“Fine, I’m going after her,” the Athlete says. “Who’s with me? Take out your gas masks.”
The Animal Handler nods. “Count me in. I’m not breathing any more xavu moss. What do you think, Hedj? No point in staying here in this poison gas chamber. Or do you still want to stay holed up here with her?” And she nods meaningfully in my direction.
So, it occurs to me, they’re definitely aware that Hedj is protecting me. Are they all with the Rim? Or am I reading in too much, here? What did Hedj tell them about our arrangement?
“You go, but the Imperial Lady and I will stay here for now,” Hedj says. “The safety level decreases significantly once we’re outside, and I have my word to keep. With gas masks, this is not a problem.”
“Suit yourself,” the Athlete says. And then he salutes Hedj with his hand. “A pleasure working on your team, White Bird. If we survive, see you in the next Game Zone.”
Hedj nods, and for the first time a thin smile comes to his lips. “Likewise. See you on the other side—all of you. Good luck ranging!”
The Athlete and the Animal Handler start getting their gear ready, while the Technician pauses, thinking. “Should I stay with you also, maybe?” she says tiredly. “I have a little girl waiting for me back home. My daughter. . . . If I don’t make it—”
“Your choice,” Hedj replies.
The Technician sighs, glances at me and then at Hedj. “What do you think?” she asks me.
I clear my throat and wipe the side of my face. “I would just stay,” I mumble. “For your daughter’s sake. I mean, we’re indoors, the Safe Base is otherwise secure. With only a few hours to go, it should be less of a risk being in here—”
“Are you coming?” the Athlete interrupts me, addressing the Technician. He and the Animal Handler stand at the door, waiting.
The Technician coughs deeply, then takes a shallow breath. “All right, I am. I hate wearing gas masks for too long. And compared to the rest of you, I’m so behind on AG points. And—and my little girl knows why I’m in this, why I need more AG points. . . .”
I look at her sadly, see the conflict in her eyes. Funny how I get to hear this humanizing snippet of her personal story in what could be the last moments of knowing her.
Hedj and I watch as the three team members say their respectful farewells. Speaking of human stories—it’s interesting how much good will there is for Hedj Kukkait. All this time, up until meeting him, I thought he was a clear-cut villain, one of the scary bad guys in the Games.
Well, apparently Kukkait’s much more complicated than that.
Yes, he’s still scary. He’s still a killer. But he seems to have a strong honor code.
And right now he’s got my back.
The door opens, and the three team members leave. We watch via surveillance as they take out their long body shields against sniper fire, and carefully walk down the veranda, then begin climbing down the scaffolding.
And that’s when they die.
Someone fires intense laser volleys from the fourth level directly below, striking them in their vulnerable spots between shield armor. The Athlete falls down over the scaffolding to the ground below. The Animal Handler tries to hold on to the railing, but then collapses directly on the walkway. The Technician seems almost surprised as she falls next to her.
She should have stayed here . . . for her daughter’s sake.
For the first time Hedj responds with a rough exclamation, as he watches his fellow team members get killed in seconds.
I gasp, with my hands over my mouth, while the stadium audience outside roars.
“No . . . no,” Hedj says. His face is grim and composed, but his neutral voice is harsh, guttural.
He walks to the door and puts his bony fingers on the handle. I can tell he’s struggling with the urge to go out there, to fight, to take revenge, maybe. But then he lets his hand drop, and returns to the smart screens. He stands, silent and straight-backed, watching enemy Contenders line up around the perimeter of our structure, on all the levels below us. How is it we didn’t see them before? We’ve been so busy watching Thalassa’s bonfire. . . .
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what to say—”
Hedj glances at me. His eyes are pure black. “It’s the Games,” he says. “They knew what they were doing, they made their choice. Regrettable.”
I nod. And then I cough.
“Put on your gas mask,” Hedj tells me. “Since we cannot open the door safely, it’s time. The air is not getting any better, and it will only get worse.”
My equipment bag is on the floor, so I search through my supplies. I dig and dig, and find some gadgets, and secondary weapons, but no gas mask.
Damn Deneb Gratu and his gang, they cleaned me out! I know I used to have a high-end gas mask in my bag—Aeson had showed me how to use it, where it’s stored. And now it’s gone.
I tell Hedj my problem.
He frowns, then thinks for a moment. And then he goes to his own equipment bag and takes out his own gas mask.
“Put it on,” he says, giving me the mask.
Now I’m frowning. “What about you?”
“For the moment, I’m fine. We can take turns. This is your turn.”
I bite my lip and take his mask, then put it on.
It’s going to be a long night.
From there on, the hours go by so slowly that time seems to drag. I sit with my back against the wall, breathing through an uncomfortable but lifesaving device. Hedj watches the screens, and coughs a whole lot.
I offer him my mask often, but more often than not he refuses his turn.
Five more hours to go until midnight.
I breathe, hearing myself wheeze through the mask, and I feel guilty. . . . Why should this person—a stranger, really—give up his own air for me? What kind of promise did he make to this Rim?
The plug around the sewer and air vent seems to hold, but there is definite minor leakage. Frequently I approach and check the open sewer hole, remove the gas mask to smell the air, and there is no visible grey vapor, but the noxious poison smell is worse for several feet around it, which means the gas is coming into the Safe Base, slowly but relentlessly. . . .
Out there, in the arena, the audience responds with cheers and roars to various skirmishes, and the commentators talk about Deneb Gratu, how he’s been sighted, and yes he still has the Red Grail.
My face is sweating around the edges of the mask seal, and the view is fogged over as I breathe and wheeze.
I notice that Hedj Kukkait is no longer paying much attention to the surveillance screens. He is now sitting with his back against the wall, his long skeletal limbs tucked in a lotus position. His eyes are closed, and he is breathing roughly, while sweat beads along his ghastly white skin.
I remove my mask and offer it to him, practically forcing it on his face.
And then I breathe the horrible poison air.
Three hours left until midnight.
At some point, it’s almost impossible to breathe without the gas mask. I take my turn without it, and try to breathe shallow, or to hold my breath.
Hedj, who has been mostly in a meditative state—it’s some kind of special survival training, I’m guessing—does not seem to respond to me or to the mask, and his breathing has become so faint when not wearing it, that I think he’s slipped into a coma.
It’s an hour before midnight, with only the thirteenth hour remaining.
My thoughts swirl painfully, mixing up delirium and the real sounds of the stadium outside, the scrolling views of the arena, as I pass the time flipping the screens, and wheezing through the mask.
One more hour, just one more hour of this hell! I think, as I take off the gas mask and place it around Hedj’s face, who’s now completely unresponsive, slumped over sideways.
The room air immediately burns my lungs. So on a whim I reach inside my secret pocket and take out a folded piece of black silk fabric.
Aeson’s black armb
and.
I unfold it gently and place it around my nose and tie it behind my head.
It’s the only thing I have, that can serve as a filter of sorts, a handkerchief. I tried breathing through my sleeve, but the uniform fabric is airtight, so I cannot breathe through it at all.
Aeson, I think, I’m sorry if this is disrespectful, but I know you’d want me to breathe.
And then I realize I’m muttering this out loud.
“Aeson, I’m sorry . . . so sorry,” I repeat in a whisper, and the nano-cameras swirling among the noxious air of the room are recording me. “So disrespectful . . . I know, I’m sorry.”
And then raggedly I breathe through his black armband. Not sure if it helps to filter out the poison, but suddenly the stadium has noticed me, and what I’m doing.
They begin to chant again, and in my head it turns into an ocean surf roar: “Gwen Lark! Gwen Lark!”
I just need to last a few minutes longer. Five minutes, then I can use our shared mask to take a few deep breaths. . . .
The last few minutes of thirteenth hour are the hardest. Hedj is now completely unresponsive, and when I place the mask on him, I hear no breath at all. He lies on the floor and I think he might be dead.
I force myself not to think about it, as I allow him the few minutes of the mask—it’s his turn, whether he can use it or not.
As for me, I’m very sick now. . . . My head is bursting, my stomach is queasy, cold sweat and chills travel up and down my skin as my body goes into shock, and whatever saliva is left in my dehydrated mouth foams slightly. The general weakness is overwhelming, so that all I can do is sit on the floor next to him, and struggle to hold my breath, dry heave, cough, counting seconds. . . .
Several times, even with the mask on, I blank out, lose consciousness momentarily, experiencing symptoms of the long-term poisoning.
And yet, each time something brings me back, a determination to keep going, just a little longer now.
Just another moment more. . . .
At last the sound of voices comes, swelling over the stadium.
They sing the Midnight Ghost Time.
It is the end of our torment, and the stadium is filled with an endless roar as the spectators scream and applaud the Contenders of the Games of the Atlantis Grail who have passed Stage One of the Games.
With my last strength I take the gas mask from Hedj’s clammy, grey-skinned face, and I put it on. I take a few deep wheezing breaths.
And then I get up, staggering, holding on to walls. . . . I open the door to the arena, where no one can shoot or harm me any longer, by the rules of the Games, and where the night air is pure and fresh.
Oh, lord, I’m alive! Aeson! Can you see me, im amrevu? I made it! I should run out there and just breathe!
Instead, I return inside, and put my hands around the body of the tall Red Warrior. Taking him by his armpits, staggering from agony and weakness, I begin to drag the unconscious Hedj Kukkait outside into the bright, jubilant arena.
I barely make it only a few steps onto the walkway, pulling Hedj with me out into the clean air, away from the poison. . . .
“Gwen Lark! Gwen Lark!”
The crowd chanting my name together with the names of others, is the last thing I hear as I collapse, slipping in blood, to lie among the dead.
That’s where the Games workers find me.
Chapter 54
I come to, feeling the sensation of weightlessness, or possibly dizziness. And as my senses come alive, I realize it’s the sensation of flying. I am lying in some kind of transport vehicle, and there’s something over my face, and I am in Aeson’s arms. . . .
Im amrevu!
Even before my eyes open completely, I know it—I can feel him against me, his warmth, his strong beating heart, as I lie back against his chest. He is holding me to him, gently and yet so very closely, his face near my hair, but obscured. I can’t see him properly because I’m wearing some kind of comfortable breathing mask, possibly a medical one—a steady flow of invigorating oxygen is entering my lungs, and it feels cool and mint-sharp, or mentholated. . . . Whatever it is, it definitely makes my lungs hurt less, and alleviates the pounding headache.
The moment I stir and take a deep ragged breath, and then begin coughing, right into the mask, he makes a choked sound and says my name, “Gwen!” and his fierce breath washes against my cheek. “You’re safe, amrevu, you survived Stage One! I’m here, nothing can harm you now, I’m here—breathe! Deep slow breaths . . . this device is clearing your lungs of the poison, so you need to breathe as deep as you can. . . . Don’t try to speak, not yet—just a few minutes more—”
I try to mumble something, but he’s right, speaking is nearly impossible, and so I nod. Meanwhile, Aeson tells me what’s happening.
“We’re flying home, so that you can sleep in your own bed tonight,” he says, smoothing away stray wisps of hair from my sweaty forehead. “The medical techs will treat and monitor you overnight. For now, we have you on fluids for the dehydration and also to flush out the poison. . . .”
As he says this, I barely move my face to look around and see two Atlantean medical personnel nearby, with medical equipment set up, including a fluid IV line attached to my arm. And right behind them, watching me silently, with her hand over her mouth and a pained expression, is Gracie, and next to her, Gordie!
I blink my eyes and focus, and Gracie sees me notice her. Immediately she makes a stifled happy noise, and she pounces forward to take my hand and squeeze it with her clammy own. She is barely holding it together, and tears are just streaming and streaming down her face. . . .
My brother Gordie comes forward too, his hands patting me on the shoulder, and the expression in his eyes is raw, emotional, and so grown up. . . .
“Gee Two! You did it! My God, you were amazing! So proud of you!” Gracie chatters, sniffling her nose loudly, and then laughing, and sniffling again. “Oh, we just about died watching you these four days, we took turns with short naps, and then your friends did too—they would take over, and we all promised to wake each other up if anything happened! And then we couldn’t rest from worry, so I just stayed up for three days straight, and I am so dead right now, oh, Gwenie—”
“Congratulations, Gee Two! You definitely kicked some major ass!” Gordie interrupts, since Gracie is hardly letting anyone else get a word in edgewise. “So awesome, sis! You showed ’em!”
“I did?” I mumble through my mask, and then pull it back rebelliously, as I attempt to sit up more, and Aeson just tightens his hold on me.
Now that the mask is no longer blocking my view (and my sister is going on and on), I examine Aeson closely. . . . I can see his face at last, and—poor Aeson! He looks exhausted, with a pale, sickly tone to his skin, hollows under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept for days (somehow I’m certain he hasn’t), and the lines of his face show deep suffering. However, it’s the feverish joyful light in his eyes that starts my own heartbeat pounding.
“I’m okay! I’m okay!” I say, smiling weakly, with the mask out of the way. My voice wheezes past cracked lips, and I start coughing at once. “Water! Please!” I manage to say.
Aeson reaches for a nearby bottle and brings it to my lips, and I take over and start gulping.
“Slowly, Gwen!” he says with concern. “Please, take it slow, your body is overwhelmed—”
“Oh, Aeson, I love you!” I exclaim, almost drunk with the warmth, relief, and the sudden sweet hydration. I pause drinking and the water drips past my lips, and I wipe my mouth ridiculously with the back of my hand. “Ah, this is good, I don’t remember having this much to drink, in like forever! You know this liquidy stuff called water, it’s good!”
“Oh wow, you’re punchy, Gee Two!” Gracie exclaims, rubbing my hand.
In reply, I turn to her and giggle. “Yup, punch-drunk with water!”
Gordie snorts.
And then I remember.
“Aeson! How could you stand it, watching me all th
ese days? How are you holding up? Oh my God, how are you? Did you even get any sleep? I know you had to sit up there, and act all ‘Imperial Kassiopei,’ and I saw you on the big screens. . . . Are you okay? Aeson! Please, tell me!”
The look in his eyes is inflamed with energy. He pauses only a moment before speaking. “I’m very well, now that I have you back, here with me, safe. Don’t you worry about me!”
Relief floods me in warm waves, and gives me strength. I put my hand up to run it over his cheek and jaw, feel the stubble there, and imagine he hasn’t shaved recently. His clothing is formal and it appears to be the same outfit he wore when I saw him on the huge stadium screens in that one awful moment on the day I was almost killed by Deneb Gratu—or maybe not, I can no longer remember.
“I will always worry about you,” I say. And then it hits me. “Oh no, the armband!” Anxiously I move my fingers to feel around my throat where I’d last tied the black armband to serve as a breathing handkerchief. Yes, thank goodness it’s still there, like a scarf tucked halfway under my collar. “I’m so sorry, Aeson, I used it in such an awful way, so sorry to disrespect it!”
But he interrupts me with a firm squeeze on my shoulder. “No, you used it exactly as I hoped you would—to keep you alive. I’m so glad you did. You hear me? You are here, and it is here, so all is well!”
“Yes, but I’m still so sorry! It’s a dirty mess, and so am I—a filthy, stinky, blood-covered mess,” I whisper breathlessly, even as he lovingly runs his fingers over my cheek and throat.
And then more of it starts flooding back, everything. . . .
“Oh God, what about—all those others?” I say. “Back at the stadium? How did I get here? What about Hedj? You know, Hedj Kukkait saved me? He gave up his breathing mask for me, and he—he—I barely got him out of the poisoned Safe Base, but then I don’t remember, I think I passed out. . . . What happened next? Is he okay?”
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