by E. A. Copen
***
I stayed in the hot tub until my skin was wrinkled. I still didn’t feel clean, but at least I was tired enough to sleep.
Emma was still awake when I dragged myself back to our room. She sat on the end of the bed as if she’d been waiting for me. Her eyes immediately went to my shoulder. “Hell of a bruise you’ve got there.”
I looked down at the big spread of red and purple covering my shoulder and chest. “You should see the other guy.”
“I did see the other guy.”
You killed the other guy, I thought and sank onto my bed to stretch out. I closed my eyes. “You’ve only got two bullets left. Why’d you waste him, Emma? I had him.”
“Do you know how many times the average police officer discharges their weapon during their career? More than half never do. I’ve fired my gun with the intent to kill six times.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said quietly.
“Every time I do it, it gets easier to do. When I shot that boy, I barely thought about it. I just went for it. I don’t want that for you.”
I finally opened my eyes. She hadn’t moved. “I’ve killed people before. Vesta, Imseti, Nyx… Hell, I told you about the battle I was in when I went to Summer.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s not the same. I saw the look in your eyes. It was different than when you killed Vesta. You’re different. I can’t let you go that way. You’re a good person. You have to stay a good person, no matter what.”
I tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “You don’t have to save me, Emma.”
“That’s what I keep telling you.”
Point for Emma.
I watched as she got up and turned off the light. Her bed creaked. Blankets rustled as she pulled them over her.
“Hey, Emma?”
An irritated sigh. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. I don’t know what the hell I’d do without you. It scares me.”
“I know,” she said. Her bed creaked again as she rolled over. “Try and get some sleep, Lazarus.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see and closed my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We got up early to watch Haru fight. Even before we reached the arena, we heard people whispering about it. His team was fighting for a Kumiho, which I was informed was a Korean fox shifter with a history of eating souls. No one seemed to know the Kumiho’s name but just referred to her as Kumiho-Sama.
They were up against the Maori whom we had a no-kill agreement with. Haru hadn’t really said one way or the other whether he meant to go along with it, but seemed to be leaning against it last time we talked. If he started killing, all our hard work would go out the window. The other fighters would start thinking we wouldn’t hold to our word. Right now, my word was all I had. If Haru fucked that up for me, I’d make sure he regretted it.
The temple was a wreck and half the tree stumps had been uprooted in the previous fight. According to Khaleda, who came with Emma and me to watch the fight, the Babylonians and the Amazonians were the last bout. She said it was a fierce fight that resulted in two dead Babylonians, despite their win. Every Amazonian warrior who took the field was dead too.
The Romans had also had their fight with the Lobos, which resulted in a win for the Romans but only barely. It had almost been a draw since only one Roman was left standing. Go figure it’d be Tony. From the sounds of it, I was almost sorry I’d missed that fight. Apparently, the Romans came out in full legionnaire armor. I would’ve liked to see a miniature Roman army fighting werewolves. Luckily, there’d been no fatalities in that round.
The arena was so full of ghosts now it was hard not to notice them. Jane sat on the pyramid steps next to two women holding spears. I spied the ghost of the tiger shifter from the very first round perched in one of the few remaining trees.
A horn sounded the beginning of the match and I settled in to watch. Unlike with our match with the Celts, neither team came out swinging. The crowd fell silent as Haru’s team of three emerged from one side, and the group of five Maori came from the other. Aside from Haru, Kumiho-Sama’s team for that round consisted of their ranged—a tall, thin man with a topknot and samurai armor—and a Tengu who served as their mage. All three walked several yards in and halted, watching the pyramid.
The Maori climbed up onto the pyramid and assumed positions staggered over the front, facing Haru and his team, making fierce noises and snarling. Only one climbed all the way down to stand before the other team. He carried a huge, jade bat with what looked like chunks of glass shards crammed into it. Not something I’d want to get hit with.
Must be their leader.
The leader paced back and forth a few times with a fierce look at the others before giving a loud shout and raising his bat to shake it in the air. His team responded with more growling, puffing out their cheeks and sticking out their tongues. Their leader shouted again and the disorganized growling formed into a cohesive noise. The whole arena seemed to shake as the four of them stomped their feet, slapped their forearms and took up a chant.
A haka. I’d seen a few of them online. It was a sort of ritual dance originating with the Maori people, performed for important persons as a greeting. Once, it had been done to intimidate the other side before a battle. I supposed this version was a little of both.
It continued on for a few minutes while everyone in the crowd watched with the silent reverence of a church congregation. When it was done, Haru and his team bowed stiffly and drew their weapons. Haru slid one foot back.
Going to stand your ground, are you? I thought. If Haru were anyone besides the Red Horseman, I would have thought the Maori would mow right through him. But he was War, and he was in his element. The Maori didn’t stand a chance.
The Maori leader pointed his bat and screamed. His team jumped off the pyramid and charged.
Kumiho-Sama’s ranged fighter drew back his bowstring and let the first arrow fly. It struck one of the Maori in the knee and brought him down. The Tengu lifted his wings and made some jerky motions. Four Maori closed on Haru but he made no move to engage. He had his ground and he would hold it.
Steel flashed in a perfect upward diagonal strike followed by another. It was so quick I would’ve missed it if I’d blinked. The Maori closest to Haru stumbled and fell to the ground, his hand going to the spurting wound in his shoulder. A non-fatal wound. Was he going along with us after all?
Haru dodged a strike from one of the Maori with one of their wooden bats and spun, landing a kick to the Maori’s back. His sword came up, ready to plunge it into the other man’s back for the kill, but he held back, delivering a bone-breaking kick to the side of the Maori’s knee. The Maori went down, his leg jutting out at an odd angle.
Another arrow from the samurai found a shoulder socket, but it didn’t even slow the biggest Maori down. He was the size of a troll, easily eight feet tall and four hundred pounds of scary muscle. A big fist scooped up a nearby tree stump and hurled it at the Tengu. It struck an invisible wall and exploded into a thousand Monarch butterflies, drawing “oohs” and “aahs” from the crowd. The archer put another arrow in the big guy, right in his gut, but he still didn’t slow down. He lunged for Haru.
Haru danced out of the way and slid his sword straight up the back of the big Maori’s leg. The Maori went down to one knee with a grunt, his tendon severed. Down, but not out. He swung his massive club-like bat at Haru’s head with a snarl. Haru fell into a graceful roll and came up, his eyes blazing red, a familiar determined look on his face and his free hand drawn back. He was going after the guy’s soul.
I shot to my feet. Don’t do it, Haru!
Haru raised his eyes to the crowd and settled his gaze on me. At least, it felt like he was looking at me. He could’ve been staring at anyone in the crowd.
His hesitation cost him. The Maori with the green bat rushed up and slammed the glass-encrusted side into Haru’s ribs.
Haru turned into the strike and barked out a rough word before kicking the Maori leader back. His bat remained embedded in Haru’s side. Haru thrust his katana forward. It slid into the Maori’s chest like hot iron on wax.
“Fuzakenna yo,” Haru yelled and punched him in the chin.
The Maori leader fell to his knees, the sword still in his chest. It forced Haru to either let go of the katana or fall with him. He chose to let go of the katana and turned to finish the big guy with a crushing strike to the temple. The Maori crumbled. Lights out.
There was only one Maori left. He screamed and charged Haru waving his bat around. The samurai let his arrow fly. Haru’s hand shot out and closed, stopping the arrow mid-flight just centimeters from the Maori’s throat. If he hadn’t stopped it, the shot would’ve been fatal.
Haru snapped the arrow in half with his thumb and forefinger. “Yield.”
The Maori warrior stared at the broken arrow and his injured teammates all around him.
“Yield,” Haru barked even louder, “and your friend won’t bleed out. Or fight and die. The choice is yours.”
The Maori pulled his lip in a snarl. “Fuck the deal.” He swung his bat at Haru’s neck. At that range, it would be impossible to dodge.
Haru didn’t even try. He just stood there like an idiot.
Dammit, Haru! Move!
A lance of dark energy cut through the arena and engulfed Haru, forming a protective bubble. The bat full of jagged glass bounced off and the Maori staggered back, surprised. Haru’s hand lashed out to deliver a precise strike to the Maori’s solar plexus. When he doubled over, Haru slammed his elbow into the back of the other man’s neck. A wet pop echoed, the sound similar to the one celery sticks made when snapped in half. The Maori dropped like dead weight.
Thunderous applause swept through the crowd along with deafening shouts of love and support. Haru didn’t acknowledge them. He ripped the bat out of his side, sending a spray of dark blood over the ground. A lot of it. Shit, that was bad. He put his hand over the injury to try and hide it as he limped back to his team, but there was no missing the thick trail it left behind.
I slid past Emma toward the exit.
“Where are you going?” Khaleda asked.
“To the infirmary. He’s in bad shape. If he dies…” If he dies, your plan is shot to hell, Khaleda. I didn’t say it out loud, but I gave her a knowing look and hoped she got the message.
She nodded and stood. “I’m coming with you.”
“No. You stay with Emma.” Before she could argue with me, I pushed through the clapping crowd and rushed through the exit.
***
Two Tengu stopped me at the door to the infirmary by calmly stepping in my way. I tried to strain my neck to see past them, but they were too big. “How is he? Is he going to make it?”
A loud string of angry Japanese at a painfully fast pace erupted out of the infirmary. Well, he was still talking. Guess that was good.
“He doesn’t like people to disturb him when he’s injured,” said the one on the right.
“It would be impolite.” The other extended a fan and began to fan himself before stepping aside.
“If he gives you any shit, tell him I overpowered you,” I said and went on in.
Haru was lying on his side with his back to me. There was blood everywhere in streaks and puddles. A bloody handprint marked the wall next to a larger puddle. It looked like he’d fallen. Stubborn ass had let his pride make him walk his way here instead of having someone come and get him. Now, the healer was bent over him, blood turning his bright blue gloves a dark purple. The healer tugged a string through Haru’s skin, closing the huge gash with stitches.
“Haru-Chan!” A whirlwind of white rushed by me, shoving me aside without a care and went to Haru’s side. Her hair was the color of snow, piled in a loose bun. Fox ears jutted from the top of her head. Her dress was the same snow white as her hair, darkening into an ice blue as it reached her waist to spill into a long skirt.
This must be the Kumiho he’s working for.
“Min, what are you doing here?” Haru’s voice sounded raw and weak. “I told you to stay with Delun.”
“Kazu said you were hurt.”
“You shouldn’t be wandering this place alone, Min.”
She took his hand and squeezed. “Quiet now. I’m here.”
So much for all that tough talk about being a loner, I thought and cleared my throat.
Min’s eyes narrowed at me. “What’s he doing here?”
I raised my hands. “I’m just here to check on him, same as you. And to talk.”
The doctor shifted, and I saw Haru’s bare back for the first time. It was covered in jagged lines and rough skin. Scars. Seemed being the Red Horseman hadn’t been easy on him.
“Let him,” Haru croaked out as the doctor finished the stitches. He patted Min’s hand. “Please let Karasu and Kaage escort you back. I promise I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Min nodded and stepped around the bed. She glared at me as she passed, her gaze boring into my very soul until I shivered.
When she was gone, I walked to the opposite wall and leaned on it facing Haru. “So, whatever happened to the whole ‘we’re not supposed to care about anybody, we have to become the mantle’ bit?” I punctuated his words with air quotes.
Haru’s throat worked. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was pissed and in a lot of pain. He said nothing.
I crossed my arms. “You’re not the tough guy playboy you want everyone to think you are, are you?”
“If you tell anyone about me and Min, I will strangle you with your own intestines.”
“Hey, man, I get it. Our lives suck. If you can find someone who makes all the abuse we take worth it at the end of the day, I say go for it. Your secret’s safe with me.”
The doctor finished bandaging Haru and stepped away to change his gloves for the third time. Haru gingerly sat up, prompting the doctor to panic. “You mustn’t get up yet! You’ve lost a lot of blood. You may need a liter or even two to recover properly.”
“Keep your blood, doctor. We Horsemen heal in our own way. Isn’t that right?” He reached for his discarded shirt and winced.
I stepped away from the wall to retrieve it for him.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” I nodded.
The doctor threw his hands up. “Whatever. You two do what you want. Just don’t fight in here. I don’t want to have to clean up the mess.” He scurried out of the room and into a small office off to the side, slamming the door behind him.
“How are the other guys?” I asked Haru.
“Most of them will never fight again.” He slid the shirt over his head and tugged it down. There was a huge hole where his injury was, letting the bandage show through. “The last one is paralyzed from the neck down. Spinal cord between the C-two and C-three was severed. They rushed him off to surgery. Big guy will limp the rest of his life because of how I severed the tendon. The chief needed emergency surgery to keep him from drowning in his own blood since I punctured one of his lungs.”
“But they’re all alive. That’s good.”
“Good?” Haru spat. “They might not be dead, but I ended lives today. There’s nothing good about that. It would’ve been cleaner to kill them.”
“You don’t know that.”
Haru’s head snapped up, rage burning in his eyes. “Yes, I do. When I became War, I had to live through it. Every war. Every battle. I watched the Romans burn London to the ground. Saw the Norsemen slaughter and rape by the thousands. I walked through killing fields so thick with the dying and the maimed that I had to swim through blood and organs. Even after all that, those aren’t the battles that have stuck with me. You want to know about the worst ones? The ones that never stop. Modern warfare. We ship them out, blow them up, patch them up, and send them home. Missing arms, missing legs, scarred brains. Injured people. We shove them back into a world that thinks they’re grotesque fr
eaks. Oh, people might pretend not to notice the milky eyes, the stump arms, or the way they flinch at every loud noise, but they do. We took their weapons away and ask them to fight a war no one can win, the war against their own minds. That’s the worst thing about war, Lazarus. Surviving it.”
I stared at my shoes. That wasn’t something I’d ever thought about. Having never served in the military, it never occurred to me that coming home from a war zone could be even worse than being in one. Not only were all those guys going to have to go home, but now they would have to live with injuries that would change their lives forever.
Haru got out of bed and swayed. I tried to steady him, but he pushed me away and held himself up with the help of the table.
“I kept my end of the deal, Lazarus,” he snapped. “I hope you get the dirt you need on Pestilence. Those men paid for it with their lives and I just spat on their sacrifice.”
“You didn’t—”
“Yes, I did! Do you think those men came to the tournament to be spared? They came to win, or to die glorious deaths in battle, not to become vegetables.”
“You may be an expert on war, Haru, but trust me when I say there’s no such thing as a glorious death. There’s only death.”
He grunted and pulled himself around the table. “Maybe to you. The point’s not how you die. It’s how others see you die. Your legacy. If you had a choice, would you want to live so long your bowels shut down and you have to have your loved ones change bags full of your piss and shit? You want to still be here if they have to feed you, bathe you? That’s how you want them to remember you? I imagine you’d rather have them drink to your memory and say, ‘That Lazarus fellow, he fought to the last. He was a good guy.’ That’s what I took away from those men today. That’s what your deal costs.”
“Haru…”
He shook his head. “No. I can’t do it. No more deals. When you and me are facing off in the finals, all bets are off. It’s to the death, Lazarus. I’ll see you then.”
A commotion in the hallway drew our attention. Three men rushed in, carrying a woman between them. Blood pooled over her stomach and dripped from between her lips. Her eyes were closed. Chances were good she was already gone, but they were going to try and save her anyway.