Gods of Blood and Bone (Seeds of Chaos Book 1)

by Azalea Ellis

  I almost said yes. But then I saw the happy, charming smile on his face, and over his shoulder, the empty little body lying on the ground. Putrid disgust for myself washed over me. I hated myself, truly, at that moment.

  “No. I’m not the one you want.” I turned and dragged my left leg slowly toward the cube, which now displayed the “Do you want to leave?” message, and pushed “Yes.”

  Chapter 10

  I carry death in my left pocket.

  — Charles Bukowski

  The feel of my suddenly lighter body and the sight of concrete walls rising up into smoggy air on either side allowed me to let out a sigh of relief. A window popped up, telling me I’d earned a few levels and Seeds. As the tension left my body, the pain and exhaustion washed over me like the waves of a rising tide. My head spun, and I fell against the wall and started to shiver. Blobs of light and dark swam across my vision, and a distant voice shocked me to alertness again.

  With a gasp, I looked around. I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting on the ground, but numbness had overtaken my whole left leg and butt, and was spreading through my torso. I was shivering and clammy from blood loss, and my heart beat fast trying to keep my body oxygenated. “Damn it. No, no.” I shook my head helplessly. Soon, the numbness and paralysis would spread to my lungs.

  I jabbed at my ID sheath, but the shattered surface didn’t respond. No phone call possible. I called out weakly toward the sidewalk, but the alley took a sharp turn, so no one could see me, and I was too weak to shout.

  One last resort. “Bunny?”

  He responded immediately.

  YOU’RE BACK.

  SHIT. YOU LOOK LIKE CRAP.

  —Bunny—

  I swallowed. “I need help. If I don’t get to the hospital, I’m going to die.”

  WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED?

  —Bunny—

  My tongue felt furry and thick. “Got spit on by some monsters and my whole body’s getting paralyzed. Bit up pretty bad, blood loss…” I struggled for another breath. “Maybe a couple broken bones. Please, call an ambulance.”

  I CAN’T DO THAT. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO SAY HAPPENED TO YOU? THERE’LL BE QUESTIONS.

  —Bunny—

  A surge of rage and desperation gave me a few morsels of energy. “If you don’t help me, I’m going to die right here on the ground! You will remember my death forever. How I begged you for help, and how you murdered me.”

  No response, and then,

  I CAN’T CALL AN AMBULANCE. BUT MAYBE I CAN GET HELP…

  —Bunny—

  The rage slipped away, and with it went my strength. My eyes closed, and when I opened them, I was somehow lying on the ground.

  A bright orange screen pulsed inches from my face.

  STAY AWAKE! HELP IS ON THE WAY.

  TALK TO ME.

  —Bunny—

  I heard a deep voice speaking, panting and hoarse, but I couldn’t make out the words. I roused a bit, and tried to tell it I couldn’t understand, but all that came out was a ragged wheeze. I thought my eyes were open, but black crept in from the edges of my vision, wiping out the alley.

  Running feet appeared in my last pinprick of sight, and then I knew only the black nothingness.

  * * *

  I woke with a gasp to a blonde boy giving me CPR.

  He drew back with a relieved sigh and slumped against the opposite wall of the alley as I sucked for the air every cell in my body screamed for.

  When I was re-oxygenated I sat up and stretched carefully. My legs both moved, and though the left one was considerably stiff, and still numb, I could now feel the ankle swelling painfully.

  What had he done to save me? I narrowed my eyes and looked him over. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes, white teeth, and clothes that were worth more than everything in my closet put together. But the interesting things were the look in his eyes, and his exhausted shivering.

  “Did Bunny send you?” My voice scratched against my throat and sent me into a fit of coughing.

  He slipped off a light backpack and tossed me a half-empty water bottle from within.

  I downed the contents in a few gulps, water overflowing and running over my cheeks and down my throat. “Thanks.” I handed the empty bottle back. "So? Did he?"

  The boy took a deep breath and nodded.

  "Did you heal me?"

  He nodded again.

  "How?"

  He raised the corners of his mouth in an unhappy smile. "It's my Skill."

  "Your Skill? You mean from the Characteristic Trial?" I didn't wait for his response. "Show me."

  He frowned at me and didn’t move, so I smiled back as innocently as possible. "I'm Eve. What's your name?"

  "Sam. Samuel, but I go by Sam." He smiled back at me, wide and open, and I decided that I liked him.

  "How long have you been a Player, Sam?"

  "A few months."

  "Wow. I'm a new Player. I don't have any Skills yet, and I'd love to see your Skill in action. Would you show me?" I tried again, this time with a smile.

  He'd stopped shivering, and gave me a half-shrug. "I guess something small couldn't hurt." He moved toward me and took my hand, which had long scratches along the palm, outlined in blood.

  He held out his other hand. His skin separated and started to bleed, the same pattern as the cuts on my hand. Then it closed up again, gone as if it had never been.

  He wiped the blood off on his jeans and showed me the unmarred skin. Then he rubbed at my cuts with his thumb, and the dried blood flaked off, showing skin just as smooth as if I'd never been cut.

  My mouth hung open and I flexed my hand. It didn’t hurt. "It's gone. You took the injury from me?"

  He nodded. "That's my Skill. I take the injury on myself and heal it." He looked down for a moment and in the blue depths of his eyes, I saw a shadow move, but it passed.

  "That's completely amazing!"

  He gave me a small smile. "Not really. I can't heal everything as easily as that cut. For instance, your poison. I only took a bit of that. I can't do anything about your previous blood loss, and I'll have to do a few more passes before you can be safely left alone. But I took care of the lung paralysis, so we've got time."

  I shook my head. "No. It really is amazing. And you've been a Player for months. That in itself is amazing, too. Do you have others to help you?"

  He shook his head. "No. I play alone."

  Good. That meant I might be able to use him without the hindrance of other Players.

  "And you'll want to burn or bury these pants. Don't wash them. The saliva might be reactivated if you do, and you don't want that spreading through the city's water system." He placed his hand on my hip, and some of the numbness from that area receded. He took a few minutes of rest while his body fought off the effects of the poison, and then did it again, and again, moving down my left leg toward the original point of contact.

  Then he placed his hand on my rib and some of the pain of each breath flowed away. My armored vest had returned to its original state of two black bands crossing my chest sometime while I’d been too out of it to notice the change.

  “You've got a few fractures there. I'm not healing them completely, but I've given you a jumpstart on the process."

  "Why did you come?"

  He shrugged. "I came because I heard you needed me. What else could I do?"

  I laughed. "You could have ignored me. Or you could have used my weakness against me."

  "Well, I guess I could have. But for what?"

  "I can think of a few things. Like Seeds. But you wouldn't do that, would you? Because you're a genuinely good person."

  His eyes rose to mine in surprise. "I'm not, really. I use good behavior to mask the truth."

  "The truth?" I parroted.

  "I’m not an angel. I'm the harbinger of death," he murmured, and stood up, obviously exhausted from his efforts. "I've got to get home. My parents might be wondering where I'm at."

  I nodded and
rose carefully to my feet. If he didn't want to discuss his secret with me, that was fine. I could understand that. But it didn't change the judgment I'd made of him. "Thank you, Sam. Really. You saved my life." I met his eyes, making sure my own held that judgment of him clear to see.

  He looked at me for a moment, then smiled happily, gave me a nod of acknowledgment, and started to walk away.

  "Wait!"

  He turned.

  "Give me your contact information."

  He hesitated, so I stepped forward, limping from the pain of my sprained ankle. "Please. I just want to be able to contact you in case something happens. You can trust me."

  He held out his wrist with an ID bracelet on it, but my link was too broken to accept the flashed information.

  "Just tell me. I'll remember your number," I said.

  I stood in silence for a while after he’d gone, and then spoke into the empty air. "Bunny. Thank you."

  YOU’RE WELCOME, EVE.

  —Bunny—

  * * *

  I entered my house carefully in case my mother and brother were there. My clothes were once again ruined, and despite what Sam had done for me, injuries riddled my body. How would I explain that? ‘I got mugged by a meat processor?’ I placed my hand on the doorknob to my bedroom and turned the handle slowly so as not to make too much noise.

  "Where were y— What happened?" Zed's urgent voice came from his bedroom doorway, which he had just opened.

  I opened my mouth and closed it again, like a fish.

  He looked me up and down, then rushed toward me and grabbed my shoulders as if I might collapse at any moment. "Oh my god. Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

  I shook my head sharply. "Shh! Be quiet."

  He frowned down at me as if I was crazy. "What do you mean, be quiet? You're hurt bad, Eve! I'm going to call Mom."

  I clapped my hand over his mouth and shook my head vehemently, then dragged him into my room. I closed and locked the door behind us and turned back to him. "You can't tell anyone about this. Please."

  "Tell anyone about what? Were you bullied? Did someone hurt you? Just tell me who it was, Eve. I'll make sure they never touch you again."

  I smiled and shook my head, looking at his clenched fists. He wanted to be the savior, but there was nothing he could do about this. He couldn't know. I didn't want him to be the subject of one of NIX’s cleanup operations. Would they make it look like another run away? Or maybe an accidental death? "Trust me, Zed. You don’t understand. I'm doing this for your own good. Please, just listen to me. Trust me. Have I ever led you wrong before?"

  He sputtered and shook his head. "I can't just ignore this. I—”

  I cut him off. "I'm not asking you to ignore it. I'm asking you to keep it a secret. I'm asking you to not ask questions. Please. I need you to do this for me." I looked into his eyes and imbued my voice with as much sincerity as possible.

  He clenched his jaw and frowned at me as if in pain. After a long, tense moment, he said, "Can't you let me help you?"

  I smiled widely, knowing I'd won. "I can. Help me put on some ointment and wrap up all these little cuts," I said, though I knew that wasn’t what he meant. I went into the bathroom and pulled out the small energy cartridge digging into my stomach. It was strange to see it in my ordinary bathroom, something from that place infiltrating the mundane life. I wrapped it and the armored vest bands in my ruined clothes to hide it and took a quick shower.

  I returned to my room in baggy pajamas to find Zed waiting with the medbot. I tossed the bundle of clothes into my closet.

  He helped me to rub the disinfectant cream over most of my cuts. "What did this to you? Never mind.” He snorted. “I suppose you won't tell me."

  I smiled. "That's right. Thank you.”

  The sound of the front door opening filtered through the house, and we looked at each other in panic.

  Zed quickly shooed me into my bed and pulled the cover over me, then slipped the first aid kit and medbot next to my feet as my mother called out to us.

  “Go,” I said.

  “I’ll keep her away.” He opened my door and called, “Welcome home,” to her. He turned and threw me a glance over his shoulder. A look that said I owed him one.

  I raised an eyebrow and smiled. I did owe him one. But I couldn't repay him with the answers I knew he craved.

  When he was gone, I rose and locked the door again. Then I returned to my bed and extended my palm. Seeds appeared in a ripple of the air and dropped into my hand. I chose two and held them to my neck, planting them into Resilience.

  By the morning, I had healed more than I thought possible. "Note to self. Resilience is useful.”

  Log of Captivity 2

  Mental Log of Captivity-Estimated Day: Two thousand, five hundred ninety-seven.

  My link to my master has been growing stronger, but only today did I realize how weak she is. She must be still young, still new. I am needed as a protector, and yet I am confined by these two-leg-maggots while she is in danger. I could do nothing but send my words to her again, but I received nothing back. I suspect this is because the blood-covenant is still incomplete, only one-sided. I despise my own uselessness. If my mother-lord saw me, she would spit at my feet.

  Chapter 11

  The caged bird sings of freedom.

  — Maya Angelou

  I opened my window to let warm summer air flow through my room and placed the two black tokens on the windowsill. My own token, sharp and bold, with hidden edges that just might cut if touched the wrong way. The boy's, looping and delicate. It matched him, too fragile to protect himself.

  An exploding heat inside of me forced its way out. Hatred, helplessness and self-loathing raged in me, and I swallowed them down, slumping boneless to the floor. Small sounds like those of a wounded animal came from my throat as I cried—great, heaving sobs.

  I'd thought I deserved better than the horror NIX put me through, thought I was just another victim, thought I was good. But it turned out I was just a hypocrite.

  Zed would have made a better Player than me. He wouldn't have used his first Seeds so selfishly, so stupidly, and he would never have seen a small child gather for a Trial, and then leave to protect himself without a second thought for the boy.

  I cried until snot and tears soaked into the rough carpet under my face. When I finally stopped, I felt better. Zed would have handled the situation better, definitely, but thank God the universe didn't see fit to punish him that way and make him a Player. However, I was a Player, and that wasn't going to change.

  "Who I am isn't going to change, either." I wiped my wet face against my sleeve. I couldn't change, and I didn't want to. I cared about my own survival. I wanted to live, and I would do anything to make that happen. But if I could do it all again, I'd protect the kid from the beginning. Now it was too late for him, but there would be other chances. Other chances to make sure I didn't regret my actions.

  I went to the bathroom, washed my face with cold water, and looked at myself hard in the mirror. Blotches covered my face and my eyes were puffy and red from crying, but my gaze didn't waver.

  I wouldn't feel guilty again, I vowed. I returned to my Skill tokens and picked them up. I would need power to back that promise.

  * * *

  I asked Bunny a question I'd been wondering about for a while. "Do Players ever commit suicide?"

  He took his time answering.

  YES. YOU’RE NOT THINKING OF…

  —Bunny—

  "No, no, I'm not. I'm more the type to cling to life with my fingernails. I don't have the constitution to kill myself. I was just curious."

  WELL, I’VE ONLY HEARD RUMORS FROM OTHER MODERATORS. IT HASN’T HAPPENED TO ME.

  —Bunny—

  "What happens to them—the Players that kill themselves?"

  WELL, THEY’RE DEAD. BUT OTHER THAN THAT, WE SEND OUT THE CLEANERS FOR THE BODY, MAKE SURE THERE’S NO SUICIDE NOTE WITH INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE, ETC. NO ONE WILL FIND
OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM.

  —Bunny—

  "What do the cleaners do with the bodies?"

  I DON’T KNOW. THAT’S NOT PART OF MY JOB, AND I’M NOT PRIVY TO THAT INFORMATION.

  —Bunny—

  "Well, I've never seen someone start out as a dead body at the beginning of the Trial. That's happens later," I joked bitterly. "So at least they escaped that."

  DEAD PLAYERS ARE TAKEN OFF THE LISTS OF ACTIVE PLAYERS, SO I THINK SO. WHAT WOULD BE THE POINT TO SEND A DEAD PERSON TO THE TRIAL?

  —Bunny—

  "Yeah," I said, and dropped the issue. But I filed that tidbit away in the back of my mind. All information was important when it came to NIX and the Game. I never knew what might someday save my life.

  That didn't end up being the information that saved my life. In fact, it very nearly got me killed.

  * * *

  I held the token the boy had given me to my neck and spoke aloud, experimenting. “I wish I had the Skill ‘Tumbling Feather.’ ”

  I felt a familiar pain as it pricked my skin and injected its hidden contents into me.

  A window popped up.

  YOU HAVE GAINED A NEW SKILL: TUMBLING FEATHER

  I waited for side effects, something strange or burning or a sense of strength or well-being, but nothing happened. So I held my own token to my neck and spoke again. “I wish I had the Skill 'Spirit of the Huntress.' "

  Again, no response in my body.

  I looked out over the communal park stretching out beneath my fourth-floor window. My backyard. A tree obscured some of the view, its branches almost close enough to touch. I leaned forward absentmindedly to see if I could reach.

  A small bird fluttered toward me, chirping angrily, and then disappeared into the thick foliage.