Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (30 page)

Freetown is whipped into a mad frenzy as I go to find Olivia down by the pits. She left early, before the sun rose, and Jack had to tell me where to find her. It’s not in me to be annoyed with her for not coming to see me on her last day before she joins the priestesses. I’m too sad for that. Sad and terrified. I lose Olivia today. Worryingly, there’s a chance I could lose Ryka as well, even though he’s not really mine to lose. I see Cai’s face everywhere I look as I hurry through the bustling crowds of people preparing for the night’s festivities, and an overwhelming tide of remorse seeps into my bones. What will I feel if Ryka dies today? Will the emotion, whatever it may be, override the guilt I feel over killing Cai? My conscience is clearly not going to let that happen this morning. Won’t let me really contemplate Ryka losing his match, either. At least I don’t have to watch. Since I’m staying in my tent, there’s comfort in the knowledge that whatever happens, I won’t be traumatised with the memories of it for the rest of my natural life.

I find Olivia just where Jack said she would be, sitting on the lip of the pit with her legs dangling in. She raises her head as I approach.

“Hi, Kit.” She smiles brightly. Brighter than I would have expected given everything that has happened, is
going
to happen today. Evidence of Max and Simone’s Claiming ceremony is everywhere. Boughs of weeping willow hang from the openings of nearly every tent I passed on the way here, a sign of celebration and of coming together. The event will take place after the first fight of the evening. My heart bleeds for Olivia as she rises to meet me. “You’re up early,” she says.

“So is everyone else.”

“True. No one gets to sleep in Freetown on match days. Have you come to help me prepare?”

I suck back a sharp breath. “What kind of help?” If there’s one thing I don’t feel like doing right now, it’s helping Olivia sign herself over to the priestesses.

“My hair needs to be washed,” she says. “Not until later, though. I need to be cleansed so I am worthy to be accepted.”

I have no idea what is involved in the ritual Olivia will undergo in front of Freetown later, but I agree to help her anyway. Even if I don’t like it, she’s been my only real friend here and I don’t want to let her down. She walks with me back through the tent city and we gravitate towards the river where we first met.

“Have you spoken to Ryka and Jack about this?” I ask her quietly.

“Of course. Endlessly. You’ve met my brother and my grandfather, right? Both as stubborn and relentless as each other. They think I’m crazy, and that’s fine. I don’t expect them to understand. They shouldn’t want to stop me from doing my duty to the Gods, though.”

“But your mother, Ryka said she’s not
―
”

“Ry says a lot of things.” Olivia places her hand over mine and squeezes. “If I’m wrong about my mother, then at least I am dedicating my life to a worthy cause. The priestesses are invaluable to Freetown. Their prayers and rituals have kept the people of our settlement safe for a long time.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her what I truly suspect
―
that the knives of the city’s skilled fighters have more to do with their relative safety. It definitely isn’t down to some hokey chanting in supplication to a bunch of unknown Gods. It would be rude to say that, though. I just smile as we sit on the riverbank, smile and nod my head.

“I know you don’t believe,” Olivia says. “But you don’t really know what the Faith is all about, do you?”

“I guess not.”

She starts snicking the bells free from her skirts with a small, delicate knife, designed specifically for that job.
 
The rattling silver orbs pile up as she speaks. “The Old One is the first of the Gods. He created the planet and the sun, the sky and the stars. We pray to him to give thanks and to keep safe those who pass before us. He died long ago and travelled onto the other side to stand watch over the bodies of the fallen. The Old One welcomes fighters into the Rest, mothers who die in childbirth, children who perish from sickness. His is the face that greets them when they arrive home.

“The Essence is the Goddess of life, of inspiration and of wisdom. We pray to her for all three, and it’s to her that we dedicate the fights. The blood is tribute to her for the life that we hold here, and it is shed with reverence.

“Lastly there is Potentis, God of what is to come. We pray to Potentis for all the things we desire for our futures: rains for a good harvest, healing for the sick, good fortune for those who travel.” Olivia’s eyes start to shine. “We hold ceremonies to Potentis when babies are born, to bless the future of the child and to mark out its path as a strong fighter, or a benevolent mother.”

She goes quiet for a while and I ponder her words, trying to make sense of them. It all sounds very nice, but there’s very little in me that can find truth in what she says. “What makes you believe these Gods exist?” I ask her.

Olivia finishes up with her little bells and gathers them, smiling softly. “My mother taught me how to recognise the signs of The Essence in my life, the signature of The Old One in nature, everywhere we look. She used to sing to me about Potentis, observing our needs and blessing us with the gifts and trials we need the most. Everything I feel for the Gods stems from her teachings. I can understand how it would be hard for an adult to convert to a religion that provides no proof of its legitimacy, and asks for something many people just don’t possess.”

“What’s that?”

“Faith.” She smiles. “Faith is a fragile thing. More often than not, it gets broken and worn away by life. It requires us to be willing to fight for a belief, to
choose
to believe it. Maybe that’s why it’s something passed down from mother to daughter, father to son. Only a child can believe with a pure trust that what they’re being told is the truth. After we grow into adulthood, we are taught or we learn the hard way to question everything.”

“And Ryka? Did your father teach him the same way your mother taught you?”

Olivia sucks on her lip thoughtfully. “My father was the same as Jack. He believed that there is a higher power, a creator, but he didn’t know with a certainty what or who that was. He believed in doing good and being as he wished others would be. Believed in giving thanks for what he had. He said if he lived his life that way, then he surely couldn’t offend whoever created him. I think maybe Ryka feels the same way. It’s not something he talks about.”

“Mmmm.” Matthew’s version of religion sounds like covering all bases to me, but it’s one I can understand. If I had any reason to believe in an all-powerful being, I would live like Matthew and Jack.

We don’t talk any more of religion. We spend the day talking of Max and how she went to wish him well with his joining to Simone. I wash Olivia’s hair when the time comes, the same way she washed mine when we first met, the saddest of symmetries, and as darkness falls she hugs me to her and gives me the bells she plucked off her clothes.

“I’m not going to need them anymore,” she tells me, squeezing me to her small frame. My eyes burn like crazy, and I give up any pretence that I’m not going to cry.

“Promise me, Kit. Promise me you will come to the Keep. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I’ll find a way to let you know I’m there. That I’m okay. Promise me,” she says through her own tears.

“I will, I promise.” A promise I intend to keep. I’ll make sure she’s alive and happy in her new life if it’s the last thing I do, and if she’s not happy, or worse…if she’s not
alive
, I will raze the priestesses’ fortress to the ground.

“Good.” She wipes her eyes, sniffing. “Now promise me the other thing.”

A low horn vibrates through the trees as I go to ask her what she means. Her eyes widen. “I have to go. The High Priestess is leaving the Keep. Tell me that you’ll look after my brother, Kit. He needs you.”

I start to shake my head. “Ryka’s capable of looking after himself. He doesn’t need anyone.”

“I’m sure he’d like to believe that,” she rolls her eyes, “and it might be true. He could get by, keeping to himself and bearing the weight of all that self-inflicted responsibility he carries around with him twenty-four hours a day. It shouldn’t have to be that way, though. He should have someone. Someone who will be there to help carry his burdens. Soften his heart up a little, y’know?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to do
―
”

She cuts me off. “You are. You are the only one.” Another sad smile breaks across her face. “And it would make me immensely happy to think of you both happy together out here from time to time. That you are my sister, that you are a part of my family.”

A choked sound works its way out of my mouth, and I can’t speak. I nod, grabbing her and hugging her one last time. The first time I have ever initiated close contact like that.

“I need to find my brother. I need to say goodbye,” she rushes out.

“I hope
―
” I can’t finish.

“I know,” she says. “Me, too.”

As Olivia turns and runs back towards the activity of Freetown, I really do hope. I hope she finds her mother in those shattered black spines of rock. I hope she can be happy.

******

The horns sound for a long time, and from the muted cheers that go up after a while, I know I have missed Max and Simone’s Claiming ceremony. I can only pray that Olivia didn’t have to watch, or if she did then she was able to take peace in the knowledge that Max is going to find some level of happiness after she is gone.

I kick myself, forcing myself to stop thinking like that. Olivia isn’t dying. She’s still going to be alive, still going to be the same girl underneath all that red. And if I’m honest, I know she’s not going to be taking any peace from knowing Max is with someone else. It just wouldn’t be possible, surely? Time ticks by slowly, and I wrestle with the coiled discomfort in my belly. Is Olivia going through the rituals now? What will they do to her? Disgusted with myself though I am, there’s also a more urgent question on my mind. One I have been trying not to think about. Is Ryka okay? Has he been called? In my head, I see James dropping down into the pit and growling up at the cheering mob, yelling out Ryka’s name. I had no idea I would feel this…
terrified
for him. Not a nice feeling. How do the families of the fighters deal with this level of panic every single month? It’s a crushing, fiercely powerful alarm that makes my palms sweat and my heart race.

With nothing to do in my tent, I find myself staring blankly down at my halo, running my fingers across it’s dinted surface. If I hold it close to my ear, I can hear a ticking sound now. Did it always do that? I can’t remember. The whir of gears was a familiar occurrence, but I can’t ever recall a ticking.

A horn, so loud the ground vibrates through the soles of my boots, fills the night air. It makes the canvas of my tent walls tremor with its low rumble. Who knows what it symbolises. It could mean someone is dead, for all I know. I start pacing the length of my bed, chewing on my thumbnail. I need something to take my mind off what is happening out there.

I reach for the holostick and scroll forward to a random number, just needing to hear my friend’s voice.

“
Your brother busted me sitting outside your bedroom window tonight, and I had trouble convincing him that I wasn’t doing anything weird. He lives on the brink of feeling, your brother. Something tells me he’s fighting against his halo all day, every day. He asked me why I insist on coming to the matches to watch your fights, even when I’m not fighting myself. I told him my Trues asked me to observe you. I could hardly have told him that if I know you’re in that arena, I’ll go crazy unless I can watch over you. Even if that means I have to witness your complete lack of humanity every time you kill. It’s worth it. Stupid, I know. If anything ever happened to you, there’s very little I would be able to do to stop it. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, either, though. My world would end if you died in that Colosseum, Kit. I love you more than life itself. Maybe that’s why I go. Because if you did die, I wouldn’t want to live either. I would throw myself into the arena and kill whoever took your life, and I would welcome the hail of gunfire that took me out afterwards.”

Choking, I hit stop. I can’t look at Cai when he’s saying things like that to me. The passion, the intensity in his eyes is so raw that I know he means every word. His declaration is a portentous omen, and it feels like this moment—the moment when he recorded this file—was the exact moment when he decided he would die for me. I hate it. I hate that he felt that way when I didn’t. It’s horrifying to realise it, but the reason why he always attended my fights is the exact same reason I want to—no,
have
to go to the pit now. He came because he loved me. I have to go for Ryka. Does that mean that I love him? Cai’s solemn eyes burn into my mind, but I try not to think about those bigger questions. What it all possibly means.

Because that would only slow me down as I run.

******

Jack sees me before I see him. I’m puffing hard as I pull up on the outer rim of the crowd gathered around the pit. The old man rushes me from out of nowhere and throws a cowled cloak around my shoulders.

“Are you crazy?” he hisses. The lines of his stacked tattoos, his kills, fill my vision as he yanks up the hood and arranges it around my face. “There are people here who know your face, child! I thought you understood the gravity of someone placing you here?”

“I’m sorry.” Oxygen slams into my body as I inhale, exhale, inhale. “I had to see…” I trail off, searching him out. Ryka. He’s standing on the opposite side of the pit at the very edge, burning a pathway straight for me, like he knows where I am in the crush. There isn’t a scratch on him, and he’s still wearing one of his standard black shirts. From his calm demeanour, it’s clear he hasn’t yet been called to the pit.

“Olivia said you would come,” Jack says, his voice incredibly tight. “I thought you had more sense.”

“Has she gone?”

Jack drags me forward. The crowd parts for their leader, and whispers of
‘Grandfather’
fall like hushed, respectful caresses on my ears as we move closer to the edge of the pit. Once we’re standing at the very edge, I can see what is taking place below. Olivia is leaning back against a priestess in an odd slump, and three other women move around her body, carefully feeding red material over and under, over and under. Her body is slowly being cocooned in swathes of the thin material. Her face is tilted up at the stars, but she lacks any expression. Those brown eyes, so similar to her brothers, are utterly blank.