by Nichols, TJ
Terrance fiddled with his helmet and checked his forearm and knee guards and the protective girdle around his waist. The damage one of those heavy balls could do to an unprotected belly had been explained in graphic detail. He hadn’t understood many of the words, but the pictures had been more than enough—that and feeling the weight of the ball every time he trained.
They had all worn bruises from training until yesterday when they were healed and shaved in preparation for today. His muscles didn’t ache, and his skin wasn’t split… for the moment.
He flexed his fingers. No grabbing the ball and running to the end for a try.
The game ran for a set length of time. Points were deducted for too many bounces. It was over if the ball became dead on the ground, but it could be won if the ball was put through the hoop that was set six meters above the ground… and immediately lost if the attempt was unsuccessful.
While he’d taken a few stabs at getting the ball through the hoop during training, that was not the strategy for today. He glanced at his partner, a man who had been doing time for fraudulently claiming the base wage of his dead brother. Both of them were expected to die.
Clearly the Mayans didn’t think highly of thieves or traitors. How many people had bet against them?
It didn’t matter.
He breathed in and exhaled. His nerves were giving way to pregame focus.
The crowd outside went quiet. What had happened?
An eruption of cheers rippled through the air.
“Hoop!”
It was the only word Terrance understood among the shouting, and it was all he needed. The elite team before him had put it through the hoop. There was no way he could live up to that. The man he was partnered with stared at the floor already defeated.
“Live,” Terrance said. That was all they had to do. They didn’t need to be marvelous or awe-inspiring. Just live. He ignored the worm of reason that reminded him that if they lived, the other team must die. He didn’t know them. He couldn’t care. If he did, he’d have told them their rules were cruel and that no one should die.
With the other game over early, the thief and he were ushered out onto the court.
If the air had been charged in the waiting area, out here it was thick. Magic beaded like dew on his skin. He wanted to lift his gaze to look for Angus, but he didn’t. They had to bow before the priests and the mayor of Uxmal. He didn’t understand what was said. It was just part of the ritual, and he didn’t care. He was trying to settle himself.
When he’d planned to use international rugby as a way to defect from Vinland, he’d known he’d be playing for his life. But he never thought it would be so literal.
The priest stopped talking, and the crowd cheered as the players went to their sides of the court. The stone walls around the edge were high and smooth and the hoop as distant as the sun.
They had gone through plays and drills and learned to keep it simple and clean and as bounce free as possible. The strategy was for survival, not glory. But he hadn’t realized how much magic would be here. If he used it, he could ruin Cadmael’s plans for him in under a minute. But he’d never used magic while playing. It was forbidden during rugby, and players wore dampeners to prevent it, though there were ways to cheat.
Magic hadn’t been mentioned during pitz training, but he didn’t have time to think about it as the ball was thrown down and the game was on. Beyond keeping the ball moving, all thoughts fled.
He used his forearm to push the ball high to his partner and his hip as it came back to him. They were trying to move into the territory of the other team to score points, and the other team was trying to get the ball. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, and the air was sticky and loaded with magic. The other team got the ball and looked like they were going for the hoop. Terrance used his body to block them and hoped his partner would be there when he sent the ball his way. It bounced once… but the man got under it and used his knee to send it up. Terrance ran to get in place. They were still near the hoop. Should he?
If he failed….
No, keep playing. He started to use the magic that clung to him to direct each strike. He hadn’t used magic in a while, but it was like breathing, and magic made his every strike more accurate and more powerful. Then he used it to be that little bit faster. When the other team went for the hoop again, his partner was there first.
The other man was desperate not to lose. If the other team got it through the hoop, it would be over. If Terrance failed, it would also be over. But he had magic, something his teammate lacked. Their deaths would be on his shoulders if he didn’t try.
His teammate nodded.
Their opponents were better than they were or more desperate.
Terrance had put the ball through the hoop in practice. This should be no different… but it was completely different. The hoop seemed higher. People were watching and expecting his blood to be spilled. For once, he wanted to disappoint the crowd.
He couldn’t breathe as they passed it between them and tried to get into position. He ran at the wall and then relied on his partner to get it to him at just the right moment. It only counted as a failed shot if the ball arched up to the hoop and missed. Any player could run at the wall and gain height. So Terrance moved toward the wall and increased in speed with every step. He had to trust a thief.
The other team realized what they were planning and tried to check Terrance so he couldn’t reach the wall.
He grinned at the man and barreled through him shoulder first. He’d been tackling for over a decade. The man went down, and Terrance picked up speed, launched himself at the wall, and moved his feet up the almost-vertical surface. Magic boosted his height. His teammate sent the ball toward him and Terrance pushed off the wall, gathered every drop of magic he dared, and used it to send the ball off his forearm and toward the hoop. He dropped to the ground like a stone, hands to the dirt for stability, barely able to breathe.
He didn’t want to see if the ball went through or missed.
Chapter Thirteen
The ball bounced between players while the air thickened and crackled. Magic was all about emotion. Capturing the excitement and anticipation of the crowd and being able to use that would be a massive piece of rebalancing. Angus breathed it in. His skin tingled, his own tension fed the magic, and the magic amped his anxiety.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d been part of an orgy at Lifeblood Mountain, and the magic gathered had been tremendous. He’d never thought he’d feel anything grander, but this was far bigger. The magic was sharp on his tongue.
If this happened in Demonside, he’d be able to see it, thick and roiling. On the human side of the void, it was only a feeling, like electricity over his skin. In all the times he’d watched rugby on TV, he’d never stopped to think about the emotional buildup.
Terrance must have. That was why all players wore dampeners to prevent cheating.
None of the four pitz players were wearing anything to stop them using magic. Did that mean they could if they were wizards? There was no way that ball was going through the hoop without magic, and the other team was trying hard. Their desperation was a living thing that chased them around the court. While he could barely follow the game or its rules, he knew it was all over if the other team put the ball through.
The jade in his ear was hot and burned his earlobe as it tried to translate all the words around him. He wanted to yank it out, but he needed to hear every word. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t look away either. His gaze tracked every step Terrance took, and he winced every time the ball connected with Terrance’s body and he passed it to his teammate.
He bit his lip. He wasn’t going to make a scene, no matter what happened.
Terrance wanted to be afforded the same respect as the other players. Before they entered the I-shaped court, a priest had spoken about the honor of sacrifice.
It was easy to keep track of Terrance because his skin was paler than the others. Too
many spectators had shouted “Death to the Vinnish” when he stepped onto the court. Angus hadn’t turned to see where the words had come from. He kept his gaze fixed on the court. The crowd urged the other team on. They wanted Terrance’s blood—his life—all because of where he’d been born.
They weren’t the ones responsible for the ice age or the clean sweep. They had tried to fight it, but they hadn’t done enough.
He shouldn’t have spent so much time in Demonside. He should’ve realized the underground didn’t want to stop the college. The underground was infected with college warlocks who wanted to seize power for themselves. All of it had been brewing since the first demon war, long before he was born. Everyone else was collateral as the powerful tried to take more than they ever needed.
Terrance took control of the ball. Something was different this time, though Angus couldn’t say what. He watched sports for the aesthetics of the players, not for the rules, and the rules here were vastly more deadly than he was used to. He didn’t doubt Terrance’s fitness or skill as a sportsman. Terrance knew how to get in the right place as the ball was passed between him and his partner.
But then he ran at the wall, and Angus stopped breathing. What was he doing? Was he going for the hoop? If he failed….
People were cheering—for failure or success, Angus didn’t know. The words became lost in a roar of rising emotion, a tide of magic that needed direction. And Terrance was a warlock who’d had wizard parents.
The ball spun off his partner’s arm toward Terrance, who met it midair in a move that should’ve been impossible, that was impossible without magic. The ball hit his forearm and was redirected toward the hoop, still high above.
The crowd took a collective gasp. It would be counted as an attempt, and failure would end the match. While the other team had made some effort to get close, they hadn’t taken a shot at the hoop. Had they pretended the hoop was their plan to force Terrance’s team to act rashly?
Angus’s heart stopped beating as the ball flew through the air and silence filled the court.
It was going to hit the edge and bounce away. Terrance would be killed. Angus closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch. He couldn’t breathe. His pulse was loud in his ears.
He’d led Terrance there and promised him safety. Instead he’d brought death.
The sharp, hungry magic in the air choked him. It pressed against his skin like needles seeking blood.
“It’s through,” someone near him said as though they couldn’t quite believe it.
Angus didn’t. It had to be a cruel joke. He opened his eyes and looked up as the ball bounced on the ground and rolled away, untouched by any player. The siren sounded, and Terrance stood and hugged the man he’d been playing with.
Around Angus people were yelling about how the ball had gone through. He let himself breathe again. The game was over, and Terrance got to live.
Angus’s face split with a smile. He wanted to whoop and shout and celebrate. People were cheering, but it was different from what he knew. They weren’t joyful because their team won. They were more admiring of the shot, for the game. Everyone there understood the stakes and that death wasn’t something to celebrate.
Life was worth celebrating, and Angus wanted to climb down and hug Terrance.
The other team stood proud, but grim, their fate sealed. All four players gave a small bow to the audience, to the watching priests and mayor.
Angus was sure Terrance glanced at him as he left the court. He went to rise so he could find Terrance, but Kabil placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Stay to the end. Understand the importance,” Kabil said.
Angus twisted around to look at the man in charge of watching over him. He’d thought he’d lost Kabil, but clearly he hadn’t.
“I don’t want to.”
“Do not disrespect their sacrifice. There are only three more matches, though after that shot, it may be hard to gather that level of attention.”
The hard bench bit into the back of Angus’s legs as he watched without seeing. He didn’t care about the game. He’d been there for Terrance. But one didn’t leave a ritual halfway through, and while it might be ordinary citizens watching and playing, it was a ritual.
Would Cadmael find a way to make Terrance pay for surviving?
Angus swallowed, his mouth dry. He was contributing to the magical buildup. But where once he would’ve become lost in it, his feet were firmly grounded.
The final siren sounded, and the three losing teams that had played for their lives walked back out, stripped of their protective gear and helmets. Terrance wasn’t among them.
His chest eased a little. He shouldn’t have doubted the sanctity of the game. Even Cadmael wouldn’t stoop into forcing Terrance’s death.
No fear washed off the losing teams. The crowd treated the players like heroes as they followed the priest.
“Now we can go. There’s a small temple out the back where the rest of the ceremony is conducted,” Kabil said in his ear.
“I’d rather see Terrance.”
“He’ll be back at the school.”
No. He played and won. That should be it. Angus’s stomach turned. He was wrung out, as though he’d given too much. Maybe in his fear for Terrance he had. He should eat, or at the very least, drink something.
He followed Kabil and the small crowd to the base of the temple. It was small, little more than a raised platform, but built the same as the much bigger ones. On top stood two priests, and magic shimmered around them. That was where much of the energy had been channeled. The void was already open. It was a black tear at the top, and one by one the players were led up.
And beheaded.
Angus looked away. He’d seen death too often. He knew the worlds needed rebalancing, but this….
With every death, he felt the surge. This wasn’t one death. This was like the death of hundreds. The games had gathered the magic more effectively that anything Angus had ever experienced. A little from many, with only a few vessels to contain it until it could be released.
No drop of blood was spilled on the stones. It all went across the void. With the last death, the void was closed and the pressure of the magic was gone.
He should be glad that the Warlock College had never thought to use the rugby games to gather magic. But that was wizard magic, and they wouldn’t touch it. Priests used both.
Even if they held games once a week or every day, it wouldn’t be enough to rebalance what Vinland had taken. What would happen if Vinland timed a clean sweep during a match?
“Death matters,” Kabil said. “We all die, but we don’t all make it count.”
All Angus could do was nod. He was living, but he wasn’t making it count. If he died, all he’d be was the defector who’d hidden in the Mayan Empire and hoped someone else would find a solution.
He wasn’t even brave enough to step onto the court and put his life on the line for a cause he’d once believed in. He needed his demon. Had Saka received his message? The demon in the entertainment zone had been perplexed that Angus didn’t want to have sex, and the language barrier had made things harder. All he could do was wait for Saka to respond. While he waited, he’d find the others, even though Cadmael didn’t want them to talk.
First, though, he had to get Terrance out of the pitz school.
Chapter Fourteen
The rain fell hard. It was sticky as it hit Saka’s skin—blood magic, more than he’d ever felt in his life. The effect was instantaneous. Plants grew as he watched. The scale of the magic returning to Arlyxia thrilled and terrified him. How many humans had died to feed this rebalancing? Had the warlocks attacked? He used the magic flowing freely to push his mind through the telestones.
He didn’t reach wide as he had the very first time he tried, when he injured himself in the process. With each attempt he went in a set direction, only spreading wide when he’d almost reached the end of his ability.
Most of his attempts returned nothing.
The one tribe he had reached had told him they wanted nothing to do with humans. If demons had never worked with humans, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. But magic would’ve still moved between worlds, and humans would’ve still dabbled, and an unskilled user could have done much damage.
Today there was someone with him, but not making contact. It didn’t feel like Iktan, though Saka occasionally felt him there, silently giving strength to Saka’s attempt. If he pushed a little further, maybe the other mage he could feel would be able to make contact.
Wek made a sound of disapproval that he ignored. He knew when to stop, and he was almost at that limit.
The mage made the connection just before Saka was about to give up, but it was a fragile thing. I have felt you over several days.
I am seeking wisdom from other tribes about Arlyxia and what is to be done.
Nothing for us. The mage opened her mind, and Saka saw the bodies of the tribe. Demons with metallic gold skin, orange scales, and wings so delicate they were almost transparent… lay in the sand for the scavengers. Not enough magic for us to draw up water. No help to come. The people of the grasses are gone. She smiled hollowly, her hunger making her eyes too big in her face. Though there have been no grasses for my lifetime.
Panic gripped him, and he almost lost the connection. I will send help.
It will be too late. I have waited for you to get close, so someone would know what became of us.
Where are you?
She moved and her attention wavered. Then he saw what she was seeing—a map of Demonside like Miniti had. It showed water and meeting points, but it seemed to cover a bigger area. This was made by our travelers. Humans we once worked with before they stopped coming. We had a network of stones too before we folded in on ourselves and stopped speaking to other tribes. We shouldn’t have stopped. That was our mistake, and it has cost us dearly.
Saka stared at the map and tried to commit it to memory. He would piece together a map that covered all of Arlyxia and note the tribes and who their humans were. Which country of humans did you work with?