by K M Martinez
Smitty smiled wide, seemingly aware of what Mel was doing. “No boyfriend. I’ve been single for a while.”
“Oh. Well, maybe you’ll find someone here.” She gave Thrash a meaningful look. You better get on that, sir.
“Do people often date within the clans?” Smitty asked.
“Oh, sure. Outside, around, within—there’s a few that dabble in them all,” Mel said.
“Cause any drama?”
“Sometimes.” Mel gave Thrash another look. Jump in any time, sir.
“Everyone’s had their share,” said Gabe.
“Especially you,” said Thrash, and then to Smitty, “Gabe’s known for getting around.”
About time, Mel thought, taking a sip of her drink.
“I like to have fun,” said Gabe.
“We know,” said Thrash and Mel.
The two continued to give Gabe some good-natured ribbing. He gave as good as he got, which was just fine with Thrash and Mel.
As the night wore on, and the children were sent to the tents, the party got rowdier. A few scuffles broke out between clans, but the older descendants quickly put a stop to them. The weather was hot, and so were the tempers. Mel had to stop one clanswoman from getting into it with Smitty when he unknowingly committed a great offense by touching her sash. Justine Wiley was a petite blond southern woman who had always been more interested in chatting than fighting, and yet here she was about to throw a punch. Mel had to explain to her that it was Smitty’s first Agora, and he didn’t know not to touch another descendant’s sash. After a genuine apology from Smitty, Justine put it all behind her, got a drink, and talked his ear off.
They were joined by Charlotte and Jonah. It seemed that Charlotte had forgiven Jonah for his earlier comments, although Thrash and Gabe clearly hadn’t. The two verbally brutalized him, making repeated jokes at his expense—much to Charlotte’s disapproval. Jonah took it with a smile—a fake one, Mel thought—but his frustration with the taunts was evidenced by his tendency to get lost for short periods of time, leaving Charlotte wondering where he’d gotten off to.
“I wish I had my phone so I could text him!” said Charlotte.
“He’s probably just taking a bathroom break,” Mel said.
“Oh, I’m so mad at him! He should at least let me know!”
“He should soooo let you know,” Mel agreed.
“Looking for your man, Charlotte?”
Mel had to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the voice. Anton Morel had appeared from the crowd. Charlotte’s body language changed immediately. She positioned herself at an angle to Anton, not really looking at him, but not so rude as to not acknowledge his presence.
“Hi, Anton. Yes, have you seen him?”
“No. But what a strange man, to leave his woman unattended.”
Charlotte made a face. “Well, thanks anyway,” she said, dismissing him.
“I heard you’re competing in Ambulant Laboriosum. What compelled you to do so?”
“My man,” said Charlotte, and walked away.
Mel hurried after her. “That was a nice little conversation. So warm and fuzzy.”
“Melanie Mendez! You don’t belong here!” Anton yelled at their backs.
Mel jerked to a halt and spun around. “What’s your problem, Anton?”
“You’re my problem. You’re taking a space here that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Says who? You?” Mel was just keeping control of her temper. Just.
“Me,” said a man to her left.
Mel recognized the man, but didn’t know his name. He was from Clan Ivor.
“And me.”
“Me too.”
More faces she didn’t recognize, and some she did. They included descendants from every clan except Clan Kale, and surprisingly, Clan Ferus. They were all siding with Anton.
“Well, you’re free to think what you like, but I’m here, and I’m staying, so deal,” she said to no one and everyone.
Anton moved into her space, then touched her black sash. “You need to take this off. You don’t deserve to wear it.”
He’s touching my sash!
Someone tackled Anton to the ground. And that was all it took for violence to erupt. In seconds, all seven clans were involved in the scuffle.
It was Gabe who had tackled Anton. Gabe got one good punch to Anton’s body before Victor hauled Gabe off, only to punch Anton soundly on the nose. Victor, his face like ice, picked a bleeding Anton up by his throat and carried him off toward the house. Mel followed, leaving Charlotte behind with Thrash.
She could hear Gabe behind her. “That’s right, bitches! Anyone else wanna get their shit broke, keep talking shit!”
From behind her came a roaring chant of “Kale!” The multitude of voices bellowed into the night. The confrontation must’ve attracted plenty of her clan, and Gabe was firing them up.
Mel followed Victor through the French doors at the rear of the house. They opened onto a large living area with several plush couches and chairs facing a large brick fireplace. The room was mostly dark—only two lamps were turned on at a low setting—and the couches and chairs were occupied by the seven Sapientis—and Tío Luce, who stood unobtrusively to the side. Tío Luce was in his late fifties, with short salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes. Mel realized she hadn’t seen him all night, and wondered if he had taken part in the opening festivities.
Grandma Mari was the only one of the seven Sapienti who even looked in Mel’s direction. The rest, along with Tío Luce, had their attention fixed on Victor, his cultivator fingers holding tightly to Anton’s shoulders.
“What’s happened now?” Grandma Mari asked.
Something else happened? Mel wondered.
“Anton touched Mel’s sash,” Victor said.
That brought a gasp of surprise from Janice Bartley and grim looks of disapproval from the others.
Sapienti Reddy’s expression was darkest of all. He stood. “Is this true, Anton?”
“No, Sapienti. Victor is mistaken. Victor, take your hands off of me.” Anton’s voice sounded high and hollow. Apparently Victor had broken his nose.
Victor merely dug his fingers into Anton’s shoulders even more. Anton winced but made no sound.
“You grabbed my sash, Anton,” said Mel, “when you accused me of not being fit to wear it.”
“You aren’t fit to wear it. But I never touched it. That would be beyond reprehensible,” said Anton.
“Yes it would, and the fact that you did, and you’re boldly lying about it, shows how little honor you have!”
“You’re not one to speak of honor, Mel,” muttered Rudolph Kelser.
Anton snorted, but Mel met Rudolph Kelser’s gaze. “I disagree, Sapienti. You may disapprove of me and my refusal to participate in the games, but I’ve always conducted myself in accordance with The Ways. I’ve never brought dishonor on my clan or my family.”
Mel wasn’t being completely honest about her conduct concerning The Ways, but that was Clan Kale business.
“Participating has always been a choice, Rudolph,” said Janice Bartley.
“She refuses to wear her clan colors so she can’t be challenged,” said Sean O’Shea. Apparently he shared his daughter’s beliefs.
“She’s not the only descendant who doesn’t wear clan colors during the games,” said Zhu Li.
“Just the only one in Clan Kale,” said Stepan Wershall. Mel couldn’t tell if the bear of a man was for her or against her.
But Rudolph Kelser wasn’t done. “The derision you bring toward your family, Mel… this leave from The Ways you decided to take. You don’t believe this brings dishonor?”
Mel could feel her simmering anger start to rise. She clamped her mouth shut and breathed heavily through her nose.
“No, it doesn’t,” answered Grandma Mari. “Do you think I care for the opinions of a few clanspeople? Do you think I’d let what they think change how I tend my family? No. I will say this: If I had a problem with the way someone in my f
amily conducted themselves, you can bet I would remedy it. Immediately.”
Rudolph Kelser nodded and stepped back.
“All right,” said Sapienti Reddy. “Nothing can be done about the offense now. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Victor, let him go,” said Grandma Mari.
Victor released Anton.
Sapienti Reddy turned to face Anton. “Anton, in accordance with The Ways, tomorrow the clans will hear this offense, and your punishment will be decided—if you are to have one.”
Anton bowed his head and walked out through the French doors without a word. As Sapienti Reddy watched him go, uncertainty colored his face. Victor’s face was blank—and Mel knew this was a sign of particularly malicious thoughts. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was thinking of ways to break the Janso.
“Well, I guess the party is over,” she said.
No one said a word.
“Okay then. I guess I’ll shove off. Goodnight.”
As Mel walked out through the double doors, she looked over the gathering—the multitude of colors and banners, the chorus of boisterous voices, the cacophony of movement and life. Twenty-five hundred descendants. More than any Agora in centuries. All drunk and ready for blood.
She had bad feelings galore.
Chapter Four
Victor was born angry. Tío Jorge had told him on numerous occasions that he had come out of the womb with an old man’s surliness and a young man’s rage. Mel and Gabe had a running joke when he was in a bad mood and didn’t want their company: One of them would ask the other, “What’s he mad at?” and the other would say, “Oh, the world.”
Victor knew his sister thought he was an ass, but she put up with him. Blood was blood, and the Mendezes made allowances for blood. They put up with Victor’s bad behavior and bad attitude, just like they put up with Mel’s stubborn determination and Gabe’s always needing to amplify a scene. Blood was blood. And Victor would protect his blood.
When Mel left the room, Victor turned his attention to his grandmother. He had wanted a private audience with the Clan Elders since the night before, when he saw the back of his sister’s neck opened by the curved edge of a dagger. His blood ran cold then, and he could feel it cooling now as he remembered the wound. A half inch more and the man could’ve severed her spinal cord. Just like that, she would’ve been useless meat.
Victor did not think his sister was useless meat. She wasn’t even a pacifist. She’d bloodied his nose and busted his lip about as many times as she’d flat-out refused to participate in the games. She was stubborn. The most stubborn person he’d ever met. But she was not a pacifist.
Or a liar.
Victor hated Anton Morel. He hated his pretty face. He thought any man who put that much effort into grooming could be using that time doing the things a man needed to do. Grown men do not spend hours in front of a goddamn mirror making their hair look windblown or their face as soft as a baby’s ass. Victor wished that were the only reason he disliked Anton. Then he could say he was just jealous that Anton had hair while Victor was losing his. But no, his reasons for hating Anton didn’t run just skin deep. Anton was a louse. He had always lorded over anyone he felt he had bested in the games. It didn’t matter if he had bettered them by the slimmest of margins—in Anton’s mind, he was king.
But Anton would be dealt with tomorrow. There was no getting out of that; every clansman would see to it.
Now Victor would see to the matter of what had happened in Mel’s home.
“Have you told them?” he asked Grandma Mari.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Victor, we know of the attack on your sister,” said Rudolph Kelser. “I’m unsure what you would like us to do.”
Victor could tell from the man’s expression that he would do nothing to help investigate the matter. But Victor knew he needed to show a measure of respect. It would go a long way with the others, and might help convince them to assist him.
“Her entire house was turned upside down,” he said. “He was searching for something. He had a dagger with strange glyphs.”
“Were they Old Tongue?” asked Zhu Li.
Old Tongue were the glyphs the first descendants used before they started recording the histories in Latin or Greek, as the Jansos preferred.
“I didn’t recognize them,” said Victor. “And neither did Mel or Gabe. Both would’ve mentioned it.”
“You said the man had turned out her home?” asked Hemanth Reddy. “What do you think he was looking for?”
“I’m not sure. Mel keeps nothing of value at her home. All our clan items are locked elsewhere.”
“Maybe it was something of value and she wasn’t aware of it?” Janice Bartley suggested.
Hemanth Reddy pulled out a small stone of blue and brown. “I gave her a stone like this last Agora,” he said, “but Mel lost it. Do you think maybe he was looking for it?”
Sean O’Shea rose from his seat and looked at the stone with keen interest.
“What was the stone used for?” asked Janice Bartley.
“I have some theories,” Hemanth Reddy said, “but nothing I can reliably prove.” He pocketed the stone. “I will help you, Victor. I will ask around to see if any other descendants’ homes have been broken into.”
“I’ll help as well,” said Sean O’Shea. “I have a clansman who can look into the man who attacked her. He’ll need his phone though.”
“That is not possible,” said Stepan Wershall. “The rules—”
“Of course it’s possible,” said Grandma Mari.
Janice Bartley walked to the door and called for one of her fellow clanswomen. A young Mayme entered the room, exchanged a few words with Sapientis Bartley and O’Shea, then scurried out to get the phone.
Rudolph Kelser watched all this with disapproval. “I think we’re putting too much time and energy into this. This was more than likely a random act of violence.”
Victor reined in his temper. “He meant to kill her. With a dagger that had unrecognizable glyphs. On the night before the Agora. That doesn’t feel random to me.”
“And even if it is,” said Janice Bartley, “better safe than sorry.”
****
As much as Mel loved to be with her family, especially Thrash and Charlotte, she decided she’d had enough excitement for one night. The wound on the back of her neck was aching, her nose was sore, and she needed to get out of her dress. The golden garment was lovely, but she couldn’t wait to get into some shorts.
As she walked around the outer fringe of the gathering, she did her best to avoid young descendants who were stealing quiet moments together. When she spotted Smitty and Thrash, she stared openly at the happenings in that cozy corner before hurriedly moving on.
It was inevitable, expected, and in fact very much encouraged for descendants to have relationships with other descendants, in their own clan or others. It made for fewer “basket babies” when both parents had the same beliefs. Still, there were many descendants who married outside the clans, and they seemed to make it work. Mel hoped Victor and his wife would eventually become one of those couples, and would come to an arrangement concerning the kids. She didn’t want Victor to lose his children or his marriage, nor did she want to lose her niece or nephew.
A cluster of kids stood near the entrance to her tent, all holding wooden swords. They surrounded her, talking all at once.
“Mel, have you seen Thrash?” asked a Ferus boy.
“We want to go through some forms,” said a Moors boy.
There was a general murmur of agreement.
Mel could tell by their enthusiasm that this was their first year of competing. “I have seen Thrash,” she said, pushing through toward her tent. “He’s occupado at the moment.”
“Aww!” Some of them threw their swords on the ground in disgust.
Mel snorted into her hand. “No worries, kids, just wake him up early tomorrow morning. He’ll be happy to go through some sword forms befo
re the competition starts.”
“Really?”
“Yuppers,” Mel said, feeling mischievous. She picked up one of the swords. “Just be sure to wake him before the sun comes up. The earlier, the better. He’s a busy man, you see, and the earlier you wake him, the more time he’ll have to help you guys.”
“Awesome!”
The boys picked up their swords and ran off, leaving only the Clan Kale kids behind. There were five, three boys and two girls, and Mel knew them all well. She’d helped with their training on occasion, and had been present at their Eligendo, the choosing that occurred to decide which descendants were to represent Clan Kale in the Agora. This year the Kale Novices all happened to be eleven years old. There was Devilyn Wiley, a younger cousin of Justine Wiley’s; she shared her hair color but was growing up to be stocky and tall. Kacey James and her cousin Louis James had auburn hair and almond-shaped eyes, and they looked so much alike they could have been brother and sister. And Glenn Coudrou and Armando Ledesma were best friends from two different worlds. Glenn’s father worked for the government, and his mother was a doctor, whereas Mando came from a working-class family that saved every penny just to make it to the Agora every year.
“Mel, Thrash hates getting up in the mornings,” said Devilyn.
“They don’t know that,” Mel said with a smile.
The girl smiled mischievously and pointed her sword at Mel. “Thrash is going to be awfully mad.”
Mel laughed and swiped the Novice’s sword away “Oh, I hope so. Now—show me The Dancing Man.”
Devilyn paused for a moment, then sputtered to life, twisting and turning, stabbing and swiping at Mel. She circled Mel one way, then changed direction and circled her the other way. The trick to Dancing Man was to overwhelm your opponent with the changing of direction, beating them to any spot they might choose to take, and in essence cutting off any attack before they could execute it.
“Watch your footwork… there you go… good,” said Mel. “Now show me Rain in High Wind.”
Devilyn switched her stance and began an unrelenting assault on Mel’s upper body and head, circling Mel, trying to get behind Mel to attack her exposed back.
