Eloy's Challenge

by Kara Timmins

  Finally, Eloy felt a whisper of hope that he and the others might make it out of the situation intact.

  37

  The fighter didn’t look over either of her broad shoulders again to look at Malatic or the others as they walked. She had said as much as she needed to say to get the most out of their feigned fear. Eloy was glad for her silence. She stopped walking about twenty steps shy of the entrance to the tent. “You know the way. Go on in.”

  “Do you need to announce us?” Malatic asked.

  “I’m not up for that risk,” the fighter said. “You go in, and if he’s not ready to see you, that’s your problem. I’ll just stand here and make sure you all go inside.” Her amusement was reminiscent of a child dropping a caterpillar into a spider’s web.

  Eloy looked at Malatic, who shook his head in annoyed, yet not unexpected, contempt.

  “Let’s get this going, then?” Malatic said as he looked at his three companions lined up behind him.

  “The faster started, the faster ended, right?” Eloy followed Malatic toward the large tent.

  Any of Anso’s fighters who were milling around outside of the tent were unlikely see signs of stress in Malatic as he used the back of his hands to part the swaying pieces of fabric that made up the entrance, but Eloy saw it. Every muscle of Malatic’s back looked hard with tension; shots of electricity twitched under the skin. Eloy felt it too, and he knew this fear. The setting was much different than it had been in heart of the forest of Valia. The cave of the Seer, while beautiful in its way, was the perfect juxtaposition in harshness to the comforts of Anso’s tent, but the sense of walking into a dwelling of unknown danger was the same.

  The similarities grew when he saw the darkness inside. Malatic stood, holding the flaps of the tent entrance open, but he didn’t take the first step inside. The shadowed line was a boundary, as real as a crack in the earth, into dangerous land.

  “If you come inside the tent,” a voice from the darkness said, “I may have you taken out of it in pieces. If you stand there and let in all that light, I’ll make it a certainty.”

  Any reason to hesitate dissipated. Eloy followed Malatic into the darkness.

  Neasa and Goodwin moved behind him. The flap swished closed, and the world went dark. The thick fabric that made up the tent did more than block out the natural light of the day, it also trapped the dank, salty aroma that thickened the air inside. Goodwin did his best to stifle his cough, but his hacks broke the silence. They waited for a response—the lashing out of the beast now awake—but nothing came. Anso’s patience to give them the time they needed to acclimate to the new environment somehow seemed worse than if he had reacted predictably. Perhaps some frightened animal instinct in Eloy helped his eyes focus. It didn’t take long before he could see what was going on around them.

  Despite Eloy’s initial assessment, there were small flickers of light throughout the expanse of the tent. The light didn’t compare to the illumination of the outside, but the little orbs of fire were enough to see what they had walked into.

  The inside of the tent was just as bland as its outside. The decoration was sparse, with only a few chairs distributed haphazardly around the open space. A few were colored with splashes of something black. Even if Eloy hadn’t seen similar stains on the wood of the rack in the Bowl, he didn’t need a vivid imagination to figure out what kind of fluid had created the stains. He had seen similar spills on the dirt ground when people had died wherever the whim to kill had occurred to Anso. The only part of the tent that didn’t seem to bear the sign of struggle was in the back right corner, opposite to the entrance. The corner, where most of the light originated, contained a simple wood-carved bed, a table with a few items in neat rows, and a large padded chair. Eloy walked past Malatic and made his way toward the man sitting in the chair. Eloy had never seen human eyes reflect so much light, as if their depths were lined with the same iridescence as a predator crouched and ready for the inevitable and predictable act of his prey.

  “Keep walking.” Anso watched them move across the blotted dirt ground.

  Once close enough to see the details of Anso’s face, Eloy wished for the unnerving animalistic eyes he had seen from a distance. He could understand something that was dangerous because of its predatory nature. What Eloy saw up close wasn’t something he could reason with or comprehend. Eloy could see too much white to Anso’s eyes. Anso didn’t seem anxious, if anything he seemed at ease in the knowledge of his mortal control. Yet his eyelids were lifted so high that he conveyed his madness without saying a word.

  “If you’re here to ask for more erum,” Anso said, “I will kill you. The mice to the snake. But I am benevolent enough to tell you that before you speak.”

  “That’s not why we’ve come,” Malatic said.

  Anso’s bulging eyes flicked to Malatic before returning to Eloy.

  “Uh-huh . . .” Anso stretched out the last syllable as an encouragement for someone to continue. His focus said he wanted it to come from Eloy.

  The comparison Anso had made about Eloy and the others being the mice and him being the snake seemed almost amusing to Eloy. Anso was undoubtedly the snake, but he had the features of a rodent. The tip of his nose bulged and loomed over his thin-lipped mouth, and his narrow teeth had turned a shade of greenish yellow, a side effect of having the most access to erum.

  Eloy stepped forward. “We are here on behalf of the tute.”

  Anso slapped his hands together and jumped out of his chair.

  Eloy flinched.

  “Ah!” Anso said. “The tute! I had completely forgotten about the bastard. Where is he?”

  Eloy tried to calm his frantic thoughts. He had to find the right words, the right lie. “He got caught up in one of the small towns. A woman . . .” Eloy stopped as the expression of frivolity disappeared from Anso.

  “And he thought it would be fine if he sent a few of my fighters ahead on his behalf?” Anso said. “What did he do? Pick you up off the road?” He spoke at an uncomfortably high volume.

  “That’s exactly what happened,” Eloy said.

  “And you just did as he said?” Anso said. “What about the business of mine you were set out to do?”

  With effort, Eloy resisted the urge to look a Malatic for help. “We were on our way back.”

  “And why did the tute think he could keep me waiting?” Anso asked. “Does he think he’s more important than I am? Are his needs more important than mine?” Anso’s voice got louder with each unanswerable question.

  Frothy clumps of white saliva built up in the corners of Anso’s mouth, his focus and all of its venom directed toward Eloy. But Eloy didn’t have answers to the questions. Malatic was better at coming up with the replies that fit into the lie they had come up with. Unfortunately, Anso wasn’t looking at Malatic.

  Eloy opened his mouth to try to give an explanation, but he didn’t get the chance.

  Anso fell back into his chair in a spasm of laughter. “That tute is a man of his impulses. I can respect it. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I’m in any position to act on his information right now. But the timing might just work out. We’ll get the next delivery of erum, enough to get you and the rest of your lot off your asses and out of shitter holes, and regroup to do what needs to be done. Everyone has challenges, right? How else would strong men be made if it weren’t for the times that gave them a chance to show their strength?”

  Anso got up from his chair again and walked over to the table at his bedside. The leather pouch he opened looked almost identical to the one tucked out of sight at Eloy’s waist, but Anso’s was big enough to hold at least fifty of the smaller pouches. The pouch moved with a minimal amount of effort—a sign that even Anso was running low on the green powder. Anso looked down into the bag and snarled. He may have been running low, but his supply wasn’t completely gone, which he proved by taking a pinch an
d smearing it across his green-stained tongue. It sent a shiver through his body, and his eyes grew wide.

  A part of Eloy was curious about the sensation that coursed its way through Anso. The small amount Eloy had put on his own tongue was enough to change the way the world looked and felt in a sublime way. Even after traveling by foot for so long, he felt more energy than he ever had before. But then he thought of the bloated bodies, the man whom Goodwin had killed, and the people they had passed on their way through the camp who were losing fluid out of every orifice, and he stopped wondering about the advantages of erum.

  “Did the tute say when he would be here?” Anso asked.

  “He said it would be a few days,” Eloy said.

  “He’ll be back. His erum won’t last forever,” Anso said. “Things have a way of working out. The next delivery of erum should be here by then, and I’ll have something to welcome him with. It always helps him to remember the little details. That idiot sometimes doesn’t know which parts are important.”

  The others shifted around Eloy. They had traveled a long way to accomplish a single goal: to kill Anso. The musky smell of dried blood and the looming of presence of Anso had put Eloy on the defensive. Fearing a man who was used to being feared was the natural way of things, but they weren’t there as his underlings. They were not there to be subservient to him. They were there to kill him. Anso had a weak defense; the men and women who had protected him for so long had been thinned out, and he was just one man alone in a tent.

  The chances of success had tipped in favor of the four more than they could have asked for. It all seemed to be right. Everything was better than Eloy had imagined the scenario, but something about it was wrong. Something in him felt like coming to a river crossing at a point that frothed and churned and knowing instinctively that he shouldn’t cross. Eloy needed to get on the other side of the situation—Anso had to die—but something was off.

  He felt Neasa lean closer to him.

  I’m ready, her small movement said.

  What about Goodwin? Eloy thought. Is he ready? Could he ever be ready for this?

  But Eloy couldn’t look to his right past Neasa to see. He couldn’t look at Malatic on his left either, though Eloy was sure he would see a stony readiness. Maybe a little fear. But any glimpse at the others would give him away. His eyes couldn’t leave Anso.

  The sword at his back seemed heavier as Eloy thought about moving his hand to its hilt. Every severed impulse to reach for it made his fingers twitch. Something inside of him, something beyond his desire to have the task the Seer had put him on come to an end, stopped him every time.

  Eloy started forward, no more than a flex of his knee to move in. Anso set his bulging eyes on him. Then Eloy knew what his senses were trying to tell him. An energy pulsed off Anso like heat from a bloom of new fire. Eloy had felt an energy like this before—from Kella. Even before he knew what she could do, he had been able to sense it, just like he could sense it now. This magic felt different. Weaker, maybe. More malicious, definitely. He didn’t feel Anso in his head. No. His ability was different, but Eloy didn’t want to find out what was about to happen if he took a step forward. Not now. He couldn’t risk Goodwin, Neasa, or Malatic. He couldn’t let them become another splotch on Anso’s floor.

  Anso didn’t need fighters to protect him. Anso was his own defense.

  Eloy forced his muscles to settle and his shoulders to round down. He needed himself to look small. Eloy chanced a look to his side and saw that Malatic had done the same. He understood what Eloy was trying to do. The relief helped his muscles relax a little more.

  “Now what I am going to do with the four of you?” Anso licked his thin upper lip with the tip of his discolored tongue. “How about this: you tell me what you think I should do, and I’ll decide if it’s better than what I have in mind.”

  Eloy didn’t want to know what Anso wanted to do. The maniacal smile was enough motivation to think of an alternative—fast.

  Eloy’s mouth was dry. He should have practiced maneuvering around false truths. “The camp is in trouble.” He was grateful his voice didn’t waver. “Some of the lowers won’t live to see the delivery of the erum, and those who’ll survive will do so just barely. Even the most devoted can change their allegiance when presented with their own deaths. From what I’ve seen, there are still more of them than there are of you.”

  “That’s always been the case,” Anso said, “and it has never been a problem. I’m not hearing anything to do with the four of you.”

  “We belong on the other side of your barricade,” Eloy said, “but our allegiance to you is strong. The combined force of those willing to do whatever it takes to live may be stronger than anything you’ve had to deal with from your own fighters. We’re clearheaded. We can go back on the other side and listen to what the others are saying. If there’s any talk of trying to take the barricade by force, we’ll let you know about it.”

  “And what makes you think I don’t have anyone doing that already?” Anso asked.

  “If you have anyone who isn’t sick beyond the barricade,” Eloy said, “I didn’t see them.”

  “Fair enough,” Anso said. “And how do I know that you’ll not work with them to tell me nothing is going on as you make plans of your own?”

  “Our lives are yours,” Eloy said. “We knew that when we joined you, but I understand the value of words. Worth is in what you can hold. I’ll show you that we are content to leave our lives as your faithful warriors.”

  Eloy took the pouch of erum from the tie around his waist. Once Neasa saw where his declaration of allegiance was going, she removed the leather pouch from her own rope belt. Eloy took the two pouches and walked over to Anso, who had found his way back to his chair as Eloy and Neasa had removed their pouches of erum.

  “This is the last of the erum that we have between the four of us,” Eloy said. “We’ve had it from the last good batch. We’re giving it to you as a sign that our lives are and have always been forfeit to you. We’ll protect you and the next delivery as the last thing we do in this life.”

  Anso stared unblinking at the pouches Eloy held out for the taking. Anso didn’t reach for them right away. He just stared until Eloy’s arm started to shake. The aroma that plumed off Anso made it difficult for Eloy to breathe, and he feared the enveloping quality of the astringent air, so similar to a mound of rotting fruit, would cause him to break his composure.

  “Okay.” Anso snatched the pouches away from Eloy. “I’ll go with your option. You come here right away and let me know if you hear of any plans to try to take what’s mine. The erum should be delivered within the next seven days. If you’re still alive by then, you’ll make sure it gets to me. If anyone comes within five steps of it on its way here, kill them. Now get out.” Anso dumped the contents of the small leather pouches into his larger one.

  Eloy didn’t try to hide his eagerness to turn and exit back out into the light of day. By the sound of it, Neasa, Goodwin, and Malatic didn’t either.

  “Oh,” Anso called, “let’s not forget the reason you’re here. You come with that tute when he finally finds his way.”

  Eloy squinted against the dusk light and panted in the fresh air as if he had run up a hill.

  Neasa was bent over with her hands on her knees, panting next to him. “What do we do now?”

  “For now,” Eloy said, “we get away from him.”

  Even in the glow of the setting sun, Goodwin looked pale. Malatic didn’t look much better.

  “Let’s get on the other side of the barricade,” Malatic said. “This is one of those times when the sick are better company than the well.”

  “He seemed well to you?” Neasa asked.

  “Good point,” Malatic said.

  Their hasty retreat brought them back to the barricade faster than Eloy thought possible.

  The female fight
er leaned against the barricade as she slashed with her sword at an indistinguishable mass of something meaty on the ground. “All done, then?”

  The other guard was no longer with her.

  “Anso wants us on the other side until the delivery gets here,” Eloy said. “He told us to come to him with information if we get any. We may need to come through again.”

  “Whatever you say.” She moved her sword out of the pathway.

  Goodwin was third in line to pass, just a few steps ahead of Eloy, and when he passed the woman, she slashed her sword upward toward his torso. She stopped her swing just shy of cutting his skin. There shouldn’t have been any shame at flinching against a near miss from a sharp blade, but a blush of embarrassment bloomed in Goodwin’s cheeks as the woman cackled.

  Of everything they had seen since walking toward Anso’s camp, her merriment at making Goodwin cower was the final thing that pushed Eloy to a place of hot rage. He kept his face down when he passed her, and the heat of his anger burned hot through his neck. In the face of all the fear, sickness, and death, Eloy had almost forgotten what these people were about: cruelty.

  38

  It took a bit of walking around the tents before Eloy and the others found one that wasn’t occupied by anyone living or dead. The tent was tattered and small, but it had the luxury of being far enough away from the others that the sounds from the ailing were muffled. It also meant they could convene without anyone eavesdropping.

  They huddled together on the compacted—and luckily dry—dirt ground. Even Malatic seemed comforted by the closeness. The area was just big enough for all four of them to sleep. Everything of use must have been cleared out. There were grooves in the dirt where cots must have been, but the tent was empty now.

  “What’re you thinking?” Eloy looked at a distressed Malatic.

  “He seems so much different,” Malatic said. “He always had . . . a way about him, but whatever that erum actually is has made him something so much worse. He used to be a lot more like Nicanor, or at least how Nicanor used to be—composed, powerful. Anso was focused like that. He was meaner, more sadistic, but he wasn’t such a nutter before. I’ll put it this way, I’ve always thought that if all the crazy, harsh, unfair things in the world could be contained in human flesh, that thing would look a lot like Anso, and I thought that before I saw whatever he is now. It may sound crazy, but I’m a little concerned about what we’re going to let out when we separate that energy from his body.”