Catching Pathways

by Danielle Berggren

  Not only that, Maeve thought, her body flooding with warmth at the pressure of his hand in hers. She willed herself to be still, even though she wanted to squirm in her seat.

  Then the man drew a flat river stone from the large pack.

  He looked at it for a long moment, then drew a squiggly line and a seven in the dirt with his foot, large enough for the entire arena to see. Maeve heard someone praying behind her in a small voice. The man stopped his drawing, looked up at the rows of seats, and spoke one word.

  “Blue.”

  A collective sigh swept through the crowd, punctuated moments later by screams and cries. As Maeve sat there, unsure, a young woman a hundred yards away collapsed against the chest of her male companion, sobbing as he tried to extricate himself from her grasp.

  She looked down at her own palm, at the wavy line marked in blue paint, and showed it to Rodan. Her stomach twisted. “I think I’m going down there whether you like it or not.”

  He tried to snatch the rock from her, but she stood before he managed it, just as a man behind her shouted, “She has one!”

  Rodan let out a low growl and stood, throwing his stone to the side so that it skittered off. “Don’t you dare go down there. Give me the stone.”

  But before she could respond, hands grasped her, pulled at her, and she stumbled as several burly men dragged her to the stairs. Rodan shouted something, and then there was a concussive boom of sound; her would-be captors flew off her.

  Rodan made his way toward her, but he did not get far before Maeve found herself grasped by even more men and women, all ushering her down the stairs and into the arena. The press of bodies flying by her, buffeting her on all sides, made it seem like she was being swept up in an ocean tide.

  Others came down as well. Some of them, like her, being pushed and pulled by the crowd. Some of them walking on their own, their heads high and their faces set. Others fought against loved ones who tried to hold them back.

  Maeve stumbled again as her feet hit the hard-packed earth of the arena, her heart pounding. She thought she heard Rodan call her name, but bodies continued to usher her to the center of the arena where the others gathered. She looked down at her hand and realized, with some degree of horror, that she still clutched the river rock in her hands. She let it fall.

  Eleven other people stood near her in a loose semi-circle. A young girl wept, a man fell to his knees, pounding the earthen floor, but most looked stunned. Stoic. Noise filled the great space now, a roaring coming from the crowd that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

  Something touched her elbow, and Maeve swiveled her gaze, wide-eyed, to find an older man looking down at her, his short-cropped white hair gleaming in the morning light. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Maeve,” she replied.

  He bowed his head to her. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Randall.”

  Maeve opened her mouth to ask him why he told her this when the person on the other side of her said, “My name is Jonah.”

  Her mouth closed as names echoed around the twelve sacrifices. Mary, Susannah, Claydon, Patrick, Irving, George, Ulrich, Tanya, and Isabella.

  As the crowd erupted in cries and screams, the twelve of them clutched each other’s hands, closing the circle. Ulrich began to pray aloud. Isabella, the young girl, stood wide-eyed but without any more tears. The young man who beat the ground, Patrick, squeezed his eyes shut.

  Maeve looked at them all, her heart pounding, as the man who drew the lottery ran as fast his bad leg would allow him out of the stadium. The people who pushed and dragged her and some of the others withdrew as well, and the noise from the people at their backs swelled even higher.

  But breaking through that noise, slicing it through like a sharpened blade, was the roar of the chimera as it came for them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rodan

  RODAN STRUGGLED AGAINST THE TIDE of people crowding the stairwells. Taller than most of those around him, he could see the group of sacrifices close ranks, Maeve standing with her back to him, her golden-brown hair shining in the light of the twin suns.

  Even with his considerable strength, he couldn’t break through the crowd at the stairwell. It seemed like a coordinated effort—the largest and strongest of them drawing together at the exits to prevent anyone from rushing onto the killing floor.

  But then there was the ear-splitting, concussive roar of the chimera, and there were precious few moments to act.

  Spinning away from the stairwell, he pressed his hands to the wall in front of the lowest colosseum steps. Drawing from his reserve of power, he blasted a hole in the stone, sharp shards zipping out and sticking in the ground like arrows. He shot through the hole and ran headlong toward the group of sacrifices.

  The chimera crested the top of the stadium as he ran, great black wings blocking out the light from Rizor and Tegal. The size of a building, perhaps even the size of the inn they stayed in the night before, Rodan let out a short prayer of thanks that this was not the largest creature on record.

  As he ran across the hard-packed dirt, the chimera swooped down on the waiting group, all three mouths open and eager for their meal.

  Fae magic, a wild thing, pulled power and direction from emotion rather than logic. All Rodan thought of as he closed in the group was Maeve. I cannot lose her. That was the first, most potent thought in his mind.

  The creature landed with a fearsome crash, its dragon head whipping down to snatch a man free of the circle, head rising as it gulped the human in a single crunching swallow. The poor soul did not even have time to scream before his life snuffed out.

  The lion and goat heads reared back to strike, the eleven remaining sacrifices backing up, some of them screaming, but Rodan released a bolt of power that struck the chimera directly in its exposed chest.

  The scream rent the air. Ear-splitting and high-pitched, it made Rodan think his ears might begin to bleed.

  Maeve shouted, and movement flickered in the corner of his eye as she gathered up the sacrifices and shooed them away. Away from where Rodan stood, alone, facing off against the monster which terrorized this land for far too long.

  The great serpent tail lashed forward as the three heads continued to shriek, its gaping mouth exposing twin fangs dripping with venom. Rodan dodged the initial strike, rolling to the side out of the way, his hair streaming out behind him as he reached for the earth underneath him to produce a sword capable of slicing through the creature’s flesh. A two-handed great sword materialized, and he grasped it, coming up to one knee just as the serpent struck again.

  This time he did not move out of the way but raised the sword and struck the serpent head direct between the two fangs, splitting it down the middle. The impact threw him back, and a viscous blue-black blood washed over him, stunning him with temporary blindness.

  The creature screeched anew, and Rodan wiped at his eyes with his forearm, smearing the blood away so that he could see again. The chimera’s eyes latched on him, the three mouths open and panting. Hot, putrid air stinking of rotted flesh cascaded over him, and he lifted his hand toward the beast.

  A wall of power pushed out from him, sliding the creature back so that it rammed into the opposite end of the arena. People cried out and scattered from the rows of seats nearest it, scrambling over each other in their haste to get away. But despite their terror and the creatures predatorial instincts, the chimera was intent only on Rodan.

  Black eyes blazed with malice, and a shredded stump of a tail swished back and forth, spewing flecks of blood on the crowd. The three heads—dragon, goat, and lion—bobbed and weaved as the chimera stepped forward, its enormous paws sinking into the hard-packed earth where its claws dug in deep before retracting back. It began to move forward, heads bowing low, snarling and dripping great ropes of drool on to the dirt, turning rivers of it into mud.

  Behind him, Rodan heard Maeve calling, “Don’t die!”

  He smiled and gripped the two-han
ded sword, lifting it to a guard stance as the creature neared him. His lips pulled back in a silent snarl, and the chimera roared, flames shooting from the dragon’s mouth to scorch the air around him. He ducked to the side and then ran forward, bringing his sword down on the side of the goat’s neck. It screeched and gnashed its teeth at him as blood poured from its side in great gushing waves.

  The ground beneath him slick and tenuous, Rodan began to back away when the lion’s head whipped around, yellowed teeth as long as his arm snapping toward him. He blocked with the blade and his shoulders and arms vibrated with pain and then a crashing numbness. He cried out and attempted another retreat, but the lion continued to snap at him as the goats’ head lolled, eyes growing dim. The dragon, on the farthest side, attempted to find a way to blast another wave of fire toward him, but it couldn’t get a clear shot as its feline counterpart ducked and snapped again, acting more like a striking snake than a great predator of the plains.

  Rodan lifted one hand off his sword, pushing power toward the chimera once more. The discharge was weaker this time, only sliding the beast some twenty feet, which it gained back in two quick steps of its long legs.

  Panting, Rodan started when he realized there grew a shield between himself and the creature. Following the direction of the magic, he found Maeve on the very edge of the arena, her hands in the dirt and her head bent as she knelt, whispering words he could not hear. He looked at her only a moment before the dragon blasted the shield with a direct hit of fire.

  Even through the magical protection Rodan felt the water in the air evaporate. Breathing became hot, almost painful. The blast, short-lived, still made him sink to one knee, shaking. Maeve’s shield held, giving him a moment’s respite.

  The chimera began to slow, still bleeding from the great gash in the goat’s neck and the stub of the serpent’s tail. The lion shook itself as though trying to dislodge a fly, while the dragon made a high-pitched keening noise.

  Rodan eyed it, panting, and let the two-handed sword dissolve back into the earth. From the same substance he pulled forth a great war bow and a quiver full of yard-long arrows as thick as his thumb. He stood, nocked the bow, and let an arrow fly. It slid through the shield and hit it right below its eye. It roared, shaking again as it tried to knock the thing free.

  Rodan drew another arrow, holding tight as he found his mark. His breath deepened, and the trembling left his limbs. With another exhale, he released, and this time his aim was true.

  The shaft buried itself in the eye of the lion until only the fletching showed, black against the golden iris.

  In the silence, Rodan could hear the last heavy rattle of the chimera’s breath before it collapsed on to the arena grounds in a pool of spreading blood. The dragon’s head streamed smoke, but its eyes went glassy, blood gushing from its mouth.

  A roar met his ears, and Rodan looked down as fingers closed around his wrist. Maeve stood there, sweat beading along her brow and her breathing fast as though she ran to his side, her eyes bright and cheeks flaming pink. She went up on tiptoes, having to yell, “You made that look easy.” She grinned. “Are you okay?”

  A not unpleasant sensation shot up his arm from where her fingers touched him, slipping under the plate armor so they were skin to skin. He looked at her, and Maeve’s smile weakened a little, and she pulled her hand away. He glanced away, checking that the chimera stayed in its place.

  But the chimera remained still, blood now a slow ooze instead of a fast flood.

  “I’m alright,” he said, still staring at the beast. “Though I think I could use a bath.”

  Maeve wiped the hand she touched him with on her pant legs. “Yeah, you could. This stuff smells awful.” She looked up and around, then said, “You need to wave to them. Say hello.”

  Rodan frowned at her. She sounded more like she gave him an order instead of a suggestion. She raised her eyebrows at him, lips pulled together in a tight line, and he gave a slow nod. Lifting his eyes to the crowd, he raised his hand and waved.

  A concussive wave of cheers rose up from them. The crowd flooded the field, and as the nearest approached he took a half step back. “No,” Maeve said. “They just want to thank you.”

  And that’s what happened. Bodies pressed on all sides, Maeve got pushed against him as tearful and grateful faces turned up to his. They did not seem to mind that Rodan was blood-soaked and sometimes scowling. They pressed his hands, squeezed his arm, and cried great streams of tears as he shook his head in amazement. Maeve, the line of her body hard against his own, received thanks as well. Gracious, she smiled and nodded and shook their hands.

  The question of his identity rose from the hundreds of voices, until Maeve shouted above the crowd, “This is King Rodan, returned to you after all these years. He is here to fight for you!”

  Waves of cheers and exclamations rose at that, and soon the people began to chant.

  They were chanting his name.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Maeve

  BACK AT THE INN, hours later, Rodan retreated into the washroom to scrub the filth from his body. Maeve watched him go before she returned downstairs, where revelers drank deep from tankards of ale and flagons of wine, and sneaked into the kitchen. Yolanda seemed run ragged, and her initial glare and angry cry at seeing someone trespassing upon her domain died as soon as she locked eyes on Maeve. She bustled over.

  “Is it true, lass? That you and your man killed the chimera?”

  Maeve shook her head. “He’s not my man but, yes, we did.”

  The woman beamed at her and took both her hands. “Whatever you wish for, it’s on me. What do you want to eat? Drink? Is there enough firewood?”

  “There is plenty of firewood, but we could use some food. A roast, if you have one? Perhaps some vegetables and wine?”

  The woman reached up and patted Maeve on the cheek, leaving a streak of flour. “I’ll have someone bring it right up, my dear. Go, and the blessings of the twin suns go with ye.”

  Maeve retreated, warmth flooding her chest at the innkeeper’s words. The entire day had been like that, with one person after another seeking them out to thank them. It had been difficult to shake the crowd, but eventually they managed to return to the inn. Few people had gleaned where they stayed, for which Maeve thanked the gods.

  Outside, revelers drank in the street, singing and dancing with one another. Fireworks lit the sky, explosions of color streaking through the windows to paint the walls.

  She entered their room and closed the door. Here, the noise reduced itself to a mild background hum. She checked on the fire, which she lit before she left. Her name rang out from the washroom.

  Maeve moved to the door and leaned her head against it. “Rodan?”

  “Maeve, could you help me, please?”

  She cracked the door open but hesitated. “Are you decent?”

  “If you’re referring to my state of dress then I am, unfortunately, without garb, but I promise you won’t see anything unwholesome.”

  Brow furrowed, Maeve pushed the door open further as steam puffed out to greet her in billowing, perfumed clouds. She glanced at the tub and away just as fast, noting Rodan’s tall form coiled in the large copper bath filled with—“Bubbles?” She laughed, unable to help herself. “I never imagined that King Rodan would take a bubble bath.”

  He glanced at her sidelong, hands resting on the edges of the tub. His black hair spilled down his shoulders and back, disappearing under the white froth. “I require your assistance.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? With what?”

  “I can’t reach all the blood.” He leaned forward, looking over at her as he did so. The bubbles parted for a brief moment in the wake of his movement, the water dark. He exposed his back past the long hair sticking to his skin. Chunks of thick dried blood clung to the spot between his shoulder blades.

  Maeve moved without thinking about it, picking up a washrag from a tray near the basin and kneeling next to the bath. She dipp
ed the rag into the water and began to scrub at his skin, keeping her movements gentle while removing the caked-on gore.

  His chest rose and fell, and she glanced up. He stared at her, his face devoid of any emotion she wanted to pinpoint. Maeve glanced down at his hands, frowning when she realized he still wore gloves—black linen instead of the usual leather. Her movements slowed to a stop. “Why are you wearing those in the bath?”

  He glanced at where she stared and then looked away from her, eyes locked on the corner of the washroom. “It’s not important.”

  “Did you burn yourself? Are you horribly disfigured like V from the comic books?” She couldn’t help the teasing edge to her voice, though her curiosity piqued.

  He shook his head and frowned. “I read a few of your comics, but none with a character named V. And no, nothing like that.”

  He went silent, and with a sigh Maeve finished her work on his back, handing him the rag when she finished. “Here you go. I’ll... be back out there.” She hooked her thumb behind her and turned around.

  “Maeve,” he called. She stopped and looked back at him. “I will tell you, just not today.”

  She frowned at him, turned, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Cool air kissed her skin, and no sooner did she lean against the door then there came a quick knock, and a line of young serving men and women filed into the room. They craned their heads around, taking in Maeve but then looking for her partner.

  “He’s indisposed,” Maeve said with a sigh. Word was going to get out. “You can put that on the table.”

  Each person held a platter or a dish, and within moments the table groaned under the weight of the food prepared for them. A roast leg of lamb, braised root vegetables, a large green salad, a large loaf of black bread and jugs of ale and wine took up every available surface. With bows and curtsies, the youths left. Maeve locked the door behind them, putting down the cross bar.