Last Messenger - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – Aael

Aael stood at the bottom of the arena’s stone wall where the torch light didn’t reach. He looked up at sun towers far above, their light pointed into the arena. Bacchus, the closest thing he had to a friend, operated one of those towers.

Aael faced Mia. “Which tower?”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Sea side, eighth spiral, forty second dagger.”

“And Bacchus?”

Mia sighed. “Foot shorter than you, black hair, big belly.”

“He might not believe you know me—” Aael started.

“I’ll just describe how irritating you are,” Mia said.

Aael moved from foot to foot, anxious to get going. He wanted to see the fight, not argue. The noise of the crowd increased and his skin prickled in excitement.

“How do we get in?” Mia asked.

“My charming personality.”

Mia laughed. “I’ll pray for a blind and deaf gatekeeper.”

Aael frowned. “Praying is for fools. We’re climbing.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.”

“Have you ever fallen?”

Aael didn’t look at her. “A few times.”

Mia touched the wall. “There’s nothing to hold. I can’t climb this.”

“I’ll climb, you’ll hang on.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It won’t be far. The first landing is only thirty feet. I’ll drop you there—”

“Drop me?”

Aael sighed. He really didn’t want to waste any more time.

“Why don’t you wait here,” Aael said.

Mia shook her head. “Let’s go.”

Aael removed the cloth that covered his hands and feet and stuffed it into a pocket. He squatted down. “Get on my back.”

Mia’s arms slide around Aael’s neck, her legs around his waist. He stood, stricken, his mind blank as the heat of her body evaporated his thoughts.

“Let’s get this over with,” Mia said.

Mia’s cheek rested on his shoulder, her lips so close to his neck he could feel the warmth of her words on his skin.

“Are you ok?” Mia asked.

Fire spread from his neck and radiated throughout his body. It felt wonderful.

“Aael?”

Aael reluctantly summoned Moonless Night, and his happiness disappeared. It was the first time he’d entered it to escape pleasure. It felt like a starving man throwing away a meal, and it made him sad. Moonless Night took that as well.

Aael felt Mia’s legs relax, as she prepared to climb down. He grabbed them. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Mia asked.

Aael placed his hands on the stone. “I needed to say a prayer.”

“A prayer? Doesn’t that make you a fool?”

Aael gripped the small gaps between the stones where the mortar had shrunk and his finger tips could find purchase. Mia squirmed on his back and made it hard to maintain his grasp.

“I prayed this time would be different,” Aael said.

“Different?”

“I dropped the last fidgety one.”

Mia went stiff and Aael smiled.

Aael felt for the finger holes etched into the wall from his previous ascents. The indentations made the climb safer, and he hadn’t fallen in months. But he had never had someone on his back before. A warm, flower scented weight, but an anchor all the same. He didn’t want drop her.

In less than a minute they’d arrived at the landing and Mia climbed off Aael. Her sweat had soaked through his shirt and the warm dampness felt good on his back.

“That was terrifying,” Mia said.

“You know where to go?” Aael asked.

Mia nodded at Aael. He gave her a smile, jumped on top of the railing, and pulled himself up into the darkness. As he climbed he wondered if he could beat her to the tower. Her expression would be worth the risk of a quick climb.

But when Aael reached the tower, Mia had already arrived, a smug smile on her face. Bacchus stood next to her and fidgeted with the tower’s light generator. Aael squeezed inside, the crowd’s roar muted in the small enclosure.

“Where have you been?” Bacchus asked.

“Shell hunting on the beach,” Aael said.

Bacchus rolled his eyes. “They’ve been at it for twenty minutes.”

Aael looked down at the bare arena floor. No mazes or lakes or fire pits, just two men circling each other. Twenty minutes? Fights didn’t last long in the arena. A normal fight would have been over long ago.

“No obstacles?” Aael asked.

“That’s what I thought, but there is quicksand everywhere,” Bacchus said.

“That’s different,” Aael said.

Bacchus nodded. “No step is safe.”

Aael recognized Washer’s lean frame, his brown skin black from tattoos. He held a baton in his left hand and a dagger in his right. Aael turned his attention to Snapper. The shorter man, thick with muscle, slumped with exhaustion. He used his staff like a prod to keep Washer away.

“Snapper’s in trouble,” Aael said.

“It has been like this for most of the fight,” Bacchus said. “Snapper has fallen into a sink hole three times and exhausted himself escaping. With the uncertain footing, though, Washer can’t commit to an attack. We could be here all night.”

Washer’s left leg disappeared into a hidden patch of quicksand. The crowd erupted and Mia covered her ears. Aael pulled power from his body and dampened the sound until it was bearable. He used a fraction more to enlarge the images of the fight in his mind until it looked like he stood next to them.

Washer plunged his dagger into the sand and stopped himself from being consumed by the slurry, his body trembled with the effort. Washer had lost the baton and used his left hand to claw at the sand, desperate to pull himself free.

Snapper leaped forward and swung his staff, hitting Washer on the temple. Washer went limp, his grip on the dagger relaxed and he began to sink into the quicksand.

Snapper dropped his staff, grabbed Washer’s arm, and straddled it between his legs. Snapper, his back to the quicksand, leaned away and pulled on Washer’s arm. It was enough to stop Washer’s slide. Snapper looked at the frenzied crowd, the sound so loud it vibrated the stones of the arena. Snapper pinched Washer’s arm between his knees and then gripped Washer’s hand. Snapper, his teeth bared in a wide smile, grabbed Washer’s pinky, and broke it. Then with a savage jerk, he broke Washer’s ring finger.

Aael glanced at Mia. Her mouth was open, her nose wrinkled. Aael cocked his head, confused by her expression. Hadn’t she bet on Snapper to win?

Returning his attention to the fight, Aael’s enhanced images made every detail clear as his hero was savaged. Snapper finished with Washer’s fingers and broke Washer’s wrist. Aael felt sick that his hero had lost. Snapper paused and raised his arms, head back, drinking in the cheers.

Washer’s free hand moved, his eyes opened, and he smiled.

Aael’s heart beat faster, had Washer faked the whole thing? Washer grabbed the dagger with his right hand and plunged it into Snapper’s back.

Snapper’s joy turned to surprise and he collapsed forward. Washer held tightly to the dagger and Snapper’s movement pulled Washer free from the quicksand. Snapper tried to turn and face Washer, but Snapper’s agony made his movements wild and ineffective. Washer jerked the dagger down, causing a vicious wound across the middle of Snapper’s back.

Snapper’s arms and legs went still, and only his head moved. Washer had severed Snapper’s spine, and a hundred thousand people gazed in shocked silence. Washer staggered to his feet, arched his back, and screamed. Aael’s skin prickled at the deranged sound.

The crowd, electrified by the sudden turn of fortune, cheered. But Aael knew it wasn’t chance. He had seen the smile on Washer’s face and knew events had unfolded as Washer had expected. Washer had sacrificed his hand, to save his life, like a desert leopard that gnawed off its paw to escape a trap. Washer deserved to win, no roll of the dice had saved him. He was a genius.

Washer waved his team into the arena, four made it safely, as two fell in quicksand. Washer made no move to save them. His four men picked up Snapper and held him up, above their heads. Washer walked around them, screaming and waving his bloody dagger.

Mia spoke in Aael’s ear. “What is he doing?”

Aael faced her, confused. Had she never seen a Washer match? They always ended the same, Washer covered in his opponent’s blood.

Aael leaned close. “He’s going to wash himself in Snapper’s blood.”

Mia jerked away, her eyes wide. She swallowed and then looked down at the fighters. She turned back to him, shook her head, and bolted from the tower.

“What’s wrong?” Bacchus asked.

Aael shrugged. “She bet on Snapper.”

Bacchus nodded and turned back to the arena floor.

The truth was Aael felt confused. He didn’t know what Mia’s reaction meant, and was conflicted on what to do about it. He wanted to watch Washer finish the fight. Enjoy the victory of his favorite fighter, made sweeter because he’d thought Washer would die. The sudden reversal made this fight special. But something was wrong with Mia, and his chest hurt when he thought about that.

Aael slammed a fist into the rail and the stone cracked. He turned to Bacchus and raised his hands, palms upward in apology. “I have to find her.”

Aael exited the tower but didn’t see her. Why was she so upset? The crowd had reached a fever pitch and it wouldn’t be long before fights broke out. It wouldn’t be safe for her. Why hadn’t he follow her immediately? If something happened to her it would be his fault.

Walking to the top of the arena, Aael scanned for her, but it was a lost cause. His only hope was to beat her to the exit and hope she left by the same gate. He leaped up to the top of the barrier that circled the arena like a crown. Looking down into the darkness, Aael’s mind urged caution. If something went wrong he would die from a fall this high. But caution was a stranger and his heart screamed at him to hurry.

Aael jumped and forced his mass into the pockets of space near him, hiding it from the ground’s pull, and he struck the sand like a raindrop. His mass snapped back and he crumpled in pain. He’d never held it out for so long and it felt like a thousand worms tunneled through his body. Pushing the pain into Moonless Night it still took him a few seconds before he could stand.

The torches here had burned out and the area remained dark. Aael placed his back against the stone of the arena and looked around, his body tensed to run if anyone had noticed his fall. But no one had, so he watched the gate and waited, hoping he wasn’t too late.

Mia ran from the gate and into the night, only visible for a moment. Aael pushed off the wall and followed her, relieved. She didn’t head toward the Abbey like Aael had expected. She wandered the empty streets like she was lost. After fifteen minutes, Mia stopped and sat by a fountain in a small courtyard.

Aael stepped from the darkness and walked toward her. He dragged his feet across some stones, the noise enough to ensure he didn’t startle her, but she ignored him. As he neared he saw why.

Mia sat, head down, tears dripping from her nose, and Aael’s heart sank.

Aael knelt down. “What’s wrong?”

Mia didn’t look up. “How can you enjoy that?”

Aael leaned back, surprised. Everyone liked the Blood Dance, the entire culture revolved around it.

“They fight using their lives as the currency. It is art, and—”

Mia looked up at him. “It is barbaric.”

Aael looked into her swollen eyes. He reached up to wipe away a tear but Mia grabbed his wrist.

“You have to be sick to enjoy that,” Mia said.

Aael opened his mouth but Mia pushed his wrist away and stood. He stood too, his confusion increasing with every heart beat.

“I want to go home,” Mia said.

Aael nodded. “The Abbey is this way.”

“That will have to do,” Mia whispered.