Earth

by Rosie Scott

  Rhona had clearly chosen to be merged with a wolf, for the creature which slowly emerged from her flesh and bone was precisely that, though she had grown much larger as she had transformed. Now, she stood on two thick, bulky haunches supported by the backwards knees of a canine. Spreading her two arms to the sides, her sharpened claws glistened in the air, leading to two massive forearms which looked ready to rip limbs from foes. Her head, now resembling some mixture of wolf and human and more frightening than both, shook as her jaws spread open, letting out a massive roar that sprayed spittle through the air and shook the seats in which we sat. Finally ready to fight, Rhona bounded toward the other two fighters.

  Therault and Gavriel were still fighting, and the former had managed to get another hit in on the so-called Bringer of Death. Longsword clashed against the thick metal of Gavriel's only ax. It was clear that out of all of the fighters here today, Therault was the only one with the skill, smarts, and strength to have a fighting chance against his undefeated foe, for he had managed to land a few hits and he still wasn't dead. I found myself inwardly rooting for Therault, for his heavy armor and straighter disposition made it seem like he had once been an applauded member of a well-trained army, and I could tell he was only fighting because he had to. On the other hand, Gavriel appeared to want to be here.

  My eyes fell to Gavriel's waist, to the wound meant to disembowel him. I still didn't understand how he wasn't dead. Therault kept trying to hit the man from overhead, forcing Gavriel to block the hits by lifting his arms up. I knew the gladiator meant to cause more trauma to the wound by forcing it to open and release the contents of the brute's stomach. At one point, when Gavriel blocked another hit that came over his head, the wound appeared like it would give, but it did not. More concerning was the fact that the wound appeared smaller. Hadn't he been cut through to the edge of his spine? Why was the wound now only separating the skin a few inches in from his waist?

  Was I going mad? There had been no breaks, no healing. There had been nothing but fighting since the wound was made, and even still, there were streaks of blood down Gavriel's torso and legs from the cut which had once been nearly halfway through his body. The only explanation was that he had been severely injured, but his body had somehow regenerated.

  I sat up straighter in my seat. I wasn't enjoying the senseless slaughter, but I was now studying Gavriel's movements and techniques. He had labored earlier after that hard hit had been made, and had been huffing out desperate breaths, but now he was breathing easier, like the wound was no longer an issue. On the other hand, Therault was being worn down, losing energy from the trying battle.

  Rhona reached the two struggling men, not wasting any time in snarling through bared canine teeth, ripping into Gavriel's flesh with claws as sharp as blades, even as he still fought with Therault. Streaks of Gavriel's skin turned red as his blood pooled into the torn skin, before escaping and dripping down his body in streaks. The two men held ax and sword against each other, fighting for ground, Gavriel not paying any attention to the werewolf tearing off the flesh of his back, pieces of it flicking to the ground amongst blood and muscle.

  I was in disbelief. No man was this strong. No man could withstand this much pain. What...was he?

  Then, Gavriel hopped back, pulling his ax with him, leaving Therault to stumble forward from the sudden lack of resistance. The Undefeated turned and ran toward his first ax, looking to dual wield once more. The knight and the werewolf gave chase, unwilling to give up their lead.

  Gavriel swooped down, and picked up his second ax quickly and effortlessly with his free hand. He spun around while still low to the ground, letting the long handle of his thick ax fly through the air back toward his pursuers in an arc. The curved blade of the ax sliced cleanly through the thick metal of Therault's armor, cutting through both of his legs.

  The man screamed, echoes of agony brutal to the ears. His body fell, though separated from both of his lower legs. One of his legs stayed standing, though it sat by itself and spurted blood into the sands. Therault laid in the sands, unable to stand or barely move, bleeding to death from his legs. Even as Rhona dodged a few blows from Gavriel and clashed with the man, Therault was reaching for his sword. Though, when he finally grabbed it, he did not attempt to use it on anyone else.

  It was soon clear the knight would rather die dishonorably before a crowd than to give Gavriel a chance to add his name to a list of victims.

  Only Gavriel and Rhona were left, now. Trails of blood followed as Gavriel was forced to the defensive, still leaking blood from multiple wounds from both claw and sword. He blocked many of the hits with his axes, though Rhona's fury matched her strength, her arms whipping forward so fast they were barely visible. New wounds were opened up along Gavriel's chest and stomach, ripping open faster than I could keep count. At this point, the man had lost gallons of blood in this fight, but he simply looked worn down. Moreover, he was still enjoying himself.

  As if to prove he was only on the defensive because he'd wanted the fight to drag on, Gavriel thrust his ax forward, hitting the werewolf in the gut with the blunt top of its blade, forcing her to stumble backwards, stunned. He crossed his arms, allowing each ax's blade to sit by his side, the edges looking outward, before swinging both arms forward. Both axes swept toward Rhona in an arc, one below the other, as if they were pendulums racing toward gravity. An animalistic squeal sounded as the blades hit, shredding the wolf into three pieces.

  The wolf's legs fell immediately, and a slice of stomach followed, released bile sizzling as it ate through the unprotected skin it splattered on. Rhona's head and torso landed a foot away from the rest of her, whines of pain desperate in the air. Gavriel grinned down at the display, pleased with his work, and threw his two axes to the side, letting them leak blood and other bodily fluids to the sands below. Stalking forward, he grabbed the dying wolf's head, taking her muzzle with one hand, and her lower jaw in the other.

  Screams followed. Both man and wolf roared, one in agony and the other with immense effort. I looked away, unwilling to watch, though after a few seconds, morbid curiosity forced my eyes to once again look over the scene. Tendon and bone cracked and split with Gavriel's efforts as he pulled both jawbones away from each other, even as the wolf screamed. Somewhere, in the tone of its voice, I could hear the woman lost within the body of the beast. An ache began to pound through my head.

  Snap! The noises ceased. The lone gladiator stood, holding the werewolf's mutilated head in one hand, a broken lower jawbone in the other. He lifted both.

  The audience went wild, the walls and floors of the coliseum rattling and shaking with the excitement of a crowd which had gotten the bloodshed they came for. Gavriel's name was screamed collectively all around us, over and over, like an obsessive chant.

  The announcer from earlier grabbed his amplifier, and hurried down from the stands to let himself back into the arena. Though, the crowds would not let him have a chance to speak quite yet; they were too busy screaming Gavriel's name as he played it up for them, still holding pieces of gore up as trophies, turning slowly in a circle to let the entire audience view his glory.

  Then, Gavriel turned to our section of the coliseum, holding up the still bleeding pieces of Rhona's head, looking through the fans, loving every minute of praise.

  My eyes stuck to his, and my heart pounded in my ears. His eyes were impossibly gold. Like mine. Like Nanya's.

  My nostrils flared with the realization of Gavriel's true nature. It was of little wonder he was undefeated. He had more strength than was possible for a human, because that's not what he was. As if to further prove it to myself, my eyes fell back to the wound that had been meant to gut him. After all, he had both arms raised, and the wound should have torn open.

  But it was closed. Because it had regenerated. I hadn't gone mad. Somehow, he could heal his own wounds.

  “Next week!” Gavriel screamed into the crowds, unwilling to let the announcer speak. Though I thought the gladiators
were all slaves, the announcer stayed quiet, letting the man address the crowds himself. “Next week, I will finally become the undisputed champion! Next week, I finally battle Anto the Invincible!”

  A piercing buzz shot painfully through my head. Oh, no.

  Ten

  “We must find him!” Jakan scrambled through the crowds, nearly crawling over the masses as we struggled to keep up with him. We rushed after the elf, pushing past men, women, and children alike as the crowds filed out of the coliseum the same way they came. Nyx was on his heels, though the rest of us lagged behind, not nearly as fast as the two elves.

  Jakan's jagged path led us outside of the dome of death and into its outskirts, where there were booths for everything. Souvenirs, food and drinks, and gambling, among other things. Audience members from the last fight slowly looked through goods, purchasing merchandise with Gavriel's name or likeness, further supporting future bloodshed. Jakan ran past them all, skidding to a stop before the last booth at the end of a row, dust stirring up at his boots.

  He was yelling something at the man behind the small counter, though I couldn't hear him yet as I struggled to catch up, my heavy breaths and heartbeats thumping so hard in my head that I couldn't hear the elf's words until I came to a stop beside him and Nyx.

  “—know how to get into contact with his owner,” he was rambling, as the man across from him stared at us like we were crazy people. “Ali! Ali is the name!”

  “I cannot just give you this man's address,” the other man replied, glancing up at all of us.

  Understanding the situation, I walked forward, my chest still pounding with the mad rush here from the stadium seats. “How would we get into contact with Ali if we were looking to buy one of his slaves?”

  The man switched his stare to me, since I was calmer than Jakan. “Can you afford his slaves? Ali deals with the best.”

  Without a word, I pulled my coin purse from my satchel, flipping it open to let the man see the bountiful gold within. One of his bushy eyebrows raised.

  “Ah. You are serious,” he admitted. “Listen, I can get you an audience with Ali, but not tonight, for I am working. Ali is not one to take messengers or requests, but he loves his gold. He will hear what you have to say if you are with me.” The man's brown eyes bored into my own. “I expect to be paid for my time.”

  “I will pay you two gold pieces to take us to him,” I offered.

  “Two? Ha!” The man shook his head. “You have a whole purse of gold, woman. I want twenty.”

  “Twenty gold to walk down a street or two?” I protested, flabbergasted. “That is robbery.”

  The man shrugged. “Robbery that will save you time and headache. You can find Ali yourself, you know, and hope he allows strangers within his beautiful home.”

  “You will get your twenty gold, then, pig,” Nyx seethed from beside me, jiggling her own coin purse as proof. “But you will not get it tonight. We will hand it over to you when we arrive at Ali's tomorrow morning.”

  The man pursed his lips. “It is a deal, then, assassin.” It was supposed to be his own insult back to Nyx, since it was said in a hiss. Most Alderi who lived above ground took the word as an insult, since they tried to separate themselves from it. Not Nyx.

  “As long as you know I am an assassin, you won't try anything stupid,” she retorted. The man's eyebrows raised, for he wasn't expecting her to admit to it. Perhaps that would keep him from backing out on us.

  “Meet me at the front door of the Oasis, no later than the second morning bell,” he said, between gritted teeth. “I will take you there.”

  “You know where and when this is?” I asked toward Jakan, who only nodded.

  We had our plan set in place. Though Jakan was distracted and mostly inconsolable, I managed to understand from what little he said that the Oasis was an inn, so I asked him to take us there. I figured if we were to meet there with our guide tomorrow, we might as well play it safe by staying there. As we walked toward the inn, I was mostly silent with thoughts of the day's events. A lot was on my mind, and very little of it was good. The only welcome development of the day had been finding out Anto was even still alive at all.

  As the sun set over T'ahal, we began to retire for the night. Jakan went quietly to his own room, looking as if he were coming down with sickness. I knew the day's findings had been hard on him. Not only had he had to witness Gavriel's bloodshed in the arena, but now he also knew that next week would be the death of his love. Nyx had given up on consoling our newest member, and had sat beside Theron at the bar to drink. Remembering our talks from back in the desert, I figured she was going to try to get closer to the ranger tonight. I inwardly wished her luck, before Cerin and I went upstairs to our separate rooms.

  I hesitated at the top of the staircase within the inn, turning to find the necromancer stopped on a step behind me. Other than our presence, the stairwell was empty.

  “Can I speak with you, Cerin?” I asked, my voice uncharacteristically soft.

  His dark eyebrows dipped toward each other. “Of course. Are you okay?” His naturally rough voice was softer with concern.

  “I feel like I need to talk to someone,” I admitted. I hated the way that sounded once it was out. I never wanted to be viewed as anything other than confident, but sometimes, I felt conflicted. I knew if I aired concerns to Cerin, I would feel better, even if he could fix nothing or do anything other than listen.

  “You can always talk to me,” he offered, before he, too, appeared embarrassed. When he glanced downward at his boots, all I could see was the thin bridge of his nose beneath his hood.

  “I don't want to inconvenience you. I know you take your baths at about this time—”

  “Kai,” he cut me off, his silver eyes rising to meet mine again. His gaze was newly unafraid, as if he'd shoved all shyness to the side, at least for the moment. “We are past that. You do not inconvenience me, just as you claim I don't inconvenience you. You wish to talk to me, and I wish to listen.” His stare was unceasing, and my legs were slowly melting into a liquid. I felt pathetically like a young schoolgirl with a crush again. “Do not run from me.”

  I exhaled, and it waved over a tremble. “All right,” I breathed, before I turned, because continuing to be vulnerable under his gaze was a little much to handle. I continued up the stairs, my boots sounding heavy upon the sandstone compared to the wood of the inns of Chairel. Everything was so different here, even the inns. Because of the sandstone walls, ceilings, and floors of the building, the sconces that aligned the walls cast warm, golden glows which somehow comforted more than if they were fires flickering across wood. It was beautiful in Nahara—even in its buildings.

  I dropped my supplies off into the room I was to share with Nyx, though I doubted her night-time exploits would allow her much time with which to sleep. Then, I made my way to Cerin's room, where he opened his door before I had the chance to knock.

  “Even the rooms are beautiful,” he said, as he closed the door behind me. Looking ahead into his room, I saw it had an open archway which led straight out to a small balcony that overlooked the city. A sheer red drape flowed into his room from the evening breeze.

  “You got the better deal,” I commented, eyeing the balcony. “Our room only has windows.”

  “You are welcome to stay and enjoy it,” he said, softly. I glanced toward him, unsure whether his words were flirtatious or benign, but he was walking over to a small table made out of a light wood, where the inn had stocked some refreshments. He rummaged around through them, before turning to me. “Tea?”

  To see such an intimidating man who wielded death magic as his weapon offer to make tea was humorous to me, and I couldn't help but chuckle out loud.

  A confused smirk lifted one side of his full lips. “Why is tea amusing?”

  I shook my head, and looked off to the red drape that flowed in and out of the archway in nondescript patterns. “Back when I argued for you to Sirius in Sera, I told him that you were kind
, and had saved my life, and had kept Theron from being disabled,” I told him, because I knew I hadn't said much to Cerin about that day. It was a little painful for me to look back on.

  Cerin was quiet, listening for me to continue. I knew it would please him to hear someone had fought for him at all. Bjorn had told him as such, all that time ago, but to hear it directly from me probably meant a lot.

  “Sirius said something along the lines of, 'he's a necromancer, I don't care if he throws annual tea parties, he's a criminal,' yadda, yadda.” I frowned, mesmerized with the drape's movements, keeping my eyes on the fabric to avoid Cerin's gaze. “He made it sound so ridiculous, like something as dark as necromancers didn't fit with something as innocent as tea parties. And now...” I glanced back toward him, where he was listening to me, holding a small bowl of tea leaves. I shrugged, and smiled. “Here we are.”

  “Would it have changed his mind if you had told him I threw daily tea parties?” Cerin asked.

  I burst into laughter, having not expected the jest. Cerin laughed himself, pleased to have amused me. “Perhaps it would have.” I raised my eyebrows, as if I had a new idea. “Perhaps we can go back to Sera, and all agree to peace over tea.”

  “Surely, that is what would end all disagreements,” Cerin agreed, a charming boyish smile lighting up his features. The necromancer turned to grab a pot which was already full of water on his refreshments table.

  “What kind of tea is that?” I asked him, curious.

  Cerin lifted up the bowl of leaves, taking a short sniff. “I'm not entirely sure. I haven't come across it before. It is fruity.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it is easier to grow fruit here than herbs.” He glanced back to me. “Do you want some?”