Arena

by Karen Hancock

  Beside her LaTeisha exhaled. “I wonder if any of them made it back.”

  John raised a brow at her. “To the road, you mean?”

  “It’d be a miracle if they did,” Gerry drawled.

  Tuck waved another truffle dismissively. “They made their choices.”

  “But they were our friends,” Callie murmured.

  Tuck snorted. “Some friends. Did you know Rowena stole the map just before they ran out that night by the lake?” Everyone turned to stare at him.

  “No,” Whit said softly. “How is it you do?”

  Tuck popped the last truffle into his mouth and glanced down the table at Brody, sitting on the end.

  Brody’s face reddened. “Hey, at the time I thought she was right.”

  “You were going to leave us in the middle of nowhere without a map?” LaTeisha squeaked.

  “We were desperate.”

  “We would’ve made you a copy,” Callie said.

  “There wasn’t time. And no one thought Pierce would go for it.”

  “He would’ve called you fools,” Callie agreed, “but he wouldn’t have stopped you.”

  She recalled how nervous Meg had been that last night. The desperate ring in her voice. Had she known Rowena was taking the map? She must have.

  Movement at the edge of her vision distracted her from her bitter musings. Mr. C—Elhanu—stood in the doorway. He was still the same white-bearded, white-haired, medium-framed man, but now a tingle washed through her as she met his gaze. Slowly she stood, chair whispering across the carpet. Other chairs thumped and squeaked as Whit, LaTeisha, and John followed her lead. The rest of them watched in consternation, and then rose to their feet as well.

  The Aggillon leader strode to the chair at the head of the table opposite Brody and gestured toward them. “Please, sit down.” And sat himself.

  They settled back into their places, but no one spoke, the air suddenly thick with tension.

  Finally Whit said, “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

  Elhanu grinned—the old twinkly-eyed expression that was pure Mr. C. “And you’re wondering why in the world I played this little game, aren’t you?”

  They glanced at one another uncertainly.

  The Aggillon leader sobered. “It’s not a game. You need to trust me. This”—he gestured at himself—“seems to help.”

  Again his words met silence. Then Whit shook his head. “But that isn’t really you, is it, sir? I mean, you look like somebody’s father, when you’re anything but.”

  “Here, I am your father,” Elhanu said quietly. “In more ways than you know. And there is nothing false in this image I present to you.”

  “Except that it isn’t real.”

  Elhanu smiled. “It may not be all that I am, but it is very real. And certainly it is the most comfortable for you right now.”

  “Will we ever see you as you really are, sir?” Callie asked.

  “Eventually.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Brody erupted testily. “And what is all this ‘sir’ stuff?”

  He wasn’t the only one who didn’t know the truth about Mr. C, but as Callie looked down the table at him, she realized he would have the most trouble accepting it. He’d never liked the older man, thought him a liability who never should’ve been allowed to leave Rimlight.

  “Mr. C is Elhanu, Brody,” she explained, when no one else did.

  Brody blinked. Jaws fell open around him, glazed eyes turning to the older man. No one spoke for a long, long moment. Then Brody drove to his feet. “You’re the one who did all this? Kidnapped me, ruined everything for your silly little game?” His fury blazed, bright and shocking.

  Elhanu regarded him with utter calm. “If not for this, you would be dead, Brody Jamarillo. Remember? Your chute didn’t open.”

  Brody’s flush drained to dead white. He stood trembling, then sagged into his chair. “I hit the ground,” he whispered, staring at the table. “I remember now. . . .” Slowly his gaze climbed back to Elhanu’s bearded face. “When I go back—”

  “You will recover completely. They’ll call it a miracle.”

  As Brody stared up at him, something changed in his swarthy face. It was as if a wall crumbled away and something like . . . awe? . . . took the place of his bitterness. Blushing, he dropped his gaze to his hands.

  John broke the ensuing silence. “So, Mr.—er, Elhanu, sir. Do you really forbid the Tohvani to appear in their true form, as they say?”

  Callie’s gaze flicked to him in surprise. She hadn’t told John about her encounter.

  Elhanu’s lips quirked. “Actually the Tohvani are in their true form. It’s just their bodies you’re not seeing.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, come now, think about it. The real you is not this outward flesh; it’s the part that thinks and feels and remembers and decides. Your soul resides in your body as your body resides in your clothes— that is your true self. I have merely stipulated that the Tohvani must appear naked in your presence.”

  “Why?” Callie asked.

  Elhanu turned gentle eyes upon her. “You would find them mind-bogglingly beautiful. They’d have you bedazzled before you knew it. I thought it better you should see them for what they really are. It is not so great a handicap for them. They’ve found ways around it.”

  Jaalel entered and spoke in Elhanu’s ear. Watching him, Callie appreciated anew how beautiful he was, how even with their deferent manner, he and his kind inspired feelings of worship. If the Tohvani looked like them . . .

  Jaalel stepped back, and Elhanu addressed them. “My servants have prepared a ballad in honor of your arrival.”

  His announcement elicited low exclamations of approval. Exquisitely executed, breathtakingly beautiful, and invariably illuminating, Aggillon performances were always a treat. Now three of them entered and stood before the empty sideboard. One carried a small, triangular stringed instrument, which seemed to float before him as his fingers played an intricate introduction.

  The vocalists had sung only a few lines before the hairs on Callie’s neck stood up. They were singing about Pierce. And Morgan. And all the rest of it—the doubts, the desertion, the battle by the lake, the mountain trek, the freeing of the prisoners . . .

  The music rose and fell in sympathy with the events, shifting from major to minor key and back. It covered the gamut of emotion—the melody often so stirring it made them sound like heroes. Callie wasn’t the only one to shift in restless embarrassment. Finally the singers moved into a tenderly peaceful passage only to break off mid-measure, leaving their listeners blinking in surprise. The lead singer, the dark-featured Nahmel, explained with a smile. “I’m afraid we don’t know the end of this one yet.”

  They bowed and exited, leaving their bewildered audience to grapple with disappointment, and then understanding. A few of them even laughed, for they should have seen it coming.

  “Is it true what they sang about the others?” LaTeisha asked. “Reaching the road, I mean?”

  “Of course,” Elhanu replied.

  “Can you tell us who?” Callie asked.

  “Meg is still with us,” he assured her with a small smile. “And Rowena. And Morgan, as well, although”—his smile faded—“not for long.”

  “Is there any way we can help?” Callie asked.

  “They are more than a hundred miles away—even further in their souls. Whatever help you might offer, they would refuse.” He sighed, his regret palpable. “I have given them as much as they will accept. But I cannot—I will not—override their volition.”

  He changed the subject then, asking about their accommodations— if they were satisfied, if there was anything they needed. Of course there wasn’t, so he advised them to enjoy themselves, then stood to take his leave. Pausing behind his chair, he looked down at them, a half smile curving his lips. “You’ve done very well, people. I know it’s been hard, but you’ve stuck with it. That has pleased me more than you know.” He
met each person’s gaze, and when it was Callie’s turn she felt the link pulse, flooding her with affection and an approval so strong, so warm and tender, so incredibly intimate, it brought her to tears. Even after he left, the glow remained, metamorphosing into the most profoundly satisfying sense of accomplishment she had ever known.

  No one spoke for some minutes after his departure. Then Whit expressed it for them all. “Wow!”

  And John murmured, “Aggillon or not, I’d follow that man anywhere.”

  CHAPTER

  26

  Pierce was vastly improved the next day, so much so that by the time Callie went to his room, he’d already been to an early rehab session, met with Elhanu, and retired to seclusion, asking not to be disturbed until evening. Disappointed, she spent the day swimming, gabbing, and looking forward to dinner.

  She’d just gone through the buffet line when he walked in, using a cane. He was still too thin, but he’d gotten his hair cut, as promised, and had lost the beard. Everyone applauded his arrival, and Brody publicly apologized for doubting him. After that, Pierce passed through the buffet line four times, consuming an amazing amount of food. It was another side effect of the gel, and the others had a great time teasing him about his appetite. There was much laughing, joking, and tale telling, but though it was fun, Callie found herself growing impatient.

  Not until the meal was well over were the two of them able to slip away. They took a short walk into the garden, where Callie learned he’d been feeling as frustrated as she, and the physical chemistry she’d once declared nonexistent once again made itself known with knee-jellying intensity.

  Pierce was the one who broke it off, stepping away and taking a couple of deep breaths before he spoke. “Do you mind if we walk around?”

  Callie regarded him wordlessly, partly relieved, and partly absurdly hurt. They were both committed to limiting physical intimacy outside of marriage, yet here she was, wanting to throw herself on him anyway.

  A crease formed between his brows. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” She blushed furiously. “Walking is a good idea.”

  The main buildings of the compound stood at one end of the plateau. Below them lay the gardens, where gravel paths wound through a wonderland of trees and sculpted shrubbery, sparkling with twinkle lights. Low foot lamps illuminated the path, and a rainbow of decorative spotlights provided variety, turning a fountain green, a pond blue, and a waterfall amber. Night had drained the flowers of their color and substituted a mingling of sweet fragrances, and the friendly silence was broken only by the crickets, the fountains chuckling, and every now and then, a burst of laughter ringing down from the main courtyard.

  They walked side by side, not speaking at first, but gradually moving into easy surface talk—the compound’s amenities, the Aggillon’s delight in serving them, the incredible shock of learning Mr. C’s true identity. Pierce described his exit from the capsule and, from the way he talked, seemed not to know she’d been to see him. She was content to leave it at that.

  “So what’s with all the frantic studying?” she asked finally.

  “Frantic studying?”

  “Well, you’ve hardly recovered, and here you spend the day sequestered. Jaalel said you were studying.”

  “I was thinking mostly. I spoke with Elhanu this morning.”

  “Ah. He has a way of making one think, I must admit.”

  He flashed her a sly grin. “I understand you’ve had your own talks with him. Not so private as mine, either.”

  “He told you!” she said, rounding on him.

  “Hey, I was the one in my birthday suit.”

  “You were the one who was almost dead.” She turned and continued up the path. “At the time, that was all I was thinking about.”

  “Sorry.” He hurried to catch up with her, and they walked on in silence.

  Then she asked, “So what did you talk about?”

  “Everything. Him. Me. My many failures. They don’t surprise him at all, you know. I sometimes wonder if anything does.” He drew a deep breath, let it out as if discharging the subject with the used air. “Anyway, he left me with much to consider. I didn’t want to shut you out, but to be honest, you were one of the things I had to think about.”

  “Me?” Her chest clenched. Was he going to tell her it was over? That he didn’t really care about her? That they had to break things off because they had no time for a proper relationship, or because it would be too distracting for him?

  They stopped beside a pool, its glassy surface mirroring the lights in the trees. Hidden in the fanlike foliage on the far bank, a bird ruffled its feathers. Pierce hung his cane on the railing and leaned on his forearms. “I thought a lot about going home,” he said.

  Callie stroked the rail with her palm. “Sometimes I’m not sure I even want to go home,” she said. “It won’t be the same.”

  “No.”

  “We’re not the same.”

  “No.”

  At their feet a fish kissed the pond’s surface with a faint popping. Pierce stared across the water, hands steepled before him. “You’ll probably think I’m nuts. Maybe I shouldn’t even say anything, but . . .”

  Here it comes, she thought, feeling light-headed.

  He seemed to nerve himself and pressed on. “But we’ve known each other for almost a year. We’ve worked together side by side, faced every problem you can imagine, and we’ve certainly seen each other at our worst. I don’t think we’d be going into it blind.”

  Everything stood still: her heart, her breath, the birds, the fish. “Going into what, Pierce?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised. “Marriage. Didn’t I say that? I’m hoping when we get back you’ll marry me.”

  Her heart was beating so hard and fast she could barely hear him, and her head felt like Styrofoam. “Marry you?”

  He turned to face her. “I know you’re skittish about it. I know you don’t want to repeat your parents’ mistakes, and I remember your lecture about being reasonable and rational, so I don’t expect you to give me an answer now. I just want you to think about it. And I want you to know how I feel.” He stroked her hair. “I love you, and I want to share my life with you. Wherever that may be.”

  She swallowed on a dry throat. “You’ll—” She stopped and tried again. “It’ll be different back home. There’ll be other girls—”

  His fingers touched her lips, silencing her. “I know what I want. I’ve known for a long time.”

  She was in his arms again, and he was kissing her lips, her throat, her neck, her shoulders. She clung to him, wanting him with an unbearable ache, wanting all of him—his body, his soul, his life—so there was only one answer she could give him, and no point trying to be rational and reasonable.

  He drew back to stare at her wide-eyed.

  “Yes,” she said, laughing and caressing the side of his face. “I’ll marry you, Pierce. I’ll marry you here or back home or anywhere you wish.”

  The next day Pierce began to teach. They had three weeks to prepare for the final leg of their journey, which would take them through the Inner Realm by way of the city-states of Zelos, Morres, and Splagnos. It would be no picnic. The plain was an inhospitable waste, its air fouled past breathing by the toxic residuals of perpetual warfare. People dwelt in terrarium cities, traveling outside only in sealed cars or by way of an elaborate underground rail system. No one traveled the open plain if they could avoid it, and all the soldiers wore life-support suits.

  Thanks to the Change worked by their passage through Elhanu’s Gate, participants were immune to the poisons and therefore enjoyed significantly greater mobility than their adversaries. Their biggest problem would be crossing the crevasses that scored the plain, because all the active bridges were tightly controlled, often by warring factions. There were, however, a number of ruins—abandoned, toxin-reeking casualties of war—that housed the remnants of old bridges. Augmented by secret Aggillon-placed passpoints, t
hese routes would provide safe passage. The travelers would have to keep their belts operational to find the activation ports, but if they got that far, that discipline would be old hat.

  The belts themselves—and the armor they controlled—would be upgraded. Thin and lightweight, they would require no hand switch to activate them. Finding and accessing the link was enough. Instead of a spongy breastplate, fibers woven into the fabric of their clothing would provide the energy matrix to support the belt’s protective field, and a single golden circlet worn round the head would suffice for a helmet. As before, the devices provided shielding and the vision enhancement necessary to find both the passpoint ports and the randomly appearing Auxiliary Supply Boxes that would provide logistical needs and instructions.

  This time there would be no predetermined route. They would be directed as they went, so if they missed an ASB or a passpoint, they’d be in trouble. The key to success was their link with Elhanu, the strength of which depended solely upon their trust in him. That, in essence, was what would resolve this otherworldly trial. By trusting Elhanu, they allowed him to prove himself the better master. There was no spoken testimony, no verbal deposition, no swearing upon holy books, for words alone could lie. Decision and action, repeated over time, did not.

  “He forged a link with us when he changed us back at the Gate,” Pierce told them, “and so far we’ve made poor use of it at best. No more. From here on that link must be more real to us than anything our eyes and ears tell us. Only then will we have the wit and strength of will to choose the right path and resist our enemies’ lies. We must see everything from Elhanu’s perspective, never lose sight of the reason we were brought here, and never give up, no matter how bad things get. And they will get bad. So far the Tohvani haven’t taken us very seriously. From now on, they will.”

  As Callie’s relationship with Elhanu grew and clarified, her relationship with Pierce grew equally strong. In some inexplicable way the two bonds were intertwined. The more she got to know Pierce, the better she understood Elhanu, and the deeper became her regard for him. Conversely, the more she understood Elhanu and the greater her affection for him, the more she appreciated Pierce’s devotion to his cause.