The Rise of the Fourteen (15 page)

Under the light of the moo, Lacria appears to loosen up, her
tense demeanor relaxing. She smiles at Terrance’s stories. She even laughs on
occasion. Terrance tries to hide how happy it makes him. He simply smiles back,
and they continue along.

After walking for a while, they come to a grove of olive
trees. Terrance runs his hands along one of the gnarled branches, feeling its
energy.
These trees must be hundreds of years old.
He breaks from his
reverie to see Lacria staring at him.

“You have a
gift
with plants?”

“Well … yes, but it’s not as lame as you make it out to be!”

She raises an eyebrow. “Okay then.” A shadow passes over her
face. “Do you hear that?”

Terrance listens hard. “It sounds like running water.” They
pad over to the right edge of the grove and discover a large pool of water,
growing steadily.

“Where’s all this water coming from?” Terrance asks.

“I’m so very glad you asked!” a biting voice calls from the
trees.

“Lacria, I really hope that was you.”

“Terrance, I’m right behind you
—
how
could my voice be all the way over there?” There’s an obvious note of fear in
her voice as she backs up against Terrance. He can feel her willowy form
trembling through the fibers of his shirt. “That voice is familiar,” she
whispers.

A gaggle of dark figures emerge from the trees. None of them
look entirely human.

Terrance thinks wildly.
Trees, trees, what can I do with
trees? Somebody help me.
He closes his eyes and imagines the branches
swinging round like lassos. There is a loud screech. He opens his eyes to see
the trees waking up, their limbs flailing randomly.

Using all of his willpower, Terrance guides the branches
like a conductor of nature, making boughs strike out at their unknown
attackers. However, Terrance begins to tire. He cannot see everywhere at once,
and the assailants surge forth in even greater numbers. Some even get close
enough that he can breathe their air. It smells of rotting fish, blood, and
devil’s spawn. Hot and horrid.

Lacria has regained her composure and joins the fray, but
does not use magic. She reaches into slits in her clothing, out of which she
pulls knives
—
dozens and
dozens of knives
—
which
she proceeds to throw with lightning accuracy. There are squeals when the
blades make their mark, but they only slow the attackers down.

“This was a good idea, was it?”

“Not now, Lacria!” Terrance says, as there is a great shower
of gold and snowy orbs. They descend like sprites, surrounding the creatures
and burning them away. Terrance cringes as a nearby beast appears to melt
beneath the touch of an ivory sphere.

The creatures’ horrendous yowls fill the night air, and
Terrance and Lacria both move to cover their ears. They each feel a pair of strong
hands grabbing their arms as their surroundings disappear, only to
rematerialize in the sanctuary foyer. But they are not alone. They are being
stared at by six pairs of neutral eyes and two pairs of angry ones.

“We spend all of these decades maintaining this
beautiful
sanctuary, only for you to go
traipsing
around outside as soon as we
turn our backs. There’s a reason we need a sanctuary in the first place!”
Sorem’s yelling has reached fever pitch at this point, and Terrance and Lacria
don’t know how much more of this they can take.

 “My sister is right for once,” Demetri adds. “You two are
to clean this place from top to bottom until we say otherwise.” Lacria sends
Terrance a look while he does his best to ignore it, cradling his head in his
hands.

“Let me get this straight,” Callida says to Sorem. “You woke
all of us up in the middle of the night, or shall I say morning, so you could
yell at these two for going on a secret date? Terrance’s cheeks redden further
while Lacria pretends not to hear her. “Assholes.” With that, Callida exits up
the stairs, a dumbstruck crowd staring up after her.

Anima winces as she tumbles against the hardwood floor.

“Again, Anima?” Armifer asks. “That’s like the third time
this session.” Anima, sits for a moment, panting hard.

“I’m working on it,” she says through ragged breaths.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he says, smirking as she struggles
to stand up.

“I SAID I’M WORKING ON IT!” she hollers, only to fall to the
floor once more. Armifer snickers, as he hears something clatter to the floor.

“You even brought your phone with you to practice?” he asks,
gesturing at a blue lacquered iPhone case poking out from underneath her
collapsed torso.

 “Armifer, shut up,” Anima says as she slips the phone back
into her pocket. It connects with something metallic, and a bright pink flash
explodes out of Anima's pocket, showering the room with sparks. The rest of the
mahi
fall to the floor as the light spreads through the room,
illuminating the stone walls with a magenta glow.

Anima’s phone has since shot out of her pocket and now sits
on the central dais, still shimmering faintly. Anima tries to approach the
phone, but then it begins rattling eerily. She decides to back off and begins
scooting away until she is pressed up against one of the sword racks. “Just
breathe, Anima,” she whispers to herself. “Just breathe.” Unsurprisingly, that
does nothing to help the situation, and the phone continues to rattle until it
makes small leaps off the wooden floor. Callida has the presence of mind to
duck out of the room and get help, but the rest of them stay there, paralyzed
as the phone begins to leak a purple mist.

It wafts out of the phone speakers and the headphone jack.
It oozes out of the edges of the screen, coalescing in a misty puddle. The mist
grows and soon a very human form begins to emerge. The form isn’t clear. It
keeps changing size, shape, and even the color flickers on occasion. Then it
starts speaking.

At first, the voice is garbled and barely audible. Then it
begins to sound like a woman’s voice, then a man’s, then maybe a woman’s again.
Anima notices the form change with its voice and realizes that it’s a person,
continuously changing. One moment she sees a white man in a pinstripe suit, the
next, a caramel-skinned woman in a sky-blue dress. The appearance never lasts
for more than a second.

Then the voice begins forming words. They sound strange and
distorted because of the constant change, but they are clear enough.

“How. May. I. Help. You.”

“Well, you could just stop,” Nuntios mutters.

“Sorry. I. Didn’t. Catch. That.” Anima stops for a minute.
Wait,
is that ….

“I said could you just stop!” Nuntios hollers across the
room.

“Did. You. Mean. What. Is. A. Justsota?”

Nuntios just shakes his head.

“How can you be joking around at a time like this?” Lacria
hisses.

“Well, what were you gonna do? Quiver in the corner?”

Lacria tosses her hair back angrily. She opens her mouth to
talk, but the voice stops her once more.

“Could. You. Repeat. That.”

“Shut up!” Anima groans.

“Shut. Up. Is. Not. In. The. User. Agreement. Here. Are.
Some. Questions. You. Can. Ask. Me.”

“Oh, my god,” Terrance says, “I know who it is.” Everyone
looks at him.

“Who?” Anima demands.

Terrance gives her a horrified look. “Siri.”

Everyone’s eyes flicker back and forth between Terrance and
the woman on the dais.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Anima calls from against the rack,
barely taking her eyes off the ever-changing mass on the dais. She sounds
nonchalant enough, but her shaking form betrays her.

“Tell that to Siri,” Armifer says pointedly, gesturing
towards the swirling assemblage.

“Why don’t we just try something,” Ámpelos says, “or we’ll
never leave.” He turns to face the constantly changing mass. “Siri, read my
emails.”

The mass instantly stops changing and re-emerges as a
fair-skinned woman in a simple gray dress.

“You have twenty un-read emails from
[email protected]
and fifty unread emails from
[email protected]
.
” The woman
holds her hands neatly in front of her after she finishes her sentence. Anima’s
face goes white.

“Siri, please delete all emails,” she says shakily. Siri
frowns slightly.

“I’m sorry, but
—
”

“Yo, Siri,” Nuntios says. “Can you look up pictures from
2008 of Lady Gaga?” Armifer gives a questioning look. “What?” Nuntios says. “I
had a girlfriend who was into that kinda stuff.”

“You had a girlfriend?” Armifer asks, a bit more sharply
than he intended.

 “A while back, yeah. Why do you ask?”

Armifer opens his mouth to ask further but is interrupted by
a metallic voice.

“Searching, 2008 Lady Gaga.” Siri takes a step back and,
just on the stretch of dais in front of her, a kneeling figure slowly begins to
materialize.

 She wears a form-fitting black jumpsuit (which is
completely soaked) and a sequined mask. Holding a microphone in front of her
mouth, she stays frozen, not moving a muscle, and the kids begin to get
anxious.

“That’s Lady Gaga,” Anima says slowly.

“Mmm,” Lacria says, nodding in mild horror.

“And she’s just … there.”

“That’s right,” Lacria whispers.

“Why isn’t she moving?” Anima whispers harshly. Nuntios gets
an idea.

“Siri, show me videos of Lady Gaga in 2008.” The woman
smiles.

“Searching videos of Lady Gaga in 2008,” Siri declares. Soon
the stationary Gaga begins to move and the opening notes of “Poker Face” begin
to play. Nuntios begins to nod appreciatively as she begins to sing and starts
the first dance number.

Lacria just sighs loudly. “You need help,” she says wearily.
Everyone else is just confused. Anima is mortified, and Armifer feels a slight
roiling in his stomach. “We could do something useful,’ Lacria suggests as the
music swells, and the main dance number starts. “Is anyone listening?” Nuntios
shakes his head slightly as he begins tapping his foot to the beat. Lacria lets
out a long breath. “Siri stop!” she shouts. Instantly, Lada Gaga and the backup
dancers freeze and Siri steps forward.

“Yes?” she asks crisply.

“Look up ‘how to defeat nameless evil,’ ” Lacria demands.

Siri gives her a sad and confused look. “Sorry, no results
found.” A dead silence falls in the room.

“That is quite enough,” Demetri calls angrily from the door.
With a flick of his wrist, a golden haze envelops Lady Gaga and her crew and
then they vanish. The light passes around Siri until she becomes a purple mist
once more and starts being reabsorbed into the phone.

Anima feels a sense of guilt when she sees the last of the
lavender fog disappear. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to use her phone
without thinking of the pale woman in the gray dress. A firm hand snaps her out
of her thoughts.

“What
were
you thinking?” Demetri says, clearly
seething.

Anima puts on an innocent face. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about,” Anima says sweetly.

Demetri gives her a stern look. Seeing that Anima is not
about to give up the charade, he snaps his fingers. A red and white arrow flies
out of Anima’s pocket and into Demetri’s outstretched hand.

“I think you do, oddly enough,” Demetri says sourly. “I told
you, you
can’t
carry these talismans around.”

“But it’s my arrow!” Anima protests.

Demetri throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You still can’t
be carrying it around!” he exclaims. “It’s part of a powerful magical amulet
that was forged in the
stellarion
itself!” Anima gives him a confused
look. “You know,
the stellarion
—
the source of all magical energy.
” Demetri pauses. “If
you mix that with any other source of power
—
”

Anima’s phone crackles and spits a few sparks.

“s
—
that happens.” He
turns to the rest of them. “So don't let that give you any bright ideas.” Anima
opens her mouth to protest, but Demetri stops her. “That magical energy now
powers your phone. You have no idea what could happen!”

“Maybe that’s the point!” Anima snaps. “We have no idea what
could happen with any of this!” Demetri huffs and stalks out.

“What’s his deal?” Luna asks.

“Not a big Gaga fan,” Nuntios says solemnly.

The streets of this sleepy little French town are fairly
quiet in the morning. The occasional clack of shop doors opening and closing,
and the various jingles and jangles of shipments moving in can be heard. You
can also hear the usual grumblings of the farmers as they make their way
towards the market.

It’s time to start the day.
Erus rises gracefully,
his steps almost catlike as he makes his way downstairs towards the bakery.
There is no sense of grogginess about him. He is alert and planning, his
movements fluid like water. Methodically, he begins pulling back the drapes,
firing up the ovens, and shining display cases. He works in silence, falling
into a rhythm.

Mémé and Mére will be up within the hour. It must be
ready for them.
Soon the store is alive with the clatter of plates, the
scent of baking bread, and the twinkling of flickering fluorescents. Chairs
are placed around tables; counters are given a final polish. At last, he flips
the finger-worn sign to
OUVERT.
He moves to stand behind the counter.
Erus looks over the empty tables and chairs like a kingdom full of subjects,
his mild detachment an overarching aura.

The first customer has not yet arrived when Erus’s mother comes
in through the back door. Her dark chestnut hair is swept up into an elegant bun.
Her apron is freshly ironed. Her face, however, looks stretched thin. The
cracks of aging are just beginning to show. It is masked deftly with her
shining eyes and wide smile, but Erus can see it regardless.

“Good morning, Mére,” Erus says. He moves forward to kiss
his mother on the cheek.

“Did you remember to put the first round of pastries in the
cases?” she asks wearily.

“Yes, Mére
.
”

“And Méme is sick today, so you’ll have to take care of your
brother and sister as well as help me.”

“Yes, Mére
.
” he repeats, taking her words in stride.

“And I need you to fetch some things from the village
today.”

 “Yes, Mé
—
”

“Some flowers for table vases would be nice. Méme might be
grateful for some yarn or … a newspaper. Oh, and we need some more sea salt.
We’re out.”

“Yes, Mére
.
” Erus grabs his jacket, hastily thrown
over a chair the night before, and shrugs it on. His mother hands him a wad of
euros as he exits the shop.

“Thank you,” she whispers to his retreating form. She shakes
off her sentimentality and quickly loses herself in the warm atmosphere of
dough and sugar.

 If Erus is bothered by the cold, he certainly doesn't show
it. Most others are shivering, even those with thick jackets, but he shoulders
on. The sea salt sits in a pocket. The newspaper rests in another.
One last
stop
.

He shoulders the door open and enters the flower shop. He
looks through the rows of fragrant frivolities and eventually comes across a
lone bouquet of pale snowdrops, just beginning to bud. He smiles in spite of
himself, grabs the bunch of flowers, and heads to the cashier.

“Excuse me,” he asks sharply.

A sour-faced girl looks up from her magazine behind the
desk. “What do you want?” she asks, looking him up and down scornfully.

Erus rolls his eyes. “I would like to purchase some
flowers,” he says forcefully, putting the bundle on the table, “sooner rather
than later.”

 “Really?” she asks. “I thought you came here looking for
toothpicks.”

Erus gives her a harsh look, and a faint glow begins to
build, starting at his heart and traveling down his limbs until it covers his
entire body. “I would like some flowers,” he says, gesturing to the bundle
again. “How much are they?”

The girl shrinks back a little. “Eight euros,” she mumbles.

Erus’s lip curls in distaste. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Eight euros,” she says again, a bit more firmly.

Erus hisses against his teeth. “Too much,” he admonishes.

A shadow of doubt crosses the girl’s face. “But
—
”

An icy stare silences her.

“
—
five euros,” she
whispers.

With a thin smile, Erus passes her the bank note. As he exits
the shop, the bell on the door tinkles harshly, making the girl flinch. With a
shudder, she retreats behind the desk, more than ready to continue reading her
magazine.

Erus returns to the bakery. He gives Mére
the fruits
of his labors, then goes upstairs, breathing a sigh of relief as he shuts the
bedroom door behind him. Using his “ability” can take a lot of energy out of
him, and soon Erus snores peacefully on his bed. His mother checks in on him
before dinner but decides not to disturb him, so Erus sleeps through to
nightfall.

 The sky had darkened many hours ago, but when Erus slides
out of bed, there is something different, even though it is still nighttime.
The sky is not the silky indigo he is used to. The night closes in on him as he
leans out the window.

The air is thick, muggy almost. There is hardly a star in
the sky. He stares into the abyss above him in confusion.
Obviously, there’s
some explanation. I shouldn’t worry. Nothing’s going on.
When the darkness
descends to the top of the high steeple, he realizes that the celestial murk is
a cloud. Thick and swollen.
The clouds shouldn’t be coming this low even if
—
his thoughts are cut off by the low rumble of
thunder, followed promptly by a pair of screams. Erus runs down the hall as
fast as he can.

“Clemance, Laurent, there’s nothing to be scared o
—
”
A brilliant streak of lightning
flashes, eliciting a jump of surprise from Erus.
There is no reason to be
surprised. My brother and sister should know that. We have thunderstorms all
the ti
—
.
The thunder rumbles
once more, and the lightning crashes soon after.
Is it moving closer?

Erus throws the door open and lurches into the room. Two
frightened children are huddled beneath the sheets, shaking in fear. Erus puts
a comforting arm on the quaking bundle, murmuring soothing words to it. “There’s
nothing to be scared of. It’s alright.”

Clemance sits bolt upright, her eyes wide with horror. “It’s
coming.”

Erus looks at his little sister in confusion but understands
her a moment later. The booms of thunder sound like massive gongs in the night.
Then the lightning strikes. It seems to shake the very foundations of the
house. There is a shriek and a sound of shattering glass. Before Erus can get
up, his grandmother rushes in, her stringy white hair in a frizzy ponytail, her
nightgown crinkled by shaking sweaty fingers.

She only whispers one word.
“Fire.”

Before he is even aware of what he’s doing, Erus races towards
the smell of smoke.
The roof?
He makes his way towards the shattered
window and catches a glimpse of a flickering flame. Stepping gingerly over the
broken glass, he pirouettes over the sill and onto the small garden terrace.

Barely big enough for two flowerpots, the terrace tests Erus’s
balance. He reaches up for the gutter and hoists himself onto the roof,
ignoring the welts on his hands. The fire, only moments ago a mere light, is on
its way to bonfire-dom, making quick work of the roof thatch
.

Looking about wildly for a blanket or something, Erus
decides to take off his nightshirt and attempts to smother the flame. The
hungry orange tongues only eat up his shirt, but Erus has other things to worry
about. The thunder rumbles again and time seems to slow down. He can see the
spark of lightning as it starts, the beam of light traveling towards him. The
rain begins, and he can see the drops falling, making speckles across his
vision.

He stands frozen on the rooftop, his life flashing before
his eyes. As the light travels closer, he thinks of what might happen to him.
Will
it hurt? Will I feel anything? Will it end quickly?

The glittering shaft hits him square in the chest. He can
feel the electricity coursing through his body, obliterating his innards, boiling
his blood. He closes his dying eyes and thinks of Mémé and Mére
and
Clemance and Laurent. He sees their happy faces burning, burning in the
imminent conflagration.
I will not let them die.

With a ferocious roar, he screams at the heavens, spreading
his arms wide in rage. He can feel voltage leaving his body, seeping out of the
very pores in his skin. With a massive crackling noise, the pent-up heat flows
out of his palms in a million rays of light, dartling the gloomy empyrean.