This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Anne Davis
RISE by Jennifer Anne Davis
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-945107-09-2
Published by Month9Books, Raleigh, NC 27609
Cover designed by www.derangeddoctordesigns.com
For Jessica
Prologue: Fortid
In a hut on the outskirts of a small village, the old woman tied the girl’s wrists and ankles to the table. Dawn’s first light shone on the horizon, and the moons still hung in the sky to the west—the best time to perform powerful magic. At the ripe age of sixteen, the naive girl had no idea what was about to happen.
“Why are you willing to help me?” she asked.
The old woman’s lips curled into a smile. “My kind is fading away. By giving you my magic, I am creating something far more powerful than me to save all the Heks.”
“Isn’t that what Skog Heks is trying to do in the mines?”
“If she finds the power source, there’s no guarantee new Heks will be born. Now that the balance of power is off, I know what to do. By using you, I can guarantee Heks don’t become extinct.”
The old woman clasped her hands together. When she pulled them apart, a blue light appeared. The small ball of magic glowed, waiting to be molded and used. “Our land is divided into twelve kingdoms,” she murmured. “I will create twelve warriors who will not only save Nelebek, but all our land.” She drew her hands farther apart, and the blue orb grew larger. “They shall be bound to my magic and will have no choice but to do my will.”
“Twelve warriors? Bound to your magic? What are you talking about? You didn’t tell me any of this!” The girl’s pretty brown eyes widened. “You said you would help undo what Skog Heks did! That I would be reunited with the man I love.”
“If I told you the truth, you never would have agreed.”
“Why me?” The girl struggled against her bindings to no avail.
“I’m sorry, child, but it has to be you. The king is protected under the treaty. However, you are simply a mere human, and the terms of the treaty don’t apply to you the same way they do to those who govern. You are the only one who can undo it all. You are his weakness.” She pointed to the twelve weapons lying on the ground. A piece of the blue orb broke off, splitting into a dozen smaller balls, each one plunging into one of the weapons and filling it with a bit of magic.
“The next eleven male births will start this.” Another chunk of the orb broke off and formed eleven smaller pieces that darted out of the room and disappeared. “Now, it’s your turn.” Her hands moved over the girl’s chest, and the blue light hovered there.
“Please don’t hurt me!” the girl begged, thrashing against her bindings.
“Yours will be the first one, the strongest one, and will save all the Heks.” She said the next part of the spell in a language rarely spoken—words from the old days—sealing the kingdom of Nelebek’s fate.
The light flashed and then plummeted into the girl’s chest. She screamed; flailing her body as the magic filled her. A moment later, the blue light faded away. The girl stilled and passed out.
“It’s done.” The old woman leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Once the twelve have risen, a new era will dawn. One in which Heks and humans are one, and Heks will finally have a choice.”
Chapter One
I staggered into my apartment. The bed, tucked in the corner of the room, begged me to lie down, if only for a moment. But my sore feet, raw hands, and aching back—the result of washing clothes for twelve hours straight—would have to wait for a reprieve because hunger overruled the need for sleep. Opening the kitchen cupboard blackened with dirt and grime, I found only a few crumbs scattered on the shelves. How were we going to survive? Stomping from above shook the ceiling, causing dust to rain down. A baby cried and a couple argued on the other side of the wall.
“Kaia,” my father said as he entered the room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Why are you home so early?” I asked, kissing his cheek. His face was paler than usual, his hair disheveled, and his eyes had dark circles under them.
Instead of answering, he swung his arms, loosening them up. “Let’s get to it.”
Hopefully, he hadn’t lost his job from being too sick to work. If he did, we would not only be out of food, but we’d be out of this apartment as well. It might not be much, but it was all we had. I’d grown up in these two rooms, and, most likely, would be where I lived the rest of my life.
“Sure,” I said, too tired to train. “What do you want to work on first?”
“Hand to hand combat,” he said. Besides the kitchen cupboards and my straw mattress covered with a few dingy blankets, the only other furniture in the room was a wooden table, two chairs, and a box for my clothes.
As I stood across from Papa in the middle of the room, my stomach growled. His hand barreled down toward me. Raising my left arm, I blocked the strike and punched his gut. When he hunched forward, I latched onto his shoulders, pulling him down and slamming my knee into his head. He toppled to the ground.
After a minute, my father raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to finish me off?” he asked, leaping to his feet. “You had me. Why’d you stop?”
“When my attacker is on the ground, there’s no reason to render him unconscious or murder him. Fleeing is easy at that point.”
He shook his head. “Honey, when the time comes, you won’t have the opportunity to consider whether a person should be killed or not. We train so you can act without thinking.”
“I’d rather train so that when the time comes, if it ever does, I can defend myself and make the right choice. If there’s another way to escape, why should I murder the person?” It was difficult to argue with my father since he always insisted he was right. As much as I loved him, I didn’t necessarily agree with him.
“Your mother would be proud of the woman you’ve become,” he said, changing the subject.
“Why don’t you ever talk about her?” I asked. “Do we look alike? How’d she spend her time?” If only he would tell me something, anything, so I could feel a connection to her.
“Not right now,” Papa said, staring at his feet. “You’re not done with your lesson.”
Of course. Training always came first—it was the most important aspect of my life. Since my mother had died delivering me, my father felt it was his duty to make sure I could take care of myself. Inconsequential things such as knowing anything about my own mother would have to wait. Survival was the one, and only, goal in this desolate kingdom.
Even though my arms shook from hunger, I smiled. “What do you want to work on now?”
“Let’s practice what to do if someone comes up behind you.”
Turning my back to my father, I patiently waited for him to attack. When he didn’t, I glanced behind me. Papa bent over clutching his chest. Running to where he kept his medicine, I grabbed the bottle off the moldy shelf and uncorked it. It was empty, and my heart sank. There should be at least another week’s worth. Papa had to be taking more than he should, which could onl
y mean one thing: he wasn’t getting any better.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wheezing. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He coughed, and little droplets of blood spattered on the floor.
Tears filled my eyes, and I hastily blinked them away. “I’ll go to the apothecary’s and get more medicine.” I wrapped my arm around his torso and helped him hobble to the wooden chair at the table.
“It’s almost curfew,” he said, sitting down. “It’s too dangerous for you to be out at this hour.”
Without the medicine, my father’s condition would only worsen. “Let me do this for you.” It was nothing I couldn’t handle. He worked hard to ensure I was taken care of—it was my turn to see to his needs.
Papa pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off the blood covering is lips. “There’s no money left.”
He started coughing again, and I struggled to hold back my rage. He was forced to work as a soldat in the mines for the king, yet he wasn’t paid nearly enough to feed us, let alone to have extra money for expensive items such as medicine. It wasn’t fair.
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “There’s a little bit of money left over from my job.” Reaching under my mattress, my fingers fumbled around until they came across my one and only coin. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was better than nothing.
“Kaia,” my father said. “Go tomorrow instead. It’ll be safer.” The handkerchief clutched in his hand was moist with blood, and a foul, metallic smell permeated the air.
“You might not be alive come morning. I’m going—and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek.
“Remember everything I’ve taught you, everything we’ve practiced.” He patted my shoulder. “And when you return, we need to talk. There’s something I must tell you.”
With curfew going into effect in a few short hours, I needed to leave instead of dwelling on what Papa had to say. Wrapping a knit scarf around my neck, I closed the door to our apartment and ran down the rickety, wooden steps to the first floor. The repulsive smell of body odor and waste hung heavy in the stale air. Holding my breath, I hurried along the dark corridor and shoved the door open, stepping outside and inhaling the fresh air.
The chilly wind whipped around my body. Thankfully, I had on sturdy pants, a plain shirt, and a thick leather vest instead of a dress. For as long as I could remember, Papa insisted I wear trousers because they were easier to move and fight in. Pulling the scarf around my mouth, I made sure my long, brown hair was tucked under my shirt. The key to making it through the capital without attracting the soldats’ attention was to keep my head down and walk quickly.
Since most people hurried home from work at this hour, I easily vanished into the crowd. Soldats stood posted at each street corner watching everyone. Across the way, a young man joked with his friend—he should have known better. In less than a minute, half a dozen men dressed in red uniforms descended upon him.
“I didn’t do anything!” the young man screamed. A soldat punched him in the stomach, yanked his hands back, and tied his wrists together. He dragged the young man down the street, presumably to the dungeon. It took all my willpower to keep walking the other way. Papa had drilled it in me to pick my battles. Unless my life was in danger, I had to stand down, regardless of the injustice of the situation. Curling my fingers, I made two fists, keeping my anger under control. This was no way to live.
Passing between the tall, gray, windowless buildings lining the street, an oppressive feeling overwhelmed me. Each structure was jam-packed with apartments housing multiple families similar to the one I lived in. The sound of people speaking, children crying, and soldiers yelling was constant. The smell of decaying rats, trash, and vomit coated the air like a wool blanket.
Rounding a corner, I spied the king’s castle in the distance. Its imposing black stone walls and bleak towers mirrored the capital and my future. Legend said it was once a shining, gleaming, white castle filled with lively parties and a ruler who cared about his subjects. I didn’t believe any part of that. It was probably just wishful thinking—a fairy tale to lull children to sleep at night. The only people who entered or left the castle were soldats from the King’s Army. The king didn’t care about his subjects—he obsessed over hunting down and capturing the Krigers.
Turning onto another street, I quickly took note of where each soldat stood and avoided passing near them. Men covered with dirt from laboring in the mines stopped at the taverns on their way home from work. Women carried baskets, desperately trying to sell knitted scarves, socks, and gloves. There were two hours until curfew, just enough time for me to buy my father’s medicine and make it home.
After passing the baker and blacksmith, both closing up for the night, I finally arrived at my destination. I entered the apothecary’s store; a gray cat darted in front of me, but otherwise the place seemed empty. Shelves containing all sorts of glass jars, most of them no larger than my hand, lined the walls of the small room from the scarred wooden floor to the cracked plaster ceiling. At the counter, I cleared my throat. A moment later, the apothecary entered through the back curtain, his dark eyes darting around the store nervously.
“Kaia.” He smiled, relieved. “How is your father doing?” he asked, wiping his hands on a small towel.
“He hasn’t improved.” Placing my money on the counter, I hoped we could strike a deal. “He needs more breathing medicine.”
“Maybe it’s time to let your father go.” The apothecary slid the coin back toward me.
Papa was all I had left, and just the thought of losing him made it hard to breathe. I pushed my coin back toward the apothecary and folded my arms.
The apothecary rubbed his tired face. “Medicine is expensive. Didn’t you just turn sixteen?”
I nodded.
“Then you can legally work.”
“Are you offering me a job?” A woman in my apartment building already employed me at helping her wash clothes. It didn’t pay much, but it afforded me the flexibility to go home and take care of my father if needed.
“I can’t hire you,” he said. “An apprentice is already assigned to me.” He turned around and took a jar off the shelf behind him. “This is one week’s worth of medicine.”
“Thank you.” As I reached for it, he snatched it away with his long, bony fingers.
“This isn’t free,” he scolded me.
“I promise to pay you.”
“I have mouths to feed, too.” The cat jumped onto the counter and lay down so the apothecary could scratch its plump belly.
“What about cleaning your store or making deliveries?” There had to be something he needed.
He held the jar in his free hand, taunting me. “There is an errand that must be taken care of.” He leaned forward on the counter, placing the glass bottle before me and shooing the cat away. “Do this favor for me, and I’ll give you one day’s worth of medicine.”
Clenching my hands, I muttered, “Only one day?”
“That’s what I’m offering.” He smiled.
The gray cat slunk up next to me, rubbing its body against my legs. Seeing no other feasible option at this late hour, I agreed. The apothecary reached under the counter and pulled out a small jar, setting it on the wooden surface. After pouring a tiny amount of medicine inside, he corked it and held the bottle in front of my face. “I need you to go to the Town Square.”
The Town Square always crawled with men from the King’s Army looking for young, able-bodied people to recruit. They would arrest the person and tell him that he could go free if he willingly joined the army. Other times, they would put the person to work in the mines, digging for the Heks power source. Many steered clear of the Town Square in order to avoid being forced into the king’s service. I would rather die than become a slave.
“Still want the medicine?” the apothecary asked.
“Yes,” I snapped. “Tell me what to do.”
“Look for a man wearin
g a fur-trimmed jacket,” he instructed. “He’s … well, not from around here. And he’s someone you never want to cross.”
Most likely, this man was a criminal. I swallowed, contemplating my options. Doing this errand meant receiving my father’s medicine. Papa would be upset with the risks involved. However, he’d also told me to pick my battles—and this battle I was willing to fight.
I reached for the jar, and the apothecary nicked it away. “I’ll give it to you when you return. I need some form of insurance you’ll make the delivery.”
“It’ll be curfew by then,” I said, clutching the counter so tightly, my knuckles turned white.
“Then I suggest you hurry.” The apothecary went to a wooden cabinet concealed in the corner of the room between two large shelves. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he produced a long, thin key. He unlocked the door, reached inside, and pulled out a black bottle the size of my pinkie finger. After locking the door, he came over and carefully placed the bottle on the palm of my hand.
“I have some advice for you,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “This man disposes of people for a living. Try to avoid asking him any questions, and don’t make eye contact.”
My heart pounded just thinking about the task before me. “I understand.”
“You better be on your way. He’s expecting someone to deliver it at any minute.”
With shaking hands, I hid the bottle under my leather vest. The apothecary crept out from behind the counter, shoving me out of his shop and onto the street, closing and bolting the door behind me.
I shivered, wanting to forget the feel of his fingers digging into my shoulders. Folding my hands under my arms, I took the main road that led straight to the center of town. Nearing the Town Square, the street became unusually packed.
Walking shoulder to shoulder with dozens of people filtering into the Town Square, I tried to listen to the conversations of those around me. Many whispered the word execution. I froze, not wanting to witness something so heinous. People bumped into me, pushing me forward into the open cobblestone area.
Rise Page 1
