The Rise of the Fourteen (13 page)

“The first age of Troy began in the third millennium BC.
Since the Bronze Age, the cities built on this site have been flourishing
mercantile establishments ….”

Anima disgruntledly tucks her hair behind her ear as the
guide pulls out the map again. The map itself is bothersome. It is crinkled by
the endless opening and un-opening, it is stretched by the constant grabbing of
sweaty fingers, and it is stained with the occasional smear of dirt. It is a
worn and beaten object
—
tired
and desperately wanting to be free.
Not unlike myself, in fact.

The group suddenly changes direction and Anima follows
blindly, mirroring the motions of a lemming. She sees her parents a few yards
ahead of her. Her father points out a grand column and then whispers something
into her mother's ear. Her mother grins and throws her head back in laughter,
the strands of her ebony hair floating in the sunlight as if caught in time.
Anima blinks and the vision is gone.

“In the mid to late thirteenth century BC, the city that
stood on this site is believed to be the Troy of Homer.” The guide continues to
twattle on in her overly cheery Turkish accent. The sun now lingers directly
overhead, and Anima is sweating profusely. The jumble of sounds and colors don't
stay straight in her head. The guide's words are drawn out and meaningless, as
if she was talking underwater. Her legs feel like cinderblocks, sliding on the
crunching gravel. Anima reaches for her water bottle, but it’s empty. There are
shrieks and laughs as two children run past, but Anima barely hears them. She
is falling and, as she falls, darkness rises around her.

Golden spirals cloud her mind as she struggles to regain
her senses. She would rather stay and watch them forever, but something tells
her that she needs to wake up.
Do I have to awaken? I should stay and watch
the lights. The lights. The light.
Her vision is flooded with a
brilliant white as she sits back up, once again in the real world. She is
surrounded by people and faces that all blur together. She feels a cool hand on
her cheek, and that grounds her.

“Anima? Anima, are you all right?”

Is it mother or father?
Anima’s hazy consciousness
cannot decide.

“Come on, dear.” A pair of strong arms grips her shoulders
and brings her to her feet. “Sorry folks, just a little dehydrated. We’ll be
taking her back to the hotel.”

Hotel? We’re staying with the tour group, aren’t we?
Anima’s
head swims, as she tries to make coherent thoughts. Two hands now grip each of
her arms as she stumbles along the weathered path.

“Come on, Anima. Your taxi awaits.”

Her thoughts suddenly come to life.
Taxi?
She
shudders at spools of memories of lying across her mother’s lap, limp and weak.
Not a taxi.
Anima tries to struggle a little, but it is futile.

“Now, now Anima, don't be silly.” The grip tightens on her
shoulders and Anima yelps in pain, nearly blacking out.

“Where’s the car?”

A man's voice is talking this time. That must be father.

“Just wait a few moments. Calm down.”

Well, I won't.
Mustering all of her feeble strength, Anima
viciously elbows her captor in the groin, breaking free of his grip and then begins
to run. She is already panting from the start, but refuses to slow down.

“Anima Annabelle Meadowlark!”

Oh, now I’m in for it.
As Anima runs, her mother
sends a bolt of shade after her. Anima feels a biting sensation in her arm and
crumples to the ground, hollering in pain. She whips her head back briefly to
see her mother gaining on her and determinedly begins to crawl, not caring
about the cuts on her legs (
I knew shorts were a bad idea)
and her
throbbing limbs.

She clambers into an ancient house, flopping through what
must have been a window. Pressing herself into a corner, she prays.
By
whatever power I have, may someone help me.
She grips the wall tightly,
bruising some fingernails. A rosy wash spreads from her fingertips making a
small dome over the decaying house. Anima shivers, waiting with bated breath
for a chance to escape.

“Anima? Anima, I will find you. Don’t have any
illusions,
girl!”

That isn’t Mom!
The strange voice has a more guttural
sound to it. The words themselves have a
scaly
feel to them. Anima doesn’t
trust what she hears and bundles closer to herself. The voice calls again and
again, each time sounding both close and far away. The game of cat and mouse
continues until the shadows have elongated, and the trees become wreathed with
a Cimmerian mist.

Dawn breaks with a red sun in the east, covering the ruins
with a crimson hue. Anima is, at first, confused. Her back is sore from
sleeping against a stone wall, her legs sting from dozens of scrapes and cuts,
and her socks have a crust of dried blood.
What happened? My parents would
never have left me out like this.
But, indeed, they did
.

That thought hits her like a granite boulder, and she begins
trembling.
But, they did.
Then there is a large crack. She looks up to
see the hazy bubble above her fracturing and splitting. Wisps of fuchsia rain
down from above littering the ground.

Anima is frantic.
Whatever … whatever that was, it was
protecting me. Now, what?
As she agitatedly looks around, a beam of bloody
ruby light streams through an opening in the splintering walls. Anima cringes,
now wary of strange glows. An arrow clatters to the ground illuminated by the
pool of light. The air is still and silent as Anima cautiously makes her way
towards the arrow. It is an elegant design. A simple golden arrow, tastefully
decorated with curved garnets and diamonds.
You could know the world by
looking in those facets.

Then a man jumps out of the wall.

“Anima, thank goodness I found you before they did.”

Okay, someone must
have spiked my orange juice
with something yesterday.
Anima is too stunned to reply and just stares,
shell-shocked. His spiky, almost animated hair and glittering russet eyes are
disconcerting in the bright morning sun.

“Come with me, quickly!” Anima doesn't move, seemingly glued
to the wall. “I'm Demetri. We met on the subway.” Anima is still motionless.
“Alright then.” The man makes a fluid motion with his hands, and the wall seems
to give way. Anima screams as she falls. She falls through the wall, but not
into the space on the other side. “You'll thank me later,” the man says,
shaking his head. He leaps through the opening after her and the portal closes
behind them.

***

“You fool! You should have known the girl could make
wards
.”

“Blaming
me?
This is still your fault."

“Either way the master will be displeased.”

The two reptilian voices continue their spitting chatter,
long after Anima’s disappearance and well into the day.
It’s such a pity,
the woman thinks,
she thinks that our demonic behavior changes the fact that
we’re her parents.

“You see, when I pictured magical training, I was thinking
more like … Hogwarts, not bruised and battered extremities,” Luna remarks after
yet another morning of training. Everyone nods in agreement, even Callida, the petite
protégée.

Each time Luna comes down to the training room, she somehow
expects it to be different, but nothing changes. The sound of trickling water
still emanates from the fountains on the walls. The training circle is still
sticky (mopping, even magical mopping, is useless against the sheer volume of sweat),
the sword racks are still endlessly far apart (or it seems endlessly far after
a long sparing session), and blue torches are still eerie, even during the day.

“I, for one, am in desperate need of a shower,” Ámpelos
declares, putting his hands on his hips dramatically.

“I agree. You smell disgusting,” Callida says.

The group guffaws while all secretly knowing they probably
don't smell much different. Terrance laughs especially hard.
Watching these
two try to knock each other off their high horses is priceless.

“Shut it, smart mouth.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want a rematch Argyris?"

Ámpelos stiffens but says nothing.

You can’t really top last name sass, can you?

As the assemblage reaches the top of the stairs, they see
Demetri in animated conversation with a tall, raven-haired girl.

“I know you! You were the man from the subway! Thank you for
saving me.”

“Don’t mention it
—
there
are more like you already waiting.”

“What do you mean, like me?”

“Yeah, Demetri, what do you mean, like us?” Arden remarks.
The girl turns around abruptly, sending him a charged look. Arden swallows hard
and takes a step back, frightened by the intensity of her stare. Sorem finally
emerges from the stairway.

“Ah, you’ve found her,” Sorem says, her eyes widening a bit.

“Always with the tone of surprise,” Demetri replies, rolling
his eyes a bit.

“Well, I’ll go and brief her then,” she says, moving closer
to Anima. “In the meantime, make sure this lot,” she points at the gaggle of
sweaty students, “get washed up. We don’t want the new girl to suffocate in
this …
odeur
.” She wrinkles her nose slightly as she leads Anima down
the hall and into the sitting room. The gang looks at Demetri with questioning
faces.

“You heard the woman. Go and shower,” Demetri commands,
waving away their unspoken questions. They dejectedly shuffle up the stairs,
knowing full well it may be days before Demetri explains anything.

Lunchtime is an awkward affair. Anima comes into the room at
the same time as the others. Her legs are completely wrapped up in bandages to
cover her cuts and Arden, being his clueless self thinks they are some bizarre
fashion trend and tries to compliment her.

“Nice leggings,” he says casually, trying to make up for his
earlier comment.

“Thanks,” she says with strain, “I got them from my psycho
parents who tried to kidnap me.” Her completely straight face conveys no
emotion as she sits down at the table and begins chomping on a tuna sandwich.

 “Very smooth,” Luna whispers into Arden’s ear. He shoves
her playfully but sits down awkwardly, worried what stupid thing he might do
next. Callida, on the other hand, sits right next Anima and murmurs something
into her ear.

Anima cracks a grin and snorts, tossing her jet-black hair
behind her.
Get a load of this lot,
Anima thinks.
They’re better than
controlling parents, that’s for sure.
Ámpelos flicks a grape at Luna, who
shrieks as it goes down her shirt.
I could get used to this place.

 The next few days pass by as mere minutes. The sanctuary is
huge, and even after she is sure she has explored every inch, Anima is always
finding a new room. Training is hard of course. Sorem is warm yet unforgiving
and stiff. Odd combination really, but Anima loves the rush and flow of her
blood as she fights. The strange sensation of fear and joy.

The training room is both the bruises on her ribs and the
rush she needs to get moving. The combination is invigorating. And the group
has warmed up to her.
Even Arden has been relatively tactful over the last
few hours.
Anima bounces down the steps to join the gang at breakfast when
there is a great crash in the kitchen.

“Sorem! There goes the jam.”

“Demetri, do me a favor and look at the crest for a moment.”
He rushes in the direction of the noise to get a glimpse.

He pauses for a moment, mid-thought. “That was still the
good jam!”

 “Quit complaining and let's go!” She turns to the throng of
puzzled faces. "We'll explain when we get back." Sorem flicks her
hand, and a swirling vortex appears. After she and Demetri rush through, the
gateway shuts, disappearing in a flicker of light. A moment of silence follows
their abrupt departure.

“Okay, what’s the
crest?”
Terrance asks.

 “The Crest: an ancient magical stone linked to each of the twelve
arrows. When magic is used, or an arrow released, the according stone will
light up on the crest. That's how they have such perfect timing,” Callida says
breathlessly.

“I truly believe that you swallow encyclopedias in your
spare time,” Luna remarks.

“Oh, I was just snooping in the library and it was in a book
I found.”

“Only you would go snooping in a library,” Ámpelos snarks.

 “There's a library?” Arden asks.

“Of course there is,” Anima says. “And I think I found a
room that has cable TV!” Everyone’s ears prick up. They all turn to Anima,
doubtful of her words. “There is! Come on!” They all rush out of the dining
room, following Anima down the corridor.

***

“That judge really changed after the last season, didn’t
she?” Anima remarks.

“I know, it’s terrible,” Luna says, her chin resting on her
hand as she gazes at the screen.

“Are we seriously watching
The X Factor
?” Callida asks
from her position beneath the coffee table.

“I did try to convince you all to watch
Britain’s Got
Talent.”
Luna replies.

“Shh. They’re about to vote!”

Terrance and Nuntios snicker while Ámpelos gives Arden a
judgmental look.
It’s surprising how three hours of bad TV can change a
person.

Just as the gang starts to get comfortable, they hear a
commotion in the front hall.
Are there
any
quiet days in this house,
Nuntios
muses.

“Well, they’re back,” Anima remarks. The group hastily turns
off the TV and sprints down the hallway, skidding to a stop on the marble
floor. Terrance elbows Nuntios for stepping on the back of his foot then looks
up. He stops for a moment, entranced.

Demetri holds a blonde girl in a blue dress. It bunches
about her in the most fashionable way, despite the obvious presence of mud
stains.
Her eyes are sapphires, their cobalt-blue coloring uncomfortably
discerning.
Her face is dark and guarded.
But there is also a shadow of
fear.

She also appears on the verge of tears. As Demetri begins
leading her up the stairs, she kicks and screams, fighting his iron grip.
Terrance longs to rush forth and help her, but Sorem sends him a warning
glance. The girl, led by a persistent Demetri, then takes the turn on the
landing and disappears out of sight.

“Sorry about that,” Sorem says. “She’s a bit … delicate at
the moment.” Nuntios nods in understanding.
I was a bit of a mess when I got
here myself, he thinks.
“She’ll be staying in her room for the next few
days and no one is to disturb her, understand?”
The solemn faces nod
silently.

“Now, hup hup, we’ve got training to do. Don’t think I forgot
that we missed our morning session.” A collective groan ensues, but they all head
down the stairs.

Terrance takes one last look at the landing where the
violent girl disappeared before heading down himself.
Why am I even thinking
about her?
He stays silent for the duration of the training, his thoughts
lost with a girl and her crying eyes.

Terrance is sitting upright already when it starts.
There
it is again at exactly seventeen past eight
—
her screaming. I know it’s her. I know from the
way Demetri avoids my gaze when I ask him about it. Or the way Sorem pretends
to not hear me when I ask her. I don’t know why she screams, but it’s always
the same. The first few nights were the worst. Callida practically broke the
door down trying to get her to stop. By now we all know it happens. But we don’t
know why she screams, haunted by unseen terrors that not even the strongest
eyeglass can pierce.

He runs through possible scenarios in his head, each more
unlikely than the next.
Runaway actress? Good girl gone diva? Dead parents?
When
the screaming dies down, Terrance rolls over to turn off the light and slips
into a fitful slumber.