“I’m serious, too.” The truck turns again. “I was watching something happen that was wrong. An injustice. Volac was wrong. He was inventing laws as he went along. That’s not okay. That’s not fair. I couldn’t stand by and watch that. I got mad. I lost my temper. I acted.” He clears his throat. “It was something a friend of mine named Lucas would do. In fact, it’s exactly what he did that landed him in the mess he’s in now.” I hear the smile in his voice. His point has been made.
“Point taken. I understand,” I say quietly as the truck slows to a stop. “So now what?” I ask. Beyond the walls of the vehicle, I hear voices. Guards are coming for us.
“We become the first survivors of The Gauntlet in the history of Sinsity,” Garan replies as the door creaks open and a wave of warm air rushes in.
“Out!” a voice commands us. “Let’s go!”
Sliding on my backside and with my head still covered by a sack, I move toward the voice. I’m grabbed within seconds and dragged out. Thin ribbons of light trickle in through the fabric over my face. Intense heat beats down from overhead. It radiates from the ground, as well. Chatter sounds all around us, as if we’re on the street. I thought we left the entire population of the city behind. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps some followed us to catch what they think are our final moments. Jostled and ordered when to speed or slow my pace, I’m stopped abruptly. I hear a door open, then the word “Move!” barked at me. The conversations and sounds of Sinsity disappear along with any light that had streamed through the sack as I’m marched into what I assume is a building. Once inside, I’m ordered to climb six flights of stairs. After the last flight has been scaled, I’m shoved forward hard. I land on the floor. “Have fun boys!” a voice says. Menacing laughter echoes, growing fainter after a door slams shut nearby.
“What’s happening?” I shift frantically, scrambling to my feet.
Before Garan can answer me, a horn blares in the distance.
“That sound means it’s beginning. The start of The Gauntlet,” Garan says.
I hear a shuffle. Seconds later Garan, behind me, nudges my bound hands with his head. “Pull it off. Pull off the bag,” he says. I feel around, pulling a few of his dreadlocks before finally finding the swath of fabric. He does the same for me, and when both of us can finally see, we find ourselves in a dark room. A pane of thick glass sits at the center of one wall. It appears to be painted black, blocking out any and all light from outside. I strain my eyes, searching our surroundings. On the floor, I catch sight of my sword. It sits beside Garan’s. An ax and mallet are there, too, along with a pair of daggers. “We need to hurry!” Garan says as soon as he sees the weapons. “We need to get these ropes off!” Crouching low, I pick up my blade. Gripped behind my back, there’s little I can do to help myself, but I can help Garan. He immediately places his back to mine and brings his bound wrists to my blade. He slides them up and down, sawing the ropes.
“Careful,” I say. “You don’t want to open your wrist.”
“What are you, my mother?” Garan releases a nervous chuckle. “I’ve got this. No need to worry. I’ve done this a time or two before.” As soon as the last words are spoken, I hear the rope snap and fall to the floor. “See?” Garan flashes his wrists and a smile as he walks in front of me to scoop up his sword. He immediately frees my hands. But his smile falters when a howl rips through the silence of the building.
Distinct and unmistakable, I’d recognize the sound anywhere. I listened to it all night growing up in my village—the cries of hungry, nocturnal beasts just beyond our gates. Frozen in place, I can’t move a muscle. Disbelief holds me hostage. “It can’t be,” I whisper.
“It can’t be what?”Garan asks.
Turning my head, I face him. “Night Lurkers.”
Garan’s features slacken, his mouth parting slightly as my words wash over him. “W-what? The beasts that hunt in the forest at night?” He pauses, eyes darting left then right. When his gaze meets mine, he asks, “Are you sure?”
“I grew up hearing that sound. As soon as the sun would set, they’d be at the gates of my village. Howling. I’ll never forget that sound.”
In the distance, I hear a sound, a low rolling that echoes through the walls and floors. Faint at first, it grows louder fast, and more distinct. Like innumerable hooves beating the ground beneath it, the noise thrums through me in time with my heartbeat, a pounding that sounds as though hundreds of beasts are racing up the steps toward us.
I look to the only exit in the room. A door with a large lock on our side. “Shut the door and lock it!” Garan screams as I’m mid-stride, dashing to do just that. I grip the handle and swing it. As I do, my breath catches in my chest when I see them. Dozens of menacing shapes are visible, dozens of eyes glowing hungrily. Manes of golden hair that match the paleness of their gleaming eyes billow, trailing behind them as they run. Impressive paw-like feet with long, lethal talons tear at the floor with each stride they take. They are monstrous, hideous beasts. And they are headed straight for us. Slamming the door shut, just in the nick of time, the Night Lurkers slam headlong into it. The clack of jaws snapping melds with the sloppy sounds of saliva-filled chuffs. Within seconds, however, the clacks and chuffs cease, and frustrated bays pierce the ether. The howls and snarls are bone chilling, the frantic sounds of fevered beasts desperate for a meal. Desperate for our blood.
“The door won’t hold them!” Garan shouts over the clamor. “We don’t have long before they’re in!” His eyes search the room.
Scratching and clawing at the door, the fevered yelps intensify. And so do their efforts. Loud thumps strike the door. A small whimper follows. I hope it’s an injury but doubt it. It’s likely a whimper of disappointment that ramming it a single time didn’t take down the barrier between them and us. Insatiable and tenacious, they won’t give up. Garan’s right. It won’t be long before it yields. Harder and harder they hit the door. Frenzied snarls and pants echo along with each bang.
Garan walks to the painted window and taps it. His head snaps around and he looks at me. “What’re you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. He moves away from the window, stoops and picks up the mallet after shoving both daggers in his back pocket, then returns to it again. “Get the ax,” he tells me. I do as he says, operating on the assumption he has a plan. “When I say so, open the door.”
Open the door? That’s his plan? Has he lost his mind? There are at least a dozen bloodthirsty Night Lurkers on the other side of it. All we have is a sword each, a mallet and an ax and a pair of daggers. And there are only two of us! “What? Are you crazy?” I ask.
Garan’s gaze is eerily calm and confident when he looks at me and says, “Just do it. And make sure you’re hidden behind that door when you open it.”
Though what he’s saying makes no sense whatsoever, I find myself nodding in agreement. I’ve trusted him this far. I have no reason not to. Besides, wood is splintering more and more as the Night Lukers batter it. It’ll break any minute. Legs trembling, I walk to the door. I place one hand on the lock and the other in the knob.
“Okay, Lucas, on my count, open it,” Garan says. “One. Two. Three. Open it!”
Sliding the latch and twisting the handle, I yank the door open, careful to shield myself with it. Menacing shadows, oily and darker than the dark of the room, pour in. They only see Garan and slink toward him, stalking him cautiously, almost as if they suspect a trap. Once they sense their prey is vulnerable, ten circle him. Starved whines and barks turn to growls and hisses as they inch toward Garan. Holding the mallet in one hand and his sword in the other, Garan hefts the mallet. He swings it just as the beasts begin to charge. But he doesn’t swing it at them, however. He swings it at the window. Glass shatters in every direction, raining down on them in dichroic shards. Like glitter, it reflects the bright, buttery shafts of light that beam in. Garan hits the pane again, destroying any pieces that remained. The Night Lurkers howl out in misery, dropping their heads l
ow and covering their eyes. Those glittering eyes, mesmeric by night, cannot withstand daylight. It is why they hunt at night. Now, flooded in daylight as they are, the Night Lurkers are the vulnerable prey.
“Let’s go!” Garan says. Swinging and hacking at any beasts in his way, he uses his sword and the mallet to clear a bloody path for himself. I do the same, pushing out from behind the door and slashing any beast in my way.
Making it over the threshold, we’re both covered in spatters of blood. I shut the door, closing them in for the moment, though I know the moment won’t last long. The light of the hallway is dim, dim enough for the Night Lurkers to travel. We race to the staircase, taking the steps three at a time. We’re halfway down the second flight when we hear the door crack. Exploding from it is the clatter of heavy paws striking the floor. Charging faster, we push ourselves as hard as we can. The beasts aren’t far behind us. They’re closing the distance quickly. Sprinting and panting, we hurry down the third, fourth, fifth and sixth flight of stairs. We find ourselves at ground level. A door that leads to the outside is in front of us. The Night Lurkers are so close I can smell their musky stench. If the door is locked, we’ll die here. We’ll be another statistic of The Gauntlet. Two more who couldn’t beat the odds.
Forcing that terrifying thought to the back of my mind, I lunge for the door, driving my shoulder into it as I turn the knob. The turn is made without resistance. The door is unlocked. Garan and I tumble out into the street. The few Night Lurkers that couldn’t stop themselves in time are plunged into full, unfiltered daylight. They cry and squeal, dropping to their bellies before they crawl back into the building.
Breathless from exertion and from being in a roomful of Night Lurkers, I rest my hands on my knees for a moment. I look over at Garan. He points to the building, to where the last Night Lurker slinks back inside. “I think we just survived round one of The Gauntlet.” He smiles.
“You think?” I shake my head at him.
“Yup. Now all we have to do is make it fifteen blocks. Easy enough.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. It’ll be easy.” I roll my eyes at him and offer a laugh. If Night Lurkers are only the beginning of The Gauntlet, I’m guessing this challenge will be anything but easy. I’m guessing each trial we face will become increasingly daunting. I’m loath to think of what awaits us next. No matter what it is, I’m determined to survive. I will see my sister, brother and Reyna again. Garan and I will be the first victors of The Gauntlet.
Chapter 19
I walk beside Garan, flinching at every piece of debris that blows my way and knowing deep within me that both of us are being watched. A hot breeze blows, filling the streets with an ominous hiss. It carries on it a pungent odor of urine and dust as it seeps through cracked brick and fractured glass, slipping through holes blasted in foundations of a paradise lost centuries ago. I shiver despite the heat. Eyes scanning the space around me, I can’t relax. Every nerve in my body is tensed. My heart pounds so wildly my veins feel like they’re about to burst. At any given moment, the street could erupt into chaos. I expect it to. Though the roadway appears deserted, with rundown buildings on either side of it, the air is charged with bated energy. Like the atmosphere before a lightning storm.
“What happens now?” I ask, feeling a tremor of dread travel the length of my spine.
“I’m not sure.” Garan looks around, studying the buildings we pass. “But I don’t think we’re going to like it.”
That’s safe to say. Of course we won’t like it. We’re being punished. Even though nothing’s happening right now, I’m still agonizing. The time before something awful happens is torturous. The moments when you know something wicked comes your way, but can’t stop it, are excruciating. And come it will. There’s no doubt about it. Chest tight and body on high alert, I study my surroundings. The street is still. Too still. Apart from the breeze that blows through the broken windows of hollowed out spaces that were once buildings, a foreboding hush hangs in the air. It’s almost as if the buildings, the street, and the very atmosphere itself is holding its breath in fear of something. Panic consumes me with every step I take. My mind wanders, wondering what Volac has in store for us next as we pass another block.
My wondering comes to a screeching halt when an object screams, ripping through the silence like a war cry. Moving slightly as the high-pitched sound grows closer, I turn just in time for it to shriek past me, but not before it grazes my cheek. Lancing my skin before landing on the pavement with a thwack, an immediate sting burns from my face in a line parallel to my cheekbone. I feel a trickle of warmth leak from it, but I don’t dare cover it with my hand. I don’t even acknowledge it, in fact. My attention is elsewhere, my body on high alert. Eyes cast skyward, I sweep the rooftop of the nearest building. There, I find four archers standing. “Oh no,” I breathe. Staring further down the street, six buildings, three on each side, are lined with 2 more archers on each. We won’t make it. With that many archers from an elevated position, our disadvantage it too great. “We need to go back.” I mutter the words to myself, then louder, I say frantically, “Garan, we need to go back!”
Garan follows the trajectory of my gaze. He sees what I see. Sees the slice on my cheek and the arrow on the ground. Rattled, he looks behind us. “We can’t. We’ll be disqualified if we do and Volac’s men will just move in and kill us. We can only go forward.”
“Nock!” a hoarse voice shouts from above.
“Nock…they’re loading their bows!” Garan’s eyes round and the color drains from his face.
“Take cover!” I shout just as arrows whistle through the air, raining down on us like a deadly storm.
Barely able to move without getting spiked by one, I run in a frenzied zigzag pattern. I don’t know where I’m going. It seems a safe place doesn’t exist. Not that I can see at least. Every inch of the stretch of street on which we walk is covered by an archer. We’re out in the open. Waiting targets.
“The trashcans!” Garan yells.
Arrows land all around me. One skims my calf. Like a cut from a sharp, thin blade, the second slash is longer. Bunching the muscle in my lower leg, I do little more than mumble a curse at the burn of it. I’m too busy trying to dodge the hail of arrows showering from overhead. Too busy trying to avoid being stabbed by a whole arrow to cry over being nicked by a passing one. “What’s a trashcan?” I shout my question.
“Those metal things! The lids!” Garan calls back.
Following Garan, I run toward a row of cylindrical, metal containers. Grabbing the lid off the closest one, I shield my face and head, crouching low so that as much of my body can be covered as possible. They must be here, left out for us to find, to give us a slim chance to defend ourselves. Arrows drill the flimsy metal, sinking into it with enough force to push me back. Though the lid isn’t much, I’m grateful for it. It offers a thin layer of protection, which at this point is better than nothing.
Hunched and desperate to stay alive, I shout, “What’s our next move?” But before Garan can answer, an arrow pierces my thigh, burrowing deep. Searing, white-hot pain bores through my skin, flesh and muscle, immobilizing me. I cry out, the burning ache spreading as a growing ring of blood haloes the protruding arrow.
“Lucas! You okay?” Garan asks.
Gritting my teeth so hard the enamel threatens to splinter, I grip the arrow. Holding tight to the wood just below the fletching, I inhale through my nose and snap it, breaking the part that juts from my leg and allowing it to fall to the ground. Pulling it out would’ve been far too painful and would’ve increased the bleeding. Still, as I take a tentative step and feel the arrow move with me, I wonder whether increased bleeding would’ve been preferable to the stinging throb I experience with every movement. “I’ll live,” I call out to him then, under my breath, I add, “At least for a few more minutes.”
I hobble close to the nearest building. Back flat against the rough brick exterior, I assess our options. We hav
e to move forward. But with the archers shooting at us from the rooftops, we’ll be completely vulnerable. I turn toward Garan, who has his back pressed to the building as well, and say, “Once we move out of here and further down the street, the archers will be shooting at us from all angles. Front. Back. Sides. We’ll be totally exposed.” I look from the rooftops to Garan. He nods. “We won’t be able to shield ourselves. We’ll be killed.” Hearing myself say the words out loud—and given our predicament—makes me feel as if every ounce of blood has drained from me and pools at my feet.
The wound in my thigh is numb. All of me feels numb. I don’t want to die. And for once, it’s not only because of my brother and sister. Part of my want to live has to do with me. With wanting to return to Reyna. Standing, flattened against the wall of a dilapidated building in the middle of The Gauntlet with a barrage of arrows showering down from overhead, I realize how much I love Reyna. I realize how badly I want to return to her, to see her face, hear her voice. To hold her tight. I vow there, amid the hellfire of Volac’s sanctioned attacks, that I will return to Reyna. I will survive.
“You’re right. We won’t be able to shield ourselves,” Garan agrees. He shouts a swear word. “Volac makes it impossible for anyone to survive his Gauntlet!” He calls the leader of Sinsity a word I’ve never heard and am certain I should never repeat.
Studying the nearest building and the street beyond it, an idea springs to life in my brain. We can’t walk down the street. We don’t stand a chance that way. But if we manage to get inside the closest building and take out the archers there, we have a chance to survive. “Garan, we need to go up after them. We need to get up onto that rooftop and take out those archers. And fast,” I add as arrows zip past me, bouncing off the wall just by my head.
Sin City Page 20
