Godsend (The Circle War Book 1)

by Matt King

  “No avoiding a fight now. Only one thing to do.”

  “August, wait!”

  There was no use delaying the inevitable. He walked forward. The leaves crunched loudly beneath his feet, but the noise didn’t bring a reaction from the Horsemen. As he suspected, they already knew he was there. Bear’s footsteps were close behind. As they neared the road, the Horsemen stiffened. Their hands hovered around their hips.

  Bear stopped at his side when they reached the asphalt. They stood there for a second, two rival gangs in an old west duel. Since the brothers never spoke, August was the forced to break the silence.

  “Our fight’s not with you,” he said. “Coburn left you here to die. Don't give him the satisfaction.”

  They didn’t answer. Instead, the last Horseman on the left turned his head slightly toward the compound. August looked over and saw a line of three armored black Humvees speeding toward the gate. Personnel carriers, he remembered from his days on the base. Judging by their lack of air support, they were all Phoenix had left. Probably a cobbled-together squad of admin workers ordered to be the final line of defense. The Humvees came to a skidding halt near the gate and their cabs emptied. At least twenty men came running toward them with automatic weapons pointed at him and Bear.

  A low hum of electricity sounded behind him.

  “Not yet,” he whispered to Bear through thinly parted lips.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick,” Bear answered. “I won't be able to hold her back for long.”

  The soldiers walked forward as a unit. August noticed more than one glance at the Horsemen before looking away quickly. No one seemed eager to get near the brothers.

  “August Dillon!” a man yelled. His shirt read GERARD across the breast pocket. “Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

  August stayed still.

  “Do it, now!”

  At once, the men in the front row dropped to one knee and drew their rifles to their shoulders, their eyes steady behind their sights. The men standing in back raised their weapons in kind.

  “Every one of you were watching the video in there,” August said. “You know how this is going to turn out.”

  “I will not ask again!” Gerard yelled back.

  August glanced at the Horsemen, hoping upon hope that maybe they weren’t willing to risk dying for Coburn. They maintained their rigid stance with their heads held low enough so that he couldn’t see their eyes.

  The powder keg seemed poised to explode. Some of the men re-gripped their weapon. How long until one got an itchy trigger finger? He was ready to tell Bear to phase when something metallic rolled across the asphalt. A small black disc skidded in front of the soldiers, coming to a spinning rest at the heel of Gerard’s boot.

  In the split-second it took for the device to go off, August and Gerard seemed to recognize what it was at the exact same time. August turned quickly to avoid it. Gerard turned his gun toward the Horsemen.

  Even with his back to the detonation, the searing light from the flashbang stole August's sight for a few seconds before his vision mended itself. Bear hadn’t known what was coming and took a direct hit because of it. He was still shaking off the effects when the gunfire started.

  The Horsemen moved as a single, flowing unit, and they killed with equal parts style and brutality. With the soldiers popping off frantic rounds, the brothers moved low and took out the legs of the few who were firing. One would sweep the soldiers off their feet while another finished them off with a quick knife through the neck. August never needed to draw a blade. The men who'd recovered enough to shoot were too slow with their aim, and they paid for it with their lives. When some turned to run, the Horsemen gunned them down with pistols drawn from the inside of their long black coats.

  The last soldier died quietly, his gun knocked from his hand before he could fire off one final wild shot. When they were done, the Horsemen re-holstered their weapons and walked over to stand in a line in front of August and Bear.

  “August, what’s going on?” Bear whispered.

  August thought back to Coburn's words. The Horsemen are a superstitious lot. If I were to let you go, they’d probably worship the ground you walk on.

  “I'll explain more later,” he answered over his shoulder without looking back, “but I think we've found our first recruits.”

  One of the Horsemen stepped ahead of the others. August could see his face just below the brim of the hat. He’d forgotten how unearthly ashen their skin seemed in the light. With their dark hair and deep-set eyes, he thought they were some sort of vampire boy band the first time they'd met. He had also been sure that Coburn would order them to cut his heart out one day. Lucky for him, they didn’t seem too keen on following Coburn’s orders anymore.

  The Horseman reached into his coat and pulled out a long, curved blade. August’s hand whipped to the hilt of his sword. The blade was halfway out when he realized that the Horseman wasn’t going to use the weapon on him. Instead, he held it by the tip and offered it to August.

  August took it by the handle. Inside, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Can you understand me?” he asked.

  The brothers gave a single nod in unison.

  “Then take this.” He turned the knife around and handed it back. “You'll be needing it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Where are we going?”

  “Relax, my prince,” Amara replied. “I would not ruin the surprise. We will be there soon.”

  “You keep calling me that, but I’m not your son.” He wanted to be her knight, not her prince.

  Her lips lifted in a grin and his heart began to race. Settle down. There’s no way she heard me thinking. Then again, hadn’t she told him that he couldn’t hide his mind from her? His stomach turned at the thought.

  “I hope you are not bothered by the name. I think of it as a term of endearment. However, if you rather I not use it…”

  “No,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  She looked back to show him a smile. “Good.”

  They sped across the valley in a vehicle that looked like a teardrop. It had a tapered oval base made out some sort of brushed metal. Inside were two rows of plush seats, curved to match the contour of the car, with an aisle cut through the center. The top was a clear dome that allowed a complete view of the valley while they zoomed along silently, hovering a few feet above the ground. There were no wheels, the steering kind or otherwise. The shale, as Amara called it, didn’t touch the ground so that it could travel over the rocky surfaces of the planet in comfort. When he asked how the hovering worked, she told him that some worlds advanced at different rates than others. He let the issue alone. In truth, he didn’t care how the thing floated. He only wanted to hear her speak.

  The pressure of being alone with her drove him farther inside himself when he should've been talking. He racked his brain to fill the void in conversation. “Nobody else here speaks my language,” he blurted out.

  “That is true.”

  “But you do.”

  “Also true.”

  “How come?”

  “Do you remember on the castle spire when I explained my origin?” she asked.

  “I think so,” he replied. “It’s been kind of a lot to absorb.”

  Amara laughed. “Yes, too much to take in at once, possibly, but you have done remarkably well. I, and the other members of the Circle, represent the pinnacle of humanity. We are pure energy. Life everlasting. The truth, my prince, is that we are all creatures of energy. It powers every living thing in this universe. What you call language is nothing more to me than a series of electrical impulses. Your head is full of words and definitions. I can mimic these by copying them, in my own way. They are a map of thoughts. Once I have it, I can understand everything about you, including the way you speak.”

  “Weird.”

  “Mmm, perhaps.”

  Her hands rested on the top of her thigh, and Michael traced
the curves of her long legs with his eyes. The gems on her shoes matched the thin strands of diamond-like strands of jewelry woven through her hair. She was statuesque and regal, with an air about her that was equal parts terrifying and intoxicating. Whether she was really a god or not, it sure felt like he was in the presence of one.

  And you’re her pet, nothing else, his father’s voice spoke. She wants a man, not a weakling like you.

  Michael’s stomach sank. His heart began to race. No, not now. You’re not going to ruin this for me. I won’t let you.

  Bring her to me. I’ll show her what a real man is.

  Shut up and leave me alone.

  “Michael?”

  She can see through you, sissy boy. Pretending to be strong doesn't mean you are.

  Leave me alone!

  “Michael.”

  He looked up. Amara stared back at him with a concerned frown. He fought back a swell of tears with a heavy breath.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You seem troubled.”

  “No. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

  “I told you, there is nothing to be nervous about.”

  She stood and walked back from the front row of seats to sit beside him. He found himself avoiding eye contact with her. Part of him begged to look into her stare, but a bigger part felt like she was looking through him when their eyes met. Searching.

  “You are so powerful,” she replied. “So strong.”

  “I’m not that strong,” he said. “Not like Talus.”

  “Talus is a useful tool, but you are a different kind of weapon. You are the one who will turn the tide in this war. It is you they’ll fear, not Talus.” She took his hand. Her thumb moved in slow swipes across his skin. “You will see. After today, the Pyrians will sing songs of your strength instead of his.”

  “So is that where you’re taking me? To get stronger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorta like training.”

  “Exactly,” she purred. She let go of his hand and propped her head against the top of the seat.

  Michael turned away from her beaming smile, pretending instead to be interested in the view of the countryside. As they passed a string of hills, he saw something in the distance reflecting glints of sunlight. He squinted. It looked like a carpet of metal beads with some large domed structures mixed throughout. It was far away, but it looked like it stretched for miles along the base of a mountain.

  “What’s all that?” he asked.

  She moved closer to him. “Those are Galan’s toys. They are being assembled for transport.”

  “There’s so many.”

  “Yes. He is making preparations for his fight with Meryn.”

  My enemy, he reminded himself. Even with all the talk of war, he sometimes forgot who he was fighting against. “You don’t talk about her much.”

  “It is a painful subject,” she said. Her eyes flitted away. “And today is a day of celebration.”

  “So am I going with them?” he asked, pointing to the valley. “To train?”

  “No.” She reached over and pulled his chin around until he was looking out the opposite side of the vehicle. “This is where you are going.”

  The shale veered out into the fields to maneuver around the end of the mountain range. As they cleared the peak, he gasped at the scene on the other side. At first he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After all of the castles and strange buildings he’d seen on Pyr, the structure that should’ve been the most familiar to him was the one that shocked him the most. It looked like someone had stolen a football stadium from Earth and wedged it inside a ring of Pyrian mountains. A crowd of people stood outside the oval structure, which rose to dizzying heights from the rocky flatland. Its copper walls slanted inward toward the bottom. The top of the stadium was covered by a curved sheet of gold, and as they crested a hill, he could see a hole cut into its center.

  Amara sat back, admiring the view. “What do you think?”

  “It’s…huge.”

  “This is a decadrome, one of many built by the Pyrians. They take their entertainment very seriously. They’ve been waiting for weeks to catch a glimpse of you.”

  “Me?” Michael took another look at the horde of people walking outside the grounds. “What are they coming to see me for? They don’t even know me.”

  “They know of you. I have made sure of that. You are a cult hero to these people already. They haven’t had a new champion since Talus won his first tournament. They are hungry for someone new.”

  “I can’t do this.” His chest tightened at the thought of standing in front of that many people. To have so many there to see him. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I’m not a fighter. What am I supposed to do?”

  You’re gonna run like you always do. Run away, little coward. Run to momma.

  Amara moved closer and pulled him to her, guiding his head down to lay against her chest. “Be still,” she cooed. “You have nothing to fear.”

  He felt the electricity of her skin as his cheek pressed against the swell of her breast and it was enough to make him forget for a moment—forget his father, forget his years living in fear, forget every miserable thing that had happened to him before Amara came. She brushed her fingers through his hair. The vehicle lurched, sending his hand falling to her leg. He let it linger. Instead of pushing him away, she held it in place.

  The shale bypassed the crowds, taking them around to the far side of the decadrome. A pulsing murmur of chants echoed from the Pyrians already inside. Their voices rose and fell in a slow, fluid song. As the vehicle disappeared down a tunnel beneath the grounds, it left the sounds of the stadium behind. They came to a stop in an open area where the mountain’s black rock had been carved flat and polished to a shine. The shale’s dome split into two halves, retracting into the body.

  “We have arrived,” Amara said.

  The loss of her skin’s energy when she stood was like a warm blanket being pulled away on a winter morning. She held onto his hand and led him down a small set of stairs lowered on the vehicle’s side. Outside of the shale, he realized that the crowd’s chants had only been muted in the underground room. They were still going strong. The ground beneath his feet vibrated from the sound.

  Two guards holding black spears stood post on either side of an oval door, dressed in silver armor that stuck to their skin like it had been welded on.

  “This is where we part ways,” Amara said. “From here, you will be taken through those doors to begin the tournament.”

  The guards each took hold of a notch carved into the middle of the door and pulled. The sides gave way to a narrow hall, where he could see daylight at the other end, and thousands of people cheering in the stands. They were bunched together so tightly, the only thing he could make out were the whites of their eyes. Everything else was a shifting sea of gray. Their chants vibrated the air. Ominala-Ominala-Ominala.

  “What are they saying?”

  “Ominala. It means ‘sacrifice.’”

  He looked down the hall. “Sacrifice to what?”

  “To me.” She took a long breath and smiled as she watched the crowd.

  A fresh wave of anxiety fanned through his midsection, making his skin feel hot. Heartbeats pounded against his ribs. “I can’t control it. I’ll kill everyone here. And…what if I lose?”

  She’s gonna be disappointed, his father’s voice teased. She’s going to find out the same thing I’ve known for years. You’re a failure, you little sissy. You’re a failure and she’s—

  Amara bent and kissed the bridge of his nose. Her forehead rested against his own for a moment before she stepped away.

  “You are the strongest and the most powerful,” she said. “I will be watching your victory with such pride. Fare well, my prince.”

  She turned with an easy smile and walked toward a doorway on the other side of the room with the guards following close
behind.

  Michael stood by himself at the entrance to the hall, listening to the crowd’s chant grow louder.

  Ominala! OMINALA!

  He eased down the ramped hall, and all of a sudden he was a child again, walking up the elementary school steps by himself, standing below the kids who couldn’t wait to tease him, hit him, call him names. He looked down at the gray skin of his palms. With a thought, he caused a splintered trail of red cracks to appear. It was the only weapon he had. Would it be enough?

  As he approached the entrance to the stadium, the crowd caught sight of him and the noise of their cheers rattled the floor. His skin was still hidden by the riot gear from the prison. He wondered if they knew what kind of monster they cheered. He wondered what they’d think when they saw what he truly was. They cheered for the promise of blood—for sacrifice, but did they know that they were the ones about to give their lives?

  They’re the kids from school, he told himself. Even if they’re cheering now, they’ll turn into the bastards who kept me scared eventually. They’re the kids from school. They’re the neighbors laughing.

  They’re my father.

  He stepped onto the stadium’s dirt floor and walked to the center. Amidst the song of Ominala, a second chant rumbled beneath it. They called his name. He turned his head to get a full view of the crowd. The lip of the decadrome wall seemed as high as the clouds. There weren’t thousands there to cheer him on, there were a million. For a moment, he felt like the great warrior Amara told him he’d become.

  The rush was fleeting.

  Three sets of doors opened around the perimeter, two on either side of him and one in front. A steady stream of fighters emerged from each opening. There were too many to count. Some rode six-legged monsters that looked like black widow spiders. Those on foot carried black spears with green, glowing barbed endings. He was surrounded in seconds, alone in a shrinking oval of rocky sand.

  The tide of soldiers stopped and lowered their weapons toward him. Michael stood, helpless as a statue. He looked up in the stands and saw Amara appear on a protruding platform sticking out in the middle of the tightly-packed rows of seats. The crowd roared when they saw her. She let them cheer, acknowledging them with a wave, and then raised a hand to silence them.