She follows him, lunging her sword at his legs, then head. He jumps then tucks in and rolls over the grass to avoid the attack. Pivoting on one knee, he slashes with lightning speed and cuts one of Odella’s legs, mid-calf.
She falls, cursing Chaos and Godmaster Mador—the second steward—for his too-real illusions. Her would-be foot twitches like a landed fish, bleeding red onto the grass.
“Really? Is that necessary?!” Delfos says, going pale. He isn’t much for blood, even fake blood.
The defeated girl stands and goes away, looking as if she’s walking on one leg while her torn stump takes steps on an invisible foot. We all shake our heads and resume our fighting poses.
“Godmaster Mador is crazier than a litter of drunken humans,” Romer says, just as a new opponent jumps at him from behind a tall pile of rocks.
“I’ve had it with his illusions!” Delfos whines.
“Get over it, you big infant!” I say.
“Surrender Skillbarren, or you will pay,” Delfos screams, suddenly coming at me with a raised sword.
I would never allow anyone to call me Skillbarren, except my friends. Still, Delfos will regret it.
“That’ll be the last thing I do, Delfos d’Zafira.” I pivot to one side, then jump atop a barrel. “Do you want to lose your head today?”
I climb the rope ladder that hangs from a freestanding wall to my left. He follows, but his bulk makes him considerably slower.
“Or perhaps you’d rather lose your heart?” I call over my shoulder, laughing and jumping down the other side of the wall.
A pit of silver diamond snakes lies to my left. I shiver and gingerly move away. The first time a silver diamond bit me, I was five. It punctured one of my hands, through and through. The wound swelled up to twice its size in moments, and my throat closed, making it impossible to breathe. I was six and almost died. Godmaster Neo, a skilled healer assigned to care for us, saved me with prompt treatment, but I was sick for days afterward. He said I was more susceptible to the venom than most, but that I would slowly develop an immunity to them, just like everyone else. Nothing could reassure me, though. I developed a fear for snakes and avoid them on the training arena whenever possible.
As Delfos climbs like a clumsy bear, I hide behind one of Godmaster Mador’s cloaking illusions. I’m one of the few who’s good at spotting them. They give out a slight shimmer, nearly invisible to the eye and, for those unable to detect them, simply look like part of the scenery.
I snicker as Delfos finally makes it to this side of the wall and looks for me, pale eyes roving all around. All he sees are obstacles, grass, and the “open space” behind which I hide. I’m but a few paces away, and he’s none the wiser.
“Curse you, Godmaster Mador!” he screams at the sky, then crouches and begins walking forward, one slow step at a time. “Come out, come out, Bia d’Esmeralda.”
Suddenly, Delfos’s head snaps in my direction, and he looks right at me.
Chaos!
Godmaster Salino must have whispered in his head, telling him exactly where I hide. I make a rude sign at the sky, sure he can see it from his vantage point.
Delfos looks off to the side, pretending to search for me elsewhere, but his mouth curves into a slight smile. The poor soul knows no subterfuge. It will be the death of him. Tears threaten at the thought of losing my friend, of never seeing him again. I swallow hard.
A mere couple of steps in front of me, Delfos adjusts his posture to a perfect attack position. This is how I know Godmaster Salino is still in his head, guiding him.
Not fair. Not at all.
I strengthen the grip on my shield and sword, ready to take Delfos’s blow.
With the performing ability of a tree stump, he glances left, still pretending to be off my trail. This is why you never got to be Godfounder Berto in the yearly play, you big knucklehead.
The blow comes a second later but, instead of avoiding it, I take a step forward, crowding Delfos. He flinches in surprise at the early impact, but doesn’t cower. He just keeps coming, a boulder rolling down a mountain. Unstoppable.
I thrust forward, but he’s too heavy for me, and we go down. The sheer weight of him flattens my lungs. Air bursts out of my mouth.
“You’re flat bread,” he says, his nose a mere finger from mine.
I wheeze back, “You’re skewered mutton.”
He frowns, not grasping my meaning.
Unable to get another word out, I look down, indicating with my eyes.
“What d’you mean?” he asks.
One hand flat on his chest, I push on him. He needs to get off, or I’ll asphyxiate. Though, on second thought, asphyxia might be a better fate than the one that awaits for me at the trials.
He rolls off, crushing my arm.
“Ow, you brute,” I grunt, then gulp in air.
“Lashing Chaos!” Delfos curses when he sees my sword protruding from his belly. Though it’s not really my sword, just another illusion.
Black blood soaks his chest plate. He gets to his knees and looks pleadingly at the sky.
For my part, I crawl away, fearing what is sure to come.
“Take it out! Take it out!” he begs.
Godmaster Mador does no such thing. In fact, he does something completely different.
“Delfos, don’t look down!” I warn, but it’s too late. He’s looking down.
The sword is gone, and it’s replaced by guts. They spill from a wide cut, shiny and tight like sausages. Inevitably, Delfos vomits, and somewhere, sitting high on the stands, Godmaster Mador must laugh until his sides hurt. He delights in tormenting us. Eternity must get boring, and torturing us with his morbid illusions is his prime entertainment.
My stomach roils at the sight of Delfos’s regurgitated meal. I turn away. “Must go,” I say in a nasally tone as I breathe through my mouth.
I go in search of Romer, wondering if he needs my help since other Potentials tend to gang up on him. I walk around the wide wall Delfos and I climbed, approaching cautiously, my real sword—not the illusionary one in Delfos’s gut—in hand.
As I peek around, the sight surprises me. The field is strewn with phantom body parts. Hands, whole legs, even a head or two. I grimace. Delfos should be glad all he got to see were guts—even if they were supposed to be his own.
So much red. So much carnage.
It’s wicked. More and more real every day.
I can almost hear Godmaster Mador in my head, “Nothing but this will prepare you for what is to come.”
But this is not preparing us for the trials. No, it’s just getting us used to its violence, so that we put on a good show for the spectators, and we cleanse our family lines from those not worthy to live in Joya d’Diosa.
Off to the side, Romer leans on a barrel, chewing on a blade of grass. “Took you long enough, and all you had was Delfos.” His blue eyes, startling against his dark skin, dart across the field in demonstration of his prowess.
“Let’s go.” He cocks his head to the side. “All this chopping up bodies has made me hungry.”
I follow him, letting my sword fall to the ground. The weight of what’s to come settles on my shoulders, and I wonder if Romer feels it too. He never talks about it. Never seems to think that it’ll be my head or Delfos’s he might have to chop off soon.
It’s all I can think about: the people I may have to kill. Though I shouldn’t worry about it. It’s not like I’ll have to live for all eternity bearing the guilt of my actions. Romer might, but maybe he’s planning to have us erased from his mind after he kills us all. Mercurio d’Esmeralda is always willing to remove unpleasant memories from your mind, if you ask him nicely.
As I catch up with Romer, he drapes an arm over my shoulder. “Godmaster Salino said tomorrow we can finally fight with our Godskill, if we so choose. You might want to stay home.” He puts a finger on my nose.
I swat his hand away. His well-muscled torso shines with sweat. He doesn’t even bother with a chest plate.
&
nbsp; No one has ever been allowed to use their Godskill during training. If they were, we, Skillbarren, would never stay in the arena long enough to learn how to fight.
“Will you be here?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No one ever comes. Got to reserve some tricks for the days to come, right?”
“Unless you don’t have any,” I murmur.
“Cheer up, Bia. It’s not so bad.”
I push him away. Sometimes I think his heart is made of Albasino, hard and cold to the touch, except red and not the usual stark white. Mother can make any color Albasino, but seems to prefer white. I attribute this to her lack of creativity.
He’s not only the best fighter. He also has a very useful Godskill.
He can fly.
Of course, he thinks “it isn’t bad,” he’s not afraid of dying.
Chapter 3
After a thorough bath in the hot springs, Romer, Delfos and I walk down the cobblestone, Albasino path, headed for the dining hall, where every citizen shares the last meal of the day. The sun is going down, elongating the shadows of the many statues we pass on our way. They are Godhoned from massive jewels in the shape of our Godfounders and stand in front of the buildings that today belong to their descendants, their Godlines.
As we pass in front of Romer’s building, he doesn’t even look in its direction. He belongs to the Rubí Godline, same as Elina. Two glimmering, crimson statues of Rubí’s ancient Godfounder flank the imposing building. He is massive, heavily muscled like his descendant next to me. He wears a sculpted knee-high tunic and a crown of fresh laurels. The afternoon sun refracts through its translucent body, causing red shimmers to waver like blood-tainted water on the path, reminding me of the gruesome illusions at the arena. The wide pedestal the statue sits on displays Joya d’Diosa’s seal in a detailed carving as a reminder that all the Godlines are part of one city. The seal in round with the hand of our Diosa, the Original Mother and Goddess, holding the Sacred Diamond.
We pass other statues in all the colors of the rainbow. Each casts its own shade. Blue for the Zafira Godline. Violet for Amatista. Yellow for Peridoto. Green for Esmeralda, and so on. Behind us, snowy peaks glitter as the summer sun fights uselessly to melt their white caps. Ahead, Joya d’Diosa expands as if stretching toward the horizon, then the ground seems to fall away. We are high up, lodged into the side of Mount Blanco. From our vantage point, we see nothing but blue sky and, at a distance, the expansive human city of Cima.
Others exit their homes and join us on the path to the dining hall. They wear tunics of all lengths. Most cinch them tight at their waist with jeweled belts in the color of their Godline. Some wear a diadem, a pin, a bracelet, a necklace, anything that designates their family. But only true Gods and Goddesses are allowed to display their color. Potentials are not. We haven’t earned the right yet.
I look down at my plain tunic and imagine a belt around my waist. I think of how it would sparkle in the sunlight, proclaiming me as Bia of the Esmeralda Godline. I sigh. Wishes are for fools.
We climb the steps to the dining hall two at a time and walk between its thick, Albasino column.
“Bia!”
I look over my shoulder. Elina is running toward us, trying to catch up. Her dark hair streams behind her like the kites the human children fly. Sometimes, I sit at the edge of Joya d’Diosa and watch from afar as the whimsical creations cut through the clouds. They appear tiny from this distance, but my eyes are keen.
“Dear Elina!” Romer picks her up by the waist and twirls her around once. He kisses her on the lips and smooths down her untidy hair.
Delfos shifts on the spot and looks away, shadows falling over his features. He’s always so happy it is odd to see anything but a smile on his face. Lately, he’s been acting strange around Elina, especially when Romer is around.
“Hello, Romer. I haven’t seen you all day.” She beams up at him. “Um, you too, Delfos.”
Elina and Delfos’s gazes meet for a moment, then lower.
Intent on filling his belly, Romer pulls Elina into the building. “You’re a bit mad, lately. You only have eyes for your jewels.”
“But you’re my most precious jewel. You know that,” she mocks.
“So you say so unconvincingly.”
Elina turns to me. I blink at her, surprised at the attention. Normally, she only has eyes for her Rubí God-to-be.
“How was training?” she asks.
“Bloody,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose and looks back at Romer. “Did you win? I bet you won.”
“Yes,” he says in a tired tone that suggests the question is irrelevant. “Though Bia creamed Delfos.”
One female and one male are allowed to win during training. During the actual trials, however, only one champion will be crowned. So far, Odella and I have, many times, earned the glory of being the female champion, but no male or female has ever defeated Romer.
Elina’s eyes smile at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She gives me a crooked smile.
She’s up to something. I know her well. That’s why I also know I should ignore her. She’ll tell me sooner, if I don’t probe. She can turn stubborn if I show too much interest.
The dining hall is brimming with Gods, Goddesses, and Potentials, each Godline table topped with food. We veer right, away from them, and head to the corner where Potentials, ages four to seventeen, sit. Our tables are divided by age, each group called a Tier. At four, we leave our respective Godlines and join our Tier, where we stay until we Descend, die, or win the trials.
We pass the youngsters. They wave and smile at us, the way we used to do when we were their age. A Rubí Godline boy shouts Romer’s name, growls, and attempts to flex his biceps. Romer points at him, then does the same, except his biceps do flex. Chaos! Those obscene muscles nearly talk.
We take our usual spots with the other seventeen-year-olds. We eat in mixed Godlines with those we proudly call friends, not those we’re forced to call family. This much I would miss if, by some ungodly miracle, I win the trials. Having to sit with Mother and my sisters for dinner would surely spoil my appetite.
“Move!” Someone growls at the next table over.
It’s Odella and her crew, forcing someone out. They always take half of a table along with all the food there. Few challenge them anymore since anyone who ever has dared to complain pays for their audacity during training. I do my best to ignore them, but they eat like beasts, making noise and tossing food to each other. Odella runs a greasy hand over her short, spiked hair. Her upturned, black eyebrows give her a constant haughty air. Her skin is as pale as Joya d’Diosa’s Albasino walls.
Clearly, Odella’s human-seed isn’t from Cima, like mine. Her skin would be tawny if it were. Instead, I can see blue-green veins in her jaw line which seem to throb anytime she expresses any type of emotion. She looks nothing like her mother who also has Ciman traits. Gods and Goddesses can’t mate with each other, so human-seed is needed for procreation. Cima is the closest human settlement so most Joya d’Diosa inhabitants look like me. But there are many who don’t share my coloring which almost without fail means their human-seed came from a different place: the southern mountains, cities near the ocean, the desert folk to the west.
When Odella catches me watching, she lifts a mutton rib in greeting, then proceeds to gnaw on it like a starved dog. I look away, disgusted by her antics. She laughs. Ynes and Ximon join in. I hope they choke.
Romer piles his plate high with mutton and unleavened bread. Nothing else. No vegetables. No fruit. Elina slips a slice of Godfruit under his bread when he’s not looking. She snickers at me. I shake my head and fill my plate, though the roasted carrots and turnips do get attention from me. Delfos, for his part, gets only a piece of bread and tears a small bite. He looks too ill to eat. What is wrong with him?
Looking down at my food, it’s easy to tell what is Godhoned and what was brought to the Joya d’Diosa by the runners.
The flatbread is perfectly round with an even texture same as the slices of carrot. They are clearly Godhoned by a skilled citadel citizen. The turnip slices, on the other hand, are uneven in shape and texture. It’s also easy to tell the difference by taste. The human food is lackluster, for the most part. But I like turnips, so it will be nice when somebody here figures out how to make them even better.
“Excuse me. Excuse me.” Hali d’Esmeralda makes everyone move down the bench to sit beside me. She immediately grabs a plate and fills it entirely with Godfruit. A handful of butterflies cling to her dark hair, their wings gently opening and closing.
“No meat?” I ask. She loves the mutton, so this is odd.
Shaking her head, she bites into one of the white fruits. Clear juice runs down her chin. “I realized this morning that after tomorrow, I’ll never be able to eat these again.”
With a shrug, I say, “And I won’t be able to eat at all since I’ll be dead.”
Elina’s eyes dart in my direction. They flash with worry, but something new too. I purse my lips and squint my eyes at her.
Hali starts working on another piece of fruit and talks around a mouthful. “Your choice.”
“It’s not really a choice,” I say, pushing my plate away. Like Delfos, I’ve lost my appetite.
So far, I’ve avoided talking to Hali about this, but the pressure is building up inside of me, and I must let it out somehow.
She puts the fruit down and reaches for a cloth to wipe her face and hands. “Of course it’s a choice, unless you’re afraid.”
Afraid? I huff.
Hali cocks her head and rests a finger on her chin. “Right now you’re thinking, I’m about to fight in the trials, of course I’m not afraid. Am I right?”
I twist my mouth at her comment, because what else can I do? She is right.
“Well,” she continues, “sometimes it takes more courage to live than to die.”
Her words feel like a blow in the middle of my chest. I take a deep breath and avert my eyes. These words ring true, but they can’t be. They aren’t! She doesn’t know the meaning of courage. She thinks life is all flowers and butterflies. She’s never wielded a sword. The arena has always scared her. Of course she doesn’t know the courage it takes to stand and fight.
Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1) Page 2
