The Iron Eagle’s tactic procures enough time for their Regenerator to mend them plus more. They flee their mini fortress of vines to ambush the distracted Carnivores.
Meanwhile, one of the arbor beasts wriggles its way up the perch, which up to this point has kept the ironball protected perfectly. The small creature gives the hard sphere a nudge. It plummets to the ground, unprotected. The Carnivore’s timepiece halts at 6 clicks.
“What prevents them from encapsulating the sphere?” Astor leans into me to ask the question. “You know, instead of just putting atop a pole for the taking. That’s what I’d do.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder, using the mob’s loud intensity as an excuse to move in even closer. “The ironball must be free for the taking. No encapsulating it or pinning it or anything like that. Nor can you shrink it to an incomprehensible size or enlarge it, for that matter. The ironball itself can’t be manipulated.” I leave my arm around her shoulder and hold her close.
Iron Valour leads the charge. All four of the standing combatants are on the move. The Regenerator dashes straight to the Sleeper to heal him while Iron Valour and his two allies race toward the conflict. He snatches one of the arbor beasts while in a full sprint and manipulates it into something…something different. Something resembling a rather large mace with a green plume of grass at the head.
As he gets closer, Iron Valour whirls, swinging the club about him, and manipulates its length just enough to smash into the nearest Aggressor’s chest. The Aggressor attempts to deflect it, but the blow is too much, snapping both of his arms and sending him sailing through the air. He lands several paces back, unconscious—or worse.
The crowd erupts with excitement. Astor flinches at the act, which incites me to poke at her. “I don’t think he’s getting up from that one.” I pull her in tighter with a slap-worthy grin on my face.
“That is disgusting! I know I am the advocate of this evening out, but this sport is beyond brutal. I never imagined…” Astor slumps down in her seat.
Not knowing how to lift her spirits, I just leave it be and continue watching.
The Sleeper, now at full capacity, rises to his feet alongside the Regenerator. Although the biggest in the squad, the Sleeper is rather quick and retrieves the unprotected ironball lying so casually in the sand. The Iron Eagle’s timepiece is on the move. Again, the crowd bellows with approval.
The two Iron Eagles race back to their fortress of vines with one of the Carnivores right on their heels. Larger than any of the Iron Eagles, he barrels straight for them at an expedited pace. Aware of the pursuant, the Sleeper shifts the sphere to the Regenerator then leaps straight into the air, inverting himself above the trailing Aggressor in red. On his way down, he presses his hands firmly on the brute’s shoulders and wrenches with full strength. The man’s legs continue bounding forward, but the rest of his body is shoved to the ground with incredible force. When he hits, his entire upper body shatters into multiple pieces.
Another thundering boom echoes throughout the arena. Much of the crowd jumps in surprise, and the remainder jeer and hoot. And there are likely a handful like Astor who cover their eyes.
A formidable man in an iridescent, black cloak steps into the arena to address them. All of the able combatants line up shoulder to shoulder, the two teams across from one another, and the arbor beasts go limp and degenerate back into the sands. He has a discussion with the combatants, and the crowd silences with anticipation of the verdict.
“Who is that guy?” Astor whispers, trying not to disrupt the silent crowd.
“The Punisher,” I whisper back. “The enforcer of the few rules they have in this sport.”
The Punisher clears his throat to speak. “Iron Eagle’s penalized two clicks…” The crowd grumbles their disapproval. “…and the Sleeper has been ejected from the battle for improper use of talents.” The crowd rumbles louder, but in an accepting manner. The Punisher then proceeds to bind the wrists of the Sleeper and escorts him off the field of battle. Both teams follow, retreating through the tunnels from which they entered. As they leave, a cleanup crew comes hustling out to where the disassembled body lies.
“What’s happening?” Astor calls out, trying to raise her voice above all the distraught spectators around us.
“An intermission. He’s being ejected for foul play. Although there are few rules in this sport, the primary rule refrains any combatant from using his talent on an opponent in an irreversible manner. Which means no petrifying and smashing your opponent into a thousand pieces. He won’t return to the sport. Ever.”
“That’s it?” she replies with a jerk in her posture.
“Yeah.”
“Simply using your talent on a human is taboo. And he just murdered a man! In plain sight! And he is banished from the sport? That’s it?”
“Um, yeah.” I shrug. “It’s part of the sport. Talents are a permissible force to be used. Except when they’re irreversible.” I wave my hand to the arena floor where the body is being swept up.
“Disgusting.” She crosses her arms, shakes her head.
“Will you excuse me for a moment, Astor? I need to go use the piss…uh…the lavatory.”
“No, you mean the pisser.” She grimaces. “We’re at a distasteful Ironball match. I think you’re allowed to put your manners aside while we’re watching men beat the piss out of each other.” Then the slightest of smiles forms at the corners of her mouth.
A change in attitude. A satirical acceptance. I smile. “The pisser, then. I need to use the pisser. I’ll be back.”
The circular halls surrounding the battlefield are filled with merchants, consumers, passersby, and beggars. Anyone can get into the arena. Only the entrances to the stands are guarded and require paid admission, which leaves the halls of the arena a prime spot for ribs to be had, spent, or stolen. Pickers are abundant amongst the crowd as well. I keep my eyes alert and my hands guarding my belt after my incident at Madrone’s Mistress.
As I near the pisser, a young, blond man moving swiftly through the crowd steals my attention. It couldn’t be. He died long ago. I shrug it off as just a coincidence. He’s merely on my mind because Astor probed about him earlier today. That’s all. I comb my fingers through my hair. Who am I kidding? His death is always on my mind. I outstretch my hands, fingers out, palms up, and hold them away from my body as if they’re vile, deadly creatures. His death is on my hands.
After a ridiculous wait, I relieve myself and head back. The halls are clearing a bit as those not here merely to make money, or take it, are all heading back to their place in the stands. Amongst the remaining crowd, I notice Master Stormwood in the distance. He’s a hard one to miss with his flamboyant locks. Somehow, it doesn’t take away from his masculine and respectable gait. He’s intimidating. I hesitantly meander closer with my head down, unconfident about what I will say to him, but I need to address it. I fear I will come across too apologetic because he’ll see it as a weakness. Somehow, with false rumors spreading, I must show my respect without making too big of a deal about it.
Ten paces away, I realize he chats with a man much more intimidating than he is. Iron Valour stands by his side. Both have intense expressions on their faces when they look up to see me approaching. Master Stormwood says nothing to me. He gives me a quizzical look and gestures for Iron Valour to return to the battlefield. Then, he follows behind him. I suppose I was interrupting.
“Did I miss anything?” I ask when I return to my seat.
“What’s there to miss? More bashings, thieving, and murders?”
“You know, Astor, there’s more to this sport than just the physical brutality.” My words come out more scathing than intended. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“Like what?” Her tone is obvious. She is unconvinced and uninterested.
“Like the strategy. I don’t think they intended to get bruised the way they did at the beginning, but they were patient. They didn’t just sprint out and grab the ironball becaus
e they weren’t prepared to protect it. They were patient and built up their defenses before making an offensive move. Albeit, they kind of destroyed their opportunity to defend it, but you’ll see. They’ll get another opportunity when they return to action. All the great squads have a strategic plan in place, and the bashings and murders are just a bonus. Plus, they have Healers too. Maybe you ought to focus on that.”
“Well…I suppose you’re right, but it sure seems like they highly promote the blood and violence.”
“Not everyone has the same perspective as you, you know. They’re just giving the people what they like. Pleasing the crowd, gaining their love and obedience. It goes a long way when you’re down and the crowd is chanting for your success. The mob gives them motivation. Besides, you can’t have healing without a little blood. You could probably learn a thing or two with the severity of wounds they’ll patch up.”
“Oh, lay off it. You’re so full of it right now.” Astor slugs me in the ribcage. “Oh, sorry,” she immediately apologizes. “This blood sport must be having an effect on me.”
After the ejecting petrification, the remainder of the match wasn’t nearly as violent. Still exciting with several feuds: a few limbs were amputated, only to be re-grown—Astor enjoyed that. No more arbor beasts made an appearance, unfortunately because that was some impressive use of talents, and one guy was nearly decapitated—legally, according to the rules of the sport—and it left the crowd anticipating more. The Iron Eagles managed to secure the ironball without losing it for the remainder of the battle and won sixteen clicks to six. By the end of it, Astor appeared exhausted. Doubtful she would ever return for another match, I was persistent in sticking around to the end even though we knew the Iron Eagles secured the victory.
“Now what?” Astor blurts out with enthusiasm.
My brow turns upward as I ogle her. Only a moment ago she appeared as if this evening were coming to a rapid conclusion.
“Let’s do something fun,” she adds.
“That wasn’t fun?”
“Of course it was, but let’s have more fun. I know!” Astor’s eyes light up. “Follow me.” She grabs my hand and tugs without waiting for a response. I promptly follow to avoid being dragged.
Astor nimbly weasels in and out of the exiting crowd. Just as we’re about to leave the arena, I come to a jarring halt. Astor’s hand breaks away, and she nearly dumps forward. She looks back, wondering why I’ve stopped. She follows my line of sight and, through the billowing crowd, sees my sister standing down the way. I look to Astor, and she simply nods.
“I’ll find you later,” I say. She understands. An abrupt end to an entertaining evening, but she understands. There is sorrow in her eyes as she retreats into the crowd. “I’m sorry!” I yell. But I don’t think she hears me. With my sister in sight, I don’t dwell on it.
Jaymes has retreated into the shadow of the arena. Her petite frame hardly visible with the charcoal-grey cloak she dons. There’s an intimidating presence about her. If I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t go near her. She carries the aura of something more threatening than the thieves patrolling the crowd. In fact, most of the crowd gives her a wide berth, careful not to get too close to where she’s perched against the arena wall.
She waits for me to come to her. I half expect her to run. I’m not sure exactly why. Maybe because I haven’t been hunting her down as I should have, maybe because she is her own woman now and would prefer it to stay that way. I’m not sure, but there is a consternation about her.
“Stone,” she utters in almost a whisper.
She eludes to a hug but pulls back. I don’t. I grab her and squeeze. I hold on until she attempts to break away.
“Jay. I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t know how to… I was trying to find a way, but I didn’t know what to do. I knew you were safe. Or, not in serious danger. But I didn’t know how to get to you. I’m sorry I let this happen.”
“You don’t have to do that, Stone,” she carps.
“What?”
“Treat me like that. I’m fine.”
She is as she’s always been. It’s a good feeling, but I do wish she would accept the fact I’m her older brother and her only remaining family. I let it be.
“You’re tongue! What has he done to you?”
“It wasn’t him. I’m fine.”
“How have you escaped? Where are you going? Does the Taoiseach know you’ve fled?” I pummel her with questions.
“Stone, stop!” she interrupts. “I didn’t escape. I have free range of the city. I’m not his captive. Not really.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I’m not his prisoner. I’m more like…” She pauses. “I’m more like…” She hesitates. “…a protégé.”
“Tigershit! No, you’re not! What? No. Protégé to who? Not the man who murdered…” I pause, hesitant to finish the sentence in Jay’s presence. She knows, of course, but I have never been able to directly tell her our parents are dead. At this point, I’m not even positive it was him who murdered them.
“Not to Harris, no. Well…kind of.”
“You call him by his given name now, I see. He’s no longer the Taoiseach, Sir, His Divineness? He’s Harris now?” My voice pitches higher than I intend. I don’t want to raise my voice at her, and I don’t want to draw attention amongst this crowd. To either of us.
“Yes,” she spits back. “I do know him as Harris, and I intend to call him by his true name right before I pierce his heart. Is that okay with you? Am I aloud to do that, father? Why don’t you go back to your life of leisure with your pretty blonde, and I’ll go back to my life in the shadows.”
I falter backward, caught off guard. “Life of leisure? Jay? Don’t do this. Please. I’m concerned, Jay. That’s all.”
“I know.” She subdues her spitfire.
I move in to embrace her again. She flinches, but it doesn’t deter me from grabbing and holding tight. “Jay, I understand,” I whisper in her ear. “I can’t protect you anymore. I haven’t been protecting you since you were taken, and yet, here you are.” I pull back and look her in the eyes. There’s a newfound darkness to her I can’t explain. “You’re capable of protecting yourself. I can see that.”
“I am,” she states firmly.
“But…”
“What?” She rolls her eyes.
“Jay, are you sure? Think back four seasons ago, on that roof top. You went into shock and claim you don’t remember much. Please, dig deep before you make this choice. Did you witness anything that might…” I pause and swallow. “…that might prove the Taoiseach’s innocence?” It sounds ridiculous to put those words in a sentence together, so I quickly add, “I know, I know. It’s insane. And whether he did it or not, he’s still using us as his pawns, but… But I want to make sure you understand the choice you’re making.” The Taoiseach claims it wasn’t him. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Jay could have some answers buried deep somewhere.
“I remember it all, Stone,” she quietly proclaims with her face down, buried in her hood. “I was sitting at the edge of the hall, overlooking the foyer below. There were dark figures storming the house. They weren’t normal. They were…something different. Not knowing where else to go, I climbed to the roof to get away. That’s when you and Elder found me. You grabbed me and leaped. Elder…” she pauses. A line forms between her eyes as they look up to greet me.
“You remember everything. I’m sorry for that,” I reply. “Why did you never say anything? I could’ve helped you get over it.” Is it even possible to get over your parents’ deaths?
“Helped how? How is talking going to help anything?” she calls out my lame attempt to console her.
“Harris may not be the man you’re after.” I look around to make sure nobody is listening in on our conversation. Most are intoxicated or cheering wildly and those closer continue to give Jay a wide berth. We’re safe.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s the one who kicked the stool, Stone,” she mut
ters. “He’s responsible. My choice is made.”
My skin crawls. It doesn’t feel right. “So…” I bring my voice to a whisper and lean in. “Is that your intention? You’re an assassin now?” I demean her even though I had similar thoughts.
“It’s a mere intention. I have no plan. I just know I need to get closer.”
“We can flee, Jay. You don’t have to do this. We can get out of here. What’s stopping us?”
“Where’s Goose?” she digresses. I pause long enough for her to delight me with one of her impatient outbursts. “You don’t know?”
“Please, Jay, lower your voice.” I place my hand on her shoulder. She jerks instinctively and grabs my wrist, but then her tensions calm. “I…I don’t know exactly. We split ways back at Greenport. We didn’t agree, as usual. He was headed to Greybark, Jay. I’m not sure if he made it or not. He…well…he’s with you in this. He didn’t like the idea of a retrieve-and-leave rescue. He opted for a long-term solution. He’s searching for the Taoiseach’s weakness. A way to end this.”
“Harris is just a man,” she states. “He’s only a man,” she repeats, almost as though she’s trying to convince herself of the matter.
“Is he?”
She looks me in the eye. The amber of her eyes is vibrant in the twilight. “Stone, I must go. I don’t have much time to get to my assignation. I can’t keep him waiting.”
“You’ve changed. Not your spunk. You’ve still got that, but something else. What’s happened?”
“I…” Whatever she wants to say, she can’t.
“Has he done anything to harm you?”
“No. He hasn’t.”
“What does that mean? Jay?”
She remains silent with her head down, staring at her feet. I wrap my arms around her and firmly squeeze. This feels like a goodbye. It isn’t right. Not forever? She folds into my embrace, remaining silent. Accepting the comfort.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 57