She Who Rises

by Rachael Arsenault

  I was also trying not to think too hard about what “making sure they weren’t a problem anymore” actually entailed. Maybe we would just take their stones from them. Right? It would be fine. I could handle that.

  Even still, Masika wasn’t happy with the plan. Then again, Masika didn’t seem impressed with any plan that didn’t involve running and hiding.

  The more I got to know Masika, the harder it was to believe that she’d been a fierce wielder of the magic stones, someone who had seized the stones from powerful people and locked them away. But I supposed she hadn’t been that person — she had been the one who hung back while the stones were collected, who only worried about finding a safe place to bury them and hope they were never seen again. Even now, millennia later, it sounded like that was all she did, with her “contacts” doing all the actual tracking and gathering. Hiding was her specialty.

  Our drive back to the house should have been tense and quiet, but Farida insisted on turning the radio to her favourite station. She spent the whole ride belting out every song horribly off-key. It did nothing to improve Masika’s mood.

  When we reached Solar Panel House, Masika disappeared upstairs so she could be as far as possible from any easy entry point. I knew we might be in for a long wait but, much as I would have loved to settle onto the couch and read one of the eBooks I had on my phone, I couldn’t relax. We were there for a fight.

  Farida, however, still saw it as an opportunity to clean up. While I paced anxiously, she was in the kitchen handwashing clothes.

  “It’s been forever since I had a chance to wash up,” she explained. “It’s starting to bug me, and I know it’s driving my grandmother crazy.”

  I continued pacing. She continued cleaning. And Masika continued hiding. Time stretched long and slow. Eventually, I got tired of pacing. I sat in a corner of the kitchen, listening to Farida hum to herself and trying to practice the little bit of magic Masika had taught me. I reached deep into my core to the swirling, deadly blackness, pulled up and up and up until it flowed all the way down my arm and into my palm. Again, my concentration kept tripping over the knowledge that I could kill someone with this power. Again, I had the barest wisp of poison curling through the air above my hand.

  I started over, but as I recited Masika’s instructions to myself, I found my mind wandering. It had been brief, but she had actually seemed… nice. Gentle, patient, interested. It was the only time I had been around her that it didn’t seem like she hated me or viewed me as a burden. But then she had gone right back to her old self.

  Farida would probably be able to explain Masika’s weirdness. But was it appropriate to ask? I mean, this was her grandmother, after all. Or, well, her great-great-great-times-a-thousand grandmother. As much as I had no doubt that Farida was well aware of the shit Masika was throwing at me, I didn’t want to make Farida feel caught in the middle of us. She was too nice for that. But, then again, Farida had already proven herself ready and willing to jump to my defense. If she already knew Masika was the opposite of a welcome committee and she was willing to step in to smooth things over between us, then I wouldn’t really be putting her in an awkward position if I asked her some questions about her grandmother’s behaviour toward me. Right?

  I watched Farida as she scrubbed at a shirt. It was too small for Farida’s relatively tall figure, so it must have been one of Masika’s tops. The gentle, clean scent of whatever detergent she was using filled the kitchen, masking its normally musty and slightly sour stench. She hummed softly to herself. It struck me how different the two were: Masika always scowling and bitter while Farida was welcoming and cheerful — or at least comparatively so. How could she grow up spending so much time with someone like Masika and not have it ruin her?

  My mind was made up.

  “Can I ask you a question about Masika?”

  “Fire away.”

  “Why does she hate me? I mean, does she hate me?”

  Sighing softly, Farida rung out the shirt she had been cleaning and draped it over the edge of the counter. Then she turned to face me, rubbing her hands together thoughtfully as she stared out at nothing in particular. It looked like she was struggling to choose her words. There was a note of frustration in her voice as she said, “Masika… I wouldn’t say she hates you, exactly. She’s just… Well, Masika’s been through a lot.”

  “I think we all have at this point.”

  She smiled briefly, meeting my gaze. “You know what I mean. My grandmother has lived through centuries. She’s seen it all. And she’s dealt with more threats to her safety than just rogue magicians. Being an old black woman travelling the world throughout history was hard — especially during colonization and the slave trade.”

  My cheeks warmed. “I — I hadn’t thought of that…”

  “I know. You’ve never really needed to. But it’s not just that. Masika has lost a lot of people — a lot of family — and she lost almost all of them specifically so she could continue to live. I imagine she feels like risking her life any more than necessary is kind of disrespectful to the sacrifices they’ve made.”

  “I guess that makes sense. But what does that have to do with me?”

  She turned back to the sink, grabbing a dirty bra from the pile and starting to scrub at it. “You’re an unknown, an unexpected variable. Another person for me to protect, at least for right now. And you also represent a really, really big question: How is someone outside our family who wasn’t alive during the Stone Age able to use magic?”

  “You have to wonder that with Tara and Patrick too, though.”

  “True. But you were first. And that means we have to wonder how many others like you are out there.”

  “I guess…”

  “Listen,” she said softly. Something about her tone and shift in posture seemed almost self-conscious. Even from my awkward angle, I could see her brow knitting together; her next words sounded a little frustrated again. “I get it. Both sides, I mean. Masika has every reason to be concerned and cautious, but… But I also understand your position. It’s not your fault that you don’t know how to use magic. It’s not your fault that you and others are suddenly able to use magic. And — well, my grandmother is very set in her ways. She can be a hard person to travel with if you’re not used to her. So try not to feel bad if you ever need to vent.” She smiled a little again. “Honestly, I might have to vent to you every now and then.”

  We both laughed, then lapsed into silence. Farida continued scrubbing away. I made another unsuccessful attempt to draw more than a slight wisp of poison from my hand. Eventually, I asked, “Why was she so nice about teaching me magic earlier, then?”

  Farida paused to glance at me over her shoulder, a small, fond smile on her lips. “Mut likes teaching. Always has. It’s part of what makes her such an amazing grandmother and mentor.”

  I nodded, staring down at my hands. She had said it was normal to struggle to balance power and control. But how long would it take me to get the hang of it? How long was it supposed to take to get the hang of it? I was already a conundrum and a burden. I didn’t want to be a disappointment, too.

  “Anything else on your mind?”

  I looked up again. Farida had turned away from her laundry and was studying me with a thoughtful smile. Shrugging one shoulder, she said, “We’ve put you through a lot in a really short period of time. It’s only fair that you get to ask questions.”

  I didn’t want to tell her about my self-doubt — it felt too vulnerable and personal. But I did have another question. “If Masika is so good with magic, why doesn’t she ever use it? Even to defend herself?”

  Farida’s smile faded. “She… she can’t.”

  “But she has lots of stones. She could—”

  “No, I mean, she can’t. Physically. The ritual to feed her more lifeforce keeps her alive, but she’s extremely frail. The longer she lives, the weaker she gets. The strain of using magic — even just a little bit of that kind of self-destructive power — co
uld kill her.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Farida returned to her washing. I watched her for a little longer. I noticed, for the first time, how worn and weathered her hands were as they scrubbed at the ratty old bra. I guess this type of life didn’t really afford the luxury of soft hands. But she seemed… happy. After a few minutes, she had started humming again.

  Maybe she was happy to be alive. Maybe she was happy to still have her grandmother at her side, despite everything. Maybe she was just happy about having clean clothes again.

  And here I was, feeling like I might never be truly happy again.

  Feeling twitchy from restlessness as well as the after-effects of practicing magic, I got to my feet and wandered over to the window. The sun was creeping lower in the sky. It was probably only a couple hours until sunset. I frowned, muttering, “This is weird.”

  “Yeah, when you first start out with magic, it can be pretty—”

  “It’s not that. I mean how late it is.”

  “Oh.” She hung the bra on a cupboard door handle and turned to face the window. Her expression was troubled, lips pulled into a frown and forehead creased in thought. “It is weird. It’s been at least two hours and we still haven’t seen any sign of them.” Now she bit her lip, glancing at me. “We should talk to Masika. Regroup. Figure out if there’s something else we can do.”

  I stifled a sigh. Masika wasn’t going to suggest anything but running and hiding! Sure, I had a better understanding of why now, but that still didn’t make it a particularly helpful or productive plan.

  “Come on,” Farida said, oblivious to my reluctance as she left the kitchen. I followed anyway.

  ~

  “They may have realized we were waiting for them,” Masika said. We had gathered in the bedroom where I had first practiced magic and where Masika had been sitting for the last few hours. She had been writing in a notebook that she snapped shut and set aside when Farida and I entered the room. We sat in a circle with Masika against the wall under the window. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she paused before adding, “Or maybe their aims have changed.”

  “To what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe getting more stones, but we have no way of knowing for sure.”

  Farida muttered a swear.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” I asked. I looked to Farida — I already knew what Masika’s answer would be and I wasn’t interested.

  Masika, thankfully, seemed to also be waiting on her many-times-great granddaughter for a response. For a long moment, Farida only stared at her hands resting on her knees, her face ashen. Then she drew a slow, shaky breath, looked from me to Masika, and said, “We need to find Imani.”

  “But the police—”

  “The police will always be there!” she snapped, cutting off Masika. The old woman looked started by her granddaughter’s outburst (and I couldn’t blame her — it caught me off guard, too). Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Farida continued in a more even tone, “We can’t do anything about the police. We can’t do anything about Arman’s… minions. The only one we have any chance of dealing with is Imani, and we need to do it now while there’s at least some chance that she’s in the city. The longer we wait, the higher the risk that we lose track of her completely.”

  “We don’t know who stole from the museum,” Masika said. “And we can’t go ask anyone without being arrested ourselves. I’m not against stopping Imani, but you must acknowledge that we still don’t have a lot to go on.”

  While Masika blew holes in Farida’s ship, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Determined not to let Masika force us back on a path of hiding and accomplishing nothing, I switched on my data and pulled up Google again. But as I went back to my Google search from earlier to find the article detailing Imani’s attack on the museum, a new article appeared in the results — a very short, two paragraph piece that had been uploaded ten minutes ago.

  “Guys,” I said, interrupting their argument. “I think I found something.”

  ‘Moments ago, the Friedman Museum of Natural History was rocked by yet another attack. A group of young men forced their way past the police line accompanied by a creature that appears to be part lion, part bird. It appears to be the same creature that struck the museum at midnight. They are allegedly demanding access to the gems collection.

  ‘The situation is ongoing. Journalists on site will provide updates when possible.’

  The other two were silent for a moment. Masika was ashen and slowly shaking her head as she seemed to struggle for words. Farida, on the hand, was still, eyes wide and mouth frozen in a surprised O-shape.

  Finally, it was Masika who broke the silence. “To brazenly display magic in broad daylight…” She spat an Egyptian word that was either a swear or an insult. Maybe both.

  “You said that was recent?” Farida asked.

  “Yeah, it was posted about ten minutes ago.”

  She jumped to her feet, saying, “Then there’s still time. We find them, we find Imani. We can stop all this before it gets too public.”

  “I dunno about that.” I had already Googled “Friedman bird monster” and found dozens of videos and photos. “This one is going to be a lot harder to cover up as a hoax. There’s too many witnesses.”

  “And Imani already exposed magic earlier today,” Masika murmured.

  “But the public doesn’t know exactly what it is or where it came from. No one has to know the stones themselves are the source of magic.”

  Masika was slowly struggling to her feet, though her grim, strained expression was definitely not caused by the effort. “We could be trapping ourselves by driving into Fredericton.”

  “At least we would be doing something,” Farida snapped. Then, after once again closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she said more calmly, “We can’t just sit here and wait for people to find us. We can’t just keep running. We need to face our enemies and stop them before… before they do something we can’t reverse. And right now, we need to go to the city while we still have a clear idea of where those thieves are.”

  Then she turned and strode purposefully from the room. I resisted the urge to clap — old or not, Masika’s livid expression told me she probably would have found a way to kill me if I did so. Instead, I followed Farida from the room, pausing in the doorway to say, “You heard the woman. Let’s go!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Farida wasn’t joking — she wouldn’t even let us take the time to pack up the laundry and put it back in the car. If it wasn’t already in our bags, it didn’t come with us. Time was too precious to waste, especially since we were more than half an hour outside Fredericton.

  Farida used her and Masika’s burner phone to keep checking for updates from the backseat, all the while still marvelling that it even had access to the Internet. Meanwhile, I was hoping our tarped-over window and all the new dents and scratches I had given the car when I ran over Patrick’s wolf-like monster would make the vehicle less recognizable to the police. That was probably stupid, though. They would know our plates.

  Just outside the city, we passed the withered black stain that streaked across the fallow field, made all the more sinister by the reddening light of the setting sun. Now that I knew what it was, seeing it made me feel queasy. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and forced myself to refocus. “Uptown or downtown, you think?”

  “Downtown,” Farida said. “The news says the group left the scene about ten minutes ago after clearing out the whole collection.”

  “Alright.” The intersection off the highway was just coming into view; I needed to switch lanes so I would be in the right turn lane. I was checking the cars coming up behind me for an opening when I saw it: a squad car.

  “Shit.”

  “Just stay calm,” Masika said, though a glance over at her revealed tension in her jaw. She was just as anxious as I was. “They may not recognize us. If we act normal and drive respon
sibly, they have no reason to be suspicious or look up our license plate.”

  “Right. Okay. Right.” I was muttering to myself as I double-checked my mirror before switching into the correct lane. We were just reaching the intersection when the siren blared to life behind us, red and blue lights flashing.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Farida shrieked.

  I didn’t slow down as we approached the lights, taking the right turnoff with my tires squealing. Then I was speeding down Regent Street, cringing at every red light I blew through. I screamed as I swerved to avoid hitting a van. “God, I already hated city driving! This is not helping!”

  “Want me to take over?” Farida moved to undo her seatbelt.

  “Not the best time!”

  I swerved again to avoid a car on the cross street of an intersection as I ran a stop light. Then I was jerking to the right to avoid an oncoming car in a turn lane. The only sounds were horns and sirens and our own shrieking.

  There were flashing lights down the hill, moving toward us. Shit. The police station was downtown. At the next chance I got, I swung to the left, grinding my teeth as the tires squealed and the steering wheel shook. Thankfully, the side street had less traffic. I didn’t have to weave my way through cars and near misses.

  “Where are we going?” Farida asked.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Out of the city,” Masika said. “They have jurisdictions. If we go far enough, they’ll have to get the RCMP after us instead. We might have a better chance at losing them that way.”

  “And we’ll lose Imani!”

  “If this continues, we may lose her anyway.”