Chapter Fourteen Sadie #2
The crowd didn’t appear concerned about the ethics.
Groups of people stood in a kind of wave that started at the bottom of the auditorium, with each successive row jumping up to get a better view as it was blocked by the people in front of them.
The crowd had lost count now, instead just yelling and screaming and whistling with abandon.
The man in front of us waved a fist in the air, and the volume in the arena reached a roar that I was pretty sure might actually deafen me.
I let myself get caught up in the excitement and grabbed Nedd’s arm, whooping in his ear.
I realized too late I’d grabbed his prosthetic, which maybe I shouldn’t have done without asking, and scud, maybe he was weirded out that I was touching him at all.
But Nedd didn’t seem to mind, joining me in screaming for the fighters.
On the arena floor, Kalia tried to get close to the scion again, but Timon’s path cut toward her, blocking her way.
He reached the branches Dayan had lashed themself to.
The scion was trying to pry them off with a limb around their waist, but they used their whip as a tether and backflipped to another branch, maintaining their stance.
As Timon’s laser sword approached, Dayan hauled on the branches, trying to turn the scion out of reach. The tree did pivot—
But then with one mighty swipe, Timon cut Dayan’s branch and both Dayan and the severed branches went tumbling to the ground.
Dayan rolled to avoid the scion’s ambulatory roots, which struck at them as they dodged frantically. Timon took that opportunity to draw back his blade and stab the scion right in its face. A retaliatory branch slapped him across the chest and beat him away.
But the scion stumbled back and then fell over, nearly landing on Dayan, who rolled out of the way with one final twist.
The tree fell still, and Kalia stood over it with a hand on one hip, looking seriously annoyed.
“He won, right?” I shouted.
“Yes!” the man in front of us called, though I didn’t know if that was directed at us or just a general announcement of joy. The numbers next to Timon’s name on the scoreboard were the highest, so I took that for confirmation.
Timon and Dayan peeled themselves off the ground, and Dayan offered Timon a slap on the back. Then all three champions jogged toward the end of the arena where they’d entered.
At the other end of the coliseum, another gate rolled open, its archway big enough that a scion could have walked through. Billows of a purplish smoke poured out, rolling down the ramp into the arena and then wafting up into the air.
The crowd went oddly still, cheers dying on their lips.
Those who weren’t yet standing climbed to their feet.
Two robed figures stepped out of the smoke, which was thick enough to completely obscure the area beyond the archway.
Their faces were hidden by their hoods, so I couldn’t even tell if they were human.
I doubted I could ask about them without drawing attention.
It was one thing not to know the specific rules of a sport and another to question what was clearly common knowledge—though with all the mystical smoke and creepy costumes, I wondered if the people here even knew what was really going on.
If Ivy was running this show, maybe these guys were also varvax.
It would explain the literal cloaks of secrecy.
Anything could be hidden beneath those hoods.
“Timon Trenchcoat!” Ivy’s voice said over the loudspeaker.
“You alone have proven yourself worthy to join the ranks of your ancestors in Elysium. Step forward to claim your place in the armies of your forefathers. The others have not yet proven themselves worthy, but they will each receive another chance in the final two days of the End Times Tournament, when they join their fellow gladiators in a Grand Melee!”
I expected this to be followed by cheers, but the crowd remained hushed.
Timon dropped his sword to the arena floor and walked to the base of the ramp, where a woman holding a child ran toward him.
They both threw their arms around Timon.
He lifted them off the ground, hugging them.
The way they clung around his neck didn’t look congratulatory.
It looked like they were saying goodbye.
The crowd and Ivy were silent while they embraced. Timon stepped away, giving the woman a kiss, and planting another on the cheek of the child. Then he marched up the ramp through the smoke. The two robed figures followed, and the gate rolled down again without ever revealing what was behind it.
The woman and child stood on the ramp as the crowd erupted in cheers again, many people chanting Timon’s name. The chanting was so loud that my heartbeat aligned to it, and out of Nedd’s backpack, a high-pitched fluting joined in.
“Timon! Timon!” Wham chanted, joined by the lower voice of Squeeze in Gilaf’s pack.
Arturo said something to Alanik that I couldn’t hear, and the slugs fell silent. Alanik must have impressed on Bob the need to stay hidden. No one had noticed the strange voices in the cacophony of chanting and screaming and yelling.
In the middle of it all, the woman stared at the gate, clutching the child to her side. Her face wasn’t clear from this distance, but from the way her shoulders shook, it was obvious she was sobbing.
“Wait,” I said. “Where did he go?”
The man in front of us was too distracted with cheering to notice my question—which I probably should have known the answer to—but I almost wished he would notice, because then he could tell me what I was missing.
What the scud was Elysium, and where did that gate lead?