Rei-kika had taught her to control her emotion, to be calm and at peace as she imagined the soft light of a moon pulling her out of the shell that was her body. Instead, Selena fed more power to the sun she had made. It grew as if exploding, incredibly swiftly, far too big and powerful to be confined by the wall around it.
The wall burst to nothingness, and then Selena was out of her body.
Behind her, part of her was aware of the two mystics crying out a warning, but their shouts were lost in the roar of the crowd. Selena ignored them and concentrated on the events unfolding in the fighting pit. The trull’s club was in mid-swing.
Selena left the area above her body to dive toward the trull’s snarling face. She peeled apart the layers of the creature’s mind and then plunged inside. She sensed the maelstrom of the trull’s thoughts and sent one command louder than anything else. She focused on it and brought it to the forefront, shocking him into obeying.
Stop.
Taimin’s expression shifted to wonder as the club froze. The trull’s eyes widened. Seeing a brief window of opportunity, Taimin seized it. He straightened from his position on one knee to thrust the remnant of his weapon deep into the trull’s neck, withdrawing the shard a moment later.
The crowd gave a collective gasp.
Selena’s power was exhausted. The radiant sun was gone. She felt a jolt as her lifeline drew her back into her body. As her eyes refocused, she knew that the people in the crowd would assume Taimin had pretended to be weak in order to lull the trull into a false sense of confidence. The trull’s hesitation might be remarked on, but stranger things would have happened in the arena.
But when she blinked, she realized that Galen was gripping her arm. He was staring directly at her. Arren and Merin’s startled voices had finally reached him. Galen knew.
Down in the fighting pit, the last of Taimin’s opponents crashed to the ground and toppled over. For a moment Taimin looked confused. He dropped his broken sword. His head turned, and his gaze went to Selena.
Then he shook himself and ran over to the man who lay bleeding on the sand. Taimin crouched by his fallen companion’s side.
The crowd began to chant. It began as a rumble and then rose to fill the arena. It was one man’s name, shouted again and again.
“Tai-min!”
“Tai-min!”
The Protector scowled at Galen. “Let’s get out of here.”
Selena was hauled to her feet. The roar of the crowd was so loud that anything else Galen or the Protector said was lost.
“Tai-min!”
34
The crowd continued to cheer. Raised voices chanted Taimin’s name over and over as he carried Vance through the open portcullis.
Taimin ignored everything but the injured man in his arms. Grimacing, he concentrated on the groaning muscles in his back and shoulders. As he took step after laborious step, with Vance’s weight trying to bow his knees, he walked through the archway and down the sloped corridor until he came to the gate. He was surprised when the prison guards holding the gate looked at him with something approaching admiration.
The other prisoners were ready and waiting. Taimin had done the impossible. He had made it out alive. Two men helped Taimin to rest Vance on the closest bed. Others ran to fetch water and cloth. Vance groaned while they maneuvered his legs. The firehound’s horns had torn his vest and trousers below his waist and opened a messy wound. The gash steadily seeped blood.
Vance opened his eyes and smiled weakly. “If this is Earth, your looks haven’t improved, and the afterlife seems a lot like the arena.”
“Where do you keep your money?” Taimin asked. “Quickly.”
“Rathis has it.”
“Good. Now be quiet.” Taimin swiftly scanned the room. “Rathis!” He saw the old skalen hurrying forward with strips of torn cloth in his hand. He grabbed Rathis’s shoulder and pulled him forward to whisper into his ear. “I need Vance’s money.”
While Rathis disappeared, Taimin wadded up the rags and pressed the bunched cloth against the wound in Vance’s side. Vance’s eyes were closed and his face was pale, but at least he was breathing. Rathis hurried back with a small pouch.
“Here,” Taimin said to Rathis. “Hold this against the wound.”
Taking the pouch, Taimin then strode to the far end of the room and shook the barred gate that only opened when new prisoners came or food was provided. “Guards!”
A heavyset man approached. Taimin breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the guard who had procured the wine.
“What is it?”
“Here.” Taimin shook the pouch so the guard could hear the jingle. “I need a needle and gut as well as the strongest cactus spirit you can find. Bandages too.”
“All right.” The guard held out his palm.
“Wait,” Taimin said, holding the pouch back. “You can get the things I need and keep whatever’s left, or you can betray me.” His voice was low and deadly. “Do not betray me.”
“Yes, yes,” the fat guard muttered. As Taimin handed the pouch over, the guard immediately upended it onto his palm and began to count the metal chips.
“Hurry!” Taimin growled.
Closing his fist over the metal bits, the guard walked away.
Taimin returned to Vance. Rathis still held the wad of bloody cloth and lifted it up to look underneath.
“How bad is it?” Taimin asked.
“How would I know?” Rathis frowned at the wound. “My body isn’t made the same way.” He stared into Taimin’s eyes. “You will have to treat him.”
Taimin swallowed. Aunt Abi may have been a tough fighter, but she didn’t know much about healing; the way she had treated his foot had proved that. He knew he had no choice. His friend needed him. He took the stained cloth from Rathis while the skalen backed away.
“Go to the gate and wait for the guard to bring the things I’ll need,” Taimin said to Rathis. He then inspected the wound.
The firehound’s horn had gored Vance’s upper thigh, near his hip, but missed any important veins—otherwise Vance would already be dead. At the same time, the firehound had twisted its head as it struck, leaving behind the mess that Taimin was looking at. As he lifted a flask of water and spilled it over the gash to clear the blood away, Taimin’s hopes rose when he saw that there was only one wound deep enough to require stitches.
Once he was sure he had inspected all the damage, he tore more strips of fabric and wadded fresh cloth. He wrapped the strips around the rough bandage and tied everything up while he looked into Vance’s pale face. He listened to Vance’s shallow breathing and waited impatiently.
At last Rathis returned. Taimin sighed with relief when he saw that the old skalen held a flask, clean linen bandages, and a needle and gut.
Taimin removed the already soaked rags. He pressed wadded cloth to the deep part of the wound that still bled freely. Vance groaned when Taimin splashed spirit over every gash. Then, with a shaking hand, Taimin threaded the needle.
He leaned forward, blinked sweat out of his eyes, and began to sew. Some of his fellow prisoners watched him while he worked, bax and humans standing side by side.
When he was done, Taimin splashed more spirit over the stitches. He applied fresh bandages, and then sat on the ground by Vance’s bedside.
As Taimin watched his friend, he thought about all that had happened.
Selena had saved his life. He knew without doubt. The trull about to kill him had simply . . . stopped. When Taimin had seized his opportunity, and survived, he had looked her way. One glance had been enough to know. Galen’s expression had been vicious as he held her.
Even exhausted as he was, Taimin’s heart soared to know she was alive.
Then his shoulders slumped, and his eyes slowly closed.
It was four days after the fight with the trulls and Vance’s color had begun to return. Taimin sat at Vance’s side while Rathis leaned against the bed opposite. Their voices were low as they shared their thoughts.
/> Vance’s tone was sober. “If she hadn’t saved you, I would be dead too.”
“You say that she is a powerful mystic,” Rathis said to Taimin. “My guess is the Protector is using you to ensure she does what he wants. At any moment he can make you fight.” He looked Taimin up and down. “In your current state, if you fight, you will die. Whatever she is doing, she is keeping you alive.”
Taimin understood something of the city from the other prisoners, and he knew that Selena was almost certainly being held in the tower. “We have to get out of here,” he said.
“How?” Vance asked. “We can overwhelm the prison guards, and maybe we’d get as far as the lower gate. But out in the streets we’d still have the city guard to deal with.”
“I know,” Taimin said. “We need help from outside.”
“Who would help us?”
Taimin met Vance’s eyes. “The people.”
“New prisoner!” A bellow came from the end of the room. “Stand back!”
Taimin glanced over, curious. It had been a while since there had been any newcomers. On the other side of the barred gate that led to freedom rather than the fighting pit, he saw some of the guards. They waited until the other prisoners had cleared the area before the gate crashed open. Two guards dragged in a big man, supporting his weight between them.
Without ceremony the guards let go and the newcomer fell heavily. The prison guards departed the room and the gate closed. Soon the clatter of their footsteps became distant as they left the new prisoner to his fate.
The big man had obviously been beaten, but that wasn’t what caused Taimin’s mouth to drop open. He shot to his feet.
“What is it?” Rathis asked.
Taimin didn’t answer. He walked toward the newcomer, unable to believe his eyes.
“Taimin?” Vance called after him.
Taimin’s footsteps quickened. The newcomer groaned. With a great effort, the big man brought himself into a sitting position.
Hairs poked out from the big man’s vest, the same black color as his thick black beard, but his head was completely bald. His eyes were dark and his shoulders had fresh diagonal lines across them: the marks left by a whip. But despite his situation, he had a wry expression on his face.
“Well, lad,” Lars said. He cast his eyes over the fading bruises on Taimin’s face. “I would say it’s good to see you again, but it appears we’ve both seen better days.”
Taimin and Lars sat together at one of the tables. The other prisoners cast them curious glances, but gave them some space so they could talk.
“They took me to the city and threw me into a cell. I was hurt but I recovered eventually.” Lars looked into the distance. “They picked me out because of my size. Got me working in the fields. Forced labor. Guess who got to cut off cactus spines? But there was food, bad as it was, and a place to sleep at night.” He gave Taimin a rueful look. “I guess we both know by now that the white city isn’t what we thought it was.”
“Then what happened?” Taimin asked.
“You did,” Lars said bluntly.
Taimin frowned, confused.
Lars waved his hand. “I don’t expect you to know what I’m talking about. Lad, you may not realize it, but you’re famous in the city. You’ve been given fights you can’t win, but here you stand—even after the beating you took when you wouldn’t kill the skalen. Everyone knows who you are. They remember the speech you gave.”
As Taimin’s bemusement grew, Lars continued. “When I was working in the fields, I heard rumors. Not every laborer was a slave like me, but they might as well be. Without money, they can’t buy water, and their wages are pitiful. I heard some of them talking about a resistance. I thought I might have a chance to change my circumstances, so I kept asking round. Soon I was talking to someone who wasn’t full of mud. He didn’t want to open up until I said I knew you. Then he became very interested indeed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The rebels needed someone to get a message to you. I volunteered. It’s not like it was hard—I just refused to work anymore, and when that wasn’t enough I picked a fight with a guard. Next thing you know, here I am.”
Taimin felt a stirring of hope. He had always known in his heart that of all the faces he saw in the crowd, some must have listened to his words and thought in the same way. “Tell me,” he said urgently.
“A woman, Elsa, wants to meet with you. I think she might be the rebels’ leader. If you’re interested, you have to send her a message through the prison guards. Their pay is as bad as the field workers and a few are supporters.” Lars glanced over his shoulder toward the end of the room. “Wait at the gate when the guards bring food in the morning. Don’t cause trouble. Just make sure you’re seen. She’ll do the rest.”
Taimin stood up from the bench. “Come with me.”
Lars gave Taimin a wary look. “Where are we going?”
“To meet some friends of mine. They’re going to want to hear this.” Taimin hesitated. “Also, Lars . . . I have to thank you. When—”
“Lad, whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it. I lost my head for a moment. Don’t expect it to happen again. I’m not here out of any desire to help you. I don’t want to be a slave, and I don’t want to be a prisoner. I want this city to become the place it was supposed to be.”
35
For the second time, Taimin followed the stone-walled corridors toward the storeroom where he had shared cactus wine with Vance. The guard who led the way had a long face and mournful eyes and had quietly introduced himself as Lewin. As they walked, Taimin inspected him, curious now he knew that Lewin belonged to the secret group Lars had described. Lewin glanced back at Taimin and Rathis when they came to the wooden door.
“When I knock, you leave,” Lewin said.
“Understood,” said Rathis.
Lewin opened the door and pushed it wide. Taimin went in first with Rathis close behind him. The door closed as soon as they were in the storeroom.
A woman was already waiting for them. She was perhaps fifty years old, with weathered skin and piercing green eyes that rested on the two newcomers. Her arms were thin and streaks of gray threaded her brown hair, but her slight frame was athletic rather than frail, and if anything she gave off an aura of impatient energy. Her tunic was well-made and cinched at the waist and she wore sturdy leather boots.
“I assume you’re Elsa?” Taimin asked.
A flash of irritation crossed Elsa’s face when she saw Rathis. “What’s he doing here?”
“His name is Rathis—”
“I know who he is,” she said, scowling at the skalen. “I asked what he’s doing here.”
“Whatever is happening in the city, it’s linked to what’s going on outside,” Taimin said, holding Elsa’s stare. “He knows Blixen’s mind. Most of all, I trust him.”
Elsa took a deep breath. “Fine.” She swept her arm over a few of the crates. “Sit down, and we can talk.”
Taimin and Rathis both found places to seat themselves but Elsa remained standing. As small as the storeroom was, she nonetheless paced while she spoke.
“The people are ready to rise up.”
“Why now?” Rathis interjected. “From here it looks like the Protector has his citizens firmly in his power.”
“From here you don’t know a thing,” Elsa snapped. “The common folk hate the Protector. He controls the water and keeps them in line, but the time has come for change.”
Taimin glanced at Rathis. “The question still stands. Why wait until now?”
“The Protector has thrown this entire region into chaos. Outside trade has dried up completely. The cactuses are being harvested faster than we can grow them and the price of water has nearly doubled in the last month.” Elsa continued to pace with a quiet fury. “Until now the Protector promised safety and used fear of his soldiers to keep people in line. He guards the one reliable water source, the city’s only well. He says that he’s stockpiling
in case there’s a siege. Well, guess what?” Her voice lowered. “Blixen’s army is on the plain. Soon the only water left will be whatever the Protector has stored up in that tower.”
Rathis drew in a sharp breath. “Are there skalen with Blixen?”
Elsa frowned. “How would I know? Does it matter? The Protector has his city guard and nothing can beat them in the sky, but there are only a hundred soldiers, and Blixen comes with many more than that.”
“How long until the army reaches the city?” Taimin asked.
“Four days at most. Soon everyone will know.”
“What is it you want?” Rathis asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Elsa threw up her hands. “I want to stop this madness. I want to come to terms. The bax can have their Rift Valley, the skalen can have their mines, and we can have peace here in Zorn. No more arena fights. No more raids. But it won’t end, it can’t end, as long as the Protector rules.”
“I want the same thing,” Taimin said seriously. “What can I do?”
“We have numbers, but most of us aren’t fighters. Even if we overthrow the Protector, there is no guarantee we can make peace with Blixen.” Her expression was grim. “I’m a pragmatist. If it all goes badly, we’ll need someone to lead the city’s defense. People will be scared. Your story is known, Taimin, everywhere in the city. They remember Abigail.”
Taimin considered Elsa’s words. “What are you going to do about Galen and his men?”
“We’re working on it,” Elsa said flatly. When Taimin raised an eyebrow, she grimaced. “We can probably get you out—”
“We can probably get ourselves out,” Rathis interrupted. “It is once we are out that things become a problem.”
“Tell us clearly,” Taimin said to Elsa. “If you can defeat Galen and his men, and bring down the Protector, what then?”
“We release all the prisoners, here and elsewhere. Then we meet with Blixen and broker peace.” A shadow crossed her face. “If that’s even possible. Terrible things have been done in this city’s name.”
Elsa had struck an area of Taimin’s own concern. It was Rathis who spoke to fill the silence.
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