by Jadie Jones
“This I did not expect,” Asher muses, derailing my train of thought. He plucks a long black feather from a leather pouch strung to his belt. Spera doesn’t flinch as he drives the sharp end of the feather straight into her arm. Her eyes roll back in her head as her body relaxes.
Asher sweeps Spera off of the ground in a single, effortless motion and places her limp body across the horse’s broad back. The black horse makes one last trumpeting call to his herd. My heart stills as the entire herd drops their heads to the ground simultaneously, both honoring and mourning their parting leader.
“Is that it? Am I done?” A tear of exhaustion rolls down my cheek. I don’t bother to wipe it away.
“Spera’s journey has just begun,” my guide says, her eyes drifting skyward. “Can you see this through?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, child. Always.”
But there isn’t really a choice at all. I have to see what happens to Spera if I have any chance to save myself from whatever choice she never made. That much I know for sure.
“Let’s go,” I tell my guide, and the desert falls away.
21 To the death
The new surroundings are not yet visible, but the urge to run skitters through me and leaves an electrified trail. The air is too still, too quiet. A muted rustle makes me jump as the darkness dissipates.
Spera paces a small room. The high walls are made of coarse black rock, which glitters despite its unfinished surface. She isn’t afforded any windows, but a column of translucent stone stripes the back wall and allows a bit of dusk’s weak orange light to filter through from outside.
A heavy blanket lies rumpled in one corner. The rest of the room is bare. But the energy radiating from Spera fills the space, pushing me against a rough wall. I stay as still and quiet as I can, regarding her with the same fearful care one might give a wild animal: startling her may result in the loss of a hand. She wrings hers as she walks, picking at something dark crusted in her fingernails. A sudden pain draws my eye, and I look down to find I’ve drawn blood from my own cuticle. I stick it in my mouth to dull the sting.
Spera unknowingly faces me, and I smother a gasp. She stares through me, the same eyes revealing none of the forfeit I’d last seen. Her face is harder and more angular, and her black hair gleams with health.
“She’s so different.” I find myself running my hands through my own hair, darker and longer than even yesterday. And with a start I finally realize why: it’s hers. The thought sets my insides buzzing with both recognition and denial. It’s impossible, but it makes sense. Before the roar drowns out the world around me, I twist my hair behind my shoulders and force myself to ignore it altogether. That’s not why you’re here, Tanzy.
“While she was sedated Asher replaced all of her blood with blood from the horse. Myths have existed about the power of a horse’s blood but until Spera there was never proof. Clearly the myths were born in truth.”
“And the horse?”
“He will remain Asher’s prisoner indefinitely,” she answers.
I already know what she won’t say: Asher turned him into a statue. But I have no idea how to set him free. At least I know he’s safe.
My eyes move back to Spera. She drops her hands to her sides. A single ring leaps from the skin above her torn dress, swollen and red.
“How did she get that circle?” There’s just one, but it’s identical in shape and size to mine. At the sight of it, mine begin to burn, radiating heat across my skin.
“Asher makes them fight for their lives. If a girl is victorious, he honors the kill with a mark.”
“She killed something?”
“Yes.” Her succinct answer is too big to fit inside of me, pressing down on my stomach.
What if he had her kill a horse? I bring my hand to the marks on my chest. If my hair is hers, these marks are no doubt hers also, and Spera will kill three things before this is all said and done. The memory of John’s blood pooling on the asphalt in the alley snatches the air out of my lungs and replaces it with something so thick it makes me choke. I close my eyes and force my brain into a stormy quiet, the threat of more memories still rumbling on its edges.
Someone knocks so softly on the other side of the door that for a second I think I imagined it. Spera rushes the short distance to the door. It silently cracks open and Lucas slips through. My heart leaps at the sight of him, and the darkness in my mind scatters, replaced with dizzying relief. I automatically step in his direction, needing the reassurance a simple touch would bring. Spera beats me to him and wraps her arms around him. I let my hand drop and step back as she buries her face in his bare chest. He cradles her head to him and runs his hands through her raven hair. I back away until I bump against the wall, trying to convince my heart to remember that this is just a memory, that he doesn’t belong to her anymore. I’m losing.
Spera lets out a jagged sob, which shakes a finger at my self-inflicted wounds. Get a grip, Tanzy. You’re here because of Spera, and Lucas found you because of her. Not in spite of her. Still, I feel an unbidden stab of jealousy as my eyes take note of every place his skin touches hers. He pulls back from her and looks her over.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. She only got close a couple of times.”
“But you are wounded.” He runs his hand carefully down the length of a cut that spans the width of her back. The skin is flayed open, a mess of deep red beneath.
“Only surface. It will heal.”
“And your spirit?”
“I made it as quick as I could.” Her face falls to the stone floor.
“It was not by choice. Her blood may be on your hands, but the fault lies squarely with Asher. He branded you in the front? The others are branded on their backs.”
“I will not submit my back to him. I will not offer him that kind of control.”
“Is it painful?”
“Only in my heart,” she reassures him. He takes a damp cloth from his belt and wipes her hands. Blood. That was dried blood in her nails. My eyes drop to my own hands, the torn cuticle scabbing over. I don’t know what kind of blood that is, but I know what it feels like to be covered in it. To never be able to feel clean enough.
“You will have to do this twice more.”
“I know.” She steps away from him, still unable to meet his gaze.
“I don’t judge you, Spera. You must know that. I’ve done things . . . horrible things. I want you to win,” he adds. But the words of encouragement make her wince.
“So that I can be at his beck and call? So that I suffer the touch of his hand each day and night? So I can one day be a Vessel for him?” Her voice cracks. Lucas wraps his strong arms around her shuddering frame.
“Once you rule at his side we can run away from here,” he murmurs into her hair.
“We’ve tried that before.”
“You are stronger now.”
“He will find me. And if you are with me he will kill you. But he won’t do me the favor of taking my life as well, and I will have to live beside him without you. Anything is better than that,” she says. I catch myself moving closer to them and take a step back.
“Tell me what to do and I will do it.”
“Just be with me. You are the only light in this wretched place,” she says bitterly. Her words bring a smile to his scarred face.
“No one has ever called me a light.” He strokes her cheek as she nestles into the crook of his neck. “Look what I found.” He plucks a leather cord from his pocket. The dangling horseshoe shines even in the dim cell.
“Where did you get this? I thought I dropped it in the desert,” she gasps as he places the necklace in her hands.
“Asher brought it back. He said you wouldn’t open your hand, even tranquilized. He had to pry your fingers apart once you were completely unconscious.” He presses it into her open palm. I close my empty fist and take a step back. I feel wholly undeserving of that necklace, to breathe in the a
ir that may have cycled from her lungs only moments before. Of her blood. She wouldn’t let go of the necklace even in the face of death, and I left it on a bedside table.
“Why did he give it to you?” Spera asks
“I am to make a crown. For his queen. He wants the horseshoe to be part of the center piece. If you don’t succeed . . .” He stops and looks away from her. The agony in their eyes cuts me to the quick. Two seconds ago, I was certain there was no part of my heart left intact. But there was. And it just shattered like a fist to a mirror. Spera and I are not the same. We are not alike. Not in the least bit.
“You don’t want anyone else to wear it,” Spera whispers.
“I can’t bear the thought.”
“I can’t risk wearing it. He’ll see it. He’ll know that you gave it to me.”
“Hide it in your blanket. That way I’ll feel like I’m watching over you when you sleep. Now get some rest. Tomorrow you must fight twice.” He scoops her into his arms and gently places her on the ragged blanket. “I cannot lose you.”
She smiles without making any promises. Her silence is not lost on Lucas. He glances back at her once more before reluctantly slipping from her cell. I look from the closed door to Spera, drained into speechlessness. It’s not just her I’ve lost; I’ve lost Lucas, too. He just doesn’t know it yet, because he has no idea how little of Spera made it into me.
“I will return for you in the morning,” my guide says solemnly, breaking the spell.
“You’re going to leave me here all night?” I whisper without taking my eyes off Spera. When my guide doesn’t answer I turn to her, but she’s already gone.
The sun finally sets outside, washing the room in a milky blue. And for an instant I can pretend that I’m alone. That I’m anywhere else. But just when I think I’m going to be granted a moment of peace, a tiny flame light flickers at the base of the translucent stripe, and then creeps up the inside of the stone like a burning vine of ivy.
Spera turns her back to the light. She seems as desperate to escape into the dark as I am. Her breathing slows, but even sleep does not loosen her tight hold on the horseshoe. She tosses in her sleep every few minutes, and cries out more often than that. I slump against the hard wall and watch helpless; a worthless guard over her through the longest night of my life.
The strangled silence picks at the lock on my mind and rifles through things tucked deep within. What my father said right before Teague took off. It haunts me because I can’t remember it. Only the half smile he gave me over his shoulder right before he said it.
That I resented Dana when she stepped up to fill his position and his desk. She’d been with the farm for years, but the first day she sat in his chair and rearranged his files she became a stranger. I loved her before that day. But afterward I had to learn how to accept her all over again. And now I miss her, and I can’t help thinking that all I’ll be able to do from here on out is miss her, that there’s no place for her in this, whatever this is. There’s no place for who I used to be, either. She’s a stranger now. But most troubling of all, she’s no more familiar than the thoughts and hopes and power presently lurking within my skin.
The white glow of my guide returning to the dark cell is the only thing that finally makes these truths retreat, still too skittish to reveal themselves in the light.
“It is morning,” she says, her words tinged with bitterness. I rest my head on my knees and hug my legs against my chest.
“What is he going to make her fight? I mean kill.” The last word stumbles on its exit. Or does she kill it? Is this how she dies?
“He makes the candidates fight each other,” she says, studying my face for a reaction. I’d thought of more possibilities than I cared to count: the animals kept with them in the cellar, the guards, Asher himself—although admittedly that doesn’t make any sense. The idea of them killing each other never crossed my mind.
“How does he make them do that? Couldn’t the candidates just refuse?”
“They want to survive. Wouldn’t you? It’s an instinct he uses to his advantage.”
“Still,” I start to argue.
“Would you be immortal, if you could?” she interjects.
“Immortal? What does that have to do with it?” My spinning brain can barely keep up, my own realities blurring in and out of what I’ve seen here, the gnawing truth that I still don’t understand.
“Asher’s queen will be given the choice to make herself immortal. Truly immortal, if the legend is correct.”
“But why doesn’t he just pick the one he likes the most? Why make them kill each other?” I need the pieces to fit, for a path to appear.
“This process is not just about the body, but also about the soul. He needs them to forsake their own humanity of their own free will, and killing each other is the most effective way. There were two battles yesterday. Spera was victorious in the first, and another candidate called Lenya triumphed in the second. They must now prove themselves by fighting twice today. If they each succeed in their first battles, they will face each other at sundown.” My eyes wander over Spera’s clutched fists, aware of what they’re capable of doing.
Spera bolts upright on her makeshift bed and stares at the heavy door. It jerks open and two guards duck under the narrow frame. Spera’s nimble fingers tuck the necklace under the coarse blanket before she gracefully stands and strides across the cell floor.
“I will not make your task difficult today,” she says, presenting her wrists. The guards’ eyes are wary with distrust, but they take utmost care not to harm her as they bind her hands together.
“Why are they being so nice to her now?” I whisper to my guide.
“She is considered the strongest candidate, which means she is likely to become queen. The new queen will rule the guards as well. She could demand their lives if she chose to. Any mistreatment on their part could be a death sentence.”
I flush with unwanted curiosity at the promise of such power, and then flinch as I consider the cost. To become Asher’s queen is synonymous with becoming a killer.
We follow Spera and her guards out of the cell. Five more doors identical to hers line the stark wall. Two of them are swung all the way open. I peek inside the cells as we walk by, but they are both empty. There isn’t even a burlap blanket. Wild shrieks draw my attention further down the dimly lit hall. The last door shakes on its frame as whatever is behind it throws itself against the solid barrier.
“Sounds like she’s getting ready for you, Spera,” one of the guards muses.
“That’s a girl in there?” I ask my guard.
“Do you remember the candidate who called out to Spera in the underground chamber? They call her Cavilla. Spera will face her next.”
Of course I remember. How could I forget the sight of the dark-haired girl raking a bloody bone across the metal bars like she was playing an instrument? I watch Spera for any reaction, but she doesn’t acknowledge the guard’s words or the snarls coming from the closed door.
The hallway widens, and descends gradually to a sandy floor. Once we reach the bottom, the tunnel forks around a huge cylindrical structure. An acrid, burning stench slaps me across the face. I cover my nose and force a breath through the crook of my arm.
“What’s that smell?” My words muffle against my clammy skin.
“Asher believes that a spirit is only released whole if the body is burned.” The girls who died yesterday.
“That’s how I, how Spera, came back? He released her soul?”
“Yes,” she says and gives me a sideways glance.
So she dies today. I die today.
“Asher has learned how to mark a Seen soul, how to ensure that it comes back. We doubted him at first. But the souls of his candidates did reappear. It was undeniable. That’s when the Powers put conditions on your return.”
“Why me?”
“Because the match was perfect. That had never happened before. A Vessel . . .” She stares at something only she
can see as she considers what to tell me next.
“Asher’s impatience has caused many false starts. But this time, with these six, he was correct, and he can feel it. We all can. Your match is a crucial part, but it is only a piece of the puzzle. Each of these six candidates has a role to play. He will do anything to make sure that these six souls are reborn in the future in case something goes wrong. All of you had to be reborn within the same mortal life span. Asher has waited for you for almost a thousand years. The souls of the other five have returned many times, but not you. We’ve all dreaded your return since the day Spera died.”
“What do I do? How do I stop whatever this is from happening?” I plead. Time is running out. I can feel it. And I’m no closer to learning how to stop Asher.
“You don’t. You are the end. There’s no stopping it. And there’s no time to have this discussion.”
As if on cue, the ground beneath my feet vibrates and horns blare through the cylindrical wall. The rolling tremors bait something inside of me, something I don’t want, but can’t refuse: I need Spera to win.
“Now let’s go. They’re about to start.” She takes me by the wrist and moves quickly to an archway. We make our way up a narrow ramp, which opens on the stained floor of an arena. Thousands of guards are on their feet. They roar louder and louder, the calls for battle blending into one ominous sound. As the cries organize into a chant, they raise their spears in the air in some kind of salute and stare toward one end of the stadium.
“Asher! Asher!”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as Asher glides across a balconied ledge.
“There are so many of them,” I say, my eyes scanning the length of the dome.