by Scott Duff
“Okay, fine, you win,” he conceded. “Just put them away for now, please!”
“I can agree to that,” I said and brought the tools back in, relaxing some. Peter swept in behind me, freshly showered, carrying his boots and swiped a biscuit off the table before moving to a chair to put his socks on, ignoring the face-off between Kieran and me.
“I don’t like this at all, Seth. I want you safe, not out in the middle of a pitched battle without any experience,” argued Kieran.
“I don’t want any of us out there, Kieran,” I said, “but there’s no way out now, and if any one of us goes, I go. I can’t walk away from this, Kieran.”
“How did you develop the armor?” he asked quietly.
I shrugged. “I didn’t. The Stone came up with that one. I’m beginning to think these things have minds of their own.”
“And little things like brownies creep you out?” he scoffed, grinning slightly.
“Master Seth? Would you come in here, please?” called Shrank from the doorway.
“Go finish scaring the brownies,” said Kieran, sighing. “Then come back. We need to talk about strategies, I suppose.”
“I don’t want to scare them,” I said, defensively.
“Well, you have. Just hurry up,” he snapped and went back to Ethan.
“You will be surprised by him, Kieran. Don’t worry so much,” I heard Ethan say, consoling Kieran as I left the balcony.
I walked into the main room of the apartment. Shrank was hovering over the coffee table between the two sofas nervously flitting short distances.
“What’s up, Shrank?” I asked.
“You wanted to meet the brownies who lived in the apartment, Master Seth,” said Shrank. “I have managed to convince three of the elders of the tribe to speak with you. They are a very skittish race, Master Seth, even more so here but quite capable.”
As he spoke, three very thin forms took shape on the sofa opposite me. It wasn’t a sudden appearance, but quite slow. The three figures were standing in the center of the sofa in gray waist coats with black slacks with white ruffled shirts and black ties, very much the English butlers, as long as butlers were no taller than half a foot and weighed about four ounces. They looked similar to the elves, but honestly, it looked like these three guys enjoyed life a little more than the elves ever did or would. I could see the geas bindings on them as little golden rings around their souls, yet there was still a great deal of joy in their hearts. Not at the moment. Right then, they were scared out of their wits.
“Sirs,” I said quietly. They bowed deeply at the waist, almost down to their feet and held it. “Please, don’t. I’m not used to such displays. I’m just used to doing everything on my own and having y’all is a shock to me. I’m afraid I’ll step on you or hit you or something if I don’t know you’re there.”
The center brownie stood slowly while the other two faded slowly from sight. They weren’t completely invisible to me anymore, now that I knew how to see them, what to look for. They showed as a faint brown halo as they moved off the couch and around the room. The one that stayed chirped at Shrank quickly. He trilled something back and they went back and forth a few times.
“You’ve confused them, Master Seth,” Shrank said, giggling. “I have to admit you still confuse me quite a bit, too.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked him.
“I told him you’re nuts, he just doesn’t believe me,” Shrank sang out.
“Why is it nuts to believe that nothing living is beneath notice,” I asked him. “A plague is too small to see and it has devastated many civilizations over time, mostly carried in small parasites on small animals over short distances. I just want to know what’s around me and frankly, these three look quite happy. This is a good thing and within limits of a guest here, it’s my responsibility to make sure nothing gets in the way of their happiness while we’re here.” It made perfect sense to me.
“See what I mean?” Shrank squealed at the brownie. “He starts to make sense and then off the cliff he goes.” Shrank made a melodramatic tip off the tabletop, falling almost to the floor before righting himself and flying back up again. I heard a chorus of really high-pitched giggles from all around me. I started looking around for the faint halos. There were a lot of them in the room now, some very small and holding on to the larger ones. They faded into view briefly as I looked, smiling at me shyly. I smiled back. There were about twenty-three in all.
“Thank you,” I said to the brownie on the sofa, still visible and watching me cautiously. “It will be easier for me now that I know you’re here. And thank you, Shrank, for getting them to talk to me.” I stood up slowly and left for the balcony.
“See? He thanks us. His servants! He’s crazy, but in very good way,” I heard Shrank squeak to the brownies. I just shook my head and kept going.
“These matches are going very quickly,” said Peter as I walked out onto the balcony.
“If they are to get to the third level by noon, they would have to go fast,” said Kieran. “And I don’t think all of these are intended to progress past the first level anyway. Look at that kid over there. He can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. There’s no way he’s supposed to go up against an elf of six hundred, and we’ve yet to see a team on the field.”
“Look who’s coming,” said Ethan, quietly, looking to the right. MacNamara was walking down the aisle with Cahill and Florian in tow, his proxies right behind him. Today he was dressed in his pale blue day suit with tails, pinstriped in bright orange, and carrying the tall cane. The usual attire of the pictures we’d seen of him. They stopped at the gate and MacNamara spoke through his proxies again.
“Good morning, gentlemen… May we… come in?” he asked. As I was closest to the gate, I jumped up and opened it for them.
“Of course, your Grace. To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit this morning?” I asked, barely containing my eagerness to question Cahill about my mother’s condition. I didn’t understand “Hostage rules” but I had to contend with them all the same.
“We are about to begin… the first level of solo contests… We are all curious… about the McClures’… opinions on the matches,” said MacNamara through his proxies, smiling. He had an odd gleam in his eyes and his aura was piqued in curiosity. There were other emotions layered in him but I couldn’t differentiate them.
“Oh, they haven’t started, then what have we been watching? We thought they we going too easily,” said Peter.
“These are mostly what you would consider roughly equivalent to regional championships,” said Florian. “Measuring control, strength, duration in situations that are difficult to maintain elsewhere. In essence, practice.” Señor Florian seemed to have lost most of his accent with the change to more casual clothes: black shorts with black athletic shoes with white ankle socks and a colorful silk short-sleeved shirt. He was lean and lithe, with an athletic build that the tuxedo had hidden last night. Cahill, on the other hand, showed a few years of neglect over a once strong build. He, too, wore shorts, tan khaki with a blue oxford pullover, but he had a bit of a gut. His arms and legs were thick from years of previous muscle, deteriorated from the underuse of the bureaucrat, though it didn’t look like it would take more than a few months for him to get back into shape again.
“Let me see about some more chairs,” I said, closing the gate behind them. “Would you care for some refreshments? Something to eat? There are some very good croissants on the table there.” When I turned, they were seating themselves in five new chairs staged behind where Kieran and Ethan were standing. MacNamara’s was, of course, much taller than the rest. “Oh,” I said, a master of words. Then I grinned a little. Of course, there were new chairs. There were twenty-three brownies in the apartment and an elf-king walked in. Silly me. I sat down and whispered a thank you to the brownies, hoping they’d hear.
“The field is clearing now,” said Ethan. “How many will start during the first rotation?”
“The field will hold forty… matches at first,” said MacNamara. “These will go… quickly, paring down… half the combatants… for the second level. …We will see… three, maybe four waves… of humans. Then the Fae matches occur… They will move faster.”
“Why so fast?” Kieran asked.
“They are randomly picked,” said Florian, “so skill levels can be pretty mismatched.”
“That seems pretty … off-kilter for something that can get you killed,” I said, more than a little disturbed.
“Most will not be using deadly force at this level,” said Florian with a smile. “It would be ‘unsportsman-like’.”
“But it could happen,” I said.
“Yes,” replied MacNamara, both left and right this time.
Eighty people ran out onto the field, men and women. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to me that the fountain of power streams was missing from the center of the Arena until now as elves in pale blue and orange striped jerseys spread out from the center among the contestants. As they formed forty trios of combatants and referees, a grid formed from the ground up, separating each group into equal-sized enclosures to roughly head-height.
A bell rang once and the contestants faced each other, glowering and threatening. The referees were stoic. A second bell rang, lower in tone, and I could feel the immense draw of power in the Arena and I pulled up a low-level shield to maintain the power level I had. It was purely a reflexive move. A third bell rang, even lower, and power was released throughout the Arena’s field level. Massive amounts of power, laced with different tastes and smells, burned across the space in front of me and bounced around the grid, sometimes hitting targets, often battering hastily constructed shields, mostly returning to the ground again. Only about half pulled power again. The other half either didn’t need it or couldn’t use it if they could pull it in—they’d already won or, mostly, lost. A second pulse of energy pushed through the Arena floor. This one was mostly kinetic energy, slamming people around, beating them unconscious. Then the walls started coming down. The first wave was over. It hadn’t taken five minutes.
Kieran looked over at me and asked, “Ready to back out now?”
I stared out over the field. Even the winners looked dazed and some were barely standing. Men with canvas stretched between eight-foot rods of wood ran out onto the field and started collecting fallen figures. It took longer to clear the floor than to mount and conduct the battle combined.
“I will if you will,” I responded.
Cahill cleared his throat loudly, not saying a word but making his presence known. I looked at him, right in the eyes. He met my gaze steadfastly.
“No,” I said, turning back to Kieran.
With the second wave, I decided to pick out one cell in the grid and watch it specifically. I had to detach myself from the fact that these were actual people trying to hurt each other—that disturbed me too much. Maybe if I’d gone to public school and played football or something, it’d be easier… I didn’t really believe that.
The next wave started out onto the field and I locked onto a flash of bleached blond hair. The Arena’s perspective let me zoom right in on the guy.
“Hey, that’s the British guy from Atlanta!” I just about shouted as I recognized the jerk. I jumped up to the rail, looking back quickly to make sure I wasn’t blocking anyone’s view.
“What? Where?” asked Ethan, almost giggling as he got up beside me.
I pointed him out and watched as he was partnered against a man of Middle Eastern or maybe Indian descent. I wasn’t sure and I wasn’t going to ask anyone here. It just seemed kind of rude to me, but maybe I was being overly sensitive. I watched as the two men assessed each other for the first time and took in their auras, their senses of selves, and how their powers flowed through them. I felt confident that the arrogant blond guy would win even though the other man was twice as powerful. It was kind of empowering for me, even though I really didn’t like the guy.
“Whatch’ya think?” I turned and asked Ethan.
“The other guy, hands down,” he said, puzzled. “He’s twice as powerful, more structured in his thinking, his flow is more regular. He should win. You think otherwise?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re right about the fact that the other guy should win and that’s exactly why he’s not going to. He’s decided he is, so he’s going after blondie in his fashion, whatever it is. But whatever it is, it’s going to be structured and overly powerful and safe for him. So blondie’s going to do something totally unexpected for this guy. It’s not going to be terribly powerful or immensely slick, just new to him. And bam, he’s the last man standing.”
“You’re saying he’s over-trained,” said Florian.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said.
“Overly confident,” suggested Kieran.
“That I can see,” I agreed, nodding. “And misjudging his opponent’s desire to win. Blondie’s here because he has to be, not because he wants to be. He’s a street fighter, not a competitive fighter. He’s out of his league here. There’s something up with him and his opponent isn’t bothering to take that into consideration at all.”
The anxiety level was rising in the Arena. Something was slowing the proceedings down.
“That is an interesting… take on that conflict,” said MacNamara. “What about… this one?” My view on blondie and his opponent was yanked away and moved to the far corner of the Arena, to another couple taking position on the field as the grid began to form on the ground and push up. A man and a woman this time, the first woman I’d seen. Her magic was wilder than anyone’s I’d seen yet, less controlled, like vines in the swamps. The man was similar to Blondie’s opponent, structured and practiced. At their first glances at each other, mental barriers crashed into place and they both became nervous and tense. They knew each other.
Ethan said, with confidence, “He will win with the first attack.”
“I agree that he will win,” I said, “but it will be a close thing with two, maybe even three attacks, and he may not be able to continue on afterward.” Ethan gave me an odd look at that.
The first bell tolled and I refocused on Blondie and his opponent. The second bell rang and his opponent pulled hard on the ambient energy while Blondie barely touched it at all, just like I thought. He was already reaching into his leather jacket pocket for something, though, and I focused on it as the third and final bell tolled. Blondie dove at the man as a wall of crushing, suffocating power rolled forward at him, missing him by an inch. From his jacket, he pulled a butterfly knife; he worked his hand furiously to bring the blade out but without paying any attention to it at all. He bounded off the wall of the enclosure as his opponent realized his first attack hadn’t scored a mark at all and turned to defend himself. Blondie snarled as he worked his first bit of magic, a tiny spell. He opened a small portal in front of his knife that ended just below the man’s sternum and behind his shields. He shoved the blade of his butterfly knife into the ground hard and his opponent gasped behind his shields, falling to his knees, shocked. I chuckled softly as the man fell face first into the grass. He was merely unconscious, his foot skewered to the ground but he’d felt the portal open just above his breast. Blondie wasn’t quite as nasty as he could have been.
I refocused on the man and the woman quickly. They were both bloodied in the first wave of their attacks. Neither was pulling power for a second, relying on their internal reserves. The man was trying to suffocate her right then, pulling air away from her head and pressing down on her lungs. Her swift kick to his groin gained her nothing as he apparently was smart enough to protect himself. In desperation, she flared out tendrils of pulsing electric power into his shields that found purchase on the overlapping plates he used. The tendrils squeezed together, just like he was doing to her but his shields were farther out, hers were right against her body now—dangerous. A crack formed along one of his plates and she focused the tendrils there and forced one small line
through and pulsed energy through it. Not enough to hurt him, but it shook his confidence briefly and he let up just enough for her to force all the tendrils through the tiny hole and pulsed again with all her reserves.
The man flew backwards, hitting the back wall of the pen. The woman gasped for breath, her chest heaving. She got maybe two full breaths down before a bright red wall of fire engulfed her. It lasted for five seconds or so before dissipating. She was on the ground, unconscious with her clothing smoldering. Her opponent was sitting against the pen wall looking barely conscious himself.
“He stole that!” Ethan exclaimed, meaning Blondie’s trick with the knife.
“Yes,” I said, drawing the word out and grinning at him. “And it’s easily defended. But that guy didn’t know that and he saw it coming.”
The walls were shrinking back into the ground again and the stretcher men were once again streaming onto the field. Ethan and I returned to our seats. Again, the entire conflict had taken about five minutes from the first bell to the walls coming down.
“You have an… excellent eye, young McClure,” said MacNamara. “How… do you see… your upcoming… battle with St. Croix… unfolding?”
I turned around to face him and considered his question. “Honestly, sir, I have no idea,” I said. “But I would have to be an idiot not to be afraid for my life and the lives of my friends and be willing to do whatever I have to do to make sure we come away alive.”
Florian asked, “And if that means killing your grandfather?”
“I don’t think that thing has been my grandfather for a long time,” I responded levelly. “I don’t think it’s been human for a long time, either.”
“You may be right there, boy,” Florian agreed.
“Gentlemen,” said MacNamara, rising from his chair, “let us leave… them to their… preparations, then. Good luck… Team McClure.”