by Brandon Mull
“I’ve stopped worrying about winning,” Per said.
“You’re here for information?” Rianne asked.
“All I can get,” Seth said.
“Be careful about sharing what I tell you,” Per said. “Humbuggle will get wind if you spill secrets to nonplayers.”
“I’ll be careful,” Seth promised.
“Watch what you divulge,” Rianne muttered to Per.
“What’s it matter if we help the kid?” Per asked. “Somebody else will fill him in if we don’t. And they may not shoot straight.”
“Why do you disappear right before you die?” Seth asked.
“See,” Per said. “He’s asking the right questions.”
“It’s all part of the agreement to join the Games,” Rianne said. “We can get injured, but before death takes us, we vanish. We go into hibernation and heal. And eventually we fight again.”
“You fight over and over?” Seth asked.
Per wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Until somebody wins, everyone who ever signed up for these Games remains part of the Games.”
“How often are you recycled?” Seth asked.
“Hard to say,” Rianne said. “We don’t keep all of our memories. We get assigned new personas for the arena. Did you ever wonder why so many gladiators wear masks or helms that disguise them?”
“We keep a sense of who we are,” Per said. “More or less. But each time we come back, the previous attempts become a haze.”
“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” Seth asked.
Per shrugged. “I don’t know how many times I’ve lost. More than once, I think. Maybe twice. Maybe dozens of times.”
“I hope not,” Rianne said with disgust.
“Do you remember what year it was when you started?” Seth asked.
“Hazy,” Per said. “I know I lived in Norway. I know I had two sisters. I don’t know what year I came here.”
“Those kinds of details slip away,” Rianne said. “It’s the same for all of us.”
“Except for new volunteers on their first run,” Per said. “Their memories are fine until after the first loss.”
“Nobody ever really dies here,” Seth said.
“Unless somebody jumps into the arena,” Per said. “If those impulsive wannabes die in their first fight, they die for good. If not, they have to make the same arrangement as the rest of us.”
“These Games have gone on for centuries,” Seth said.
Per looked at him with wide eyes, nodding. “You’re telling me. The fuzzy memories are probably a mercy.”
“How well do you two know each other?” Seth asked. “Do you remember one another? From previous attempts.”
Per scrunched his brow. “She and I have had this conversation.”
“Per feels familiar,” Rianne said. “But who knows?”
“We may have never been active in the Games at the same time,” Per said.
“Or we could have crossed paths a lot,” Rianne said.
“You fight until you die,” Seth said. “And then you do it again.”
Rianne raised a finger. “Unless we win.”
“Do you guys age?” Seth asked.
“I don’t know,” Per said.
“Hard to be sure without memories,” Rianne said.
“What if you quit?” Seth asked. “Like, refuse to fight?”
“They’ll send us out there anyway,” Rianne said. “There is no end to it.”
“The closest a combatant can get to an end is becoming a trainer,” Per said. “If gladiators do well enough, they are sometimes given that option.”
“Fenrick was a gladiator?” Seth asked.
“Rumor has it he was one of the best,” Per said. “Long ago he had a run where he made it to ninety.”
“Some say rumors are more trustworthy than memories,” Rianne said.
“We don’t all get vanquished at once,” Per said. “So gossip becomes a form of group memory.”
“But after some time goes by, who could contradict a false rumor?” Seth asked.
“The boy has a point,” Per murmured.
“Actual memories have some real advantages,” Rianne said.
“Any rumors I should know?” Seth asked. “Where should I look to figure out the Games?”
Per smiled sadly. “Our rumors are mostly stories about one another. We’re not working this like a puzzle, as some do. We’re trying to fight our way to the top.”
Rianne looked at Seth with sympathy. “Kid, the winner won’t be us, and, no offense, it won’t be you, either. If you know what’s good for you, walk away while you can. These Games are a bottomless pit. Once you slip, you fall forever.”
“I can’t give up,” Seth said. “Where can I go to learn more?”
“Talk to the trainers,” Rianne said. “They have had longer stretches to learn things.” She looked pointedly at where Fenrick sat eating alone. “Fenrick was civil to you. Ask him.”
“But don’t be surprised if he rebukes you,” Per added.
“Okay,” Seth said. “Thanks for the tips.”
“Don’t mention it,” Per said.
“Make your own luck,” Rianne advised.
Crossing to where Fenrick sat, Seth claimed a spot on the bench across from him. The trainer was spooning bites from a bowl of chowder. Fenrick looked up. “How can I help you, Son?”
“I’m searching for info about the Games,” Seth said.
“I figured as much,” Fenrick said. “We don’t get many participants down here who are not enrolled in the fighting. We’ve had one or two others recently. Even if you ignore the fighting, it isn’t safe down here. Some people come in looking for secrets and don’t come out.”
“What happens to them?” Seth asked.
Fenrick took a bite of chowder. “I don’t know. But they head down to the depths where the gladiators and the trainers are forbidden to venture.”
“Where is that?” Seth asked.
“They seldom return,” Fenrick said.
“I’m not going to learn what I need without taking some risks,” Seth said.
“Why would a boy your age care so much about the Wizenstone?” Fenrick asked.
“It’s not the stone I care about,” Seth said. “Humbuggle took my memories. I need them back.”
“Only the new fighters among us have their memories,” Fenrick said. “You have your freedom. Go make new memories.”
“It’s not like I forgot a few fights,” Seth said. “He took my whole identity.”
“You’re not the only one,” Fenrick said. “Some remember more than others. I don’t know my identity either.”
“You used to fight?” Seth asked.
“I suspect so,” Fenrick said.
“I heard you were good,” Seth said.
“You have to be good to become a trainer,” Fenrick said.
“I heard you almost won,” Seth said.
“Rumors,” Fenrick said with a snort.
“How long have you been a trainer?” Seth asked.
“A long time,” Fenrick said.
“Long enough to see the same fighters come back after losing?”
“From time to time,” Fenrick said. “The gaps tend to be long. There is a large pool to draw from.”
“Don’t you want these Games to end?” Seth asked.
“I surely do,” Fenrick said. “Look, you’re persistent, so you’ll find out sooner or later.” He pointed to a door. “You want to go where the action is? Head through there. Turn left, and descend the stairs. None of us can go down there. There are invisible barriers. But you can. Have a look if you must. But consider walking away.”
“I won’t quit,” Seth said.
“Then down you go,” Fenrick said. “You’ve been warned. You can eat here first if you wish.”
“I just had food,” Seth said. “Thanks.”
Fenrick gave Seth a long stare. “When these gladiators lose, they come back. Where you’re going, the
re are no second chances. I admire your determination.”
“Can you go back into the Games?” Seth asked.
“If I gave up my rights as a trainer, I could,” Fenrick said. “I’d rather watch and wait. Help the others.”
Seth glanced at the door. “Does anyone return from down the stairs?”
“Sometimes,” Fenrick said. “A few officials of the Games go down there routinely. Barruze. Humbuggle occasionally.”
“Humbuggle comes here?” Seth asked.
“Now and then,” Fenrick said. “He’s unpredictable.”
“Who is Barruze?” Seth asked.
“You really are new here,” Fenrick said. “The troll who announces the Games.”
“Gotcha,” Seth said.
“Well, stay on your toes,” Fenrick said. “Whether you remember or not, you paid a price for access here. Don’t squander the opportunity.”
Leaving the dining area behind, Seth went through the indicated door and turned left like Fenrick had suggested. He found a stairway and started down, stepping quietly to match the silence around him. The illumination now derived from crystals in sconces on the walls rather than from torches.
Seth searched inside himself for his power and reached out to feel for any undead, but sensed nothing. Then he switched his approach, crouching as he walked, keeping to the shadows, willing himself toward invisibility.
The bottom of the stairs led into a chamber where an ogre with gray, droopy skin tilted his wooden chair onto two legs, his feet propped up on a table. Three archways led out of the room. Skirting the edge of the chamber, Seth took the first archway he reached. The ogre never glanced his way.
Seth proceeded down a gloomy corridor. The masonry looked more ancient than up above, with no mortar between the rough-hewn and sometimes ill-fitted stones. At a junction where the passage forked, Seth heard footsteps coming his way from one branch, and he slouched against the wall in the deepest shadows he could find.
A striking woman strode into view, tall and lissome, with long green hair and penetrating eyes. She wore leather armor and was missing an arm.
“I see you, shadow walker,” she said.
Seth stepped away from the wall.
The woman gave a little gasp. “Seth Sorenson. What a surprise.”
“Do I know you?” Seth asked.
Her smile spread slowly. “Am I that forgettable?”
“My memory isn’t so good lately,” Seth said.
“We’re old acquaintances,” the woman said smoothly. “I’m Lydia. I know your sister.”
“Do you work here?” Seth asked.
The woman glanced around and shivered in disgust. “Thankfully, no. I assume you’re playing in the Games.”
“Trying,” Seth said. “You too?”
“Seems like one dead end after another,” she said. “Have you learned anything beneficial?”
“I wish,” Seth said. “I’m new here. I barely learned how the Games work for the gladiators.”
Lydia nodded. “I’m not faring much better. Want to hunt together?”
Something was off. The first expression on her face when she saw him had been panic, not relief. And now she was behaving too at ease. It smelled like an act.
“Why the green hair?” Seth asked.
“It’s my favorite color,” Lydia said.
“What’s Kendra’s favorite color?” Seth asked.
She hesitated. “I never asked.”
Though he couldn’t remember what colors Kendra preferred, the hesitation told him a lot. “How do you know her again?”
Lydia fumbled for an answer, then scowled and bared her teeth. “I’ve tasted her!”
Seth was surprised by her vehemence. “Who are you?”
She drew a dagger. “One who has had enough of you!”
She lunged at Seth, stabbing, and he sprang aside. She nimbly kept after him, slashing, and he backed into the wall. The surprise contact left him flat-footed, and Lydia surged forward, the dagger plunging for his chest. An instant before the tip would have pierced him, the knife disintegrated, as did her arm up past the elbow.
Lydia’s jaw dropped open, and she staggered back, staring in horror at what remained of her arm. There was no open wound—the fleshy stump looked like it could have been that way for years.
Her eyes returned to Seth, burning with hate.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to kill people here,” he said.
Growling, she sprang forward, lashing out with one leg. Seth skipped aside, and she kicked the wall instead.
“Seriously?” Seth asked.
She kicked at him again, and Seth caught her booted foot, leaving her balanced on one leg, truncated arm flailing. Still holding her foot, Seth started walking toward her, forcing her to hop backwards.
“Who are you really?” Seth asked. “Who do you work for?”
Jumping and turning, Lydia twisted her leg free from Seth’s grasp and tumbled to the floor. She struggled awkwardly to her feet, then ran off down the passageway.
Panting from the stress and exertion, Seth watched her flee. The woman clearly worked for his enemies. Ronodin? The Sphinx? The Underking? The dragons? Humbuggle? It was hard to guess who his biggest enemy was anymore.
He could not remember seeing the woman before, but she had seen him despite his shade walking, and she had known his name. Lydia had become so flustered when he had grilled her about Kendra that he doubted she actually knew his sister. Had she been serious about tasting her? Could Lydia be a monster or a dragon in human form? Was Kendra all right?
Seth debated about whether he should chase the green-haired woman. Lydia was fast, and she was heading back the way he had come. What if she rounded up reinforcements? And what would he do if he caught her? He’d had her by the foot before she ran away, and that had yielded little. He decided it would be smarter to keep looking for clues about the Games.
At the junction where the passage forked, Seth took the branch Lydia had used. He didn’t have to go far before the passage ended at a steel door. It was locked, and Seth could see no keyhole or other means to open it.
Placing a palm against the cold metal, Seth focused on the dark power inside himself. He mentally probed the door, calling upon it to open, and felt considerable resistance. Gritting his teeth, Seth insisted with all his effort, and, after a trembling moment, an unseen locking mechanism released.
Seth opened the door to find a more polished corridor beyond, the air still and cold, the stone walls black and smooth. When Seth released the door, it started to close. He considered propping it open before deciding a closed door might help foil Lydia if she found help and came after him.
He advanced along the hall, impressed by the reflective finish of the black walls, ceiling, and floor, lit by the occasional dim crystal. A bronze door came into view at the far end of the hall, but before he reached it, Seth noticed a silver door on his right out of the corner of his eye.
When Seth turned to face the silver door, it was gone.
He immediately thought of the door to the shop that Virgil had shown him. Seth returned his gaze to the distant bronze door until the silver door appeared again at the edge of his vision. Stepping carefully, keeping the silver door barely in sight, Seth drew nearer, then reached out and caught hold of the handle. This time, the silver door remained when he looked at it directly, and Seth hoisted it open.
Beyond the doorway, he encountered a natural cavern bristling with bluish, glowing crystals. Seth waited in the doorway, astonished at how the quartzlike crystals covered every wall and protuberance in the room while leaving the floor and ceiling bare. The even blue glow emanating from all directions left the room shadowless, though not very bright.
Seth entered the room. The crystals were all roughly the size of his finger. When he drew near to a cluster of them, they glowed a little brighter, and he could hear them faintly vibrating. He cautiously extended a hand to touch one.
“Don’t,” a voice comman
ded.
Seth jumped and turned, letting out an involuntary yelp.
A gaunt man with a fringe of white hair approached. He was a few inches shorter than Seth, with a large mole prominent on one cheek. His long robe hid his feet.
“You do not belong here,” the man accused.
“I’m a participant in the Games,” Seth argued.
The man shook his head and waved his hands. “Move away from the crystals.”
Seth took a couple of steps away.
“Why have you come here?” the man asked.
“I’m trying to figure out the Games,” Seth said.
“Don’t you mean win the Games?”
Seth shook his head. He figured honesty was his best chance for information. “I lost my memories. I want them back.”
The man seemed to relax a little. “How did you lose them?”
“Stormguard Castle,” Seth said.
“I regret to inform you that your memories are not here,” the man said. “You should depart.”
“What is this place?” Seth asked.
“A private repository where you are trespassing,” the man said. “A sanctuary where you could cause great harm.”
“To the Games?” Seth asked.
“To innocent lives,” the man said.
“What about my life?” Seth asked. “Humbuggle wasn’t shy about harming me. Maybe if I smash some of his precious crystals I can finally get some payback.” Seth stormed over to a dense cluster of crystals and raised a threatening hand.
“Stop!” the man exclaimed. “You don’t understand the consequences!”
“Then tell me,” Seth insisted.
“Listen,” the man said. “Certain competitors are granted access down here because learning Humbuggle’s secrets is part of the Games. Since you’re forcing my hand, I’ll tell you a little about this sanctum, and then you must depart.”
“Deal,” Seth said.
“You get nothing if you harm a single crystal,” the man said. “And you must keep this information to yourself.”
“Sure.”
“That means you promise to tell nobody,” the man emphasized.
Seth thought of Virgil. “All right.”
The man held out his hand. “I’m Willard.”
Seth shook it. “Seth.”
