by Ana Mardoll
I walk a little faster, each step sending a stab of pain through my shoulder blades. The left corridor follows a sloping curvature identical to the right, and torches set in the walls throw wild shadows around us as we walk. Without thinking, I draw a little closer to Handler. Waves of magical fear still roll from his shoulders like water streaming off a surfacing swimmer, but at least his fear is a familiar one, and preferable to the creeping dread of a summons to places unknown.
We round a bend and face a giant set of doors almost identical to the golden and black doors I've passed through so many times, but these are white and so ugly I wince to look at them. Their color and texture summons memories of bleached bone and the horns of dead things. Handler steps forward, and the magic flowing through the doors reaches out to embrace him. Tendrils of light fall into the cracks of his face and hands, flowing in a rapid current that picks up speed in the deep troughs lining his skin.
The magic pulses brighter as the flow accelerates until a crack ripples down the center of the massive doors. Handler presses the sides of the crack and the doors open, scraping against the floor and leaving a powdery residue that clings to my feet. It's the same with all the doors. His body is the key. How many magical doors are underground here with us, I wonder, and could we ever get through them to freedom?
The cavern that opens before us is large enough to hold both the boys' cave and our own vault with room to spare. Across from us is a set of identical white doors. To our left and right, facing one another across the expansive cavern, are heavy iron gates with bars which allow sunlight to stream through and spill over the floor. The gate to our left leads to the arena; I can see stadium seats from here. But the gate to our right lets out onto a new world: sun and sand and stone, as far as the eye can see.
"Alexandrite?" My attention is so enthralled by the right-hand gate that I don't immediately hear Handler beside me. "Alexandrite! I asked if you prefer to take the stairs or the ramp."
I blink and look around at him. The ceiling above us has four wide holes through which more sunlight streams into the cavern. Each of the holes is positioned over thick pillars stretching from ceiling to floor. As I peer at the dark stone, I realize that three of the pillars have been cut with stairs and the fourth one carved with a spiraling ramp that slopes to the top of the cavern. I look at Handler again, utterly confused. "The ramp?" I've no idea where we're going, but I don't want to climb steps to get there.
Abandoning his cart in the center of the room, he leads me up the ramp. Around the halfway mark, I realize this may not have been the brightest plan; there's no rail to hold onto and I'm desperately afraid I'll slip and fall. Panic rising, I reach out to grab his hand. He recoils and I feel a cold splash of fear, but I hold on fast and we keep trudging to the top. I'd rather die on my own terms than from falling down a ramp.
We emerge from the hole in the ceiling and I blink in the light. We're in the Arena stands, I realize, staring at the sand below. The entire edifice is empty and a lonely wind whistles through the abandoned seats. I glance back at Handler, whose hand I had dropped the moment we were on firm footing.
"Alexandrite." He watches me with his sightless gaze, one hand worrying at his mole. His tone is softer than usual, and I'm not sure whether that's a good sign or a very bad one. "You spoke back to the Master in front of a guest. You are therefore sentenced to clean-up duty in the stands."
I'd forgotten about my threatened punishment. I look around in confusion; the stands are already clean, with no debris that I can see. "With my bare hands?" I can't wash the seats without water, and even if there were anything to pick up, there is nowhere to put it.
"A guest of our Master—She of the Western Wastes—has reported losing a piece of jewelry, a silver necklace. She believes she lost it on her last visit here. It is a powerful magical item. You will use your talent to either find it or confirm that it is not here. When you are finished, you may return to the vault."
The stadium is enormous, with multiple levels of seats that wrap all the way around the giant arena. Just walking to the far end and back would exhaust me. I swallow, watching his blank face for any hint of compassion. "I have to find a necklace for this lady before I can eat or rest again?"
"No. You must find the necklace for our Master. I doubt he has any intention of returning it." Handler turns to leave, then looks back at me. "It is a mild punishment. I have known the Master to command much worse. I encourage you to work diligently. When you have finished, you may return to the entrance hall and wait there to be collected." He descends the ramp, leaving me alone in a world of stone and sand.
I sit on the nearest bench, trying to settle my thoughts. I'm hungry and tired, and already burning from the sun which beats down on me. I adjust my clothes, trying to create a hood for my face, but I have little material to work with; I didn't dress in layers, not knowing I would be brought up here. Silence weighs heavily on me and I miss Miyuki, I miss Hana, I miss anyone whose comfort would make this task seem less impossible.
Okay, try to look on the bright side. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I can use this opportunity to learn something about this place. I'm up here all by myself, unsupervised and with silence to think.
I peer out over the stadium, trying to overlay the world I see up here onto the life I know underground. The arena is a huge oval of dark sand dotted with pillars that stab up at random intervals, all of which are whole and unbroken with no trace of Keoki's handiwork during his fight with Christian. The sand spreading out below the pillars is framed by sheer cliffs which rise as high as the tops of the pillars before tapering up and out, creating staggered rows of seating which circle the Arena. That's where I am now: standing on these carved cliffs, looking down. Under my feet, beneath the seats, are the caverns where we live.
Here below the staircases is the entrance hall, as Handler called it. On the far side of the arena is the gate where the boys enter for the fights. The matching gate in the entrance hall below must be the challengers' gate; I remember the venom-spitting man who strutted in for my first fight. If challengers come in from the entrance hall, they must be entering from somewhere: presumably the open wasteland which I glimpsed.
Could we get out through the wasteland? Where is our vault? Midway in the cliffs between the entrance hall and the boys' gate, the Master's pavilion rises to tower over the surrounding seats. The steps we are forced to climb are carved into the sharp slope beneath the throne. In that same slope my eyes locate a large hole cut into the cliffs: the ceiling to our vault. That hole is where sunlight comes in.
If I'm right, our vault is halfway between the boys' cavern and the entrance hall. The wasteland outside hadn't looked promising, but the visitors to the stadium must live somewhere. Maybe they have underground homes beneath the sand, and we just have to find the right entrance. If we could get through the golden doors and out the entrance gate, there might be a chance for us. But that's a lot of ifs. And none of this is worth anything if I can't get back to the others to tell them.
I sigh and stand, shading my eyes as I look around. The stadium is coated with the same soft dusting of magic as our vault, and nothing jumps out at me from here. I decide to make a circuit around the stadium, walking the lower levels and looking up. If I'm lucky, I'll only need to make one circuit in order to find the necklace. If I'm not lucky, I don't want to think how many laps it will take to check each row.
Handler might have known worse punishments than this, but halfway around the right-hand side of the stands I'm forced to admit I can't imagine what they might be. Every step I take is agony, and each breath sends shooting pains through my back and sides. I could stop and rest, but if I sat down I'm not sure I could get back up again. Worse, the giddy dizziness I felt during Auction is back, and there's no rail separating the lowest edge of the cliffs from the arena below. One woozy tumble and I'll break my neck.
My greatest enemy out here is the sun. It beats down with a vengeance, making my skin prickle. It casts sh
adows along the seats, creating dark pools where the necklace might hide. It assaults my eyes, making them squint and water as I look up and down the rows, desperate to catch a glitter of metal or magic. And it hides the strange man until I've almost walked by him, his sudden appearance causing me to take a step back and nearly lose my footing on the rough stone.
He sits on the ground in an aisle between seating sections, looking entirely at ease in the shade. The man is dark, but unnaturally so; his skin is the ashen black of a torch completely burned up. He shimmers in the sun like the heat mirages that dance at the edge of my vision, the effect making him almost invisible. Above all, he ripples with pure magic, thicker than anything I've seen. His power doesn't register as liquid light, the way it does with the Master; this man's energy appears as a layer of mist that pulses over and under and through him. He is unmistakably strong, more so even than the monster who rules my existence.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Recognition of his power does nothing to hold my tongue. I'm exhausted, starving, hurting, and very dizzy, and I've almost fallen, thanks to him. At this point, I would almost welcome being killed out here for my rudeness; it would be quicker than a fall. He ignores me, however, his intent gaze locked on the arena below.
"Hey! I'm talking to you." I ease a step closer. "What are you doing up here? Did you forget to go home?" The idea seems ludicrous, but I can't imagine why else a guest would be up here in the stands.
He looks up at me with an odd frown on his face, the way you'd look at someone if you weren't sure they were talking to you. When he meets my gaze, his eyes widen and he leaps to his feet in one smooth movement. He's taller than I, and the height added by the stands causes him to tower over me.
"You can see me?" His voice is thick and guttural, the sound of torch-smoke if it could talk.
"Yes." I set my shoulders and try not to regret speaking. "What are you doing here?"
He studies me and I shiver despite the heat. The whites of his eyes swirl like mist and his irises are as clear as water. Nothing about his gaze is kind or human. "You should leave," he says, his voice cold. "You have seen nothing."
I have no idea what the Master will do if I go back empty-handed and I don't want to find out, so I take a deep breath and stand my ground. "I see you," I remind him. "Does the Master know you're here?"
Emotion flickers through his strange eyes, almost a grimace. Not fear, I decide, but annoyance, as though faced with a bothersome prospect. "He doesn't, does he?" I guess, watching his shadowy face. "You don't want him to."
A long moment passes while thick power throbs in the air around him. "I wonder if you realize how simple it would be to remove you from consideration altogether?" His tone is curious, almost verging on polite if he weren't threatening to kill me.
"If something happens to me, the Master will know someone was here," I point out, swallowing hard. "You know, there's a third option. Tell me who you are and what you're doing here and where you came from, and I'll keep your secret. I won't tell anyone about you." I'm not sure this is wise, but anything I can get out of him regarding the outside world is worth the risk.
Misty eyes watch me without blinking, until my own eyes start to water on his behalf. "I accept this deal," he murmurs. Before I can react, he reaches out to place two fingers on my lips. A shock flickers through me, white-hot but painless, and the moisture in my mouth turns to a gritty ash. When he pulls his hand away I erupt into painful coughing, each hack bringing up gray dust.
"What was that?" I demand, spitting grit into the stands.
"A deal." He watches, unruffled by my reaction. "You will tell no one about me, which makes things significantly more convenient."
I glare at him. I hadn't been intending to go back on my offer, but I also hadn't meant it literally; Miyuki wasn't included in my silence, nor Hana and Keoki. But I'd said what I had said, and his touch was magic; I'd have known that even if I hadn't coughed up ash. "You could have warned me," I point out, trying not to sound as angry as I feel.
"I chose not to. Now, to uphold my end of the deal. I am the faery who was born in the shadows and lives there still. I came from the west. I am here searching for a good vantage point."
Silence stretches out as I wait for elucidation. When nothing follows, I blink. "What kind of answers are those?"
"Valid ones." His stance is easier and his voice calmer. He looks more self-assured now that I no longer represent a threat, studying me with a distant curiosity rather than hostility.
"But you haven't told me anything! I don't even know your name! Only that you're a faery—", the word rolls awkwardly on my tongue, but it's the same one the Master uses for his own strange kind, "—and that you care about getting a good seat? That applies to everyone who comes here!"
His lips twitch very slightly. "I am not responsible for your inability to recognize the uniqueness of the identifier I gave you," he says with a shrug. "As for my motive for being here," his eyes sweep over the sands below us, "the Master of Masques has been ordered by one of our illustrious parents to present a feast when they arrive. I wish to observe the feeding from a discreet distance."
I frown, working my way through this. "You want to watch... your parent eat a meal?"
"Yes," he says, his unblinking gaze still locked on my face. He scrutinizes me until I feel naked; there's no lust in his swirling eyes, just merciless curiosity. "I have recently become interested in the dynamics of human cooperation in battlefield settings. I believe the Master of Masques intends to serve several servants at once for this meal; perhaps even his entire stable. If he is wise, he will retain you, but I have never known him to be wise."
The oppressive heat of the arena steals my breath away as the world crashes around my ears. "The food... for the feast... is us?" I can't breathe; the air is too hot in my lungs. The thought of Miyuki or Keoki being eaten as I watch is heart-rending. "No. No. He can't! I swore we wouldn't die here. We've got to get out!"
The creature makes a humming noise, neither agreement nor denial. "Interesting. Do you think you can?"
I stare at him. "We've got to! There are fourteen of us—thirteen, if you don't count Justin—and if we work together and use our powers, there's got to be a way!"
He snorts, amusement flickering over his face. "Your powers," he muses, reaching up a mist-shrouded hand to stroke at the line of his jaw. "You're a magic-spotter, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm supposed to be rare." Now, if only I can use that in some way, I think, my mind racing.
"You are, but he altered you very roughly." His eyes narrow with interest. "The Master of Masques is infamous in these parts for his shoddy work with humans. No finesse at all, just drags your talents to the surface and calls the job done. You'd be far more powerful in the hands of a competent faery, but then we wouldn't have little anomalies like your ability to see someone straddling the shadow-realm."
He considers me for a long moment while I try and fail to calm the flood of thoughts and fears washing over me. "I've made up my mind," he announces, as though I'd been waiting patiently for him all this time rather than paralyzed with anxiety. "I will give you directions and aid in exchange for a favor to be named later. Do you accept this deal?"
I frown, tasting the lingering traces of ash in my mouth. "What kind of directions and aid? The answers you gave in our last deal were almost useless. I could promise you a favor and get nothing in return."
He raises an eyebrow. "If you are unsatisfied with my answers, perhaps you asked the wrong questions; yet here I thought you had learned much. As for my current offer, logic dictates that it would be in my best interests for you to survive, as otherwise my favor will die with you."
I shake my head. "I've already said we're going to escape. You could be hoping for a free favor when we've succeeded. Without any kind of conditions? No way. I won't hurt Miyuki for you. Or any of my friends. Or people in general. If I get away from this place, I don't want to see any more killing."
Pitiless eyes sweep over me. "You're not in any position to drive a hard bargain," he points out. "Since you are so concerned, however, I agree with your condition and will not require you to harm anyone. Make no mistake, human: without the help I am offering, you will never escape your master or his hungry parent. I am satisfied in either case; my interest is in observation, not your personal safety."
I can't trust him. I know this for a fact, as strongly as I know the word for the sun above us. He's the same kind of creature as the one who holds me captive, and there's never been a trace of sympathy in his eyes. Yet if he's telling the truth, I need all the help he's willing to give. I'd been desperate for a single fact about the outside world and now he's offering me detailed instructions. All I have to do is promise him my total obedience in an unknown task which, in the best possible scenario, I will live to regret.
Worst case, I kill myself after I get Miyuki to safety. I can live with that, so to speak.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. "Deal."
His lips part in a smile and I see teeth the color of gray ash. One hand reaches out to stroke my cheek and I'm frozen to the spot. "This is going to hurt," he says, as pain stabs me with the force of a steel spike.
Every color in the arena brightens slowly, building to a blinding climax. The sun becomes a searing ball of agony; the blue of the sky burns its imprint on my very soul. The man touching my cheek and rooting me to the spot is a swirl of smoky gray, misty white, and a wild thread of black ember that ripples through him burning everything he touches. Out of the corner of my eye I see, in an inky corner of shadow, a flash of glittering silver that grows brighter alongside the pain. The necklace.