The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (7 page)

A shove from Catsu split the two apart. The slave staggered back, one hand clamped to his side, body twisted to present as small a target as possible. Instead of striking at the boy who dared to fight as an equal, Catsu went for the bronze-collared slave on the ground.

Blaise felt his eyebrows rise.

With a flick of his wrist, the Hero of the arena gouged out the fallen boy’s left eye.

“What are you fools doing? I said ‘Kill them all!’” the Emperor screamed, slamming his fist against the gold rail. “Curse you all!”

Someone shoved Blaise against the marble retaining wall. Several soldiers surrounded the Emperor and took up guard positions. Face twisted in rage, the Emperor screamed curses and orders as he led the way out of the Imperial Observatory.

A Citizen too slow to flee the Emperor’s path fell to the sword of a orange-tasseled soldier. Blaise rubbed at his brow and tried to will away the surge of pain stabbing through his skull, muttering the prayer for the dead under his breath.

The Citizen to Blaise’s left whistled. “He’s gone mad.”

The screams of mortals intensified, and Blaise twisted around to look up at the tiers of the Arena. He wasn’t sure what had triggered the mortals’ instinct to run from danger, but the Citizens swarmed over each other, oblivious to those they hurt in their need to escape. The stench of fear in the air choked off, rather than whetted, his appetite. “He’s not the only one,” he muttered.

Dropping back down to the stone chair, Blaise rubbed at his temple and stared at the standoff between convict and slave below. Catsu stood at ease, tip of his sword dripping blood. The boy stood over the pleasure slave’s still form, his expression blank and eyes dulled.

Catsu’s lips moved, and the sands behind him swirled up in a cyclone. The air stirred in obedience to the convict’s call, hissing as though a snake poised to strike. A second cyclone burst into existence near the slave, whips of sand lashing out.

Grit blasted Blaise in the face. He lifted his arm to shield his eyes.

“Holy God, they’re both Speakers,” the man next to him gasped. Instead of running away, the Citizen leaned closer to the rail. Blaise rose to his feet. The wind clawed at him, grit tearing at his exposed skin and working its way into his clothes.

The hand touching his elbow shook. “We can’t stay here, we’ll be killed.”

Blaise couldn’t tell if the man was daft, courageous, or a fool. He shook the Citizen off and curled his lip up, letting out a low growl that rumbled in his chest. “Quiet!” The winds recoiled from him and the human at his side froze at his command. While the one word wasn’t enough to break the powers of either Speaker, he took the chance to catch his breath.

The twin columns rose up and clashed far above. Both burst into a cascade of sand that pelted those below. When the cloud of dust cleared, the slave and convict both stood. Catsu glared with narrowed eyes, while the boy’s expression remained neutral and lifeless.

Nothing remained of the convict’s victims except bone. The shimmer of the Gate lingered as though God was tired of opening the way for those who hadn’t died.

Yet.

Whatever force held the slave children calm and still for so long shattered. They ran for the nearest portcullis, stretching their arms through the gaps in the metal bars. If any of the military lingered nearby, they didn’t open the way into the tunnels or reveal themselves.

The screams of the Citizens quieted enough for Blaise to catch the murmur of the convict Speaking. Those who hadn’t fled cheered and waved down at the two still fighting. A spark of light formed over Catsu’s head and shot upward, roiling into a great ball of flame awaiting its creator’s bidding. The boy’s lips moved in response, so soft that Blaise heard nothing at all. A shiver coursed over his flesh, and static cracked between his hand and the golden rail.

The man at his side grabbed his arm again and pointed upward. “Look!”

A lone cloud marred the clear sky. It churned, growing until it blocked out the sun and replaced the blue above with black. A drop of rain splattered on Blaise’s cheek and a sheet of water fell in its wake, drenching him from head to toe. With a spluttered curse, he reached up to shove his sodden hair out of his eyes.

Catsu’s fire was extinguished beneath the force of the deluge. The pain in his skull eased to a dull ache, and the rain whispered to him, its babbling accompanied by the warmth of pleasure and satisfaction. Blaise frowned but saw no emotion in the boy’s face, not even with the help of his inhuman eyes.

“I suppose I better put an end to this,” Blaise muttered, eyeing the distance between the seats to the pit below. Water and sand mixed to create murky pools littered with discarded weapons. He turned his glare on Catsu and the slave.

The boy swayed and the sword he held dropped to the ground. The pounding rain and the warning rumbles of thunder drowned out the cries of those who remained within the Arena. A streak of blue and red light struck the rail circling the lowest tier and raced toward Blaise. He whipped his arm out, threw the human at his side away from the wall, and jumped away from the charged metal. A ball of flame and lightning swept by, blackening the marble and leaving charred, twisted hunks of molten gold in its wake.

“What sorcery is that?” the Citizen gasped.

“That wasn’t sorcery,” Blaise replied, “it’s the power of God’s Word.” He glared at the melted ruins. The divine power sang to him, and it whispered a promise of destruction.

Taking shelter behind the Emperor’s stone throne, he glanced around the edge and through the gaps in the ruined rail. The clouds spun around an eye of blue lightning and red fire. The scripture to calm the storm stuck in his throat.

He hadn’t seen such a display in so many years, and he wanted to see how it ended, yet part of him was aware of the severe consequences if he didn’t put an end to it.

A single bolt of lightning struck the other side of the arena, and the stone trembled beneath him. A pillar of light laced with gouts of flame linked the ground and sky.

The Gates to the Garden didn’t shimmer into existence. The pit was engulfed in pure, holy light, but Blaise didn’t catch more than a glimpse of His red roses before they vanished in plumes of smoke. Shrapnel erupted upward, with embers flashing brightly before falling to the ground.

Illuminated in the light of destruction, the boy staggered forward a step and fell. Catsu dropped his weapon, ducked low to lift the slave over his shoulder, and vanished into the haze which reeked of molten stone and burned flesh.

~*~

The wind and rain battered at Blaise. He longed for his coat and its hood. The storm muffled the cries of the injured and the dying. Rays of sunlight pierced through the fringe of the clouds and streamed over the pit below.

Flashes of red and blue illuminated the wet marble. Blaise gripped the ruined rail, vaulted over it, and splashed down to the ground. The sand and water sucked at his legs with each step. The edges of discarded blades beneath the muck scraped against his shins. Ignoring the sting of his cuts, he knelt beside the unconscious bronze-collared slave lying where Catsu had felled him. The white of Blaise’s gloves turned red when he touched the boy’s throat. While sluggish, he could feel a heartbeat.

“Spill not the blood of life, lest thine own blood be spilled,” Blaise Spoke, trailing his fingers over the child’s skin to the sunken remains of his left eye. The wounds closed, glowing with a faint crimson light, leaving behind crusty scabs. It would leave a scar, but he didn’t dare help the human any more.

He wouldn’t help the mortal further, even though he could restore the slave’s eye, if he really wanted to. Helping the boy who had tried to kill the golden-collared slave with Aurora’s eyes left a foul taste in his mouth.

Blaise rose to his feet, shook his head, and left the slave for the military to deal with. The girl lay not far away, her golden hair turned brown from the rain. Sand encrusted her too-thin figure. Stooping down hurt, but he ignored the pain and slid his hands beneath her back and arms. To his relief, she didn’t weigh much. A trail of blood oozed down the side of her face. He clenched his teeth and carried her to where the children crowded near the portcullis.

On the other side of it, two men in military coats gawked at him.

“Open it and take them inside,” Blaise said, unable to quell the hope that one of the humans would argue with him.

“We’re not to let anyone out or in,” one replied. Blaise fought against the urge to smile, dropping his gaze to the man’s yellow tassels.

“He’s with the church,” someone said from the darkness. It took Blaise a moment to recognize the voice of another bishop. Frolar emerged through a doorway on the other side of the cell beyond the portcullis. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, nor dressed in anything other than white.”

Blaise shifted the girl’s weight in his arms. “It is what it is, Brother. I doubt the Emperor will be pleased if those involved with the ruin of his games drowned in the rain.”

“I’ll take responsibility for him if needed, as I am his senior in the church,” Frolar said.

The two soldiers exchanged looks.

“I’ll hold you to that, Bishop,” the lieutenant growled, but turned to the winch and gestured. While the other man was also marked with a yellow ribbon, he hurried to obey the silent order, and opened the portcullis.

Blaise stepped through, ducking his head below the spikes and watching in case the soldier let go early. With a shake of his head at his folly, he lowered the girl onto one of the benches.

“In!”

At the lieutenant’s command, the slaves hurried into the cell, staring back at the pit.

“There is one slave still alive out there you may wish to retrieve,” Blaise said, nodding in the direction of the pit. “He shouldn’t die, so long as you take care of him soon.”

“Do it,” the older of the two lieutenants said. The younger man scowled, sighed, and sloshed through the sand and rain.

“Good afternoon, Frolar,” Blaise greeted, dipping his head to the other bishop.

“You’ve been busy I see. The Archbishop’s been looking for you all morning.”

Blaise echoed the soldier’s sigh. “One does not refuse an invitation from the Emperor.”

Frolar’s bushy brow arched to his graying hairline. “You have been busy.”

“Later,” Blaise said with a wave of his hand. “Have you seen to the injured? Who’s on duty with you?”

“No one. Bishop Nikal left to take word to the Archbishop. While we’d been told one of the church was here for the evening, I hadn’t thought it’d be a bishop, let alone you!”

“Later, Frolar. We’re wasting time. There are injured to tend to.”

And prayers to say for the dead, but he tried not to think too hard about that—the Gates were closed and they didn’t need his guidance. Not anymore.

“Do you really believe anyone survived?” Frolar asked, stepping through the door to wait for him in the hall. Blaise prayed for patience and followed after the human.

The two soldiers snickered.

“Stay here if you want, but I’m going up top,” Blaise snapped.

“Wait, Blaise,” Frolar said, snatching his elbow. Blaise stopped and stared at the man’s hand. “It’s too dangerous. Part of it is collapsing—some of it already has.”

“And?” Blaise growled out, tempted to take a bite out of Frolar’s hand.

“You’re too important to risk.”

Blaise hissed, “I’m no more important than any other. Unlike me, they need help. If it is Alphege you’re worried about, I’ll accept whatever punishment he deems necessary, should it become a concern. I’ll take the upper tiers. I trust you can handle the first? It isn’t just those who were caught in the storm. Many were surely trampled as people left.”

Frolar’s blue eyes seemed black in the shadows of the corridor. “Yes.”

Turning to the soldiers, Blaise dipped his head in a nod to them. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

“What’s gotten into you, Blaise? The Archbishop is looking for you. I can handle this on my own. He’s ordered to see you immediately. You’ve never—”

“My duty is here, Brother. The Archbishop will understand.”

“You’re adamant for someone who hates the Arena,” Frolar muttered.

Blaise lengthened his stride and the man had to jog to catch up with him. “I know.”

“Why are you here dressed as a Citizen? The military said the clergyman here was hurt. You don’t look injured at all! What are you doing?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Blaise halted, and Frolar collided with him. Blaise turned and offered a smile to the aging human.

“N-no. You haven’t.”

He almost laughed from wondering what Frolar truly thought. While he hadn’t exactly lied, he wasn’t fully honest either. His nose didn’t tell him anything of use—and no matter how long he stared, the bishop revealed nothing more than a suspicious frown.

“I forgot a basic rule and paid the price for it,” he admitted. “How was I to know the collar I was asked to check was warded? A painful misunderstanding, but nothing that will come between me and my duty.” Blaise grimaced and shook his head.

How many times would he need to lower his head to mortals in one day? How many times would he embarrass himself to those who lived such short lives?

“A collar, Blaise? Really?”

“Really,” he replied. “Satisfied? The Emperor doesn’t want to answer to Alphege, so I was ‘invited’ to sit with him the entire day. The Emperor does not sit with a mere bishop, so I was dressed to his standards. I should be happy I got away with my cuff links.”

“Blue and green don’t suit you,” Frolar replied. “You really aren’t hurt, are you? The Archbishop won’t be pleased with me if—”

Blaise cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re certain.”

It took several deep breaths of smoky air that burned Blaise’s lungs before he could force what he hoped passed for a grateful smile.

Frolar huffed out a laugh. “You never change. Oh, very well. It won’t be the last time I get scolded for letting you do as you want. Did you see what happened from where you were seated?”

“Front row,” he replied, clearing his throat to stifle a cough. “Catsu and one of the slaves dueled and one of them lost control. Beyond that? All guesses.”