Heartbreaker

by V. Romas Burton

  Silas stumbled inside, his face coated in sweat, blood, and sand.

  “Found you,” he gasped as he fell to his knees.

  “Silas,” I cried, rushing to catch him. “Claire, help me.”

  Claire ran to my side, and we carefully laid Silas on the ground.

  “Addie,” she said, holding Silas’s arm up. “I think you need to see this.”

  Black veins pulsed angrily from beneath Silas’s creamy skin.

  My breath hitched. “What’s happening to him?” I turned to my friend for an answer, but she only shook her head.

  James crouched next to Silas. Creating white light with his hand, James positioned his palm on Silas’s forehead. “He needs to rest.”

  “James, what’s happening to him? Please tell me,” I cried. But James kept his lips tight.

  More secrets.

  “This may help,” Claire said, placing a drop of silver liquid on Silas’s wrist.

  The shining drop dissolved into his skin, and the black in his veins faded to a more natural blue. Silas’s breaths evened out as I brushed the damp hair from his clammy forehead.

  “Thank you, Claire,” I said.

  She gave a quick nod before placing the vial back in her satchel.

  “Where’s Damien?” Claire asked, standing. She strode over to the window and lifted the cloth to peek out.

  “He was right behind me,” Silas breathed, wincing as he tried to sit up. “I just saw him.”

  “Rest, Silas,” James said, gently pushing him back down. “Or you won’t be able to continue your journey.”

  “I don’t blame him for running off,” Claire muttered before exploring the room's perimeter.

  “We need to get a better look at what’s going on,” James said, changing the subject.

  I grabbed Silas’s hand. “James, what’s happening to him?” I asked again. “I know this is Ophidian, but what is he doing to Silas?”

  James worked his jaw. “Something dark, Addie. That’s all I can say.”

  I placed Silas’s hand back down. How was Ophidian torturing Silas? And why couldn’t James say more?

  “I know the Magisters of Ratcha and Obesque, and the doors are here,” I said, standing. “Why else would two of the Lands continuously battle one another? It has to be the work of Ophidian and Schism's doors.”

  “Hey, guys!” Claire shouted. James and I ran to the window, and then searched around the room but couldn’t find her.

  “Guys!” she said again, then popped up from a door hidden in the ground. We jumped in surprise, and Claire laughed. “I think I found where we need to go.” She disappeared beneath the floor.

  I hesitated before James waved his hand and said, “Go. I’ll stay with Silas.”

  “No,” Silas grunted, slowly opening his lids. “I’m okay. I can go.”

  “Silas, you need to rest,” I said, unable to look away from the black veins snaking up his arm again.

  “I’m okay, Addie.” He sat up with a weak smile. His skin was pale, contrasting with the dark circles beneath his eyes.

  “Silas—” I started, but James stood and offered Silas a hand.

  “Even a strong man needs help sometimes.”

  Relief flooded Silas’s features as he accepted James’s offer.

  “Go on, Addie,” James said. “Silas and I will be right behind you.”

  A narrow staircase only wide enough for one person to fit on at a time descended into the building's cellar. Claire went first, then me, then Silas, and James.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Damien’s disappearance as I eased through the narrow stairwell. I understood why he left. I wouldn’t have stayed if Silas had attacked me, but it still made me worry.

  As we took each step, the cheers and screams grew louder. A bloodcurdling cry reverberated through the building, and I stifled a gasp. My pulse hammered, sensing the growing danger.

  The stairs ended, opening into a large room filled with the same glistening men. With their bodies so exposed, a variety of colors of skin and hair filled the open arena. They were all screaming while waving small bags in the air. Though we were slightly higher than the crowd, it was still difficult to see what was going on.

  “We need to get a better look,” I whispered, motioning to a ledge next to us.

  Moving as quickly and quietly as we could, the four of us gathered onto the stone ledge.

  Two men stood across from one another. One was short but muscular with bronzed skin and long, blond hair. A wide cut, oozing blood, extended from his shoulder blade across his back. Several more cuts and bruises lined his arms and legs.

  The other man was tall and lean with short, black hair. While he didn’t have a large cut, his fingers jutted in all the wrong directions. As I peered closer, I saw that his body was covered in large, red lines.

  The men growled at each other, holding their weapons steady. The muscular, short one gripped a long whip, snapping it before it snaked around the lean man’s leg. The lean man fell to the ground. One section of the crowd cheered for the stout man. I curled my fingers into fists, remembering the whip Schism used in the window of the Shadow realm.

  The lean man wielded a spiked stick, much like the ones Brand and Gaius were using before. He freed himself from the whip before he charged toward his opponent. The other section of the crowd erupted into cheers.

  I brought a hand to my mouth as each man attacked. The crowd continued to cheer and scream until there was silence. The man with the whip had the cord wrapped tightly around the lean man’s throat. My mouth dropped as the life seeped from the lean man’s eyes before he fell to the ground.

  Disgust churned in my gut as half of the crowd cheered again. I glanced over to find Silas’s and James's jaws clenched tight with Claire looking just as sick as me.

  The crowd continued to yell as a dark-skinned man glided into the arena where the muscular man stood triumphantly over the lean man. Shirtless like all the others, the man strode around the edge of the fighting area. The large, gray cloth wrapped around his waist moved fluidly as he silenced the crowd with a raised arm. Long, black braids cascaded from his head, each tied off with a golden band. A matching golden band defined his muscular bicep, twinkling as he passed by.

  He turned to address the crowd, and I jerked back. On his chest was the mark of a Magister.

  James shook his head, his eyes downcast.

  A cold sweat dripped down my neck, my pulse quickening at the thought of approaching this Magister.

  With a large grin, the Magister held up the hand of the short, muscular man. “Ratcha is victorious!” The crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and shouts.

  The Magister grinned at the crowd, relishing the bloodlust. This wasn't right. No Magister would allow this to happen. When he turned, I saw the crimson shade covering his irises and the large white circle on the ground. Frost covered my thoughts. Ira’s Vindicae had come to Decim.

  Chapter 29

  “Who’s next?” the dark-skinned Magister yelled, motioning toward the arena around him. “Who will leave Ira’s Vindicae unscathed?”

  The crowd grew silent. The leather bags stopped mid-air, as well as my pulse. How could Ira’s Vindicae be here? Were there more horrors from the Seven Choices seeping into Decim?

  As the crowd retreated, the white line of Ira’s Vindicae taunted me. Schism and his horrid creature form flooded my memory from the Third Choice.

  “You know the rules,” another voice shouted, thick with a rich Obesquean accent.

  From the opposite side of the crowd, another shirtless man stepped forward. His pale skin and shaved head were a contrast to the dark-skinned Magister. A black braided beard descended from his chin, matching the black swirls branded into his thick arms. Like the others, a cloth circled his waist, though decidedly shorter than the other Magister’s. My hope vanished when I saw the Magister’s mark and blood-red eyes on this man, as well.

  “Bocaj,” the dark-skinned Magister said, stepping aside
.

  “Sirhc.” Bocaj lifted his chin before facing the crowd. “You pay, you choose,” Bocaj continued, his deep voice ricocheting through the arena. “Who is willing to pay for the next warrior?”

  “I will.”

  Out of the crowd stepped a middle-aged man clad in leather armor with cropped walnut waves and black gloves. His golden eyes shimmered as he stalked toward the center of Ira’s Vindicae. A dark trimmed beard grew from his cheeks, accentuating his stern lips.

  The man strode slowly but with confidence. Two blades gleamed from behind his back as he held out a blue bag. The dark-skinned Magister opened his palm, and the man poured a series of glittering crystals into it. I sucked in a breath, my stomach twisting into knots. Those were my crystals. The ones the thief had stolen from me in the night.

  “Aren’t those from Neural?” James questioned quietly, giving me a side-long glance.

  “Why does that guy have them?” Claire pointed at the thief.

  “Who is he, Addie?” Silas glowered at the man.

  Rage bubbled in my chest as I ignored my friends’ confusion and disbelief. I dug my fingertips into the ledge until they turned white. How dare he use my crystals for this barbaric competition?

  “Excellent,” the dark-skinned Magister said with a devious grin, closing his hand around the jewels. “Who do you choose for your warrior? And for whose side?”

  “I choose that warrior,” the thief said. “The side I choose is my own."

  All heads of the crowd turned toward the ledge as the thief’s finger pointed steadily at me.

  The eyes of the gambling men fixated on our position, and panic sliced through my body. After a moment's pause, a huge bellow of laughter rose from the Magister with the long, braided beard.

  “What’s this? The great thief, Romen, has decided to finally enter the competition?” He looked at the thief with mocking disbelief. “And he has chosen a woman, no less!" The Magister bellowed again, holding his stomach. The men in the arena howled with laughter, as well. “This will be a fight to remember!” The Magister turned and motioned toward the lifeless body from the previous fight with disgust. “Take his heart and give it to the arenam.”

  I held my breath as one of the men dragged the lifeless body out of the circle and discarded it in front of a thin, gangly man. The thin man held the same circular tube Doctor Magnum had used for extractions. But while Doctor Magnum’s instrument was shiny and pristine, this device was rusted with chunks of metal falling off of it. Placing the tube over the dead man’s chest, the thin man extracted a black heart from the man’s lifeless body. Two other men dragged the heartless body through the dirt until it was lost in the crowds.

  The thief lowered his hand, his glowing golden gaze searing my skin. He tipped his chin up, challenging me to accept his bet.

  The men continued to double over with laughter. Heat swirled in my chest before the power of my rage seeped into my fingertips, igniting them with orange light. If only they knew that this woman had already triumphed through Ira’s Vindicae before. Just barely, but still triumphed. Insulted, I rose from the ledge.

  “What are you doing?” Claire shrieked, placing her hands on her head.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” James added, starting to stand as well.

  “Who is that guy, Addie? And why does he have our crystals?” Silas hissed.

  The darkness in his veins had returned in force. With each pulse of Silas’s half-heart, the black blood traveled up his arm to his neck. The look in his eyes wasn’t compassionate like it was outside of Perda Forum but held anger. “Why aren’t you answering any of our questions?”

  My gaze cut to Silas. “He was going to kill all of you before, but he didn’t because of me.”

  Silas began to rise. “What? When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I jerked out of his grasp. I protected everyone from the thief by giving him the crystals, not Silas. I was strong, and I was going to prove it.

  The Magister with long, dark braids silenced the crowd with an outstretched hand. “Man or woman, it does not matter. The rules are the same. The thief, Romen, has paid more than any of you and has chosen his warrior.” He turned toward Romen. “You have not chosen Ratcha or Obesque to battle for, but your own side. Tell me, what is it you fight for?”

  Romen’s lips twitched as if he had heard an amusing joke. “When my warrior wins, I will tell you my stakes, Sirhc.”

  The dark-skinned Magister, Sirhc, nodded. He hadn’t laughed once since Romen declared me his warrior. And for that, I liked him far better than the brutish Magister.

  “That is wonderful, Romen,” the bearded Magister bellowed once more, slapping the thief on the shoulder. “You are so confident your little woman will win. Since you haven't chosen one of our Lands, I will choose her opponent for you. She will fight me.”

  Ice raced down my spine. What had I gotten myself into? Not only was this man muscular beyond belief, but he was huge. At more than a foot taller than me, this Magister could easily destroy me during a fight. Maybe I could still back out. I ran my hand along the satchel, hoping I’d feel the book shaking, telling me I was in danger. But not even a quiver came from the bag.

  Below, one side of the crowd jumped up and down, raising their arms in the air as they supported the Magister, while the other side looked disappointed, as if they had wanted to fight me instead.

  “And, by some miracle, if she does win, I will give her this!” The Magister turned his palms to the ceiling.

  White light flowed from the Magister’s hands. Before I could blink, the black handle of a spiked flail appeared, and I took a step back. The Magister lifted it up, twirled it in the air, then slammed the shining spiked ball to the ground. Vibrations traveled to the ledge, shaking the foundation of the arena. I stumbled forward, falling to my knees. Sharp pebbles cut into my palms as I braced myself against the ground. When I looked back up, a satisfied grin laid on the Magister’s lips.

  Rage and pride fueled the power igniting my hands. He thought I was nothing but a useless fool. I wasn’t sure why the thief from the forest had chosen me, but I was ready to prove this smug Magister wrong. I wasn’t useless. Bright orange flames blazed from my fingertips, ready to be unleashed.

  Squaring my shoulders, I threw the satchel off and started to climb down the ledge when Silas’s hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist.

  “What are you doing? You’re going to get killed.”

  I yanked my hand away. “At least it won’t be by you,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

  Silas’s mouth dropped open as his hand fell to his side.

  “Addie,” Claire whispered, her eyes wide.

  I shot her a glare, silencing any more protests. James only clucked his tongue, keeping his eyes focused on the Magisters.

  Gripping the stone wall, I completed my descent and landed feet-first on the ground below, ready to face my opponent.

  I tilted my chin up, and the perspiring men parted. Some pulled gold coins from their bags, passing them to different men in the crowd while snickering under their breaths. I growled. I hadn’t even gotten to the circle, and they were already betting against me.

  I stopped at the edge of Ira’s Vindicae. The white line encouraged me to dive into my fury and enter its ring of death. Memories of Schism's mocks, Ophidian's threats, Eman's silence, and Silas's episodes flooded my mind, building the fire in my chest. But I had learned what this rage wanted. It wanted to consume me, control me, and, ultimately, destroy me. I was overrun by Ira’s Vindicae once before, and I wouldn't allow it to happen again.

  The thief, Romen, and the Magister, Sirhc, watched me with interest. When I didn’t move, an impressed grin came to Sirhc’s face.

  “Ah, your warrior is more than what she seems. Obviously, she knows the rules of Ira’s Vindicae: once you enter, only one leaves.”

  “I won’t enter unless I’m allowed a weapon of my choice," I demanded, finding my confidence.

&nb
sp; It wasn’t until Silas’s sword had come to me that I stood a fighting chance. But now that it was gone, I had nothing. If I had to fight in this circle again, I would defend myself.

  Sirhc slapped Romen on the back like the other Magister had. But Romen never moved, his stance stayed unwavering and tense. Since I had climbed from the ledge, his blazing golden eyes hadn’t left my face.

  “You’ve chosen a wise warrior, Romen.” Sirhc turned to me. “Of course, you will be given a weapon, my lady.” He gave a deep bow that I couldn’t tell was genuine or mocking. When he stood, Sirhc motioned toward the crowd. The men parted once again to reveal the same gangly man who had extracted the dead man’s heart. Only now, instead of the extraction instrument, he carried a variety of weapons.

  The gaunt man looked as if a single gust of wind would scare him out of his skin. He laid the bundle out before me. I immediately noticed the weapons all had one thing in common: each was caked with dried blood. I clenched my jaw shut.

  The first weapon was a sword. After wielding Silas’s sword, this one seemed inferior, so I moved on. The next was the whip the warrior from Ratcha used. The vivid memory of him choking the life out of his opponent was still too fresh. And I also would never want to use the same weapon as Schism. Shaking my head, I studied the next weapon. It was a spiked flail like the bearded Magister had.

  The air was thick and hot with anticipation. Wiping the sweat from my upper lip, I glanced up to find all eyes on me. I assumed an experienced opponent would pick the same weapon, some sort of fight fire with fire concept.

  Yet as I looked back down, the spiked flail just didn’t seem right; too barbaric for me. Hoping to get some sort of help, I surveyed the collection some more until my eyes landed on the last weapon, if you could call it that. It wasn't a weapon at all, but a black rod.

  Recognition tugged at the back of my mind, and I crouched down to examine the long cylinder. There was something familiar about it. As I got closer, my heart pulsed with confirmation. I had definitely seen this rod before, but where? I searched the corners of my mind until I found the memory. This was Claire’s rod, the one she had in Ophidian’s Realm to defend against the siti. But how had it gotten here?