“Remember the last time we were here, and Delfos tried to kiss me after drinking the entire bottle of wine?” Elina asks.
Romer pops a handful of nuts in his mouth. “Yes, I remember. The big fool.” He laughs.
“He chased me outside.” Elina looks back toward the entrance, her eyes wavering in the candlelight.
I can almost see him running after Elina while she squeals for help and Romer and I roll on the ground, laughing.
“Well, he did kiss me,” Elina admits, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Romer perks up. “He what?!”
Elina says nothing, just continues to stare at some faraway place beyond this cramped lair. Romer looks back at me, as if I can offer an explanation.
“And I let him,” she says.
“Excuse me?!” Romer sounds incredulous.
“He was a good kisser,” she says.
“The traitor!” Romer stands and stomps around the den, grumbling under his breath. “And you?”
“Oh, sit down, Romer. It’s not like you haven’t kissed half the girls in Joya d’Diosa.” Elina shakes her head.
“Yes, but it’s different. He was supposed to be my friend.”
“I think he was in love with me,” Elina says, her voice breaking at the last couple of words.
I often suspected the same. I put my hand in my pocket and caress the small eagle.
Romer collapses back down, all the fight gone out of him. “He should have told me. I didn’t . . . I never . . .”
“He was so drunk, his skill got out of control, and he accidentally made me blind,” Elina says. “He held me until it passed, and I was never afraid.”
A tear spills down my cheek. I swat it away.
“His hair was so soft and smelled of honey,” Elina adds.
Delfos always favored the honey-infused soap that runners bring from the southern mountains. He joked it reminded him of home, though he was taken away from his mother as a babe, like the rest of us who were not born in the citadel.
“I wished I’d . . .” Elina can’t finish and, instead, stands and runs out of the den.
Romer makes as if to go after her.
“Let her be,” I say.
“It’s my fault,” he says, as if staying out of Delfos’s way so he could love Elina would have saved our friend’s life.
I stand, fists clenched, my temper abruptly out of control. “Yes, it’s your fault. And my fault. And the lashing rules and the trials’. Why does it have to be like this?!”
Romer looks up at me, startled.
“Don’t you ever ask yourself about that?!” I demand. “Why the trials? Why so many of us must die?”
He says nothing still.
“Or are you too confident in your victory to wonder about anything of the sort?”
“No! Of course not,” he protests. “I do wonder about it, Bia. You’re not the only one with a heart and brain. And you’re not the only one who loved Delfos like a brother.”
I turn away. Romer has never been the kind to talk about his feelings, so it’s easy to assume he feels nothing. But of course, I’m wrong.
“It’s not fair,” I say. “It was supposed to be me, not Delfos.”
Romer is on his feet, his arms around me. I half-heartedly try to push him away. He squeezes harder, lets me cry.
After my tears are spent, he holds me at arms’ length and look me in the eye.
An idea that has been circling my thoughts escaped my lips, “What if . . . what if we refuse to kill each other?”
Chapter 25
What if we refuse to kill each other?
Romer’s question resonates in my mind. It’s a nice concept, but it would only work if we’re the last two standing, and there’s only one way to accomplish that. We have to kill everyone else, and wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?
For this idea to really work, every Potential would have to agree not to fight, and I don’t see a way of convincing them. Maybe Aristo would agree, but the others . . . it would be a waste of breath. We were all raised to believe there is but one way.
Then there are the Godleaders and what they would do faced with our refusal to engage. The rules are clear. We must all fight or Descend. Taking a stand would accomplish nothing.
And yet, Romer’s question still hammers incessantly inside my head, even as I stand in the middle of the arena, surrounded by all the clamoring Gods and Goddess who earned their spots in the stands by winning these very trials.
I roll my neck around, taking deep breaths. Distractedly, I take a hand to the wooden eagle that hangs around my neck. I secured it with a bit of twine and made a necklace. I have a piece of Delfos with me, and it reminds me of his light spirit and conscious choice to be happy every day. I wish I’d learned that much from him, but it seems it is too late for me.
The final clash will likely claim my life and any chance for happiness.
“Grand citizens of Joya d’Diosa,” Godmaster Salino speaks inside our heads, his voice echoing dramatically to fit the event, “in this, the year of the Sapphire Lizard, we are together to witness the making of a new True Joyan. Someone who will earn his or her right to inhabit our sublime citadel.
“Only the most worthy arrive to this last clash, and they stand here before us.”
The crowd goes mad, calling our names, chanting phrases of victory for their favorite contenders.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, the voices of those who fought and won before us, washing over us. Odella lifts her sword and pumps her arm. Her eyes are painted black, her hair slicked back with red streaks like blood weaved into her long tress. She beats the sword against her shield, her eyes glinting with deathlust. She can’t wait to get her hands stained.
“Odella d’Peridoto,” Godmaster Salino announces, going with the flow set by the she-beast. There are boos from the crowd, but they aren’t nearly as loud as the cheers. “She will bewitch you with one touch, steal your will and turn you into her puppet. Beware of her tricky fingers!”
The boos stop all together, and suddenly there are only cheers. The wickedness of it all it too much to resist, apparently.
“Aristo d’Citrina.” He stands next to Odella, who looks down at him with utter mockery and contempt. “A surprise contender whose wits have proved more useful than his . . . benign Godskill.”
The crowd cheers somewhat, but they seem more perplexed than anything else. No one ever imagined Aristo would make it this far and, from the terrified look in his eyes, neither did he.
“Lara d’Peridoto. Her touch is colder than the southern mountains in the dead of winter. She delights in turning her opponents to solid ice.”
“Romer d’Rubí,” Godmaster Salino calls, dragging the last syllable.
The arena seems to tremble as thousands of throats roar my friend’s name. Romer takes a step forward and lowers his head in a bow, a far cry from the exuberant display at the beginning of the trials. Reality has sank his teeth into him, letting him know he’s not a heartless murderer as he was led to believe by all the illusions he ever killed.
“Bia d’Esmeralda!” Godmaster Salino pauses, letting the crowd roar.
Impossibly, their cries are louder than they were for Romer. I take a step forward, looking around in awe and confusion. Why would they cheer a Skillbarren this way? Do the rumors Mother started have something to do it? They must, because I don’t see these former champions ever rooting for someone out of their league.
“Never,” Godmaster Salino says, “I repeat . . never . . . has a Skillbarren made it this far in the trials. But Bia d’Esmeralda’s ability with the sword has proven deadly, as every Potential knew it would. Rumor has it that if, one day, she finds her Godjewel, her skill will be one for the ages.”
This is a different rumor I haven’t heard of.
Judging by their inane cries, it seems the crowd agrees with the steward. I look toward the rostrum where Mother sits, wearing a satisfied smile on her red-colored lips. She waves with three fin
gers, looking as relaxed and unworried as if a rat was caught in this maze and not her daughter.
Five of us. That’s all that’s left.
How many still live, if nothing more than miserable human lives? I don’t know, but I doubt it’s many.
“And last, but not least, I present to you The Arena.”
At his last two words, three concentric walls rise from the field, breaking through the grass. Three rings, one inside of the other. The ground rumbles as the structure slowly reaches its full height. It’s surface is smooth, black Albasino, reflecting the light from the floating Godfire orbs.
“Each Potential will face the challenges in the two outer rings on their own,” Godmaster Salino says, giving no more detail as to what the challenges entails. “Those who make it to the center ring by the twentieth drumbeat will fight for the one and only prize, the right to stay in Joya d’Diosa. The first ring represents deception. The second, wisdom. And the final one, courage. In that order.” He pauses to let that sink in.
Deception.
Wisdom.
Courage.
I memorize the words.
“Once more, the rules are . . . alliances are limited to three members each. Every Potential is allowed to pardon one and only one other Potential. Everyone must fight or be disqualified. Godskills are allowed. May the best Potential Ascend. Let’s begin!”
Five doors appear on the smooth surface of the first circular wall. There were no signs of them before, and there will be no signs of them once we walk in, I’m sure.
“Meet you at the center,” Romer says, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his shield.
I nod and walk toward the door that appeared directly before me.
My heart is as loud as the trial drums. I can’t let Romer down.
We have a rendezvous at the center.
Chapter 26
As soon as I step into the outer-most ring, the door behind me melts close, leaving no seams or vestiges of its existence.
I look to the left where Romer’s door should be, but there’s nothing. Even though we’ve entered through the same wall, it seems we will be fighting in different planes. Of course.
I’ve drawn my sword and stand at a slight crouch, my senses alert and fine-tuned to my surroundings. The excited screams from the crowd are relegated to the background, their shrillness blunted by the walls and my intense focus.
The Godfire orbs still float above, but little of their light seems to make it into the narrow, dark passage. The second ring’s wall is close enough to the first to make me feel claustrophobic. At most, three of me could stand shoulder-to-shoulder, though it could certainly be worse.
Right or left is the same. I’m inside a circle. It doesn’t matter which way I go, so I pick right. I take a few steps forward, holding my shield in front of me, wondering where the attack will come from. Any direction is possible, even the walls. I stay away from them, sure that if I touch them, I’ll become a statue.
I walk for what feels like a quarter of the outer circle’s circumference and encounter nothing. An elated cry from the crowd makes me look up. It seems one of the other Potentials already faces the challenges this arena has to offer. I feel unlucky. This suspense is worse than anything they could throw my way.
My hands sweat. I blink at the black walls ahead as they reflect the light of two parallel Godfire orbs. Shaking my head, I wipe my eyes and blink.
No. Not orbs, eyes!
A black, liquid figure pours out of the wall, taking shape before me. It slowly elongates until it’s as tall as the wall. I thought the pit of silver diamonds had cured me of my fear of snakes, but it turns out it didn’t. Godleader Jacobo couldn’t let that be. Oh, no. He must be laughing in delight right about now.
I take two steps back, legs weak as reeds.
The snake is as black as Chaos and bigger than anything even the cuspid eagles could handle. It undulates in some macabre dance, then looks down at me with fiery eyes. Its long, forked tongue tastes the air, slipping from a smiling maw that could swallow two horses in one gulp.
My first instinct is to run, but what would be the use? I’m sure the beast is lightning fast and would bite me—or perhaps swallow me—before I even turn on my heels.
The animal lowers its head slowly. I walk backward, eyes locked to the beast’s gaze. Something trips me. A rattling sound fills my ears. The snake hisses. A quick backward glance at the ground reveals I’ve stepped on the snake’s tail, a sheep-sized rattle.
Panic explodes in my ears, thudding, thudding, thudding.
The snake is as long as the outer circle.
Angered, the beast rears back, then explodes forward, its enormous fangs dripping venom. I jump out of the way and clamber up the wall for a few steps. When my momentum dies and gravity takes over, I hit the ground running. I don’t look back, but keep going, zig-zagging, jumping the snake’s body as it gets thicker and thicker.
It strikes again, missing me by a mere hair’s breadth. But as it pulls back, whipping its head violently, it hits my leg and knocks me off balance. I fall on my side with a thud.
I scramble to my feet, but it’s too late. The beast’s head is coming down again, eyes afire with fury. I take a knee and hold my sword high with both hands, bracing for impact. In the blink of an eye, something cavernous and wet surrounds me, plunging me into darkness. For a horrifying moment, I’m inside the beast’s maw, waiting to be swallowed like a field mouse. Until I realize, the snake has impaled itself on my sword.
Hearing nothing but my own agitated breath, I wait for something to happen. The stench of putrid meat fills my nostrils. Something drips on my face. I want to think it’s the snakes blood, but I know better.
Suddenly, the beast goes up in smoke. I fall into a puddle of venom, arms and legs spasming.
My hair, my clothes, my very bones soak up the poison.
Dizziness overwhelms me. The world turns on its head just as a door into the second ring materializes before me.
Chapter 27
Dragging my sword and shield, I crawl into the second ring just as the door begins to shrink. I collapse on my elbows, barely pulling my legs in before the door shuts on them. My stomach roils. I vomit what little I managed to eat today and nearly fall face first into my own sick. Rolling away, I land on my back and stare at the sky. A Godfire orb floats straight above me.
It comes loose and falls, headed straight in my direction.
Throwing my arms over my face, I scream, anticipating the violent, searing pain.
Nothing happens.
I peer through my forearms. The orb still floats in the sky as it should.
Shadows dancing outside my peripheral vision pull my attention. I shrink into a ball, trembling in fear. He’s here to kill me, the Godmaker. He knows of my jewel, knows I’m cheating.
“Leave me alone,” I whimper, fear pouring from my pores like sweat.
I remain on the ground for who knows how long, then with a sudden burst of courage, I stumble to my feet, brandishing my sword like a drunk. I twirl, staggering from side to side, looking for an enemy. Nothing.
My ears ring. I drop my weapons and clasp my hands to both sides of my head, cowering against the wall.
What is wrong with me?!
I squeeze my eyes shut, but shadows still dance before me.
A desperate voice screams in the back of my mind.
The venom. It’s the venom.
Pulling at my hair, I fall to my knees. Reason trickles past the thick shadows, trying to make me understand.
The venom is making you hallucinate, Bia.
I slap my face and take deep breaths, looking away from the shadows that rise and fall like waves in a tempest.
Not there. They’re not there.
Picking up my sword and shield, I stand, even as the ground seems to tilt to a precarious angle. I begin walking in search of my next challenge. How to know the difference between fake and real . . . that will be the trick.
A hollow
sound reverberates inside my head. Something tells me it’s important, but I can’t figure out why. Instead, I advance on the shadows, slash at them with my sword, believing their real.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I swallow and wipe the back of my arm across my lips. The acrid stink of the venom rises from my armor. I want to strip it off, but if I get out of this ring and into the next, I may need it.
A sea sparkles before me. I stop and blink, trying to will the hallucination away.
It stays put.
Shaking my head, I look at the ground beneath my feet. I stomp on it, dig my heels into it. It’s supple and richly dark. I take a step forward without looking up. The new ground in front of my toes shimmers.
Not there.
I take another step, expecting to feel the supple earth. Instead, I step on something hard, like rocks—not shimmering water. I look closer, squinting.
Is that . . . ?
Kneeling, I grab one of the shimmering pieces.
Jewels!
Godjewels, to be precise. Thousands and thousands of them, entirely covering the ground.
This can’t be real.
I walk forward, jewels crunching underfoot. If it’s a hallucination, it’s an extremely vivid one, with sounds and a myriad of dazzling colors that blink in and out of existence as the Godfire orbs pass overhead.
After traversing about half of the ring, I’m still walking over scattered jewels with no clue as to their meaning. By now, I’m convinced they’re real and not a figment of my poisoned mind. My legs are slightly steadier, after all, which means the venom is wearing off.
I come full circle, back to the spot through which I entered. Whatever this challenge is, I must have missed it—not hard to do, considering my addled head.
The crowd is quiet, their voices a murmur compared to their previous incessant cheering. It must mean the others must be in the second ring, too, hopefully just as clueless as me as to what this challenge is all about. No reason to cheer over some poor, bumbling fools.
Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1) Page 13
