Afterworld

by Lynnette Lounsbury

  How did a fifteen-year-old find himself here? He had played out all sorts of scenarios in his head over the years. What he would do if he ever had to face a lion or a shark or if he was caught in a burning building or on an aeroplane with a terrorist aboard.

  He had all sorts of heroic plans in place mentally, but it was all couched in the safe thought that he would never let himself get into such a stupid situation. He would quietly play basketball and hopefully get a place on a college team and then, maybe one day, do something safe and simple. He had never really known what, but Ultimate Fighting had never been part of it. And now here he was, some sort of gladiator, having to fight for what was left of his existence and there was no way out of it. He felt his throat closing as though he was going to choke. Always in the wrong place. Always the wrong place and the wrong time. That was him.

  ‘Everyone is always exactly where they are supposed to be at any moment. Exactly where they have chosen to be.’ It was Eduardo’s voice, but the Angel was unmoving, still staring out at the City.

  ‘What part of me is choosing this shit? Which part? How do I tell it I just want to be somewhere peaceful and quiet and boring?’ He said it to Eduardo, but he knew instinctively it wasn’t the Angel speaking to him.

  ‘You were somewhere peaceful, quiet and boring.’

  Dom was still, but it hit him like a physical blow. His sister had been absolutely right. When all he had to do was hang out with his friends, study and play games, he had thought it was lame and wanted to actually do something real. When he was in India with the energy and the poverty and the death he had done nothing except wish he was somewhere else. Now here he was again, wanting to be out of danger and the endless waiting of the Necropolis. And so something inside him had forced him to act. It was his own choice to compete in the Trials. No matter what he told himself. It was his own choice. No matter what happened tomorrow, it would not be boring and he would not be helpless. He felt a small peace at that thought. With a deep breath, he was asleep. It was not confidence or bravery or even hope, but it was at least a small peace.

  9

  Dominic’s Hourglass

  2336 Minutes

  There were Nephilim at the door of the apartment when he awoke. It wasn’t late. The sky had only just begun its gentle fade into the diffused light that misted over the City, but they were waiting impatiently and with graceful angst at the door. Eduardo was already dressed in a much finer outfit than usual. He wore black from head to toe, long thick boots that reached to his knees and pants that tucked neatly into them, ballooning slightly. There was also a tunic of thick black material and a cape that Dominic had never seen before. It resembled silk, but couldn’t have been, and it shimmered and fell like liquid around his shoulders. He had braided his long hair and it hung down his back like a thick rope. He was a man rather than an immortal, perhaps even a man past his prime, but he looked like a warrior and he had his ancient sword slung in a battered but intricately patterned scabbard.

  ‘Are you my Angel today or my conquistador?’ Dom stretched and stood, lingering moments of peace keeping his mind in order.

  The Angel smiled at him and it seemed almost fatherly. ‘We will see what I am able to be.’

  ‘Well you look the part, I’m lucky to have you on my side.’ Dom saw the emotion that leaped into the face of the Angel as he spoke and glanced away in embarrassment, trying to find his trainers under the bed. Eva was in the corner of the room pulling her hair into a high knot and tying on her own cape. She had a short sword in her belt and her satchel across her chest and she looked as much the warrior as Eduardo.

  ‘I will take the supplies with me.’ She gestured to the bag. ‘In case . . . for when it is time to go. If you win, you will need to leave quickly anyway. The Nephilim have to obey the laws of this place, but they cannot be trusted and I am sure that Satarial has a contingency plan.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dom smiled at her. He didn’t feel confident, but he didn’t feel the deep fear either. He had left it behind in the hours of the night before. What remained was certainly not calm, or confidence or even hope, but it was not fear and he was happy with that. He pulled his wild hair into place and walked towards the door, tying his cape around his neck. ‘Let’s go.’ The door hissed quietly out of existence and they walked through to the waiting entourage of Nephilim, four tall, pale-skinned men who watched them with interest, and a certain amount of apprehension. They knew Eduardo was an Angel and they knew Dominic had trained with him. Eduardo kept them confused with his continuing transformation back to his human form, but what either of them was capable of was a mystery and Dom suspected the Nephilim were concerned by this. The thought made him smile and their faces tightened even further.

  They were led through the most populated streets of the City and there were many people already out waiting to see them pass. Dom tried to be calm under the scrutiny, but inside he felt the turmoil of being a spectacle mixed with the knowledge that in a few hours everyone in the Arena would be trying to stop him from winning the Trials. The same people who watched him and occasionally smiled or nodded quietly would be baying for his blood and pelting him with missiles. The walk was quiet and slow, but it still did not take long for them to reach the bridge. The Arena rose into view, the enormous trees bent around each other to form the oval shape of the stadium, their long limbs and lush branches shading the spectators and moving slightly, more from their own pulsing life than any movement in the air. Already people were streaming in, releasing their precious minutes into the vaults above and swarming like ants to find their places.

  Dom watched the City moving around him. Everyone was going to the Trials today. He knew it, but it weighed him down to see it. Eva moved closer as his shoulders slumped a little and took his hand, holding it firmly as he walked. He felt the hand of Eduardo on his shoulder as well and the strength in the group held him upright again. Even with their escort of Nephilim it became harder to make their way through the thickening crowd, and as they approached the stadium they were jostled into each other until they could barely keep their feet.

  Eduardo drew his sword and most of the crowd stepped back. Dom could see how few were newcomers to the Necropolis as all the other Guardians immediately drew their own swords. Most of the people here had long since abandoned any plan to leave the City or had returned after unsuccessful attempts through the Maze. These were people without a future, without hope. Dom’s sense of foreboding deepened.

  The largest gate loomed in front of them, an intricate and beautiful tangle of leaves and branches. As they reached it, the crowds fell away; most were not permitted entry at this gate. And apparently neither were his Guide or Guardian. One of the Nephilim gestured roughly that they had to use the other entrance. Eduardo snarled at them, but Eva whispered to him and his eyes narrowed and he nodded curtly. He turned to Dominic and placed a hand on each shoulder.

  ‘You are not alone.’

  Dom nodded and swallowed the flood of emotion that threatened to tumble out of every muscle if he spoke.

  Eva stepped closer and slowly put her arms around him, holding him tightly. He absorbed the strength in her embrace. She leaned back and looked in his eyes. Hers were sad, but they burned with purpose. She was a Guide and she was here to get him to the Maze. He loved her for her determination in that moment, despite his fear that there was little chance he would ever leave the Arena. The doubt must have shown because her hand leapt to his face, grasping his jaw and holding it.

  ‘You know me. I don’t believe in very much. But I believe in you and you will do what you have to do, Dominic.’ She leaned in and kissed him, quick and hardened with the passion of fleeting time. He leaned into it, but it was gone, her back turned and she and Eduardo were lost quickly in the crowd. He wasn’t ready to be alone, but it was too late. He was through the gates and hustled down a ramp into the bowels of the stadium, a series of tunnels and rooms, one of which he was pushed into and then abandoned.

  He did not want
to think, he did not want to be alone, he did not want to be in the Arena. Wanting to be seen; wanting to be unseen. He had spent a lot of his life considering this conflict and it seemed to amount to hours of unproductive miserable thought. And even as the stadium above him rumbled with the sounds of thousands of feet, awaiting his entry into the Arena, he was wallowing in wasted thoughts.

  ‘No thoughts are wasted, Dominic.’

  He smiled as he raised his head. ‘I thought perhaps I had imagined you. That I had based this whole stupid fight on a dream.’

  The Awe filled the room with light and a strange warmth and filled him at once with energy and peace. He almost wept with relief.

  ‘You are back in your old mind, Dominic. What happened?’ She folded herself elegantly until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, her bare feet peeking out of the folds in her long dress. Whatever else she was, the woman in front of him was beautiful in a way that at once made him want to lay his head in her lap and cry.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ He felt sudden tears fill his eyes. ‘I’m not special. I’m half of everything. Half black, half white. Half grown. Uninteresting. Lacking talent at nearly everything. Not that smart.’

  She reached out to him then, her hands embracing his feet. ‘Choose again, Dominic. Choose the part of you that is vibrant with desire to change your world. Choose to be black. And white. Grown, and still young. Interesting. Talented. Brilliant. Choose it. Others see it in you. That is why they watch you. Why they want to possess you, stop you, be like you. It is simply a choice, Dominic. And it is a simple one. Make it and I will promise you the thing you have always wanted.’

  Her hands on his feet were like fire, burning his skin in a way that made him want to beg for more. ‘What?’ he croaked.

  ‘I promise you that you will love yourself. And with that comes everything. You will love where you are, you will embrace the moments you have, and do the things your heart begs you to do. And that is living.’ She leaned forward, her face close to his lowered one, her eyes the endless blackness of the inexplicable. Her forehead rested on his in a blessing and he took as much from her as he could.

  ‘See . . . You are me. We are all one. All in this together, no good or bad. Choose again, Dominic Mathers. And show them how to do the same.’

  And she was gone, the air empty yet clean. The silence replaced with the low roar of the crowd and Dom’s face wet with tears. He wiped them off in time to be composed as Deora opened the door and entered with two other Nephilim women. She looked at him inscrutably, but said nothing, nodding instead to the other women who pulled open a large linen bag and handed Dominic a costume.

  ‘Are you kidding? Really?’ He felt a laugh bubble up inside of him, the tension desperate to break out.

  ‘The people want a show.’ Deora smiled.

  Dom shook his head, but held out his hand.

  ‘What weapons do you want?’

  ‘I have this.’ He pulled out his sword, the one Eduardo had given him at the start of their training. ‘And this.’ His dagger hung in the belt loop of his jeans.

  ‘And that is all?’ She was dubious and it concerned him.

  ‘Why? What else do I need?’

  She said nothing, but gestured to him to put on the clothes. He raised his eyebrows at them in the hope the women would leave him, but they simply stood and waited. Finally he turned around, stripped off his old shirt, jeans and trainers and pulled on the pants and boots they had given him. One of the tall women stood behind him and began to braid his hair, while the other knelt to buckle the long boots. Deora pulled something across his chest and fastened it. He closed his eyes and spent the silent moments alone with his thoughts.

  10

  Dominic’s Hourglass

  2336 Minutes

  Dom found a small window in the top corner of the wall and he peered up through it. He was below the ground level of the stadium but had a clear view of it through the tiny barred window, one that would let him see his fate but not escape it. He was directly opposite the Nephilim’s podium and as yet it was empty. The crowd was subdued, but still loud. The day had a heaviness about it, a weight that pressed on them all. It was not simply another Trials, and it was clear that they sensed it. It was as though they were unsure about how to act. When the stadium was filled the Nephilim made a show of closing the gates on the hundreds left outside, most of whom could probably not pay the required minutes to enter anyway. Then they made the people wait. This may have worked better to raise expectation if the people were not adept at waiting. Most of them had been in the Necropolis for decades, waiting was all they did.

  Finally the Nephilim arrived, walking together, at least thirty of them and making a spectacular entrance. Most were pale-skinned, fair-haired and clothed in the long white pants and tunics that Satarial himself wore. But several had ebony-black skin and they wore garments of a deep scarlet that stood out among the white tunics and the brown and faded black clothing of most of the crowd. They were impressive, terrifying and painfully beautiful to look at. Most people cut their hair daily or kept it tied back behind them in hoods and braids, but the Nephilim let their hair drape freely around their shoulders. The clan seated themselves on the wooden benches of the podium. Deora was there and Dom was surprised that she was not merely a part of the group that sat in file together, but that she was seated on one of the huge thrones next to Satarial. He was too far away to read Satarial’s expression or guess as to the fate of his sister.

  They waited again, long agonising moments that set Dom’s teeth on edge. He was poised. He wanted to be out there. Finally, he was gestured to by the guard to follow him down a long corridor to a narrow staircase, at the top of which was closed with a trapdoor.

  The guard nodded and Dom walked up the stairs breathing as deeply as he could. As his head reached the trapdoor it vanished allowing him to walk upwards into the centre of the Arena. The light was diffuse, but it still blinded him for several moments and his senses were overwhelmed by the clamour of the crowd. When his eyes adjusted he turned to face the Nephilim. The crowd had been waiting for its cue – and Dom’s arrival had given it to them. He was dressed as a warrior and stood as tall as he could. His pants were thick, dark canvas and his boots buckled high up to his knees. Across his bare chest were wide straps, with bronze studs that looked like extra weapons. The women had pulled his hair very high on his head and wrapped it with cloth, creating a horsetail of long braids that fell down behind him. His dagger was hidden in the side of his boot, but the short, polished sword was already in his hand. The people who had been scared to cheer for the death of the boy were relieved of their guilt. He was a man and a warrior. And he was ready.

  He watched Satarial, who stood very slowly and walked to the front of the podium. The crowd quieted a little. They knew what to expect – the tradition was well established. The Nephilim stared down at him and Dom could see his face clearly. His face looked tired. Dom expected him to speak, but he moved to the side and revealed Deora standing beside him. Dom felt a moment’s confusion, his poise threatened by the unexpected. She rewarded him and the audience with a sweet and dazzling smile and began to speak, her husky voice carrying across all other noise to every ear in the Arena.

  ‘Welcome, friends. We have always brought you the most fascinating competitors, the most unusual spectacles and the most harrowing of challenges. Today will be no exception. Today you will be witnessing the challenge of Dominic Mathers, the youngest . . . man to ever enter the Necropolis. He was deemed special by the Awe and so we honour him with the greatest of invitations. The chance to risk the gauntlet of the Arena in the hope of winning the opportunity to enter the Maze.’

  The audience cheer was so loud she had to pause for a moment before continuing. ‘As ever . . .’ she raised her hands for quiet, ‘as ever, you may join the Trials by helping the contestant, or offering him an even greater challenge.’ She smiled at this suggestion, one that never failed to amuse and inflame t
he crowd, but her smile was cut into a crooked frown by a disturbance in the crowd.

  On the furthest side of the Arena, a spectator in a hooded cloak had leaped over the edge onto the sand of the Arena floor. The figure strode towards him purposefully and for a moment Dom wondered if the Trials were beginning, if perhaps a member of the crowd had taken the suggestion too literally and was meaning to fight him. He lifted his sword ready for combat. But the figure threw back the dark cloak to reveal Eva, her own sword in hand, and her face set with determination. She did not look at him, but addressed the Nephilim and the crowd. Though her voice did not carry the way Deora’s had, the silence of the astonished crowd meant she was heard by every person in the Arena.

  ‘I will help the contestant,’ she said clearly. ‘I will fight with him.’

  Deora was silent for a moment and sputtered when she finally did find words. ‘That is not . . . that is . . .’ She paused to gather her thoughts and then clearly decided that Eva was more entertainment-value than threat, calmed and continued. ‘An unusual development for an unusual contestant. We look forward to the—’

  Again she was cut off, but this time by the enthusiasm of the crowd who were more than excited by this change of routine. They were on their feet, stamping and waving for the Trials to begin. Deora gestured for quiet and eventually got it, her arms raised gracefully and her poise returned.

  ‘The prize is always the same: the ten thousand minutes needed for the trip through the Maze. And we have made it even more simple for our youngest participant – Dominic need only reach the one medallion hanging from the southern wall and he will be victorious. However, he risks everything.’ She paused and turned to Dominic for effect. It was difficult to read her voice and Dom was concerned. It should have been Satarial speaking, after all this time of trying to get Dominic into the Trials, finding Kaide, watching her weaken, and perhaps die. There was too much between them for the Nephilim to have let Deora take the stage at this moment.