The Rise of the Fourteen Read Online Free PDF Page A

better.”
     “Behemoth isn’t all bad,” Malone says. “And, Iron Maiden?
Are you forgetting Led Zeppelin? Black Sabbath?” Tara purses her lips in a “not
bad” gesture. Malone laughs at her ambivalence. In response, she sticks her
tongue out.
    It is in this moment of distraction that the plan is
initiated. Fredrick and Elias emerge from a nearby classroom, carrying a dining
table set with fine silverware and wine glasses. Lukas eases Tara and Malone into
chairs so that they sit across from each other. Nuntios appears with a pitcher
of water and a faux rose. He fills up their glasses and gives the rose to Tara,
who blushes. Last but not least, he places a tea light in the center of the
table and takes a moment to flash a grin at a livid Malone.
     “I told you it would be worth it to see his face,” Nuntios
whispers to Elias who smiles. Soon enough, they hear a familiar reedy voice,
echoing down the hallway. “We gotta run.” Nuntios, Elias, Lukas, and Fredrick
bolt for the nearest door, piling into the French classroom. Malone and Tara
are glued to the spot, frozen with confusion. Moments later, Malone
understands.
    “What do you ruffians think you’re doing?” Sir Eric looms
over the pair, his leering face purpling. “Do you think this, this fine institution
can be treated as a free-for-all?” Malone stays silent, not trusting himself to
speak. Tara follows suit. “Take all of this stuff back to the drama
department!” They don't have to be told twice. They are soon inching down the
hall, carrying the table between them.
    Meanwhile, in the French classroom, the perpetrators are
howling with laughter. High fives are being given all around to grinning faces.
Only Nuntios looks unwell, his face cradled in his hands, his eyes clenched
shut.
    “Tomfoolery? This is whom we get?”
    “Such a pathetic boy.”
    “When will he learn?”
    “Nuntios?” Lukas watches his face in concern.
    Nuntios’s eyes fly open. “Voices Lukas. They keep talking to
me!”
    “Nuntios, who are the voices?”
    ***
    That question still echoes through his mind weeks later as
Nuntios trudges back to his dormitory after a long day. The first few weeks
were easy. His first fit hadmade him wary, but he was still able to
pull all of his usual mischief. He settled into life here. He was happy. The
whispering begins, and Nuntios bows his head, tears leaking from his eyes.
    With each passing day, the fits had become worse and worse.
Sometimes, he would just collapses in class, like a marionette with cut
strings. Some days he wouldn’t bother going out of his room. And he had long
since stopped apologizing for the screaming — the
screaming of a person drowning in terror and confusion, trapped in a twilight
wasteland with only cackling demons to keep him company. Only sometimes did he
try talking back. And when he did, it would never end well.
    Nuntios walks into his room and closes the door behind him.
He flops onto his bed wearily. His sleep gives him no rest; the dark circles
beneath his eyes can attest to that. His eyes, once full of confidence and
strut are now little pools of ink, almost in danger of being wiped away. Today
was especially bad. Every class had brought on another round of “icy fever.”
His friends had long ago stopped trying to comfort him; they only tried to
catch him when he fell. Nuntios closes his eyes and drifts off, praying for a
dreamless sleep.
     Nuntios is running through a maze, a glass maze. Figures in
white race past him. He can see them gliding through the walls, passing through
them like gossamer curtains. He hears the usual sharp tones of his demonic
choir and runs faster, racing around corners, ramming through dead ends. The
broken glass stings his skin, but there is no blood. He can hear no coherent
words, only faint chatters. He sees chalky silhouettes in the periphery of his vision
and runs faster, not even looking where he’s going.
    When he reaches the edge of the maze, he sees that