The Rise of the Fourteen (20 page)

Their celebration is short-lived, however, soon interrupted
by the sound of two voices.
They must be park rangers or something
Mortas thinks.
We’ll get in some kind of trouble for sure.
A man of gold
and a woman of silver emerge from behind a tree, their eyes wide with surprise.

“You’re not of the twelve. Who the hell are you?”

“You know, Demetri, this is why we don’t have friends.”

“Where are Demetri and Sorem?” Nuptia asks boredly, cleaning
her fingernails with a knife. “They’re supposed to be here for training.”

“We can still spar among ourselves,” Lacria says, almost
distracted. She’s not about to say anything but, after the fight with Erus
yesterday, she would rather do anything but train.

“Yeah, Nuptia,” Anima chimes in. “I’m sure Ámpelos
would
spar with you anytime.” Callida and Luna snicker as spots of red show in Ámpelos’s
cheeks.

“What’s so funny?” Faber calls to Callida. “At least Nuptia
can hold her ground in a fight.”

“Is that a challenge, Faber?” Callida replies coyly.

“Perhaps, Callida.”

“Single combat, till the other yields.”

“Real swords?”

“Hell no!”

“You scared, Callida?”

“I know you can melt metal blades, idiot.” She rolls her
eyes as Faber simply shrugs his shoulders.

 “It was worth a try.” The pair each grabs a drill sword
from one of the racks, and the duel begins.

Callida is lightning, striking hard and fast. Faber gains
three new bruises on his ribs before he can get a blow in edgewise. Callida
grins.
The fight is already over.
Their swords meet once or twice before
Callida sends the wood flying out of his hand. Faber stands, breathing hard.
Callida holds the point of her drill sword to his throat, grinning in triumph.

“Rematch, then?” she asks. Suddenly a shudder runs through
her body and the smug expression is gone from her face.

“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.

“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. Remember 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?”