Page 17 of Ironhold, Trial Two
The time to fight comes around again too soon. I stand waiting at the iron gates, my weapons clasped in my hands. I can hear the sound of the crowd out in the arena. I'm one of the first fights today, but already they are baying for blood.
I meant to fight another gladiator today. Meant to fight a human rather than a beast. That makes my nerves jangle because I don't want to spill the blood of somebody I know. I don't even want to do it to a stranger. I will do my best not to kill them, will do everything in my power to show mercy. I'm determined about that today, but I know it will only make the fight harder.
I weigh my net in my hands. The attendants at the Colosseum have repaired it, so that I do not need to worry about the tears in it the chimera inflicted. Perhaps I will be able to ensnare my foe in this net, rendering them helpless. It seems like my best chance.
The iron gates in front of me open, and I can hear the announcer's voice calling my name.
“Lyra the Mistress of Beasts!”
He has appended the nickname without me knowing it is coming. The crowd roars in response. It seems that they liked my first fight. I step out onto the sands, blinking in the light. I can see that the emperor is not there today, but a woman is up in the box that he would normally occupy. She is stern looking, and at first I think she is old and white haired, but no, her features are those of a woman in her mid-thirties. She wears a gown that is also white, embroidered with mystical symbols in silver and gold.
The announcer keeps going. “In the absence of the emperor, this bout will take place under the gaze of Selene Ravencroft, the arch-magistrate. Her gaze and her hand will decide life and death.”
At the word “Death” the crowd cheers again. It’s obvious what they want here.
“Now let us bring out the gladiator Lyra’s opponent, Bracca!”
There is no more than the name, and it is not one I know. A gate at the far side of the arena opens, letting a man out onto the sands. He is larger than me and broad-shouldered, his head shaved. He is not wearing armor, but is carrying a sword and an axe. He moves jerkily, as if he might have been wounded in a previous bout. His eyes seem almost to glow with hatred.
No, wait, there is no almost about it. His eyes are glowing.
He doesn't wait for any command to begin, but charges across the sand at me instead. I move aside from his attack, whipping my net at his legs, tripping him. He gets up and renews his attack, swinging his two weapons in a cascade of blows that I need every reflex to avoid. I reach out as I have in the past for the minds of the birds around the arena. Their additional eyes mean that I see everything, and I'm able to avoid the attacks.
I keep trying to catch him in my net, but he's avoiding it so far, the weapons passing just inches from my flesh with a ferocity that's hard to contain. I use a thrust of my trident to try to keep him at bay, expecting him to move back or at least slow down long enough for me to get clear of him.
Instead, he runs straight onto it, the points embedding themselves deep in him. The force of his rush is so great that I must let go of the trident or find myself in the path of his weapons. He rushes past me, with the trident still sticking from him. It is another second or two before he looks down, seeming to see it for the first time.
He pulls the weapon clear, flinging it to the far side of the arena. As he does so, it is not blood that pours from the wound, but the same glow I saw in his eyes. There is a flicker of power then, and I find that the birds I have been relying on to see more of the fight are scattering in every direction, as if something is terrifying them. I must let go of my grip on their senses just so that I can focus on avoiding the next attack.
My opponent is relentless, charging at me again and again, but he seems to be realizing that the tactic isn't working. The glow around him is intensifying as well, seeming to encompass him so that it forms a corona around his flesh. I think I see eyes opening in that wider glow, and I can feel the presence of a creature there.
This is not the fight against another gladiator. Instead I'm facing some kind of beast; something that can possess the body of a gladiator. I reach out for it with my power, and it takes me an instant to realize that in doing so I'm building a bridge.
It is an instant too long.
The creature’s powers surge towards me, tendrils of power flowing into me. Images surround me, in scenes of terror. I see my mother as she was when I was taken by the soldiers, knocked down. Only this time, they do not settle for merely striking her. They descend on her with swords instead, gutting her in front of me.
I cry out at the sight of it, and even as I do so, a sword descends towards my head. I barely weave aside from it in time.
Another image forms, of Rowan and Alaric fighting, and somehow I know they're fighting over me. I see them tear at each other, inflicting grievous wounds. I see them fall dying to the sands. Again, a physical attack comes behind the mental assault, forcing me to parry and run.
Image after image assails me. I am back being punished in Ironhold. I am walking on my way to it, only this time when the young man runs, I am the one dragged from the caravan to be killed for it. I see and feel myself devoured by beasts, executed by soldiers, killed a hundred different ways. The creature possessing the gladiator batters at my mind with fear and hate and every insecurity I've ever had.
It shows me an image of myself surrounded by a horde of beasts, but they are not attacking me. Instead they are rampaging through the city, and I know I am the one who has sent them. I watch them tearing into people, and I know I am the one who has instructed them to do so. It shows me an image of me causing so much death, and I scream with it.
I know what it's doing now. Its magic is pushing further and further into me. I can feel my heart beating faster and faster with the horror of it all. I know that this is how it kills, using raw terror as a weapon against those it hunts. And when it has killed me… it shows me those images too. It shows me it wearing my flesh, shows me walking and fighting. It shows me an image of me cutting Naia’s throat, controlled by it completely.
If it hadn't shown me that, maybe I wouldn't have the strength to push back against its attack. As it is, though, I throw everything I have at the creature. I can feel power welling up from inside me, and in that moment, I do not care if it is light or dark or something in between. All I care about is stopping this… thing.
Power flows into the creature and it flees in the face of it, flowing out from the body of the gladiator it has taken. That body crumples to the ground, dead before it hits. Dead long before he stepped into the arena.
The creature flows away from me, and I can feel its fear alongside my own. I know it is afraid of what I am, of the power flowing from me. It acts wildly now, without thought, heading towards the stands of the arena, and the watching crowd.
They scream at the sight of it coming for them. Some have magic, and try to use it, but the creature is moving quickly. It conjures more illusions, images of death and destruction filling the stands. I know that it is lashing out blindly, doing whatever it can to cause chaos.
Lady Elara must be here somewhere. Could she help stop this? Will she? I cannot see her, but I hope that she will act soon, because I’m not sure if I can do anything. My power is still pouring out towards the beast, and it is still fleeing from me, throwing terror around it as if trying to confuse the trail followed by a hunter.
People in the stands are trying to flee now. I see a couple of people knocking aside others as they try to get away, and I know it will only be moments before the whole crowd stampedes and they crush one another.
Then Lady Selene stands, holding her arms out wide. Power seems to flow into her, and the wind around her whips her hair this way and that. She brings her hands together, then flings a beam of raw power at the creature.
Its scream as it dies is filled with the horror of a thousand people. It melts like mist before the heat of the sun, burning away so that there is nothing left of it but a few wisps curling up to dissipate in the sky. The whole arena falls silent in the wake of that strike, the illusions fading, the sense of horror flowing away.
In that silence, Lady Selene speaks, pointing at me. “Bring her to me.”