by Giles Carwyn
They were artists, Gedge and Reela. With tenderness and patience, they had invited joy back into her body. Shara thought she had become a barren land, unable to grow that kind of joy. But she wasn’t barren, just parched beyond recognition. Gedge and Reela rained affection on her until she was full and fertile again.
They had gone slow at first, held her for hours and let her cry. A thousand tiny kisses turned to a light massage. Their tender fingers found every knot of pain and worked it free. The massage faded into longer kisses, lingering caresses as she lay tucked between them. Their hands, mouths, and bodies rekindled the fire within her. Together they brought her to an achingly slow climax that seemed to go on forever.
Shara could feel again. Wisps of her power floated all around her. Desire hummed through her. But their gentle caresses were not the greatest gift they gave. Once they helped Shara, Gedge and Reela turned their attention on each other. As the sun set, they made love to one another as Shara watched, entranced as the golden light moved across their bodies. She had never seen lovemaking like that. She had never watched such purity, such beauty, such love.
Shara had seen sex a thousand times. As a child, she watched animals rutting. At eleven, she had seen a drunken couple fumbling in an alley on Midsummer’s Eve. She had joined a dozen Zelani students practicing their craft, had seen their affection and desire, but Shara had never witnessed two people use their bodies this way. It was so achingly beautiful that she cried anew.
Through them, she saw hope. A hope for something new, something greater than she had known before. It was not enough to regain her Zelani powers if they would eventually transform her into Victeris. What Gedge and Reela created with one another was the true power of the Zelani. Victeris twisted the magic to his own uses. He taught his students to shackle their desire, to lock it away in a dungeon. Perhaps he didn’t even realize that love was the ultimate result of Zelani power. Love was the only garden from which true magic could grow.
A sudden noise snapped Shara out of her reverie. Gedge and Reela rushed into the room, their beautiful faces pulled tight.
“Soldiers have surrounded the building,” Gedge said, quickly closing the door.
Shara sat up slowly. The smile did not leave her face. She was no longer the tiny person Victeris had made her. Her powers had returned, stronger than before and his hook in her mind was severed. It was time for a reckoning.
“They’re downstairs, on the roofs, everywhere,” Reela said, looking at Shara with such concern that Shara wanted to touch her cheek, smooth the worry away.
Shara stood, thin and naked in the lamplight. The heartstone pendant hung around her neck. “Concentrate on your breath,” she said.
Gedge looked at Reela. “Shara, you have to—”
“Yes. I know. This first, then we face them. We must start with the breath.”
Her calm infected them, and their Zelani training came to their aid. They breathed through the cycle. Shara took one of Reela’s short silk robes and wrapped it around herself.
“You need to leave here for the moment. Cast the glamour, just as we were taught. Escape over the rooftops. The guards will never see you.”
“But we never graduated. We never got that far.”
Shara smiled, laid a hand on Reela’s cheek. “My friends, if anyone in the world is a full Zelani, it is the two of you. You graduated each other, more surely than Victeris could ever have done.”
“We don’t have time,” Gedge said.
“Start with your breath,” Shara said. She breathed with them, took their fears inside herself and let them go. The energy roared through her and she gasped at how powerful it was. She looked into Gedge’s eyes and saw shock and joy.
“Shara!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said. “Breathe. The power is there, waiting for you. Take it. Work your way through the gates, as we were taught. There is more power in your love than any sex I have ever seen. Use it. Build it. You will be invisible to them.”
Gedge nodded. Reela simply stared at her. Shara went to the door, paused before she opened it. She turned, resting her hands flat against the wood, feeling it, feeling everything in the room. The salty scent of Gedge. The flowery scent of Reela. The lovely bed, the beautiful view from the balcony.
“Thank you, my friends. Thank you for what you have done. I can never repay you.”
“Where are you going?” Gedge asked.
“Come with us,” Reela said.
Shara smiled. She sent love and assurance to them. “No. Not tonight. Tonight, I have a date with our former master.”
“Shara—” Gedge began, but she held a finger to her lips.
“Go now,” she whispered. “I will find you later.”
She slipped out the door and hurried down the hall. Four soldiers stomped up the steps as she descended. She felt their determination to find her, to capture her.
Shara’s breathing was even and smooth. She opened the floodgate inside her and let it wash over them. “You will let me pass,” she said.
They parted for her so quickly that one of them almost tumbled over the handrail. She walked between them. A sickening feeling welled in her belly, but she ignored it. She strode into the main hall where a dozen soldiers had backed the customers and staff into a corner. Two more stood at the doorway.
Shara hissed as she turned her inner river upon the two men at the door. They moved aside, their weapons clattering to the floorboards.
The nasty feeling grew, spread through her like ink spilled on a page. She ignored it and walked outside.
A glamour was child’s play. She threw one over herself and walked into the crowd of the Night Market, heading for the Heart. Only one person noticed her as she strode down the middle of the street.
A single, cloaked figure emerged from an alley to her left. The milling crowd parted around Victeris as if he were a stone in a river. He pulled back his hood and smiled at her, a sly, charming smile.
“Hello, Shara,” he said. “I did not expect to meet you on this street…unchaperoned.”
“If you mean your soldiers, they are still fumbling with their manhoods in the Scarlet Heart.”
Victeris chuckled. “Impressive,” he said. “You have surpassed my greatest expectations.”
She felt the warmth of his praise and rejected it. His magic swirled around her, an unwanted touch.
“I’ve moved beyond you,” Shara said. “You can’t match me anymore.”
“Is that so?” he said. “To my eyes, we seem more alike than ever. You swatted my men aside like insects. And you liked it, didn’t you? You’ve developed a taste for power, and you’re really going to enjoy what you’ve become.”
“You have no idea what I’ve become, but I will enjoy killing you.”
“Killing me?” He pursed his thin lips and smiled. “But I am Victeris. The source of your power.”
Shara stood defiant. “No, you’re not.”
“Your master now and forever,” he intoned, taking a step toward her.
Your master now and forever.
She backed away from him. “No.”
“You are mine.”
You are mine.
Shara swallowed, her breath coming faster. “No,” she barely whispered.
“When I call, you will come to me. When I speak, you will obey.”
Her breath faltered. A couple people in the Night Market turned to look at her. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. One of her scabs split open, smearing fresh blood on the cobblestones. She pressed her palms against the cool stone and her whole body shuddered.
“I missed you, my child,” Victeris said. “Come closer, let me have a look at you.”
Shara crawled slowly to him.
He leaned over, pushing a lock of black hair away from her face. “You are lovely as ever.”
His finger slid down her cheek and hooked the chain around her neck. Pulling the heartstone pendant out of her shirt he let it dangle in front of her.
“I don’t think this becomes you, my dear. It’s so crude—” He yanked on the chain and it snapped. “And you are so graceful.”
Victeris tossed the stone into the street. “Come, we have a lot of catching up to do.” He extended his hand and pulled her to her feet.
She followed numbly after him. “Yes,” she whispered. “A lot of catching up to do.”
17
OSSAMYR DROVE him into the desert again, holding the chariot reins with one slender hand. Brophy hardly noticed the swirling colors of the predawn sky. They rode without speaking, the only sounds were the slaves’ breathing and the slap of their sandals on the cracked earth.
When they arrived at the Beetle starting line, he stepped from the chariot, and she began tying her colors about his waist and shoulders. She watched him as a sailor might appraise a new boat. “Good luck,” she said.
“Ossamyr—” he began.
Brophy longed for the right words, but he couldn’t find them while staring at the impassive face of this queen who was so different from the woman who visited him two nights ago.
She turned from him as though he hadn’t said a thing and walked toward the other sponsors. Brophy waited for a moment, looking after her. Feeling like an idiot, he went to stand beside Phanqui.
The king’s cousin flicked a glance at the queen. “Do you hate her because she is richer than you or more beautiful than you?” Phanqui asked, giving Brophy a little shove.
“I don’t hate her.”
“Obviously. To me and to anyone else if you don’t tame that gaze of yours.”
Brophy glared at him, but he could feel his face turning red.
Phanqui smiled. “It’s all right, you can hit me, everybody else does.”
Brophy shook his head. “I’d best get in place at the Crocodile statue.”
Phanqui nodded.
“I’ll be back when the gong sounds.”
“This I must see, a Nine Squares contestant running backward.”
“Someone has to make sure you finish the race.”
“Do you think Athyl will run back, too?”
Brophy shook his head. “He said he wouldn’t. He needs the head start.”
“It’s amazing how fast that man can run on one leg. Imagine if he had two.”
“He wouldn’t need us, that’s certain.”
Brophy made his way to his statue and waited for the first gong. True to his word, he walked back to join Phanqui, Tidric, and Phanqui’s cousins, Merdol and Roph. This would be the twins’ first race. Brophy barely knew the long-limbed and awkward young boys, just starting to get their true height. Phanqui had convinced his aunt he could protect his cousins, and they could use the experience. Brophy was reluctant to include the nervous and undisciplined boys, but they worked hard practicing with Scythe and won him over. Tidric had taken to ordering them around even though the twins were a year older than him.
The five of them took turns shading each other as before. Between the shade and the bitter tea Scythe had been force-feeding them for weeks, the heat was tolerable.
When the second gong sounded, Brophy’s gang took off like a wolf pack, setting a brutal pace. Their strategy was simple, catch up with Athyl and fight anyone who got in their way. They barely reached the Serpent statue when Brophy saw a battle up ahead. He turned his run into a sprint and outdistanced his friends in moments.
Phee and his kinsmen, Rejta, Besdin, and Sheedar, had surrounded the scarred man. They took him in a rush, all four grabbing Athyl at once.
Brophy rammed into Besdin, knocking him away. Phee, Rejta, and Sheedar wrestled Athyl to the ground. Phee cursed and backed up as the burned man jammed a thumb in his eye.
Brophy twisted out of Besdin’s grip, narrowly avoiding a chokehold. Rolling to the side, he kicked his opponent in the hip, throwing the other boy off-balance. Brophy rolled to his feet just as Phanqui and the others arrived.
Phee held both hands to his injured eye. “Let’s go!” he snarled and rushed away, half-blind.
Sheedar and Besdin sprinted after their cousin, but Athyl wouldn’t let the fourth boy go. He closed his hands around Rejta’s neck.
“I owe you, boy,” Athyl rasped.
The kid dropped low and punched Athyl in the stomach. His scarred face twisted into a grisly smile, and he smashed his head into the boy’s nose. Rejta fell like a log and didn’t move again.
“Is he dead?” Brophy asked.
Athyl’s burned face was still twisted into that hideous smile. “No. Want to finish him?”
“No time,” Brophy lied. “If we don’t hurry, the other Beetles will catch up. Only Phee, Besdin, Sheedar, and three others are ahead of us. If we catch one of them, all four of us will be in.”
Athyl grunted, giving one last look to the unconscious Rejta, and they all ran on. Merdol and Roph stayed with them for a long while, but they faltered in the last few miles. They were happy, though. They knew they were running with the winning group. Brophy thanked them for their help and told them to be ready for next month.
Brophy, Athyl, Phanqui, and Tidric struggled up the mountain and entered the arena as the last four contestants. An ambitious runner tried to get past them at the last moment. Athyl grabbed him by the back of the neck and smashed his face into the wall. The rest of the runners held back as they jogged down the spiral to the arena floor.
Brophy looked to the royal box as his friends leaned over, hands on their knees, taking the only rest they would receive. The royal box was made of a deep, rose-colored wood, polished to a mirror finish. It stood on stilts at the edge of the arena, offering the best possible view of the Nine Squares. Cloth of gold hung from the three sides, a huge phoenix embroidered on each in crimson thread.
The queen looked down on him, nodded, and smiled. But it wasn’t her real smile.
Brophy turned away, clenching a fist. Ossamyr would notice if he continued to stare. He turned to Phanqui, who panted through a grin.
“Aren’t you the least bit winded?”
Brophy frowned. “No. Just angry.”
Phanqui flicked a barely perceptible glance at the royal box. “Did you ever hear about the monkey who stared at a phoenix so long he caught on fire?”
“No.”
“That’s because monkeys are smarter than that.”
Brophy shoved Phanqui to the side. “I wish you could fight as well as you can talk.”
“So do I, my friend. So do I.”
Phanqui smiled and moved toward the Jumping Rat square with the rest of the contestants. Brophy longed to look back at the royal box, but he didn’t. He joined Phanqui at the back of the line.
With the four of them working together, even Brophy was shocked how easy it was to advance. In the Jumping Rat square, Sheedar went for Athyl’s bad leg. Athyl dropped him to the stone. In the Jackal pit, the scarred man didn’t wait. He grabbed the nearest contestant and threw him off the platform just after the gong, then limped into the pit, picked up a bone and climbed slowly up the other side.
“Not about winning,” Athyl rasped as he reached the top. “S’about not losing.”
The Crocodile challenge brought Besdin, Phee’s last remaining kinsman, within Brophy’s reach. Taking a deep breath, Brophy plunged under the water and wrapped up the young man like a snake. Phanqui, Tidric, and Athyl blocked Phee from coming to the boy’s rescue. Besdin fought, but Brophy was bigger and stronger. In the end the only thing the boy did was use up his air. Eventually he took that fateful gulp. Brophy rose to the surface, taking a smooth breath as the boy coughed and sputtered, spitting up the vile water.
“Good luck,” Brophy said to the boy who had mocked him in the arena, pretending to retch, hack, and cough. Soon enough he would know the truth of it. Brophy stroked slowly through the murky waters to the finish. The rest of the contestants waded slowly behind him.
The long-faced announcer bellowed into his immense brass funnel. “The bottom dwellers have climbed from the muck and become the silent, deadly hun
ters of the desert, whose sting is certain death. Which five will evolve from the deadly sting to the lethal bite? To change from Scorpion to Serpent!”
The contestants lined up at the edge of the Scorpion square. Phee talked in whispered tones to the sixth contestant, a dark-skinned young man with a serious mien. His name was Goripht, and Brophy had seen him train. He was not a part of Phee’s group, but a blind man could see that Phee and Goripht had no chance unless they worked together.
They all donned shields shaped like scorpion claws and took up short spears made to look like a scorpion’s stinger, the same weapon set Brophy had used to defeat Vakko.
Brophy flexed the pincer on the shield and tightened the strap. Scythe had shown him many ways to use it. In Brophy’s mind, it could never be an elegant weapon, but even a crude weapon could be effective if you knew its limitations.
“Sting! Sting! Sting! Sting!” the crowd chanted, as the six of them took their places.
The gong crashed. Phanqui, Tidric, and Brophy fanned out, attempting to separate Phee and Goripht. Athyl hovered at a distance waiting for someone to turn his back. Each contestant had to draw blood from another. The last to spill blood was eliminated. The Scorpion square had a tendency of starting slowly and ending in a furious melee. Once one contestant had been marked, the rest went for blood like sharks.
Brophy warned everyone to play it safe. With their superior numbers, they could afford to go slowly.
Goripht left Phee’s side and feinted at Athyl’s bad leg. As the big man backed up, Goripht spun his spear around and tagged Phanqui. Blood flecked his shoulder. Enraged, Phanqui counterattacked, going for the man’s face.
In the confusion, Phee struck out, but Brophy slipped inside the strike. He flicked his spear forward and gashed Phee’s ribs.
But the move was a trap. As predictable as the sunrise, Tidric yelled and charged forward. Phee twisted, avoiding the young boy’s stinger, and snapped his pincers down on the boy’s wrist. Bones cracked. Tidric screamed, jerked back, but Phee held tight. The crowd went crazy, shouting and cheering.