The Champion

by Taran Matharu

  Cade shouldered his pack.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  * * *

  They found a trail at midday. A deer trail, as Scott described it—though it was much more than that. The thoroughfare was as wide as a freeway, pounded to mud by the feet of a thousand animals.

  It did not follow their intended direction exactly, curving instead by the path of least resistance, worming its way between slopes and copses of trees. But it was the same general direction, and they made more progress in an hour than they had that entire day.

  Atticus was the one who had made the decision to follow it. Cade did not resist the choice. In part because he was already exhausted, his legs aching from the walking. Too tired to continue through the heavy bush, and too tired to argue with the ex-commander.

  It was strange, but his legs still ached from his time in the land of the Tritons. Months had passed for the others, yet for Cade it had been a few days. He was fortunate that his wrist seemed to be healing swiftly, now only hurting when he touched the livid, pink-scarred skin, rather than each time he moved his arm.

  With each step, Cade examined the footprints, making sure that the trail was safe. Or as safe as you could be with herbivores out there—certainly he wouldn’t describe an elephant in the wild as safe, and the herbivores here were equipped with far more than tusks.

  A stegosaurus alone could use its tail spikes to punch through a stone wall if it was so inclined, and the snap of a sauropod’s tail would knock one of the sequoias toppling. Not to mention the ceratopsians, with their spiked, shield-like heads and horns like a bull on steroids.

  Still, Cade’s initial impressions were good, the ground mostly engraved with the great, round indents of long-necked sauropods and the chicken-like hopscotch of small, birdlike dinosaurs. The latter, he guessed, were the Compsognathus-type dinosaurs that Quintus had lived off at Hueitapalan.

  As for creatures, they hardly saw anything at all. Only the flitting of flying beasts high above, and the rustle of leaves in the undergrowth.

  For though the legionaries had tried to dampen the clanking of their armor and the shine of the metal, the tramp of their feet, coughs, snorts, and swears meant they made more noise than a school canteen.

  Any animals that were predated upon would be giving the approaching sound a wide berth. Unfortunately it wasn’t these animals Cade was concerned about.

  And then, he saw it. A muddy print, almost lost in the mud, trodden into near oblivion by the boots of the legionaries in front of him.

  But the three-pronged print was unmistakable. A theropod. Large enough to fit a car tire within it. He didn’t know how old it was, nor what beast had made it, just that it was definitely a carnosaur. And he only knew that much because he had seen one just like it in the sands of the arena.

  “Atticus!” Cade called.

  The man at the front stopped, a frown of annoyance on his face as he stalked back to Cade. Yet to his credit, he crouched to observe the footprint. Even measured it with the span of his hand, giving a low whistle between his teeth.

  “We should get off the trail,” Scott muttered, though the Codex did not translate his words.

  Cade grimaced, staring at the thick brush on either side of them. He whispered to the Codex, and the map of the caldera appeared once more.

  “We’re here,” Cade said, pointing to the blue dot that represented their group. “And you can just about make out the path from the indent in the canopy. If we stay on this route another hour, we’ll come close enough to reach Leifsbudir by nightfall. Leave now … we’ll be working by torchlight. That’s as much a risk as staying on this trail.”

  Atticus nodded but said nothing, while Scott groaned and threw his hands up in the air.

  “Do you not see the size of that thing?” he demanded.

  “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” Cade said.

  “That’s a pretty big-ass devil if you ask me,” Scott said. “It doesn’t get much worse than that.”

  Cade rubbed his chin as Atticus took a few steps away and drew his gladius. Curious, Cade saw him digging in a small mound of dirt. Atticus stuck his fingers in and removed a long white object. A bone.

  He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose.

  “Meat eater,” he said, the Codex translating in Cade’s ear. “Fresh too.”

  Only now did Cade realize it was dung. Atticus sniffed again, this time pensively.

  “What say you, guide?” he asked. “Have you met a beast of this size here before?”

  “Not here,” he said.

  Atticus hummed under his breath and looked up the trail.

  “We walk half an hour more,” he said. “Split the risk.”

  Cade shook his head. “We do that, we double the risk of getting lost in darkness and coming across one of these beasts.”

  Atticus cocked his head. “We run the half hour,” he said. “Less time, less risk.”

  Cade shook his head again, but Atticus had already stridden back, barking orders.

  “I hope he’s right,” he whispered to Scott, shouldering his pack.

  CHAPTER

  43

  The darkness was near absolute. Torches were reluctantly lit, a pair held high at the front of the column, as men took turns to chop back the hoary undergrowth.

  It had been like this for hours. The deeper into the jungles they went, the thicker the vegetation had become. Every move was made harder in darkness, men swinging their blades in dim light and those at the back blundering forward, tangling in the low-hanging branches the rushed hacking had missed.

  They were close though. So close, the blue dots were virtually on top of each other. Caution had been thrown to the wind now, as the rustling of the jungles around them grew louder and louder.

  The jungles had come alive at night. Such as they had not seen or heard, in the cocoon of comfort back at their last camp.

  Whether attracted by the light, the noise, or their very scent, glowing eyes watched them from the darkness, reflecting the flickering lights of their torches. Circling them, darting back and forth, yet staying shrouded in shadow.

  Were they raptors, or something else? Cade didn’t want to find out. The men had huddled into a formation of shield and sword, with two pairs at the front, continuing their frantic hacking at the barrier of branches, thorns, and leaves.

  Every few minutes, Atticus barked an order, and four men would cycle, two holding torches, the others swinging their blades. It was as efficient as they could be, and both Cade and Scott had taken their fair share of turns, their sword blades dulled from the constant grind of bark, liana, and fiber.

  “Lights ahead,” came a call from the front.

  Cade didn’t need the Codex to know what the man had said. It was ahead of them, filtering through the trees. A glow.

  For a moment, Cade thought it was the moon, hanging low in the sky. But as he stared, craning his neck over the shorter Romans, he knew. It had to be Leifsbudir. And it was occupied.

  Atticus shouldered his way to the front, and Cade followed, unable to resist an involuntary shudder as the undergrowth rustled at the movement.

  The ex-commander gripped one of the torches, pushing his way forward. There were only a few feet to go before the forest opened into a clearing of sorts, and following him Cade could soon make out a wooden palisade, one at least ten feet tall and made of solid wood. Whatever light it gave off was coming from the inside, lighting the low-hanging branches of the trees above. But what scared him most were the gates.

  He had seen gates just like it before. All those months ago, when he had been captured by the slavers.

  “We need to leave,” Cade hissed. “Now.”

  Atticus laughed. “These are humans,” he said. “Allies! Why, they could help us. What a success it would be to bring more men to bolster our army.”

  Cade hushed him, his heart pounding. Behind him, the Romans crowded forward, eager to be out of the undergrowth.

 
“These are slavers,” Cade hissed. “You ever heard of them? Because I’ve been taken captive by them twice.”

  Atticus spat. “We’ve heard the rumors. But who is to say it is them?”

  Cade stared at the gates, struggling to convey what he knew to be true in as few words as possible.

  “The slavers have outposts like this across the jungles. Places to sleep while they hunt for us, and other remnants, out in the jungles. They must have repurposed Leifsbudir.”

  Atticus crouched in the dirt, eyeing the gates, which now Cade saw must have been barred from the inside.

  “Then we take it from them,” he hissed, drawing his gladius. “We take them by surprise.”

  Cade shook his head. “There’s nothing to gain. And who knows how many of them are there?”

  “You would have us pass the night out here?” Atticus growled, stabbing with his blade into the still-rustling undergrowth.

  Cade grimaced at the thought. “We have no other choice.”

  Atticus snorted derisively. “I will scout their position,” he said, already moving.

  Cade snatched at his skirts, but the man tugged free, crab-walking up the slight slope of underbrush to the gates of the settlement.

  Behind, the crackling of branches grew louder. No longer the sly movements of beasts following them in the darkness. This was louder, if coming from farther away.

  “Atticus!” Cade hissed. “There’s something coming.”

  Atticus shook his head, as if the fact did not matter; he instead pressed his face to the slim gap in the swinging doors and then tested his blade between, sliding it carefully through.

  He withdrew it and turned, a scowl upon his face. To Cade’s relief, he padded back to them.

  “Chained,” he growled.

  The noise from the jungle was growing louder. Almost as one, the men turned to meet it, already huddling together, shields twitching up into a makeshift shield wall.

  Cade’s eyes widened. There were flames flickering in the trees, but farther away than the source of the sounds. Bobbing up and down, as if those carrying them were running.

  Yet whatever was coming was almost on top of them. Footsteps, and the hoarse panting of ragged breaths.

  “Ready, men,” Atticus called. “We stand here.”

  A dark figure emerged from the darkness. Her face, even in its terrified expression, still set Cade’s heart on fire.

  Amber.

  “Wh—” Cade began, but she stumbled into him, reeling from exhaustion. Behind her, Quintus staggered into view, a pair of torches held in his hands.

  Amber choked out a single word.

  “Slavers.”

  CHAPTER

  44

  They ran. Ran with wild abandon, all fear of the flora and fauna of the jungles gone.

  Quintus led the way, the pair of torches in hand, and the rest followed, ripping through the thorns and tangled branches like beasts in the night.

  By the time they stopped, their faces were bloodied, bodies bruised and filthy from their falls and collisions with trees in the darkness. It seemed to Cade they had reached some miraculous clearing, until he spotted the hole in the canopy above, and the crumpled remains of the plane at its center.

  They had arrived at the nuclear bomb. Or rather, the plane that it was contained in. Regardless, Cade muttered a question to the Codex. He had to be sure.

  “What is it?”

  “Remnant is an A-4E Skyhawk attack aircraft, loaded with a B43 nuclear weapon, that fell from the deck of the USS Ticonderoga in 1965. Pilot, plane, and weapon were never found.”

  Cade looked back, but men were still catching up, emerging through the trees. He’d seen Amber and Quintus just moments ago, so he knew at least they were safe.

  He staggered toward the plane, his legs giving way as he did so. He was beyond exhausted, yet he crawled through the mulch and tangled vines upon the ground until he came to its side.

  It was, to Cade’s relief, not the rusted, ruined hulk he had feared. Rather, the plane was virtually intact, with hardly any rust at all. However long it had sat in this forest, it hadn’t been here for half a century. More likely, Abaddon had removed it from stasis more recently.

  As Cade took in the aircraft, running his hands along its pitted hull, he realized the bomb was attached to its undercarriage, and it was as enormous as the Codex had described it.

  Longer than two men were tall, and wide enough to hardly get his arms around it, there was no way they would ever be able to haul it back through the jungles. Especially with the slavers hunting for them.

  It had to be slavers. Dinosaurs would not be carrying torches.

  It was with these thoughts that Cade turned to survey the legionaries. Counted them. Realized one was missing. Caught by the slavers … or lost.

  But that didn’t matter. Not when he saw Amber and Quintus, bedraggled, weary, and in worse condition than even the legionaries were.

  “Cade,” Amber said, falling to her knees in front of him. “You’re okay.”

  Cade drew her close, wrapping her in his arms. She had been the last to emerge from the jungles, staggering in just as he’d turned away from the craft.

  “We followed you,” Amber whispered. “Quintus and I. His squad came too, but…”

  She shook her head.

  “Why?” Cade asked, brushing mud from her cheek. “Why come?”

  “We saw the slavers from the orchards,” she whispered. “So many of them, ship after ship.”

  Her voice was halting as she caught her breath. “We made a show of force outside the tunnel. They thought it would just be us teenagers, but they didn’t expect the Romans. So they turned back. Decided to hunt in the jungles like they always do. We knew they’d follow you. So Quintus and I disobeyed Marius and came after you to warn you. We’ve been on your trail ever since. As have the slavers. At least a hundred of them. We were lucky to reach you before they did.”

  “And Quintus’s men?” Cade asked.

  “Captured,” she said. “Quintus and I were lucky to escape—if he didn’t know the jungles so well, I’d be captured too.”

  “Thank you, my love,” Cade whispered. “If you and Quintus hadn’t followed us … I don’t know what might have happened.”

  She took a deep breath, taking a hold of herself.

  “The slavers at the keep offered Marius the world—food, weapons, armor. In exchange for us. The old contenders. The slavers said the emperor is offering a reward for our capture. But Marius wouldn’t take any of it, and the slavers decided to follow the tracks of your expedition instead. The men chasing us won’t give up easily.”

  Amber stood, though shaky on her feet. “We need to move,” she announced. “The slavers will be right behind us.”

  The Codex did not translate for her, but her meaning was plain. Soldiers, tired though they were, levered themselves back onto their feet, gratitude stamped across their faces.

  “Where would you have us go?” Atticus growled, pointing to the moons above. “I have already lost one man to the darkness.”

  Cade stood beside Amber, presenting a united front. “If we push ourselves, we can be at the tombs by morning,” he said.

  “What then?” Atticus asked. “Say we find the remnants we are looking for. Are we to race them all the way back to the keep, overloaded with your so-called weapons of the future? We should scatter and make our way back to safety. They cannot track us all.”

  Cade blinked tears from his eyes. They were tears of frustration and exhaustion. That, and the relief of having Amber with him once more. He had thought he could do this alone. But here he was, at the bomb itself. And they had no hope of bringing it with them.

  His plan, as it stood, felt like a Hail Mary. Some last, desperate plan concocted by another being from another world, driven mad from solitude and an anger that transcended logic and reason.

  And he had been taken in by it. Betrayed his friends, lied to them, manipulated them. For what? A thin
sliver of hope that would end in his own death.

  “We have two hopes of survival,” Cade said.

  Atticus crossed his arms, already wary.

  “We will find one of two things in the tombs,” Cade said, speaking loud for the benefit of the men. “Treasure or useful remnants. We’ll use that to either get ourselves and whatever we find teleported back to the keep—or buy ourselves weapons to use against the slavers.”

  His words sounded weak, and poorly explained. But the legionaries held on to his every word. They needed hope, just as he had. And though they understood the rules of the game not a jot, if one of the contenders from the future said it … well, it must have some truth to it.

  Atticus saw it too. He made one last attempt to discredit Cade’s plan.

  “If they catch up to us while we’re inside the tombs, we will have no way to escape,” he said. “We’ll be trapped like rats.”

  Cade shouldered his backpack and gave a last look at the plane.

  It was so close. The fifteen of them could have lifted the bomb. Dragged it on a sled.

  Instead, he turned his back on it. Pushed the plan from his mind. He would risk his own life for this. But not those of his friends.

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Cade said. “It’s the only way we’re getting out of this alive.”

  CHAPTER

  45

  The sun was blushing the horizon when the blue dots merged on Cade’s map. It had been their main source of light when the torches ran out, and a source of encouragement as they neared their destination during the tortuous journey.

  Their night had been a miserable affair, made all the more exhausting by the torrent of rain that had begun almost immediately after they had set out. The canopy had given them some protection, but they had to constantly stop to switch torches, cursing as they held the damp bundles beneath outstretched cloaks, striking flint upon steel with desperate abandon to light their way once more.