Chapter 14 #2
I glance over to see her exchanging coin with the group sitting behind us. It is all so very casual, betting on the lives of her friends.
The lightning god lifts a hand. “Begin.”
An ear-splitting crack rends the air. There is a great rush toward the field’s center, all one hundred and ten competitors bearing swords and maces, axes and rusted shields.
Many are accompanied by animal companions, whether hawk or owl or dove, fox or snake or dog.
Then, a spray of blood, a wretched scream: the first kill.
I’m not sure where to look first. Arin locks staffs with a much larger opponent.
The Fates work as a team, driving their weapons into hearts, stomachs, throats.
Two gods collide at the far wall. One punches a mass of fire toward his foe.
It hits a transparent barrier, and the fire-god’s opponent flees, ducking blows in his attempt to reach safety on the opposite side of the arena.
“What was that?” Demi screams at the fleeing god as she shoves to her feet. Her dark hair springs from its confinement, and red paints her face. “Are you a coward, or are you a conqueror?”
Our neighbors holler their agreement, shaking fists and flinging food into the stands below. I shrink further into my seat, horrified beyond measure, yet unable to look away.
The stadium rumbles, and I clutch the railing in confusion as a cyclone plummets downward, whipping up a thick haze of debris.
Gray clouds boil overhead, spitting hail and a stinging rain.
A bolt of lightning strikes three competitors at once.
They collapse, dazed, as I squint against the driving rain.
In the center of the cyclone stands Eurus, the storm his to command.
He lifts his hands, and the tempest sweeps the field.
It drags three, five, seven competitors inside its spiral before spitting them out in pieces.
Dead litter the ground. The air is a great red cloud, a coppery miasma.
I cover my eyes against the suffering, but it makes no difference.
I am back at the estate, Lady Clarisse venturing belowground.
Sometimes, the screams would stretch for hours until the voices failed, disintegrating under constant strain.
My fingers spread, and I peer through the spaces between.
One deity dressed in an ornate robe locks blades with a blue-haired goddess.
Her skin glows in shades of brightening sunrise, the intensity enough to burn her opponent’s eyes to dust. He claws at his face until someone rams a spear through his chest.
Across the arena, a wild-eyed goddess nocks an arrow to her bow. The East Wind, whose back is to her, does not recognize the danger as his wings unfurl and he takes to the sky.
“Watch out!” I scream.
The arrow cuts the air, swift and clean, embedding itself in his shoulder. Cloak flapping around him, Eurus locks onto the goddess who shot the arrow. A two-headed ax appears in his hand, and he dives toward his adversary, dodging a second arrow, a third. I gasp, leaning forward. His ax. It’s here.
The goddess bares her teeth, stabbing at him with one of her arrows. He dodges easily, slips behind her, and decapitates her with one brutal slash.
The head bounces, rolls. I gag as her body crumples. The stadium quakes with another wave of deafening noise. Meanwhile, Demi has made herself comfortable, legs resting on the back of the bench in front of us. She laughs and tosses another chestnut into her mouth.
Eurus blasts hail at a gray-skinned woman with snakes slithering along her limbs—the goddess Demi and I spotted the other day in town.
He calls down a thundercloud that seethes with white lightning.
Using the rain as a shroud, Eurus evades the snake goddess’ great yellow eyes, speeding low toward the ground until she loses interest and seeks another poor soul to turn to stone.
And still the battle rages. Two gods fall, their wings ripped off.
Another collapses onto the ground, not one, but three daggers protruding from his chest. Several deaths are added to the growing tally: a beast with its belly split open, a god impaled by a spear.
The more violent the tournament becomes, the louder and more piercing the screams.
“Oh, come on!” Demi cries, lurching forward. “Use your shield to protect that skull of yours! Or do you lack the brain to recognize that?”
I stare at her, eyes wide.
“Pardon,” the goddess says, lips curved coyly as she settles back and resumes her languishing. “I sometimes get, ah, heated about sports.”
She and I have a different definition of sport.
A great many deities now lie strewn across the blood-soaked grass, either gravely wounded, or dead. One goddess with the lower body of a canid lunges at Eurus, who uses his winds to divert her into the wall. He pins her, ax in hand, and cuts her throat.
I look away, breathing in and out, slowly. “How much longer?” I whisper to Demi.
She touches my back in comfort. “Nearly done. I can’t imagine the council would let it continue for much longer.”
Death, or surrender.
“Oh,” the goddess whispers in horror. “Oh, no.”
There, in the middle of the arena, the East Wind battles against some beastly creature.
I thought Eurus was a giant amongst gods, but this behemoth is the largest I have seen, towering nearly as high as the arena wall.
His skin is a lumpy gray, and his single reddened eye churns in the center of his forehead like a vast, boiling sun.
I gasp as he pins Eurus to the trampled grass.
The East Wind kicks out unsuccessfully, trying to twist free with a wildness that speaks of a deep-seated fear.
Using his ax, he slashes at the god’s beefy forearm.
At one point, his hood falls back, revealing a shock of black hair, but I’m too far away to discern any individual facial features.
A violent wind hammers into his foe’s wide chest. There is a splintering crack, and the god releases him.
The East Wind launches himself skyward, narrowly dodging a flaming arrow, before plummeting back toward the ground. He flips mid-air and lands with a sickening crunch on the back of the god’s neck.
I recoil from what Eurus does next. Even Demi curses beneath her breath, her bag of chestnuts forgotten, scattered at her feet. “Oly should have known better than to touch him,” she murmurs.
I look to her. It is safe, this face, lovely and pristine. “Why should he have known better?”
She doesn’t answer me, her attention fixated below. The East Wind has abandoned his winds for his ax. Bone crunches; blood sprays. I cover my mouth with my hands as he hacks the immortal to tiny pieces.
The Fates, having vanquished their most recent opponent, regroup and spear toward Eurus.
“Behind you!” I scream. “Eurus!”
He’s tackled by three at once. They roll, their kindling hair flickering against the dark of his cloak. He catches two around the neck, slams them into the ground. The third, he punches in the stomach.
A horn sounds, and the Fates scatter. Moments later, Eurus’ legs give out.
I gasp as the air shimmers across the field. A door has materialized at the center of the arena. Those nearest to it have already begun stumbling through, but those still locked in battle have failed to notice. My fingers dig into my thighs as the screams peak.
The East Wind pushes up onto his knees. He bows forward, struggling to stand. I chew my lower lip as competitor after competitor sprints or hobbles past him.
“He’s not moving,” I say. “Why isn’t he moving?” Leaning forward, I belt, “Hurry up, Eurus! I never figured you’d be the slowest one on the field!” Harsh? Perhaps. But, injured or not, he needs to make it through that door.
He’s up, his wings spread. A few great beats send him soaring over the field, straight through the open doorway. Satisfied, I resettle myself, catching Demi’s quirked eyebrow in the process. “What? He was moving too slowly.”
She shakes her head, actively fighting a smile.
“The first trial has reached its end,” booms the lightning god.
“Those that have passed through the door are granted entry into the next round, which will take place seven days hence.” With that, he returns to his chair.
Meanwhile, the competitors that survived stumble toward the door leading from the field.
“Well,” Demi quips beside me. “That finished sooner than I’d hoped.”
Lunging from my seat, I hurl myself down the stairs, shoving aside those making toward the exit, the elation high and the air bristling with static. When I reach the lowest level of the stands, I search for an access point onto the field, yet find none.
I am likely breaking all sorts of rules, but I vault the arena wall.
My feet hit the blood-soaked mud with a squelch.
Hand pressed over my mouth, I race toward the open doorway, dodging severed limbs and crimson puddles.
My loafers slide across the drenched grass, but I manage to cross the threshold, entering what appears to be an infirmary.
I find the East Wind lying on one of the many cots, his cloak in tatters. In seconds, I’ve reached his bedside. “Eurus.”
“Hello, bird,” he grinds out. “Come to…” He hacks a wet cough. “Finish me off?”
I gaze down at him. My fear has morphed beyond its hovel, wrenched into a thousand minute points. His cloak may very well be shielding a fatal wound. “You’re hurt. We need to remove your clothes.”
“No.” He catches my wrist. His fingers quaver, then fall away. “No,” he whispers again.
Stupid immortal. “Fine,” I grit out. “It’s y-your death.”
“The divine possess extraordinary healing capabilities,” he counters in a strained voice.
“Not against a god-touched weapon.” And speaking of god-touched weapons…
his ax lies a few feet away, resting on a small side table.
I swallow. When he isn’t carrying it with him, it must be secreted somewhere in our shared chambers.
If I can find where it is hidden, perhaps I can smuggle it back to St. Laurent once our bargain is fulfilled.
Eurus shoves himself upright using one hand. “I’ll be fine.”
I doubt that, but I hold my tongue. “Then let me at least help y-you up.” When I reach for him, however, he slaps my hand aside with a low growl.
I stiffen, but there is no fear now, only a great fury that claws at my throat, rises to mask my vision. He has been through much, but I, too, have suffered. While I may not be of divine origin, I am still a person worthy of respect.
“You s-s-stubborn, arrogant, divine idiot,” I growl. “Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help y-you? To save your sorry life?”
The East Wind regards me from his collapsed position, breathing erratically.
“What I don’t understand,” I whisper, “is how you still treat m-me with such callous disregard, after I’ve done my hardest to help you, to work with you in whatever capacity you demand.
I am trying my b-best. But you make it so hard to like you, so hard to be generous with you, so hard to be understanding.
No m-matter my efforts, you will not even give me an inch.
” My voice quavers. I can be strong, I think.
Even I have my limits. “You don’t want m-my help?
Fine. But good luck dragging yourself back to the r-room. ”
Turning on my heel, I march from the infirmary. Not once do I look back.