Someone reached out of the darkness and jerked her to safety. She fell with him into the hay, smelled a familiar musky odor, felt the hard muscles of his chest and arms, and pushed away, her panic shifting focus. He backed off, a shadow crouching against the light.
“Are you all right?” It was Pierce, which part of her had known the moment he’d grabbed her.
“I’m fine.” Even her voice shook.
“I thought maybe you were—”
“I’m not drunk!” All at once she was angry—at him, at herself, at the drunks outside, at Garth, at the aliens, at the whole situation. None of it was fair, none of it was right, none of it should be. She wanted out. And there was no out.
Loud voices pierced her frustration. The drunks were blundering into the stalls below, repelled each time by indignant occupants. They seemed to think this outrageously funny, and at last, roaring with laughter, they staggered back into the street.
As the silence returned Pierce stood and crossed to the back of the loft, where a rectangle of light flooded through the open doors. He sat down, his back to her, only a portion of his profile visible. She followed him to the middle of the loft and eased onto the straw, hugging her knees to her chest, but he ignored her, lost in one of his moods. She began to feel more than a little foolish.
Presently he stretched back in the hay, cradling his head in his hands, and her attention was arrested by the silvery light that bathed him. The Arena had no moon, and Manderia had no electricity. So where was the light coming from? The Gate?
Feeling a tingle of wonder, Callie stood and edged toward the opening, stopping with her feet just inside the light. Outside, Manderian rooftops tumbled toward the gleaming hulk of the city wall, the Inner Realm cliffs towering darkly beyond. The rim itself, however, remained blocked by the loft door’s lintel, so she slowly squatted into the light.
The Gate was breathtaking. Its bright, clear radiance shimmered against the velvet night. Now blue, now gold, now silver, it flowed with intertwined rivers of light that waxed and waned and waxed again. Pierced anew by the inexplicable longing, she ached to be near it, to touch it, to feel its glory on her face.
We intend this for your benefit, Alex had said. For the first time she could almost believe it was true.
She didn’t know how long she crouched there and wasn’t aware of sitting down until she found herself beside Pierce in the straw. When she glanced at him, he was watching her.
The pale light softened his features and turned his eyes dark. His gaze flicked back to the Gate, and she saw in him a yearning that echoed her own. “That was you I saw at the temple today, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t move, hands still cradling his head, eyes still fixed on the Gate’s arches. “Yeah.”
She waited. He did not continue.
“So are you thinking of signing up with Mander?”
“Thinking of it.”
Chills flooded her. “Don’t tell me you believe the Manderians are right.”
“Okay.”
Confused into silence, Callie toyed with the straw at her feet.
“I hear it’s not unpleasant,” he added after a time.
“But the manual doesn’t say anything about terms of indenture.”
“No.”
“So it’s got to be fraudulent.”
“Only if you believe the manual.”
“If you take the manual out, nothing about this makes any sense.”
“Nothing makes sense, anyway.” His eyes met hers significantly. “And if you think the manual’s so important, why did you let the mites have it?”
She frowned and examined her bootlaces. It had been almost two weeks since they’d taken it, and she still wasn’t sure if she regretted that or not. A sudden rainstorm had caught the Outlanders by surprise, thoroughly drenching them. It was two days before they had time and opportunity to air everything out, and like the others, she’d emptied her pack, scattering its contents across grass, bush, and rock. For the first time in weeks, she’d actually held the manual, sodden and bedraggled after the rain.
She recalled thinking how much her attitude toward it had changed, how much she’d once risked—unknowingly, to be sure—to save it, yet somehow she still hadn’t managed to give it even a good skimming. Guilt suggested she had time that very afternoon while they waited for everything to dry, but then John had suggested a target shooting contest and she couldn’t say no—didn’t want to say no, truth be told. She’d left the manual lying open on a rock to dry, and when she’d returned hours later, it was gone. She hadn’t even seen them take it.
If anything, her reaction had been more relief than regret, though her sleep had been troubled that night. But surely if the manual held answers, her companions would’ve found them long ago. Why torment herself over the loss of something that really didn’t matter?
And Pierce was right—manual or not, nothing in their situation made any sense.
“Has it occurred to you,” he said, “that they might not intend for us to leave?”
“Then why put us here?”
“I don’t know.” Pierce sat up, stuck a straw in his mouth, and gazed at the Gate. Callie watched him covertly. Somewhere out in the city a tomcat yowled.
“Maybe they’re testing us,” he said at last. “Maybe they’re planning to invade the Earth and want to learn about the opposition.”
“Maybe they’re hoping to contact us peacefully and want to find out if it’s possible.”
He huffed softly. “Or maybe it’s all a show and we’re the entertainment. An alien version of Roman bread and circuses.” The straw twirled slowly between his lips. “You’re too new to know how they play with us, offer us hope only to snatch it away.”
“Those are pretty grim thoughts, Pierce.”
“Yeah, but it makes the prospect of living in Mander under bondage considerably more appealing than mucking around in the Inner Realm.”
She looked at him sharply, surprised again. “You think Garth’s wrong?”
He snorted. “Aliens set up this arena. They traveled umpteen light years to snatch us off the Earth and bring us here. You think we’re gonna escape on our own?”
He had a point.
“Are you going to back out, then?”
Silence answered her at first. Muffled voices drifted up from below. A mule stomped and snorted. At length he sighed and tossed the straw away. “Probably not.”
He settled back and went to sleep. For a long time afterward she sat staring at the living Gate and the dark cliff and the sleeping city, wondering, come morning, what she was going to do.
CHAPTER
9
Callie awakened the next morning to Garth’s loud voice issuing cheerfully from the ground floor. Groans and protests greeted his efforts as she sat up, picking straw from her hair. Across from her, Pierce belted on his weapons, looking more rested than she’d ever seen him, and it occurred to her that last night was the first in weeks he’d slept without a nightmare.
“Pierce?” Garth called. “You up there?”
“Yo.” Pierce slid on his new dragon-hide cuirass and headed for the ladder.
“You wouldn’t know where Callie is, would you?” Garth continued. “Nobody’s seen her since she left the tavern last night.”
“She’s up here, too.”
Garth was a moment replying. His voice, when it came, sounded strangled. “Really?”
“It’s not what you think.” Pierce swung onto the ladder and started down.
Choking with mortification, Callie watched him disappear. She wanted to rush down and explain, but knew her babbled defense would only make things worse. Instead she lingered in the loft for a while and went to breakfast late. Only Whit and John remained by the time she arrived, and neither said a word, though John was definitely smirking at her.
An hour later Garth led them out of Manderia, following the Fire River south along the base of the cliffs. For three days they made good time; then the river tumbled
into a steep-walled canyon choked with boulders, thick brush, and a particularly robust subspecies of redclaw. When John inadvertently stepped into a hidden capture pod, the thing retracted toward its digestive center with such force he was dragged six feet before they could cut him loose. After that, they kept to the canyon’s rocky but barren sides.
No one mentioned Callie’s night in the loft with Pierce, though she caught Garth watching her intently several times. His estrangement from Rowena was lasting longer than usual. Rowena repeatedly complained to Callie and LaTeisha that their relationship had soured, that he was too controlling and arrogant, that she wasn’t going to let him use her anymore. Callie said nothing to encourage reconciliation, and felt vaguely guilty for it.
On the evening of the fourth day Garth approached her.
They’d camped on a wide ledge bounded by the soaring canyon wall on one side and a forty-foot drop-off to the river on the other. There was room to spread out and plenty of firewood in the juniper-oak forest that surrounded them. Some questioned the wisdom of building fires, but Garth assured them no Trogs would trouble them here.
Callie was heading out to gather wood when he stepped into her path from behind a juniper. “Hi,” he said, smiling down at her. “Still sorting things out?”
She shrugged. “I guess not.”
They started up the hill. “So what’s the deal with Pierce?” he asked.
“Deal?”
“Your night in the loft—”
“I went up there to get away. I didn’t even know he was there.”
“But you stayed.”
“Being with Pierce is like being alone.” Not entirely true, but he’d avoided her these last days as assiduously as she’d avoided him.
“So . . . you didn’t sleep with him?”
“No!” Indignation raised the pitch of her voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Garth chuckled. “I gotta admit, I found it hard to believe. I mean, Pierce?
” Annoyed anew, Callie changed the subject. “How much farther do we have to go?”
“We should reach Hardluck tomorrow morning.”
“Hardluck? I thought we weren’t going there.”
“We’ll pass right by it, and Whit won’t trust the map without confirmation.” He stepped over a hummock of rock. “Not that Hardluck will give it to him.”
“You have no doubts yourself?”
“I knew Tom—the guy we got it from.”
“And the others didn’t?”
“Pierce did. We met him after the trip to the Edge, while the group was split up.”
Things had gone badly on that trip. She’d heard that many blamed Garth.
“Me and Row and Pierce decided to try the cleft on our own,” he said. “All we did was get lost. We ran into Tom on his way down from the rim, hurt bad. We took him to Hardluck, and while he healed he drew the map.”
“What happened to him?”
“Mutants got him. Same time they got Pierce, only they didn’t let Tom go.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and he fell silent.
They walked on. Callie picked up several dead branches before he spoke again. “But we’re moving forward now, and that’s what counts.” He took the wood from her arms. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
She smiled slightly, then stooped to pick up another branch.
He continued to watch her; she could see his half smile out of the corner of her eye. “You amaze me,” he said.
She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, reluctant to meet his gaze. “I do?”
“You’re so small and weak looking, but you never come unglued. The Ice Lady.”
She had no idea how to respond.
He traced her cheek with the roughened finger of his free hand. Suddenly she could hardly breathe. Blood beat thickly in her throat. Again she felt that powerful sexual awareness.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he murmured. “Fire burning beneath the ice.”
She flinched away, unnerved at having her feelings read and noted so casually. His smile did not fade. He wasn’t handsome, but he was strong and bold. A man who could protect you—or not, if he wished.
She backed another step. “I . . . uh . . . have to go.”
Whirling, she strode blindly up the hill, desperate to escape him.
She didn’t like the feelings he ignited in her, feelings she’d never had, didn’t want to have—didn’t think she should have. He was on the rebound from Rowena at best—more likely still involved and using Callie as a pawn. If she went on this ride he was suggesting, she would only be hurt. And he was suggesting—no way around that.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?”
Yes, yes! Pulling at her like nothing ever had. How could this be? She barely knew the man, wasn’t even sure she liked him. And she knew he didn’t care about her. Yet she wanted to surrender, to let him carry her away and—
Callie stopped, drawn from her desperate musings by a sound— something that didn’t belong.
Her companions’ voices echoed as they searched for firewood. Their muffled voices were punctuated by the crackle of branches as they moved and the hollow thunks of their axes. In her immediate periphery, though, all was silent.
Her heart pounded. What had she heard?
Trogs like to sneak up on a person, stalk them unawares.
Stop it! But the sense of being watched persisted. It reminded her of her first day in the Arena, when she’d glimpsed the alien Watcher. Her new friends assured her that all the Watchers did was watch, thus presenting no real threat. Perhaps one was watching now. Except— she’d heard something.
There! A faint buzzing from the stand of juniper to her left. It sounded like electronic sputter. She started toward it, her mind cataloging possible explanations and coming up with few. The last thing she expected to find was Meg.
Her friend stood in the clearing, facing her, still wearing the cream-colored jumpsuit.
“Meg!” Callie cried. “What are you—” “Callie,” Meg interrupted. “It’s me—Meg.”
Strangely her eyes did not focus on Callie but instead on something beyond Callie’s shoulder. And she was too bright, almost glowing in the lavender twilight.
“You must go back to Manderia,” Meg told her. “The canyon is a trap. If you—” She wavered like water, her words drowning in static. “—all be killed—” More static. “—road and go back—”
Slowly the ivory jumpsuit turned gray. Meg’s green eyes swelled and darkened. Her black hair became a bald dome. And suddenly, gleaming against the dark junipers, stood an alien, its black eyepits stalking her.
Gasping, Callie staggered back on leaden legs.
The Watcher lurched toward her, a swift, sharp feint, black pits probing. A dissonant tone rose and fell in her ears—laughter? Panic dissolved the paralysis, and she stumbled away, crashing through the brush, heedless of the branches whipping her face and tearing at her sleeves.
Pain in her throat and cramps in her chest finally returned her to her senses. She stopped and sagged against the rough bark of a silverleaf oak, realizing suddenly that she had no idea where she was. Oak and juniper surrounded her, blocking the canyon rim from view. She couldn’t even hear the river’s roar. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything— no birdsong, no insect chatter, nothing but her hammering heart and labored breathing.
But of course it was dusk, so the birds wouldn’t be singing anyway, and she couldn’t be that far from camp.
The sense of being watched still plagued her, and she searched the shadows intently, determined not to let panic have her again. What had happened? Obviously that wasn’t Meg back there. But it wasn’t all the Watcher, either, for why would it have interrupted itself? Unless it couldn’t maintain the illusion of being Meg long enough. She didn’t think that was the case, though. More likely Meg had tried to send a message—one the Watcher didn’t want Callie to receive.
“Go back. It’s a trap.”
Was the answer
in Manderia, then? Was Meg already through and sending Callie one of those holograms Wendell had mentioned? But she couldn’t have served a term in Mander’s temple—or any other temple— this soon. So there must be another way.
Unless it was a trick.
The sense of unseen eyes shivered between her shoulder blades. The shadows were thickening. Soon it would be too dark to find her way back to camp. Fresh fear revitalized her, and she pushed away from the tree, starting back across the ravine in which she’d stopped. As she stepped onto its sandy bottom, a rattle of rock downstream brought her up short. She stood rigidly, listening.
Another rattle. Panic swelled like a chemical reaction, bubbling up and out of its vessel. She was on the verge of bolting when a voice called to her.
“Callie? You okay?”
Fifty feet downstream, Pierce emerged from the oak trees, SLuB drawn. Relief made her weak-kneed. “I saw a Watcher,” she said as she came up to him, embarrassment warming her face. “I guess I overreacted.”
His brow furrowed, but he only put away the SLuB and said, “It’s getting dark. We should head back.”
She went with him gratefully, her mind soon returning to the extraordinary visitation, or illusion, or whatever it was. “You know those holographic messages that are supposedly sent by those who’ve passed through the Gate?” she asked after a time. “Do you think they’d be able to send one out here?”
“Wouldn’t they need a screen or projector?”
“I don’t know. I saw one in Manderia, and there wasn’t anything like that.”
Branches snapped and leaves crackled under their feet, the sounds echoing around them.
“Why do you care?” Pierce asked.
She told him what had happened. “It seemed like an interrupted transmission,” she concluded.
“Maybe it was.”
“You think Meg was trying to reach me?”
“Or they wanted you to think that.” He pushed aside a branch as they pressed through a stand of oak and held it until she took it from him. Moments later they came out of the woods into a wide, down-sloping clearing. At its far end, campfires sparkled through a screen of trees, and the warble of John’s harmonica threaded the quiet air. The light was better here. It washed the cliffs a dusky blue gray, except at the rim itself, which was bright orange.
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