A dark red band of light appeared around the arena, and one word sprung up.
To the death. The light highlighted the figure.
I looked up and Clay looked back at me. The white neon of the word “death” flashed in his eyes. He gave me one of his crooked grins.
“Well, this is a hell of a pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into now, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t agree more.
#
“The fighters will get ready for their trial,” the voice boomed.
More cheering - so much that it felt like the entire arena was filled with spectators.
“I don’t have a weapon,” I said.
Clay was armed to the teeth.
“Here,” he grabbed one of his smaller blades, one that I could easily wield, and handed it to me. The crowd cheered more wildly. I took the blade. He grabbed my hand as I did so and looked me deep in the eye, desperate to hold my attention.
“Listen,” he said, “they expect a fight to the death, but we don’t have to do it.”
“If we don’t, they’ll kill us,” I said.
“Not necessarily,” he shrugged, but I wasn’t convinced.
“You want to be part of the fighter’s league?” I offered. “Hurt me. Wound me. It’s okay. I’ll heal!” I thought of Ian and hoped that he could heal me. “Don’t worry about that. Just do what you have to do to become part of this league. This is important to you!”
“Not without you,” he said. “Listen, don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
He winked at me, and then he stepped back. I tested the blade, felt its weight and balance. The quality of the lighting changed and became more blue in nature. I looked down at my skin, the purple accented by the blue. Clay’s eyes looked electric in this light.
He took a step to the left and I matched it. Were we really going to do this?
I remembered seeing that fighter on the ground. Nobody had mourned her, except maybe me. But maybe she’d had a best friend, too. Someone somewhere who missed her tonight.
A giant gong resonated throughout the entire arena.
“Gotta move,” Clay said, and he made a step towards me and then faked to the right. I knew what he was doing. I grinned, and I side-stepped with him, blocking his blow. He broke again. The crowd booed as though they’d seen the faked attempt.
We’d always thought we’d been so smart in fighting classes, getting away with these moves. This was a professional audience, and they wanted blood.
My mind reeled towards what I could do. I side-stepped and slipped on mud. I landed on my knees and quickly rolled away before Clay’s sword came down. He didn’t mean the blow, though, and I knew that he didn’t. I stood back up, sword before me to defend myself.
The crowd booed again. The light changed to gold.
DEATH the crimson word flashed around us.
I could see panic settling into his eyes. We had no way out of this. We could throw down our weapons and probably both forfeit our lives, or Clay could walk away. There was no way I could beat Clay. I had strength, but not like him. But I could vanish, and this arena was currently filled with shadows from the viewing gallery above and from the fake hills and flashing lights.
I drew the shadows towards me, folded them over me, even as I stood up and moved. If I could vanish for a little bit, maybe I could buy us some time. If I could draw the shadows around Clay, then he too could vanish, and we could find safety somewhere else. Maybe we could sneak out and nobody would see us. Would that even be possible? They’d found me before.
But I had to try.
Clay’s eyes widened and then narrowed a bit as a grin tugged at his lips. He was glad that I was vanishing.
I slipped towards the right and waited. Clay made a show of looking for me. He could probably find me if he really wanted to. He knew the few signs that I left behind.
But he didn’t, of course.
I realized that I hadn’t been sure if he would or not. My stomach turned, watching Clay put on a show, turning further left, away from me.
The crowd grew quiet, discontented. The light turned blue, the entire arena cast as though underwater.
Which fit the mood. This definitely felt like drowning.
I stared at the boss. She didn’t seem annoyed. She seemed amused. Her right hand, each finger bejeweled with a ring, gave a simple quick flick of the wrist, and the old woman from earlier headed to the edge of the arena.
She’d appeared out of nowhere and, unless I was mistaken, she used some of the same shadow-bending abilities I had. She’d vanished and reappeared in them. Well, that settled that. Traded definitely aged at different speeds.
Clay looked up at her, confused, and she smiled. From a distance, it looked like her teeth might not be all straight and human-looking.
“Coookieee?” she said in a simple, elongated question, each syllable like a cold, hard, hit directly on my spine. I felt the power behind the simple word, and I saw it crumple into Clay, who she’d directed the question at.
His shoulders drooped. His neck bent and his head dropped forward against his chest. He still breathed, but all tension left his body.
I took a step towards him, the blue light making me feel heavy. Clay’s limbs flew up as though electrified. His head jerked up and his eyes snapped open. They definitely were electric blue. His usually relaxed stance and his jokey smile were gone, leaving behind only hard edges.
I took a step back, terrified. He homed in on me. His hand reached for a small single-handed crossbow hooked to his hip. He pulled it out and fired. I had no doubt that the shot was meant to kill.
I moved just quickly enough, the bolt cutting across my shoulder. I lost hold of the shadows and threw myself back. All that I had was the sword. I held it as he came ramming toward me, screaming.
The crowd, which had been eerily quiet, erupted into bone-shattering cheers.
“Clay!” I pleaded over the screams, but he came down hard and fast, and I could barely keep his blows away, trying to use my greater speed against his strength. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and all that I could see were the eyes of that dead gladiator from earlier, and how she hadn’t seen death coming.
But it had come at the hands of Clay, with the same sword that he would now cleave me with, possessed by a fury that I couldn’t understand or stop.
Terrified, I managed to kick out and catch his feet. He fell to his knees. I took two steps back, not daring to turn, to run from him. Unable to gauge the terrain, I slipped on some mud and landed hard, scrambling to get back up.
He was on me in an instant. I kicked up, pushed him away, used his own speed against him, and sent him flying to the side.
I’d lost my sword. I didn’t have a weapon anymore, and Clay stood up so quickly that I didn’t even have the time to form a plan. I pushed myself back to my feet, held my hands out defensively, ready to come to blows against the sharp weapon, knowing I would lose, when Clay suddenly clutched his leg, like something had hurt him.
He fell to one knee, as though in slow motion, clutching his calf. Something left his side and slithered away through the sand and the grass.
“Tira?” Clay said, as he blinked away the fog of anger and bloodlust.
“Clay,” I replied, relieved that he was back. I smiled as I took a step towards him. Before I could reach him, he slumped forward quietly.
I heard his body strike the sand, the arena had grown so hushed. I rushed to his side, not worried about a trap, not even caring anymore. I turned him over on his back. His eyes looked at me - not in the way that they usually looked at me, with a smile, ready to tell a joke, or speak of an adventure, or to be sullen. Nor did they look at me with anger. They looked at me the way that the gladiator’s had earlier - vacant, and not quite believing that it had come to this.
I gasped as the crowd caught on and began cheering, as the lights shot various colors of victory across the entire arena. As the voice boomed across the mic system, announcing me as the winne
r.
I ignored all of those things, my mind blank, unable to process any thought, save one.
Clay was dead.
Clay was dead, and I was alone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I didn’t remember coming back to the cell. All I remembered was holding Clay. I think I screamed. I tried to bring him back. I’m pretty sure I punched his chest, which I suspect is not how you do CPR, but desperate times…
People grabbed me and pulled me back. I remembered letting go of his head as they pulled my arms back. I remembered it falling on the ground, his neck shifting slightly, as though his eyes tried to follow me, even though it was very clear that he was very dead, his skin turning a bluish color under the lights of the arena.
I wanted to destroy every one of those lights, fold into the shadows, and lose myself in them forever.
But I didn’t. I didn’t, because it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, save those vacant eyes, looking at me, watching me get dragged away.
I don’t really remember after that. I don’t know if they knocked me out, but I don’t think so. I think I just don’t want to remember.
Now I sat in my cell again, alone. My shoulder stung where the bolt had nicked it, but I didn’t care about the blood. I was dirty from the mud where I’d fallen, and where I’d been on my knees to collect Clay’s body and hold it against me.
None of it mattered. None of the stains or the blood mattered. None of the struggles or the dreams mattered.
Clay was gone.
Clay was gone, and I didn’t even know how. Or what had happened. I was angry at the boss, the league, the guild, the entire Traded system, but my anger still lacked direction. It couldn’t focus it on one target and so it couldn’t ignite, unable to burn away the grief that consumed my soul.
A noise at the door. Someone unlocked it. I remained seated, but felt every single one of my muscles tense up, ready to spring into attack. A wall of fatigue seemed to hold me back, though, so I just stared as the door opened. I was surprised to see Ian step in.
He closed the door quickly.
“Clay’s dead,” I said before he could say anything.
“We need to go, Tira,” he knelt beside me. “We need to go now, while they’re not watching.”
“Clay’s dead,” I repeated. Surely he hadn’t heard me.
“Come on,” he said, not unkindly, pulling me up to my feet.
“Why are you bothering with me,” I said. “Clay’s dead. I’m not worth it.”
“Come on,” he said, pulling me to the door. We stepped outside. One of the guards was down, his skin turning purplish-blue, just like Clay’s had.
“What got him?” I asked, stunned and confused, my mind slowly wrapping around the possibilities of what had hurt the guard. The same thing that had gotten Clay. That much was certain.
“We have to move quickly,” Ian said. He took my arm and gently nudged me down the corridor.
“No,” I held my ground. “Ian, what got him? It’s the same thing that got Clay.”
“Do you trust me?” Ian asked.
I looked into his dark eyes. That was a loaded question. Did I trust anyone right now? I didn’t know. I didn’t even know if I trusted myself.
“Did you do this?” I asked, pointing towards the guard.
“We can still save Clay,” Ian offered, his voice soft, as though afraid he would break me, “but we have to move quickly.”
“He’s not dead?” I said, unbelieving..
“He doesn’t need to stay dead,” Ian said. “We have to go quickly. Come on. Please!” he added for good measure, his desperation beginning to ring in his words.
I nodded and followed him down the corridor, the sight of the guard haunting me. Ian had done this. Ian had stopped Clay. Ian had saved my life. Ian had killed Clay.
By the time this day was over, there was a very real possibility that I would stab Ian to death.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After following Ian-the-dog for so long, it was distracting to have a human walking in front of me. He seemed equally uncomfortable with his two legs, and downright annoyed by stairs.
He clutched the handrail way more tightly than necessary. He must spend most of his time as a dog, or another animal. I can’t say I really blamed him for that. Being human, or human-like, I suppose, just downright sucked at times.
We went down six flights of stairs and reached the basement. I wrapped the shadows around us. Someone might be able to break them down, sure, but maybe not. The shadows didn’t offer their usual comfort.
Once we’d reached the basement, Ian seemed to hesitate. He pushed on the door and looked in quickly. I put my hand on his arm, indicating that I would go first, and that he should stay close to me.
I didn’t have a weapon on me again, of course. What was it with me and weapons? I loved weapons, but I couldn’t keep hold of them at all. I’d have to get better at concealing them. I glanced at Ian, wondering if he had any weapons hidden on him. Not that he needed to. He seemed to be his own best weapon.
The corridor past the door was clear, and the lighting was dim - typical basement stuff. I loved it. I wrapped the shadows around me and Ian more tightly, like a comfortable old coat. I stepped in quietly, held the door for Ian to follow, and let it slide silently closed.
The basement smelled as humid as the cell upstairs had, except in a more comforting way, like it was supposed to smell dank here. Ian indicated that we should move forward down the corridor, and so I did, quietly. I could smell something else mixed in with the humidity. Something not quite as pleasant.
Death. Death was definitely in the air.
This was why we were here. The body disposal area. I swallowed hard, a lump in my raw throat.
I hoped Ian hadn’t lied to me. My ankle moved with just a little bit of discomfort, reminding me of what Ian had managed to do already. Maybe this was why he wasn’t changing back into an animal - so that he could preserve his strength to heal Clay.
I crossed an open door and glanced in, practically giddy to spot a janitor’s closet. I shot Ian a grin and slipped in. The contents were disappointingly sparse. Cleanliness mustn’t have ranked high on their list of concerns.
I grabbed a mop handle and a rusty metal dustpan, all dinged up from overuse and with layers of dust on it. Oh, this would be perfect. I couldn’t wait to get in a fight, now.
Ian’s eyebrows were in his “really?” position when I rejoined him, making sure the shadows were wrapped around us. I offered him the dustpan, but he shook his head. His eyebrows didn’t move as he did so.
His loss.
We moved down the barely illuminated hallway, until he held up two fingers, pointed to an opened door, and then down the corridor.
Two doors down. I nodded, loosened by grip on the mop handle to move quickly with it if needed.
What was in the first door, I wondered? Maybe somebody waiting to get a broom handle in their eye? Or a dustpan across the throat? Hitting something, preferably someone, would make me feel a hell of a lot better.
I glanced in. It was disappointingly empty, except for old trash compactors.
Some of the death smell definitely came from here. This was an older building, with trash chutes from various floors leading down, and it stank like about a hundred years’ worth of garbage. Some refuse tumbled down as we watched, and crashed into one of the bins.
Gross.
We reached the second door, this one closed. I nudged it open, pleased that it didn’t screech open. Not that it mattered. No one was here either. A blast of cold air was all that greeted us.
I stepped in, closed the door behind Ian. A single bulb lit the space, and I gasped at the sight. We stood inside a giant cold room, holding the bodies of recent dead. The multi-armed woman was here, her tall body only partially on a slab. There was no ceremony, no blanket covering her.
I felt even more terrible for her.
And on another slab lay Clay. His eyes were clo
sed, and he was still very blue. My breath caught in my throat.
Ian quietly crossed the floor to reach him.
“Give me a moment,” he said. I followed him, looked at Clay. I always felt that dead bodies should look more peaceful than they actually do. Like they should reflect that moment where you stepped into the afterlife and discovered peace.
But that hadn’t been my experience with bodies, and Clay was no different.
“Are you going to heal him?” I asked Ian, my voice catching in my throat.
“No,” he said. “I have something else for this.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a syringe. It was already filled with liquid. I narrowed my eyes, watched him as he pushed it deep into Clay’s chest.
“This might startle him,” he said, and he injected the liquid in.
Clay’s limbs shot up, his eyes wide, and a shudder travelled through his whole body as he gasped for air. His skin tone immediately became warmer, the blue only clinging to his lips and to his extremities.
“Clay!” I choked on his name. He was still lying down and looked confused. “Are you alright?” I asked. He nodded and tried to stand up.
“Don’t move too quickly,” Ian said. “You’re going to feel this.”
“What happened?” he asked, hoarse. I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t believe I was actually talking to him - that he was still alive.
“We should go,” Ian said, looking at me, a plea in his eyes. “Before they figure out you’re gone and come looking for you.”
“That’s a good idea. Can you stand, Clay?”
He nodded, but we still helped him, Ian on one side and me on the other. We headed towards the back, to the exit, as I wrapped the shadows around us, never having been so grateful to be able to walk out of a place alive.
Alive, and not alone.
#
There weren’t many places where Traded could recover, unless they went to a guild. We couldn’t exactly go to a guild right now, considering that the Guild of Shadows expected us to show up with the canister, and the fighter’s league would come looking for us, or at least me. Not Clay, since they thought he was dead. Or Ian, since they thought he was a dog.
Hell Born Page 16
