Arena (14 page)

She swallowed on a dry mouth.

The activity in the stall grew frenzied. Then, from outside, Callie heard a pair of slurred voices—men from the tavern. Had they followed her? Probably not, but she’d rather they not find her here.

She eyed the loft again. It
was
the best choice.
And it’s high time you
conquered this stupid phobia
.

With her gaze fixed upward, Callie climbed one careful rung at a time to the top, where sweet hay piled in silhouette against the brilliance of the open loft door. Here, though, the ladder stuck up past the floor. To get off, she’d have to step around and over it, with nothing to hold on to while she did.

Outside, the men’s voices approached. Her stomach churned. Her wrists felt weak. Heat flashed across her back and shoulders. Gritting her teeth, she ascended another rung, bending double to keep hold of the ladder.

The fear burst out of nowhere, sweeping over her in dizzying waves, turning her legs to jelly.

Just move through it. You’ll be okay
. But she couldn’t let go of the ladder. Already the ground was pulling at her, drawing her like a great magnet.

She was choking. Sweat slicked her palms, and her arms jittered to match her legs.

If you don’t go now, you won’t go at all. Now, move
.

She lurched forward, planted a foot on the loft’s edge, and let go. For a moment she teetered on the brink. Then the ground spun up at her, and she flailed backward—

Someone reached out of the darkness and jerked her to safety. She fell with him into the hay, smelled a familiar musky odor, felt the hard muscles of his chest and arms, and pushed away, her panic shifting focus. He backed off, a shadow crouching against the light.

“Are you all right?” It was Pierce, which part of her had known the moment he’d grabbed her.

“I’m fine.” Even her voice shook.

“I thought maybe you were—”

“I’m not drunk!” All at once she was angry—at him, at herself, at the drunks outside, at Garth, at the aliens, at the whole situation. None of it was fair, none of it was right, none of it should
be
. She wanted out. And there was no out.

Loud voices pierced her frustration. The drunks were blundering into the stalls below, repelled each time by indignant occupants. They seemed to think this outrageously funny, and at last, roaring with laughter, they staggered back into the street.

As the silence returned Pierce stood and crossed to the back of the loft, where a rectangle of light flooded through the open doors. He sat down, his back to her, only a portion of his profile visible. She followed him to the middle of the loft and eased onto the straw, hugging her knees to her chest, but he ignored her, lost in one of his moods. She began to feel more than a little foolish.

Presently he stretched back in the hay, cradling his head in his hands, and her attention was arrested by the silvery light that bathed him. The Arena had no moon, and Manderia had no electricity. So where was the light coming from? The Gate?

Feeling a tingle of wonder, Callie stood and edged toward the opening, stopping with her feet just inside the light. Outside, Manderian rooftops tumbled toward the gleaming hulk of the city wall, the Inner Realm cliffs towering darkly beyond. The rim itself, however, remained blocked by the loft door’s lintel, so she slowly squatted into the light.

The Gate was breathtaking. Its bright, clear radiance shimmered against the velvet night. Now blue, now gold, now silver, it flowed with intertwined rivers of light that waxed and waned and waxed again. Pierced anew by the inexplicable longing, she ached to be near it, to touch it, to feel its glory on her face.

We intend this for your benefit
, Alex had said. For the first time she could almost believe it was true.

She didn’t know how long she crouched there and wasn’t aware of sitting down until she found herself beside Pierce in the straw. When she glanced at him, he was watching her.

The pale light softened his features and turned his eyes dark. His gaze flicked back to the Gate, and she saw in him a yearning that echoed her own. “That
was
you I saw at the temple today, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t move, hands still cradling his head, eyes still fixed on the Gate’s arches. “Yeah.”

She waited. He did not continue.

“So are you thinking of signing up with Mander?”

“Thinking of it.”

Chills flooded her. “Don’t tell me you believe the Manderians are right.”

“Okay.”

Confused into silence, Callie toyed with the straw at her feet.

“I hear it’s not unpleasant,” he added after a time.

“But the manual doesn’t say anything about terms of indenture.”

“No.”

“So it’s got to be fraudulent.”

“Only if you believe the manual.”

“If you take the manual out, nothing about this makes any sense.”

“Nothing makes sense, anyway.” His eyes met hers significantly. “And if you think the manual’s so important, why did you let the mites have it?”

She frowned and examined her bootlaces. It had been almost two weeks since they’d taken it, and she still wasn’t sure if she regretted that or not. A sudden rainstorm had caught the Outlanders by surprise, thoroughly drenching them. It was two days before they had time and opportunity to air everything out, and like the others, she’d emptied her pack, scattering its contents across grass, bush, and rock. For the first time in weeks, she’d actually held the manual, sodden and bedraggled after the rain.

She recalled thinking how much her attitude toward it had changed, how much she’d once risked—unknowingly, to be sure—to save it, yet somehow she still hadn’t managed to give it even a good skimming. Guilt suggested she had time that very afternoon while they waited for everything to dry, but then John had suggested a target shooting contest and she couldn’t say no—didn’t want to say no, truth be told. She’d left the manual lying open on a rock to dry, and when she’d returned hours later, it was gone. She hadn’t even seen them take it.

If anything, her reaction had been more relief than regret, though her sleep
had
been troubled that night. But surely if the manual held answers, her companions would’ve found them long ago. Why torment herself over the loss of something that really didn’t matter?

And Pierce was right—manual or not, nothing in their situation made any sense.

“Has it occurred to you,” he said, “that they might not intend for us to leave?”

“Then why put us here?”

“I don’t know.” Pierce sat up, stuck a straw in his mouth, and gazed at the Gate. Callie watched him covertly. Somewhere out in the city a tomcat yowled.

“Maybe they’re testing us,” he said at last. “Maybe they’re planning to invade the Earth and want to learn about the opposition.”

“Maybe they’re hoping to contact us peacefully and want to find out if it’s possible.”

He huffed softly. “Or maybe it’s all a show and we’re the entertainment. An alien version of Roman bread and circuses.” The straw twirled slowly between his lips. “You’re too new to know how they play with us, offer us hope only to snatch it away.”

“Those are pretty grim thoughts, Pierce.”

“Yeah, but it makes the prospect of living in Mander under bondage considerably more appealing than mucking around in the Inner Realm.”

She looked at him sharply, surprised again. “You think Garth’s wrong?”

He snorted. “Aliens set up this arena. They traveled umpteen light years to snatch us off the Earth and bring us here. You think we’re gonna escape on our own?”

He had a point.

“Are you going to back out, then?”

Silence answered her at first. Muffled voices drifted up from below. A mule stomped and snorted. At length he sighed and tossed the straw away. “Probably not.”

He settled back and went to sleep. For a long time afterward she sat staring at the living Gate and the dark cliff and the sleeping city, wondering, come morning, what
she
was going to do.

CHAPTER

9

Callie awakened the next morning to Garth’s loud voice issuing cheerfully from the ground floor. Groans and protests greeted his efforts as she sat up, picking straw from her hair. Across from her, Pierce belted on his weapons, looking more rested than she’d ever seen him, and it occurred to her that last night was the first in weeks he’d slept without a nightmare.

“Pierce?” Garth called. “You up there?”

“Yo.” Pierce slid on his new dragon-hide cuirass and headed for the ladder.

“You wouldn’t know where Callie is, would you?” Garth continued. “Nobody’s seen her since she left the tavern last night.”

“She’s up here, too.”

Garth was a moment replying. His voice, when it came, sounded strangled. “Really?”

“It’s not what you think.” Pierce swung onto the ladder and started down.

Choking with mortification, Callie watched him disappear. She wanted to rush down and explain, but knew her babbled defense would only make things worse. Instead she lingered in the loft for a while and went to breakfast late. Only Whit and John remained by the time she arrived, and neither said a word, though John was definitely smirking at her.

An hour later Garth led them out of Manderia, following the Fire River south along the base of the cliffs. For three days they made good time; then the river tumbled into a steep-walled canyon choked with boulders, thick brush, and a particularly robust subspecies of redclaw. When John inadvertently stepped into a hidden capture pod, the thing retracted toward its digestive center with such force he was dragged six feet before they could cut him loose. After that, they kept to the canyon’s rocky but barren sides.

No one mentioned Callie’s night in the loft with Pierce, though she caught Garth watching her intently several times. His estrangement from Rowena was lasting longer than usual. Rowena repeatedly complained to Callie and LaTeisha that their relationship had soured, that he was too controlling and arrogant, that she wasn’t going to let him use her anymore. Callie said nothing to encourage reconciliation, and felt vaguely guilty for it.

On the evening of the fourth day Garth approached her.

They’d camped on a wide ledge bounded by the soaring canyon wall on one side and a forty-foot drop-off to the river on the other. There was room to spread out and plenty of firewood in the juniper-oak forest that surrounded them. Some questioned the wisdom of building fires, but Garth assured them no Trogs would trouble them here.

Callie was heading out to gather wood when he stepped into her path from behind a juniper. “Hi,” he said, smiling down at her. “Still sorting things out?”

She shrugged. “I guess not.”

They started up the hill. “So what’s the deal with Pierce?” he asked.

“Deal?”

“Your night in the loft—”

“I went up there to get away. I didn’t even know he was there.”

“But you stayed.”

“Being with Pierce is like being alone.” Not entirely true, but he’d avoided her these last days as assiduously as she’d avoided him.

“So . . . you didn’t sleep with him?”

“No!” Indignation raised the pitch of her voice. “Not that it’s any of
your
business.”

Garth chuckled. “I gotta admit, I found it hard to believe. I mean,
Pierce?

” Annoyed anew, Callie changed the subject. “How much farther do we have to go?”

“We should reach Hardluck tomorrow morning.”

“Hardluck? I thought we weren’t going there.”

“We’ll pass right by it, and Whit won’t trust the map without confirmation.” He stepped over a hummock of rock. “Not that Hardluck will give it to him.”

“You have no doubts yourself?”

“I knew Tom—the guy we got it from.”

“And the others didn’t?”

“Pierce did. We met him after the trip to the Edge, while the group was split up.”

Things had gone badly on that trip. She’d heard that many blamed Garth.

“Me and Row and Pierce decided to try the cleft on our own,” he said. “All we did was get lost. We ran into Tom on his way down from the rim, hurt bad. We took him to Hardluck, and while he healed he drew the map.”

“What happened to him?”

“Mutants got him. Same time they got Pierce, only they didn’t let Tom go.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and he fell silent.

They walked on. Callie picked up several dead branches before he spoke again. “But we’re moving forward now, and that’s what counts.” He took the wood from her arms. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

She smiled slightly, then stooped to pick up another branch.

He continued to watch her; she could see his half smile out of the corner of her eye. “You amaze me,” he said.

She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, reluctant to meet his gaze. “I do?”

“You’re so small and weak looking, but you never come unglued. The Ice Lady.”

She had no idea how to respond.

He traced her cheek with the roughened finger of his free hand. Suddenly she could hardly breathe. Blood beat thickly in her throat. Again she felt that powerful sexual awareness.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he murmured. “Fire burning beneath the ice.”