Chapter Eighteen
“I give you Lyra!”
The crowd cheers as I step out into the sunlight, moving to one end of the crumbling temple complex that has been built in the arena. I clutch my weapons tightly, gazing out over the expanse of it, looking at all the possible routes through. I raise my spear in acknowledgement of the cheering, knowing that I need the crowd to respond, that I need them to like me.
There is still a chance that if Rowan and I put on a good enough show, we will not be forced to kill one another. If the crowd are cheering our names, if they want to see more of us, the pressure of their chanting and cheering might be enough to sway the emperor.
It's not much of a plan. It's a desperate last hope. But it's also the best option I have. So I stand there, trying to pretend to be the gladiator they want me to be. And as I do so, the Emperor speaks again.
“And her opponent, the master of the earth, will he be able to crush Lyra with his strength? It’s Rowan!”
The crowd cheer for him as well, and I'm surprised that the cheers for me seem to have been louder. Even as some start chanting Rowan’s name, there are more people chanting mine.
The emperor stands waiting, letting it all grow to a crescendo, then holds up his hands for silence. In that silence, he speaks.
"Gladiators, before you, is a complex filled with deadly traps and pitfalls. You must find one another within it. You must fight. You must defeat your foe if you can. I am the only one who can grant mercy here. Begin!"
A horn blares to signal the start of the bout, and I start to clamber over the ruins, making my way towards Rowan.
He does not come at me directly, but instead circles around the perimeter, as if he is determined to avoid me, or perhaps as if he wishes to make sure that he has an advantageous position before the battle commences in earnest. This is an environment that should give him an advantage. There are no beasts here for me to connect with other than the carrion birds, whereas the whole of this temple is made from stone.
Is Rowan just avoiding me because he wants to put off the moment when he must kill me?
That feels like the very opposite of what we should be doing. Our only chance of both of us surviving this is if we can put on a show to impress the watching crowds. If we can impress the emperor so much that he wants us both to live.
I move through the temple, trying to catch up to Rowan, determined to come to grips with him, so that the crowd can get the violence it wants. Even as I do so, a blade jumps up out of the stone at me, a trap triggered by a pressure plate in the floor. I’m barely quick enough to knock it aside and keep moving.
“Fight me, Rowan!” I call out to him. To the crowd it must sound as though I'm taunting him, but I hope he will understand what I intend. “Let's give these people the fight they deserve to see.”
Rowan is still moving cautiously around the temple complex built within the arena, however, as if he is trying to learn every nuance of it before he has to fight. I borrow the eyes of a raven above, looking down and using that view to navigate. It means I can sidestep a pitfall, recognizing it for what it is before I put my foot on it. I jab it with my spear so that it collapses, giving the crowd that much spectacle at least.
What must this look like to them? The raven’s perspective gives me some sense of it, because I can see myself stalking after Rowan like a huntress closing in on her prey. I think of what Lady Elara has said, that I need to embrace that side of the goddess Deira. That I must hunt and kill as well as seek peace for the creatures around me.
Is she pleased with this? Is the emperor?
The crowd does not seem to be pleased, perhaps because Rowan is still avoiding me, still skirting around the edges of this complex, even as I close in on him. My view from above allows me to find a route across it that lets me decrease the distance between us, but Rowan is still dodging, still circling. And now the crowd is booing. They want action. They want blood.
“Fight me, Rowan!” I call out to him again.
I close the distance enough that I'm able to swing my chain at him. Rowan blocks it with his shield, still moving away and refusing to engage.
“You won't make me kill you, Lyra,” he calls back.
Is that what he thinks this is? Does he think that I'm attacking because I know only one of us can survive, and I want to provoke him into killing me quickly? Does he really believe I'm just giving up my life like that? And if so, why isn't he accepting the offer? There are plenty of others who would rush to engage me if they thought I was in a hurry to die at their hands.
Rowan is not one of them, despite what Lord Darius told us would happen if we refused to kill one another. He's still keeping his distance.
I charge at him, not knowing what else to do. I thrust my spear his way, then close with him briefly, the haft of the weapon pushing his shield while my chain tangles and deflects his sword.
“Listen to me,” I whisper sharply. “The only way we both get to live is if they like what we're doing. If we give them a heroic battle, then when you beat me, the emperor will want to see more.”
“You're wrong,” Rowan shoots back. “There won’t be any mercy.”
“Not if you keep refusing to fight,” I say, but he shoves me with his shield, forcing me back so that he can go back to keeping the distance and circling.
I attack him furiously because it's the only way I can give the impression that we're having a real battle. Rowan deflects my attacks with his shield and with his sword, because if he doesn't he will be hurt by them. I'm not aiming for vital areas, but I'm at least trying to get a response from him.
If I hope that this will be enough to satisfy the crowd, I'm sorely mistaken.
"Kill him! Kill him!" they begin to chant, while others continue their chorus of boos. It's obvious they can tell the difference between two fighters who are actively trying to kill one another and two who are merely engaged in some kind of elaborate dance, with only one of them making any real effort to attack.
The emperor's voice rings out over the arena. “I will give you both one turn of the sand to bring this fight to a conclusion. If it is not finished by then, both of your lives will be forfeit!”
Fresh terror runs through me. Now we don't even have time in which to work out a way through this situation. I have no more time in which to persuade Rowan to work with me. He seems to be making a decision as well, standing back and thinking for a moment.
Then he attacks for the first time in this bout. His sword swings at me, and I barely block it in time. His shield batters me, pushing me back. Now we are exchanging blows, my spear slicing around so that he must jump over it, my weighted chain slamming against his shield.
Rowan attacks, hitting me with his shield, forcing me to defend against his sword. I must give ground, stepping across the crumbling stone surfaces of the fake temple. The crowd are cheering more now, as if realizing that the action is finally hitting up. Rowan pushes me this way and that, using his shield to direct me, his greater strength meaning that I must go with the movements because I have no chance of holding my ground without leaving an opening for his sword. We fight, and Rowan is the one in control of where the fight takes place. Arrows flash past us, triggered as a part of some trap. Stones crumble on the edge of a walkway as Rowan forces me back along it. We are heading for a stone platform that looks unstable, the edges of it already crumbling. If Rowan forces me onto that and it gives way, the way it is designed to, I will fall and be crushed by the weight of rocks following me.
“Rowan, wait,” I say.
“I'm sorry, Lyra. I have no choice.”
He lunges at me, sword raised, shield in front of him to prevent my spear from finding a home in his torso. Not that I can bring myself to thrust it home anyway. Rowan charges in…
… and then, at the last moment, he spins the two of us around and pushes away from me, making it look as though I've shoved him. He stumbles back onto the platform. He stands there for a moment, and I know that if he tried, he could stabilize it long enough with his powers to leap clear. Instead, he stands there, sword raised.
The platform gives way. Rowan falls with a cry, disappearing in a shower of stone and dust. More stone falls from above, rocks tumbling down onto his falling form. The noise of it is awful, and when it's settled, Rowan is nowhere to be seen. He is buried by a pile of rocks so large that no one could survive such a thing.
There is silence for several seconds, then the crowd erupts in cheers. Tears fall down my cheeks, even as I lift my spear in automatic acknowledgement. How could Rowan do this? How could he give his life for me like this? My heart aches with the agony of what has just happened. I feel numb, the outside world barely touching me at all. When the announcer speaks, the words seem to come from a distance.
“Citizens of Aetheria, I give you your victor, Lyra!”