Rise Up from the Embers

by Sara Raasch

  Ash jerked back like he’d struck her. Her eyes widened, shock falling over her like snow.

  Tor’s own eyes went wide. He could see he’d gone too far. “Ash—”

  She fisted her hands, her body coiled. She wanted to attack him. She wanted to throw geoeia, hydreia, floreia, things she knew he couldn’t control or deflect. She wanted to pummel him with all the fury raging inside, her frustration at how he could be so harsh, so cruel.

  She whirled away, fists at her temples, and screamed. She screamed until fire swept up over her body, lighting her up like the sun, and she channeled her toxic feelings into one thought.

  Igna. Find Brand, she willed, begging her strange new powers to comply. Igna. Save my country.

  Other thoughts danced at the edges of her mind that she actively wrestled down.

  Tor thought she’d changed. Had she? Was she wrong to want to help Kula?

  No. Gods, no. She wouldn’t let Tor make her doubt herself. Too many factors in the coming battle were out of their control—the least Ash could do was control what factors she was able to.

  Ash’s fire unfurled, and she was in Igna.

  Seventeen

  MADOC

  FOR THE SECOND time since his return to Crixion, Madoc found himself at the grand arena, only this time his body was not his own.

  He could hear the thunder of stomping feet and the roar of the crowd as he waited in the tunnel along the northern entrance to the arena. When a servant handed him wine, he drank against his will, and felt the warm liquid slide down his throat. When one of Anathrasa’s priests raised a piece of chalk to Madoc’s face, he knelt, his legs ignoring his internal plea to run, so that white could be smeared across his mouth in honor of him spreading her word.

  He could not stop any of it.

  But a small part of him—an exhausted, beaten-down part—still fought. Still felt like him, locked in the prison of his controlled body. Maybe it was his soul energeia that shielded him. Maybe Anathrasa wasn’t as strong as she thought he was. Either way, he was still aware, and could feel her presence creeping in on the edges of his consciousness, though he didn’t know how to stop it.

  The longer he was under her control, the weaker he was becoming. Stretches of time had begun to go missing from his memory. He knew Elias was somewhere in the palace, but he couldn’t remember where. He couldn’t recall where Danon or Ava had gone, or where the Metaxas’ room was, though he knew he’d been there. He couldn’t even say how he’d gotten here, to the arena.

  He was disappearing, losing his hold on who he was. If he didn’t figure out a way to fight off Anathrasa, he would soon be gone completely. Then Elias, and Ilena, and Danon and Ava would be lost. Ash would fail, because he had failed in his mission to get her the power she needed. And once Anathrasa used him to take the power from Biotus and Aera, and probably also Florus, locked in his glass bubble, the entire world was at risk. With the power of four gods, it was just a matter of time before she defeated Hydra.

  A roar outside shifted his attention to the archway, and the gate, now opening onto the golden sand. Anathrasa took her position before him, her gown brushing his arm as she passed. Aera squeezed in beside her, and Biotus beside Madoc.

  Hazy memories slipped through Madoc’s consciousness of the previous day, when Anathrasa had made him kneel before the gods of air and animal life and tell them his escape from Crixion after Geoxus’s death had actually been planned, and that transferring Geoxus’s and Ignitus’s powers to Ash had been an accidental side effect of trying to kill her.

  Aera had been praised for reporting Ash’s presence to the Mother Goddess, and it was decided that Ash’s appearance in the palace only could have been an attempt at vengeance.

  To show his loyalty, Madoc had kissed their feet.

  The arena gates opened, and Madoc followed the gods onto the sand, before a crowd screaming their praises. His face smiled, his arm waved, but he controlled none of it.

  Behind him, a red glass ball—the case holding Florus—slid into the light. The crowd hushed as it moved toward the center of the arena, carried by rolling grains of sand that the Earth Divine masters on either side manipulated with geoeia. When Anathrasa stopped and stepped beside it, Madoc’s head turned, giving him a view of the youthful god and his wide, desperate eyes.

  It had been almost a week since Madoc had first seen him in the dungeons. How long Florus had survived in his bubble before then, Madoc didn’t know.

  With a glance at the goddess of air, Anathrasa began to speak.

  “People of Deimos.” Her voice was not a shout, but barely a whisper. It came on a breeze, blown from the palm of Aera’s hand. “And visitors from our beloved sister countries, Lakhu and Cenhelm. I have returned to guide you in Geoxus’s absence. To unify our world, which has too long been at war.”

  Madoc’s head bowed in reverence, along with the rest of the audience.

  “But there are those who would oppose us.”

  A murmuring rose from the stands.

  “Florus lured our allies from Cenhelm to join him in Itza under the guise of peace,” she lied smoothly. “But along with the goddess of water, he attacked Biotus and his warriors.” She paused as the murmuring grew to a dull roar and the wind carrying her words strengthened. “Florus is a traitor. A danger to our world. And I will tear down anyone who threatens to destroy our unified vision of peace and prosperity for both Divine and Undivine, be they god or mortal.”

  With this, the people cheered. Madoc cheered. But inside, he withered.

  Anathrasa placed her hand on the red glass case. “As I speak, Hydra readies her army for battle. But whatever the goddess of water may bring to our shores will not be enough to withstand the fierce honor of Deimos.”

  Madoc’s hands rose and clapped along with the spectators. His mouth shouted in approval that Anathrasa was their leader, the Mother Goddess, while his mind revolted at the words. Behind him, the Earth Divine knelt, pressing their hands into the ground and lifting the red prison to hip level on a column of sparkling sand.

  “And let anyone else who might consider treason be warned what awaits them if they challenge the Mother Goddess. All energeia once belonged to me, and I will take it back from anyone who attempts to use it against me.” She turned to Biotus. “Break it.”

  With a grin, he stepped to the thick glass and, with a roar, wheeled back and struck it with a hammering fist. The glass shattered in a spray of red dust, and though Madoc didn’t move, he could feel a dozen pointed shards nick his face and arms.

  The god of plants gasped, a horrible rattling sound, and his chest expanded with the first full breath he’d taken in days.

  “Now,” Anathrasa said.

  Madoc didn’t realize she was talking to him until his body turned toward the remains of the ball, and his hands reached over the jagged siding.

  “Yes, my goddess,” his mouth said, even as his mind screamed, No!

  It was too late. Anathreia rose inside him like a torrent of wind, ripping through his soul, his flesh, his muscles. The hunger was sudden, absolute, and when he inhaled, he could taste earth and wood on the back of his tongue.

  “Stop,” Florus whispered, reaching for Madoc, but the god was weak from his days without breath, and the green branches that sprouted from his palms quivered, and then shriveled and turned black. With a guttural cry, Florus arched backward, chest lifted and toes pointed. Every muscle in his small body flexed to the point of snapping. His eyes bulged, staring desperately at the sky.

  Madoc tried to shake himself free of his hold on the plant god. He tried to turn his shoulders, his head, any part of him away from the god of plants, but it was no use. Revulsion coursed through him, as potent as his own need. I’m sorry, he screamed silently. No one could hear.

  Next to Madoc, Aera gave a quick gasp. From the corner of his eye he could see her hands fist. A wave of uncertainty peeled off her, but he couldn’t make sense of it. She’d been the one to trap Florus in that bubble
, breathless, in the first place.

  She knows this could be her, he realized. Maybe he should have pitied her, but he didn’t.

  “More,” Anathrasa ordered. “It was mine to begin with. It will be mine again, now.”

  Madoc reached deeper into Florus’s soul, pulling at the twisting vines and roots of his energeia and yanking them free. Madoc could feel the pressure of the foreign power crushing him from the inside out—its heavy, living force sliding through his veins. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His vision began to shake.

  Florus collapsed in a heap, his breath shallow.

  Madoc staggered. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes Anathrasa was before him. Her lips tilted in a smile as he took her hands, and maybe it was weak, but in that moment he longed for her help. Anything to ease this incredible burden.

  How had he ever thought he was strong enough to help Ash?

  “Complete the circle,” she told him.

  Her hands squeezed his, and when he exhaled, she siphoned the energeia out of his body. The screaming in his head quieted, the twisting of his joints released. He inhaled sharply, feeling a cool flood of relief. Too late he tried to cling to some small bit of floreia—enough to save for Ash—but it slipped away, drawn into Anathrasa’s soul like a sprout opening to the sun.

  Anathrasa sighed, her eyelids fluttering. When she smiled, not a single wrinkle lined her mouth. Her skin was flushed and smooth. Her hair was full.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  She released Madoc’s hands, and he faced the crowd, disgusted with himself. Horrified by what he’d just helped her do.

  “Itza belongs to Biotus now,” Anathrasa told the people of Deimos, her voice carried again on the wind. The god of animals raised his chin and pounded his massive chest with one meaty fist. “The Itzan people are his, just as Hydra’s Apuitians will soon be Aera’s.”

  At this, the goddess of air lifted her hands and sent a blast of cool air across the stands, ruffling clothes and hair, delighting the crowd.

  This was what Anathrasa had promised them, Madoc realized. This was why they sided with her—for power, for more people and more land.

  They had no idea she intended to strip it from them the same way she had Florus.

  “As for the god of plants, he belongs to Deimos now,” Anathrasa finished. “Let’s see how he fares among our fiercest fighters. The first one to bring me his heart will have their likeness cast in gold outside this arena.”

  No. Madoc glanced at the god of plants, so young and now so fragile, pushing himself to his knees in what remained of the shattered glass sphere. Madoc couldn’t help thinking of the boy who’d been shot by an arrow at the first games—the child he’d healed at the sanctuary. He could offer Florus no such mercy now.

  The Earth Divine who’d moved the glass sphere into the arena now exited the way they’d come, but Madoc and the gods did not follow. Before him, Anathrasa raised her arms, hands clenched, and the ground began to rumble. A moment later, dark roots burst from the sand, braiding together in a tightly woven staircase the stretched from the ground straight up to the viewing box.

  The crowd screamed their approval.

  Hand in hand, Anathrasa and Aera climbed, with Biotus just behind them, and Madoc trailing by a few steps, until they reached the marble ledge of the box and were helped down by their servants.

  “Isn’t that twig-armed grunt your brother?”

  Madoc followed Biotus’s pointing finger down to the sands, where more than thirty Earth Divine had emerged from the western gate to fight. Near the back of the cluster was a man in a red tunic, marked across the chest with an embroidered silver circle.

  Brother—the word was only a whisper in Madoc’s mind.

  Madoc frantically realized that he’d nearly forgotten Elias. His brother was wearing the same clothing he’d worn to the party where Anathrasa had introduced Madoc as her son. How had Elias gotten here? The last thing Madoc remembered was searching for Ilena with him.

  Ilena. Where was their mother now? And Danon, and Ava?

  He couldn’t lose his grasp on himself. He needed to hang on. To remember. To fight.

  Elias wasn’t holding any weapons, nor was he wearing any armor. His head moved, eyes roaming from his Deiman competition to the Air Divine filtering in from the opposite side of the arena and the horde of Biotus’s warriors now spilling through the front gate. They’d brought more animals this time. Giant cats. Bears. Even wolves.

  The ships from Cenhelm must have arrived, Madoc thought bleakly, remembering how few Animal Divine had fought in the last celebration. There were a hundred of them now, huge men and women with glinting steel weapons and leather armor.

  In the center of it all, a small mortal who’d once been a god lifted a shard of red glass to defend himself.

  Madoc looked again for Elias. What have I done?

  “A Deiman not loyal to my mother is no brother of mine,” he told Biotus.

  The god of animals snorted, then gave a laugh. He slapped Madoc on the back hard enough that he nearly went over the railing.

  “Then he’ll be meat for my warriors,” Biotus said. “But not before they take my brother’s heart.”

  Madoc’s consciousness trembled with what rage he could still muster. He hoped Anathrasa did use him to drain Biotus, just so the god would suffer.

  Not yet, Anathrasa warned in his head. We still need the loyalty of the Air and Animal Divine to defeat the water goddess and her little pet.

  When Madoc pictured Ash, he could feel Anathrasa’s laugh rumble through his chest.

  Below, Elias crouched, picking up a fistful of sand and rubbing it between his hands. He was passed by another fighter, who offered a quick word before moving on. He looked the part of a Deiman gladiator—his armor fit well, and he was big enough to fight off any of the Animal Divine.

  Lucius, Madoc realized. He remembered the trainer’s disgusted expression at the last fight. Maybe he’d decided he couldn’t stand by and had entered the games himself.

  Maybe, like Elias, he’d been forced into the ring.

  “There’s my little soul stealer.” Madoc felt two hands slide around his waist, and a female body press against his back. He breathed in and was overwhelmed by Aera’s floral scent as she rested her chin on his shoulder. “Finally learned your place, have you?” She giggled. “What you did down there was quite impressive. I’m glad you didn’t get the chance to do it to me.”

  His eyes lifted to the shattered red prison, and disgust reeled through what remained of his soul.

  “Never, goddess,” Anathrasa said through his mouth.

  Aera smiled against the back of his shoulder. “How about a wager? If a Deiman wins my brother’s heart, I’ll come to your room tonight. But if it’s a Lak?” She nuzzled her nose against the side of his neck and, inside, he trembled in powerless rage. “You’ll come to my room, lover.”

  Push her away, he told himself. Tell her no.

  His body didn’t listen. He covered her hands, splayed across his chest, with his own, and lifted his chin so she could kiss his throat.

  She likes you, Anathrasa whispered. That will serve us well when we drain her.

  The games began with the blare of horns and a wave of black and silver flags, and soon all the warriors were struggling to get to Florus in the center of the arena. The boy was fighting them off with handfuls of dirt and a spear he’d taken from someone, but the effort was weak and inconsequential. He disappeared beneath a crowd of bodies, only to be tossed into the air by a powerful, aereia-controlled burst of wind. When he landed, a Cenhelmian took him to the ground, but they both were soon knocked aside by an earthquake sent by one of the Earth Divine fighters. Madoc tried to follow Elias, but his eyes kept roaming, controlled by Anathrasa, who was seated on a white marble throne at the back of the viewing box.

  The next time Madoc saw Florus’s body, it was being thrown through the air, limp and bloody. A Lak fighter screamed that she had his hea
rt, but she was immediately speared through the chest by an Animal Divine.

  Soon Florus’s body was forgotten, and the game became who could hold the heart of a god.

  Biotus shouted for his warriors to draw blood, and they did not disappoint. Four Animal Divine warriors surprised a group of Aera’s fighters, rallying around the bloody heart with a net, trapping them to the ground. Taking advantage of the move, Lucius buried them in a wave of gravel, only to be blown against the perimeter wall by another Lak man.

  The fighters appeared to be attacking as though their lives depended on it. There was no sign that Anathrasa was controlling them, but if she could take over Madoc’s body, she could do the same to others. Make divine men and women more skilled and powerful with their energeia than they’d ever been.

  A new terror pressed down on the edges of his consciousness.

  Finally, Madoc’s gaze returned to Elias. His brother’s back was against the wall—a choice, Madoc realized, that was serving him well defensively. Those who attempted to attack were forced to come straight at him, and Elias warded them off in droves with tidal waves of gravel and dust.

  Stay standing, Madoc willed him. He didn’t know if Anathrasa would end this battle before people died again, or if those who’d lost would be healed. He suspected Elias would not be so lucky. With another shock of helpless terror, Madoc remembered the first-round winners from the first games in the palace dungeon, and feared Elias would meet the same fate.

  “My fighters still hold the heart,” Aera sang. Her cool lips slid down the tendons of his neck, and he was revolted again by the pleasure she took in her brother’s brutal death. “I think that means I’m winning.”

  Madoc could feel competitiveness take him by storm. It wasn’t his choice, but rather Anathrasa’s enjoyment whipping through his blood. He wanted nothing to do with these games, but as Lucius knocked down two Cenhelmian fighters in one battering swing of his spear and stole the heart for himself, his excitement grew, and soon he was cheering along with the other gods.

  You’re enjoying yourself, Anathrasa told him.