Carve the Mark, Page 29

  "You don't want to eat that," he said. "Unless you want to spend the next six hours hallucinating."

  "Last time Jyo slipped someone one of those, they wandered around this house talking about giant dancing babies," Jorek said.

  "Yeah, yeah," Teka said. "Laugh all you want, but you would be scared too if you hallucinated giant babies."

  "It was worth it, whether I will ever be forgiven or not," Jyo said, winking. He had a soft, slippery way of talking.

  "Do they work on you?" Cisi asked Akos, nodding to the stalk in his hand.

  In answer, Akos bit into the stalk, which tasted like earth and salt and sour.

  "Your gift is odd," Cisi said. "I'm sure Mom would have some kind of vague, wise thing to say about that."

  "Ooh. What was he like as a child?" Jorek said, folding his hands and leaning close to Akos's sister. "Was he actually a child, or did he just sort of appear one day as a fully grown adult, full of angst?"

  Akos glared at him.

  "He was short and chubby," Cisi said. "Irritable. Very particular about his socks."

  "My socks?" Akos said.

  "Yeah!" she said. "Eijeh told me you always arranged them in order of preference from left to right. Your favorite ones were yellow."

  He remembered them. Mustard yellow, with big woven fibers that made them look lumpy when they weren't on. His warmest pair.

  "How do you all know each other?" Cisi asked. The delicate question was enough to dispel the tension that had come up at Eijeh's name.

  "Sovy used to make candy for all the village kids when I was little," Jorek said. "Unfortunately, she doesn't speak Thuvhesit very well, or she'd tell you about my misdeeds herself."

  "And I first met Jorek in a public bathroom. I was whistling while I"--Jyo paused--"relieved myself, and Jorek decided it would be amusing to harmonize with me."

  "He did not find that charming," Jorek said.

  "My mother was a kind of . . . leader of the revolt. One of them, anyway," said Teka. "She came back to us from the colony of exiles from the Noavek regime about a season ago, to help us strategize. The exiles support our efforts to end Ryzek's life."

  Isae's brow was furrowed--it was furrowed a lot of the time, actually, like she didn't like the space between her two eyebrows and wanted to hide it--and this time, Akos understood why. The difference between exiles and renegades, and the connection between them, wasn't of much interest to him--all he wanted was to make sure Cyra was safe, and to get Eijeh out of Shotet; he didn't care what else happened there. But to Isae, chancellor of Thuvhe, it was clearly important to know there was a swelling of dissent against Ryzek, both inside Shotet and outside.

  "How many of you--renegades--are there?" Isae asked.

  "Am I likely to answer that question?" was Teka's reply. The answer was clearly no, so Isae moved on.

  "Is your involvement in the revolt why . . ." Isae waved a hand over her face. "The eye?"

  "This? Oh, I have two eyes, I just like the patch," Teka said.

  "Really?" Cisi asked.

  "No," Teka said, and everyone laughed.

  The food was plain, almost bland, but Akos didn't mind it. It was a little more like home, a little less like Noavek finery. Teka started humming along to Jyo's song, and Sovy drummed on the tabletop with her fingers, so hard Akos's fork rattled against his plate whenever he set it down.

  Then Teka and Jorek got up and danced. Isae leaned over to Jyo while he was playing and asked, "So, if this particular group of renegades is working to rescue Cyra . . . what are the other renegade groups doing? Hypothetically, I mean."

  Jyo narrowed one eye at her, but answered anyway. "Hypothetically, those of us Shotet who are low in status need things they can't get. And they need someone to smuggle it in for them."

  "As in . . . hypothetical weapons?" Isae said.

  "Possibly, but that's not top priority." Jyo plucked a few wrong strings, swore, and got himself on the right ones again. "Top priority would be food and medicine. Lots of runs to Othyr and back. Gotta feed people before they can fight for you, right? And the farther out of the center of Voa you get, the more diseased and starved people are."

  Isae's face tightened, but she nodded.

  Akos didn't think about it much, what was going on outside the tangle of Noaveks he'd gotten himself into. But he thought about what Cyra had said about Ryzek keeping supplies to himself, doling them out to his people or hoarding them for later, and he felt a little bit sick.

  Teka and Jorek spun around each other, and swayed, Jorek surprisingly graceful, given his gangliness. Cisi and Isae sat shoulder to shoulder, leaned back against the wall. Every so often Isae gave a tired smile. It didn't quite look right on her face--it wasn't one of Ori's smiles, and she wore Ori's face, scarred though it was. But Akos figured he would have to get used to her.

  Sovy sang a few bars of Jyo's song, and they ate until they were warm and full and tired.

  CHAPTER 29: CYRA

  IT WAS DIFFICULT TO sleep after someone had peeled one's skin off with a knife, but I gave it my best effort.

  My pillowcase was soaked with blood that morning when I awoke, though I had of course lain on the side Vas had not flayed from throat to skull. The only reason I hadn't bled to death yet was that the gaping wound was covered with stitching cloth, a medical innovation from Othyr that kept wounds closed and dissolved as they healed. It was not meant for wounds as severe as mine.

  I stripped the case from the pillow and tossed it in the corner. The shadows danced over my arm, pricking me. For most of my life, they had run alongside my veins, visible through my skin. When I woke up after the interrogation--a soldier had told me my heart stopped, then started again of its own accord--the shadows were traveling over the surface of my body instead. They still caused me pain, but it was more bearable. I didn't understand why.

  But then Ryzek had declared nemhalzak, and had Vas cut my skin away from my body like the rind from a fruit, and forced me to fight in the arena, so I was in just as much pain as usual.

  He had asked me where I wanted it, the scar. If it could even be called that--scars were dark lines on a person's skin, not . . . patches. But nemhalzak had to be paid for with flesh, and it had to be on display, readily visible. With my mind addled by rage, I had told him to scar me the same way he had scarred Akos, when the Kereseth brothers first arrived. Ear to jaw.

  And when Vas had accomplished that much, Ryzek told him to keep going.

  Get some of her hair, too.

  I breathed through my nose. I didn't want to throw up. I couldn't afford to throw up, in fact--I needed all the strength I had left.

  As he had every day since I self-revived, Eijeh Kereseth came to watch me eat breakfast. He set a tray of food at my feet and leaned against the wall across from me, hunched, his posture bad as ever. Today his jaw bore the bruise I had given him the day before, when I tried to escape on the way to the arena and managed to get a few hits in before the guards in the hallway dragged me away from him.

  "I didn't think you would be back, after yesterday," I said to him.

  "I'm not afraid of you. You won't kill me," Eijeh replied. He had drawn his weapon, and he was spinning the blade on his palm, catching it when it made a full rotation. He did it without looking at it.

  I snorted. "I'll kill just about anyone, haven't you heard the rumors?"

  "You won't kill me," Eijeh repeated. "Because you love my delusional brother far too much for your own good."

  I had to laugh at that. I hadn't realized that silky-voiced Eijeh Kereseth read me so well.

  "I feel like I know you," Eijeh said suddenly. "I suppose I do know you, don't I? I do now."

  "I'm not really in the mood for a philosophical discussion about what makes a person who they are," I said. "But even if you are more Ryzek than Eijeh at this point, you still don't know me. You--whoever you are--never bothered to."

  Eijeh rolled his eyes a little. "Poor misunderstood daughter of privilege."

&n
bsp; "Says the walking garbage can for all the things Ryzek wants to forget," I snapped. "Why doesn't he just kill me, anyway? All this drama beforehand is very elaborate, even for him."

  Eijeh didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. Ryzek hadn't killed me yet because he needed to do it this way, in public. Maybe word had spread that I had helped with an assassination attempt, and now he needed to destroy my reputation before he let me die. Or maybe he just wanted to watch me suffer.

  Somehow I didn't believe that.

  "Is giving me useless cutlery really necessary?" I said, stabbing my toast with the knife instead of slicing it.

  "The sovereign is concerned that you will try to end your life before the appropriate time," Eijeh said.

  The appropriate time. I wondered if Eijeh had chosen my manner of death, then. The oracle, plucking the ideal future from an array of options.

  "End my life with this thing? My fingernails are sharper." I brought the knife down, point first, on the mattress. I slammed it so hard the bed frame shuddered, and let go. The knife fell over, not even sharp enough to penetrate fabric. I winced, not even sure what part of my body hurt.

  "I suppose he thinks you're creative enough to find a way," Eijeh said softly.

  I stuffed the last bite of toast into my mouth and sat back against the wall, my arms folded. We were in one of the polished, glossy cells in the belly of the amphitheater, beneath the stadium seats that were already filling with people hungry to watch me die. I had won the last challenge, but I was running out of strength. This morning walking to the toilet had been a feat.

  "How sweet," I said, spreading my arms wide to display my bruises. "See how my brother loves me?"

  "You're making jokes," Ryzek said from just outside the cell. I could hear him, muffled, through the glass wall that separated us. "You must be getting desperate."

  "No, desperate is playing this stupid game before you kill me, just to make me look bad," I said. "Are you that afraid that the people of Shotet will rally behind me? How pathetic."

  "Try to get to your feet, and we'll all see 'pathetic,'" Ryzek said. "Come on. Time to go."

  "Are you at least going to tell me who I'm facing today?" I said. I placed my hands on the bed frame, gritted my teeth, and pushed myself up.

  It took all my strength to swallow the cry of pain that swelled in my throat. But I did it.

  "You'll see," Ryzek said. "I am eager--and I'm sure you agree--to end this at last. So I have arranged for a special contest this morning."

  He was dressed in synthetic armor today--it was matte black, and more flexible than the traditional Shotet variety--and polished black boots that made him appear even taller than he was. His shirt, collared and white, was buttoned up to his throat, showing over the vest of armor. It was almost the same outfit he had worn to our mother's funeral. Fitting, since he intended for me to die today.

  "It's a shame your beloved couldn't be here to watch," Ryzek said. "I'm sure he would have enjoyed it."

  I replayed it all the time now, what Zosita, Teka's mother, had told me before she walked to her execution. I had asked her if it was worth it to lose her life challenging Ryzek, and she had told me yes. I wished I could tell her that I understood now.

  I tipped my chin up. "You know, I'm having trouble figuring out how much of you is actually my brother these days." When I walked past Ryzek on my way out of the cell, I leaned closer and said, "But you would be in a much better mood if your little plan to steal Eijeh's currentgift had worked."

  For a moment I was sure I could see Ryzek's focus falter. His eyes touched Eijeh's.

  "I see," I said. "Whatever you tried to do didn't work. You still didn't get his gift."

  "Take her away," Ryzek said to Eijeh. "She has some dying to do."

  Eijeh prodded me forward. He was wearing thick gloves, like he was training a bird of prey.

  If I focused, I could walk in a straight line, but it was difficult, with all the throbbing in my head and throat. A trickle of blood--well, I hoped it was blood, anyway--ran over my collarbone.

  Eijeh pushed me through the door to the arena floor, and I stumbled out. The light outside was blinding, the sky cloudless and pale around the sun. The amphitheater was packed with observers, all of them shouting and cheering, but I couldn't make out what any of them were saying.

  Across from me waited Vas Kuzar. He smiled at me, then bit his chapped lips. He would make himself bleed if he kept that up.

  "Vas Kuzar!" Ryzek announced, his voice amplified by the tiny devices that hovered over the arena. Just above the lip of the amphitheater wall, I could see the buildings of Voa, stone patched over with metal and glass, winking in the sun. One, outfitted with a blue glass spire, almost blended into the sky. Covering the arena was a force field that protected the place from harsh weather--and escape. The Shotet didn't like our war games to be interrupted by storms and cold and runaway prisoners.

  "You have challenged the traitor Cyra Noavek to fight with currentblades to the death!" As if on cue, everyone roared at the words traitor Cyra Noavek, and I rolled my eyes, though my heart was beating fast. "This is in reaction to her betrayal of the people of Shotet. Are you ready to proceed?"

  "I am," Vas said in his usual monotone.

  "Your weapon, Cyra," Ryzek said. He drew a currentblade from the sheath at his back, and flipped it in his hand so I could take the handle. His sleeve was rolled up.

  I approached him, willing the currentshadows to build within me, beckoning the pain that came along with them. My skin was dusted with dark lines. I moved like I was going to take the knife's handle, but instead, I clamped my hand around Ryzek's arm.

  I wanted to show these people who he really was. And pain always did that, took the insides out.

  Ryzek screamed into his teeth, and thrashed, trying to throw me off. With all the others, I had simply let my currentgift go where it wanted to, and it always wanted to be shared. With Akos, I had pulled it back, almost ending my own life in the process. But with Ryzek, I pressed it toward him with all the force I could muster.

  It was a shame, really, that Eijeh was there so soon, grabbing me and dragging me away.

  Still, the damage was done. Everyone in this arena had heard my brother scream at my touch. They were quiet, watching.

  Eijeh held me back as Ryzek gathered himself, straightening and sheathing the knife. He set a hand on Vas's shoulder, and said, only loud enough so Eijeh, Vas, and I could hear: "Kill her."

  "What a shame, Cyra," Eijeh said softly in my ear. "I didn't want it to come to this."

  I twisted free as Eijeh walked out, and backed away, breathing hard. I had no weapon. But it was better to go out this way. By not giving me a currentblade, Ryzek had just shown everyone in this arena that he wasn't giving me a fair chance. In his anger, he had shown fear, and that was enough for me.

  Vas started toward me, his movements confident, predatory. He had always disgusted me, since I was a child, and I wasn't sure why. He was as tall and well built as any other man I had ever found appealing. A good fighter, too, and his eyes, at least, were a rare, beautiful color. But he was also covered with accidental bruises and scratches. His hands were so dry the thin flesh between his fingers was cracking. And I had never met a person so . . . empty. Unfortunately, that was also what made him so frightening in the arena.

  Strategy, now, I thought. I remembered the footage from Tepes I had watched in the training room. I had learned the lurching, unsteady movements of their combat when my mind was sharp. The key to maintaining control of my body was to keep my center strong. When Vas stepped to lunge, I turned and tripped to the side, my limbs swinging. One of my flailing arms hit him in the ear, hard. The impact shuddered through me, sending a wave of pain through my rib cage and back.

  I winced, and in the time it took me to recover, Vas had swiped. His sharpened blade carved a line in my arm. Blood spilled on the arena floor, and the crowd cheered.

  I tried to ignore the blood, the stinging,
the aching. My body pulsed with pain and fear and rage. I held my arm against my chest. I had to grab Vas. He couldn't feel pain, but if I channeled enough of my currentgift, I could kill him.

  A cloud passed over the sun, and Vas lunged again. This time I ducked, and reached out with one hand, skimming the inside of his wrist with my fingers. The shadows danced over to him, not potent enough to affect him. He swung his knife again, and the point of the blade dug into my side.

  I moaned, and fell against the wall of the arena.

  Then I heard someone shout, "Cyra!"

  A dark figure hoisted itself over the arena wall from the first row of seats, and dropped to the ground, knees bent. Darkness crowded the edges of my vision, but I knew who he was, just by watching him run.

  A long, dark rope had dropped into the center of the arena. I looked up to see, not a cloud covering the sun, but an old transport vessel, made of an array of metals, honeyed and rusty and as bright as the sun, hovering right above the force field. Vas grabbed Akos with both hands and slammed him up, into the arena wall. Akos gritted his teeth and covered Vas's hands with his own.

  Then something strange happened: Vas flinched, and dropped him.

  Akos sprinted to my side, bent over me, and wrapped an arm around my waist. Together we ran toward the rope. He grabbed it with one hand, and it jerked up, fast. Too fast for Vas to grab.

  Everyone around us was roaring. He shouted into my ear, "I'm going to need you to hold on by yourself!"

  I cursed at him. I tried not to look down at the crowded seats below us, the frenzy we had left behind, the distant ground, but it was hard not to. I focused instead on Akos's armor. I wrapped my arms around his chest and clamped my hands around the collar of it. When he released me, I gritted my teeth--I was too weak to hold on like this, too weak to support my own weight.

  Akos reached up with the hand he had been using to hold me, and his fingers approached the force field that blanketed the amphitheater. It lit up brighter when his fingers touched it, then flickered, and went out. The rope jerked up, hard, making me whimper as I almost lost my grip, but then we were inside the transport vessel.