The Champion

by Taran Matharu

  How did people communicate before technology?

  Carrier pigeons? Signal flags?

  He opened his eyes. Only for them to settle on the exact answer to his problem.

  Suddenly, the fort they were in made a lot more sense. It wasn’t the walls themselves. It was the height of the tower … and what was at its top.

  A plan slotted into his mind. It was risky, but they had no choice.

  “Guys,” he said, “I have a plan.”

  * * *

  It was the braziers that Cade had seen. Those giant metal cradles for fire, rusted into the stone itself but still serviceable at a pinch.

  These would serve as a smoke signal in the dusk, and lighthouse through the night. But they had a problem. Fuel.

  The day became a grueling affair, one where they roamed the ruined hulks of the old longhouses that made up most of the village, picking through the rubble and detritus for anything they might burn.

  It was a near-fruitless affair, but charred remnants remained, half-buried in the dry earth. These scattered pieces were lugged to the tower’s top and piled alongside four of their sleds, which they had decided to sacrifice for the cause.

  But their search did make one useful discovery: There was a well at the center of the village. Amber had said it was dry as a bone the day before, but in this new world, groundwater had seeped into it, giving them a source of water.

  For now, they would stick to their own supply brought from the keep, for they had no idea what alien microbes might be lurking within. They would eventually need to find a new source of fuel to boil it.

  The sun was beginning to set, and the team had filled one of the large embrasures with wood, stacked from smallest pieces to largest, and shredded sackcloth at its base for tinder.

  Cade still had the lighter he had found in the jungles, which, though empty, was used to spark a light at the base of their pyre.

  With a gentle blow of his breath, the pile slowly sputtered before crackling into life.

  Now, they could only watch.

  Slowly, a plume of black smoke began to form above. This air was strangely still, with hardly a breeze to speak of. It was strange to see the smoke go straight upward, forming a thin, dark pillar in the sky.

  The fire burned quickly, and for a while, Cade was worried that they might run out of wood before darkness fell. But luck was on their side, and they managed to keep the fire going for several hours into the darkness, huddled in silent worry as the fire blazed for the world to see.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “Cade.”

  There was soft pressure on Cade’s shoulder, pulling him from a dreamless sleep.

  Quintus’s face stared down at him. It pulled away as Cade squinted through the darkness.

  “Your watch,” Quintus said, motioning at the spiral staircase above.

  Cade groaned, looking enviously at the snoring crew sprawled around him. He nodded and struggled to his feet, still sore from the many trips they had made up and down the stairs to build the fire. To his surprise, Quintus led the way, returning to the tower’s peak with him.

  “Not going to sleep?” Cade asked.

  Quintus shrugged.

  “Only waiting now. I sleep when it is warm.”

  He motioned at the sun, peeking over the horizon. The young legionary hopped onto the parapet’s edge, dangling his feet over the side. Cade, against his better judgment, joined him.

  They stared out over the purple plains, tinged scarlet by the red white of the twin moons above. For a while, they stared in silence, Cade’s mind slowly awakening as the world grew brighter and brighter.

  “Who do you think these others are?” Cade asked.

  Quintus shrugged again.

  “I think more humans. Many more. Hundreds.”

  Cade nodded in agreement, scratching the beginnings of the beard on his chin.

  It was new, and he wondered what he looked like these days—especially now he and Amber were … whatever they were. It had been some time since he had gazed at himself in a mirror, having only seen the warped reflection in a bucket of water.

  He imagined he might look more man than boy now. He felt like it too. There was something about almost dying that shook the child out of you.

  “Romans?” Cade asked.

  Quintus inclined his head.

  “But not contenders?” Cade asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Maybe they are not warriors,” Quintus said. “Maybe they are like Amber. And you.”

  Cade gasped in mock offense, and Quintus blushed as red as the grass beneath them.

  “Not now,” Quintus said swiftly. “Before. When you arrived.”

  Cade laughed.

  “I’m just messing with you,” he said. “I have to hope you’re wrong though. We’d have no weapons for them for a start. There’s just rocks, sand, and grass out here.”

  Quintus nodded. “That is why I worry. When we defend, we can find things in the caldera. Here, we only have what we bring with us. We did not bring a lot.”

  But Cade was not listening.

  There was movement on the horizon.

  He had not noticed it, but with the sunrise in full swing, he could see a furrow in the fields. One winding slowly toward them like a snake in the long grass.

  “They’re coming!” Cade yelled out.

  Quintus scrambled down the stairs, and Cade stood on the parapet, as if it would somehow give him a better vantage.

  They were moving fast. Marching in formation, or so it seemed. Heading in the direction of their gatehouse.

  It was not long before the others came to join him, bleary eyes staring across the plains. By now, Cade could see the glint of weapons and armor in the sun. Bronze as the sun-swept sky.

  “Warriors,” Cade breathed.

  “Ours?” Yoshi asked.

  “Who can say?” Cade said. “But they’re wearing armor. That’s a good sign.”

  He was in awe that his plan had worked. In truth, he had not expected it to.

  “We need to get ready,” Amber said. “That means putting on your own armor, Cade. If they’re allies, at the very least we ought to look the part.”

  “How long until they reach us?” Scott asked.

  “One hour,” Quintus said. “Possible it is less.”

  “And if they aren’t friendly?” Grace said. “Do we just lie down and die?”

  Cade scratched his head. They should have prepared for this earlier.

  “The only way into the fort is through those gates,” he said, pointing at the ground. “There’s another gate on the other side of the fort, but that one is intact. So this is the entry point.”

  “It’s fifty feet across,” Grace groaned. “Eight people can’t hold that.”

  “Not if we get the gates back up,” Amber said.

  “And how would we keep them up?” Bea asked. “There’s nothing to attach them to.”

  “We have half an hour to figure that out,” Cade said. “Then we have to make other plans. Let’s go take a look at them.”

  * * *

  The gates lay in the sand, so rusted and barnacled that Cade suspected they had steeped in the salt waters of the Baltic Sea for many years before Abaddon had taken the fort to Acies. The gateway still had the great hinges embedded in its walls, but the twin gates’ connecting brackets on either side had broken, likely rusting through and then snapping under the gates’ weight.

  Cade stood at the edge of the grasslands, staring at the strange vegetation. Standing so close to it, he could see an iridescent blue to the grass’s edges. They came as high as his waist, and he knew that beneath, like the placid surface of a lagoon … predators might lurk there.

  He heard a grunt of anger, only to see Yoshi attempting to lever up one of the gates’ edges. The structure didn’t move an inch.

  “Ropes,” Quintus called.

  The quick-thinking legionary had already brought their sackcloth ropes from their sleds, and now h
e tossed a rolled length of it to Cade and Amber, then proceeded to tie the end to the gate’s tip.

  “Leverage,” Cade breathed. “Of course.”

  The plan was swiftly explained, with the aid of a diagram drawn in the salt-crusted sand. Quintus had Bea and Trix holding the bottom of one of the gates in place beneath the arch; Grace, Scott, and Yoshi levering up the top end; and he, Amber, and Quintus hauling on the ropes as soon as the gate was lifted enough that their pulling would make a difference.

  It was a brutal tug-of-war, and it was only with a monumental effort from Grace, standing on her tiptoes, that the gate lifted high enough for Cade’s crew to find some momentum. Then it was a case of rushing forward and holding the gate straight as it teetered back toward them.

  Soon enough, Quintus had clambered up the rusting crosshatch of iron and tied knots between the great hinges and the gate itself. It was enough to keep the gate upright, without their holding it in place.

  “Right,” Cade announced as the group cheered and panted. “Now for the next one.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  They had done what they could. With both gates up and tied together with threadbare ropes, it at least gave the impression of a secure gateway. As soon as the new arrivals came close, they would see it could be broken through with hardly more than a solid push.

  In fact, the gates would not even entirely close, for in their haste, they were at angles to each other and could not be shifted in the sand. A man could walk between them if he turned sideways.

  Still, it put Cade’s mind at ease as they geared up for war, having dragged their sleds to the gatehouse interior. The others were ready before him—and they helped him put his armor on. It was dented and scratched from his battle with the alpha, and the helmet was in such a state that he left it aside. There would be time to try to bang it back into shape later, but for now he shuddered at the memory of the battle.

  As they tugged straps and slotted armor into place, Cade was thinking ahead. There were a dozen ways to play this. But a single idea had formed in his mind, a memory of a story his father had told him. He could not shake it. As the last piece of armor was tightened, Cade turned to survey his troops.

  They were a sorry sight. Bea and Trix still wore their school uniforms, though patchily repaired with sackcloth and stitching where the cloth had been torn or worn away. Yoshi wore his old blue uniform too.

  Grace and the others were clad in their linen clothing from their time in New Rome’s arena, complete with the metal plates that came with it. Yet the cloth had become ingrained with dirt, blood, and grass stains in the months following the last round, which would not come out no matter how often they washed them.

  “Now what?” the others panted, weapons ready.

  “I’m going out there, alone.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Amber snapped.

  “I’m the one wearing the armor—if they shoot an arrow, I might just survive it. And if I’m the only one they see, they might think everyone in here is just as well armed and move off.”

  Amber muttered under her breath, but said nothing further.

  Cade peered through the arrow slit. Now, he could see the approaching figures clearly, though he still couldn’t tell if they were human or alien.

  “Bea, Trix, Yoshi. You go up the tower, and take our supplies with you. Stay hidden, but be ready to drop the stones if I call out.”

  The trio nodded.

  “The rest of you, I need you to dangle a rope from the gatehouse’s window down to the ground outside. Hold on to it, and if you feel me tug, haul me up as fast as you can.”

  “What then?” Amber said.

  “If they’re enemies, we retreat up the tower and hold them there—the narrow spiral staircase gives us the high ground, and they can only come one at a time. Plus they’ll have to run up the beach and then back along the walls to reach us. If you pull me up quick enough, they might think I escaped out of the exit on the other side of the keep.”

  “Might…,” Amber said sullenly. “I’m sick of you being the one in danger all the time.”

  Cade didn’t have time to argue. “They’re almost here. No time to change the plan now.”

  He drew his blade and strode out, each step accompanied by the scrape of metal on metal. The armor was heavier than he remembered, and more constricting. But by the time he had made the long walk to the front gates, he had become used to wearing it again.

  “Like riding a bike,” he whispered.

  It was simple enough for him to ease between the gap in the gates and step beyond the gateway. He was taking a huge risk, for it was only a stone’s throw away from the edge of the long grass, where the approaching figures would eventually emerge.

  He had to appear relaxed, but be prepared to run. He only hoped he was fast enough.

  Cade had brought the broken chair with him. It only had three legs, and the seat was rotted, but it allowed him to balance semiprecariously on its edge and take the weight off his legs. If his plan worked, he was going to be there for quite some time.

  And then, as the morning sun fully emerged from the horizon, they stepped out of the grasslands.

  They came in twos and threes, diamond-shaped shields raised, forming a semicircle around the gatehouse, along the edge of the purple sea. Helmets obscured their features, and spears glinted in the light, raised over their shoulders at the ready.

  Cade’s heart fell as his gaze swept the arrayed soldiers, near fifty in all. These were no humans.

  Their eyes stood out the most. Black orbs, large as fists, embedded in distended gray skulls. The noses were a pair of slits, and lipless mouths were drawn tight beneath.

  Gray skin, mottled as a corpse’s, stood out against the bronze armor, which was tarnished with edges of green. It might well have been torn from Greek myth, were it not for the strange creatures that wore it.

  But now was not the time to show fear. As the enemy arrayed in their shield wall, Cade gave a great sigh and sat down on the chair, a lazy leg kicked out in front of him.

  He stretched, then yawned, lifting his eyes to the sky as if he had not a care in the world. Yet all the while, his heart hammered and sweat dripped from his brow to pool in the hollow of his neck.

  From his position, he could see the enemy’s lips move, a mellifluous language that flowed like water. It was almost beautiful.

  Still he sat, lowering his eyes to meet their gaze. More words, almost singing as the gray folk discussed his presence.

  Suddenly, a single gray soldier darted toward him, scurrying across the sand.

  The movement made Cade’s heart leap, but still he sat, forcing his smile steady as the soldier approached him.

  As swiftly as it had advanced, the soldier retreated, its black eyes swiveling to gaze up at the silent battlements above. A feint.

  Cade leaned back, hiding a grimace as the ancient chair groaned beneath his weight. He near closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

  He watched. And waited.

  CHAPTER

  11

  They had moved back into the long grass, where they huddled in conversation. A pair of them kept watch, crouched at the edge of the grasslands. Though he could not see the direction of their gaze, only the strange swiveling of the black orbs in their sockets.

  To them, he was behaving insane. And therein lay the rub.

  What man would stand alone against an army? Moreover, why would a single soldier guard a fortress?

  Yet, the very same had happened before. Not once but a half-dozen times, in ancient China. It was called the empty fort strategy, and though part history, part legend, the stories had fascinated him as a child.

  Perhaps most famously, General Zhao Yung had defended his own fort, outnumbered a thousand to one. It had been a hopeless cause, yet he had opened the gates, hidden his men, and sat on its battlements plucking a tune on his musical instrument.

  When the enemy had approached, they had feared a trap, and retreated befo
re the general’s allies came to his aid.

  An hour had passed. The longest hour of Cade’s life, spent in a strange oscillation between absolute panic and nonchalance. It was a strange thing, to relax his body while ready to leap into action at any moment. He had to keep moving and flexing his limbs within his armor, in case they fell asleep. What an end that would be, if he had sat himself into being unable to run.

  Even so, it was as if his body dictated his feelings. By acting relaxed, he was becoming so. At times, he almost tricked himself into sleep, so he distracted himself by examining his new enemy through half-lidded eyes.

  These “Grays”—as he had dubbed them—were only formidable in their armaments and numbers. They were scrawny things; no taller than five feet, and so skinny he could see their ribs beneath the armor. Whether this was a consequence of starvation or their natural state, he could not tell.

  Their fingers, as far as he could make out, were like those of a pianist—long and delicate, though numbering only three fingers and a long, triple-jointed thumb.

  Perhaps strangest of all though, were the tiny creatures that climbed upon them—scarab-like beetles that crawled in and out of the enemy armor.

  At first, Cade had thought they were parasites, but the Grays made no move to remove them, even as the little insects scurried across the surface of their eyes. It must be some sort of symbiotic relationship, Cade figured.

  Movement. The troop was advancing to their previous position. Their motions had purpose, and their speech was faster and louder.

  Despite it all, Cade remained still. Every second he bought was another his friends were alive. Arrayed once more in their semicircle formation, as Cade watched, a pair of Grays shuffled forward, their heads tilted up at the battlements above.

  “Bea, Trix, now!”

  Before he had even finished speaking, a stone ball thudded into the sand ahead of him. It was almost too close for comfort, and Cade was glad he had kept his seat within the shadow of the gatehouse arch. The pair startled at the sound, leaping back for the safety of the formation.