Survival Rout

by Ana Mardoll

  "He got Diamond," Reese answers for me, tipping his own bowl directly to his mouth.

  "Diamond!" Christian laughs again, puckering his lips in a mock kiss. "Come back when you've had Ruby. Round and soft and perfect, with thighs that could break you in two."

  "Don't listen to him," Lucas butts in, shaking his head at me. "Emerald is the best, and only a fool would think she wasn't. She's the prettiest of them all, and she does anything you want without a peep."

  "Lucas, just because you like them quiet—"

  "Save it for practice."

  Tony cuts in, his voice low and curt. He leans against one of the columns, picking at his food without any enthusiasm. He hasn't once looked at me since I walked in—a fact I know with perfect certainty because I've been watching him. I'd give just about anything to know what he's thinking; he'd been almost friendly in the arena, but his demeanor has been distant and cold since then. Did I do something wrong?

  I clear my throat, swallowing the last of a particularly chewy chunk of gristly meat. "When is that, actually? Practice, I mean."

  He turns his eyes on me at last, dark and unreadable. "In a hurry? C'mon, then," he orders, stalking off before I have a chance to reply. I throw a glance at Reese, who just shrugs and continues eating. My own bowl is only half-finished, but despite my previous hunger my stomach wants no more of this bland food. I scramble to my feet after Tony, ignoring the chuckles and groans that follow in my wake. I'd rather practice than talk about girls, anyway.

  I catch up with him at the big rectangle cut into the center of the cavern, the one filled with sand that is everything sand should be: soft and tiny-grained and yellow. Matías is here as well, slowly pacing the perimeter of the pit and occasionally stopping to draw lines in the sand with the tip of his cane. "Hey!" I call to Tony's back, walking faster in order to gain ground on his more casual stride. "What do we do in pract— whoa!"

  I'd thought Tony had moved fast in the arena, his every action so skillfully precise that not a single movement was wasted. But that was nothing compared to what Matías does now as he suddenly speeds across the sand. My eyes can't follow him properly, the rapidity of his approach causing his body to blur at the edges. He crosses the pit in the span of a few heartbeats, darting up the stone steps that lead down into the sand. My hands come up in a defensive posture, but far too slowly; I'm pushed hard up against the nearest column, the length of his cane pressed across my throat as I struggle to catch my stolen breath.

  "We practice staying alive," Matías says, his voice low as he stares down at me with solemn eyes. He studies my face, and I wonder if I've failed some test by losing to his unexpected assault.

  "Okay, yeah, that makes sense," I agree, trying to sound unfazed; not an easy task, given the fact that I still can't breathe freely and I'm pretty sure everything he just did was impossible. Still, I manage to pull off a casual tone. "I didn't know we'd started yet. Obviously." Not that it would have made a bit of difference if I had.

  A warm chuckle floats back to us, and over Matías' shoulder I see Tony watching me with a smile on his face. "You've gotta admit he doesn't fluster easily," he says, approval creeping into his voice. "Teacher, your knee is shaking. You shouldn't show off like that, not for practice."

  Matías snorts and backs a step away, lowering his cane from my throat in order to lean heavily on it. Now that there's space between us, I see Tony is right: Matías' knee is trembling violently. "Oh, hey, do you need help?" I stammer, my hands coming up in preparation to steady him.

  He turns away from me, picking each step with care as he walks slowly back to the sand-pit. "No," he answers, his voice firm. "If I need help, I will ask for it. We'll pair the two of you up to practice for now. I assume everyone else is still eating?"

  "And fighting over girls," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "You know, important stuff."

  He strides over to the column where Matías pushed me. I'm not injured or even really winded, yet he extends his hand in an offer to pull me up. I grasp his arm, my muscles remembering the movements, and he rocks me forward off my heels until I'm standing almost nose-to-nose with him.

  He's the tiniest bit taller than me, unless you take my curls into account—in which case I win. His eyes are almost black in the torchlight, but there's warmth in them now that he's smiling. What changed? I can't predict his moods or understand them. He'd been friendly in the arena, only to turn cold when we entered the cavern; then he'd acted sullen when I came out of my room, only to be my best mate now. Does he just like seeing me get beaten up? Because if that's the case, maybe we could work out some kind of schedule.

  "Well, there are worse things to fight over," Matías observes, breaking into my thoughts. "Left side for you two?" He's still picking his way over the sand, his back to us as he speaks in the mildest of tones, yet Tony's spine stiffens and he backs a step away from me as though he'd been stung.

  I blink at him, thoroughly confused. What did I do now? Or was it something Matías said? All these mood-swings are killing me, because either I'm doing something wrong around Tony or all the other guys are. Then my breath catches as a new thought slams into place: The other guys. The cause of Tony's discomfort isn't what anyone is saying, it's just that they're there at all.

  Every time he clammed up and turned cold was when others were around, or when he was reminded they were present, as with Matías speaking to us both just now while we were standing toe-to-toe. He doesn't feel comfortable in large groups, I realize, fighting an almost irresistible urge to break into a broad grin. He's shy. Not a jerk, not an aloof untouchable fighting god, just perfectly and adorably shy.

  "Well?" Tony prompts, frowning at me. "Left side good for you? With you here, there's six of us, so we can have three pair-matches. Christian likes to take the center to do his thing, so that leaves left and right sides."

  "Left is great," I agree, my voice cheerful to my ears now that I've solved the mystery of the handsome moody boy. I follow him out into the pit, sighing with contentment at the sensation of real sand sliding between my toes—it's gritty and scratchy and I'll need to wash later, but I feel as though I've come home.

  "Wouldn't want Christian unable to do his thing," I add as we come to a stop where Matías is drawing starting marks in the sand. "But, uh, how does this work? Do I get to see your thing?" I flash a grin at Tony, wondering if the question will ruffle him.

  He rolls his eyes. "You've already seen my thing," he says dryly. He strides to the nearest side of the pit, bending to grab up a handful of little bundled cloths. There are maybe a dozen in total, all of them rolled and knotted until they look like thick little fingers. "Raise your arms." I tilt my head at him, but when no further explanation seems forthcoming I shrug and do as I've been ordered.

  Once my arms are out of his way, Tony unrolls the little cloths and wraps them around me. One goes around my waist while another is wound like a sash over my shoulder, crossing my chest once before loosely tying at my hip. He wraps two more around my wrists and steps in closer to bind the last one around my neck. I give him a wide grin, my face a finger-width from his, but he ignores me.

  "I feel so pretty," I tease when he steps back to survey his work. "Do I get to tie you up now?"

  I'm rewarded with another eyeroll. "No. Teacher does."

  He hands the remainder of the cloth to Matías, who gives Tony his cane to hold. Our teacher moves slowly around him, tying the cloth in identical configurations to my own: waist, chest, wrists, neck. I watch Tony turn to facilitate the binding, my eyes lingering on the deep scars carved into his back. When the final sash is in place Matías tugs on the knot, collects his cane, and heads to the side of the pit. He climbs the stone steps out of the sand and leans against a nearby column, his sharp gaze settling on us.

  "So, what are we supposed to do now?" I look at Tony for guidance and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

  Tony is sitting in the sand performing what looks like the most painful stretches imaginable. His l
egs extend directly out and he's bent over double, so that his hands grasp his feet and his forehead touches his legs. As I watch, he move his legs until they're stretched out on either side of him, pointing in opposite directions as he leans forward to hover his nose directly over the sand.

  "Please tell me I don't have to do that," I beg, my inner thighs aching just from watching him.

  He snorts, sand swirling away from his breath. "No. This is my warm-up."

  I watch him with open curiosity. "So what are we doing? And where'd you learn that?"

  "Came in knowing some of it," he says with a shrug. He pulls himself up to a standing position, brushes off, and begins a pattern of lunging forward on one foot only to step back and repeat the movement with his other leg. "One of the girls, Sapphire, helped me get better. As for what you and I are doing, we don't use blades on newbies. Too easy to hurt someone. So we're gonna play grabbers instead."

  "Grabbers?" I touch the cloth bow he's tied across my chest.

  "Grabbers," he repeats. "Wrists are a disarm, because you can't hold your weapon if your hands aren't attached. Stomach is a gut-cut. Chest is the same, but across your chest. Neck is a throat-cut or heads-off entirely, so watch your neck. Oh, and we start now."

  He throws himself at me so suddenly I don't have time to think. My hands come up in the same defensive posture as when Matías attacked, and just as before I'm too sluggish. Tony doesn't move with the teacher's impossible blurry speed but he's still fast, with not a single movement wasted. His hands shoot out and grab me by the wrist, then his fingers wrap around the cloth like claws and yank. He dances away from me in the space of a breath, waving the torn cloth like a triumphant flag.

  I stumble back, putting distance between us. I can't believe how calm he is; he's not even breathing hard. "How do you do that?" I ought to be pissed at the unfair sudden start of the game, but getting to see him in action was worth the loss of my wrist-cloth.

  Tony shrugs. "It's my talent. We all have one. I'm agile."

  I shake my head, my hands still raised as I edge around wondering if I can circle him. "You're amazing, you mean," I tell him. "But how I am supposed to win the game? You're so much faster than me."

  He snorts. "And you're so much stronger than me," he counters, tossing the discarded cloth from my wrist onto the ground. "If you can grab me, it's all over."

  I consider this while I watch for an opening. Maybe I can wrap my arms around him when he darts in again. "Don't suppose you'll let me grab you, huh? Just to be nice to the newbie?"

  He makes a noise that isn't quite a chuckle and isn't quite a sneer, then he's coming in fast again, crouched low to the ground as though aiming for my knees—or my stomach, I realize. I bend to meet him, my hands already moving to clap around him once he's in grabbing range. No matter how fast he is, I just need to catch and hold him.

  It's a good plan, and might have worked if he'd kept coming head-on. Instead he lunges to my left, his hands reaching for the knot of my sash. I stumble backwards, slapping a hand protectively over the knot. He lets his momentum carry him around my left side, slipping in behind me. I feel his hands on the back of my neck, reaching under my curls to find the cloth at my throat. "Being nice gets newbies dead," he hisses. "Being fast keeps them alive."

  He's going to rip the cloth from my neck. Then I'll be... what? Dead? I'm pretty sure the game can't go on if I'm missing my head. Panic rises in my blood; even though I know I'm not in danger, I need to be better than this. Yet I can't think how to counter him when he's so fast. I'm strong, but that won't do me any good if I can't grab him. Or does it? In the arena, I'd used my body for more than just grabbing; I'd wielded myself like a weapon, throwing all my weight into the rock monster.

  Sucking in a deep breath and praying I don't hurt Tony too much, I fling myself backwards and slam into him. We collide and I let myself go limp, bringing us both down in a crashing tangle of limbs. He yelps—the sound more angry than pained—and scrambles to get free of me but I have the advantage. Twisting around, I grapple with the struggling body under me, determined now to win.

  I don't need to hold him down or stop him from moving; I just have to trap him long enough to get his flag. My hands scramble over his chest, sliding up to find his neck and the cloth tied there. His dark eyes meet mine, and for a heartbeat his struggles stop. Then he lunges upward against me, one knee slamming hard into my groin. As my world explodes with pain, his hands dart up to my neck and rip the sash away.

  I roll off him, gasping for air. I'm laughing, even as tears stream down my cheeks from the pain. "Wow. Wow. I almost had you." I turn my head to see him lying on the sand next to me, sweat beaded on his forehead and his mouth set in a smug smile. "You didn't try to get away. Just went right for my throat."

  He flashes a sharp grin at me, teeth flashing in the firelight. "That's why I'm alive, newbie."

  I'm too impressed with him to be upset. "Man, you'd better get the best prize for killing me," I tease.

  His dark eyes study my face. "How did you like your Prize, by the way? You didn't say earlier."

  I shrug, leaning my head back into the soft sand. "Dunno. Didn't really do anything with her," I admit. Somehow it's easier to tell him if I don't have to look into his eyes.

  "Don't you like girls?" he asks, sounding curious.

  I chuckle at the question. "I like everyone." I turn to regard him with a wry grin, but he's not smiling back. He's watching me with an expression too solemn to bear, and I decide I have to make him laugh. I put on a very serious frown and try my best to look disappointed. "Anyway, I couldn't do anything with her."

  He walks into the joke without realizing. "You couldn't? Why not?"

  I give him my brightest smile. "Because I said I'd share with you, didn't I?"

  Tony doesn't laugh at the joke, doesn't even smile. He just studies me with that serious expression, his mouth set in a line. "Huh," he says, the sound a soft puff of air between us. "Yeah. You did say that." He gives me a sidelong look, settling back into the sand. "You still thinking that's fair?"

  I blink at him. Somewhere I must've lost my smile because now it returns, spreading slyly across my face. "Tell you what, the next time I get a Prize feel free to drop by. In fact, I encourage you to."

  His lips part in readiness to speak—and I can tell from the warm flash of his eyes that it'll be good—when a surge of voices to our right cause him to jump. He clams up and his eyes take on a distant look; for a moment, I could throttle the other guys for choosing this moment to finish eating. But when I turn my head to see the approaching group, the grim look on Reese's face makes my stomach flip.

  "What is it?" Matías stands straighter against the column that supports him, his face etched with worry.

  Reese shakes his head, looking profoundly unhappy. "Handler gave a match notice when he picked up the bowls. Team-fight, but we don't know against what."

  "Who's on the team?" Matías demands, his voice tight.

  Christian—the handsome one with skin so much darker than my own and whose mouth is always set in a wry smile—isn't smiling now. "Me an' the newbie," he reports, giving me a pitying look.

  "What?" Tony explodes, sitting bolt upright. "That's two bouts in a row for him! We haven't trained him yet! We haven't fitted him with armor! It's not remotely fair; he'll be going in tired."

  "Tony, he didn't give any choice! No call for volunteers; just dropped off the names and left."

  I listen with one ear to the rising argument, but the words wash over me in a meaningless roar. I'd known it would happen eventually, but I hadn't thought it would be this soon. I'm going into the arena again.

  Chapter 11

  Aniyah

  Sunlight floods my senses as Sappho's cheery voice jolts me awake. "Wake up, Hana's back!" she sings out, throwing open the thick curtains around my bed. "She's back and she brought food and— oh!"

  I groan and blink against the unwelcome light, trying to figure out where I am and whether all
my bits are working correctly. I'm lying on my back with my neck twisted at a sharp angle to face Miyuki. Xie lies on xer side next to me, our faces only inches apart while xer arm is slung carelessly across my stomach. I feel soothed where xer arm is draped over me, a gentle goodness seeping in at xer touch.

  "She what?" I mumble to Sappho. I close my eyes against the invading sun and try to stretch my back without disturbing Miyuki. My whole body is a mass of pain and stiffness, to the point where I'm unsure if I'll be able to move off this rock.

  Sappho doesn't seem to hear me. "Are you two together?"

  Her tone is faintly wounded, though I can't understand why. I turn my head to look at her and frown in puzzlement. She looks different from how I remember. When she moves, her body ripples as though she's a creature made from water; even when she stands motionless, flexibility is written in every supple curve of her body. Her stretching talent is so obvious now that I can't imagine why I needed a demonstration.

  "Oh, Sappho. No one can say you didn't try." Heather's dry voice drifts from the table. "You've still got me, though. That has to count for something."

  I twist to follow Heather's voice, rubbing my eyes when I see her. There's a new hardness etched into her shoulders, giving her a dull gloss around the edges. She looks as though she's been dipped in a substance that dried shiny and hard around her, a shell encasing her.

  Nor are she and Sappho the only things I see differently now; the strange changes extend to the light around Heather and the table she leans upon. Looking around in fascination, I see changes in the whole cavern. Stone sparkles more brightly, sunlight glitters, and the golden doors at the far side of the cavern roil with a strange thrumming power under the surface of the metal. What happened to my eyes?

  "Come and eat. We don't have a lot of time before the bout; you've already slept through first bell." A calm voice, almost stern, pierces the haze of my pain and confusion with its blessed familiarity: Hana.

  "You're back," I breathe, not quite daring to believe it. I turn to pat Miyuki's cheek, feeling xer stir under my touch. "Miyuki, she's back." Xie, at least, seems the same as before; if xer skin glows faintly in the sun, I can pretend the subtle shimmer is a side-effect of the strange new light.