just a dream. I’ll wake up soon.
Armifer repeats this in his head as he sees Nuntios fall to the ground,
writhing in pain. Then, just when things can’t get any weirder, a man tumbles
through the wall. His spiked hair is fiery russet, and he wears a copper
overcoat.

“Stay there, Armifer,” the man urges. “Nuntios is beyond
your help.” Only later will Armifer wonder how the man knew his name.

The man runs towards Nuntios’s twitching form as the beast looms
over the helpless youth. “Back off!” the man yells. He throws a golden sphere, and
it lands in front of the creature. It expands, creating a gilded shield over Nuntios’s
body.

The demon swipes at it curiously, but hastily retracts its
paw with a hiss. It makes a loud shriek and turns angrily to find the source of
its pain. The man makes no motion to hide and faces the beast defiantly, now holding
a golden flame in each hand. The creature moves to rake at the man's face, but
he promptly blasts it with a sparking shaft of radiance. The ray hits the fiend
square in the chest, and it shrieks again, forcing Armifer to cover his ears.