The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  Both bears started violently as the darts found their mark. The larger gave a tremendous roar of fury and reared up onto its hind legs, clutching at its back.

  Both Misfits and rebels in the pit froze.

  I could tell from the dawning despair on Freya’s face that she had lost touch with the bear. That she could not regain a hold suggested that the darts had been drugged.

  The larger bear turned to stare at Freya, its eyes red with fury. With a low growl, it advanced on her. The smaller bear seemed confused, staring from its companion to the girl and back.

  Hannay and Fian stepped forward to stand on either side of Freya, lifting stick and shield to fend off the beast. Freya did not move. Her eyes were fixed on the smaller bear.

  “She is sending calmness and compassion,” Dameon murmured.

  The smaller bear stared back at her, plucking fretfully at the dart lodged in its fur, and even the larger beast seemed to hesitate.

  It shook its head slightly.

  “She’s getting to them,” Miky whispered.

  On the other side of the pit, there was a sudden and unprovoked movement. The rebel with the sword ran forward and drove the blade deeply into the smaller bear’s side.

  I watched in impotent horror as the bear fell without a cry and lay utterly still.

  Freya shrieked horribly and fell into a faint, for her mind had been linked empathically to the bear’s. If Freya had been a farseeker or a coercer, she would be dead.

  I reached out my mind, seeking the bear’s life force, but there was nothing. Thoughts swirled out from the larger beast, revealing that the smaller bear had been its cub.

  I felt Kella trembling violently at my elbow.

  The female bear approached her cub’s body and prodded at it. Then she put back her head and howled with such anguish that it rent my heart in two. While she was thus distracted, the four rebels moved forward in a solid phalanx.

  I poised my mind to drive them back, then realized I must not interfere for fear of a forfeit.

  I looked to the Misfits in the pit. Hannay had dragged the unconscious Freya to one side, and Miryum had slipped past the grief-stricken bear, raising her knife to the rebels. She was trying to keep them away from the bear!

  The creature looked up from its cub’s corpse, focusing on the coercer’s back. It rose slowly, eyes blood-red, and growled with chilling hatred.

  Fian ran around to its side, waving his shield to draw the bear’s attention from Miryum. I wondered in horror what he was trying to do.

  All at once, it snarled and shambled toward Fian, raising massive paws to strike. Even from a distance, I could see the wicked sharpness of its talons. Fian leapt out of the way as the bear swiped at him, and Miryum jumped to one side, leaving three rebels face to face with the enraged creature.

  It growled again, and the rebels hastily backed away. Miryum and Fian stood perfectly still, faces set and grim.

  I looked back to where Hannay was trying to revive Freya and saw the fourth rebel creeping behind him with a knife. My mind flew back to a dark cavern and the Zebkrahn machine, and Madam Vega with her knife poised above Rushton’s throat.

  I felt the inimical force in the depths of my mind coalesce, and knew that I could not sit back and watch Hannay die simply to win a contest.

  Before I could act, Freya opened her eyes. Something in her expression must have warned the big coercer, because Hannay reacted instantly, spinning and using the force of the turn to drive his elbow savagely into the rebel’s groin.

  “Oh no!” Kella whispered beside me, and my eyes flew to where the rebel with the bloody sword and the other with the ax had driven the bear back toward Miryum. The third joined them, grinning triumphantly.

  But his smile faltered, and a moment later, he flung down his net and began to execute a frenzied dance, slapping bare arms and legs as if they were on fire. His two companions gaped at him incredulously. Then a second rebel abandoned his sword and seemed to be trying to throttle himself. The she bear appeared baffled and had ceased her growls.

  “Miryum is coercing them,” Miky murmured.

  The remaining rebel, realizing that whatever ailed his companions arose from the stolid coercer, slammed his fist into her temple. She fell to the ground, leaving Fian standing alone.

  Again, the rebels began to harry the bear back toward him. Abruptly, the rebel with the axe stopped and clawed at his eyes.

  Hannay was coercing now, but he had nowhere near Miryum’s strength. The rebel with the knife ran at him, and he was forced to release the other man’s mind to defend himself.

  “Lud, if only they had nowt struck Miryum down. A little more time and she could have held ’em all in thrall!” Daffyd muttered.

  All at once, the bear seemed to go mad. It howled and clutched at its head, raking the air with its razor claws.

  “The drug must have progressive effects,” Kella murmured.

  The servitors at the pit worked another set of ropes, and a hidden passage appeared in the side of the rift wall. The three rebels ran for it, and the bear snarled, charging after them, but the gap was too narrow. Thwarted, it turned.

  Freya, whey-pale, worked frantically to revive Miryum. Hannay and Fian positioned themselves in front of them, shield and stave raised.

  The fourth rebel, now recovered from Hannay’s blows, climbed stiffly to his feet. Seeing no one was watching him, he caught up his knife and rushed at Hannay, his face a mask of hatred. The motion caught the eyes of the crazed bear, and it turned and charged.

  Freya staggered out to set herself in the bear’s path. The beast stopped, and its wild eyes focused their madness on her.

  “No!” I whispered.

  Step by step, Freya approached the bear, drawing gradually within reach of the lethal claws and killing embrace. The bear made a crooning sound.

  “She has it,” Miky whispered.

  Indeed the bear seemed mesmerized. Then it groaned, clutched at its back, and keeled over.

  “No!” Freya screamed, flinging herself beside the creature. It did not move, and she looked up out of the pit with a face that streamed with tears. “You bastards! It is dead.”

  “Poisoned,” Kella breathed.

  “The first game is ended,” Jakoby announced.

  40

  “INTERESTING,” BRAM SAID.

  We had returned to the side of the isis pool. In the light flooding through the crack, the water was as blue as a summerdays sky. Miryum had been laid on the grass beside Bram’s dais, and Kella was tending her. Jakoby had warned us that if the coercer failed to resume her position before the third game commenced, she would be disqualified, reducing our number to nine. That would not happen, because, if necessary, Kella could heal her quickly. But this would drain her energy, so we had decided to wait to the last minute and hope the coercer would revive naturally.

  Jakoby had not mentioned Freya’s cry, and the blond girl stood beside me, pale but defiant. Malik’s mocking smile said all too clearly that we had fared badly in the first Battlegame. But the day was young, I thought, gritting my teeth.

  “Interesting to note what each group saw as the object of the Battlegame,” Bram said. “The rebels sought to slay the bears and, if possible, to have the bears slay their opponents. Failing that, to get away alive. Would you concur?”

  Jakoby nodded.

  “In attempting to attain these objectives, the rebels were swift, aggressive, and sure. They worked well together when it was useful, never hesitating to cut their losses at need.”

  Jakoby nodded again.

  “The Misfits’ behavior, on the other hand, appeared primarily defensive to my eye. They sought to protect both themselves and the bears. Since the female was trying to kill them, this was a confused and somewhat sentimental strategy to adopt. The Misfits’ mental powers are clearly considerable, but they didn’t use them in any decisive way in this instance. If they can control the bears, why not have them attack the rebels? Why not have the rebels turn
on one another?”

  Bram closed his eyes and seemed to sink into a small trance after this speech. After a moment, he roused himself and announced that the second game would begin.

  The dice were thrown again, and this time their number indicated a Battlegame Jakoby called “the Wall.” A second casting gave two players to each team.

  Rushton chose Angina, because he was agile and we thought the wall might have to be scaled, and Hannay again, because he was strong and a coercer, in case the wall had to be shifted or broken down.

  We had not lost heart despite the first battle, for we were confident that we would perform better now that we had some idea of what the games might entail. The most important thing we had learned was that we must define our objectives when they were not specifically named.

  When Angina and Hannay were taken off with the two rebels, Rushton frowned after them. “I hope we do better than in the first game.”

  Miky gave him a swift, startled look. “You can’t mean you think they should have killed that bear.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I do not see what else they could have done. However”—he looked at me—“do you think Malik instructed his men to kill us if they got the chance? Or were their attacks in the pit instinctive?”

  I let him see the answer in my eyes, and his frown deepened.

  Angina and Hannay returned, now clad in loincloths, and they seemed to be arguing furiously. None of the four contestants bore any weapons. They were ushered past Bram’s dais and over to the bottom of the rift wall, where Sadorian servitors bound Angina’s wrists and ankles. One of the rebels was similarly bound.

  “What on earth can they be expected to do tied up like that?” Miky said worriedly.

  The servitors now turned their attention to Hannay and the second rebel, buckling each of them into stout leather jerkins and swathing their bare limbs in what appeared to be bandages. Boots reaching to the knee were strapped on their legs, and long heavy gauntlets were pulled over their hands.

  “The climber must scale the rift wall to the summit,” Jakoby said.

  Miky frowned. “But how can Angina climb with his arms like that?”

  “A strong cord will attach the climber to the burden,” Jakoby went on.

  We listened, aghast, as she explained that one in each doublet was to drag the other with him as a helpless bundle. The arms, legs, and hands of the climbers were bound in cloth to protect them from the cliffs, which were impregnated with streaks of holocaust poison. The burden had no such protection and must rely entirely on the skill of the climber.

  “But … coercers are no good off solid ground,” Miky reminded us, ashen cheeked.

  “They had to let Hannay climb. Angina could never lift him,” Rushton snapped.

  Miky looked sick.

  “At least it’s not Miryum. Hannay won’t be as badly affected as she would,” Kella said stoutly. She did not say what she must have been thinking—what we were all thinking—that Miky’s twin’s life was in the hands of a man who could not bear heights.

  The bout would be over, Jakoby announced, when both pairs reached the desert above.

  “Climb,” Bram shouted.

  We watched with bated breath as the game began.

  To begin with, the rebels were at an obvious disadvantage, because they were both of equal height and weight. This gave the climber an arduous task. But Hannay climbed with agonizing slowness. Soon, the rebels were some distance above.

  Then, all at once, Hannay began to climb swiftly, his hands and feet sure. Gradually, he closed the gap between himself and the rebel pair.

  “Angina’s helping him not to be afraid,” Miky said with a flare of pride.

  Now the pairs were level. But the climber in the rebel team had reached a small ledge that allowed him to stand and free his hands. He began to take chunks of rock and hurl them at Hannay.

  “He’s trying to dislodge them!” Daffyd cried.

  The big coercer paid no attention and had soon risen above the rebel climber. The rebel turned his attention to Angina and went on hurling stones and abuse.

  Suddenly Hannay stopped climbing.

  We stared, straining our eyes to figure out what had happened.

  “Angina’s been knocked out by the rebel’s stone,” Miky said.

  “Oh Lud,” I whispered, knowing that, unconscious, the empath could not send courage to the big coercer. And if Hannay fell now, he would kill them both.

  The rebel climber began to ascend again.

  For a long time, the coercer did not move, but at last he began to climb again, too.

  “Has Angina …?” I began, but incredibly Miky shook her head.

  That meant Hannay was going it alone. He went very slowly, testing handholds and creeping over the face of the cliff like an ant in a windstorm.

  By contrast, the rebel climber rose with exultant speed, uncaring that his partner was being dragged and bumped against the poisoned rock wall. When he reached the top, he hauled up his trussed partner and gave a great shout of triumph.

  This was echoed by the rebels below.

  It was more than a half hour later when an utterly exhausted Hannay dragged himself onto the platform and pulled Angina up after him.

  They were brought back down on kamuli. Angina had regained consciousness, though he had a lump on his forehead the size of a hen’s egg and claimed to be seeing double. Kella drew the slight concussion out of him, and Miky went to where Hannay sat heavily on a boulder, staring at the ground.

  “That was brave,” she told him softly. “I know coercers hate heights. Are you all right?”

  “That was the hardest thing I have ever done. But it was not bravery that moved me, Miky. It was blind terror.”

  “Not so blind,” Miky whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  A faint color rose in his face, just as Jakoby approached to summon us back to the dais. Miryum had wakened and joined us as we took our places. Bram looked closely at the stocky coercer before agreeing that she was fit to continue. Now we were ten again, but Malik had lost one player. The man who had been trussed and borne up the ridge wall had touched the walls too often, and he was seriously ill. There would be no question of his returning within two games.

  “The rebel climbers clearly saw the object of the game as speed,” Bram said. “Having identified their objective, they lost no time in pursuing it. It is also clear that the rebels have a second objective—that is, to destroy or harm their opponents. They have been equally single-minded in their efforts to fulfill this objective but so far have failed. Oddly, this does not appear to have excited a desire to retaliate on the part of the Misfits. They have done no more than use their unusual Talents to protect themselves when they were under attack.

  “Neither did they use their powers to inhibit their opponents’ progress up the wall,” Bram continued, tugging at his earlobe. “They might have caused their opponents to jump from the cliff under some delusion. But they did not. They only appear able to use their abilities to help themselves or to defend themselves. There does not seem to be any capacity for aggression in them.”

  He straightened and the overguardian brought the dice again.

  At the first throw, twelve marks faced up.

  “The Pole,” Bram intoned.

  On the second throw, three marks faced the sky, and we gathered around Rushton to decide which three should represent us.

  “I have some skill with the pole as a weapon, but twice I have failed,” Hannay said despondently. “I am not afraid, but I think you should not choose me.”

  “You did not fail,” Angina said. “I made you brave, and when I was hurt, you made yourself brave.”

  The coercer smiled wanly and ruffled the empath’s hair. “Let us say you showed me the knack of it.”

  “I will do it,” Miryum said stoutly. “Pole fighting is my specialty, and if it is aggression they want, I am the person to give it to them.”

  Rushton nodded. “I name myself
as well to this, for I, too, have some skill at the pole.”

  “We need three,” Miryum reminded him.

  “I have not learned the pole, but I am strong,” Daffyd offered diffidently.

  “Why not,” Rushton agreed, sounding almost cheerful. I guessed he was glad to be involved rather than watching.

  “What if they are not to fight with the poles?” Dameon murmured, but Jakoby had called for Rushton to nominate his team for the third game. Malik spoke, and the chosen six were marched off to the armoring tent.

  When Jakoby explained this game, my heart sank; we had misjudged yet again, for the game did not involve the common sport of pole fighting. The title referred instead to a long, slender piece of wood run between two high stands. Two of these scant bridges were erected before our eyes, to stand less than an arm’s width apart.

  The object, Jakoby said, was for the members of each trio to cross the pole from end to end, one at a time.

  Hannay groaned. “Badly as we have done already, we cannot hope to succeed now. No coercer fears heights more than Miryum.”

  Our only consolation was that the rebel team seemed no happier. I kept my fingers crossed that at least one of their people would also be afraid of heights.

  The six returned carrying short staves, which were clearly to be used for balance. Even at a distance, I could see Miryum was white and tense, as Jakoby told them each team must begin at opposite ends and proceed at their own pace.

  “Begin,” Bram shouted.

  Rushton went first, crossing with an obvious lack of fear and the grace and balance that had served him so well aboard The Cutter. The first rebel had no hope of matching him and made his own crossing slowly and carefully, sweating and swearing at every step. By the time he reached the other side, Daffyd had already taken Rushton’s place and was making his way carefully across the pole.

  The second rebel was far more agile. He swarmed up the ladder and stepped out onto the pole with confidence. He looked across at Daffyd and smiled.

  My heart pounded uneasily as he came level with the grimly concentrating Daffyd.