She Who Rises

by Rachael Arsenault

  “When I let the fire down,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “drive. Get somewhere safe.”

  “I’m not leaving you—”

  “Do it!”

  Before I could argue, the fire vanished in a swirl of smoke. I sat up and slammed the gas, jerking the steering wheel wildly to avoid the man and his wolf-like monster as they lunged for me. A sudden orange-red glow behind us told me Farida had taken up the offensive again. I glanced in the rear-view.

  The wolf was following us, running faster than any normal canine had a right to. But behind him, I counted three figures, not two. One had a coiled lower body…

  “Shit! That’s the same creature that attacked us before!”

  I could feel Masika’s eyes on me as she said, “You don’t know how to fight them.”

  “I know.” But I couldn’t just leave Farida behind — she could be killed. A one-on-one battle had had enough close calls as it was. But if I tried to help instead of driving away, I was putting Masika’s life at risk…

  The urge to vomit was rising again and I regretted eating so many chips. Choking back the bile, I veered left onto the median crossover and then U-turned back toward Farida. We barrelled forward; the wolf switched course to match, narrowly avoiding getting hit by my erratic driving. Soon it was running alongside the vehicle.

  To Masika, I said, “Teach me.”

  “Learning magic is not as simple as—”

  “We don’t have time to do it properly. Teach me!”

  There was a long pause. It was only as Farida was knocked to the ground and barely managed to roll away from the snake-woman’s stinger strike that Masika said, “Think of the power your creature wields.”

  I knew next to nothing about my creature, but I remembered the scorched earth Farida had pointed out to me outside the city. Fire. A dragon would breathe fire. I focused on the flames now sheathing Farida’s arms as she surged up from the ground, giving the snake-woman a face full of fire.

  “Call on it. Channel it. Try to bring a small flow of that power to the palm of your hand.”

  The man had grabbed Farida by the back of her shirt, hefted her over his head, and slammed her onto the pavement.

  I wanted to incinerate him. Rage, red and hot, flooded through me as I rolled down the window and thrust my hand out, palm toward the fight. A scream burned my throat as heat and pain seized my body and poured through my hand.

  Black smoke billowed out into the air. Spots danced in my vision. My body was shaking, sweating, rocking with spasms; my foot floored the gas of its own accord. I was faintly aware of Masika coughing, trying to tell me to stop.

  The car slammed into the wolf as the vehicle suddenly swerved, hood denting and whole vehicle shuddering with the impact. We squealed to a stop and I thought I had completely wrecked the car, but then Masika was stumbling out of the passenger-side door, hacking and gasping, and I saw the e-brake had been pulled and realized the tires were still spinning, still screaming like everyone else.

  “Amber! Amber, stop!”

  The voice was shouting from underwater — a thousand miles away — somewhere far and distant and fading, fading, fading…

  Then grey spots consumed my vision as the world grew muffled, distorted, and fell into nothingness.

  Chapter Seven

  Everything hurt and I couldn’t move, but I also couldn’t stop moving. My legs and hands were trembling wildly. It was like they were being pumped with a constant, low voltage stream of electricity. Familiar voices were talking in an increasingly familiar language. The rattling and bumping all around told me we were driving. I tried to speak, but my tongue was uncooperative. All I managed was a pitiful half-moan, half-whisper.

  The talking stopped. Then, sounding hesitant, Farida asked, “Are you awake?”

  My tongue still wouldn’t work. I groaned again.

  “It will take some time for the effects to wear off,” Masika said. Her voice sounded strained and raspy, like she was getting over a bad cold or had screamed herself hoarse.

  “We’ve changed course,” Farida said. “The people attacking us took off, but they headed in the same direction as the squat we were planning on going to. We want to put as much distance between us and them as possible, so we’re heading somewhere else. It’s closer to the city, but Masika and I haven’t properly assessed it yet — we just took a quick look around the property when we first saw it. So I can’t guarantee what kind of condition it will be in.”

  I had a million questions I wanted to ask — who were those people? What had they wanted? What had I done? But all I could do was groan. A particularly violent convulsion seized my right leg.

  “You should get some rest,” Farida said. “We’ll talk it over when you’re better.”

  ~

  I was too confused and panicked to sleep, so I lay awake and paralyzed as we drove on. I caught glimpses of the starry sky and shadowy treetops through the windows from my awkward angle sprawled out on the backseat.

  It was hard to track the passage of time; I wasn’t sure how long it took for the shaking in my limbs to ease. Eventually, I was able to move my head and my hands a little and some sluggish movement returned to my tongue.

  “What happened?” I managed to slur.

  After a long, tense pause with only the bumping and rattling of the car to fill the silence, Farida answered. “When you ran over that guy’s creature, it returned to his stone. The crash and seeing you flying toward us freaked out the woman — she jumped in her car and started driving off even after you’d stopped. I think it was because of the gas.”

  “Gas?” The word felt heavy and strange. I tried to formulate a more thorough question, but I couldn’t wrap my head or my tongue around any other words.

  “Yeah, gas. Or something like it. I don’t know what else to call it. You had a black mist spraying out of your palm. Everyone was choking — Masika had started seizing up by the time I got to the car. If you hadn’t stopped when you passed out…”

  Gas… The black smoke hadn’t been smoke at all. Which meant that what I thought had been burn marks in the field outside the city couldn’t be burns. I felt sick and exhausted and very, very overwhelmed. I could have killed Masika accidentally — I could have killed the woman we were trying to protect from those people.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to say to that. We drove on in silence. By the time I felt the car slowing as it pulled into a gravel driveway, I had regained some movement in my arms and legs. I still couldn’t get out of the car on my own, however; Farida had to open my door for me and swing one of my arms over her shoulders, her own arm braced around my waist. I blushed, trying not to think too much about our proximity or my constant ineptness as I struggled to make one foot move in front of the other.

  This house was decidedly worse than the squat I had woken up in.

  One of the front windows on the first floor was boarded up, beer cans and other garbage littered the front lawn, and the rickety wooden steps heaved to one side. When we headed inside, the front door shrieked and the floorboards creaked and moaned, as if the whole house was protesting our intrusion. It was dusty, which was to be expected, but it was also dirty. It looked like the house had had one last, raging party before being abandoned for good — a few chipped cups and plates were growing mould in the sink, the floors were stained and sticky, and there was shattered glass all over the floor of what may have once been a living room (which at least explained the boarded-up window). What furniture remained was moth eaten, much of it was stained, and a couple pieces had been slashed up, the stuffing spilling out like entrails. There was a mattress leaning up against the wall in the dining room that had been spray painted: bedbugs!

  “Is it really safe to stay here?” I asked, scratching at my arms and wincing when I raked over tiny cuts from the car window smashing. My skin already felt like it was crawling.

  “Yeah,” Farida said a bit hesitantly, “but maybe just for one night.”
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  “Absolutely not,” Masika said. “We can’t stay here. It’s obviously full of disease and parasites. We’ll have to find somewhere else.”

  “Mut, we need to sleep. I could barely keep my eyes open driving here.”

  “Then Amber will drive.”

  “Amber can still barely walk right now.” Farida sighed, her gaze sweeping over our surroundings once more. She chewed her lip. “I guess… We could always sleep in the car instead.”

  Masika made a displeased growl in her throat. “The car feels too exposed and identifiable. We’d be easy targets in our sleep there. Besides, you know my back will be so sore I can barely walk if I sleep in one of those awful seats.”

  “Okay, so then we need to sleep in the house.”

  As much as I wanted to side with Masika for once, I knew Farida was right. This house was disgusting, but it was the only option we had right now. Especially since every time we went on the road we ended up getting attacked.

  We continued assessing the house. The second floor wasn’t much better, but there was at least no garbage or shattered windows. More of the furniture had been left untouched, too. As I looked in each room, I tried to imagine what the place must have looked like before it had fallen into decay. It didn’t look super old — not Victorian or anything like that — but it definitely hadn’t been built in my lifetime. The ground floor wasn’t open concept, it had old radiators in it, and the upstairs bedrooms were numerous but not especially large. I wished I knew more about houses. There were stories in these walls.

  After some debate, we decided to sleep in the living room. Though the upper floor was in slightly better shape, the ground floor would make for an easier escape if the police or those two magicians found us. I helped Farida (or tried to — I was still stiff and awkward) clean up the glass and prepare makeshift beds from the ratty sofa cushions while Masika inspected the basement. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but I also hadn’t bothered to ask. Farida also took a moment to look over the small cuts all over my arms and mend them with her magic. It didn’t make me feel any less skin-crawly, though, and only made it easier for me to obsessively scratch at my arms.

  Then, finally, we all settled down on our beds. It didn’t take long for Farida’s breathing to even out as she drifted off to sleep. It was a good twenty minutes before Masika did the same, lying on her side and clutching her blue backpack the way someone might hold onto a childhood teddy bear. But she did, eventually, drift off the sleep.

  I lay awake for a long time. My mind was spinning with images — glowing gemstones, Farida’s face peering down at me, my apartment building fading in the rear-view, giant wolves and snake-women and firebirds…

  There was a whole segment of history I had never known about. That only a handful of people knew about. Mythical creatures like dragons were real. Magic was real.

  I could use magic. If I learned. If I wanted.

  My mind flashed to Farida’s flame-wreathed arms. Then to her body crumpled in the dirt.

  Something scuttled in the wall beside me. I shivered — mice. Of course. Why had I expected any less from this house?

  And then I was seized with an intense longing — for Emily and her quick wit and ability to take everything in stride. She would help me through all this if she were here or if I could at least talk to her. I longed for my parents, who had always comforted and supported me through everything. Mom had talked me down from panic when I failed an assignment in the first year of my undergrad; Dad had guided me through the nerve-wracking experience of learning to drive a car. They had both always made sure I had everything I needed. If they saw where I was sleeping, it would kill them.

  And I missed the people I hadn’t seen in months — my aunts and uncles and cousins and old classmates who barely spoke to me except to comment on a random Facebook post. I missed all the people and places I didn’t know if I would ever see again — my grandparents and their cute little house at Basin Head, where we used to visit the beach everyday and I would run barefoot over the singing sands and swim in the impossibly enormous ocean.

  I missed Mitch. I missed curling up against his side in bed and having him stroke my hair until I fell asleep. I missed him even though he broke my heart, even though he was stubborn and sometimes selfish. Even though he had gone on record to the police and news claiming I might be a terrorist.

  How could he do that to me? Why would he do that to me?

  We’d both said our share of hurtful things when we broke up — the shock and anger of him breaking up with me combined with what a colossally stubborn asshole he’d been in the months of discussion (well, arguing) prior to me starting my Master’s had made me snap. I’d said some things I regretted. Called him selfish and close-minded and a few choice words that would have made Emily proud.

  Well, I had regretted saying those things. Now I wanted to phone him so I could call him something even worse.

  But still… I would never accuse him of terrorism. Did he really think that little of me?

  Whatever. It wasn’t like I could do anything about it at the moment. It was his word against mine, and his word held a lot more weight.

  But it wasn’t just the people I missed. I missed walking through campus, though I still barely knew my way around and often got the old brick buildings mixed up when trying to find my classes. I missed writing notes so fast my hand hurt during excellent lectures about complex topics like the influence of capitalism on ethics. I missed my cramped little apartment and its shitty shower that never had enough hot water. I missed eating real food and longed for the container of leftover spaghetti that I had stupidly forgotten in my fridge in my haphazard packing. I missed my bed, even though it was only a twin mattress and not nearly as comfortable as the queen size I had at my parent’s place. I missed not being surrounded by the smell of stale beer and mould and musty furniture while bedbugs and mice ran rampant through the walls.

  Wired and feeling close to tears, I grabbed my phone, slipped out of my so-called bed and tiptoed out of the room, careful not to disturb Farida or Masika. I headed down the short hallway to the staircase, where I sank down onto the bottom step as I started checking my messages. We had been in and out of signal range on the drive, but thankfully this house was in an area that mustered a weak two bars.

  Emily had texted me again, frantic. She wanted to know where I was, if I was okay, if I knew the obvious lies Mitch was spreading and why he would do such a thing. It made me smile a little. I could always trust her to have my back; even if she had no clue what was going on, she at least knew I wasn’t some kind of terrorist. Mitch had texted, too, though his texts were more accusatory and angry — “I thought I knew you”; “why don’t you talk to me anymore”; “you need to stop this and come home.” My blood boiled. I knew he had no idea what was actually going on in my life, but why did he have to immediately jump to the conclusion that made me look the worst? Why did he assume that I was somehow the bad guy in this situation instead of worrying that I was the victim?

  Mom and Dad had given up on texting and had instead left voicemail after voicemail after voicemail. I couldn’t listen to them. Not just because I didn’t want to risk waking Masika and Farida, but because it would be too painful to hear how desperate and worried they were.

  It was selfish. I should’ve called or texted or something. But I couldn’t be sure if calling them was safe. Now that I knew police were searching for me and they had tracked me through my credit card, I was worried they might be able to do the same through my phone. Besides, what would I even tell my parents if I did contact them? “Hey, it’s fine, I totally had that dragon under control.”

  I couldn’t tell them anything — not really. And I couldn’t reassure them that I was okay because I wasn’t sure that was true. We’d already been attacked more than once.

  Because I wasn’t done wallowing in my guilt and misery, I switched on my precious data and started looking up news again. The signal out this way was pitifully we
ak, so I knew there was no way a video would load. I read through a few more articles conspiring over the incident at the museum — one even had my high school grad photo with the number to the tip line posted under it. I had the inane, airheaded thought that I wished I could have had a better missing person/wanted photo for myself. In grade twelve, I had deluded myself into thinking I should get my blonde hair cut in an asymmetrical bob like Emily, but the style did not at all suit my face shape. That photo had also been taken during my brief makeup-wearing phase, right when I had hopped on the bright red lipstick trend, which had only made me look washed out.

  But maybe it was better that they had chosen an old, terrible photo of me to put on the news. It might make my actual face less recognizable.

  My Googling eventually brought me to the Twitter page for the local news. They were live-tweeting the museum’s situation as they got updates. I didn’t have to scroll back far to find the updates from the recent attack this morning. They had posted photos and videos rapid-fire, some from on-site journalists and others retweeted from witnesses. None of them would load, so I scoured for text.

  “Descriptions and photos much clearer this time. Seems to be a hybrid of a bird and a lion.”

  I scrolled back further, trying to find where the tweet storm had started.

  “BREAKING! Bright lights & large shape fly out of hole in museum roof. Police headed inside to investigate. Details & photos to come.”

  “Police have apprehended several B&E suspects. Many dazed, some injured. Lacerations & bruises. Appear to have been attacked by a large animal.”

  “Eye witnesses emerging. Couple from apartment above store down the street say they saw the same light before alleged dragon.”

  More photos and one video followed. I kept scrolling through, watching the information unfold, reading the detailed descriptions of the beast that had emerged. I didn’t see any mentions of someone matching Imani’s description. Then again, I didn’t see any descriptions of the suspect, just of the beast.