by Ana Mardoll
The white mask tilts, observing me with no trace of emotion. "Adjust the betting odds," he commands. Handler bows and scurries away while the pale creature settles himself in his throne to watch the show unfold.
Chapter 12
Keoki
After so much time spent underground, I'd forgotten how bright the sun could be. I shade my eyes as I scan the arena, looking for whatever we've been sent out to fight. Christian stands by my side performing the same search, his fingers running repeatedly over the little cross at his neck.
"Kid, I'm gonna apologize in advance," he says, his voice low under the rumble of the crowd. "I ain't as nice as Tony, so there's a better than average chance you're gonna die out here."
"That's fair," I tell him with a nod, because I figure there's no point in getting upset over things I can't change. "Uh, so, I didn't get much in the way of advice during practice. Is there some kind of plan you guys usually follow, or what?"
"Locate the bad guy. Find a weapon. Kill him. Don't die," he rattles off. "Order is kinda optional, though."
A pause drags out between us, the world silent save for the constant low roar of the audience. No footsteps stir the dark crumbly sand around us, and the only movement I see is the shimmer of hot air that hangs between the stone pillars dotting the valley. My lungs feel heavy, like I can't get enough air to breathe, and I don't know if the effect is from the heat or my own fear. Or both, I admit, struggling to own the pounding alarm in my ears without being controlled by it.
After more heartbeats than I can count, I twist my head to look at Christian. "I don't see anything."
He frowns, chewing on his lip just above the scruff that sprawls over his chin. "I don't either," he agrees, looking grim. "That means it's something we've gotta go out and find. Shit, I hate ambushes." He cracks his knuckles and stretches his arms until they pop, loosening up. "Okay, kid. I want you seven paces away from me, got it? Not behind me, but to my side. No good us both getting jumped at once. We'll circle around as we move in, slow and steady. They hide weapons up in those spires, so we're gonna have to run up a platform eventually and take what we can find. But until we see what we're up against, we move slow."
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Got it," I tell him. I walk several long strides to his left, stopping when I catch his approving nod. Then we move forward in silent unison, circling slowly around the edges of the arena as we approach the nearest outlying stone spire.
Nothing stirs around us, and the stillness unsettles me. Is there really anything out here? A sudden unwelcome thought occurs: I never asked if we're ever expected to fight each other. I shove the thought away, not wishing to dwell on it. There's something out here for us to fight; we just have to find it.
The nearest spire is a pillar of porous stone that stabs up through the ground and tapers to a jagged point high above us. At the base, you'd need four boys joining hands to surround the entire column, and even at its narrowest point I'd be hard-pressed to wrap my arms around the tip. A ramp spirals up around the stone, ending in a platform that sits at about my height from the very top, and which is level with the lowest benches carved into the cliffs where the audience sits to watch us.
We approach the spire with slow, silent steps. I cut a direct route while Christian circles around to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of what might be hiding behind. He's four strides from the bottom of the ramp when a face pops around the side of the pillar. I catch a quick glimpse of brown hair framing tan skin and light gray eyes squinted against the sunlight. Then I hear a hacking hiss and the stranger spits a glob of transparent green mucus directly at Christian's face.
The attack takes place in the blink of an eye. I stumble forward with a vague idea of pushing Christian out of the projectile's path, but I'm much too far away to reach him in time. An inarticulate sound of annoyance rips from his throat, followed by a strange huffing sound like a sudden gust of wind. Christian disappears, with only a trace of black smoke to mark where he just stood. The mucus sails through the smoke, splatting harmlessly on the sand to sizzle in the sun.
"What the—" I stumble backwards, partly from surprise and partly to escape the range of the spitter now that I don't have a partner to push away. "Christian?" I call, uncertain whether to expect a response. I don't know what just happened, but I very much hope the other boy didn't suddenly cease to exist. Then those gray eyes focus on me and I don't have time to wonder. The spitter darts out from the shadows into the light, and I turn heel and run.
I'm relieved to find I'm as fast a runner as I'd hoped to be, my toes gripping the sand with easy familiarity. I chance a look over my shoulder to see the distance widening between me and the spitter; I'm faster than him, though not as much as I'd like. I can see him in greater detail now: he's bigger and taller, his legs and arms flexing with muscle as he runs. Looks might not mean everything out here, but knowing I'm stronger than I look isn't much comfort when the same might well apply to him.
What was that spit, and what happened to Christian? My lungs burn in the stifling heat, but I keep running. I'm rounding another pillar, hoping to run in its shade, when I hear a soft huff of air and strong hands reach out to grab my shoulders. "Here, newbie! Up the platform we go!"
The sudden sound of Christian's voice causes me to slip on the sand, pitching forward towards the ramp he's pulling me onto. He catches and steadies me briefly before pulling me along behind him. "Don't freak out on me, newbie. Keep an eye on that sh— Damn, he's ducked behind another pillar."
"What happened to you? Is that normal?" I whip my head about as we run, trying to pick out movement among the shadowy spires but finding nothing.
"The spit? Pretty sure it's corrosive, the way it was bubbling," he observes, his feet pounding hard against the wooden platform. "So, no. Not normal."
"I mean the smoke and the popping!" I'm trying not to panic, but I'm shaken by the sudden transition from being helpless to save him to seeing him poof back into existence right beside me.
"Oh, that. Yeah, that's normal." I can't see his face while he's running ahead of me, but I hear the smug grin in his voice. In any other circumstances I'd probably be annoyed, but right now his cockiness is unexpectedly soothing; if he's not panicking about his close call, I won't either.
"Okay. You can pop." I take a deep breath as we careen to a halt at the top of the platform, doubling over to rest my hands on my knees as I gasp for air. "Uh, any reason you didn't use it before? I mean, dude, you could've scouted the area a lot faster that way."
He snorts, not looking at me as his hands pat over the stone, exploring in methodical patterns. "I don't tell you how to muscle at things, do I, kid? My talent packs more punch if they don't know what I can do until I need to do it. Element of surprise. Watch for that shitface, will you? I don't want to get cornered up here."
I peer around the spire, searching the ground for our attacker. For a moment I think I see something move in the shadows two pillars over, but then everything is still again and I'm not sure it wasn't my imagination. "Over there! Maybe. I'm not sure. Are you finding anything?"
He pulls his arm out of a jagged crevice, careful not to cut himself on the edges. I remember during the last fight Tony had drawn a sword out of a similar crack, yet Christian's hand comes away empty. "Nothing," he reports, frowning as he chews on his lip. "Stay here, newbie. Keep an eye on the ramp. Don't let him sneak up on you."
"Where are you going?" We're at the very top of the platform, with no way down except to edge around me. The nearest platform is almost close enough to leap to, but I wouldn't want to take that chance.
Christian doesn't try to move around me, doesn't even pause long enough for me to finish my question. I'm looking right at him when he disappears; he's close enough to touch and then he's gone. Only the soft puff of air announces his departure, with just a wisp of black smoke marking the spot where he'd been. I jerk around, hearing the telltale puff from the next spire over. He pops out of the air and onto
the platform, stepping effortlessly back into existence. Flattening himself against the stone, he squints at the ground while his hands begin the same search as before, with the same result: nothing.
He pops again, his parting wisp of smoke lingering in the air. Now that I know to follow the sound, it's easy to find where he emerges: another spire further down the row. He pats quickly over the rock, frowning as he does so; once again, he comes up empty. Another puff, another platform, another search; he repeats the pattern a dozen times around the arena, always watching the ground intently for a target I can no longer glimpse. It's difficult to judge his expression from here, but he looks increasingly grim. I can guess why: none of the stone spires has yielded any weapons.
The puff sounds near my ear and he's beside me again. His wry grin doesn't hide the fact that he's panting heavily; whatever he's doing to jump about like that, it isn't easy for him. "Well, kid, we've got some bad news."
"No weapons," I hazard.
"Not a single solitary blade," he agrees, shaking his head. "Nor a club, a sling, or even a nice heavy rock to drop on his head."
"Did you at least find him?" I ask, peering at the shadows. I feel exposed up here, knowing that he's probably watching us even as we fail to see him.
"Lost him," Christian says, glaring at the ground. "He's sticking to the shade. We need to keep moving; I don't want him sneaking up the ramp while we talk. C'mon."
He edges around me and we begin to jog down the spire. "Okay, you said we don't have any rocks, but would anything heavy do?" I cast around us, but there's nothing out here except sand and sun. "Uh. Maybe drop me on him? We find him and you pop us onto him before he has a chance to spit?" I don't really love this idea, but I did ride the stone giant without falling off and I'd rather be on top of the spitter than in front of him.
Christian gives a low whistle. "Damn, newbie, I don't know if that would actually work, but the crowd would love it. But, no, I can't carry people when I pop. Wish I could, but can't."
My shoulders sag, and I couldn't say whether I'm disappointed or relieved. "Okay. That's okay. That wasn't even my best plan. That was just, like, my first plan." We round another loop of the winding platform. "Uh, do you have a usual plan for this sort of thing? What do you guys normally do?"
"Told you," he says, his feet hitting the sand as we reach the bottom. "Get a weapon, then pop behind the guy and slit his throat. Worst case, we can strangl—"
His words are cut off as a hand snakes out from around the spire and grabs him by the neck of his leather armor. Christian is dragged into the shade by the bigger man, wriggling in an attempt to escape his grasp. "Run!" he orders, shooting me a dark glare.
I hesitate for the length of a breath; I don't want to leave him here and I can't imagine why he's asking me to. Then I turn on my heel, pounding back up the platform we just descended, fervently hoping this is the right thing to do. I hear the hacking sound again and my heart clenches in my chest, but there's no accompanying howl of pain or smell of burning skin. The crowd roars so loudly I can no longer hear my feet pounding the wooden ramp, and I pray they're roaring for Christian.
Did he pop away in time? Only then does it strike me: he couldn't pop free until I was safely away. If he'd disappeared while I was standing there, the guy would have got me instead. Oh, shit! Christian, you'd better be okay.
Rounding one loop of the ramp, I catch sight of them below. Christian is behind the challenger now, grappling with him as the man whips his head from side to side, trying to face him. A chunk of Christian's armor—the back plating—lies abandoned on the ground, twisted and smoking as the strange venom eats through the leather. As he grapples with the bigger man, his feet moving in a complicated dance to stay behind him, Christian tugs at the fabric covering his chest and pulls away a long length of cloth.
I can't imagine what he's doing—undressing in the middle of a fight?—until Christian tosses the loop of cloth around the man's head and pulls back hard with both hands. The cloth snaps under the man's chin, tightening around his neck; blood pools in his cheeks, turning his face red. He twists as Christian pulls him back, his leg sweeping Christian's out from under him and hauling him roughly down; but the challenger hits the ground hard, nothing between him and the sand. Christian pops back into existence behind him, taking up the cloth again as though the interruption had never happened.
He's good, I think, my eyes widening. With a talent like that and the creativity to use it, it's no wonder he's stayed alive. But this guy doesn't want to go down easy; he twists to face Christian, hacking another mouthful of venom which Christian narrowly poofs away from. The corrosive spit flies up to hit the rock beside me, and I jump as the stone dissolves with a hiss. The man clambers to his feet, glaring at me; then Christian is behind him again, his hands gripping the cloth tangled around the spitter's neck.
Considering that he's unarmed and fighting a stronger opponent, Christian is doing amazingly well; yet I don't think he can win as things stand. He can't strangle the guy to death when he has to keep popping away, and what happens when the spitter gets off a lucky shot, or if Christian doesn't manage to disappear in time? I've got to help him, but how? If I get close to them I'll be hit by the next glob of spit, and I don't want to see what it does to skin, not after the way it ate through the nearby rock. I peer warily at the edges of the sizzling hole, watching the venom dissolve the soft stone, and a new thought nibbles at me.
The spires aren't solid all the way through; they can't be, not with those holes all over, many large enough to conceal a weapon. How many holes did Christian stick his hand in while he was searching, always taking care not to scrape himself on the rough edges? Crumbly edges like crumbly sand, I think, flexing my feet and feeling the stuff cling between my toes. The sand is sharp and heavy, but breaks easily into smaller fragments. Would this stone break if enough strength were applied? I remember the rock monster under me and the way my arms felt, tearing away slabs of stone. I hear Tony: You're one of the strong ones.
I turn on my heel to run higher up the ramp, numb to the sounds of the crowd and the struggle below as I race to the top. Hold on, Christian, just a little longer. Blood pounds in my ears as I round the final curve and skid to a halt on the flat platform. I flatten myself against the rock and reach my hands around the spire, feeling for weak points in the stone: the empty hollow crevices. Here and here, I decide, bracing my hands against the column as I brace my feet against wood.
I push harder than I'd ever thought possible. My arms strain from it, the hidden muscles under my wiry frame rippling with power. I hear the crackling of rock under my assault and feel pieces crumble away beneath my hands. I let the little pebbles fall, pressing harder, moving with the stone. Beneath me, I hear the fight—the sounds of sizzling spit and puffs of air—but I grit my teeth and block out anything that isn't this. The world slows and narrows until there is only me and the stone I'm determined to defeat. I push again, harder, bracing my feet and shoving for all I'm worth.
The crackling builds from a soft intermittent noise to a constant groan, peaking in a sharp crack. The platform shifts under me and I hear my own shout of triumph as the pillar snaps in two. The top third of the spire shifts and begins to tip ponderously over, shuddering into a mass of large jagged boulders and crumbly pebbles. "Christian, get out of the way!" I yell, peering around broken stone to watch the two fighters below.
He looks up at my shout, his dark eyes widening as he sees the pillar bearing down on them both. The spitter looks up at the same moment, instantly moving to leap out of the way. I watch with horror as Christian tackles him, hauling him to the ground and holding him under the shadow of the falling stones. I don't even have time to scream before they both disappear under the mass of boulders, dark stone slamming into the sand and obliterating them both.
"Christian!" The cry rips out of me as the platform I'm standing on lurches sideways, almost throwing me off balance. I jerk my head down to stare at my feet as I hear the
ominous sound of tearing wood. My stomach clenches sickeningly when I realize the falling pillar has taken most of the ramp with it. The section I'm standing on is still supported by four long poles but, with the rest of the ramp collapsing fast, the platform won't hold. I shout, but the sound is lost in the ecstatic screams of the crowd.
I have mere moments to make a decision. Planting my feet firmly, I kick off against the remains of the crumbling spire, throwing all my weight towards the nearest adjacent pillar and the undamaged ramp wrapped around it. The platform I'm standing on tears loose from the last of the dangling remains, the supporting poles wobbling in their foundations as the wood beneath my feet tilts in a long fall towards the ground. I flail in mid-air, hands wildly outstretched as I pray for luck to save me.
With a painful slam that reverberates through my arms, I hit my mark. My hands find the solid wood of the nearby ramp and I hang on for dear life. The platform I'd been riding carries on falling, slamming into the sand below and bursting into shattered fragments of wood and splinters. I take a deep breath, grateful for the privilege, as my hands scramble to hold their grip. The platform I'm grasping is blessedly stable, but my hands are slick with sweat and I struggle to pull myself up without losing my grip.
There's a soft stirring of air, almost like a breeze. Christian pops into existence on the ramp above me, his wry grin reaching new heights of smugness. His hands clasp my wrist and he begins the process of hauling me up onto the tiny platform; no small task, but one he manages with grace. "Damn, newbie, could you be any heavier?" he complains cheerily over the roar of the crowd. "I swear, you're half the size of Ruby but weigh twice as much. Explain that to me, I dare you."
Chapter 13
Aniyah
Not until the curly-haired boy is safely on the platform am I able to sink back onto the cushion where I've been kneeling. My legs tremble violently and my arms are useless and rubbery, unable to support me. Beside me, the other girls exhale in shared relief; we exchange quick looks, but no one feels safe speak in front of the Master.