Fate Forged

by B. P. Donigan

  “We honor the Original Houses, who were first to sacrifice for our people,” the servant intoned.

  The magics of those around the altar flared, and my head nearly jerked off my shoulders when I sensed a familiar rush of cool power through the Aegis bond. I twisted around the crowd until I confirmed that Silas was the last man standing at the altar. His golden flare accompanied the less intense red of Lady Octavia and blue of Lord Nuada.

  A long, thin dagger appeared in each of their hands. They chanted something in an ancient language that refused translation in my brain and drew the blades across their palms. The knives sliced deep until blood welled, raising tendrils of power from the wounds. The individual threads wove together in a complex ring of magic between them. Heavy and powerful magic buzzed against my skin, calling to me. But I dug deep and resisted the urge to reach for it.

  The servant continued his narration. “As the burden of leadership became greater, the Council was born.”

  Four more Councilors joined the circle. The Humans, Alaric and Elias, stood between Silas and Lady Treva, the final Fae representative. The Shifter representative, Lord Nero, stood by Lady Octavia, closing the circle. They each drew identical blades across their flesh and added their magic to the complex pattern of the conjuring growing between them. The power increased. It thrummed inside my chest until I had to clench my fists at my sides to resist the urge to pull it to me.

  Beside me, Stephan laid his hand on my arm, probably sensing my struggle. I drew comfort from his steady presence and took a deep, calming breath as the magic continued to build.

  “Thus, the Citizen Source was born of the few to provide for the many,” the servant said.

  A naked man walked into the center of the circle. He carried a thin beam across the back of his shoulders and wore a determined expression on his face. He stepped onto the low platform and slid the pole into place, bracing it against the two vertical ones, forming a frame with himself in the middle. He clasped the pole above his head with both hands then closed his eyes. His face rose to the ceiling like a supplicant in prayer as the magic of the Council enveloped him.

  My eyes locked on the Traiten bands around his wrists. They were dormant, not glowing with any magical compulsion.

  The gong sounded.

  The people around me recited in unison, “We sustain the Council and their leadership.”

  Seven knives flashed. The Traiten twisted on the poles. Blood stained his flesh, dripping down his chest and legs onto the altar.

  I gasped, and magic pounded against my skull. Power flowed from the Traiten’s wounds and back into the Council’s circle.

  Elias slashed the man’s chest, and more magic flowed. Lady Treva cut shallowly across his stomach. Lord Nero drew his blade down the length of the man’s arm. Silas cut across his back. The man twisted with each wound but made no more than grunts of pain as they bled him. His hands gripped the pole above him, the Traiten bands seemingly dormant. The full power of the Council pounded through my veins in time with the blood pouring from the Traiten’s body. My stomach lurched, and I covered my mouth to keep from crying out.

  Stephan gripped my shoulders firmly. Whether he was holding me up or holding me back, I couldn’t tell.

  Blood flowed as they cut the Traiten again and again. They made dozens of cuts, and with each wound, his magic poured into their spell.

  The pounding in my head grew stronger, the magic called to me, and bile rose in my throat. No one made a sound of surprise or revulsion. No one tried to help.

  The man was a mess of blood and mangled flesh. A strangled noise escaped my throat—I had to do something.

  I stare down at the gash in my thigh. My pants are soaked in blood, and it’s not stopping.

  “It’s a flesh wound.” An older man with sandy-blond hair hands me a long length of bandage. “Wrap it up. The lesson isn’t over.”

  “But...” My leg throbs with pain. I grimace as I wrap the bandage tightly around my leg.

  “Hurry up. In real life, you have to fight through the pain or die.” He tosses a dagger from his right hand to his left, nods at the knife on the ground in front of me, and settles into an attack stance.

  Stephan pulled me around to face him with a concerned furrow of his brow. On every side of us, the crowd pulsed with eager anticipation, their attention locked on the gruesome scene at the altar. I focused my anger and shock on Stephan, and he took it with perfect understanding.

  I moved to do something—anything. But Stephan shook his head and glanced toward the altar. Silas stepped onto the low stone platform, reached around the man’s neck from behind, and drew the blade sharply under his chin. The man’s head twisted with the force then dropped limply to the side. His legs gave, and he folded into the pool of his own blood, splashing crimson over Silas’s legs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Council’s spell flared with the power of the man’s life. I could feel the pure jolt of energy as it was absorbed into their conjuring and disappeared. The only thing left was the mutilated corpse at their feet.

  Silas dropped his knife on the altar and stepped down with a defiant glare, accompanied by disappointed murmurs from the crowd.

  Tears of rage and disgust burned my eyes as each Councilor stepped forward and placed his or her palms into the blood. They mixed their magic with the Traiten’s and soaked up the last of his life. The Council had killed him to fuel their power, and they’d done it for entertainment.

  The gong chimed for the fourth time. The crowd flowed to other entertainments, and the buzz of social conversation returned to the room. Music started somewhere in the background.

  I stared at the dead man discarded on the altar.

  Stephan pulled me into one of the smaller alcoves, sliding the lattice screen closed behind him. It wasn’t soundproofed, but it provided as much privacy as possible given the circumstances. “Are you well?” he asked in a low voice.

  Angry tears spilled from my eyes. I couldn’t come up with the words to express the horror of what I’d just seen. “No one tried to help him. They murdered him, and no one did anything!”

  “The Council makes a spectacle out of providing for the citizens. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “That’s how they fuel the Citizen Source?” I demanded. “How could Silas be part of that? They just murdered that man in the most gruesome, painful way possible.”

  “The pain he endured was nothing compared to what it could have been. Silas ended that Traiten’s life as a mercy.”

  A disgusted guffaw slipped from my mouth. “Maybe Silas spared him more pain, but not before he participated in that disgusting, barbaric ritual.”

  “That Traiten volunteered for death to restore his House’s honor.”

  “A slave can’t say no!” But even as I said it, I remembered that the Traiten bands hadn’t glowed with magic when he’d walked up to that altar. I wasn’t naïve enough to think the Council wouldn’t have forced him into “volunteering” for his own death, but he hadn’t been forced by magic.

  “I’m not defending the Council’s methods, but they have served justice this day.” His intent gray eyes held mine. “We must pick our battles. Change is not fast.”

  Bile burned in my throat, turning my words sour. “Things need to change faster.”

  Stephan released me and straightened. He handed me another glass of till from a nearby golden platter. “Come, let’s get you some fresh air. It’s time for the finals.”

  Silas, the Councilors, and the entire bloody mess had disappeared by the time I’d gathered myself enough to follow Stephan back through the tent and outside to the arena. The sun shone down on us, but I shivered despite the heat. We walked through an arbor-lined path and onto the ground level. Cool, fresh air calmed my overheated skin as he led us to a private, shaded seating area. We sat close to the field, separated from the arena by only a transparent, magical barrier.

  Around the circular stadium, the spectator seating rose into t
he air at impossible angles. I could clearly see the cross-hatched threads of magic supporting the bleachers, but the sheer height of the colosseum stunned me. I craned my neck to the top, where large tele-nets floated above the center of the field, relaying close-ups of the action on the field.

  The arena’s field was a maze of barriers and debris that resembled the aftermath of an explosion. In the very center, a large clearing featured a floating orb that glowed atop a four-foot pedestal. I drained the last sip from my flute, and before it left my lips, a servant handed me another. Stephan finished greeting the people around us just as two contestants entered from opposite ends of the maze: a man with caramel-colored skin and a shaved head, and a tall woman with short, dark hair. I squinted at them.

  “Is that Tessa?” My vision seemed blurry. I put down my half-empty glass and waved off the servant who instantly tried to replace it. “She didn’t tell me she was competing!”

  Stephan smirked. “Guardians are a reticent lot. If they give you three words in a row about themselves, you have a friend for life.”

  A flare shot across the sky, sending the contestants racing into the maze from opposite ends. The man navigated cautiously, expecting attacks at every turn, while Tessa ran quickly on her end. She zipped around corners and dodged magical booby traps, looping steadily toward the center, while her opponent lagged on his own side of the arena.

  A fourth turn led Tessa into a dead end. She tried to double back, but a mass of thick vines shot from the ground and wound around her legs. She fell hard on her knees with the vines up to her thighs and slithering higher. Tessa conjured a knife and hacked at them, but every time she managed to cut one loose, another snaked upward. Her waist became entangled by the thick gray appendages, and judging by her grimace, they were squeezing her.

  “Come on,” I whispered at Tessa, who was still struggling on the ground.

  The walls in the central clearing began to compress, closing off the maze from where the glowing orb and victory waited.

  The man broke into a run, barely avoiding a whip-like flare of magic before he slid into the central clearing just as the walls closed. The crowd cheered, and he raised his fist in victory.

  Tessa was locked out.

  She flipped onto her stomach, and magic flared around her. A wave of energy burst outward, burning the vines to greenish-gray ash. She pushed to her feet, soaked in sweat. Tessa backed away from the dead-end path and ran at the vine-covered wall then scaled her way to the top of the fifteen-foot maze.

  I held my breath. She wasn’t giving up!

  She stood and ran on the top of the wall, flying over the uneven, narrow path at a reckless speed that spurred renewed excitement from the onlookers. Tessa approached a ninety-degree turn without slowing, but instead of following the path, she leapt across the six-foot gap to the next ring of the maze and raced on.

  The crowd cheered wildly, and I rose to my feet with them.

  Tessa’s opponent spotted her on the wall across the clearing from him. His face twisted in disbelief before he spun and ran for the center of the field to reach the orb.

  From the wall, Tessa conjured a glowing disk and flung it at the man. He threw himself out of its path just before it slammed to the ground at his heels. Dirt exploded and rained down, obscuring him from view.

  The crowd went wild, and I jumped up and down, cheering for Tessa along with them.

  Tessa dropped into the clearing and ran after the man. Two steps in, the dirt boiled beneath their feet. Like an ocean full of tentacles, pustules grew and breached the surface at random. Within a few seconds, they burst and sent a plume of steam and boiling dirt high into the air.

  Caught in the middle of the minefield, both contestants twisted around the explosive pockets, trying to reach the orb fifty yards away. Tessa threw magic at her opponent’s feet. The man dodged and jumped right into one of the large bubbles. It burst around him, and he was caught in the explosion of superheated earth.

  The crowd sucked in its collective breath.

  Tessa ran toward the orb, throwing magic in front of her from both hands, popping the superheated bubbles before she reached them to clear a path to the finish. She reached the pedestal, grabbed the orb, and held it over her head in victory.

  “She did it!” Stephan cheered. We both whistled and yelled with the crowd.

  The Healers rushed in and took the man off the field. He was alive but covered in painful-looking red blisters. Guilt hit me for enjoying a sport that resulted in such painful and unnecessary injuries. But at least the man wasn’t a Traiten. He’d participated of his own free will. My anger returned for the man the Council had murdered. I collapsed back in my seat, emotionally exhausted.

  “You needn’t have feared for Tessa,” Stephan said. “She is quite capable. She did well.”

  A crew of servants flooded the field and worked quickly to prepare the arena for the next challenge. I wondered if they were ever given days off. Even holidays were working days for them.

  There was so much I didn’t understand about their culture, but some things were just wrong. Slavery was wrong. Taking away free will was wrong. Murdering people to fuel your city’s magical power was not an acceptable alternative to a humane punishment for crime. The memory of the man’s death—knives slicing into him over and over, bleeding him to death—made me so angry, I felt nauseated.

  I couldn’t believe Silas was a part of that.

  Slaves cleared the arena into a single stage for the awards. People crowded into the standing-room spaces between the seats and the stage, but our area remained unobstructed. Hundreds of spectators stood shoulder to shoulder around the perimeter fencing, waiting to cheer on their friends, family, and favorites.

  The members of the Aeternal Council were now conspicuously seated on a raised section above the stage, displaying their white robes and a wealth of ornate jewelry, as they oversaw the awards.

  My stomach twisted as Silas stepped onto the stage in ceremonial armor, a crimson cloak draped off one shoulder. I couldn’t tell his mood from his neutral expression, but I knew he didn’t like all the attention. The Traiten’s blood was gone, but the crimson cloak reminded me of what I had seen earlier, and sickness twisted in my stomach. A golden breastplate covered Silas’s chest, and he wore a matching pair of boots with shin plates. His sword hung in a scabbard on his left hip. The cloak flowed behind him as he walked to the center of the stage with long, confident strides.

  A dozen people followed Silas onto the stage, all dressed in similar armor. Commander Corin and Tessa were the only ones I recognized as the competitors filed in front of the stage, dressed in plain black uniforms, and organized themselves into three groups.

  When they were situated, blue-green power flared from a woman on the stage. Her voice carried throughout the arena. “Harker of House Pontius, come forward.”

  A man moved onto the stage and saluted her.

  “You have demonstrated skill in your weapon, and bravery in your heart. With blood and sweat and skill, you have earned the rank of Centurion!”

  They clasped forearms, raising a cheer from the Guardians.

  She called up the rest of her group, and each person received the same recognition. The next two groups advanced individually to Second or First Legatis respectively. Finally, Silas stepped forward. I balled my fists as his larger-than-life face projected onto the screens above the arena. His aura lit with brilliant golden power, and his voice carried across the arena. “Second Legatis Tessa d’Vente, step forward.”

  Tessa moved to the front and saluted Silas with a fist over her heart.

  “You have demonstrated skill in your weapon, and bravery in your heart,” Silas said. “With blood and sweat and skill, you have surpassed every rank of the Guardians. For your victory in battle and your loyalty to Aeterna, you now join the elite ranks of the Commanders.”

  The Guardians cheered wildly, whistling and stomping their feet on the ground.

  Tessa grasped forearms wit
h Silas. He leaned down and said something in her ear, and they thumped each other on the back. She grasped arms with each of the people on the stage before she faced the crowd and pumped her fists in the air.

  We cheered louder, and my heart swelled for Tessa.

  “Congratulations to our Guardians,” Silas announced. “They have brought honor to their Houses this day and joy to the heart of Aeterna!”

  The cheering turned into a chant from the crowd. The chant continued until everyone picked it up, repeating the words in unison. Silas frowned.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Stephan.

  “Advancing through the Guardian ranks can also happen through a challenge. The challenger chooses a Commander to replace in a fight to the death. It’s a barbaric practice, but the crowds love it.”

  I frowned. Bloodlust for entertainment was quite the thing around here. My anger from earlier came back full force.

  Silas held up his hand, and the crowd quieted. He pulled his sword from its scabbard. His aura flared golden, and he twisted the blade in the same lazy pattern I’d seen in Boston, warming up his muscles. An amplified projection of him floated on the tele-net above the arena, and his voice rang out. “If there is a challenger among you, let them step forward.” His feral smile crossed his face, surely dissuading anyone who might have been tempted to try their magic against his.

  “Do I have a challenger?”

  The crowd went silent. Silas scowled as he spun slowly around the arena. He turned full circle. No one would challenge him. His magic disappeared as he replaced the sword at his hip.

  The crowd sighed.

  The Guardians dispersed, and Silas walked to the back of the stage, where he spoke to the Councilors seated there. I recognized the light hair and hawkish features of Lord Magister Alaric. Next to him sat a beautiful blond woman.