Crashing Thunder returned from the arena splattered with blood, wearing his usual dopey, fish-eyed grin.
“That is the biggest crowd ever,” Crash said, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. “I’ve never seen them so worked up.”
“Good luck in the next world, Dread,” one of his cellmates called out to him.
“Save me a warm spot in hell,” someone else said.
Crash pulled him into a hug.
“When you swim that great ocean in the sky, tell my dearly departed mama that I love her, will ya?”
“Sure, Crash,” Lars said.
A few minutes later, stagehands brought in a dead Commoner on a stretcher. His lifeless leg dragged along the ground, leaving a trail in the dusty floor. As Lars was fighting a sense of rising panic, Josie came into the staging area wearing a dazzling costume.
Her coverings were woefully inadequate as armor, but he had to admit that she looked stunning. Breast plates made of gold covered a black leather bra, which pushed her real breasts into two luscious white mounds. Thigh-high black leather boots with spiked high heels added two or three inches to the length of her legs. Ridiculous for fighting, but sexy.
Bronze powder with sparkles coated her skin.
Thick mascara and heavy black eyeliner made her cornflower-blue eyes totally pop. Long strands of black thread, woven with blue ribbons and red roses, flowed from the top of the helmet, making her black ponytail look long and thick.
Josie was a rare blue rose blooming in a dead garden.
Unable to speak, he offered her his elbow, and Josie hooked her arm into his. The slightest tremble came from her body, but the emotion wafting from her psyche was stoic determination. As his charisma latched onto her courage, he felt his own strengthen. Tossing their noses into the air, they entered the stage together playing the part of arrogant champions, sure of their upcoming victory.
The arena was set up like an obstacle course. Cargo nets were suspended over spikes driven pointed side up into the ground, rope swings dangled over tar pits, sandbag barriers were set up downwind of archery towers. A large ball-shaped predator with blood-red wings, long bird legs, and the muzzle of an alligator, was straining on its chains, snapping at the air with its jaws.
“Flying creatures are the worst,” Josie said. “I’ll distract it, while you take off its wings.”
Applause thundered as they did the customary reigning-champion stroll around the stage to the march of drums and the blare of trumpets. When they stopped in the center, Josie put her weight on her hip and plastered a sexy scowl across her painted red lips, while Lars remained passively stone-faced.
Mr. Bayloo stood on his perch to address the crowd. “The Galatians have pitted their skills against creatures great and small, but the real question is this: how will they fare against the best soldiers of the Western Alliance?”
The gate opposite the one Lars and Josie had just left started to open. Which meant the winged orb wasn’t going to be their only opponent. Not knowing what lurked behind the door, waiting to tear off their heads, was the scariest part.
Josie’s hand tightened on Lars’s forearm as his mouth went dry.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this act is different from anything you have seen today. At the request of the Western Alliance, the Dread of the West and the Bitch of Galatian will pit their skills against trained soldiers, the best the four major races have to offer.”
Lars could only see his foes’ silhouettes. They weren’t shaped like beast or monsters—they were humanoids. They entered in formation six at a time.
First came Commoners dressed in navy blue military uniforms. Sabers hung at their sides.
“The Galatians will face six soldiers from King Elrod’s Royal Guard,” Bayloo’s voice echoed through the arena.
“Shit,” he heard Josie say.
Then six Bulwarks, pounding metal hammers into their palms, entered with their horns heavily decorated with boasting rings. Antlered Deermas trotted in next, brandishing their sharpened racks at the crowd. Last, a dozen Regalans came out with bows slung across their shoulders. They climbed the cargo nets with ease to take their posts along the fence like snipers waiting to kill anything that moved.
Lars feverishly eyed the bleachers, thick with soldiers from every Western Nation, filled past capacity with dignitaries and nobleman. The hope of escaping through the crowd drained away. His own emotions were too intense at the moment to feel Josie’s. Their eyes briefly met.
“I’m glad we became friends, Lars,” she said with a poignant smile.
“Me too, Josephine.”
“You finally used my real name.”
“Remember the time you told me it was a kickass name?” Lars smiled.
“Yeah.”
“The name suits you.”
She laughed a little, bottom lip quivering. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
“Don’t be, because it made me a man. We’ll get through this, wait and see. And when we do, I’m going to marry you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. And it’s going to be the best wedding anyone in Galatia has ever seen. We’ll have one of those fancy white cakes, two stories high.”
“I want an old-fashioned white dress with a train that goes on for a mile and a hundred flower girls to hold it up.”
“We’ll have wine.”
“And beer,” Josie said. “I don’t know why, I’ve just always liked it better than wine.”
“We’ll have a killer rock band.”
“Nah, I prefer country.”
“We’ll mix it up then.”
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” Josie said. “Can we find one for our honeymoon?”
“I’ll go anywhere in heaven or on Earth for you, Josephine,” Lars said. He pulled her into his arms, not caring that the whole crowd was watching. Leaning down, he closed his eyes and brought his lips to hers. She pulled him tight against her pelvis returned the kiss, their last kiss, full of dying hopes and dreams. Nothing had ever tasted so bittersweet.
Just then a man in the crowd yelled, “Galatians, Arise!”
His voice reverberated through the arena, causing Lars and Josie to jerk their heads apart and turn around. A dark-skinned man with dreadlocked hair leapt over the fence into the arena, drawing his sword. Portions of the wooden fence separating the arena from the crowd slammed down to the ground.
Dozens of cloaked figures poured onto the fighting area.
Swords came out. Battle cries sounded. Soldiers were fighting the men in cloaks. Trainers were fighting actors. Actors were fighting anyone who stood between them and the exit out of the arena.
“This is our chance!” Josie hollered.
Slaughterhouse came toward them with a jagged edged sword—the kind that did more damage sliding out than going in.
Josie unsheathed her two short swords.
Lars raised his long sword in defensive posture.
Slaughterhouse swung at the both of them, intending to lop off their heads in one chop, but Josie did a backbend, barely sparing her nose. Metal clanked as Lars stopped Slaughterhouse’s blade with his own. Josie jumped on Slaughterhouse’s back. Squeezing him tight with her legs, she raised both swords and plunged them deep into his neck.
“That’s for Willow,” she spoke into her victim’s ear as he crumbled.
Josie landed softly on her feet, to hold a bloodied blade against the throat of a figure in a brown cloak that had foolishly approached.
“Don’t kill me!” he shouted in English. Josie squinted, trying to place the voice.
“Do I know you?”
He put his hood down. A middle-aged man with thinning jet black hair stood there with tears in his eyes.
Josie gasped. “D-Dad?”
He opened his arms in invitation.
Josie threw herself into her father’s arms.
Didn’t they know there was no time for a family reunion? Lars raised his sword as a group of trainers approa
ched, themselves brandishing short swords.
One of them said, “Screw Mr. Bayloo—I’m not fighting Dread.” As they ran away, the riot expanded around them.
“Whatever the plan is,” Lars said anxiously to Josie’s father, “it’s time to implement it.”
When Josie and her father let go of each other, she was wrapped in a long black cloak. Josie’s father tossed another cloak at Lars. “Cover yourself and follow me.”
Following Josie’s father as he zigzagged through the crowd, they fought soldiers and trainers along the way. They finally stopped at the shortest section of the barrier, scalled it, and leapt up the risers to an exit. A moment later, they dashed past the ticket counter and into the a lot filled with buggies, wagons, dog-carts, and a shed for the horses. Once out of the lot, they sprinted down a winding dirt walking path. Spattered with mud from the copious puddles along their route, they tried to blend in with a line of spectators fleeing the show.
The path led over a grassy hill down into a valley, where a blonde middle-aged woman in a brown split skirt was holding onto a string of horses.
“Bianca!” Josie’s father waved. “Over here!”
“Who is she?” Josie demanded to know, tugging at her father’s sleeve.
“My wife,” Josie’s father added.
Josie’s face soured into a prune.
One of Mr. Bayloo’s men crested the hill. The man behind him shouted and pointed down at Bianca and the rest of them. Josie and Lars hastily climbed aboard their chosen horses, as four familiar forms pelted up behind Josie, Lars and her father.
“Dante!” Josie screamed in happy recognition. Behind him were Lindsey, Rolf and Prince Loyl. Where was Hogard? There was no time to ask. They galloped south for what seemed like miles until Bianca drew up in a coppice to give the horses a breather.
“What’s the plan?” Josie panted.
“We’ll go south, then backtrack to Tectonia,” Dante said.
“You can stay with me, Josie,” her father said.
“And, Lars,” Dante said, “you can stay at my old place until I return with my family.”
Josie turned to him in confusion. “Are you moving back to Tectonia, Dante?”
“This war is going to level Galatia. I’m heading back there now in hopes of getting Jo, Nick and Shasta out of there before the battle begins. Don’t worry, I’ll bring your mother.”
“But I still have the Seeker of the Four Winds. There’s still a chance we’ll find the map.”
“It’s too late for that,” Prince Loyl said. “The armies of the Alliance are already on their way to Galatia. After what they’ve seen in the arena, they’re probably sending more reinforcements.”
“But the map...”
“We haven’t time to find it now,” Prince Loyl said.
“At least in Tectonia,” Josie’s father said, “you can find employment, raise a family, and live your lives in peace.”
“But we have a good lead...” Josie tried to say.
“Living in Tectonia is the second-best option to having a nation of our own, Josie,” Dante said. “Now that Galatia is doomed, all you have to do is keep your head low, and you won’t have any trouble. I know it’s not what we wanted, but considering the alternatives, we’re lucky to have a place at all.”
“Would all of you just shut up and listen!” Lars bellowed, surprised by the forcefulness of his own voice. “Josie is trying you tell you something important.”
Instant silence.
“Uh,” Josie cleared her throat, looking slightly flummoxed. “We narrowed down the latitude of the map.”
“It’s too late for that,” Prince Loyl repeated. Lars shot him a warning frown, and the prince bit his lip. “My apologies. Josie, please continue.”
“The line goes straight through Tectonia. And it’s possibly in Tectonia. Not the nation. The capital.”
Prince Loyl blinked. “What?”
“Seriously?” Dante gasped, “Dr. Steelsun traveled the continent over looking for that thing. You propose to tell me it’s been under our noses the whole time?”
“We won’t know until we check,” Lars said.
Silence fell over the group. Lars and Josie let them stew a minute.
Josie started, “Does this mean anything to you: Repono Scientha equals three, eleven…” She paused, a look of panic on her face. “Oh, crap, I can’t remember the rest of it!”
“What is it?”
“It’s a clue to the location of the map...I think.”
“Repono Scientha predates Commoner. It’s an ancient language, meaning deposit of knowledge,” Bianca cried. “It’s engraved over the doors of Tectonia’s university.”
“They have universities in this world?” Josie asked.
“Sort of,” Bianca explained. “It’s not like the universities your father described to me.”
“It’s more like the Library of Congress and Smithsonian all rolled into one,” Josie’s father added, “except it’s only for scholars, students, noblemen and the wealthy.”
“You live here, Dad,” Josie said, “can’t you get us in?”
“No, the only Galatians allowed in the university were personal friends of the king—but they’re in the northlands now.”
“What about you—Prince Loyl?”
“I’m not a citizen, so I can’t just walk in. I’m sure if I go to the Saberhart palace, I can get approval, but it will take time.”
Josie unwrapped as much of the Seeker’s golden cord as she could, allowing it to float free once again. It strained toward Tectonia City.
“One way or another, we’re getting into the Repono Scientha,” she said. “Now, let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Prince Loyl said without the least trace of sarcasm. “But with Mr. Bayloo’s henchmen looking for you, we’d best not travel the usual routes.”
“I know a secret shortcut,” Bianca said, hefting up her split skirt. “Follow me.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
(Josephine Rose Albright)
I’m free! I’m free! Josie wanted to shout it to the mountains, but with Galatia’s life on the line, it was too soon to celebrate. As they neared the city of Tectonia, the sheer size of the walls left her breathless. Nestled between the mountains like an absolute barrier to anyone or anything wanting to gain access, the tip of a second wall peeked over the first, and a third wall peeked over the top of the second. As they got closer, she realized they were approaching the dockyards, which from her vantage point looked like a mismatch of slate roofs, thatched roofs, and red-tiled terraces. The Seeker of the Four Winds tugged straight at the city, but she tied it down to avoid unwanted attention.
A huge iron door that worked as a drawbridge offered ingress to the city. People were coming and going on horseback, in wagons, but mostly afoot. The road sloped down as they approached the docks, but sloped upwards again once they’d entered the city. The watchful eyes of Tectonian guards made her shake under her cloak. We’ve done nothing wrong, she reminded herself. So why do I feel like such a criminal?
As soon as she made it through the third wall, a fairytale palace of glittering yellow stone filled her wandering eyes. Spires galore jutted into the sky. Green and silver banners waved a welcome hello. The view was gorgeous, but the noise was horrendous. The rattle of wagon wheels over brick streets. People talking. People arguing. Cattle lowing. Chickens squawking. Doors banging. Glass breaking. And the air smelled weird—like smoke and leather with a sprinkling of piss.
Dante suggested that they split up; it would be less conspicuous and they could divide up the tasks at hand. Lars and Prince Loyl would head straight to the palace for a library pass. Dante and Lindsey were going to check for any sign that trouble had followed them from the arena. Josie and her father would head to the library in hopes that opportunity would present itself. Bianca and Rolf would replenish supplies for the trip back home. If all went to plan, they’d all meet up with Rolf again at the Salty Dog Sundries and Saloon just be
fore sundown.
Josie and her father handed their horses over to Rolf and Bianca. They walked the rest of the way to the library, finally stopping in front of a light gray building six stories high. Its columns soared to the overhanging roofline. Her eyes traveled up the three flights of steps leading to the double-wide doors with the words Repono Scientha engraved over them.
“This is it,” her father said. “The Deposit of Knowledge.”
“Well, Angel of Galatia,” she whispered. “I’m here. Now what?”
Cocking her ear to the wind, she hoped to hear an angelic voice tell her what to do. All she heard was the braying of donkeys and someone cussing out a shepherd for blocking the road with his flock.
People of all shapes, sizes, and species were climbing up the steps. Josie considered joining a group of adolescent Commoners heading in, but her weathered cloak would stick out among the matching uniforms. Her eyes roamed up the side of the building. Hmmm...she could climb into a window, but there weren’t any on the bottom story.
As if knowing her thoughts, her father commented, “The reason there’s no windows on the ground floor is to make it harder for thieves to break into the building at night.”
“If we can find a rope, I might be able to climb it,” Josie said.
Her father took her to the alley behind the library. A Bulwark hobo was sleeping on the ground with a canteen resting on his stomach. She thought of Hogard; on the way to the city Lindsey had told her of his death. Josie hadn’t had time to process how she felt about it. In the little time she had known Hogard, Josie felt that he was the kind of person who wouldn’t let grief get in the way of completing the mission. So neither would she.
Glancing around, making sure nobody was looking, she released the Seeker of the Four Winds from its binding. Her heart leapt when it angled up the stairs toward the building.
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