Dark Sun Rising

by K M Martinez

  Clan Bjorn Ivor’s banner featured a brown bear on a blue field. The Ivors were known for success in Libero—the lifting competition. Most, if not all, of their members were built like Victor, and had the same disposition. They were normally a gruff and grizzly bunch, and Mel expected prickliness from them—especially here in the Texas heat, which would no doubt cause the Ivors to be on short fuses. Hopefully their Sapienti, Stepan Wershall, could keep them under control. Hopefully.

  The green banner with a silver wolf in the center belonged to Halesander Ferus’s descendants. Clan Ferus was known for being strong in all the games, but especially Ambulant Laboriosum—the laborious walk. This was the last and most dangerous game to be conducted. Participants were left in an undisclosed location and tasked with finding their way back to camp, avoiding traps and other obstacles along the way. Mel had a love-hate relationship with Clan Ferus, since it was the clan of Cori O’Shea, who would no doubt lead the clan some day with her brother, Killian. For now, it lay in the hands of their father, Sapienti Sean O’Shea.

  And finally, there was the gold banner featuring a black sun. This was the banner of Lasade Kale. Kale’s original banner had been black with a gold sun, but some time over the centuries the colors had gotten inverted. Mel’s clan was known for having quick, strong fighters, with well-rounded skills. Grandma Mari had been Sapienti to Clan Kale for as long as Mel could remember, and she demanded all Kales train themselves in everything. There wasn’t any one game that Clan Kale dominated, but they performed respectably in all of them.

  As Mel admired the splendor of the colors that would be prevalent through the Opening Ceremony, she couldn’t help but think how fortunate it was that this would be the only formal part of the Agora. Despite how beautiful everything looked, they were still outside in the middle of July, and Texas summers were hot and hotter.

  “Sapienti Reddy was asking for you,” said Charlotte. “I think he wanted to show you some of the items he brought from home.”

  “I’ll look for him when we’re done here,” Mel replied. “So, are you staying in the camp or in the house?”

  “Initially, I wanted to stay in the house, but Dad talked me out of it. He said the Agora only comes once a year, and the camaraderie in the tents is where it’s happening.”

  “That’s true. But after last year, I would’ve chosen the house.”

  They were almost at the front of the line.

  “I have a question for you,” Charlotte said. “Actually, it’s more like a request.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “I’m competing in Ambulant Laboriosum,” said Charlotte, and Mel looked at her in surprise. “I was hoping you’d be my Second?”

  “Of course I’ll be your Second,” Mel said, swallowing her surprise and concern. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to compete in Ambulant Laboriosum, but if that was Charlotte’s choice, Mel wasn’t going to stop her.

  “Yes! Thanks!” Charlotte hugged her. “I promise I won’t get lost. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

  Mel laughed and gently shoved her. “Oh don’t worry—if you get lost, I’ll hunt you down like a T1000. Rain or shine. Dead or alive.”

  “Way to get macabre!” Charlotte said. “But seriously, I’ve been preparing all year. Dad took me to a few remote places, just him and me. It’s been a challenge, but I know I’m ready.”

  “If you’re ready, you’re ready.” Mel gave her cousin a one-armed hug. “But… if you don’t mind my asking, what made you decide to compete in Ambulant Laboriosum? We all hate the survival games Tío Jorge makes us do. You most of all.”

  “Oh… someone talked me into it.”

  Mel was just about to ask who—because she’d like to have a few words with them—but they had just reached the front of the line. Gabe and Victor joined them right at that time—perfect timing—earning glares from the other descendants.

  They handed their IDs to an older blond woman wearing Janso colors. The woman looked at Mel’s ID, then up at Mel. She gave Mel a long dirty look while telling her condescendingly about meal times, shower areas, and other miscellaneous information. Finally, she handed them each a plastic bag with a card. Grandma Mari bristled, but Mel just took out the card, wrote her name on it, put the card and her phone inside the plastic bag, and gave the bag to the woman. The others followed suit. When they were all signed in, the woman returned their IDs and handed them each an Arrival Kit in Kale colors.

  As they turned toward the tents, Gabe said, “Bitch.”

  Mel waved him off. “I’m used to it.”

  And she was. She had been experiencing hostility from some descendants for years now.

  “You shouldn’t have to be,” Grandma Mari said. “It’s clan business, and none of her concern. It’s no one’s concern.”

  Mel smiled at her grandmother’s protectiveness. It was one thing for her grandmother to know that Mel experienced disrespect, and quite another to actually witness it.

  “Come on, Grandma,” she said, entwining her arm with her grandmother’s. “We’re here; let’s just have some fun.”

  A light, relaxed crowd milled around the game area or socialized on the bleachers, already dressed in their clan colors. Many Chosen strutted about as well, their bearing setting them apart from the non-competitors. Even though Mel didn’t care to compete, she didn’t find fault in those who did. In fact, she could quite understand the attraction in representing one’s clan; it really was an honor.

  Mel looked over the competition area. The sand pit where the combat games would be held was currently off-limits while a few young Kale Intermediates filled it with sand. The obstacle course for Impedimentum was a good distance away, but Mel could see a few descendants taking a crack at it for practice. Gabe and Victor also looked in that direction with obvious interest.

  Mel smiled and nodded hello to a few people she recognized, but she didn’t stop for conversation. She wanted to get to the tents and get her things in order so she could seek out Sapienti Reddy.

  The tent area was fraught with a frenetic energy—an ordered chaos of descendants attempting to get to their designated sleep quarters. Mel hurriedly made for the gold tents with the flag of a black sun on a gold field, trying to avoid the crowd.

  The tents’ interiors were divided into areas that allowed four people per space. Mel was sharing with Charlotte, Grandma Mari, and Thrash.

  She ripped open her kit and emptied out the clothes, papers, flashlight, and water bottle onto her cot. She neatly folded the clothes—seven lightweight gold tunics with a black sash—and put them under her cot. Next she examined the papers: a fourteen-day itinerary, a form with assigned shower times—Mel’s was at 6:30 a.m.—and a form with do’s and don’ts. She put the papers under the cot. Then she opened her bag and pulled out the painkillers—her neck was starting to bother her again—and a brown-and-gold stone featuring a glyph of a triangle inside a circle inside a square. Mel ran her thumb over the glyph, then shoved the stone in her pocket.

  She sat down on her cot and gingerly touched the back of her neck. After a moment of deliberation, she stuck the painkillers in her pocket as well.

  “Grandma?”

  Charlotte and Grandma Mari were fixing up their areas, and both turned.

  “Do you have any of that healing paste?” Mel asked.

  Grandma Mari gave her a knowing look and started rifling through her bag.

  “Healing paste?” Charlotte said. “What happened?”

  Mel showed her the stitched-up gash and told her the story of her intruder. Saying it aloud burned her up all over again. She really wanted to know why that man had been in her house. But she’d given her phone away, so any messages that the police left her would have to wait until after the Agora, fourteen days from now.

  “How did he even get in? Don’t you have a security system?” Charlotte asked.

  “I do, and I don’t know.”

  “And Victor!” her grandmother said, tsking. “I’m
going to have a talk with him about his bedside manner. Lie down.”

  “Oh, don’t bother with Victor. That’s a mountain you can’t climb,” Mel said. She had told Grandma Mari about the argument she’d had with Victor the night before, but she had no intention of dragging her grandmother into it. She’d just needed a good vent.

  When Grandma Mari was done applying the paste, she told Mel to lie down for a while and let it sit. Mel was happy to comply.

  ****

  It was early evening when Mel was awoken by Grandma Mari, and the heat had somewhat abated. As Mel sat on her cot, her grandmother laid out a simple sleeveless gold dress next to her. Mel stroked it, reveling in the soft texture. It was a shade darker than Charlotte’s dress.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mel said. “You outdid yourself this year.”

  Grandma Mari just smiled. She was already dressed for the ceremony in a black short-sleeved blouse, black linen pants, and a see-through gold shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  “How’s your neck?” Grandma Mari asked.

  “It feels better.” Mel felt only a slight twinge when she turned her head. “Nothing the painkillers can’t fix.”

  “Good. Now put that dress on; you don’t have much time. I have to go see Tío Luce.”

  After Grandma Mari departed, Mel disrobed, cleaned the paste off the back of her neck, and put the dress on. It was lightweight and very cool, which she was thankful for, since the Texas nights were usually warm. With that in mind, she tied her hair up in a tight knot.

  Since the dress was all gold, she decided to tie the black Kale sash around her waist like she would a ribbon. She thought it fitting, since the Kale men wore their sashes around their waists. Of course, the men wore family sashes, with gold and black, not the one worn during the games, but… woman’s prerogative. She completed her outfit with some sandals she’d brought in her bag.

  When she was dressed, she removed the painkillers and stone from her pocket, and set them on the cot. She discovered her water bottle and been filled while she slept. Thank you, Grandma. She swallowed two pills and washed them down with water.

  “Mel?”

  Mel turned to see Thrash entering the tent. Thrash wasn’t a big man, only a little taller than Mel, with chin-length brown hair and soft brown eyes. He usually spoke in mellow tones. His birth name was Isaac, but Victor had started calling him Thrash as a joke when they were all kids. Growing up, Victor and Gabe were always bigger and stronger, and they had always gotten the best of Isaac in any game they played. That stopped when Thrash got older and became a master swordsman, but the name stuck—even though now it was Thrash who usually did the thrashing with his sword. He had won three times out of the past five years in weapons Decerto. Right now he was impeccably dressed in a suit, with a black-and-gold sash around his waist.

  “You’re looking GQ,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks. You look beautiful,” he replied, grabbing her hand and twirling her around.

  “I try.” Mel put the pills back in her bag and grabbed the stone from her cot.

  “You know I’m here to escort you,” Thrash said in a soft voice.

  “Oh, so chivalry isn’t dead?” She smiled.

  He took her hand and put it through his arm. “Nope, still alive and kicking in gay men.”

  She laughed. “There might be a few straight men who have something to say about that.”

  “They should, if they’re worth their salt.”

  “Maybe we can find one for Charlotte,” Mel replied hopefully.

  “Oh, sweetie, Charlotte has one.” Thrash said. He opened the flap and they stepped outside. “He’s even here. She sponsored him.”

  “What? She didn’t mention anything to me.”

  “Well, you hardly gave her enough time. I heard you sugared out within thirty minutes of getting here.” He grinned.

  Mel gave him a look. “I was tired. I had a long night.”

  “I heard,” Thrash said, and his grin faded. “Well. In other news… Queen Bitch is here.”

  “Oh, don’t call her that.”

  There was only one person Thrash would speak of in such a way, and that was Cori O’Shea of Clan Ferus. Mel wasn’t quite dreading seeing the Irish woman, but she wasn’t looking forward to it either.

  “I call it as I please,” Thrash said with some sass, “and it pleases me to call her a bitch.”

  Mel decided to let that go. She was very much into letting people do what made them happy.

  The sun was low and the crowd thick. Everyone was in their finest, even the children. The women’s dresses were fashioned according to whatever part of the world they were from. Some wore traditional Indian clothing in Joehfen Moors colors; others, from Clan Tam, wore Asian orange-and-black pant outfits with beautiful designs. Some women from Clan Ivor had on interesting two-piece outfits that exposed their midriffs. It was a beautiful sight, and Mel felt no shame in admiring beautiful women.

  Almost all the men were dressed in suits, but they distinguished themselves by the clan sashes running around their waist or across their body from shoulder to hip. The only men who didn’t have on full suits were those of Clan Ferus, some of whom wore kilts.

  The walk to the Opening Ceremony area was slow, like rush hour traffic, everyone needing to get to that one place. Mel held tightly to her stone, but it felt uncomfortable in her hand, and she knew she couldn’t hold on to it all night. She was having second thoughts about bringing it, but she’d wanted to show it to Sapienti Reddy. She ended up asking Thrash to hold on to it for her, and he stuck it in his pocket.

  Thrash led her to a table where Charlotte was already seated. Beside her was a young man with auburn hair, green eyes, and a warm smile. He wore a black suit and no sash.

  “Mel, this is Jonah,” said Charlotte, all smiles.

  In short order, Mel learned that Jonah was a senior at Texas Tech, which was where Charlotte went to school. They’d met in a women’s studies class over the summer when, Charlotte being Charlotte, she gave him a hard time for being the only guy in the class. Somehow that led to him asking her out to dinner, and they’d been seeing each other since. To Mel’s surprise, things were serious enough that Jonah had popped the question—after securing Tío Luce’s blessing. But Charlotte had refused to give him a “yes” until he attended the Agora.

  “So here I am,” Jonah said, looking at Gabe and Victor, who had just joined them at the table, both in black suits, Kale sashes tied around their waists. “Intimidated as hell.”

  “Oh, don’t be,” Charlotte said.

  “No, you should be,” Mel said evilly.

  “Mel! I’ve been trying to get him to relax all week!”

  “All right, all right.” Mel laughed, then said to Jonah, “Don’t be intimidated by all this.” She swept her arm in a gesture that included the hundreds of men and women in their finest, the decorations, the banners with the sigils of all seven clans.

  “That’s impossible,” he said.

  “Smart man,” said Thrash, sipping a glass of white wine. “You need to watch your back.”

  “Yeah, there’s a few eagles that have had their eagle eye on Charlotte for a while now,” said Mel.

  “You guys!” Charlotte said.

  Gabe grinned and joined in. “Like Gale Norris,” he said. “Gale’s had it for Charlotte since she was nine.” He pointed at Gale, a strapping young man with shaggy blond hair and gray eyes who was seated a few tables away. In his white suit, with a purple-and-silver sash across his chest, he looked like a mountain in winter.

  “Don’t forget about Thierry Lambert,” Mel said. She caught Thierry’s eye and waved. Thierry had dark eyes, dark skin, and thick wavy hair combed back. Like Gale, he wore his purple-and-silver sash across his chest. He gave Mel a white-toothed grin that would’ve made a straight woman melt.

  Then Mel spotted a man she didn’t care for. “Oh, and of course Anton Morel.” Anton was a Mediterranean man sitting at a table
at the very front. He had dirty-blond, windblown hair, hazel eyes, and a square jaw with a day’s growth of beard. A purple-and silver-sash streaked across the chest of his finely cut tuxedo.

  Thrash sighed wistfully. “I just love his hair,” he said.

  “Me too,” said Gabe. “I can’t grow a beard to save my life. I’m jealous.”

  “But no,” said Thrash, as if scandalized. “James Dean hair and five-o’clock shadow aside, Anton has cooled toward Charlotte.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Mel.

  “Yes. Being publicly turned down in front of everyone and their mother will do that to a man,” said Thrash.

  “All I did was tell him I had a boyfriend,” said Charlotte. She gave a wide-eyed Jonah a hug and kiss. “And he’s terribly old-fashioned. It’s downright offensive!”

  “I agree,” said Mel. “And he’s also a cold fish. He never really talks, and not because he’s shy—it’s more of a I’m-too-good-to-talk-to-you kinda thing.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t like you at all,” said Charlotte gleefully.

  “What? I’m torn to pieces. James-Dean-hair doesn’t like me,” said Mel, and they all laughed.

  “I hate that fucker,” said Victor.

  All eyes turned to Victor.

  “It talks,” said Gabe, smiling slyly.

  Someone must have signaled that the ceremony was about to start, for the din of conversation gradually subsided, and those who were standing found their seats.

  Seven young boys and girls walked out onto the platform at the front. They were clad from head to toe in Kale colors, and each carried a drum, which they began to beat.

  At first, the drumming was slow, one beat at a time, like the tick of a clock.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Mel closed her eyes and clenched her hands. It was beginning.