by Ana Mardoll
I don't know how long the fight goes on, but it doesn't end quickly. Teeth flash in the silvery light and blood spills; first Justin's, then mine, and then the creature's own. I swing and swing again until eventually it falls. I barely manage to kick it off the other boy, even though my legs are bursting with more power than I'd have thought possible. Then I go on swinging. I remember the stone creature of my first fight an eternity ago, and how it lived after losing its head. I won't be fooled this time, and so I keep swinging.
Slowly, the fact penetrates my rage that I can see better than before. My arm slows as pain catches up with me, loss of blood making me sway where I stand. The sky lightens on the horizon and a soft orange-pink glow spreads out. The sun appears and begins to climb the sky in a smooth motion; a few long beats of my heart later, it hangs as high above us as it always has, spreading warmth and light onto the brown shale sand.
I look down at the mangled body lying on the sand. Black fur, long nose, beady eyes now empty and dead. It isn't a monster, it's just a bear. The word leaps to my mind as tears sting my eyes. It isn't even a particularly large bear; it's about as big as me, though fur might once have made it look bigger if it weren't matted down and clotted with blood. My fault. My stomach churns and I look away, seeking my companion and dreading what I might find.
Justin. I don't recognize him where he lies in the sand. He's coated with blood that still gurgles up from his wounds, his leg twisted under him at an angle that hurts just to look at it. Part of his cheek has been gouged away, leaving his face caked with blood and sand; thick claw marks rake across his arms and chest. My own wounds throb in sympathy and I double over, vomiting up what feels like every bite of food I've ever eaten.
Chapter 17
Aniyah
The sun climbs high above our heads before coming to a halt directly over the arena. Light beats down upon us, illuminating the grisly scene below. I hear a gasp from someone behind me catching sight of the mangled bodies—not Miyuki, who can't see without xer glasses, but one of the others.
The match had been difficult to follow, between the silvery light spilling from the air above the Master's throne and the colorful explosions. The magical outlines of the boys guided my gaze in the dark, but the rest of the girls had to rely on senses other than sight. We heard the screams and smelled the blood. I could almost feel the tear of flesh with each wound, the brutality of the fight stealing my breath.
Now in sunlight we see the aftermath: a dead animal lying in a heap with two boys nearby. Only one of them is standing, and my eyes confirm what my magical sense already knew: it's the boy who was brought in with us, the handsome one who was kind to Miyuki. He staggers, retches, then collapses from his wounds. Blood seeps between the fingers clutched to his side.
"Well, that was disappointing." The creature that paces our tower sighs, her voice like a gust of dry wind emerging from the rotted wood of her throat. I had forgotten the word 'tree' until I saw her, and in that moment I knew what she ought to be and yet was not. Her wooden skin is pitted with holes and scars which weep thick amber sap, and the hair tumbling down her back is a curtain of rotten leaves, each little more than a tattered stem and their colors only a faint suggestion of once-vibrant crimson and orange.
"It was indeed." The Master's voice is still inhumanly flat, but he makes an attempt at solicitous sympathy to match the mask hiding his blank face. 'My gentleman's mask,' he'd called it when he and Handler came to collect us for the fight, though all his affected gentleness has so far been reserved for this strange fey visitor who feels fetid to the core. "Your last guardian was much better, yes? It is always vexing to lose good servants, and worse when finders provide inferior replacements."
"My last guardian was a treasure," she observes with another low sigh. "My last finder, too. I have had the most unlucky streak lately, losing them both. And now this one, too." Her lip peels back in an expression of disgust, flecks of her face breaking away as dry wood mimics the movement of skin without the necessary elasticity. "I suppose I could buy a new bear from you, but your technique is so rough! It is easier to start with a sapling and bend it to my specifications than to try changing one you've already altered."
He hesitates before he answers, and I tear my eyes away from the carnage to watch him work out a way to take this as a compliment. "Well, my arena is a rough place, as you know. Perhaps too rough for a lady." The disgust flaking from her lips doesn't subside. Inside, my mind screams at the banal horror playing out before me; those boys are dead or dying while our captor ineptly banters. He hurries to mollify her. "The next time I get a fresh batch, I could save them for you to consider."
She peers at him, not yet placated. "Next time? When do you expect that to be? Your stables seem rather full. Have you decided to build an extension, as I suggested?"
"My stables were full," he corrects. "I'll have to bring in new ones to replace these two." He sighs, his shoulders moving in a parody of emotion that doesn't reach the fixed smile on his mask. "The strong one was shaping up to be the crowd favorite, too. Such a shame."
The tree-woman brightens, relaxing the curl of her lip. "Well, a new batch to look over would be quite welcome. I will take you up on the offer." Her eyes drift over us then, her pupils dark weevil holes rotting at the edges. "Unless any of you girls would be interested in leaving with me?" Her voice softens into a cajoling croon. "You must get so bored being cooped up. How would you like the freedom of a forest?"
If we hadn't just witnessed an innocent bear being clubbed to death, the offer might have been more tantalizing; as it is, her words meet horrified silence. Even the creature who calls himself our master seems discomfited, though I imagine not for the same reason. "Ah, my girls are not for fighting. They are delicate luxuries. They would be useless to you, dear lady."
She laughs off his objection; a barking, mocking sound of wet wood crumbling with age. "Nonsense. I require only anger to work with, and I assure you these girls have more than enough of that." Her eyes narrow, scrutinizing each of us in turn. "All of them have potential," she murmurs, sounding torn. "And I wouldn't have to wait for your finder to bring in fresh ones. But there is still the matter of the roughness of your technique. You tear what you should shape; it's sloppy, verging on criminal."
A trickle of ire seeps into the Master's flat voice. "I choose not to shape them because humans are prettiest in their raw state. The girls remain attractive for their partners, and the fighters are pleasing to the audience. I see no reason to add fangs or fur to obscure their natural beauty." He pauses, making an effort to match his tone to the gentlemanly mask he wears. "But if you believe she would suit your needs, I might be persuaded to part with my newest. She was an extra brought in with my spotter."
My heart leaps into my throat; I don't have to wait for his gaze to settle on Miyuki to know who he means. Xer hand squeezes mine in a rush of panic. "You can't."
The words squeak out of my throat before I have a chance to think about what I'm doing, yet even when my mind catches up, I can't see a better plan. What can they do that's worse than separating us? I clear my throat, trying to ignore the effect of the two magical titans staring coldly at me. "You can't," I repeat. The words are barely more than a whisper, but what I lack in volume I make up by sounding reasonable; my voice shows no trace of the wild panic that throbs down my spine.
"I see." The white-masked creature towers over me. "Would you like to tell us why that is?" Light gathers in his hands, hot and dangerous; his voice is cold as death.
I swallow, picking my words with care. "Master, Quartz has healing hands," I tell him, doing my best to sound respectful. "If you let us go down there," I nod at the arena, "it might not be too late to save the crowd favorite. Maybe even both of them." Miyuki squeezes my hand hard enough to hurt, but I ignore xer; there'll be time to work a miracle once xie's not in danger of being sold off. "She can't do that if she leaves."
The smallest of frowns enters his voice. "You are wrong, spotte
r. True healers are a rare breed, nothing like this one."
"I've felt it!" I insist, striving for the perfect balance between respect and certainty, hoping he won't notice the sweat beading on my forehead. "I've spotted it!" I maintain eye contact with the empty holes in his mask. I'm the expert here, I think, willing the words into his mind. You took me for a reason. Trust me. Believe in me.
The tree-woman watches me with her rotten eyes, the stench of mildew growing stronger. "It is an abstract point," she declares, turning away from us and stepping closer to the edge of the parapet.
Our master raises a pale hand. "Lady—"
"Either she is common clay, in which case I will find richer soil among a fresh batch," she interrupts, her voice cool, "or she is a healer, in which case I have no use for her as a guardian. Send me a message when your finder brings you new material to work with; if there is aught good among the findings, I will pay well."
She steps lightly onto the lip of the parapet and over the side into empty air. I gasp, expecting to see her plummet to the ground below, but she does not. The cloak of leaves tumbling down her back in lieu of hair lengthens in an instant to cover her from head to toe, wrapping every inch of her until she is nothing more than a bundle of thick foliage. This mass hangs in the air for the length of a single breath, then explodes into a stream of individual leaves carried away on a gust of wind that wasn't there before.
With a low growl, the Master tears off his mask and throws it against the stone wall behind us where it shatters into a thousand fragments. "She is the worst of sisters." He turns back to me, the vast featureless stretch of his blank face more menacing than ever before. "And you. You just lost me a sale, spotter. I shall have to think on your punishment."
I hear Hana draw a breath behind me, and for a moment I'm shot through with panic that she'll defend me and bring down his wrath on her too. Yet it is Handler who speaks, unexpectedly coming to my aid. "Master, if I may? The Lady of the Silent Forest would have been angry with you anyway, when the product of the sale proved inferior. Perhaps our spotter's mistake is a blessing in disguise."
No one moves. My eyes flick to Handler in astonishment before I remember to lower them in a show of humility. What is he doing? The cycle before, he was shoving me along corridors and throwing me at boys; now he's protecting me. His hands are clasped in front of him and one finger worries at a mole on his wrist, stroking the dark bump in a nervous rhythm. I don't remember noticing any spots on his hands when I studied the magic thrumming through those carved patterns; the blemish makes him seem more human somehow, less imposing. Did I miss it at the time, or is he changing?
"You are right," the Master concedes after a fraught pause, folding himself back onto his huge throne. "And she was seeking girls as guardians. A cynical mind might conclude that she wanted an inferior product, so she would have a pretext to be angry with me. Very well. Your mistake is forgiven, spotter."
He turns his gaze away and I breathe again; Miyuki squeezes my hand and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Hana's shoulders relax in relief. "But you will not interfere the next time I offer that one for sale," he adds, his flat voice stern. "No wild tales of healing."
Next time. My heart leaps into my throat. The thought of being separated from Miyuki, of having xer torn away from me in a sale, is more than I know how to cope with.
Handler clears his throat. "Master," he murmurs, his low voice deferential, "in her inexperience the spotter has overestimated what Quartz can do, yet we were aware the girl possesses manipulation over muscular systems. Their finder reported she'd undergone training in a related field; she manifested some talent in pain reduction and injury management before alteration. He suggested she might have a soothing effect on the boys, yet it might be more profitable to put her to work healing them."
The Master drums his pale fingers against the arm of his throne. "We'll see how bad it is," he decides, rising in a stately motion. "If they're too far gone, I can always repurpose them as meat."
We leap to follow him, and I hear the grind of metal against stone in the arena below us: the gate is rising. I glance back over my shoulder to see the distant figures of boys spilling out of the caverns and running to their wounded comrades, then we're plunged into darkness as we begin to descend the tower stair.
Please be alive. Please be okay. The words echo in my head, as though I could make them live through willpower alone. I need those boys to be safe, and not just because one was kind to Miyuki; if xie can save them, then maybe the Master won't sell xer away.
Miyuki crowds close to me in the tight staircase, gripping my arm with xer nails. "Aniyah!" xie hisses in my ear. "I can't! You know I can't do this."
"You have to try!" I twist my head to look at xer in the darkness, hoping the panic I feel is written on my face for xer to read. "Miyuki, I don't have any other ideas!"
"Aniyah, my hands aren't going to help those boys!"
A warm body presses into us from behind and Imani's lovely face shines in the low torchlight as she inserts herself into our whispering conference. "I can set a bone," she hisses.
"What?" I blink at her, my foot almost missing the next step.
"I can set a bone! That boy's leg was broken, you could see; I can set it." Her eyes flick away from my gaze, suddenly shy. "I've done it before, for one of the girls. It was only a finger, but I knew how. I... I think I was studying it before I was brought here."
Miyuki stares at her, xer eyes wide. "You can heal him? Because I— They're acting like I've done this before, but I can't remember!"
Imani shakes her head. "No, I can't heal him, but I can help. I can set his leg. We can wrap up the cuts. Maybe Chloe could fetch some of the pool water? It heals wounds; the Master put it in to fix us up after the boys use us, but it works on everyone. If we combine the water with what I know and what you can do..." Her voice trails away.
"You have to direct us," I whisper to Miyuki, my heart beating faster. "It's your magic, which makes it your show. You'll tell us what to do; you'll be the expert. The healing will be your doing, and then he'll want to keep you."
Miyuki turns to look at me, alarm written on xer face. "What if he finds out we're faking?"
"We're not faking! The only thing that matters is his fighters are healed. You can do this, Miyuki, I know you can. I see your magic."
We spill out of the stairwell into the cavern corridor that separates our home from the boys' rooms. Ahead of us, the Master stalks in long strides to the huge black doors. One hand moves in a wide arc that sweeps the air in front of him and the carved doors fling open at his gesture, parting with more violent speed than Handler has ever achieved. We scurry in his wake into the smoky cavern, where the group of boys awaits.
On the ground before us lie two badly-wounded boys. One of them, the handsome one who was kind to Miyuki, clutches his stomach where blood seeps from jagged claw marks. He groans as a dark-eyed boy kneels beside him and holds his free hand, clenching hard enough to turn his own knuckles white.
Beside him lies his comrade from the arena. Caked with blood and sand, his face has been marred by the beast's teeth, and deep gashes have torn away much of his clothes and the flesh underneath. Three boys cluster around him while another leans against a nearby pillar with his eyes closed, unable to watch. At first blush I'm sure the injured boy is already gone but then he coughs, blood gurgling from the corner of his mouth. He's alive, I realize, my eyes widening with horror; I can't begin to imagine the pain he must be in.
The Master draws to a halt, tilting his head to consider the wounded fighters. "Heal the strong one," he orders, pointing a thin finger at the curly-haired boy. "Kill the weak one. He's too far gone to keep."
"Master!" The oldest boy straightens from where he leans on his cane. "Pumice survived his fight. It would be bad for morale to kill him now." His face is taut with worry, his words edging the border of disrespect.
"Morale is not worth the cost of keeping a fighter who cannot fight," the
creature declares. "You know that best of all." The man winces and looks down at his cane, unable to protest further.
"Master," Handler says from my elbow, his voice low. "Should the girls be able to heal Pumice, he might still turn a profit. You have already sunk a certain cost into the boy; it would be a shame not to recoup it."
The faceless creature considers this. "Even so," he says, his flat voice more thoughtful, "I cannot continue to throw good resources away on a defective servant. Even if he recovers, the odds of him ever properly winning a fight are much too low."
Handler nods, ever subservient. "He might profit you in a non-fighting capacity, Master. If he were healed, you could sell him. Or he could be repurposed as a Prize girl; the boys are clearly very fond of him."
Eyes widen, and not just my own; several boys look offended or outright horrified at the notion, though one just blinks and tilts his head slightly. The Master drums his fingers against his robe as precious time slips by. "That would leave me with eight Prizes in my stable; more than I usually like to keep. But I suppose it's only a matter of time until one of the boys is too rough with a Prize and breaks her. Girls are so fragile."
He turns to Miyuki then, his eyeless gaze sending chills up my spine. "Heal them both," he orders in a tone that brooks no refusal before sweeping out of the room. The black doors slam shut behind him with an ear-shattering bang and he is gone, leaving us to perform miracles in his absence.
Chapter 18
Keoki