7. Leah #2
A furious snarl rips through the arena, and the wolf, at last realizing it’s free, bolts from the tunnel.
I don’t wait for it to catch my scent, sprinting in the other direction.
Explosive, crackling power fills the air, and I glance over my shoulder to see a group of fledglings trying to fry the wolf from above.
They’re wasting no time in trying to prove themselves to the seraphim.
The sound of their lightning startles the dermison, however, which releases an angry trumpet and charges from its tunnel, immediately knocking over the pyramid of wood with its swinging trunk.
The fledglings have to scatter to avoid the flying debris, and the wolf, meanwhile, deftly dodges most of the lightning bolts, only catching a flash of magic across its shoulder.
It releases a whine that transforms into a growl just as I reach the edge of the arena.
Rather than stopping it, the blow just seems to have pissed it off.
I throw my back against the stone wall, panting. At least now I can move around the arena without having to watch my rear, and I face out into the increasing chaos as I sidestep toward the empty tunnel the dermison left behind.
The lammer bird is slow to emerge from its tunnel, scratching at the ground distractedly, but then one of the fledglings makes the mistake of flying too close to it and catches its attention.
Its head jerks up, one red-ringed eye fixed on the poor ephilium, and with a fierce shriek, it takes flight.
Its huge wings make it twice as fast as the fledglings, and it easily rips the doomed fledgling from the sky.
I don’t look away fast enough, catching the sharp beak closing around a torso and a spray of silver blood.
The fledglings scatter again, focused on avoiding the winged predator—ignoring the wolf.
It’s gotten wise to the attacks from above anyway and has clambered up onto one of the piles of boulders, using its powerful hind legs to launch itself into the air and snap at any low-flying ephilium.
I try to keep an eye on it all, particularly the dermison still roaming the arena floor, swinging its trunk furiously at whatever it can reach. It seems reluctant to head back toward the tunnels, however, and that’s to my advantage.
A scream of agony pierces the air as a fledgling gets caught up in the wolf’s jaws and dragged to the floor.
With a stab of nausea, I see it’s Zinah, the ephilium who had her wings clipped.
More fledglings are crashing back down to earth now, either from swooping to avoid the deadly beak of the bird or from being clipped by its talons.
At last, I reach the tunnel, standing close enough to see that more thick gates have been pulled into place a few feet into the passageway. I think grimly that the gates are probably there to stop any fledglings from trying to escape as much as to keep the animals in the arena.
It’s not a useful thought right now, so I push it aside, focusing on what I came here for.
The rigs used to restrain the beasts are still there.
I pull my knife from my belt and work on cutting through one of the lengths of rope, moving as fast as I can while still giving myself as much length as I need.
This might be a wild, stupid plan, but it’s the best I’ve got. I stow my knife and pull an arrow from the quiver at my back, tying the rope to the end. I used to do this sometimes to help fix our scaling ropes on the city walls, so I have a sense for how the rope will affect the arrow’s balance.
But I’m not shooting at a solid stone wall today. Because I like to make things easy for myself, I’m going to be shooting at a very angry, very rapidly moving target.
I turn toward the dermison and try not to quail as I consider just how tall it is.
It doesn’t help that some of the grounded fledglings—those with injuries or who’ve just decided it’s safer on solid ground—have seized on the wood from the toppled pyramid and have set the pieces on fire with their lightning, using them like torches to ward off the rampaging beast. They’re still alive, so I suppose it’s kind of working, but they’re also succeeding in agitating it more.
I head toward the small mountain of tough, gray hide, my heart thundering as I leave the safety of the arena edge. All the while, I’m trying to keep one eye on the sky in case the bird decides to start picking off those of us on the ground too.
All the animals are still wearing the harnesses that secured them in the tunnels. They’re made of thick leather, wrapping around their backs and stomachs, and fixed with sturdy metal rings the ropes were tied to. I focus on one of those rings sitting up on the center of the dermison’s back.
Then an avian shriek above me has me swerving off course, stowing the arrow in my quiver and darting toward one of the rock piles for cover.
Once I’m down by the boulders, I look up to see the bird wheeling across to the other side of the arena.
My pulse slows a bit, and when I glance down, I notice a small gap between two of the stones, big enough for a person to squeeze through.
I’m about to see how deep it goes when a noise behind me makes my heart stop.
A wet squelch rises from the other side of the rocks.
A sound like teeth sinking into soft skin and flesh being peeled away from the bone.
Holding my breath, I slowly lift my head, inch by inch, until I can look over the top of the stone beside me and see the curve of the wolf’s huge shoulders.
Its furred head is bent, muzzle buried deep in the bloody remains of a fledgling.
I don’t want to look at their face, but when I catch the edge of a pale cheek and a brown eye I know, suddenly and with awful certainty, that it’s Bianca.
I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming and slowly lower my head back down, easing onto my hands and knees and crawling away from the stones as fast as I can without alerting the wolf.
When I think I’m a safe enough distance away, I lurch to my feet and start running, forcing back the tears that want to flood my eyes. I can’t afford to have my vision blurred, not now.
Instead, I keep moving, hoping sheer momentum will banish the horror coursing through me—or at least keep me alive.
I pull my bow from the sheath at my back and nock the arrow I’ve tied to the rope, taking aim just as the gray beast charges by, ten feet away from me.
I let the arrow fly, watching with satisfaction as it arcs over the animal and clean through the metal ring before embedding itself in the thick leather of the harness.
It must not have pierced any deeper, because the creature doesn’t seem to notice, not breaking its stride as it drags the rope along.
I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. This arena and these beasts are new to me, but staying alive on a battlefield? Trusting my smarts and instincts to see me through? I’ve been doing that for years.
I stow my bow and sprint after the beast, taking a running jump and grabbing hold of the rope swinging from its harness. I move quickly, scrabbling up the side of its wrinkled hide until I can grip onto the rings and haul myself fully onto its back.
And then I’m seated astride it, its warm body beneath my legs. I’m suddenly able to see the full state of the arena for the first time. Bronze-clad bodies lie crumpled in the dirt, the arena floor so doused with ephilium blood it looks like it’s sparkling in the midday sun.
Above me, the fledglings still in the air have made progress with the bird, which is now flying unevenly thanks to a seared wing.
My huge steed, meanwhile, has managed to trample several of my peers and crush a few others with its powerful trunk.
As I ride it now, safe from any animal’s attention, I watch it take a swipe at a black-haired boy who looks like he could be Evie’s age.
He only manages to throw himself out of the way just in time, and I look down at the top of the dermison’s huge head, realizing for the first time the kind of advantage I have. I was so focused on getting to safety that now I’m here—unnoticed and out of reach—I’m not sure what to do.
Could I kill it? I pull the small knife from my belt, searching out a large, pulsing artery in the creature’s neck.
I don’t want to slaughter it just to prove myself, but if I kill the dermison now, I’ll surely save more than a few fledgling lives.
It’s not fair that it should die, but none of this is fair, and if someone like Filippa got hurt because I did nothing, I’m not sure I could forgive myself.
I ask the goddess to forgive me instead as I lift my knife up high, angling the tip toward the thick vein I hope will be enough to take the dermison down.
A flicker of movement overhead, and something’s diving toward me. For a horrible moment, I think it’s the monster bird, then I see the flash of white wings and the big, blond head. It’s Keros, that fucking maniac. He’s going to get me—
A familiar prickle runs up my spine, and something whispers into my mind.
Someone.
“Leah.”
I gasp. Fuck. Nothing like fighting for your life to make you slack on maintaining your mental barriers. He’s slipped inside, I can feel it.
I barely have time to slam my walls back up before Keros swoops past, a sword in each hand, dragging the tip of the blade along the dermison’s flank, so close to my leg I have to yank it out of the way.
The beast roars in pain and rears up, its trunk flailing back toward me, trying to bat its attacker away.
I’m already unbalanced from moving my leg, and as I dodge the dermison’s trunk, gravity finds me.