by Brom
Leroy jumped back up. “Hey, what was that?”
“You have to be ready for the unpredictable,” Sekeu said. “Danny, why did he fall?”
“Because the dummy hit him?” Danny said with a grin.
Cricket let out a laugh.
Sekeu frowned. “Nick, why did he fall?”
Nick started to say he didn’t know, but realized it was what Sekeu had been showing him. “He didn’t keep his balance centered,” Nick said.
Sekeu nodded. “Very good, Nick.”
Leroy flashed Nick a dangerous look.
“Leroy, we have been over this many times. You have great power, but you must not rely on strength alone. If you do not practice what I show you, you will never win your challenge.”
Leroy’s mouth got tight and small. Nick could see the vein on his forehead pounding.
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG. A bronze spoon banging against an iron pot resounded through the chamber. The smell of cooked onions brought a loud grumble from Nick’s belly, made him aware of just how hungry he was.
Nick watched the Devils drop their gear and rush over in mass, pushing and shoving one another as they tussled over bowls and jockeyed for position in front of a huge iron kettle. Redbone and three other Devils appeared to be in charge of the food and they began dipping out generous spoonfuls of some sort of stew.
Danny, who’d been lying on his back like the victim of a heart attack, suddenly sat up, looking alive for the first time all day. “Dinner. My favorite sport!”
Nick leaned his staff against a post and started toward the line.
“Don’t even think about it,” Leroy said.
Nick glanced at the bigger boy.
“You got work to do.”
Leroy pointed to the middle arena, where the Devils had dumped all their gear in their rush for the food line. There were swords, staffs, spears, all manner of helmets and pads.
“Stack the weapons in the holders along that wall.” He pointed. “Stack the gear over there. And I better not see you at the table until it’s done and done right.”
Cricket picked up two staffs and headed toward the racks.
“Uh-uh,” Leroy said, shaking his head.
Cricket looked at him, perplexed.
“Nick’s doing it all himself tonight.”
“That’s not fair,” Cricket said. “He shouldn’t—”
“Shut up,” Leroy said.
Cricket began to say more, but bit her lip. She leaned the staffs against the wall and headed toward the table.
“Well, you can stand there all night if you want,” Leroy said to Nick. “But you ain’t gonna eat until everything’s put up.”
Leroy waited another minute until Cricket and Danny were out of earshot. “And one more thing, you little suck-up. You ever embarrass me again and I’ll make you pay for real. For fucking real.” He jabbed Nick in the chest. “Got it, fuckhead?”
BY THE TIME Nick put the weapons away, most of the Devils had already finished eating. He was so tired he almost didn’t bother, but the growling in his stomach won out.
He walked over to the iron kettle, shooed away two pixies, then lifted the lid. There were only a few dry clumps of the stew left. Nick scraped off what he could from the walls of the pot, about enough to fill half his bowl.
Leroy sat alone on the far end of the table. Cricket and Danny sat near two Devils in the middle. Cricket looked his way and smiled. Nick sat his bowl down as far away from everyone as he could and collapsed onto the bench.
He couldn’t remember ever being so worn out. Yet in a way it was good. He hated to admit it, but the training had been very satisfying. He’d never been much good at sports, especially team sports, never stuck with anything other than skateboarding. It didn’t take too many times being the last kid picked before he found the whole team bravado to be a load of bullshit, just another place for kids like Leroy to knock him around.
As the Devils finished up, most of them dumped their dishes in the barrel of sudsy water and began to spread out about the chamber, some migrating over to the shelves of books and comics, others picking up darts, checkers, cards, and various board games.
A soft melody caught Nick’s attention, and he watched a girl with dark, curly hair tune a fiddle over by the fireplace. Within a few minutes, two boys joined her, one working out a primitive rhythm on a pair of tall drums while the other plucked at an acoustic guitar. It was just noise at first, then the girl tapped her bow three times and they began to play for real. The chamber filled up with the sweet, haunting wail of the fiddle. The girl played with her eyes closed, as though the fiddle was her voice singing a sad, slow song, then the drum joined in, a deep, steady beat, like a funeral dirge, and finally the guitar, melodic, along the lines of a spaghetti-Western score. Nick was stunned to see these savage kids playing such a beautiful song, and playing it with such heart. He found himself lost in the deep melancholy tune as he ate.
The stew tasted about like the gruel he had for breakfast. As a matter of fact, the only real difference was that the stew contained chunks of mushrooms and wild onions instead of berries. The mushrooms were amazingly sweet and very chewy. Nick plucked one out for closer inspection. When he did, a pixie flew down and dropped to the table just out of arm’s reach. This one was a young boy with a jet-black mane of hair. He strutted and cocked his head, staring at the mushroom between Nick’s fingers. Nick was struck by how oddly human he appeared. Nick flicked the mushroom to him. The pixie snatched up the morsel, hissed, and flew off. A trace of a smile touched Nick’s lips.
Nick watched the Devils going about their evening activities. There was a lively game of poker going on in one corner, punctuated with plenty of cheering and profanity. A kid was working away on a horned-skull tattoo on some Hispanic boy’s shoulder, using a needle and string to push the ink under the skin. The boy was biting down on a piece of leather, trying to look tough, but to Nick, he looked like he was about to pass out. Nick was surprised to see several Devils with cigarettes jutting out of their mouths, looking like delinquents as they puffed away. He watched three kids engaged in a light game of hoops, tossing a small ball into a makeshift basket. Even though they were just goofing around, Nick was amazed by how agile and quick they were.
The boy pixie was back. He landed on the edge of the table, a bit closer than before. He stared up at Nick with tiny, slitted eyes.
Nick tossed him a crumb.
“You don’t want to do that.”
Nick glanced around and found Cricket standing beside him.
“They’ll never leave you alone if you feed ’em,” she said, taking a seat across from him. A moment later, Danny slid down and joined them.
“So,” Cricket said. “Where you from?”
Nick didn’t answer.
Cricket leaned over. “Don’t let Leroy get under your skin,” she whispered. “He treats us all like that. Just take it easy around him. He gets wound up pretty tight sometimes.”
Nick didn’t need to be warned about Leroy.
“So, where’re you from?” Cricket asked again. Nick started to tell her he didn’t feel like talking when there came a loud crash.
“You moved your battleship! I saw you!”
“Did not!”
“It was on B-12. Right there. I called it. It counts.”
“Does not!”
“You’re a no-good cheat!”
The room fell quiet.
“It’s Redbone again,” Danny whispered.
“It’s always Redbone,” Cricket said.
“Take it back!” Redbone said and pulled a knife.
“NO!” a big, blond-haired boy said, and pulled his own knife.
Everyone scrambled out of the way as the two boys squared off in the middle of the chamber.
“Oh, man,” Danny said. “Here they go again.”
All the Devils dropped what they were doing and formed up a loose circle around the two boys. They began chanting “first blood” over and over.
“Yeah,” Cricket said. “It’s how they resolve disputes. Whoever draws first blood, wins the argument.”
The two boys flicked their knives at each other and began a dangerous dance: weaving, jumping, howling, as each sought an opening. They rushed each other, leaping, spinning, their blades mere blurs as they drove past.
“BLOOD!” screamed Redbone, holding up his blade and grinning. “I drew first blood.”
“DID NOT!” cried the second kid.
Everything stopped. Sekeu walked up and examined the boy’s forehead. She wiped her thumb on the mark, then held it up so everyone could see the small smudge of blood.
The crowd murmured approval.
“So,” Cricket said matter-of-factly. “The thinner the mark, the smaller the amount of blood, the more prestigious the win. Shows superior skill.”
The blond kid let loose a string of profanity but lowered his knife. It was over. The Devils returned to what they were doing as though nothing had happened. The band started back up.
“How come they can move like that?” Nick asked. “Doesn’t seem possible.”
“It’s the magic,” she answered.
“Magic?” Nick said. “Give me a break.”
“No, it’s in everything,” Danny said. “You’re eating it right now.”
“What?” Nick stopped eating. “They’re putting stuff in our food?”
“Nope,” Danny said, and pushed at his glasses. “They don’t have to. It’s not a potion or fairy dust. Sekeu told me the magic’s in everything here: the air, the water. When you eat it, though, you’re ingesting it directly. This gunk,” Danny wiped a clump off Nick’s bowl, “is mostly made up of acorns. But like everything around here, there’s magic in them.”
“You’ve noticed their eyes, right?” Cricket asked. “The gold. The magic does that.”
Nick noticed that Cricket’s eyes had the slightest glint.
“My understanding is when you’ve been here long enough, that stuff doesn’t just change the way you look, it gives you superpowers,” she said.
“No, not superpowers,” Danny corrected. “Think more like magical steroids. It’s part of why they can move so fast.”
“What’re the side effects?”
“Side effects,” Danny scoffed. “What are you talking about? This isn’t science, it’s flipping magic. Look at Abraham.” Danny pointed to a black boy over by the fireplace. Nick recognized him as the one-handed boy that had given him the spear this morning. “Abraham’s over a hundred years old. See anything wrong with him? And Sekeu, no one knows how old she is. Some of these other kids have been around since like the sixties and seventies.”
“Yeah.” Cricket laughed. “Go ask Redbone what an iPod is.”
Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about sucking down magical porridge. Were they being poisoned? He could feel the warmth in his stomach, feel it spreading. It was kind of a weird feeling when he thought about it, yet good too, soothing. But he wondered what it was really doing to him.
He eyed a spoonful suspiciously, then studied the Devils. Doesn’t seem to be hurting any of them. He watched a boy leap over his friend, spin around, and do a hook shot all in one bound. No, not a bit. Would this stuff really help him move like that? Did he want to be able to move like that? Nick stuck the spoonful into his mouth.
“I don’t know about you,” Danny said. “But I’d trade this magic mush for a Big Mac any day.”
All three of them laughed and nodded.
Leroy came up and they fell quiet. Leroy eyed them. “You know you guys have to clean up.”
No one answered.
“Did you hear me?”
“We know, Leroy,” Cricket said. “C’mon, lighten up a little.”
Danny nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s under control.”
“Oh, so that’s the game. You guys are ganging up against me too?”
“No,” Cricket said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “No one’s ganging up on you, Leroy. We’re supposed to be on the same team. Remember? Look, for once why don’t you just sit down with us and talk. Be nice for a change.”
Leroy looked unsure. Finally he sat down next to Nick.
“Y’know, it’s not like I wanna be the one looking after you guys,” Leroy said and stared out at the Devils. “They’re making me. Those assholes are always giving me shit.”
“They give us all shit,” Cricket said. “That’s just part of their scene. I think they feel they’re supposed to. Y’know, to toughen us up or something.”
“Yeah, no sweat,” Danny said. “Besides, you’ll be one of ’em soon. Then they’ll lay off.”
Leroy’s face darkened.
“How exactly do you get to be a Devil anyway?” Danny asked.
“You have to call a challenge and draw first blood,” Leroy muttered. “Or by saving a life, or any act of extraordinary courage. Some bullshit like that.”
“Well, how are you ever going to make it then?” Danny said with a snort.
“You don’t think I’m good enough?” Leroy asked coldly.
The smile fell from Danny’s face. “I didn’t say—”
“Fuck you, Danny.”
“He was just trying to make a joke, Leroy,” Cricket said. “Geez, relax for Pete’s sakes.”
Leroy glared into his bowl. His hand clutched the spoon so tightly his knuckles were white.
“So,” Cricket said, “Nick, you were saying?”
“Huh?”
“You were telling us where you were from.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Where you from?”
The pixie boy was back. He landed near Nick, cocking his head left then right, looking up at him with those strange, unblinking eyes.
Nick pinched a crumb of gruel. The pixie eyed it expectantly and took another step forward; when it did, Leroy struck out with his spoon. The utensil caught the small creature with a solid crack, knocking it into the wall behind the table.
“What the hell!” Danny said.
“What is wrong with you?” Cricket cried.
Leroy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah. Is that it? That the way you guys wanna play it?”
The pixie’s wings sputtered as it tried to get to its feet.
Leroy jumped up and slammed his foot down on the pixie. A horrible crunching sound came from beneath his boot.
A cry stuck in Nick’s throat. He stared at the broken shape on the ground, then realized with horror that the pixie wasn’t dead. It was trying to crawl out of a patch of blood and gore, its broken wings quivering. To Nick it looked more human than ever as it gasped and writhed in pain.
Leroy stomped down again, and again.
“GOD!” Cricket cried. “What’s wrong with you?”
Leroy’s face knotted up as he scraped the bottom of his boot along the wall stone, leaving behind a smear of flesh and hair. “Little nasty blue fuckers! Always fucking with me! Everyone’s always fucking with me!” He stomped away.
“HE’S CRAZY. I mean like totally batshit crazy,” Cricket said. “See the way his eyes got? Like his mind left the room.”
They were over by the roots now, as far from Leroy and the dead pixie as they could get. Nick sat on the floor, chin on his knees, hugging his legs while Cricket and Danny leaned against the roots.
“Shit,” Cricket said. “It was Leroy who told us we weren’t supposed to hurt the pixies in the first place. Said it was one of the laws. They’re supposed to be part of the magic of this place or something like that.”
“He didn’t hurt it,” Danny said. “He killed it.”
“Hey thanks, Dan-ny. I was there, remember?”
“Probably bipolar or something,” Danny said. “Just needs his meds.”
“Yeah, well all these kids are messed up one way or another. Hell, I mean we’ve all been through some shit, right? Leroy’s different. It’s something deep
er.”
They were quiet for a spell.
“Y’know,” Cricket said, “Abraham told me Leroy’s been here awhile. Not just a couple of weeks but a long time. Said Leroy’s afraid to make a challenge, that’s why he’s still just New Blood. Y’know what I think? I think that’s the problem. I think that’s what’s eating at him.”
“You’re like a regular Dr. Phil, aren’t you?” Danny said.
Cricket cut him a sour look.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” Danny said. “I think old Leroy there ate too many paint chips when he was a baby.”
“Maybe we should tell someone?” Cricket suggested.
“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan,” Danny snorted. “Cricket, why don’t you go do that.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding? Look around.”
Nick watched two Devils taking turns throwing a knife at each other’s feet. Another group were carving tribal designs into their arms.
Cricket let out a tired sigh and slumped to the floor.
NICK COULDN’T GET the vision of the pixie’s murder from his mind. The little creature had just seemed so human. He guessed all living creatures were the same: animals, people, even pixies, when they’re in pain and in fear for their lives—all the same. Nick’s eyelids grew heavy. He was ready for sleep, ready to put this long, horrible day behind him. His stomach felt warm, unnaturally warm. He wondered again about the food and what it might be doing to him. But it was mostly a good feeling. He shut his eyes and enjoyed the strange way it spread through his body.
The fire had burned low, and several of the Devils were drifting over to the straw-lined cages. The band stopped playing and Sekeu and Abraham were dousing the wall torches.
“I think they’re giving us a hint,” Cricket said. “C’mon, Nick. We need to set you up.”
Nick opened his eyes. “What?” But both Cricket and Danny were headed toward the cages. Nick pushed himself to his feet and followed.
“How’s this one?” Cricket pointed to a cage next to hers.
“Sure,” Nick said absently and started to crawl in. He stopped when the absurdity of sleeping in a cage dawned on him. “Cricket?”