This woman was nothing like the vulnerable, friendly, sad witch Cross had met just a few nights before. She licked her teeth and lips in violent anticipation while the Vuul held his fists in the air, much to the delight of the crowd.
“ She won’t be much good to us dead,” Graves said. Cross could barely hear him; the crowd had worked into frenzy. Noise collapsed against his ears. Cash and coins and notes passed hands with such speed Cross couldn’t fathom how anyone even communicated their bets. Maybe that wasn’t the point.
“ There’s not much we can do,” Stone said angrily.
Cross watched her. The space behind her cold, dead eyes was the deepest part of the room, a center of gravity that drew everything into it. An invisible darkness seemed to dwell there, an inky whirlpool that Cross felt himself drawn to in spite of himself, and he saw that he wasn’t the only one: every spectator was held entranced, deer before a lion, gripped by some terrifying fascination, like moths trapped before the brightest flame. Even the Vuul gladiator seemed to feel it, and it was only the race’s natural resistance to magic that prevented him from being entirely lulled under her spell.
That’s not something you can do all of the time, Cross thought. Or by choice. Her spirit must have been wholly enraged and left unrestrained to exercise that much power. It fed off of the emotions in the room, which was as dangerous for everyone else as it was for Cristena herself. If she was unable to contain her spirit if it decided to lash out, the arcane backlash would be like a warehouse of gasoline lit by a powder bomb.
If Cross still retained his own spirit, he could have helped her. Even as dangerous as it was to mingle spirits — especially spirits of the opposite gender — he could have used his magic to curtail Cristena’s raw power, and possibly minimize any damage it did. As things stood, Cross was just a well-informed spectator.
Lucky me, I’m the only one in the room who realizes how much trouble we’re in.
When the battle began, the air exploded like brittle glass.
Cristena moved like a violent shadow. She sprang through the air, and her blades swept across the Vuul’s chest. He went to his knees. The Vuul was fast, and before Cristena could strike again he caught her with a backhanded blow in the sternum that sent her crashing into the blood-stained wall. The crowd gasped, howled, and cheered. Cross could almost taste the bloodlust in the air. He watched Cristena, and wondered if she’d rise from the crumpled heap she’d landed in.
The Vuul strode over. Though injured, his supernatural metabolism had already started to stitch his wounds, and the cuts that leaked his ebon blood slowed to barely a trickle. Bones tensed and cracked beneath his sickly flesh. His cold face twisted from stoic to cruel. His heavy feet stamped on the muck-stained floor. Most of Cristena’s torso would fit beneath one of the Vuul’s boots.
“ She’s done,” Stone muttered.
There was nothing they could do.
Cross decided to do something, anyway.
The sweat and stain of the crowd hung like a miasma. Cross’ fingers glistened with grime and sweat. Blood pounded in his ears. He drew a deep and steadying breath, and grabbed the bag of phosphorous. Warlocks often carried explosive powders, sometimes as backup to their own magic, and sometimes just for kicks. Cross hated the stuff, but there were times when it proved handy to be able to provide a big flash and bang at the drop of a hat. The powders he carried were so innocuous in smell and appearance that they often escaped notice, which was exactly what Cross had been betting on when he’d smuggled them into the White Spider.
Cross tasted electric dew and salt on his tongue, and the powder in the bag seemed to dissolve straight through his skin. Cross pinched some between his index finger and thumb, held it for a moment, and then quietly dropped the white powder onto the floor. The air around his feet grew instantly cold, like he’d stepped into a frozen stream. The spectral tongues of ghosts licked his skin. It almost — almost — felt like he’d found his spirit again, but it wasn’t her. The energies he conjured from the arcane hex powder weren’t spirits at all, but trapped ectoplasmic essence, like a recorded voice or a rapidly fading memory.
Vapor crept along the floor like a freezing tide. White smoke, as faint as a snowy mist, slowly rose.
Cross glanced into the pit. Cristena had somehow roused herself and was on her feet again. She and the Vuul circled one another. She looked bloody and exhausted, but her eyes were as sharp as the scimitars in her hands, and her feet moved with cunning speed and grace across the floor. The Vuul, on the other hand, barely even looked winded, as his rapid healing had sealed nearly every trace of his wounds.
In moments, the sweaty air was replaced with the heady smell of magic, and the first row of spectators was neck deep in a hazy white fog. Ghostly faces shifted and melted in the smoke, aberrant spectral clouds that leered and growled. Cross, Stone and Graves pulled themselves off to the side of the room, where they could avoid being trampled by panicked spectators.
The room came alive with fear, and what had moments before been a chorus of cheers and angry shouts turned to screams. Bodies pushed together in a frenzy.
“ What the hell?” Graves shouted. “Did you do that?” he asked Cross.
“ Maybe,” Cross said.
“ Idiot,” Stone growled.
Cross kept his body pressed against the wall. Once the crowd thinned and the throng pushed and elbowed its way violently closer to the double doors that led out of the chamber, Cross was able to make his way down rows of seats to the arena. The ground was slick from the touch of arcane powder, even though the effect had already begun its rapid dissipation process.
By the time Cross came to the edge of the pit, the fight had already been stopped by White Spider bouncers, tall and heavily armored men with jagged swords and revolvers. The Vuul warrior looked as if it had calmly accepted that the match was over, as it had already moved halfway out the door down in the pit, but Cristena appeared angry. The pair of guards sent to retrieve her looked like they’d been sent to wrestle a wild tiger.
“ Cristena!” Cross shouted. She looked up, and their eyes locked. He saw the same desolate woman he’d spoken to back at Krugen’s.
She doesn’t want to be saved, he realized, but at the moment there were needs beyond hers to consider.
“ Cross!” Stone shouted. He and Graves had fought their way through the crowd and caught up with him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“ Good question,” one of the sentries asked. “You got business with our merchandise?”
“ Merchandise?” Graves asked angrily. “You’d better be joking, you ass.”
Stone shot Graves a look, but it was already too late. The departing crowd was massed around the entrance to the arena, which thankfully meant that the three of them had some time before any more of the White Spider’s thugs could respond to the situation. Cross had his bare fingers dipped in another pouch of powder, a fine crimson dust that sent a burning chill straight up the nerves of his arm and back down into his gut.
“ What’s it to you, Shorty?” the guard sneered at Graves. The guard’s head was arched up so that he could see, and one hand was on the hilt of his large-caliber hunting revolver.
The other two sentries and the Vuul stopped.
That meant there were four of them, along with the Vuul, down in the pit with Cristena, while Cross, Graves and Stone, in spite of possessing the higher ground, had no actual weapons and were on the other side of a protective wire mesh fence.
The hell with it, Cross told himself. Stone stepped up to the edge, where he would likely do something intelligent like negotiate a peaceful resolution. Well, Cross thought, surprising himself, I guess I’ll put a stop to that.
“ She’s coming with us,” Cross said. He sounded much more confident than he felt.
“ Are you here to rescue me?” Cristena asked him. Her voice was distant and cold. “What makes you think I need your help?”
The guards laughed. Cross nodded at Cristena, motioning
that she should drop to the ground. She looked confused, but she nodded back.
“ You just had that ‘Damsel in Distress’ look about you, I guess,” he smiled. He felt Stone and Graves’ befuddled looks without needing to actually look at them. The sound of the frantic crowd had faded to a background haze. There in the arena, everything had turned quiet.
“ I don’t need you,” she said. Her eyes went down. The guards laughed again, but their hands hovered closer to their pistols. Cross’ chest felt so tight he thought he might implode.
“ Maybe not,” he said. “But I need you.”
His hand flashed forward. Cristena dropped to her knees and pulled her hands over her head. Necrotic red powder fell onto the guards’ exposed faces. Their flesh went black and bloody when the poison dust entered their lungs and eyes. Their screams erupted in liquid spurts as acid chewed its way down their throats and tore their stomachs apart.
The other two guards left the Vuul and charged at Cristena with their blades. Cristena stepped back, sideswiped the first guard and sent him careening into the wall with a roundhouse kick. Her spirit moved with her, around her, an extension and a shield of herself. It was invisible to Cross, but he recognized the pattern of movement, and he sensed the bitter cloud of acrid magic and the swirls of black dust that the spirit left in its wake.
The second sentry brought his blade up, but Cristena swept his blow aside, used her momentum to keep him off balance, and in a quick series of spin thrusts used her scimitars to take both of his arms off at the elbows.
Stone and Graves kicked their way through the mesh fence and leapt into the pit. Graves landed on the guard that Cristena had kicked against the wall. He took hold of the guard’s head and pummeled the man’s skull against the stone until he stopped moving.
“ What the hell?!” Cristena yelled at them. “Why did you come here?!”
“ Wait, do we know you?” Stone asked. Stone didn’t know her, Cross realized, but Graves probably remembered her from the Black Hag.
Cross was the only one still on the main floor. The crowd was gone, and more White Spider sentries were on their way.
Cross moved to leap down, but his eyes caught on the Vuul, still down in the pit, silent and still.
“ Guys…” Cross said.
The Vuul stared back at him. Its muscles tensed, and its anvil-like fists clenched. Even with the chaos in the background Cross heard those steel-like bones tighten. The Vuul’s blank expression didn’t change, and his solid white eyes didn’t blink.
Cross had no doubt the Vuul could kill all four of them.
After a moment, however, the Vuul stepped back, and he nodded to the open door that led to the tunnels beneath the arena.
“ Let’s go,” Cristena said.
“ Wait…” Graves began, but Cristena was quick to cut him off.
“ You can stay here if you want,” she snapped. “I don’t care one way or another.”
Cross leapt down into the pit. He landed with less grace than usual, righted himself, and followed Cristena out of the arena. Graves and Stone were right behind them.
She led them into a dark and narrow network of subterranean passages, the underbelly of the White Spider. The air down below was cloying and tight, and it smelled of sweat, urine and fear. They heard the growl of the Spider’s sentries in the distance behind them.
Cristena guided them through a veritable labyrinth of short and claustrophobic tunnels that wound up and around. Side passages led to torch-lit rooms filled with weapons, chemicals and bodies; Cross guessed that serving narcotic drinks and staging violent pit brawls weren’t the only shady activities the proprietors of the White Spider were involved in.
Cross’ heart pounded as they raced through the tunnels, but after a few minutes he didn’t hear any sounds of pursuit. There was no telling how deep or how far they’d gone.
Finally, when the smell of sewage had grown so strong that Cross had to use smelling salts on himself to keep from getting sick, Cristena stopped.
They stood at a four-way intersection of greasy and slime-coated tunnels. Vents released gouts of superheated steam into the dank underground air, and a narrow stream of mucus, grime and muck slithered down the tunnel in a nauseating flow. Dank brown water oozed down from the ceiling like gritty rain. Thick sewer grates stood in the diagonal walls of the intersection, and an ancient and rusted iron ladder led straight up, where it vanished into darkness.
“ The ladder will lead you to the surface,” Cristena said. “So do me a favor and get out. You’ve done enough damage.”
“ Damage?” Graves said, exasperated. “Honey, we just saved your life.”
“ Thanks for nothing, then,” she bit back. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“ No, you didn’t,” Stone interjected. “But we’re asking for yours.”
Cristena laughed. She was exasperated, Cross thought, maybe surprised, and undoubtedly angry. With all of that, Cross was glad that all she did was laugh.
“ That’s a pretty funny way of asking for my help,” she said with a mean-spirited smile. “Of course I’ll help you! You busted in on my fight, started a mass panic, and you made it so that there’s no chance I’ll ever be able to talk my way back into the Spider ever again. I owe you SO much!” The smile faded. “I hope there’s something horrible waiting up there for you. I really do.”
Cristena stalked past them, back the way they’d came.
“ Why did you help us escape?” Cross asked her. He saw the spider in his mind, the white spider from the field on that day that he and Snow had visited their mother’s grave. The same spider he’d seen in Krugen’s, when he’d learned that Cristena’s husband was among those lost in the search for Red. The same spider that was the name of the place where they’d found Cristena.
I’m supposed to be here, he thought. That’s the deal with the spider, it has to be.
Cristena hesitated.
“ Because I know why you’re here,” she said. She still faced the other way. “And I want you to succeed.”
“ Then come with us,” Cross said. “We need your help.”
Cristena turned around, slowly, her boots sloshing in the muck.
“ I already told you,” she said quietly. “I’m not interested.”
“ Yeah,” Cross said. “I can see that. You’re busy trying to get yourself killed.”
“ Go to hell,” Cristena answered.
“ Look,” Cross said, and he stepped closer, leaving Stone and Graves so he could speak with her alone. “I get it. I really do. I’ve lost…everything…in the past few days. My spirit. My sister. My hope. But this has to be done. I don’t think I’m going to live through this.”
He hadn’t actually realized that until that very moment, and his insides coiled up like rope at having said it aloud, because he believed it.
Cristena regarded him stoically. She was strong, but he could see the strings that held her together coming unraveled. She was almost ready to die.
Almost.
“ If we have to die,” he said, “I want our deaths to mean something.”
Cristena smiled bitterly.
“ You’re such a romantic. I think I pity you.”
“ Look, enough, all right?!” Cross said. “Just cut the crap. We need your help. I’ve needed your help. Remember when I asked you to be our tracker back in Thornn? Well, my sister became our tracker instead, and now…she’s gone. We have no chance of finding Red unless someone helps us, and right now that someone has got to be you. Maybe you’ve given up on living, but there are a lot of people who haven’t. If you’re too selfish to see that…” Cross took a breath. “Then I don’t know what to tell you.”
They stood silent.
“ Nice speech,” Cristena said after a moment. “You do that a lot?”
“ No,” Cross smiled sadly. “I’m actually pretty impressed with myself right now.”
They waited. Stone and Graves looked on, silently. Cristena’s eyes focused on s
omething only she could see there in the greasy waters.
“ Cross?” she said after a moment.
“ Yeah?”
“ Why did you try to save me? I would’ve been all right in that fight, you know. I could’ve taken him.”
Cross thought for a moment.
“ I know,” he said.
“ Then why?”
Cross hesitated.
“ A little spider told me to.”
“ I’m sorry?”
“ Don’t worry about it.”
“ So is she with us?” Stone asked from behind them.
“ She is capable of answering for herself,” Cristena said coldly. “Thanks.”
“ This is our Squad leader, Abraham Stone,” Cross said. “That gnarly looking blonde fellow is Sam Graves. Gentlemen, this is Cristena…”
“ Da’avros,” she said.
“ Cristena Da’avros.”
“ Your new tracker,” she added.
“ Pleased to meet you,” Stone said. “And now we need to move. With what Captain Impulsive here just pulled,” Stone said with an eye on Cross, “we’ll need to exercise a bit more caution from here on out.”
“ A bit more caution?” Cristena said dryly. “Why don’t we start with any caution. Period.”
“ We’re cautious,” Graves said defensively.
“ No offense, but if what happened up there is your idea of being cautious…well…”
“ You can say it,” Stone smiled. “We’re dead.”
“ Yeah.”
FOURTEEN
PALE
Cristena quickly took charge, in part because she knew Dirge better than any of the rest of them, but also because she simply had an incredibly forceful personality. Besides having been competently trained in the arts of tracking and combat, Cristena was also a powerful witch. Unlike Cross, she’d never had any institutionalized magical training, but had instead received tutelage from a shaman. Also unlike Cross, Cristena was highly opinionated and very sure of her own abilities.
Blood Skies (blood skies) Page 14
