Chapter Thirty-Two. Gin
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GIN
At the other end of the arena, another platform is also rising, that one filled with soldiers, dressed in an older type of costume.
I squint to try to get a clearer view. Then I realize they’re wearing Lacon military uniforms from five hundred years ago.
Whereas we’re dressed in the traditional robes of Ophir.
I start to suspect I know exactly what kind of tournament House Dominant is hosting and it’s not a tournament at all.
There’s no sportsmanship here. Not today.
My heart leaps into my throat and I reach for Eban’s hand.
He squeezes it. He knows what’s happening here, too.
“It’s all right,” he says. “You’ve got this.”
I’m struck then, by the realization that, until now, I was always waiting.
Waiting for someone to rescue me. Waiting for someone to help me out of my predicament, out of my life.
Rollo had been that savior once. I waited for him to pick me up from the street, allowed him to bring me to his home, to hide me.
I was always waiting to be saved and Rollo was happy enough to do the saving.
But Eban—Eban isn’t going to save me. Instead, he believes in me. He believes I can save myself. Is this what love is after all? Not waiting to be saved, but being with someone who lets you save yourself?
I turn back to the arena. Sure enough, when the announcer blares, “Lords, ladies, and gentlemen, welcome to Liberation Day!” my fears are confirmed.
We aren’t here to be servants at all. Instead we’d volunteered to be prey.
It’s so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t realize their true intentions earlier, when they culled the weak from the strong.
They’re staging a reenactment of the last battle of Ophir.
When the soldiers conquered the city and slaughtered almost everyone in the kingdom.
My stomach sinks and my fingers twitch, itching for the blades I usually carry.
The platform finally lurches to a full stop.
There’s a brief moment of silence all around—from the crowd, from those of us huddled together.
Even the soldiers stand eerily still. And then, with one breath, it all changes.
The soldiers draw their swords. The blades shimmer in the light, menacing, razor sharp.
I see the flashes of our colorful woven tunics reflected in them.
The arena teeters on the edge—excitement and apprehension, and a thirst for blood in the air.
“They want a show,” Eban growls. “Let’s give them one.”
A cheer breaks out across the arena as another platform begins to rise from the ground. Only there aren’t more Ophir on it, nor soldiers, either. As it comes into view I see metal and wires and gears—it’s an enormous automaton.
I stop breathing. The mechanical monster has creaking tentacles like an octopus.
As it emerges, the arms slowly begin to move, gaining speed as it warms up, screeching and groaning, until finally they whip around in the air at a terrifying pace.
On the ends of the tentacles, something else begins to spin, adding a loud whirring noise. Blades.
Eban’s still holding my hand, briefly caressing my fingers, a fleeting, comforting gesture. “You can do this,” he says. “You have more power in you than anyone else in the world.”
The automaton lift shudders to a halt and clicks, locking it into place. The crowd cheers louder. Because its platform starts to move. It’s coming straight for us.
-Tadhana! I call out in my mind. Are you with me?
Yes.
-Are you ready?
Then she says something I don’t expect.
Gin, I’m afraid I must caution you against this line of action. If you reveal yourself now, we may never make it to the vault. I sense another bonded spirit on the premises. We might be exposing ourselves too early.
The heavy automaton inches slowly toward us, but it’s still coming, and the closer it gets, the more horrifying its flying saws are.
-Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Tadhana. If we don’t get out of this arena, we won’t make it to the vault to retrieve the relics.
Okay, fine. I see your point. But here’s mine. Use caution, and be sure to direct your power, else you inadvertently harm the very ones you hope to protect. Should you lose control, you won’t make it to your desired destination, either.
Tadhana is right. I need to be careful. Except I’ve never done this before, try to control my power and on such a grand scale. Up until now, each time I’d utilized the power of the relics, I’d done quite a lot of damage.
“Good people of Lacon, let me introduce you to House Dominant’s new invention. The Octoblade!” the announcer declares.
The crowd claps furiously. Some people whistle. Fun and games to them, as the people around me tremble with fear. I’ve seen mechanical weapons before, it’s a Laconian specialty, but none this terrifying.
“Whether we can break last year’s achievement, and eradicate the enemy in record time, remains to be seen! What do you say?” The crowd goes wild, clapping and shouting and stomping their feet.
“Goddess, I call upon your power,” I whisper. I try to drown out everything going on around me, the frantic breaths and pushing, the sounds of the crowd, the announcer’s smug voice, and focus only on summoning the magic I’m supposed to be able to wield.
At first nothing happens. Exactly what I’d feared. I don’t know how to channel my power. I haven’t had enough practice. But neither do I have time to learn. There’s no choice. This has to work.
Try again. Sometimes it takes a while for Yarima to answer.
-You think she could sense we’re in a bit of an emergency?
The gods don’t like it when we are impatient.
I sigh and try again. This time I picture myself kneeling before the goddess’s feet.
-Yarima, goddess of war, answer my call and allow me to slay my enemies as a tribute to your greatness.
A loud raucous cheer erupts from the crowd as the announcer makes one more proclamation: “There is no escape from Liberation Day! Death to Ophir!”
When I open my eyes, I see that the guards on the other platform are marching to stand in formation on the edges of the arena. Prepared to attack those who are running from the Octoblade.
-Yarima, please. Tadhana, call her. Now!
“Come on,” I mutter. What use is the power if I can’t call it in a crisis like this?
I look up and my eye catches a face in the crowd.
It’s Rollo. He’s laughing, enjoying himself at the games, a beautiful woman on each arm.
Even though I know the truth of why he was kind to me now, it still hurts.
He puts down his goblet as if he feels my eyes on him, and turns to look directly at me.
His eyes widen, shock and worry written all over his features.
My heart lurches. But he does nothing—he’s not going to save me from here.
He’s not going to stop my death, not today.
I wrench my gaze away from him. The crowd pounds their feet on the floor.
The Octoblade keeps moving closer to our platform.
People begin to run. One tries to outsmart the monster and run past it, but the automaton swipes with its arm and slices the man’s torso.
He crumples to the ground. Others scream and run in the other direction.
The guards rush toward us, keeping us corralled on the platform.
“You bastards,” I whisper, staring at the crowd. They’re eating and drinking, rapt at the spectacle.
“Gin! Duck!” Eban yells as a soldier rushes toward us, holding a cutlass in the air.
The soldier’s so close I can see the sigil on his jacket.
A tiny water dragon. How strange, I think, that the symbol on the collar of his jacket isn’t that of a Laconian lion.
The water dragon silhouette is the sigil of King Alred, the first king of Ophir, whose banners flew all over the Drowned City.
Why would Laconian soldiers carry the mark of an Ophir king?
I think of what Tadhana told me. What she called Lacon—rebels.
And what Luwalhati told us—that the Lacon betrayed us.
For five hundred years Laconians told us that they discovered Ophir and conquered us.
That we were a feeble and weak people, a backward and primitive civilization.
But what if—what if Lacon didn’t discover us at all?
What if Lacon was always part of Ophir? There’s more to this story than we’ve been told.
And when I get out of this arena, I’m going to find out exactly what it is.
Before the soldier can reach me, Eban throws himself between us, and the two of them fall, Eban struggling to disarm the man who’s trying to drive his blade into Eban’s chest.
Meanwhile the Octoblade is hovering so close we can feel the air from its blades. We’re all going to die. Eban is still struggling with the soldier, the blade so close to his neck it draws a line of blood.
-Yarima! I scream.
My angry daughter, Tadhana says. Good.
-Yarima! Lend me your might!
I’m shaking and furious. My anger overwhelming and ferocious.
I’m ready to lay waste to every Laconian in the arena.
And then, all of a sudden, I feel my power.
My rage lights a spark and starts a fire in my blood.
The resulting flames course through my veins, fury and vengeance.
Lightning sparks up underneath my skin, tiny bolts that zap all over my body.