My insides shudder. I want to demand that he reveal everything, but I have to be cautious. How do the Otherworlders think the dark priest will save them? And from what? They’ve done this to themselves—they chose to follow a false goddess beneath the surface of the earth, and have suffered the consequences of their actions. But even though his thought process is flawed, something Bax said stands out from the insanity.
My Liege’s bidding.
Not Bax’s or even the Otherworlders’, but his father’s. And he said it with vehemence in his tone.
Tucking this small piece of information away in my mind, I press on. “Then, this is not about profit for you.”
His shoulders bounce as he barrels out a deep laugh. “Protector,” he says, and looks into my eyes. “I’m not the stupid barbarian you think me to be.” His eyes study my features—really study me. They glow a bright white-blue. “What is it you’re probing for?”
“I want to know the purpose—why?” I lift my hands and fan them around. “Why attack countries only to—”
“The purpose?” he spits. “If there was no purpose other than revenge, then that is reason enough. I’m not the only one who desires to live aboveground.” His jagged teeth grind. “My Liege will make that happen.”
I’ve hit a nerve. I never once considered that the Otherworlders might be discontent living in their dark realm. It was their choice, after all. But maybe I’ve misjudged them. The Council, the Three Realms—maybe we’ve all misjudged. Though that’s not hard to do when a race is only known for their war waging, slavery, and vileness.
But just as Cavan serves the goddess Farrah, doing her bidding and living by her example, so do the Otherworlders serve their deity. I imagine that not all carry out commands from the goddesses willingly, but rather on faith and obedience.
I wonder if Bax’s actions are his own. Does he carry out orders in obedience to Bale or his father?
A strangled cry rips through the Cage, and I jerk my head toward the center of the ring. Tobias has fallen. Metal Mouth stands above him, his sword thrust into Tobias’s side, pinning him to the ground.
Before I’m aware of what I’m doing, I start toward the ring. Bax’s arm slams against my chest. “Get up. Get up,” he chants under his breath.
A deep worry line forms between Bax’s brows. My own forehead creases as I wonder again why Bax has taken a leadership role for the sport. If not for the currency, then why? How does being a ring leader further his desire to serve Bale?
Bax’s face pales, even more so than its usual gray-white tinge, and his fingers curl painfully around my arm. He bows his head. “Watch, protector,” he says. “Pay attention. You may have to fight him.”
I do. With disgust and a sickening tumble in my stomach, I watch as Metal Mouth mounts Tobias’s chest and drops his bared, wire-covered mouth to Tobias’s neck. I flinch. Metal Mouth’s head judders back and forth, his teeth tearing at Tobias’s jugular. Then he snaps his head up, ripping a gaping wound.
I close my eyes and turn my head—but not before the image of red trailing his chin . . . flesh clamped between his hideous jaws, is seared into my mind.
The stadium erupts and rocks with cheers and stomping. I know that Metal Mouth is now welcoming the praise, probably circling the ring and earning his blue light on his cuff. But I can’t look. I can’t watch.
A pulsing fire builds in my stomach, overtaking the nausea. Heated coils wrap my bones, organs, tendons. I fight the urge to storm the Cage and vindicate my league mate.
Alyah, what is this feeling?
I don’t expect a response, but I wait for it nonetheless. Bax spins me around forcefully, tearing me from my thoughts.
“Go to your man,” he says, his voice low and humbled. Then he speaks to his guards. “Get out there and claim the body before Krewl desecrates the remains further.”
I should feel humiliated and angered over Bax thinking I belong to Caben. Instead, I’m relieved that he thinks I’m so weak. And I must be, at least where my heart is concerned, because it’s taking everything inside of me not to rush past the guards and slaughter Krewl.
As Krewl and Metal Mouth rejoice in their victory in the Cage, I turn toward Caben. He closes the distance between us. “Are you all right? You look ill.”
“I’m okay, but—” I shake my head. “It’s not the violence or blood . . .” I clamp my lips closed. How do I explain these feelings? The need to release a targeted rage in order to sate the anger? I can’t.
I look up at the blackness overhead, at the full moon, and think of legends about people losing their sanity to moon madness. It’s all children’s stories and myth. Yet, for every story once spun around a campfire, there is truth to be had—a foundation of verity.
Maybe I am going mad.
The crowd explodes, cheering and whooping. They are all mad.
Bale is the goddess of the moon. And if she still has some hold on this world, if her banishment only stripped her of most of her power, could she have influence over us?
Caben wraps his arms around me, and I stare over his shoulder at the blood-soaked earth in the Cage. I shiver as the dark priest’s words finally bring some clarity.
Tributes.
Or another, more accurate term: sacrifices.
“Caben,” I whisper.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, dropping his arms and releasing me from the embrace. “Probably not good to declare to the others—”
“No,” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. We’re too far into this for our alliance or even our affection to hinder us. I’m sure Crew, Lena, and the others are quick-witted enough to have figured it out. Bax has.
Caben’s eyes study my face, concern etched on his features. “Then what?”
“We’re being sacrificed to Bale,” I say. “She’s the goddess of violence, mayhem, and madness.” The blood sport makes sense now. Why the Otherworlders brought us down here during the peak of their attacks. The two are a combined effort.
Recognition lights Caben’s eyes as soon as he makes the connection. He scrubs his hands down his face and talks through gritted teeth. “We’re pawns.”
More than that, we do have a purpose beyond feeding their gambling and need of sport. The dark priest is feeding his goddess. “I have to find out why,” I say, thinking as I speak. “Bax says the dark priest is preparing the Otherworlders to live aboveground. That Bale will right the damages and wrongs done to them.” I swallow. “But no wish is ever granted without a price.”
“What does Bale ask for in return?”
I nod. “That’s the question we should be asking.”
Glancing behind me, I find Bax entering more statistics into his screen.
“Kal.” Caben’s tone is warning. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
I look back at Caben. “What do we have to lose?”
“Stop conspiring,” Bax shouts. We turn our heads as he approaches us. “Say your goodbyes if you wish.” His beady eyes land on Caben. “You’re up, Payne.”
Icy fingers wrap around my spine, and my stomach plummets to my feet. I take Caben’s hand. “Get to a weapon as soon as—”
“I know,” he says. “I know. I’m not planning on leaving our fight just yet.” His lips curl into a bright smile, but it’s strained. “I won’t leave you to do this alone.”
I open my mouth to tell him . . . something, but the words die on my tongue.
“Tell me when I get back,” he says, as if he’s simply going on a short outing. Not confronting his death.
Our eyes stay locked on each other as the announcer introduces, “The Prince of Pain!” And too soon the guards are pulling Caben from my grasp and forcing him into the Cage.
As the deep boom of the drums start up, Caben struts into the center of the Cage. He moves as if in slow motion. His head held high, his stride long and leisure. His shoulders rolled back, like he’s walking before the subjects of his kingdom.
Once I would have mocked hi
m, claiming he pranced like a spoiled prince. He still prances like spoiled prince, but now I also see the strength and pride in his calculated movements. And because he carries himself toward an uncertainty that could mean death, his show is more an insult to the ring leaders and Otherworlders. He will not parade around the ring like a pet monster.
He’s a prince.
He has honor.
Though my heart swells with affection for him, there’s also a dark fire igniting inside me. The flames lick the walls of my chest, and I look to the moon, wondering what madness is taking over.
Across the Cage, Collar’s barred door drones open.
Collar steps forth, a spiked collar around his neck. Coils of ultraviolet light lash against the spikes, illumining his pale face and eyes in an unearthly glow. He moves aside to welcome his competing contender.
The darkness slithers deeper into my core as I wait to see who will be Caben’s opponent. Its dark fingers grip my throat and I struggle to breathe. Please don’t be a Nactue, I pray. But it’s only a matter of time before he faces one of my girls.
It’s only a matter of time before I do.
A tall, lanky man with dark, sun-kissed skin and black hair steps into the Cage. He’s wearing a faded green tunic and black gloves that reach past his elbows. The grip on my lungs loosens. Thank you, Alyah.
The nubby announcer spins and raises his arm toward the new contender. “The Dark Horse, Hypno!”
“What—?”
My chocked-off question trails into the air as Bax sidles up beside me. “Collar intends to match Payne against Cannon,” he says, and I look at him.
“Not that I care to understand your crude rules,” I say. “But wouldn’t pitting a Colossal against a Dark Horse not work in Collar’s favor?”
Bax chuckles. The sound of his enjoyment grates on my bones. “He thinks Hypno can win. Probably because Hypno has a rare talent.” His face contorts. “But if not, Collar doesn’t risk much by losing a lowly ranked contender. And then Payne moves into position to fight Cannon in the final battle.”
“But don’t we all face-off in the final battle? And Cannon—really? Do the other ring leaders name all their contenders so fiercely?”
“That’s the contender’s given name,” Bax says.
That knowledge was something I didn’t need to know.
“And yes,” Bax continues. “You’ll all battle together in the last round. But you’ll be positioned accordingly so that you’re forced to fight your deemed opponent first.”
I shake my head at their barbaric sport. We move to the front of the chamber, and I notice Crew and Lena near the entrance on the opposite side, their gazes hard on Caben. Maybe he’s formed his alliance, after all.
The horn sounds, and I grip the bars, bracing myself as Caben and Hypno begin to circle each other. It’s difficult to concentrate on Bax, to discover information, when my mind is consumed with Caben’s fight.
Both contenders stop their dance around the Cage and race to the center of the ring. They lock arms. Caben clutches Hypno’s shoulders, and Hypno matches the hold. If Hypno tries to defeat Caben by grappling, I’m assured he’ll lose. All Caben has to do is put him in a sleep hold—knock him out. If Hypno can’t finish the fight, I pray the ring leaders will be forced to call Caben’s win.
Maybe this is Caben’s plan. We avoided discussing our matches because we knew it was inevitable. There’s no use mourning the lives we must take before we take them.
The tension crushing my soul ebbs, and I push the darkness down, suppressing it. Caben can win this. He’s fighting a lower ranked contender. He’s been trained by the most renowned grappler in Nalbis. He can defeat Hypno without having to sacrifice a part of himself to the madness overtaking this realm.
Telling myself this doesn’t stop the flaring panic.
Hypno wiggles his gloved arm from Caben’s strong hold. He wraps that arm around Caben’s neck and doubles him over. Caben jerks his head up, knocking Hypno in the chin. The crowd cheers.
As Hypno staggers backward, Caben slides across the black earth on his knees and swipes Hypno’s legs with his arm. Landing on his back hard, Hypno grabs his chest, as if the breath has been knocked out of him.
Now . . . Now . . . Get him in the sleep hold.
Caben rolls and comes up behind his foe, clamping his arm around Hypno’s neck. I press closer to the bars and count the seconds. Hypno’s kicks his legs, but he can’t get traction to wiggle out of the hold.
Five more seconds.
On the count of four, Hypno manages to ensnare his fingers in Caben’s hair. He pulls Caben’s head down and lands a blow to Caben’s face. I balk at the low move.
My heart bangs against my chest as Caben struggles to recapture Hypno in the sleep hold. They grapple on the ground, exchanging one hold for the next. I want to look away, but I can’t. I hold my breath as the fight goes on.
“I would be sorry to lose him,” Bax says beside me, and I jerk. I forgot he was here.
“He’s not your property,” I seethe.
Bax sighs, the sound something I wouldn’t imagine coming from his thin lips. “Ah, you consider him yours.”
Trying to keep track of the damage being inflicted to Caben, I say absentmindedly to Bax, “No one can be owned.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, protector,” Bax says. “The deities bask in their possessions, moving us around like pieces on a chess board.”
My eyes follow after Caben as he tumbles with Hypno. They both right themselves, and Caben shakes his head, pushing himself onto his knees. Then he launches himself into Hypno’s stomach, grabbing him around the waist. Circling his arm around the back of Hypno’s neck, Caben jumps, using the downward momentum to flip Hypno over his shoulder.
The stadium bursts into a rumble of stomps.
Caben spins and tosses a stunned Hypno to the ground. Again he attempts to put him out before the weapons descend.
Now able to breathe, I respond to Bax. “The goddesses don’t play games with lives. I would question who I serve if I thought otherwise.” I slide a slanted glance his way.
Bax’s body shakes with a silent laugh. “Protector, you amaze me,” he says. “And here I thought we shared a kinship—that you above all the others would understand how it works.”
“A kinship?” I spit, shocked he believes I could ever be like him. “You enslave people and force them to kill for sport. You attack countries and murder innocents.” I glare at him. “We are nothing alike.”
He raises an eyebrow. The silver rings glint in the projected moonlight. “If your empress ordered you to war with Perinya in the name of your goddess, you would not do so?”
Hearing a collective “boo” from the crowd, I turn and seek Caben in the Cage. He’s lost his grip on Hypno, and now fists fly. Blood trails his right eye. I try to keep my attention on him while answering Bax. “My empress would never request that unless it was necessary. My goddesses would never ask that of us unless there was no other alternative.”
“Ah,” he says, humor lacing his voice. “But what of your Council?”
My gaze snaps to his pale face. “They serve the empress.” I feel this statement is obvious and should end the quarrel. Our rule in Cavan is without question.
Bax shakes his head slightly. “Obviously, you are young yet and will learn in time. That is, if you survive the Reckoning.”
Here is my opening. I part my lips to question the Reckoning itself, but the hunter’s horn fills the Otherworld. My blood screams.
The weapons are entering the Cage.
Letting Bax have the last word, I ignore his smug expression, and instead watch as Caben and Hypno separate. They jump for the weapons. Hypno is closest to a combat spear, the head fastened into a razor sharp obsidian leaf.
I curse under my breath. “Goddess.” Of course we didn’t get around to practicing with spears. But then I spot the warrior sword similar to the ones the Otherworlders carry descending a few feet from Caben. It wi
ll handle differently than our practice broadsword, but he’s at least learned the basics of technique.
Caben unhooks the sword from the chain and arcs it through the air in an 8 formation. After testing it, he advances toward Hypno. Before he reaches his opponent, Hypno drops his spear near his feet and begins sliding off his gloves. I assume he needs a firmer grip on his weapon, but when he reveals his arms, my eyes widen in alarm.
“What the goddess . . . ? That’s not possible,” I mutter. The black and white flesh of Hypno’s arms swirls in a slow, transfixing motion. It’s as if his skin has been liquefied, and a clear, hard coating traps the substance inside.
My hand goes to my chest, feeling the glass cover beneath my tunic. Does the same material encase Hypno’s arms?
“It is possible,” Bax says. I hadn’t realized I spoke out loud. “When you have the favor of the dark priest, of course. Bale gifts those who serve her unconditionally.”
“That’s not a gift,” I say. “It’s a mutation.” And I know this. I’ve lived every day after my incident hiding my own mutation from the world. “How does Collar have favor over the priest’s own son?”
A low groan rumbles from deep within Bax’s chest. “Do not speak of things you know nothing of, protector.”
Despite feeling that I landed a mental blow and returned the insult for Bax’s earlier slight, it’s a hollow victory. My heart races, the muscles in my neck tense, as I watch Caben fight to keep hold of his sword.
Hypno thrusts his spear, and Caben reacts a fraction of a second too late. The leaf grazes the side of his waist, drawing a seam of blood. I wince. Caben shakes his head, rubs his forearm over his eyes, and raises his sword to block another attack at the last moment.
“What’s wrong with him?” I demand. “He can’t see!”
“That’s Hypno’s special talent.” Bax’s voice is laced with scorn. I suppose he’s still insulted by my rebuke. “He hypnotizes anyone he’s fighting, though Collar has full control over it.”
The mercury in my blood scorches my veins. Shifting from one foot to the other, I pump my hands into fists, trying to expel the anxious energy.
Of Silver and Beasts (Goddess Wars) Page 19