Mae knew immediately there was something wrong, because instead of a woman, she found three men waiting for them—three armed men. She promptly knocked Justin down, so strongly that he cried out in surprise. Her gun was out before he hit the floor, and she unflinchingly shot one of the attackers in the arm. One of his colleagues had the wisdom to drop to the ground also, and another joined him after Mae disarmed him and belted him across the face with the gun. She was on to the one who’d tried to elude her when she heard a voice behind her say, “Easy there. Drop your gun, or Dr. March’s career ends.”
Mae slowly turned toward the speaker. It was the tattooist, and he too was armed—holding a gun to Justin’s head. These damned annexed regions were still able to smuggle guns in. This would never have happened in civilization. She knew she was faster than the tattooist and could save herself, but that didn’t mean Justin would walk out alive. And as she met his eyes, her heart clenched. She felt a terrible, gripping fear—not for the mission, but for the loss of him. A scuffle at the back door told her others were joining them, and gritting her teeth, Mae set her gun down.
* * *
The motley Mazatlán cronies were poor excuses for captors, and their detainment was made more embarrassing when Mae thought about the lethal combatants she’d fought over the years. But she’d been stuck with that gun to Justin’s head, leaving her in this predicament. The two of them were kept tied up in the back room until darkness fell outside. That was when their captors decided they were safe to transport.
She studied the men all day and found only one who acted as though he might have had militia training from the region’s pre-RUNA days. He wasn’t adept enough to identify her guns as military issue, nor did he think to check her boot. She couldn’t use the knife while bound anyway, but she felt more secure knowing it was there.
The group led Justin and Mae to a large, worn-down building that might have been an office space in better days. They entered through a side door, and she blinked as bright light shone down from an old incandescent fixture. The room they stood in was small and cramped, and it looked as though it had once been an administrative office of sorts. A door opposite the one she had entered stood firmly closed, but unless she was mistaken, she thought she could hear the sound of people on the other side. A lot of people.
Two plebeian men waited in the office, and they tensed when Mae’s entourage entered. One was older, with graying hair, but the two men shared such a strong resemblance, she assumed they must be father and son. The son looked to be a little younger than she was, but he was built like a tank, with well-defined muscles all over his body.
“Is this him?” demanded the elder, walking over to stand in front of Justin.
“Yes,” said the tattooist.
The older man struck Justin hard across the face, and Mae flinched inside, seething with anger as he staggered backward from the blow. She tried to surge forward, despite her bindings, but two sets of hands jerked her back harshly. The older man’s eyes flickered to her. “Who’s the castal?”
“I don’t know,” the tattooist said. “She was armed to the teeth, though.”
You don’t know the half of it, she thought bitterly. She looked forward to beating these people up once she was free and Justin secure.
The older man eyed her with disinterest and turned back to Justin. “You bastard.” The man’s voice rang icily. “You fucking bastard. Because of you, I lost my daughter!”
Justin made a quick assumption and blanched. “Nadia’s dead?”
“She might as well be! After you shut her down, she came here to start a new life but decided she needed guidance from her goddess. Nadia left to commune with her in the jungle…and crossed the border! She wasn’t allowed back in.”
“She’s a citizen,” said Justin. “They should’ve let her back when they scanned her chip.”
“She removed it for the journey,” said the man mournfully. “She wanted to purify herself and be free of all man-made devices. Now border security won’t let her back, and there’s no way to put it back in out there. We’ve been trying to petition, but in the meantime, she’s stuck. And it’s all your fault for shutting her down!”
It was, quite possibly, one of the stupidest stories Mae had ever heard and furthered all she believed about religion. Everything from the idea of communing with divinity to removing the chip—a major crime—had been foolish.
“Hey, I saved her from a prison sentence,” snapped Justin. “I shut her down for a paperwork error, rather than the fact that she was preaching sedition!”
The man hit Justin again, and this time Mae—prepared for the hands restraining her—skillfully slipped underneath them and managed to place a hard kick in the older man’s stomach. His eyes widened in pain as he fell while many hands now restrained her, shoving her forcefully up against the back wall. Her head hit hard against the surface, and the implant quickly compensated for the pain.
The solidly built younger man lunged at her. “You bitch—”
“Whoa, whoa, hey, wait there, Eugene. Save your strength for the fight,” soothed one of Mae’s captors, moving in front of her.
“Fight?” asked Justin. Half of his face showed an angry red mark from the blows, though he hid any pain he might have felt.
“Yes,” wheezed the older man, allowing one of the others to help him up. “The danza.”
The tattooist, seeing their blank looks, explained, “The danza is a fight used among Clans to settle matters of honor.”
“What kind of fight?” Mae asked.
“What kind of matters?” Justin asked.
“A knife fight,” declared the young man, Eugene.
A knife fight of honor? Clans? Mae was amazed. This place really did have a long way to go.
“Tradition requires it, as does our goddess,” explained Nadia’s father. “We must avenge what you did to her.”
“What are the rules?” Mae looked expectantly between her captors and the grieving father. “You can’t expect him to fight in it without knowing the rules.”
The tattooist shrugged. “The rules are simple. The combatants must stay within the marked boundaries. Each combatant gets two knives that they are allowed to use in any way on the opponent. The winner is the one still standing at the end. The loser is the one who bleeds to death.”
Playing to the death seemed right on par with the rest of this melodrama. It was straight out of a movie: an honor-avenging duel. Crude or not, Justin wouldn’t stand a chance, especially against Eugene. The man could probably win by mass alone.
“How are the combatants chosen?” she asked, trying to puzzle a way out.
The older man made an impatient gesture, clearly annoyed by her questions. “We have no time for this. The crowd is waiting.”
She shifted uneasily and glanced at the door, where she could still hear a low roar. “We have the time.” She forced as much bravado as she could. “If this is really as honorable as you claim. Why him? Why is he fighting and not him?” She gestured to Eugene and the tattooist respectively. “Aren’t you all family? Isn’t the whole family’s honor at stake?”
“Yes,” said the tattooist in agreement. “Anyone could have done it. Eugene was simply the one chosen to represent our side.”
Ah. That was what Mae had been waiting for. Justin might live another day after all, much to the relief of gullible women everywhere. “So the combatants are representatives for the various sides?” she repeated. The men nodded. “Then I want to represent Justin. I’ll fight.”
“What? No.” The older man was livid now. “You’re wasting our time.” A dangerous gleam flared in his eyes. “I want to see March bleed.”
One of Mae’s captors, the scarred man who had originally held the gun to Justin, swallowed uncomfortably. “Uncle Raoul, she has the right. The rules of the danza say—”
“I’m not going to fight her,” said Eugene, his dark eyes running over her with disgust. “I could break her in half. It wouldn’t be right
.”
The tattooist and a few of the others who had fought her at the tattoo parlor didn’t look so convinced. She idly wondered what had happened to the guy she shot. “She has the right,” the tattooist insisted. “You have to let her, if March says it’s okay.”
All heads swiveled to Justin. “By all means, go for it,” he said immediately. “Although…if she loses—er, dies, or whatever, what happens to me?”
“Then your side has been proven guilty, and we get to kill you.”
“Great.”
“And if I live,” prompted Mae, “then Justin lives too?”
The tattooist looked at Eugene, who nodded reluctantly.
“Fine,” snapped Raoul. “Let’s just get this over with. If they’re both intent upon dying, so be it. At least this way, I can actually pull the trigger on March myself.”
Justin’s gaze flickered to Mae, and she tried to give him a reassuring look as the whole group began moving toward the door. It opened, revealing a large, vaulted room. It was hard to say, but it might once have been the kind of work space that held cubicles and desks. They’d long since been cleared out, and the dull hum she’d heard earlier strengthened to a roar. At least a hundred people were gathered along the room’s sides. An audience, how perfect. It would be just like a canne tournament.
Passing near her, the scarred captor gave her a curious and almost sympathetic look. “I hope you’re good with a knife.”
She smiled.
CHAPTER 20
A TICKING TIME BOMB
Justin stared around the “arena” in amazement. He supposed he should have felt flattered that this many people had turned out on short notice to witness his so-called punishment. Rickety makeshift bleachers ringed the room’s periphery, and nasty barbed wire lined a large, rectangular space that formed the match’s ring. Unless he was mistaken, dark blotches on the floor looked suspiciously like bloodstains.
It actually wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this. In Panama, grisly duels to the death popped up a lot among rival gangs as a more “civilized” way to deal with disputes. It was, however, the first time Justin had been at the center of one, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to be happening within Gemman borders.
Mae stood only a few feet away from him, and judging from the cool, predatory look on her face, she was busy studying her surroundings, sizing up the layout. He hoped she had a plan. He’d seen her in action enough to know she was good, but that Eugene guy was huge. And solid. Beside him, her slim body seemed hopelessly outmatched.
You’ve seen her take out guys just as big, said Horatio.
I know. But it was never to defend my honor. That, and from the looks of this rabble, I’m not convinced we’ll make it out alive even if she does win. For a moment, he forgot she was a trained warrior. She became that breathtaking lover, the one who’d lounged in his bed and given him a smile that undid him. He suddenly didn’t want her to fight. He wanted to rush forward and protect her.
Give her something to help, said Magnus.
An automatic weapon? suggested Justin.
No! Magnus sounded irritated. A blessing. Protection. It’s within your limited powers.
No, it’s not, argued Horatio. He hasn’t learned any of the runes.
We could show him, insisted Magnus.
Horatio was still obstinate. Showing isn’t the same as teaching. It takes years to learn them, to sear their meanings into the mind. That’s what he should’ve been doing in Panama, instead of chasing other men’s wives. Besides, he’d need to touch her to do a proper casting. Their hands are tied.
He could kiss her. Magnus sounded hopeful.
The crowd had cheered when they entered, and now they quieted as Nadia Menari’s father began speaking. He said nothing that hadn’t been said earlier—mostly how Justin had wronged his daughter by disbanding her church in Chicago, forcing her to flee here and go into her eventual self-imposed exile. If his life hadn’t been on the line, the whole thing would’ve been comical. Justin had seen Mae’s face when Raoul Menari told them the story of how Nadia’s vision quest had panned out. It was easy to understand why Mae held religions in such contempt, when foolish gods made people do foolish things like that.
Nadia’s goddess isn’t the one to worry about, said Magnus. Another’s moved in here. Can’t you feel it?
Justin started to say he couldn’t, but when he focused and made himself aware of his surroundings, he could detect a faint tingling along his skin and something inexplicable that danced along the edges of his mind.
It’s going to get even more crowded, added Horatio. Mae’s goddess won’t let her fight alone.
Raoul finished his rant. Two men came forward and pushed Mae toward the ring. Justin felt himself tense up, but she showed no fear as she strode forward. She kept her head held high, walking purposefully and determinedly. Someone undid her bindings and handed her two knives. She studied them carefully, tested their weight, and flipped them in the air, catching each one deftly. Satisfied with what she had found, she stripped off her overshirt, leaving herself in only a tank top. A few men in the audience whistled. She then struck a stance in her corner and watched as Eugene moved to the opposite one.
Raoul came to stand beside Justin, pure malice gleaming in the older man’s eyes. “Your castal whore is going to die for you, you know. I suppose this way, you’ll at least have company when you burn in the underworld.”
“Arianrhod big on that kind of thing?” asked Justin carefully, recalling Magnus’s comment about another goddess’s presence.
Raoul shook his head. “We no longer worship Arianrhod. We’ve since learned that she’s only an aspect of the true great goddess. That’s why Nadia went into the wilderness, to seek greater understanding.”
Justin wanted to ask more, but things were happening in the ring. A man stood in the center, holding a flag up. He glanced between Mae and Eugene, shouted something indecipherable, and thrust the flag downward. He promptly scurried away as the combatants approached each other.
Justin wasn’t entirely sure what a to-the-death knife fight of honor should be like, but he found it a lot less action packed than expected—initially at least. Oh, the tension in the room was through the roof, no doubt about that. He could see it written all over the fighters’ bodies, and the surrounding crowd was screaming for Mae’s—and his—blood. Neither combatant lunged or wrestled the other, however; things were surprisingly calm. Mae and Eugene stalked around the ring together, almost in a parody of a dance, sizing each other up.
She still had that calm, dangerous look on her face, and she seemed almost—exultant. She’s enjoying this. He was reminded of when she’d fought in Apollo’s church. Her expression had been the same then—not exactly showing pleasure, but still a sort of fierce triumph. It was impossible to take his eyes off of her. She was fierce and beautiful, her presence too big for this small room.
Told you, said Horatio.
It took a moment for Justin to understand. He blinked a few times, tuning into those powers that danced beyond normal senses, and caught faint glimpses of what could only be described as black sparkles trailing Mae. They were hard to focus on, though, and if he hadn’t seen the same thing when she fought Golden Arrow’s worshippers, he would’ve thought he was imagining it now or had something in his eye.
Divine glamour, said Horatio, being surprisingly helpful. It happens when a god seizes someone who doesn’t have the control to handle it.
Can everyone else see that? asked Justin.
No. Only adepts. Horatio’s tone said he didn’t like giving Justin that kind of credit. Look. Her opponent isn’t alone either. Justin squinted at Eugene and could just barely make out a faint shimmer around him too.
The dancing stalemate ended as Eugene surged toward Mae, his knife aiming for her upper torso. She flowed away from him like water, her movements so fast that it seemed she must have started moving before he did. Clearly surprised, he tried again with similar failur
e—only this time, after evading his attack, she snaked forward with one of her own and dragged a blade across his arm. A hiss of disapproval ran through the audience, and deep red showed against Eugene’s tanned skin.
His face darkened with anger, and he returned to feinting, as though buying time to reassess her. Mae wouldn’t give him that luxury, however, and came forward to strike twice more. One of her attacks drew blood again, but the second one missed. He had finally anticipated her—though just barely. He followed through with a full-body attack, apparently deciding to push the advantage of his greater mass since he certainly wasn’t making any grounds with speed.
Mae dodged his lunge, but he still caught part of her leg and knocked her down. Her back brushed briefly against the barbed-wire ring as she fell, and Justin winced when he saw the bloody tears in her shirt. Falling to the floor, she and Eugene rolled around a moment, away from the wire, each one vying to pin the other. Justin flinched again as one of Eugene’s knives sliced at her shoulder. The crowd roared with delight, even though he couldn’t actually manage to keep Mae down.
If the injuries fazed her at all, she didn’t show it, and in an eye-blink, she jumped back on her feet again. Eugene tried to follow suit, but she was faster, and she came at him not with a knife but with a kick of staggering proportions. She executed it gracefully, packing a force that no one her size should have been able to deliver, not even a prætorian. Eugene staggered to his knees, and then she was on him once more. He dodged her attack clumsily, avoiding her knife somewhat, though not enough to miss being swiped across the cheek. Justin could see that she’d originally been targeting the man’s neck.
Raoul Menari, standing near Justin, drew in his breath as Eugene quickly wiped at the large, bloody gash on his face, inadvertently smearing more dark blood across his skin. He sweated and breathed heavily now, clearly in the throes of physical exertion. Mae showed less distress, but it was obvious from her expression and posture that every ounce of her being was wrapped up in this fight. That glittering dark aura continued to intensify, and as it did, he saw the change in her. Her expression grew harder, her moves faster, her strikes stronger.
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