Satarial turned his raised arm towards Dominic and the focus of the audience shifted with it. Dom wanted to shrivel. It was the same feeling he’d had when he was on the streets of Delhi, or giving a report in class, only multiplied by the hundreds of thousands of eyes upon him. His shoulders slumped and he swayed backwards. Eduardo’s hand was suddenly hot on his back. In one touch he straightened Dom’s spine and held him upright. Dom felt the man’s strength flowing through him and he felt, at least for a moment, that he could face anything.
‘The youngest man to ever enter the Necropolis – Dominic Mathers. We welcome you to the City of the Dead and to our humble Trials.’ Satarial’s piercing gaze burned Dom almost as much as the hand at his back. He felt as though the men were fighting over him. One to humiliate and destroy him, the other to save him. It took every nerve he had, but he walked towards the front of the podium to stand beside the Nephilim who towered above him.
‘Dominic will begin today’s proceedings and, perhaps, in the coming months he may have the honour of being one of our celebrated contestants.’
The audience screamed with such violent enthusiasm that Dom’s head swam. He heard a voice, a soft grating one that felt as though it was inside his head. ‘All you need to say is that you declare the Trials open.’ He knew it was Satarial. He continued to gaze straight ahead, determined to at least give the pretence of confidence. He raised a hand the same way the Nephilim had and to his surprise the audience was silent for him as well. With a voice as strong as he could muster he began, ‘I now declare the Trials . . .’ He paused. The crowd stared at him expectantly, and he felt a sudden pity for them. They were destined to be eternal spectators, they were too afraid to risk going any further on their life-death journey. Satarial was a king, but only among the dead. His lips curled into a small smile. ‘. . . OPEN!’ he said.
The screaming erupted again and the audience members were on their feet, their eyes turned from him to the centre of the stadium. Dom sat back and felt a reassuring pat on his shoulder from Eduardo.
He had little time to relax though; the Trials began immediately and he was riveted. The floor of the stadium, which had appeared to be covered in brushed dirt, was starting to sway and undulate. It rolled gently at first like the ocean, but swelled into larger and larger waves, eventually cracking and rocketing upwards into shards of rock and jagged clay, a rugged labyrinth. Satarial was still standing by the edge of the podium. He looked intent yet barely interested; a man doing his job. He raised his hand and a doorway at the far side of the field opened, a small and simple gap that spat out a man who looked tiny and insignificant against the new terrain. Despite its magnificence, it wasn’t a huge stadium and Dom could clearly see that the man was a Native American dressed in the same traditional garb he had seen in the orchard; fringed leather chaps, plaited leather jewellery over his bare chest. He had a long braid draped behind him. He was clearly a warrior, his muscles were small and tightly defined and he walked lightly, ready for anything. Dom wondered what exactly he had to be ready for. There weren’t any wild animals to fight. He wasn’t going to die. Perhaps he had to fight other people.
Eduardo whispered in a low voice behind him, ‘See the medallion around his neck? It has three other pieces, one at each end of the stadium and one on the other side. He has to collect the three pieces, which all join into one, and deliver it to Satarial. If he can do it, he wins. If he doesn’t, well, you know the rest.’
‘Is there a time limit?’ Dom asked.
His Guardian snorted. ‘No. The Trials have been known to go on for hours, even days.’
‘How does it remain interesting?’ He wondered if it would be as tedious as some of the cricket matches he had watched with his father on his last tour of Europe. ‘How does he lose?’
‘He gives up.’
‘Why would he give up? He’s not going to die. He might get tired, but he’s not going to ever actually die. What would make him give up when he faces eternity in one of those tanks?’
‘You’ll see.’ Eduardo sounded grim again, as though he was embarrassed to be any part of the spectacle.
Dom kept his eyes on the man who made his slow and cautious way through the rock jungle. The rocks shifted constantly and there were a few tumbling boulders that he had to leap away from, but there didn’t seem to be anything too horrific to endure.
Satarial waited a few more moments and then raised his arm again. From his hand leapt a stream of fire that struck the floor of the stadium and became a writhing serpent. It leapt over and around the rocks seeking out Taoyateduta. The warrior had taken cover among the darker corners of the rocks. The serpent swept past and the man ran towards the southern wall of the stadium. He was fast and he was agile, but Dom watched Satarial and he realised that he was playing with Taoyateduta, that the serpent could reach him at any time. The dance continued to the screams of the crowd; they could see where the flames snaked, while the contestant could not.
‘Is this magic?’ Dom was fascinated.
‘No,’ Eduardo explained. ‘Magic is not what you think. He is from a different time. There are parts of his mind that work differently to yours; that understand more. He can manipulate the elements with his mind because he understands the connection of energies between everything. You could do it too, if you understood.’
‘Can you do it?’
Eduardo was silent for a moment. ‘I am not from that time either, Dominic, my time was closer to yours. The only element I could manipulate was steel.’ He gestured to his sword.
Abruptly, curving over a fragment of shattered earth, the flames found and surrounded the warrior. They squeezed in on him and his shout of pain carried clearly over the voices of his audience. Dom leaned back in horror. The man below leaped through the flames, his long hair on fire, and rolled under a soft mound of dirt and rock. The fire sizzled, smoked and eventually went out. Satarial smiled slightly and sat down. The burned man lay quietly for a while and the audience began to boo. Finally, he struggled to his feet and made his way towards the first piece of the medallion. The rocks and dirt sank back into themselves and once again the floor of the stadium was smooth. Making the most of the flattened terrain, the man sprinted to the end of the Arena, grasping the medallion fragment from its place in the wall and tearing it down. There was a cheer from the audience, but it was soon drowned out by the sound of rushing water. The water gushed up from the bottom of the stadium like a dam had burst, filling it in less than a minute. It was crystal clear like the water in the river, and the sweet scent of it filled Dom’s nostrils. Taoyateduta adapted quickly and began the swim to the other end of the Arena. He was obviously a strong swimmer. He broke through the water with ease. Satarial raised his hand again, and the audience waited expectantly. At first nothing appeared to be happening, but then there was a subtle change in the appearance of the water. It was turning white.
‘It’s freezing,’ Dom said, impressed. He wondered how the warrior would react. If he could get on top of the ice, he could run along it, but getting on top of water as it froze would be almost impossible. The audience held their breath and Dom found himself mesmerised. He had anticipated something much more bloodthirsty and violent, but this was certainly a supreme test of skill.
Taoyateduta struggled valiantly to stand on the slushy ice as it formed, but it wasn’t firm enough and he fell through. By the time he attempted it again, it was too late. The surface of the water was frozen and he was pinned under the ice. Dom leaned forward. The man struggled as he drowned, twisting and fighting for air. Dom felt sick as he empathised – not being able to die and yet suffocating. Finally the body under the clear ice went limp and floated. There was silence and then some jeering from the viewers. But the warrior under the ice was not finished yet. His body twitched a little, and then he began to claw his way towards the end of the stadium using both hands and feet, climbing along the underside of the ice. Soon the water was stained with red as his fingers split and bled. Through the clea
r crust of ice it was horrifying to see the bloody tendrils swirling around him. The screams of the audience were wild. Animalistic.
Satarial nodded slightly to a tall black Nephilim who raised his hand over the water. It melted in a flash, sloshing and roiling, and blocks of ice hissed into liquid. Taoyateduta was lost in the foam, but as the water stilled and receded into the dirt leaving only pools, his figure could be seen lying in the mud. Fumbling on hands and knees, he crawled towards the far wall and the medallion fragment that hung there. Dom’s stomach curled. Even from where he sat, high above, he could see the man’s skin was peeling. He lay like a corpse. Dom made an involuntary sound of disgust.
Before long, though, the colour returned to the man’s skin as he healed and his body regenerated, and the only difference to his pre-Trials appearance was that his hair was short, singed and frozen back to the scalp. Eventually his stumble became a confident run.
Dom understood now. The Trials were purely about torture as a spectator sport. There was no way to die, so it was about what horror could be inflicted upon someone for the amusement of the audience. He felt sick again. Eduardo was right. This was the worst of everything. The worst of being human. This was the sort of historical practice that, back in life, people had been ashamed of, and here it was celebrated.
Eduardo sensed him recoiling and whispered, ‘This is not everyone. Remember that. The good ones move on and there are many more of the good. Remember.’
Dom decided to leave. Whatever was to come was going to be worse. He did not want to see it, and he knew the more entangled he became with Satarial, the more likely he was to end up in that ring himself. He flexed his leg muscles slightly and in an instant the Nephilim’s hand was on his thigh. It was a light touch, but it was potent. He couldn’t move. In seconds his entire left leg was numb. Despite his growing fear Dom tried to sit up straight, as though nothing had happened. Satarial glanced at him with mild annoyance, as though he were as insignificant as an insect, and then turned back to the spectacle.
In the ring Taoyateduta stood, healthy, strong and fit as though he were in the prime of his life. But there was something about the way that he walked that showed fear. He knew there was more pain to come. He walked with apprehension. He had two parts of the medallion. All he needed to win his freedom and his way out of the City was the piece that hung on the wall directly below Dom, Eduardo and the Nephilim. Taoyateduta made his way towards them slowly, his eyes darting side-to-side.
Satarial waved his hand again, this time towards the audience. They seemed to understand him and a cheer rang out. People rose in their seats and moved as close as possible to the edge of the arena. Dom noticed they were pulling rocks and wooden pipes from their satchels. As Taoyateduta approached his prize the audience hurled their missiles at him in a thick rain. The pipes were blow darts and the accuracy of the crowd was terrifying. Taoyateduta was hit with hundreds of short sharp darts. They burrowed into his bare chest and torso, struck his head and stabbed into his feet. He struggled to pull them from his flesh while keeping one arm over his head to protect it from the rocks. When he stumbled and fell, his back was instantly covered with the tiny darts. Rocks the size of fists pounded into the soft skin of his back, bruising and splitting the skin. The crowd was in a state of frenzied excitement.
Dom looked away in disgust, and noticed that the greyish late afternoon had changed to the starless blackness of night. He felt as though he had been in the stadium for only an hour or so, but it must have been two or three. A ring of torches glowed around the Arena, adding shadows to the ghoulish spectacle below. He wanted to go home. He wanted his sister and his parents. He wanted to be anywhere else in the world, even in a boring math class.
The body on the dirt had stopped moving. Gradually the crowd settled and the missiles stopped. There was an anticipatory silence as the wounds on Taoyateduta’s back healed and he again pulled himself upright. Staggering with fear, he walked towards the wall. As he got closer Dom could see hope flicker across his face. He was almost there. His step quickened. Satarial waited a moment longer and when the hope had fanned into confidence, he raised his long pale hand again, palm upwards, and flicked it slightly. Long wooden spikes erupted from the dirt floor. The panic in Taoyateduta’s eyes could be seen by every one of the thousands of spectators. The spikes vanished back into the dirt and more burst up across the field, this time within inches of him. A spike caught his leg and he fell, began to crawl and another caught his arm. He dragged his body with one hand across the dirt, inch by inch, determined and desperate. Dom noticed the spikes had a pattern, they were forming a cage around him, haphazardly appearing and disappearing back into the dirt, gradually surrounding him. The warrior was very close to the wall and if he dodged and moved quickly he might make it. But Taoyateduta was broken, he was crawling slowly, absorbed in the pain of his mangled leg. The spikes closed in on him – up out of the earth and back down. His leg was almost strong again and he made one last half-hearted effort to slip between the gap in the spikes. Satarial did not change the speed of the attack, he had timed it perfectly as though he knew exactly what the man’s limit would be. Dom leaned forward again, almost on his feet himself. The spikes were only a foot apart now, clearly a cage around the man who was just a hand’s breadth away from the last piece of the medallion. Dom wished with everything he had that Taoyateduta would make it.
He didn’t. His arm was still outstretched when the cage closed him in. Everyone in the stadium would have heard the scream of despair as he was trapped in what had become a tall rectangular box, identical to the ones on display around the Arena. The box slowly sank into the ground and the dirt closed over it.
Satarial spoke softly under the blanket of applause. ‘He was weak. And old. Nothing like you, Dominic. Many, many people win the Trials.’
The cheers were now directed at Satarial, who stood, bowed and invited them back to the next Trials which he guaranteed would be even more exciting.
Dom sat silent and stunned until Eduardo grasped his shoulder.
‘We should leave. It is finished and we do not need to attract any more attention to you.’ He stood and Dom stood with him. A sea of people was washing out the exit, waves of chattering people, leering and taunting the victims trapped in the glass cages. Occasionally they would turn towards him and point.
As he walked as unobtrusively as he could towards the nearest set of stairs he heard the soft purr of Satarial’s voice.
‘Thank you for joining us, Dominic. Perhaps someday I will persuade you to compete. You would be very popular.’
Dom turned and looked at him. As much as he wanted to articulate the revulsion and disgust he felt, he felt a deeper level of fear at ending up in one of those cages. He met the Nephilim’s gaze for a brief moment and turned to go.
‘Dominic. Be sure to look at all of my special collection. I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing.’
Dom walked down the stairs carefully, Eduardo behind him and hundreds of bodies jostling them from the sides. Dom again walked past the glass coffin of Noyach and saw the ancient man’s pale eyes and flaking skin. The crowd forced them to stop in front of the case.
‘You would know him as Noah,’ Eduardo said. ‘Noah of the Great Flood.’
Dom turned. ‘You’re kidding me. Noah from the ark, and the animals and all that stuff. That was real? He’s real?’
‘Probably not the story you heard, but yes, Noah is real.’
‘I see why he is so special. He would have to be one of the most famous people of all time.’ Dom gazed up at Noah again. It was difficult to make out his features among all the hair and the beard that swirled around him. They were pushed forward to the next case. It was also on a podium and was clearly special among the Nephilim’s collection. The nameplate was blank and shiny. Dom peered into the tank, but couldn’t see anything except a swirl of black hair. He was moving forward when a hand pushed up against the glass and he turned back. The hand seemed to reach down to him a
nd he peered up into the tank again. His heart exploded against his chest and his lungs ripped in a harsh breath. Kaide, her mouth open in a silent scream.
9
Dominic’s Hourglass
13 Minutes
Dom heard someone calling his name as he gazed up at Kaide, and while he knew the voice was not his sister’s, he couldn’t take his eyes from her. Her eyes were closed, but it seemed she was reaching out to him, desperately, against the glass. A hand pulled at him turning him away until he finally noticed Eva in front of him. She was out of breath.
‘My sister,’ he breathed.
She stared at him. ‘What?’
‘That’s my sister.’ He turned back.
‘Oh.’ Eva was taken aback. ‘We have to go, Dom, the Nephilim are not the only ones to be afraid of here. Too many people. You need to get out of here.’
‘Not without Kaide.’ He was buffeted from behind by the crowd as it tried to push by. Several looked at him as they passed. Eduardo did his best to block their view.
‘She’s right, Dominic. We need to leave. There is nothing you can do for your sister today.’
Dom remembered the incident at the clinic, when his sister had been held hostage at knife-point. If he had acted more quickly, she might have felt safer. She may never have crashed the car and they might both be eating roti at a cafe right now.
Afterworld Page 12