Arena (30 page)
She was so absorbed in memory and distinctions of light and shadow that she didn’t hear Mr. Chapman’s approach, didn’t know he was standing behind her until he spoke.
“That’s very good.”
She flinched and had to exert conscious effort not to flip the book shut. “Thank you.”
He crouched to study it more closely. “I like the way you’ve put him between the light and dark. Kind of symbolic, don’t you think?” She frowned at the sketch, symbolism having been the farthest thing from her mind. “And you’ve captured his expression perfectly. Pensive, thoughtful—I’ve seen that look on his face.”
Settling on a nearby rock, he unclipped a water bottle from the belt of his gray shorts. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He took a long drink, using his free hand to hold in place his Tyrolean hat with its long russet-colored feather.
“That it is.” She closed the sketchbook and set it on the ground, then dug into her pack for her own bottle. A sudden breeze tousled tendrils of hair about her face.
He waved his bottle at the painting of the rock, propped against an outcropping a few feet away. “That’s nice, too. You must have done quite well back on Earth.”
“Actually, I was drowning in rejection and paralyzed by a perfectionism that didn’t even make good paintings. This year’s been good for me.”
A gust of wind caught the block, flipping it into the grass. She leaped to rescue it and, when she turned back, was mortified to see the same gust had thrown open the cover of the other book, displaying the images one after the other right before her companion’s eyes. Already he was bending to pick it up. She swallowed her protest as he lifted it onto his lap. “These are wonderful. May I look?”
What could she say? He was already looking. “Go ahead. They’re pretty rough, and the subject is a bit repetitive. . . .” She trailed off, blushing.
As he paged through the book, she washed her brushes and gathered her things. He took his time, studying each image intently. Finally he handed it back. “You capture the man well.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m surprised you got him to pose for you. He doesn’t seem the type.”
“These are mostly from memory.”
His white brows arched. “From
memory
?”
Oh, please, let’s change the subject!
Callie stuffed the book under her day pack and tried. “So where are you headed today, Mr. C?”
He leaned back on his rock, rubbing bony knees and gazing about. “I thought I’d catch the sunset at the Window. Get away from all the ruckus.” He gestured toward the compound below them. “What they are doing to Mr. Andrews is most distasteful.”
“You don’t believe the videos?”
He shrugged. “The past is past. Why drag it into the present?” He took off his hat and perched it on his knee. “People just want an excuse to leave.”
“And who cares if they humiliate a good man in the process?”
He nodded sadly.
“Meg’s leaving, too,” Callie blurted, the words taking her by surprise.
Mr. C’s brown eyes turned serious.
“We had a fight this morning,” Callie went on.
“And that’s why she’s leaving?”
“No.” Callie sighed. “It’s just—I don’t understand. Pierce wears the circles and bars, he’s unlocked most of Rimlight, and he can read the manual better than any of us, but he still studies his head off to make sure he won’t lead us astray. How can she—how can any of them—think Morgan’s right?”
He fingered the white whiskers under his lip. “People believe what they want to believe, lass. And it isn’t always the truth. Sometimes it has nothing to do with the truth.”
“That’s Meg. She’s so dazzled with Brody, I feel like I don’t know her.” Callie recapped her water bottle. “And she had the gall to say
I
was blinded by feelings.”
“For Pierce, you mean?”
Her face warmed. “It’s not what she thinks.”
“Ahh.”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t fill a sketchbook with pictures of someone you don’t care about, my dear.”
“I find his features artistically interesting, that’s all.” She slid the bottle into her pack, avoiding his gaze, her heart hammering against her breastbone. What was it about this man that made her see herself so clearly? He’d done it first with her fear of heights, making her acknowledge it didn’t really burst out of nowhere but arose from her own thinking. She could control it, he said, by controlling what she chose to think about. And choice was always the issue with him, but choice based on fact—not hopes, not self-delusion, and most of all, not fear.
And I am afraid of this, aren’t I?
Meg had accused her of scuttling past relationships as soon as they hinted of getting serious because she was afraid of love. Meg had made her mad. Mr. C hadn’t even mentioned the matter and somehow led her back to it. But after Garth’s betrayal—and her own father’s—didn’t she have good reason? Besides, it wasn’t just fear. . . .
“It’s true, Pierce and I work well together,” she said at length. “And sometimes it’s scary the way we read each other’s mind. I admit I enjoy his company. I respect him to death, and I’ve trusted him with my life more than once. But that’s not love.”
A corner of his mouth crinkled. “If that’s not love, what is?”
She waved a hand. “I’m talking about romantic love. Sparks. Chemistry. Knight-in-shining-armor stuff. I don’t feel that with him.”
“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”
She looked up at him, surprised.
“That stuff is fun,” he went on, the breeze ruffling his hair, “but it has no staying power. Respect is what matters. Respect and rapport and integrity. If you have those, the sparks will follow.”
He stroked the russet feather in his hat, then met her gaze, brown eyes piercing straight to her soul. “Don’t let fear rob you of joy, lass. If you can trust him with your life, why not with your heart?”
She had no answer, but he didn’t seem to want one. Instead, he put on his hat, reclipped his bottle to his belt, and stood. “Well, the afternoon’s a-waning. Good luck with your painting.”
She did no more painting, however. Instead she sat in the sun, smelled the grass, drank in the quiet, and thought. After a while she pulled out the sketchbook and paged through it, conscious of a strange new feeling welling up in her. The breeze whispered about her, caressing her face and making the flowers dance. She sat there until the sun hovered over the distant peaks and a chill crept into the air.
Finally, reluctantly, she shrugged on her pack, gathered up her pads and blocks, and started for the trail—only to freeze, adrenaline washing through her in a hot, prickling wave.
A Watcher stood four feet in front of her, blocking her way and radiating menace. Small crystalline scales covered its body, reflecting the fading light in places, absorbing it in others, so that parts of the creature’s form disappeared from time to time. Its eyepits were not holes, but rather black orbs with blacker pupils that reminded her of a shark’s eye—soulless and uncaring. She sensed it could devour her in a heartbeat if it chose to, that she was nothing more than prey.
Originally assured the Watchers were harmless voyeurs, she now knew better. They were the Tohvani—brilliant, clever, seductive. And while they couldn’t physically touch participants, that did not lessen the threat they posed.
How long had it been standing there? What did it want?
Slowly the creature bent, picked up the sketchbook she hadn’t known she’d dropped, and held it out to her. She took it hesitantly, then stooped and retrieved the block as well. Except for returning its arm to its side, the alien never moved. Callie backed away, skirted a rocky outcropping, and stepped onto the trail. The Watcher pivoted, keeping her in sight. Nape hairs prickling, she turned her back to it and descended toward the compound, part of her wanting to bolt, part refusing to give the creature the satisfaction of seeing her panic.
They’re right, you know. He
is
afraid
. The words formed so clearly in her mind, she thought at first she’d heard them with her ears.
He’s tasted the curtain. Even here he longs for it
.
Her treacherous feet brought her to a stop. The compulsion to turn back pressed her.
We hold his leash, you see. When we call, he’ll come running, all his
sheep behind him, right into our hands
.
Her knees wobbled violently, compulsion urging her to turn, to gaze into those bottomless eyes. She hugged her drawing pads to her chest and plugged her ears, finally seeking the link. The creature’s laughter echoed in her mind.
It’s a little late for that, Callie. Even if you could find it, you’d still be
listening to me. Because part of you isn’t so enamored with your sponsor as
you’d like to pretend. He put you into this, after all, without your consent.
And deep down, you’re still angry—still scared to death you won’t survive
.
Images tumbled through her mind—cliff-side trails, ripping winds, lavender depths pulling her down, down, down—
“No!” She hurled herself down the trail, not stopping until she reached the compound. Finally, breathless and quivering, she glanced back. It was still there. Shuddering, she stepped within the protective walls, and only then was she released, only then did she realize the full impact of the Watcher’s strength. Pierce had sobered them last night with his warnings about the powerful mental pressure Tohvani could wield. She guessed she hadn’t believed him—until now.
The worst of it was, the thing was right. Something in her
had
leaped in response, something that still squirmed against what they had done to her—and still feared desperately that she would be like countless others who had tried to cross the Inner Realm and failed, who’d betrayed themselves and the Benefactor and had gone over to the other side, allowing themselves to become the very monsters they’d started out fighting.
Instinctively she went looking for Pierce and found his office door open. The light was on, but no one was there. He wasn’t in the library, either. She checked the weight rooms, the dormitory, the big-screen video room, the HTS station, and finally returned to his study. It was as she’d left it—the computer on and the manual open on the desk, blued by the light of the screensaver.
She stepped forward to see what he’d been working on. His notes were cryptic, half of them recorded in the same code as the manual, which she found difficult enough to decipher in print, let alone handwritten. Since nothing indicated where he had gone, she decided to leave him a message.
In the search for something to write on, she found more notes tucked under the manual:
f.c.= portable rejuvenating energy field; causes profound physio
chngs; passage through first gate reverses changes, but desire
and vulnerability to seduction remain.
degree of change determined by frequency of exposure
possibility of reversion to original state if expo cut off before
too far—what’s too far?
p181 “defiled” = physical chg?
p267 anyone who tastes defilement will always crave it
p145 defiled cannot pass through the final portal—what is
“defiled”?
Callie stared at the words, feeling as if someone had slugged her in the stomach.
“We hold his leash, you see . . .”
No! Elhanu wouldn’t choose him as Guide if he was doomed to surrender
to the fire curtain!
Unless Elhanu wasn’t as benevolent as she wanted to believe, or there was nothing he could do about it. Doubts leapt up from the floor of her mind like debris in a whirlwind. What if it were all a monstrous deception and—
No. I won’t believe that—I mustn’t
. Callie closed her eyes and pressed her clenched fists against the table.
I have no proof for any of
this—
And no proof the other way, either—
It’s just the Tohvani getting to me. Besides, I have the link—
Which you still can’t find with any reliability—
I will in time. And I have the way we were brought here, and this last
year, and all the ways he’s provided for us—
But how do you know—
And here Callie cut off the doubt, refusing to consider it further.
Voices and approaching footsteps penetrated her absorption. She straightened, replaced the papers under the manual, then stepped into the hall, nearly colliding with Pierce and Evvi. As they dodged and apologized she saw from Pierce’s expression that something was wrong.
He frowned at her. “What’s the matter?”
“I ran into a Watcher. I thought you ought to know.” She glanced at Evvi. “What’s going on?”
“A Watcher?” Pierce looked down at Evvi. “I had one following me this morning, too.”
Evvi smiled at him. “They always come around when something big is about to happen, and I’d say this is pretty big.”
Callie frowned, annoyed as much by the smile as by the fact that she was out of the loop.
“We’ve just come from the armory,” Evvi explained. “It’s closed.”
“Yeah. It closed yesterday. Tuck announced that last night.”
“No,” Evvi said. “I mean it’s all closed. The dispensary, the ranges, everything. Even the obstacle course.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you get it? It’s the signal we’ve been waiting for.”
Callie turned to Pierce for confirmation. He wasn’t nearly as delighted as Evvi, and she understood immediately—in spite of the obvious signs, the timing would make it look like he’d caved in to Morgan’s demands.
“Better start packing,” he said.
One hundred fourteen of the inhabitants of Rimlight left the next morning, following a graveled trade road across the valley and into the mountains. They stayed on that route for a week before Pierce struck off cross-country toward a forbidding barrier of cloud-swathed peaks. Though Morgan protested vigorously, Pierce insisted the manual clearly said to leave the road and head for a canyon called the Devil’s Cauldron. There a slit in the rock would access a safe zone where they could rest and restock. When Morgan continued to object, Pierce merely walked away, ending the argument.
