by RJ Blain
An ancient, tired quality dulled the slave’s pale eyes. Sucking in a breath, Blaise leaned against the rail and squinted, calling on his true sight.
The boy’s eyes were the true green eyes of the Daughter, not the darker emerald or hazel touched with green that some mortals possessed. Anguish dissolved Blaise’s anger.
The weight of a miserable existence dulled the color. For a brief moment, Blaise wanted nothing more than to devour those who had hurt the child and dared to enslave someone with Aurora’s eyes.
“You seem intrigued. Most curious for a devout man such as yourself,” the Emperor said.
The man to Blaise’s left snickered. A clearing of the Emperor’s throat silenced those around them and the laughter died away under a faked cough. Blaise glanced at the Citizen on his left out of the corner of his eye. The man’s violet doublet almost matched the Emperor’s, barely light enough to avoid being the color reserved for the ruler of the Erelith Empire.
Blaise curled his lip up in what he hoped passed for a smile and didn’t bother to acknowledge the Citizen to his left before turning to bow his head to the Emperor yet again. “The boy and his collar intrigue me, Your Imperial Majesty, though the girl, as you so wisely observed, is fascinating as well.”
“Ah, yes. That collar. I suppose it would catch your interest. I’ve a few of them I give to my most trusted to do with as they please. I’m sure I’ll find out who lost their slave when they come calling for it,” the Emperor replied with a faint frown. “Do watch that girl. She’ll prove most entertaining.”
Blaise sighed. The gong sounded, worsening the ache in his head. With weapons lifted high, the convicts prowled toward their prey.
The girl’s leap brought her to the first of the men, and she brought her staff down with a crack. Letting out a whoop, the Emperor surged to his feet. The crowd followed his lead and their cheers shook the stone. A few green cloths fluttered among the thousands of red. The girl danced back out of the convict’s reaching, and she glared over at the green-eyed boy.
With mouths opened in war cries that Blaise couldn’t hear over the crowd, the convicts charged. Their fury twisted their scarred faces, and Blaise braced himself for the slaughter.
The spray of blood heralded the opening of the Gates, the pearly curtain of light unnoticed by the mortals that surrounded him. It hovered over the corpse, and he squinted.
Instead of one of the children, a convict lay on the sands. The green-eyed slave pulled his short blade free of the man’s throat, stepped over the corpse, and jumped forward.
Blaise whispered the prayer for the dead and wondered what God thought of the men who dared to lift a hand against one born with Aurora’s eyes.
The convicts turned their attention to the boy and swarmed him. A second man fell, gutted with a strike so swift that Blaise missed the blow because he’d blinked.
The Emperor let out an appreciative whistled echoed by the man to Blaise’s left.
The silence of held breath gripped the spectators, and the hope some children would survive tore at Blaise’s heart. He wanted to look away, at anywhere other than the blood-stained sands, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from the boy who danced on the sands despite his worn and bruised body.
In the child’s hands, death became beauty and the Gates opened wide for those who fell to him, as though God reached out to the mortal world in hopes of reclaiming one of His children, but settling for those slain at the hands of the boy born with Aurora’s eyes.
“A hundred prisms Catsu will win,” the Emperor announced in a voice just loud enough for all in the Imperial Observatory to hear. “Any takers?”
The number surprised Blaise. Most Citizens lived their entire lives without acquiring even half as many of the prized crystals. He kept his expression neutral and stared down at the sands.
“I’ll take you up on that,” someone said from behind him. “But, a hundred on the boy, but he won’t take the contest.”
“Agreed. What about you, Bishop?”
Blaise didn’t look away from the slave facing off against two men bigger and stronger, both holding weapons with a longer reach. Without any sign of fear, the boy ducked beneath their guard.
The first fell, cut from groin to chest. When the second lunged, the slave rolled behind his prey and ran him through from behind. The crowd screamed, and the drumming of their feet on the stone matched the throb in Blaise’s head.
“I’m a pious man, Your Imperial Majesty, but one would like to hope that the young would have a chance to prove their worth in the days to come.”
The Emperor clapped him on the back. “Well said, well said! Pious men don’t gamble, or so I’ve heard, but perhaps an arrangement can be made. Should these young ones have worth and can prove it, I’ll grant the Church a boon. I’ll double the number allowed in both my Palace and the Arena. Of course, if they prove worthless,” the Emperor continued, pausing to allow the snickers of the Citizens around him to add weight to his words, “then, of course, I shall halve the number allowed.”
Blaise’s cheek twitched and the corner of his mouth twisted upward. If only he could indulge, if only he could reveal what was trapped beneath the thin barrier of human skin, then he could rip the smug look from the Emperor’s face. “You’ve my thanks and appreciation for your generosity, Your Imperial Majesty.”
The rancid taste of his words left him nauseated and disgusted.
With another laugh, the Emperor stomped his feet and lifted a scrap of red silk high over his head. “Win, Catsu!”
Red dominated the arena, and all signs of green vanished from the hands of the Citizens.
With his mouth opened in a pant, the green-eyed boy fell back to where the other children waited. The pleasure slave put her back to his and the two tensed in anticipation of the convicts’ attack. She said something that was answered with a jerked nod, and both stared at one of the older boys cowering with the youngest children.
The respite didn’t last long. The tallest of the remaining men led the charge, letting out a whooped cry. The crowd quieted.
“Wind, breath of God, blow so that all might live!” a man’s tenor called out, the tone sharp with authority and demand.
A gust of wind erupted from the center of the pit, tugging at Blaise’s clothes. Sand spiraled upward to darken the sky. Shielding his eyes with one arm, Blaise leaned against the rail and stretched out his other hand. “When man believed the world would drown ‘neath the fury of the storm, the winds stilled and the seas calmed,” he Spoke.
The sandstorm and the will of the other Speaker fought against Blaise, and he was aware of the whispered echoes of power despite the terrified screams of those around him. Curling his lip, Blaise let out a snarl, his bones aching with the need to punish the mortal who dared to defy his will.
The sands fell to the ground in a rain and the winds fell silent. Several forms lay still below, but no shimmering of the Gates or scent of roses marked the bodies.
Abandoning the staff, Catsu took up a sword and lifted it high. The crowd cheered for the hero of the Arena. With a wild grin, the man plunged the blade through the back of the nearest convict.
Catsu’s victim slumped, mouth and eyes wide from shock.
The Gates opened to welcome the souls of the men slaughtered as Catsu cut a path to where the slave children stood stunned from the winds that had battered them but moments before.
~*~
Chaos took hold of those in the Arena, and not even the bellowed demand from the Emperor brought order. The rail bit against Blaise’s stomach as he tried to figure out what was happening in the pit, but the screams of the Citizens drowned out the sounds from below. If God’s power had been invoked, Blaise couldn’t sense it.
“God devour them,” he spat, slamming his opened hand against the marble wall. With all of his power as a bishop and his heritage, he couldn’t do anything without hearing the scriptures as they were Spoken. His lip curled up in a snarl, exposing his teeth. If the culp
rit chose to slay those fleeing, the Gates wouldn’t close until every last one of them resided in the Gardens.
God didn’t care how they’d died, only for the quality of the souls ascending to the Garden.
Red splotches marred the Emperor’s face and the man leaned over the rail, pointing at the battle below. “How dare those worthless things ruin my event? Kill them!”
The cries of those fleeing the Arena drowned out the man’s demand.
“Look,” the man beside Blaise said, mimicking the Emperor’s gesture.
Blaise wondered if God would get too upset with him if one or two extra numbered among the dead. He stared down at the sands at the human’s request.
Catsu stalked forward and bodies fell in his wake. The man didn’t wait to find out if any survived his blows, and not all of them died. Men writhed on the sands while clinging hopelessly to their lives, not even realizing the Gates poised over them, cracked open in anticipation of the moment their last breath fled their bodies.
Where the boy with the Daughter’s eyes turned death into something almost beautiful in its swiftness, in Catsu’s hand, it was a nightmare born of flashing steel and the red of blood. The children roused to the convict’s presence. The pleasure slave lifted her staff, and the color drained from her face.
One blow knocked her weapon aside. The second felled her, the pommel of the blade cracking against the side of her head. She crumpled and lay still on the sands.
The green-eyed boy lunged at Catsu. Their blades clashed with a ring that cut over the screams of the Citizens. When their blades locked, the slave stood firm despite their difference in size, staying positioned between the so-called Hero of the Arena and the younger children.
One of the older slaves, wearing a bronze collar, lifted his sword and jumped at the two fighting. The blade stabbed at the unprotected back of the green-eyed slave. Blaise barked out a warning and drew a breath to Speak.
Catsu’s mouth moved and a bolt of fire and lightning streaked down from the clear sky.
The bronze-collared slave fell screaming, writhing as a shroud of flame and sparks engulfed him. The blade he’d held, instead of piercing through the other slave’s spine, grazed his side instead. The Gates to the Garden didn’t open. Blaise frowned and forced his muscles to relax.
To his amazement, neither slave had died.
Blaise shook his head. If he interfered, he’d risk exposing his true self and his secret. Should the mortals discover the truth, God would punish him as He had punished Lucin and Mikael. Blaise didn’t savor the idea of spending the rest of eternity trapped in an inanimate object, doomed to become the plaything of foolish mortals desiring power. Settling on muttering the prayers for the dead, he watched and waited.
A shove from Catsu split the two apart. The slave staggered back, one hand clamped to his side, body twisted to present as small a target as possible. Instead of striking at the boy who dared to fight as an equal, Catsu went for the bronze-collared slave on the ground.
Blaise felt his eyebrows rise.
With a flick of his wrist, the Hero of the arena gouged out the fallen boy’s left eye.
“What are you fools doing? I said ‘Kill them all!’” the Emperor screamed, slamming his fist against the gold rail. “Curse you all!”
Someone shoved Blaise against the marble retaining wall. Several soldiers surrounded the Emperor and took up guard positions. Face twisted in rage, the Emperor screamed curses and orders as he led the way out of the Imperial Observatory.
A Citizen too slow to flee the Emperor’s path fell to the sword of a orange-tasseled soldier. Blaise rubbed at his brow and tried to will away the surge of pain stabbing through his skull, muttering the prayer for the dead under his breath.
The Citizen to Blaise’s left whistled. “He’s gone mad.”
The screams of mortals intensified, and Blaise twisted around to look up at the tiers of the Arena. He wasn’t sure what had triggered the mortals’ instinct to run from danger, but the Citizens swarmed over each other, oblivious to those they hurt in their need to escape. The stench of fear in the air choked off, rather than whetted, his appetite. “He’s not the only one,” he muttered.
Dropping back down to the stone chair, Blaise rubbed at his temple and stared at the standoff between convict and slave below. Catsu stood at ease, tip of his sword dripping blood. The boy stood over the pleasure slave’s still form, his expression blank and eyes dulled.
Catsu’s lips moved, and the sands behind him swirled up in a cyclone. The air stirred in obedience to the convict’s call, hissing as though a snake poised to strike. A second cyclone burst into existence near the slave, whips of sand lashing out.
Grit blasted Blaise in the face. He lifted his arm to shield his eyes.
“Holy God, they’re both Speakers,” the man next to him gasped. Instead of running away, the Citizen leaned closer to the rail. Blaise rose to his feet. The wind clawed at him, grit tearing at his exposed skin and working its way into his clothes.
The hand touching his elbow shook. “We can’t stay here, we’ll be killed.”
Blaise couldn’t tell if the man was daft, courageous, or a fool. He shook the Citizen off and curled his lip up, letting out a low growl that rumbled in his chest. “Quiet!” The winds recoiled from him and the human at his side froze at his command. While the one word wasn’t enough to break the powers of either Speaker, he took the chance to catch his breath.
The twin columns rose up and clashed far above. Both burst into a cascade of sand that pelted those below. When the cloud of dust cleared, the slave and convict both stood. Catsu glared with narrowed eyes, while the boy’s expression remained neutral and lifeless.
Nothing remained of the convict’s victims except bone. The shimmer of the Gate lingered as though God was tired of opening the way for those who hadn’t died.
Yet.
Whatever force held the slave children calm and still for so long shattered. They ran for the nearest portcullis, stretching their arms through the gaps in the metal bars. If any of the military lingered nearby, they didn’t open the way into the tunnels or reveal themselves.
The screams of the Citizens quieted enough for Blaise to catch the murmur of the convict Speaking. Those who hadn’t fled cheered and waved down at the two still fighting. A spark of light formed over Catsu’s head and shot upward, roiling into a great ball of flame awaiting its creator’s bidding. The boy’s lips moved in response, so soft that Blaise heard nothing at all. A shiver coursed over his flesh, and static cracked between his hand and the golden rail.
The man at his side grabbed his arm again and pointed upward. “Look!”
A lone cloud marred the clear sky. It churned, growing until it blocked out the sun and replaced the blue above with black. A drop of rain splattered on Blaise’s cheek and a sheet of water fell in its wake, drenching him from head to toe. With a spluttered curse, he reached up to shove his sodden hair out of his eyes.
Catsu’s fire was extinguished beneath the force of the deluge. The pain in his skull eased to a dull ache, and the rain whispered to him, its babbling accompanied by the warmth of pleasure and satisfaction. Blaise frowned but saw no emotion in the boy’s face, not even with the help of his inhuman eyes.
“I suppose I better put an end to this,” Blaise muttered, eyeing the distance between the seats to the pit below. Water and sand mixed to create murky pools littered with discarded weapons. He turned his glare on Catsu and the slave.
The boy swayed and the sword he held dropped to the ground. The pounding rain and the warning rumbles of thunder drowned out the cries of those who remained within the Arena. A streak of blue and red light struck the rail circling the lowest tier and raced toward Blaise. He whipped his arm out, threw the human at his side away from the wall, and jumped away from the charged metal. A ball of flame and lightning swept by, blackening the marble and leaving charred, twisted hunks of molten gold in its wake.
“What sorcery is that?” the C
itizen gasped.
“That wasn’t sorcery,” Blaise replied, “it’s the power of God’s Word.” He glared at the melted ruins. The divine power sang to him, and it whispered a promise of destruction.
Taking shelter behind the Emperor’s stone throne, he glanced around the edge and through the gaps in the ruined rail. The clouds spun around an eye of blue lightning and red fire. The scripture to calm the storm stuck in his throat.
He hadn’t seen such a display in so many years, and he wanted to see how it ended, yet part of him was aware of the severe consequences if he didn’t put an end to it.
A single bolt of lightning struck the other side of the arena, and the stone trembled beneath him. A pillar of light laced with gouts of flame linked the ground and sky.
The Gates to the Garden didn’t shimmer into existence. The pit was engulfed in pure, holy light, but Blaise didn’t catch more than a glimpse of His red roses before they vanished in plumes of smoke. Shrapnel erupted upward, with embers flashing brightly before falling to the ground.
Illuminated in the light of destruction, the boy staggered forward a step and fell. Catsu dropped his weapon, ducked low to lift the slave over his shoulder, and vanished into the haze which reeked of molten stone and burned flesh.
~*~
The wind and rain battered at Blaise. He longed for his coat and its hood. The storm muffled the cries of the injured and the dying. Rays of sunlight pierced through the fringe of the clouds and streamed over the pit below.
Flashes of red and blue illuminated the wet marble. Blaise gripped the ruined rail, vaulted over it, and splashed down to the ground. The sand and water sucked at his legs with each step. The edges of discarded blades beneath the muck scraped against his shins. Ignoring the sting of his cuts, he knelt beside the unconscious bronze-collared slave lying where Catsu had felled him. The white of Blaise’s gloves turned red when he touched the boy’s throat. While sluggish, he could feel a heartbeat.