Arena

by Karen Hancock

  As a teacher, Pierce held nothing back. He spoke plainly, forcefully, bluntly. Sometimes the power of the link blazed through him, lighting his face, vibrating in his voice, its energy leaping through the air to link with the power in Callie’s own soul until her skin tingled with it. He inspired them, drove them, challenged them. And Callie wasn’t the only one who loved him.

  She was, however, the only one he intended to marry, and he’d made no bones about it. He’d even produced a ring for her—compliments of the Aggillon—so they could be officially engaged. He refused to marry her here, though, despite everyone’s contention that he should get Elhanu to perform the ceremony. “I want it to be right and proper on Earth,” he told her.

  Every night after dinner, they strolled the gardens, never running out of things to discuss. Past, present, future—they covered it all, though most often they talked of the future. It had acquired a new luster now that they saw themselves together in it.

  “I suppose we’d live in Colorado?” Callie asked him one night.

  He looked down at her with cocked brow. “Only if we agreed. I do have work there—the ranch and all. It’s a beautiful spot. You could paint to your heart’s content.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to go to work?”

  “I’d consider that your work.” He grinned. “I’ve seen what you can do.”

  Another time she asked him, “What about kids?”

  And he said, brows arched, “What about kids?”

  “Do you want any?”

  “Yeah. Do you?”

  “Maybe one. Or two.”

  “What a thought!” he murmured with a grin and slid a hand around her waist to pull her against him, ending conversation for a while.

  They talked of furniture and finances and families—the one they hoped to create and the ones they already had. Callie delighted in anticipating the reaction of her mother and sister when she introduced them to her fiance. How shocked they’d be to find she’d picked a cowboy— shocked she’d picked anyone at all. Or perhaps that anyone would have her. It was a joyful, golden time, and of course it couldn’t last. On the eve of their departure from Hope, the expanding bubble of anticipation burst.

  Pierce was unusually preoccupied at dinner, and afterward, as they strolled the Wilderness of Rock at the far end of the plateau, he grew even more so. They walked silently, hand in hand, past a succession of fantastic formations—huge slabs balanced mushroomlike on slender pillars, or stacked like pancakes, or combined to form whimsical animal figures. Callie barely noticed them, so keyed was she on Pierce, while he seemed barely to notice her.

  They climbed past a dark pool sprinkled with stars to a stone pavilion on the hilltop. Marking the farthest point of the loop trail, it offered a breathtaking view of the plain, and, as they stood surveying the dark expanse with a balmy breeze sighing around them, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. She glanced at him occasionally, standing like a statue at her side, the breeze ruffling the short locks of his hair, newly shorn in preparation for their departure.

  The silence stretched out, long and taut as she waited for him to tell her what was wrong, and she finally could stand it no longer. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

  When at first he didn’t answer, she nearly died.

  Then he started and turned toward her, frowning. “What did you say?”

  She repeated the question, and his expression turned to horror. “Changed my mind? Heavens, no! I love you more now than ever—so much I can hardly bear it.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  The stone mask slid back into place. “I’m not sure it’s something I should tell you.”

  “Better to tell me the truth than let me stew in my imagination!”

  “Perhaps.” Still, he hesitated. Then, “If we die out there”—he nodded at the plain—“we aren’t going to remember.”

  She brushed dancing tendrils of hair from her face. “Remember what?”

  “Anything.” His hands clutched the stone ledge. “When they resuscitate someone, there’s a significant amount of memory loss, encompassing most of the individual’s recent past—which would be all the time spent in the Arena and possibly some period prior to it. That’s why they can’t put us back into the game. We’d have to start all over again.”

  It took her a few moments to process what he was saying, and then she sagged against the stone, feeling sick and shivery. “You’re saying if we die here, we won’t remember each other once we get back?”

  “For most participants it’s a blessing, since they leave without understanding most of what’s going on anyway—and their memories are often anything but good. It makes it easier to slide back into their old lives.”

  “But that’s not how it is for us. We do understand. Surely—”

  “I suppose it depends on how one dies.” In the shadow his eyes were as dark and deep as Elhanu’s. “The nature of the injury, how long it takes them to collect you . . .” He was reaching for something positive, and they both knew it.

  Callie bit her lip. “How could we go through all this, learn everything we learned, and not remember anything? Not remember him? Each other? Just go back to what we were before? There’d be no point.”

  “Not that we can see anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her and she pressed her face into his chest.

  “They’d put you back in Colorado,” she said, “and me in Tucson. There’s no way we’d meet by chance.”

  He sighed. “You’re jumping to conclusions. We probably won’t both die. One of us might make it through the portal.”

  “But if the other one doesn’t remember—”

  He stroked the back of her head, fingers sliding through her long hair. “You think I wouldn’t fall in love with you all over again?”

  “But how would you meet me?” She pushed away to look at him.

  He smiled. “Durango’s not that far from Tucson. You could find me.”

  “And do what? Tell you I’m a lost love you can’t remember? Hire on as a cowhand?”

  “Ask my folks to let you visit for a week so you can paint the mountains. They’d go for that. Especially my mom.”

  “They’d think I was nuts. And so would you.”

  “After a week of being with you, I’d be totally smitten. The last time it only took a day. Some things are just right, just meant to be.”

  And some things aren’t, she thought. Oh, I knew this was too good to be true. Suddenly the dreadful conviction that she was going to lose him dropped over her. Her thoughts began to bolt like frightened mice, seeking shelter anywhere they could find it—they could stay here, or go back to Rimlight, or, or—

  Pierce took her face in both hands and looked into her eyes. “Callie, we have to trust him, remember? That’s the whole point. He’s promised us reward when we return to Earth, but what reward could be worth losing each other? I don’t think he’ll do that to us. He brought us together in the first place. He knows how we feel, how right we are for each other. Our happiness is important to him. We have to believe that.”

  She looked up into his sober face, into those wonderful eyes, so like Elhanu’s. The link pulsed, and she remembered the quiet understanding, the steadfast care, the warm blessing of approval—and knew the truth of Pierce’s words.

  “If we can’t trust him here and now,” he said, “we’ve lost already. You know that.”

  “Of course,” she whispered. “Of course, I do.”

  He regarded her gravely, then bent and kissed her with such exquisite tenderness she cried.

  RAISED UP

  “IF GOD IS FOR US, WHO IS AGAINST US?

  FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE I RAISED YOU UP,

  TO DEMONSTRATE MY POWER . . . AND THAT

  MY NAME MIGHT BE PROCLAIMED . . . .”

  ROMANS 8:31; 9:17

  CHAPTER

  27

  Firing in bursts at the low, crumbling wall behind which the first of the Morresian patrol had taken
cover, Callie and the others retreated up the rubble-strewn street of Old Morres. They’d hoped the patrol would not follow them into this ruined city, but the number of Watchers clinging to the walls and balconies around them predicted otherwise. As two more armored giants dashed for cover behind the wall, the blue beams of Callie’s SI–42 stitched small explosions around the doorway through which they had emerged. Her companions’ fire followed suit and they stopped the advance. For now.

  The four Morresians at the wall opened fire, forcing her to dive behind a fallen wrought-iron balcony, their pursuing beams sizzling off the metal. A scent of ozone mingled with the dust and the sour-dishrag stench of the ruins. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she rose and fired again, aware of Brody crouched behind a fallen pillar across the street. With the rest of the squad they covered Dell and Tuck, now rushing past them to the rear.

  Callie’s last burst flickered and turned pink as she withdrew behind the metal, popping out the spent cube and slapping in a new one. Another burst sizzled along the ruined balcony, and she jumped up, firing again. An answering lance zinged off her shoulder, disrupting her aim and sending tingling numbness down her back and arms. Improved though their shielding was, the weapons of the Nine Cities matched it. Successive hits would produce temporary paralysis—and sometimes a disastrous loss of mental composure.

  The bridge into Splagnos lay at their backs, not far now, but they’d been counting on the Morresians’ fear of the ruin to discourage pursuit. Old Morres had not lain abandoned sixty years without reason. When the Splagnosians had penetrated the city’s protective dome and slaughtered its inhabitants years ago, they had left it drenched with poisonous residues. To this day, nothing lived here, except mites and a vine that fed off the toxins themselves.

  Pierce’s voice crackled over the receiver in her ear, “Okay, Two. Go.”

  The others were in position now and firing. Callie caught Brody’s eye, and together they sprinted another leg. Something exploded behind her, black smoke roiling past her feet. Shouts followed, then the rapid zip-zip-zip of SIs, then another explosion, and the stench of ozone. The Morresians must have lobbed some stink bombs, in hopes the sedating gas would slow them. She skidded behind a wide stone stairway and resumed firing while the others ran by in their turns. Sweat dribbled down her sides. She wiped her brow again, drying her fingers on the leg of her khaki jumpsuit. The bandana she’d tied around her forehead was already soaked, useless until she could wring it out.

  Ten Morresians now held the end of the long street, with more coming in behind them. If the bridge passpoint wasn’t there . . .

  It’ll be there, she told herself as she picked a target and fired. She hit once, then twice, but missed the third shot that would have brought the Morresian down before he dove for cover.

  By then her friends were past, the whole group leapfrogging down the street, until it was again Callie and Brody’s turn.

  “All the way to the bridge, Cal,” Pierce said in her ear. She gave him a thumbs-up and sprinted down the road, her pack bouncing against her back. Careening around a black hulk of building, she raced into a crater-pocked plaza. On its far side stood the stone-and-iron wall that lined the river chasm bisecting Old Morres.

  Two nights ago an ASB had given them a map of the ruins and a six-inch blood crystal. The map showed a long-destroyed bridge where there would likely be a passpoint for the crystal to activate. There’d been no direct instruction, as usual, but since the main bridge was under guard by both Morresian and Splagnosian troops, the passpoint seemed the perfect solution to the problem of crossing into Splagnos.

  Now Callie sprinted across the plaza, dodging car-sized blocks and leaping runners of the oily-leaved toxvine. Impressive in its time, the bridge gateway had been reduced to a jungle of toppled stones and twisted, thigh-thick rails. Brody’s rapid footsteps slapped the pavement behind her as she climbed the pile to peer over the top. Blue-black walls plunged a hundred feet to the frothy, emerald-hued Black River. Debris cluttered its narrow banks: stone blocks, wood beams, hunks of iron tangled with the detritus of vegetation carried through on high water. On the far wall all that remained of the opposing gatehouse was a gaping hole framed by dangling tendrils of iron. On the near side just to her right, a pair of supports arched thirty feet over the river before shearing off into nothing. There was maybe fifty feet between them and the other side.

  And more of the obnoxious Watchers.

  Brody climbed up beside her, panting. Behind him, the rear guard was firing from the point where the road curved.

  “You look for a port up here,” Callie told him. “Try the gate pillars. I’ll check the rail tunnel under us.”

  Brody dropped back to do as she suggested while she slipped off her pack and slung her SI across her back, then eased down the far side of the wall. A breeze that was almost cool rushed up around her. About ten feet above the level where the bridge supports extended from the cliff wall, she was forced to stop. She could see the gap between the sheered-off bridge and far bank clearly now. If they couldn’t find the activation port, maybe they could use their grappling hooks to swing over and rig a cable crossing. Their armor could withstand a good number of hits before the paralysis set in, and the Morresians hadn’t proved to be especially good marksmen. It might work.

  Tuck peered down at her from the top of the wall. “Brody’s come up empty.”

  She glanced over the edge of her rocky perch. The ledge lay just below. “I’m almost there,” she called as she turned onto her belly and wriggled over the meeting of two stones.

  “Need a rope?” Tuck asked.

  “No.” Her toes reached the bottom of the block, then nothing. She risked another glance down. Cliffs and river spun up at her, dark rock, white foam, green ribbon. She shut her eyes and swallowed hard, willing the dizziness away. At least she had confirmed that the ledge extended out from her present position. An easy jump.

  Touching the link for reassurance, she slipped off the rock, landed lightly, and immediately dropped forward onto knees and hands. For a moment she held the position, struggling to regain her breath and bring her heart rate back down, as new zips of SI fire above reminded her that time was short. The tunnel cut back into the rock before her, its single rail twisted and raised from its bed, the end standing about a yard above the ground. Shifting, hissing movement and frequent glimmers of light reflecting off undulating carapaces—along with a sharp acidic smell— told her the tunnel was crawling with mites.

  Grimacing, she stood and began inspecting the walls.

  The Tohvani’s pale figure appeared even as its words formed in her mind. You actually like this, don’t you? It stood five yards into the tunnel, swallowed in shadow, its scaly “skin” softly luminescent. It’s exciting, challenging, and you’re good at it. Even if you won’t admit it.

  She ignored the thing, studying the walls around it.

  It won’t be like this at home, you know. Your overbearing mother, your matchmaking sister, your dead-end job.

  Annoyance rose in her. She cut it off.

  You’re not going to have him there, either. We’ll see to that.

  Callie’s earpiece crackled, and Pierce’s voice came through, calm and clear. “Find anything?”

  She pressed the patch at her throat and spoke. “An old tunnel, dust, a zillion mites, and—yes! There it is.”

  High on the wall to the Tohvani’s left, three blue circles glowed in the shadow. She’d seen red, gold, and silver ports before, but this was the first blue one.

  “Great. I’ll send Gerry down with the crystal.” As the group’s best marksman, Pierce would stay topside to cover their escape.

  You don’t have to go home, the Tohvani persisted. We treat our own very well.

  “I can see that.” She glanced sourly at the rubble around her. “Wonderful city you’ve provided here.”

  Witnesses like you caused the destruction of this city. We tried to stop it.

  “Right.” Why are you talk
ing to this thing, Callie?

  She turned from the Watcher as a pair of legs dangled past the overhang in a shower of dirt and pebbles. Gerry dropped onto the ledge, his pack, a rope with a grappling hook, and his SI strapped to his back. Immediately the earth began to shake, releasing a cloud of dust. Together they backed warily toward the precipice, eyeing the ten-ton blocks jittering above their heads. Earthquakes were common in the Inner Realm, and those rocks had been up there a long time. No reason to think they’d come down now, right?

  Before a minute had passed, the trembling faded. Sneezing on the dust, Gerry handed her a rectangular prism of clear crimson flecked with gold, the finest blood crystal she’d ever seen; it would’ve brought a fortune in the Outer Realm. She took it to the insignia, then hesitated, made uneasy by the Watcher’s brief appearance and struck again by the device’s blue color. A false box would destroy the crystal and the person inserting it. Still, the configuration was right. . . .

  She aligned the crystal with the central dot, feeling inexplicably tense, as if she might be shocked on contact. Yet, there was no reason—

  “Hold up, there, Cal!”

  She recoiled from the wall.

  “Here’s another one.”

  Gerry stood at the tunnel’s mouth. A second circle-and-dot device glowed on the wall outside. Her nape hairs crawled. Distracted by the Tohvani, she hadn’t seen it. Like the first, it, too, was blue.

  She told Gerry about the Watcher. “I thought it was trying to distract me from that one,” she said, gesturing to the first device, “but it must have been yours it didn’t want me to see.”

  His brown eyes narrowed. “Or else that’s what it wants us to think.”

  Callie inspected the second insignia. “You mean draw our attention to the right one in hopes we’ll think it’s wrong?”

  Blue beams shot overhead in quick succession, startling them both. Then Callie heard shouting and falling rock, the zip of the SIs. The ground trembled again in aftershock, and Pierce’s voice rattled in her earpiece. “We can’t hold them off much longer, love. You got something or not?”