by Ana Mardoll
"Who's back?" Xie mumbles sleepily into xer arm, then sits bolt upright and looks around with startled eyes for something that isn't there.
"Your glasses are on your bed," I whisper up at xer. The grateful smile xie beams down on me in return makes my stomach flutter unexpectedly.
Miyuki has no trouble hopping down from the bed and retrieving xer glasses; once the frames are firmly perched on xer nose, xie runs fingers through the messy mop of xer hair and looks around the bright room with an expectant gaze. Getting up isn't nearly so easy for me. Unlike Miyuki, I can't bend at the waist to sit, so I roll on my side to the edge of the bed. From there, I drop my legs to the floor and lever myself into a standing position. The movement isn't graceful, but it does the job.
The other girls are already at the table, and each is different from before. They have the same faces and bodies, but they seem more real under the bright sunlight. Chloe vibrates with strength and I sense lines of muscle running under her soft fat. Imani's face is as beautiful as ever, but now there's a glimmering shine to her skin—the hallmark of her ability to alter her appearance. Hana, lovely and alive, eats steaming brown mash from a bowl while a golden glow ripples through her body, searching for wounds to heal.
"Smells good," Miyuki observes, nodding at the bowl of mashed grains in the center of the table. I nod, still a little unsteady from rising, and pad over with tiny stiff steps. Miyuki wraps an arm around my waist to help steady me as we walk. "You're back," xie says warmly to Hana. "Are you okay? They said..." Xer eyes flick to Heather and the bandage wrapped around her arm.
"I'm fine," Hana says, spooning a handful of purple berries into her bowl and mashing them in a swirl with the brown grains. "I said I would be."
"How is the new boy?" Imani asks, her voice soft. "Is he okay?"
Hana shrugs. "He's decent so far," she says in a neutral tone. "New and confused. Not demanding yet. Might stay that way."
Chloe leans forward on her elbows, watching Hana with alert eyes. "Did you get any information out of him?"
"No, he'd already been wiped, like the others." She looks at Miyuki and me, her expression thoughtful. "He was brought in the same time you two were. I wonder if he was a friend or boyfriend of yours. I don't think he's related; when you were awake at first, Aniyah, you said you didn't have family nearby."
Miyuki looks up sharply from where xie has been stirring handfuls of pink seeds into xer bowl. "Could he be one of my relatives?"
"Maybe," Hana says with a shrug, returning to her bowl. "Without memories it's impossible to tell. But for what it's worth, he doesn't really look like either of you."
"What does he look like?" I ask, shifting on my cushion.
"Hmm. Taller than me, but not as tall as most of the boys. Skinny, sorta lanky, like he needs more food. Long bony arms I'd snap in a match, except apparently he's stronger than he looks. Still, I'd go for an elbow and see how he handled that. Smelled like sweat and sand, but they all do. Brown skin lighter than Imani's—lighter than Aniyah's, I think, but it's hard to tell in those dark rooms. Curls like Aniyah's, too, but longer down to his shoulders. His nose was a nose, but not like either of yours. And I couldn't tell the color of his eyes."
Miyuki digs intently into xer bowl, mixing the little puckered seeds with renewed purpose throughout this litany. "Well. We probably had lots of friends," xie observes when Hana finishes.
"You probably did," she agrees, "and it doesn't really matter now. Eat up; we have a bout to attend at third bell. I've got time for practice and a quick nap. You two should bathe and dress in clean clothes. The Master is particular about appearances."
I look up in alarm; in my current state, I'm struggling just to move. "Wait, what's being practiced?"
"I'm practicing kick-punching," Hana says patiently. She balls her hands into fists, and makes two slow jabs in the air: extending her arms to full length, twisting her wrists very slightly, and then drawing back to her chest. If she's aware of the glowing ripple that flickers over her arms, she doesn't show it. "You don't need to worry about that, unless you want to join in. We all pass time in different ways."
"Oh." I blink at the revelation that there is time to pass; somehow with all the talk of bouts and bells, I'd assumed my new life would be more structured. I let my gaze linger on her fists as she moves them again, gold rippling through her. My eyes catch something on the inside of her wrist, just under her diamond chains. She has a tattoo: an odd sequence of shapes that mean nothing to my mind. "What's that?"
"Hmm?" She looks up at me, then down at her wrist. Her fingers trace the little circle, the two dashes above, the two long lines beside, and the little swooping L that separates the lines.
"It's my name," she says quietly, her voice fond and faraway. "In a language only I remember. It means I'm number one. Better than everyone else." She flashes me a challenging grin and I can't argue with her confidence. She is better than everyone else, and it's impossible not to love her for it. "Now you two need to wash. Into the bath, and Chloe will show you how to dress for the arena. Hop to it, now."
I'm not sure why everyone is so certain we're dirty; we had a bath before sleeping, after all. But I'm in too much pain to argue. Imani helps me undress while Miyuki uses the restroom, then the three of us slip into the pool. Sappho joins us a little later, having shaken whatever mood was plaguing her. She laughs and jokes and gets into a splashing game with Miyuki, the two of them giggling when Sappho gets dunked.
I swim away from them, not wanting to get my hair wet, and let the stiffness in my muscles soak away. The water, like everything else in this place, looks different now. It sparkles strangely just under the surface and swirls in my hands when I cup the liquid to my face. The whorls in the water heal, though how I know this, I couldn't say. The healing is gradual, but now I understand why Heather douses her wounded arm in the shallow end and why Sappho wet the bandage when dressing her wound.
My changed eyes confuse me and I wonder if I ought to mention it to Miyuki or Hana. But so much else about this place is strange and puzzling that it seems silly to bring up one more thing. As for the healing water, I don't want to question the blessing lest it evaporate away. I don't feel completely free of pain in the bath and doubt I ever could, but at least I'll be able to walk to the arena on my own two feet.
The bath is over far too soon and Chloe takes me aside. I feel uncomfortable standing naked before her, but if she notices my scar she doesn't comment. "Dressing for the arena is different from dressing for in here," she explains, her voice brisk. "When we're in here, we just twist and knot and we're done. But out there the sun will blind and burn you. So we cover our arms and wear long skirts and a scarf to protect our hair."
She works as she talks, draping long swaths of gauze over me until I'm buried in a layered white dress with a hood to pull over my head and shade my eyes. "You see?" she says triumphantly as she turns me to gaze at my reflection in the pool. "Beautiful. Remember your gem-name out there, Alexandrite; but inside, you're always Aniyah. You'll do fine," she assures me before hurrying over to help Miyuki.
While the others fuss over us, Hana practices on the far side of the room: bouncing on her toes, rotating her wrists, and moving through a complicated routine of punching the air and lifting her knees high. I don't recognize any of it and just watching her makes my spine ache. She works until it's time for her to wash and dress in the same long swaths of gauze as the rest of us; seven identical sets of white robes with girls somewhere underneath.
When the golden doors finally scrape open, it's almost a relief for the waiting to be over. Miyuki stands with me near the table, squeezing my hand and tucking xer glasses carefully in xer robes. Heather, of all people, takes my other side. "You'll do fine," she murmurs to us, her voice a flat monotone. "Just don't scream. Bite your tongue instead, if you have to." This isn't reassuring at all, but before I can ask her what she means, he walks in and my breath is stolen away.
The creature is massive, taller
even than Handler who trails behind him. He's shaped like us but everything about him is wrong. He's unnaturally white, as pale as our gowns, and his body is smooth without any hair at all. The place on his head where a face would be is featureless, having only a thin slit for a mouth and two flat holes for a nose. Around the perimeter of his empty face, jagged hooks of dark metal protrude from his skin.
He wears brown robes that cover him from shoulder to foot, but his arms are bare; it is there, where naked skin shows, that I see the pulsating glow. Blinding white light infests him, throbbing and squirming like a mountain of fat grubs. The same light runs through Handler, thrumming along the furrows cut into his face and hands like water racing through cracks.
"Is my spotter ready?" The creature's voice is devoid of any emotion. He turns his face to me, watching without eyes, and I bite my tongue as Heather suggested.
"She is only freshly awakened, Master," Hana says, bowing her head. "Her talent may not have surfaced."
His hand moves in a gesture that cuts away further protest. "I did not go to the trouble of procuring a spotter without intention to use her. What did we name her?"
"Alexandrite," Handler murmurs at his elbow. He focuses his attention on me, a frown creasing his mutilated face as he adds in a hissing order, "Girl, uncover your wrists so the Master can see your chains."
"For rarity," the creature muses, his flat voice bordering on the edge of boredom. "Alexandrite, do you see magic yet?"
Magic? Is that what's wrong with my eyes? My throat is dry and I can't imagine how to respond, but Miyuki nudges me with xer elbow. "I-I think so. Everything looks different since I woke up."
"Good. Very good. My mask," he adds, apparently no longer addressing me.
Handler draws a white disk from his robes. The towering creature takes the item in his pale hands and lifts it to his face, stretching the edges over the metal hooks protruding from his skin. When his hands pull away the disk remains, producing the semblance of a face. Holes are cut to give the impression of eyes, and a molded nose gives shape to the false image. The mouth is set in a curving smile that would be charming in any other context but here only increases the burning itch in my lungs to scream.
"We will be happy," murmurs the creature, turning to sweep out the golden doors. "Come, little spotter. Come, Prizes."
I shiver and Heather gives me a push to get me going. We're led through a curving hall dimly lit by guttering torches set in the walls. I feel my heartbeat in my spine with every step, spurred by the pain of walking and the stuffiness of the underground path. Faint magic flickers over the walls and ceiling; everything here seems made of the stuff, but nothing is as heavily imbued as the Master who leads us.
We round a corner and the hallway widens, providing a glimpse of huge black doors at the far end. The doors are covered in iron bindings carved in the same patterns as the ones on our golden doors. "Those are the boys' rooms," Imani whispers, stepping closer. "Handler may take you there later. Just stay calm and do whatever the boys want." Her tone tries to be reassuring but falls slightly flat.
The Master takes a sharp turn and leads us through a narrow hole in the cavern wall which turns out to contain a steep spiral staircase. We follow him up the steps, forced into a quick pace to match his strides. "We have a new challenger, girls. His master owed me a debt after the results of our previous bout, but with one new boy and two new girls to feed, I didn't want to add to the stables. Easier to schedule another match. Someone will die, and whoever survives will stay on as my property. Exciting for you girls, if we acquire a new boy for you to service."
He turns his head to look at me, the eyeless mask sending shivers down my spine. "I have been seeking a spotter for some time," he states, the white carved mouth of his mask at complete odds with his flat tone. "I did not want a girl. Girls are weak and stubborn and foolish. But we take spotters where we find them and you will earn your keep. Listen closely, girl. When we reach the top of the spire and emerge into sun, you will look down at the fighters in my arena and you will see their magic. Do you understand?"
My hands are clenched into fists at my side. I nod, not daring to trust my voice.
"Good. You will tell me what you see. I already know my boys, but challengers belong to the other faeries. I must know their talents accurately in order to set the betting, and their masters always lie. They downplay strengths to skew the odds, or they give me weaklings when I am owed proper fighters. One even tried to slip in an assassin. That was not amusing." For a moment his flat voice dips into anger, but then he shakes his head. "No, we are wearing the smiling mask. Ah, here we are."
At his final words, we reach the top of the spiral staircase and step out into bright sun and oppressive heat which makes me pant even harder. The stairs have not been easy for me, and Imani slips behind me to wrap an arm around my waist. I'm hurt that Miyuki has abandoned me, until I look around and see Hana helping xer up the last of the stairs. Miyuki squints anxiously into the light, and it hits me that xie can't see where we are without xer glasses. No wonder xie is frightened: we're bathed in blinding sunlight and surrounded by open air with only a long fall between us and the faraway ground.
We're standing in a spire that towers over a vast arena of dark sand and sharp stone. The area is bound by a ring of low cliffs, and the spire we've climbed is the highest peak in that ring. A wall rises at our back where the staircase vomited us forth. A low parapet sits before us with cushions for the girls to drape themselves on, and a colorful cloth canopy is erected over a golden throne which dominates the center of our platform; apart from these, we are in the open air. It's a stadium, I realize, the word leaping to my mind as I survey the area. A stadium carved of stone.
"Over here, spotter."
Handler speaks and I jump; in the imposing presence of the Master, I'd forgotten the existence of the creepy gray man. He takes me by the elbow and guides me to the low wall where I feel a panicked rush of vertigo. He could throw me off with the slightest push. He points with his bony finger, directing my gaze. "What do you see?" he demands.
The humming cliffs below me resolve into hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. Many are coated with the same blinding glow that infests our Master, while some boast equally strange and frightening bodies. Others have softer hues and human faces, like myself and the girls behind me. Every member of the crowd peers out into the arena below, buzzing with anticipation for the expected show.
Below the audience, a huge iron gate is set into the far wall of the valley. Two boys stand near this gate, shading their eyes with upraised hands. I can see the shapes of their bodies and the set of their shoulders, but their faces are harder to make out at this distance. "Alexandrite?" prompts Handler, warning in his voice.
I narrow my eyes. I don't want to answer Handler or speak to him at all, but I must make myself useful if I want to keep myself and Miyuki safe. I focus on the boy who is closer, admiring his warm skin and light curls. He's strong; I see the way his wiry muscles glow in the sunlight, a warm golden brown strength that suffuses his arms and legs. "He's powerful. Much stronger than he looks."
Handler nods, watching me through his perpetually closed eyes. "Go on."
I suppress a shudder at his attention and focus on the second fighter. He's darker in color, his hair as black as the leather armor they've dressed him in. He must be so hot out here, I think, wondering how long these bouts last. I crane my head, squinting closer as I notice his outline seems fuzzy. A swirling black smoke tickles the edges of his body, dissipating whenever I look too closely.
"What is that?" Handler doesn't answer me, and I realize he's waiting to see if I can figure it out myself. There's an insubstantial feeling to the boy, as though he could be gone in the blink of an eye. "He's right there, but he might not be at any moment. He's like a wisp of smoke just before blowing away."
"He can relocate at will," Handler corrects, his voice lowered to a murmur. "Or you may say he breaches the distance between two points. You
are not here for poetry, Alexandrite."
I look up at the urgency in his voice, shivering again as I feel the Master watching us. "And the challenger?" the pale creature cues, doing nothing to relax the knots of tension in my stomach.
Looking back at the valley, I see a second gate rising on the opposite side of the arena. A man stalks through; he's tall and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair and a short brown beard. It's hard to be certain from here, but he seems older than the two boys and moves with easy confidence.
"What do you see?" Handler hisses, gripping my elbow harder.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the cold fear his touch sends through me. I focus on the challenger and the soft glow that runs through him like a current. There's a greenish cast to it, but not like the leaves that cling to the fruits we eat; this green feels more like a threat, tugging at a lost memory. My mind calls up an image of something dangerous: a creature that slides through grass and bites bare feet.
"He's strong?" Handler prompts, nudging me from my trance. I can tell from his tone he already knows this, that strength is the extent of the challenger's advertised powers. This is what I'm here to confirm, so the fight can go ahead as planned.
"Yes, he's— he's strong," I whisper, shaking my head again. "But there's something else. Give me a moment!"
The crowd has already begun to roar. On the far side of the valley, the two boys cast about for their challenge. The man moves stealthily in their direction, staying close to the shadows of the stone spires scattered throughout the ring. The green light builds inside him as he moves, concentrating at his head.
"Oh. Oh, no! He spits venom!" I whirl to face the Master, my voice rising so he can hear me over the crowd. He can stop the fight, warn our fighters, or bring out more help so the odds are better for our two unsuspecting boys pitted against a killer fortified with deadly magic.