Cold Mark

by Scarlett Dawn

  The Crank Pit was much like its namesake—a pit.

  It was an enormous, brown, mud coated circular tent, with wooden planks as bleachers that circled a sunken fighting area. There was only one way in for the Mian—the entrance was also the exit—where the bleachers were split for a large walkway in and out of the structure.

  Luckily, I wasn't Mian.

  The brown tent was flush against the back of highest bleachers. Beneath where the Mian would sit, I waited in hiding to watch. Under the bleachers, the ground was a mixture of dirt and sand; the closer you moved to the pit, the more sand you had to endure.

  I grunted in the subdued light, the sun barely visible through the dark tent, as I moved from a crouch to a belly crawl and made my way closer to the edge. The cool sand that had dried blood mixed throughout it—obviously kicked up from the fighting are—wasn't the easiest to move on, and my continual griping was the only sound heard. No one was awake yet in Vlymun so I could make as much noise as I wished. If the late night city chatter I had overheard was correct, the Plumas' prize Human—I knew it had to be Jax—would be fighting tonight.

  Apparently, it wasn't Jax's first battle in this pit.

  The way the Mian had spoken, it had almost sounded like they viewed him as a god in the ring.

  That was a good thing. A very good thing.

  If the Mian adored him as much as they seemed to, they would be treating him well.

  I had no fear of him being hurt by one single Mian in a sparring match—even if it was to the death. Jax was that good. My main worry was that I wouldn't be able to track him after he was removed from the Crank Pit and still keep myself from being caught. It would be tricky in the dark of night, but I had to try. If I could free him, we might be able to live together on Triaz without being caught, now that I knew this mysterious land better.

  He and I were of the day.

  While the Mian were of the night.

  The Mian's weakness to light had worked to my advantage.

  Finally comfortable, with a clear view of the pit through the lowest bleachers, I rolled to my side so I could reach the pockets of my cloak. I pulled out the fresh meat I had pinched from the deli only an hour ago. From my other pocket, I extracted the 'borrowed' pain relievers. I quickly popped three pills into my mouth and frowned. It was the last of them. I would have to steal more.

  Tossing the empty bottle aside, I started munching on the meat. The sun was still high in the sky, so I knew I would have time for a long nap before the festivities began. After the walk here, I was exhausted. I quickly devoured my meal, pulled my hood down far over my eyes, and settled down for a few winks of shut-eye.

  I gasped quietly when I was bumped from the back. My eyes flew open, and I barely resisted the urge to scream. With my blood boiling hot, and my palms instantly damp, I clamped my mouth shut and held perfectly still.

  Voices surrounded me.

  Deep timbres—masculine and adult—were coming from above on the bleachers ... but children's prattling was on either side of me. I bit my lip in frustration—no longer in fear—as I suddenly realized that my hiding spot was not just my hiding spot. By the sound of it, children were all over down here, but with hushed voices as to not alert the adults above. They must have slipped in under the tent's edge as I had done.

  Dammit. I had been more tired than I thought ... not to mention warm. The Mian kids surrounding me were like mini heaters, and I had spent too long being chilled living in the sewers. I hadn't slept this well since ... Joyal.

  Not allowing the memories of home to invade too deeply, I sighed quietly. I would be trapped here until they began leaving. With my hood covering my eyes, they had no clue I wasn't Mian. My smaller stature also gave the impression that I was a child. But unless they left early, my hopes for tracking Jax might be foiled for this night. I would have to wait and see.

  Moving quietly to my stomach, I tried not to bump the kids on either side of me too much. But I wasn't stupid. During the process of rolling, I grabbed the knife I had stolen from my Vaq—what seemed like so long ago—from under my cloak and gripped it loosely. They may just be Mian kids ... .but they were still Mian. A group of them could take me down easily with their added strength and speed.

  I lay silently between two chattering Mian mini-heaters, watching as more Mian poured through the entrance. There was light inside the tent, but it was subdued, making me squint to see clearly to the entrance/exit. The Mian were loud and boisterous, pounding each other on the back in greeting, drowning out the kids gossiping. All sported the tattooed mark of the east near their right eye—a star. My Vaq wore the tattoo of the west near their left eye—a circle with a line through it. Seeing so many of the east all in one place kept my mouth shut tight. I doubted I would receive a warm welcome if anyone realized I was Soul to the Plumas of the west.

  Through the space between the feet of the Mian, who sat down on the bleacher directly above my head, I analyzed the occupants on the far bleachers as much as I could from under my hood. I couldn't see the Plumas of the east, but that wasn't saying much since I could only see a small section. Judging by the finer apparel the Mian were wearing tonight, it gave me a good sign that my intel had been correct. It appeared they were dressing up just in case they had the opportunity to speak with their much loved Plumas.

  I tried not to snort at the thought.

  No matter what planet you lived on, some things never changed. Politics were still politics.

  The 'games' began within fifteen minutes. I was extremely glad I had the hood to deflect all the sand that continued to fly up from the pit. The kids next to me weren't so lucky in their chancy entertainment. They squirmed and coughed as the bloody granules sailed in the air. It only exhilarated them though, if their small fists pumping in the tight area was any indication.

  I stayed low and quiet, watching as Mian warriors continued to maim each other.

  Death ... and more death. All while the crowd cheered in energized fervor.

  It was disgusting ... and curiously engaging. By the time the tenth pair was brought in through the entrance, I could almost tell who was going to win—live—before they even began battling one another. The way they held themselves, and their weapon of choice, from the unsettling rage their glowing eyes showed to the quiet watchfulness as they assessed their opponent, it was all there to anyone with a skilled eye. The men, and it was only men, who came in beating their chests and roaring to enliven the crowd ... usually died the fastest. The opponent who prepared with seriousness to their movements almost always lived.

  However, one brash Mian surprised me. The crowd shouted his name, Stiller, with great vigor, and he bellowed right back—just as loud—wearing the most amused grin on his features. He even flexed his muscles more than a few times for the ladies on the sidelines. I thought he would die within the first five minutes, but, in fact, he killed his opponent in the first two minutes ... while still wearing that amused grin, and sporting new war paint of blood dripping on his bare chest.

  In the end, he turned and bowed deeply, almost in hilarity, to my far left.

  The crowd thoroughly enjoyed that, laughter heard all around.

  I had a pretty good idea of who he would be bowing to. Not to mention, Stiller must be a close friend of the Plumas to joke around with them as he was. That bow could have easily been taken as disrespectful, but not by the crowd's reaction of delight ... and the fact he still had his head as he climbed onto the bleachers in the direction he had bowed—instead of leaving the Crank Pit as all the other surviving competitors had done. I lost track of him the higher he climbed.

  The Plumas were seemingly sitting at the top. Good to know.

  While two men dragged out the newly deceased, the announcer walked onto the sand of the pit. It still amazed me that one man could continually quiet the audience with a gentle wave of his hands. Into the hush, he stated loudly, "Our final fight of the night: Bailor Nostum and Jax Waterston."

  The crowd ... went
wild.

  I almost covered my ears, the chanting and screams were so loud. The sand and dirt I lay on vibrated under me from the Mian beating on the bleachers with their feet and fists. The children next to me went utterly quiet and then started elbowing each other as the announcer left, and the two competitors entered the pit. My own heart stopped, then beat a chaotic rhythm when I saw Jax.

  He was alive, and most definitely well taken care of. He wore only an outfit much like all the Mian who had been fighting tonight. His chest was bare, along with his feet, a pair of soft black leather pants were his only protection. His skin shone with a healthy glow under the soft light, and no obvious mark of torture marred his smooth flesh. He smiled a real smile and raised his left hand to wave at the crowd, and that was when I noticed he no longer wore his black slave's bracelet.

  My jaw bobbed. What?

  He was no longer a slave?

  I couldn't ... I couldn't even wrap my mind around what would give him his freedom.

  And ... he appeared to like it in the Crank Pit by the way he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

  I froze utterly when Jax turned to the crowd and pressed his mouth to a woman's who was leaning over at the waist on the front row. My breath stalled in my lungs as they kissed to the crowd's roar, Jax's tongue definitely invading the woman's mouth. She blushed prettily as she leaned back, but she still threw her fists in the air, as if in victory.

  I didn't know what to think. Had they brainwashed him?

  This wasn't the Jax I knew. A simmer of emotion began to burn my throat. I repeatedly swallowed as the two opponents began warming up. I may not know what to think of the situation, my plan definitely needing to change with him no longer a slave, but I knew what I felt.

  Betrayed.

  My one Human friend on this cursed planet ... and he was acting like a Mian.

  He had ... kissed ... someone. I was certainly tired of being shocked and hurt by 'kissing'.'

  My one sliver of hope was that, while he appeared to have enjoyed their embrace, he hadn't worn the adoration and love on his features as my Vaq had when they had been kissing one another.

  Jax may not be as lost to me as I feared. I had to hope.

  Blinking the moisture swiftly from my eyes, I watched as the fight began.

  Jax's opponent, Bailor Nostum, was talented. The Mian certainly had not given him an easy fight. They went round and round, the Mian much faster than Jax. Stronger, no doubt. Jax held his own as the rough clanging of their axes bashed against each other. Sand touched my mouth at one point when Jax slid backward right in front of me from a hard rally on Bailor's side.

  But Jax had more skill. This became blindingly apparent when my best friend dipped and used a basic move to swipe Bailor's feet out from under him. I held my breath as the man went down in the center of the pit.

  Jax wasted no time. His ax arced down with light gleaming off the blade.

  Blood rushed through the air as he yanked his weapon back from Bailor's shoulder.

  War cries of pleased frenzy zapped the air from the crowd as Bailor lay on the ground, not only bleeding from his shoulder, but also from a small portion of his neck.

  But then my best friend did the most stupid act imaginable. He turned and waved at the cheering audience. He didn't even see Bailor roll to his side in a blur and gingerly rise to his feet, holding his bleeding neck with one hand and raising his ax in his other behind my best friend.

  I saw it, though.

  Even as half the crowd surged to their feet in surprise, I was already gripping the edge of the pit and pulling myself through the bleachers in one fast movement. The hood of my cloak was shoved back from the rough wood of the bleacher, but I didn't stop my momentum as I landed on my side and threw my knife with deadly precision at the back of Bailor's exposed neck.

  Just as my best friend had twirled and missed being impaled by Bailor's blow.

  Bailor's body and ax landed with a thud directly next to Jax's feet.

  The crowd was now silent.

  Too late, I realized my best friend hadn't been stupid. It had been a ploy to rouse Bailor.

  My act had been rash and stupid.

  Sucking air in the midst of my folly, I slowly peered up from the ground.

  Jax's eyes met mine. His widened.

  With my heart hammering inside my chest, I quickly jumped to my feet. I raced to the middle of the pit and dropped, sliding to a stop with sand flying everywhere to jerk my knife free of Bailor's corpse. Jax was still standing in shock, his jaw even hanging open, but I didn't have time for that. I grabbed Jax's free hand lunged toward the exit, scrambling to my feet, and ran as fast as I could toward my one escape and yanking Jax behind me.

  I shrieked when a Mian ... Stiller ... just suddenly appeared in front of me. Slamming to a halt, I barely kept myself from being impaled by the sword he held out. Stiller, the jokester of the previous match, wore none of the humor he had during his fight. His violet glowing eyes were narrowed on me, as he pressed his sword right over my heart.

  "Let him go," Stiller growled softly.

  I tried inching back from the blade, but Stiller advanced with me. With Jax still in surprise at my sudden appearance, I had no option but to release Jax's hand. As soon as I did, I didn't even see Stiller's blow coming. With a shudder of pain, I was flying backward through the air as my chest burned with the agony of Stiller's heave.

  I still held onto my knife, though.

  Landing with a brutal whack on the sand, I rolled a few feet until my body's momentum stopped. Spitting sand from my mouth and chugging much-needed air into my lungs, I barely got to my knees before I saw two new pairs of feet advancing toward me. A quick glance up and I knew I was in the worst trouble possible.

  It was the Plumas of the east.

  By their expressions, seen through my locks of my hair, they had recognized me.

  "Jax," I whispered, glancing in his direction. I stumbled to my feet, seeing him now moving, rushing toward me. It was about time his shock had worn off. But I groaned, holding my bruised chest as Stiller followed directly behind him and grabbed him by the waist, holding him back from coming any closer. My eyes reluctantly lifted to the Plumas, who were almost on me. "Fuck."

  With white, long strands of hair blowing out behind him in a breeze of his own making, Pluma Phila Moir moved to stand between Stiller, Jax, and me.

  Pluma Killeg Creo stopped directly in front of me, his white, chaotically chopped hair in disarray.

  He lifted one hand in front of my face.

  Opened his fist.

  He blew out hard, and a fine purple dust flew from his palm into my face.

  I blinked as a haze immediately started to envelop me.

  As I started to sink deeply into oblivion, I felt warm, muscled arms catching me as I fell.

  The rough toe of a boot kicked my knee. "She's awake." I knew that voice. I had heard it before. It belonged to Pluma Killeg Creo. He kicked me again. "Open your eyes, Ms. Valorn."

  I opened one first, and then the other. I hadn't been awake for more than a minute. Just long enough to tell that I was lying on my side, soft leather was beneath me, and my hands were bound behind my back by a scratchy, thick rope. I also knew that there were four sets of lungs breathing by their slow intakes and exhales, meaning four people were near.

  I was right.

  They sat in a half-circle in front of me.

  I was lying on a white couch inside a parlor of some sort—location unknown. The individuals who stared at me were also sitting on white leather chairs. All four were peering at me with varying expressions.

  My kicker, Pluma Killeg Creo sat directly by my feet in their little half-circle.

  Stiller sat to his right.

  Jax sat next to him.

  Pluma Phila Moir sat directly beside him, closest to my head.

  Trying to keep the fear from my system, I ground my wrists against the rope holding them. A little pain to take the place of fear couldn't hurt. Esp
ecially since the Mian sitting here had their nostrils flared and sat far back on their seats like they were trying to control the urge to attack me.

  My gaze quickly landed on Jax. I tried not to let my hurt at his betrayal show in my eyes, but I grumbled harshly in English, "How are you no longer a slave?" He was Human, like me. He should act like it, dammit. Not be putting his tongue in other people's mouths.

  With a flick of his finger, Pluma Creo tapped the bottom of my boot, gaining my attention. "That is the first thing that you have to say?" He spoke in Mianese, eyeing me oddly. "Just what the hell are you doing here, Ms. Valorn?"

  Stiller grunted softly, muttering under his breath, "At least we know why Pluma Kreob and Pluma Wazra have been beating the borderline and demanding entrance."

  Pluma Creo flicked him an irritated glance, one that meant 'duh'. Though, his gaze darted back to mine, and I felt my brows pucker as I really got a firsthand view of his eyes as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "Answer my question, Ms. Valorn."

  His eyes were crystal blue ... but they were so light in color against his tan complexion that they pierced me. I remembered having a similar reaction to his other half, Pluma Moir. This Pluma's eyes held an indefinite amount of mystery, knowledge and intelligence sifting as he studied me. I felt my body go completely still when I only wanted to lean forward to gaze a little closer, to see if that dark outer rim was aqua or black, to see if I could figure out the secret that lay there so guarded but still teasing, as if he knew but would never tell.

  My lips thinned as I jerked my attention away and glanced in the opposite direction.

  Black as night eyes watched me, Pluma Moir much closer to my head than Pluma Creo.

  His gaze trapped mine just as it had the first time I had met him in that small room after the 'arrival ritual.' It was a gaze that made you hunger for more. A midnight that you wanted to savor, to keep him looking your way, just so you could stare that much longer into delicate, yet punishing depths.

  These Mian ... they were dangerous.