She Who Rises

by Rachael Arsenault

  “Pretty much. Our work and school schedules kinda conflict, but that’s the nice thing about texting — we can get back to each other when we have a chance. It’s not awkward to reply six hours later because you were in class all day.”

  “Huh,” she murmured, brow creased thoughtfully as she went back to eating her trail mix.

  A weird mix of grief and protectiveness swarmed my stomach as I watched her, trying to imagine the strange, isolated but far from sheltered upbringing she’d had. I had the urge to do something. But what? I couldn’t give her a normal childhood or adolescence.

  Instead, I did nothing, silently turning my attention back to my phone and trying to ignore the sick feeling in my gut. I confirmed the address and we continued to sit and eat in silence. I glanced over at Farida repeatedly as I scarfed down my own trail mix. Her brow was furrowed in thought and she looked troubled.

  “Hey,” I said softly, “I know you’re worried. I’m worried too. But we’ll find her.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. Or, well, not just that. Earlier, when we ran into Imani… I just can’t get it out of my head. Do you remember what she and that guy were talking about?”

  “I’d been a bit too preoccupied to give it much attention.”

  “He said something to her about a deal.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “But… he had magic. And he’s working with Imani. Whatever deal they worked out, it can’t mean anything good for us.”

  We fell into momentary silence again, much tenser than before. As I replayed the scene with Imani in my head, one detail kept sticking out to me, nagging at me like a splinter I couldn’t quite get out from under my skin. “He… He looked familiar.”

  “That guy?” Farida asked, eyes wide. “Why? Where do you know him from?”

  “I’m not sure. I just know I’ve seen that face before.”

  “Maybe it’s a doppelgänger affect? You know — he just looks really similar to someone else.”

  “Maybe…”

  “But probably not?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t explain it. I just know that I’ve definitely seen him before.”

  Farida muttered a curse. I sighed, reluctantly stuffed my trail mix back in my bag despite my lingering hunger, and got to my feet.

  “Come on,” I said, “we’ve gotta keep moving.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It only took us a few more hours of walking to reach our destination.

  The woods gave way to fields, leaving us exposed and conspicuous. It was only by sheer luck that the RCMP, undoubtedly searching for us, didn’t pass by. A foreboding, misplaced sense of déjà vu plagued me with every field and farm we passed. With each one, I found myself obsessively checking the road signs and house numbers, heart in my throat. But they didn’t match the address we had been given.

  The fields were once again overtaken by trees and we walked through the woods for a while longer. When we came to open ground again, it was finally the farm.

  Or what had once been a farm. The field that sprawled out behind the barn was overgrown and wild. The barn had once been red, but its paint was now chipped and weathered. A second building that may have been some sort of additional storage shed at one point was now partially collapsed, its roof sagging down and one of the walls toppled inward. And the farm house at the front of the property wasn’t in much better shape. Through the dingey windows, I could see bags of garbage and broken furniture had been piled high. There was some sort of nest buzzing angrily beneath the porch.

  We carefully made our way across the property, which was littered with garbage and debris from the ruined buildings. Something gleamed in the sunlight just behind the barn. I inched closer, squinting against the glare while also periodically glancing over my shoulder. Farida kept close.

  When we got nearer, it became clear what the objects were: cars. Three of them, all looking far too well-cared for to belong on this property. Even the white one that had dents and scratches across its roof and hood was still obviously new compared to everything else on the farm. My heart started beating double-time.

  They were here.

  We peeked into the barn. It was mostly barren, housing only a small bit of scrap metal and scattered, rotting piles of hay. No sign that anyone had been in there. We headed over to the collapsing building and looked inside there but it, too, was empty.

  “They must be in the house,” I murmured. It was disturbingly quiet, the only noise the creaking of the old buildings and rustling of the long grasses in the wind.

  “They were expecting us, though,” Farida whispered as we started back toward the house. “Shouldn’t someone be waiting out here to greet us?”

  I shrugged, though it did seem odd. Someone was definitely here, judging by the cars, and it wasn’t like they wouldn’t be watching for our arrival. So what was going on? What were they waiting for? As I moved closer to the house, the soft grass and flowers tickled the backs of my hands like insistent ghosts.

  Something crashed through the window of the house and knocked Farida to the ground. A blur of fur and teeth — then a burst of fire as she threw it off of her. The massive wolf tumbled through the grass before righting itself with a vicious snarl.

  “Knock knock,” a voice called from the house. Patrick stepped into view and leaned through the smashed window, smirking.

  I rushed over to Farida and helped her to her feet. Her eyes were darting wildly. “Where’s Tara? Where’s her snake?”

  I had bigger questions. To Patrick, I yelled, “Where are my parents?”

  His smirk split into a grin that reminded me of a dog’s snarl. Wordlessly, he stepped to the side enough for me to see past him into the room. It was shadowy and hard to see the people behind him, but I recognized them immediately nonetheless. My mom and dad, gagged and tied to chairs. My heart clenched at the sight of tears streaming down Dad’s face as he struggled against his binding. Mom was looking at me with pained, desperate eyes; a long streak of dried, blackened blood stretched from her right ear all the way down her chin.

  Blood. On my mother’s face. My gut roiled with anger and fear and disgust.

  Then, with a thunderous crash, Patrick was bursting through the wall of the house. Thin rivers of gleaming red ran down his arms, but he didn’t seem to care — If anything, the pain made him more amped up. It was like he swelled to a larger size, muscles straining against his grey shirt until the fabric was on the brink of tearing. Still grinning wickedly, he charged.

  A wall of fire burst to life in front of me. He ran through it, screaming, and slammed into me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I covered my face with one arm and shoved my other hand over his mouth and nose, trying to concentrate as he rained blows down on me. His fists were like bricks. I tasted blood. He easily knocked my hand away from his face, unbothered by the small trickle of poison I had mustered.

  Then he was thrown off me with a cry of outrage. The bursts of orange light in my peripheral vision told me Farida was fighting him now. My head spun sickeningly as I rolled over onto my stomach. I struggled onto my hands and knees, only to vomit violently on the ground and collapse, the shoulder of my shirt quickly soaking up puke.

  ‘I have to get up.’ The thought played over and over in my throbbing head. Did I have a concussion? I managed to twist to look over at Farida just as she took a punch to the jaw that sent her spinning, falling to the ground. She rolled out of the way of a vicious stomp aimed to crush her head.

  She needed help. Despite the vertigo trying to overwhelm me, I managed to struggle into a kneeling position. I was starting to get to my feet when there was a low growl behind me. A second later the huge wolf was at my ear, still snarling, ready to take a chunk out of me if I moved.

  I glanced over my shoulder at it, breathing heavily. Maybe I wouldn’t be much help in the fight against the big guy, but I could try to keep him from having b
ackup. Concentrating on my palm, I imagined a steady flow of water.

  The wolf must have noticed the poison before I did because it suddenly lunged, snatching up my hand in its enormous, razor-sharp teeth. I screamed as hot blood poured down my arm, a new wave of nausea rolling over me. I tried to wrestle free, grabbing at its snout, but its jaws were too strong to pry loose and I started punching at it, earning only growls in response as it bit down harder, crushing, tearing—

  I could only scream, my voice growing hoarse, my body collapsing back onto the ground and my hand seared in blinding pain as nearby, somewhere, unseen, Farida continued to fight.

  The wolf dropped my hand. In the second that I felt its hot breath near my face, I knew it was going for the kill. Ready to bite into my throat.

  I was going to die. I was going to lose and my parents — my parents, so close and so far and so vulnerable — and I wasn’t going to be able to save them. The image of my father’s tears and my mother’s blood flashed through my mind.

  “No!” I roared and threw my good hand up against the wolf’s jaws just as it moved to clamp down, shoving it back, the trickle of poison now a torrent as power hotter than my blood surged up my arm. Blackness rolled off me and the beast suddenly staggered back, breathing ragged, tail between its legs. It whimpered and shook and choked and part of me felt bad. But there was a much, much bigger part of me — the part with a mangled hand and captured parents — that felt nothing but anger.

  The beast vanished in a flash of light.

  “What did you do?!” the man roared, charging toward me. But Farida managed to catch his wrist and kick out his knees, sending him collapsing to the ground. He swung around to her with a haphazard strike, but she caught his fist in her burning palm, earning a howl of agony.

  “Give me…” I gasped, struggling to my feet. I was only faintly aware of the pain in my hand, the trail of blood I left as I staggered toward him. It was the poison that held my attention. A mask of roiling blackness spread between me and the man, turning the grass and weeds in my path withered and wilted. They crunched under each of my clumsy steps like the dead leaves of fall. “Give me back… my parents.”

  “Now, now, let’s not get hasty.”

  I was confused, at first, as my brain grappled with the realization that, though the voice was masculine, those words were not coming out of Patrick’s mouth. The voice sounded vaguely familiar and pleasant. Soft, well-mannered, intelligent. But there was a sinister edge to it, an unspoken threat laced through the otherwise innocuous words.

  I turned. The man descending the steps of the house was tall and broad-shouldered with a head covered in thick, black curls and a beard to match. He had the friendly smile of a man inviting in an unexpected guest, but the dark, calculating eyes of one out on a hunt. “I specifically asked you to come here alone. You don’t take instruction well, do you?”

  Arman. This had to be Arman.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Every insult and tirade I had ever imagined myself screaming at this man for what he did to my family died in my throat. The air around him seemed to buzz and radiate power. Though he was dressed smartly and simply in black slacks and a loose-fitted, pale blue long sleeve shirt, it wasn’t hard to imagine him armoured and blood-soaked thousands of years ago. Seeing the thin gold and silver chains that peeked out from the neckline of his shirt only made him more intimidating.

  The poisonous mist that had surrounded me dissipated, leaving me weak and exhausted and absolutely terrified.

  “There’s a reason I wanted to meet with you, specifically.” His eyes flicked to look just over my shoulder. “Well, I was hoping to meet you, too, little Farida, but not quite yet.”

  “Masika isn’t here,” Farida snapped immediately. “So I can’t give you what you’re looking for.”

  “You assume you know what I want.”

  “Just tell us,” I said hoarsely. My voice came out smaller and more timid than I wanted. He smiled.

  “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Dear Tara can’t see you, and I want to know why. Tell me: How is it that you hide yourself so consistently?”

  “I — I don’t know what you’re talking about, I—”

  The earth beneath my feet rumbled. I jumped, eyes immediately darting over my surroundings in search of Imani. But Arman was clucking his tongue, saying, “Let’s try that again: What do you have that hides you from scrying?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Lying won’t serve you well.”

  I nearly fell over as the earth beneath me shifted, sinking down to swallow my feet. I couldn’t move — I was trapped. I looked over at Arman and knew from his cruel, satisfied smile that he could see the terror on my face plain as day.

  “Leave her alone!” Farida yelled. Flames burst to life in her hands and she hurled a fistful at Arman.

  He side-stepped it, unfazed. “Now, little Farida, that’s hardly a way to treat your elders.”

  And then the ground beneath her groaned thunderously, sinking her down, down, down — she was trapped up to her waist. She twisted around frantically, straining against the ground and trying to hoist herself out, but it was useless. She was stuck.

  Patrick snickered now that he was free of Farida’s grasp. He moved to stand just behind Arman’s right shoulder as he dragged his hand over his lip, smearing blood across his face. “Now comes the real fun. He’s gonna grind you down in a screaming, bloody—”

  Arman held up one hand and Patrick, enormous and powerful as he was, immediately shut up.

  “Patience,” Arman said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “We’ll at least try to settle this diplomatically. I know that’s not to your tastes, so why don’t you go back to the house? You can keep an eye on our… special guests.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch him in his smug face. I wanted to charge past him into that house and grab my parents. But I couldn’t even move a single step.

  “Maybe I should start from the beginning,” Arman said once Patrick was back in the house. He folded his hands behind his back and started to slowly pace back and forth in front of us. “I’m sure the lovely Masika”—he spat the name—“told you many things about me. And I’m sure she left out the bigger picture.”

  “You were a warmonger who hoarded power and killed magical creatures for sport, without any regard for the safety of everyone else,” Farida said, voice shaking with rage.

  “About what I expected you to believe. As I said: Masika failed to capture the full picture. Closing those rifts like she and her damned Circle did was an injustice — those monsters were dangerous and couldn’t be left unkilled. And what they did after that?” He let out a bitter laugh that was closer to a scoff. “Stole people’s rightful possessions. Robbed power from leaders and armies. Created power vacuums. Left people vulnerable — unprepared to defend themselves against others who still possessed stones. Do you know how long of a gap there could be between stealing the stones from one society and taking them from the next? Months. Years. Enough to collapse empires.”

  Farida’s glare was unwavering. “Some empires need to fall.”

  He let out a breath that may have been a laugh, shaking his head. “You young ones are funny. If you had been alive then, you would understand the horror and chaos, you would know how preventable it all was.” He paused, cold eyes locking on Farida. “There are deaths and sufferings that must be avenged.”

  “You want to kill my grandmother for making the world a safer place.”

  “She is the woman who tried to end my life and a surviving member of the Ivory Circle who I want to see dead. Preferably by my hand, but I’ll settle for any death, really.”

  “A shame, then, that you’ll have to settle for seeing me alive.”

  I almost fell over again in my haste to twist around. Masika was emerging from the overgrown field behind the barn like a ghost gliding through mist. She looked like a different woman, firmer and stronger than I had ever seen her. Her ancient body stood strai
ght and proud. Fierce, not frail.

  “So, you finally stopped hiding.” Arman’s voice and posture were casual, but the expression in his eyes was filled with enough venom to make me want to cower. “Is that all it takes to lure you out?”

  “My job was not just spying and research. I am a protector, first and foremost.”

  “Mut!” Farida yelled, struggling uselessly against the earth again. “No! Run! Don’t do this!”

  Masika ignored her, stepping closer to Arman, and then I saw it. Glittering in the sun, an unfamiliar pendant hung against her chest on an elaborately beaded chain. It held a dark red stone.

  And then I understood.

  “Just you alone, old woman?” Arman said.

  “I took care of you alone the first time.”

  “So you thought. I want to make things interesting this time.” With a smirk and a snap of his fingers, Farida and I were both released from the earth’s grasp. I lost my balance and collapsed. Trying to stand again only made me realize how badly my muscles had begun seizing.

  Farida managed to stumble upright, but, before she could charge toward Arman, a wall of flames burst to life around us.

  “Hush, Farida,” Masika said. “Let me handle this.”

  “No!” She batted at the flames, trying to grasp and part them with her magic, but they wouldn’t budge. I watched from the ground, unable to move, body stiffening with the onset of paralysis.

  “Now, that’s not in the spirit of things,” Arman said, his voice practically crooning with a malicious, hair-raising sort of pleasure. The earth beneath Farida and I began to rise.

  A pillar of flames shot up around Arman and the ground under us stilled. I thought it was Farida’s work, but then Masika hurled a handful of fire toward the sudden pyre. Laughter sounded from within the roaring flames and Arman surged forward like a human landslide in a shower of rocks and debris.

  “H-he should be dead from that…” I murmured.

  Now standing several yards away in a smouldering shirt, Arman sneered. “Fine. I’ll have to find other ways to keep this interesting.” Then he grabbed at his tattered shirt and tore it off. The tawny skin underneath was riddled with scars and rippling with strength. One massive scar dominated his chest, turning it a mottled, puckered red as though the whole area had been burned. Several gems glittered from necklaces and armbands. He twisted one of the rings on his finger with a deadly smirk as he said, “I’ll kill you with the power of just one stone.”