A steely look transforms his face. “Because I don’t know how to treat you, Kit. I’m…I’m no good at this, okay. And I called you Falin because I had a very rude awakening today.”
“What…what do you mean?”
“August came to find me. He asked me to let you know that he’s fixed your stupid halo and you should go and pick it up tomorrow. And now you’re going to run along like a good little Sanctuary puppet and slip the thing back on, aren’t you?”
“That’s it? You’re this mad at me because you think I’m going to just give up at the drop of a hat. You don’t know me, Ryka.”
“YOU don’t know you! Jeez! A month ago you were a walking zombie. You’re only just becoming a real person now. You’re full of these feelings and you have no idea what the hell you’re supposed to be doing with them. And let me tell you, so far you’re not handling them all that well.”
“What?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Kit. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Just because you don’t want to feel something—it’s not convenient, or you just want to ignore it—doesn’t mean it’s going to go away. It’s only going to make you miserable, and that goes for the other people that your decisions affect, too.”
I gape at him, my mouth hanging open. “None of my decisions affect other people. You’re not making any sense.” His eyes blaze, filled with so much frustration and anger that I want to take a step back, but I can’t. I’m rooted to the spot, trying to figure out what on earth is happening.
“I’m making perfect sense,” Ryka huffs, stepping closer. “And, yes, you’re decisions effect me. I’m stupid to let them, but they do, okay?”
I flinch away from his words, too stunned to respond. I have to get out of here, and the quicker I can do that, the better. Jack’s meeting tent looms off in the distance, a pale white ghost. I gather my bearings from it, heading off in the direction of the only place I can consider home, back to my tent. I know Ryka’s still behind me.
“Why are you running away? Just tell me, Kit! Are you going to put that piece of metal back around your neck?”
Dizzy with the amount of turns I’ve made, I curl my hands into fists. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. Just because it’s fixed doesn’t mean I’m going to wear it again. It’s―it’s just an option.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be! Kit? Kit, stop. You’re walking in circles.” Ryka’s hand lands on my shoulder again, pulling me back. I try to tug free, but he doesn’t let go. “Tell me why your hair is so short.”
“Because I cut it. Thought you’d be smart enough to work that out.”
“I am.” Jerking me backwards, Ryka manages to slip by so that he’s standing in front of me. He catches hold of my hips with his hands, preventing me from moving around him. “Tell me.”
“What’s to tell? It’s hot. My hair is too thick, so I cut it.”
“I’m going to find out, y’know. You wouldn’t have cut it.”
“Oh? What makes you think you have any idea what I would or wouldn’t do?”
“Because you lived through summers just as hot in Lockdown and it looked like you’d grown your hair out for years. If you were the type of person to be utilitarian about their appearance, it would have been then, when it would have been logical. But you didn’t. Ergo you wouldn’t cut it off now.”
I work my jaw, trying to keep from shouting. “I’m sorry you hate my hair, Ryka. I know it’s ugly. I know I’m not beautiful like that girl you were flirting with. I’m sorry I’m not petite and fragile and feminine. But you know what? It really doesn’t matter. I’m nothing to you. At best, I’m your sister’s friend. Forget about training together. You don’t need to acknowledge me in future. In fact, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
I snatch myself out of his hands and move to get around him. He has hold of me again in a second. “I don’t hate your hair, and it’s certainly not ugly.” He brushes the tips of the strands swaying just above my jawline and his fingers graze my ear lobe, making me shiver. He sees my reaction and pulls in a sharp breath through his nose. “Simone is―”
“Beautiful,” I repeat.
He lets out the breath he’s holding. “Yes. But nowhere near as beautiful as you.”
I immediately stop struggling. “What?”
He studies me intensely and then shakes his head, his expression all frustration. “I’m the one who found you and brought you here, so you’re never going to just be my sister’s friend. I’m always going to feel responsible for you.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping. “You’re not responsible for me. I can take care of myself. Is this about the blood? Because if it is, then we already decided that it didn’t count and we should—”
“It’s not about that. Well, it is a little. Whether you believe in it or not, the Gods or our traditions, any of it, you’ve shed my blood and I’ve shed yours. That means something here. Damn it, it means something to me. Not because of the Faith. It’s just…it’s just who we are.” He steps back and gives me some room. “And for the record, it doesn’t matter that you’re not petite or fragile. In fact, I admire that about you. As for being feminine―” His eyes travel over my body and I can’t help but blush. I feel like I’m still standing next to the fire back in the clearing. Actually, I feel like I’m standing in the fire.
“The way your cheeks go red is pretty girly,” he says, saving himself, and me, from the awkward silence. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the feminine thing.”
Words have never really failed me before, but right now? Yeah, I’ve got nothing. What am I supposed to say to any of this? It would really help if I even had a damn clue what is going on. Ryka is standing here, telling me that he cares about me. Me.
“I have to go,” I tell him. I snake my way around him and this time he doesn’t follow. He does call after me, though.
“Kit?”
“What?” I slow ever so slightly.
“I just―I have to―” Stammering is really out of character for him. He inhales and then rushes it out. “Kit, I have to know. Are you going to wear it again?”
The burn in my cheeks grows to inferno-like temperatures. “I…I don’t know, okay!” And that’s when I give in. No matter how weak it makes me look, I run away.
HAZE
It takes a long time to find the way back to my tent. All I can think of is how badly I want to slip into bed and pretend like the whole nightmare conversation with Ryka didn’t just happen. But it did. There won’t be any forgetting what was said tonight, not even if my life depended on it. Why did he have to go and do that? We were doing just fine; things were just starting to calm down between us. And now? Now, things are even more explosive. I just want to put it all out of my mind and sink into unconsciousness, a feat I can only accomplish once I eventually locate my new home. Storming through the small opening, I see my goal ahead, but then a figure steps out of the shadows, blocking the entry way.
“Olivia, I just want to go to sleep,” I say. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just don’t think I’m going to be very good company right now.”
“Fighter,” a low voice says, and in the thick silence the word sounds strangely muffled. My pace slows instantly, while I peer into the night, trying to work out who is waiting for me. “You and I have business,” the voice says.
The person is definitely male—tall and really broad. A black mask disguises his face, one I recognise, and it takes me a beat to remember where from. The priestesses—they wear masks like these, except theirs are white with black counters running around the rim. This one is coal-black, complete with white counter, an exact inverse.
“What—what kind of business could you have with me?”
The stranger’s head tips to one side and the effect is altogether eerie and disturbing. “Surely there is only one kind?” he responds. A flash of silver in the moonlight betrays the blade he’s holding in his
hand, his arms hanging loosely to his sides. I suck in a breath and ready myself. It’s instinctual; I have my own knives in my hands in a heartbeat.
“Listen, I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t want to fi—”
It doesn’t matter what I want. In a flash, the stranger with the black mask leaps forward, flinging a hand out towards me, and a plume of dusty white powder explodes in the air, hitting me square in the face. I choke on the burning sensation that sears down my throat, trying to spin and meet my attacker. He’s quick. Quicker than anyone I’ve ever fought, or seen fight before. The blades in his hands spin so fast that it’s like the night air is filled with molten silver. I sink into a defensive stance, but everything is suddenly off kilter, strange and unfamiliar. Blurry eyes, shaking hands, pounding heart, panic racing through my veins like wildfire. The fight might well be over before my attacker even makes his first move, because I know in the pit of my stomach that I’ve just been drugged and I’m about to get my ass kicked. I’ve never felt so disjointed and confused, and the effects are devastating.
He comes at me, lethal and silent, and I dodge the edge of his knife as it cuts towards my stomach. One staggering step backwards. He responds by easing to the side, blocking my path back out into the forest. My attacker darts forward with both knifepoints extended, ready to spear me through my chest, but I drop just in time. I react finally and kick out at his legs, aiming to take them out from underneath him, but the man in the mask literally jumps, avoiding my strike. His leg comes down in an axe kick aimed directly at my head. I roll out of the way, only to receive a dazzling blow to the temple. I somehow manage to climb to my feet, but my efforts are all futile, and the stranger makes short work of pinning me into the dirt. My head is spinning, my mouth filled with a sharp, acidic taste, and it feels like my stomach is about to purge itself.
“Interesting,” the man in the mask says, as he kneels over me. “Most people can’t stand for ten seconds after a hit of the Haze. You’re very strong.”
If I wanted to reply, if I had any sort of motor function at all and wasn’t completely incapable of speech, then I’d tell this guy that I’m stronger than he thinks. Sadly, I’m like a puppet with cut strings, and I can do nothing but stare up at him with glassy eyes, trying to discern which of the five figures looming over me is the real one.
“They’ve Seen you,” he says, his words rasping against the ceramic mask covering his face. “They’ve Seen what will happen if you stay here. The Sanctuary will find you and bring destruction down upon the heads of all free people. The last person to threaten our safety in this way was dealt with, and so it shall be with you.”
The black and white mask distorts as my eyes roll back into my head, but not before I see the glimmer of metal descending toward my throat. I have the wherewithal to acknowledge that this is it; this is the moment when all the fighting, the struggling, the pushing and pulling finally ends for good. The thought is actually kind of peaceful.
“Stop!”
The roar sounds like it’s coming from the forest, like the massed body of countless trees all inhaled and bellowed the word in unison, rocking the ground. The ground, however, continues to spin long after the word dies on the wind, and I pitch onto my side, retching into the dirt.
“Leave the girl be.” I recognise the voice now, the deep rumble of it, and I know that Jack has found me. “Leave. Immediately,” he says.
A pressure lifts from my body as the man in the black mask stands, stepping over me, his knives still clenched firmly in his hands. “Will you prevent the will of the Gods, Grandfather?” he asks.
“The will of the Gods takes place on the pit floor, not hidden in the shadows out of view from the world.”
“Exceptions shall be made,” the man retorts flatly.
“None shall be made. Leave, or the town will hear of this.”
Miraculously, my attacker doesn’t persist. “So be it,” he says, his voice hard and irritated. He moves stealthily towards the tree line, but Jack lunges and grabs hold of his arm. “If you think I don’t know what’s going on here, then you’re sadly mistaken. I won’t allow this to happen again. You tell them.”
The black mask turns to face Jack head on, and the figure appears to stare at the old man before ripping his arm free and melting into the darkness. Jack’s boots make their way over to me; they’re all I can see from my doubled-over foetal position on the floor. He tuts and bends down, his shaggy grey hair and concerned frown coming into view.
“Well, well, young Kit. Seems like you’re in a bit of a state.”
******
Groggy, sore and miserable, I recover enough by the next day to go hunting with Jack. My lungs burn the whole time and it takes every ounce of strength I have just to keep up with the old man. The forest is littered with snare traps, so eloquently hidden that I would never see them if Jack wasn’t there to point them out. Sharp metal teeth hide in the hollows of dead, rotted out tree trunks, and incredibly thin wires pause, taught, ready to sink into the flesh of an ankle or a neck. It’s fairly obvious why there are no people wandering around out here: there are just too many ways to die.
“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” I ask, as we navigate our way through the invisible gauntlet.
“What do you want to talk about?”
I gawp at the back of his head, raising my hands in sheer frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that someone tried to kill me? Who was that?”
“Could have been a number of people. I have my suspicions, however.”
“Care to share them?”
Jack shakes his head and grunts, crouching to study some track in the undergrowth that I’m completely blind to. “No point in guessing. Only makes people paranoid.”
“Uhh…I think I’m going to be paranoid, regardless, now.”
“Still.” Jack straightens and sets off again. “All I can tell you is that he was sent by the priestesses.”
I had assumed as much, but having Jack confirm that the priestesses sent out an assassin to murder me makes my blood run cold. “Why would they do that?”
“I couldn’t say. You should keep well out of their way for the time being, until I can get to the bottom of the matter. I’ll go and see the High Priestess.”
None of that makes me feel any better. I stalk sullenly after him for a while, feeling like my insides got ripped out and squashed back in all the wrong places. “What was in that stuff I breathed in last night, anyway? And what did you mean when you told that guy you knew what was going on? That you wouldn’t allow it to happen again?”
More grunting follows as Jack stoops to collect a dead rabbit from a trap, its body limp and broken, which makes me feel remarkably sorry for the poor animal. “The Haze is a compound the priestesses make up to enter their trance-like states. I have no idea what’s in it, but I’ve heard it’s powerful stuff. And I do know what’s going on—when they’re trying to pull strings and work things to their favour. I said I wouldn’t allow it to happen again, because this isn’t the first time the priestesses have caused hurt within my family. I aim to protect mine and those they love.”
My brow crinkles as I take this in. Is Jack telling me he thinks of me as one of his family? “What do you mean?”
He sighs, looking at me like I’m just not getting something. “Have my grandchildren ever told you how their father died?”
I shake my head, no.
“Ryka’s father was a good man. He loved my daughter so much, and those children…you know, most young boys idolise their fathers. Ryka did idolise his father, but Matthew―” Another deep sigh. “Matthew worshipped the ground his children walked on. He couldn’t have been a better father. It was hard when we lost him. That loss is still a rancour that eats away at Ryka every day. He’ll never admit it, but losing his father destroyed the gentle part of him. Or at least buried it so deeply that it barely sees the light of day anymore. He’s protective over his sister and me. That he’s been spend
ing so much time with you says a lot about what he thinks of you, too.”
I don’t say anything, because uncomfortable memories of last night, before I got attacked, rise to the surface: Ryka and I arguing over my halo and our blood.
“Matthew was Mashinji,” Jack continues. His eyes are on his scarred hand, weaving through the grass. He doesn’t look at me. “He was a real character. Everyone in Freetown loved him. He was always quick to laugh and joke with people. Always available to help whenever he was needed. It was a shock when he was called as Mashinji. Mirry, my daughter, worried about Matthew being called into the pits, but no one else really thought much of it. There had been Mashinji fighters before and no one ever called them. It was always left to the High Priestess to pair them with an opponent. It was that way with Matthew for a while. Six months, in fact. I think we all got used to the idea that Matthew’s ranking was little more than a title that meant he couldn’t train with his friends. It was a surprise when he was actually called. Ryka was eight, Olivia six. She was with her mother, thank the Gods, but Ryka was with me. He was never usually allowed to watch his father fight, but for some reason, that night, I―” Jack shook his head. “A low ranking fighter called Matthew first.”
My stomach twists instantly. It is the word first that’s done it. I know the way this story plays out. Olivia practically told me herself the night of the blood ceremony. Jack clears his throat and continues. “After Matthew won that match, he was called to fight three more. It was clear there was some kind of collaboration, because they were all low ranked fighters.”
“They were wearing him out,” I say. My chest squeezes when Jack tilts his head into a small nod. “Why would they agree to that?” It’s impossible to work out why low ranked fighters would be willing to call an experienced opponent, knowing they’re probably going to die.
“Because of the priestesses, of course. People here border on fanatical when it comes to their faith. They’ll give up their homes, their families, their lives even, if they’re asked to.”
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