The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (9 page)

“I was expecting you to use the pathways, not wade through it. What is the meaning of bringing this slave?”

Catsu’s hand dropped on the top of Terin’s head, and the man’s fingers pressed hard against his scalp. Bowing his head to ease the strain, Terin focused on the white and black tiles of the floor, the pattern was broken by red splotches of paint. Were the marks supposed to represent God’s roses? He squinted. If they were roses, they were painted by an artisan who’d never seen a plant in his life.

“Maybe that’s why I asked you to install a bath down here,” Catsu growled. “You brought clothes, didn’t you?”

“I brought clothes for you, Zurach, not for some stolen slave. What were you thinking? At this rate, you’ll ruin all of our plans,” Emeric replied.

Terin flinched at the man’s words and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the convict. Catsu –Zurach?– was smirking.

“Ah, it’s good to hear my own name after so long. I don’t know how that pathetic excuse of an obsessed man dealt with the name Catsu. So crude,” Zurach said.

The Citizen sighed and pinched his nose again. “What about our plan? That slave isn’t a part of our plan.” While the Citizen didn’t quite bellow, Terin winced at the man’s tone.

“He is now. We can’t let him go.”

“Are you blind, stupid, or both, Zurach? That’s a gold collar he’s wearing. They’ll come for him just to retrieve the cursed thing.”

“So we take it off,” Zurach replied, forcing Terin’s head up by grabbing a handful of his hair and lifting. “He wasn’t a part of our plans, but we’ll make him a part of our plans. A very important part of them.”

If Zurach had ever been a convict, if he had ever lived as the man called Catsu, all evidence of it was gone. The Citizen held Terin in an iron grip, and he stood with all of the arrogance of a true noble lord.

“If collars could be removed so easily, do you think the Emperor would tolerate the church’s presence at all? We can’t just remove it. We could just cut off the slave’s head to take it off if necessary.”

“Don’t be such a prude, Emeric. He’s the one who gave me the opportunity for escape. Isn’t it the good and just thing to reward a service done?”

“Did you hit your head? He’s just a slave.”

Zurach’s hand dropped to rest on Terin’s shoulder. He shivered at the mingling of sweat and water dripping from his hair to run along his cheek and down his neck.

“He’s a slave with a preservation collar, brother. He’s been given some interesting orders, too. I’d be curious to learn just who his master is, one way or another. I think you’ll be pleased with what I hope to do with him. He is, after all, just a slave.”

Terin’s hands shook with the desire to lash out at both of them. The collar’s heat cut off his breath, but it didn’t smother the anger growing within him.

“What’s your plan, then?” Emeric asked.

“Have you stopped long enough to actually look at him? He’s almost as talented as I am as a Speaker. With those eyes? He’s perfect.”

“His eyes?” Emeric reached out and seized Terin by his chin and forced his head up. “Ah, that’s a nice shade of green.”

“Not just any nice shade of green. While I think it’s just hearsay and rumor, if the Church’s stale teachings are right, it just helps our cause,” Zurach said with laughter in his voice.

Emeric sighed. “While you make a good point, I don’t see what’s so funny. Fine. Fine! He’s your problem. I’ll see what I can find out about him and that collar. What’s his name?”

Zurach poked Terin in the spine with a finger. “Tell him your number.”

“734152,” Terin whispered. The collar cooled at his obedience. He drew several long breaths before biting at his lip. His anger faded. Too many questions tripped over each other in his head, all of them circling back to the man who’d once been named Catsu, the Hero of the Arena.

“I hope you’re right and that he’ll work as a vessel. I dislike gambling on this, Zurach,” Emeric said, letting go of Terin’s chin.

“Trust me.”

“734152. I’ll remember that. With all of the excitement, there’s a good chance I can learn something tonight. I expect a summons to the Palace soon enough. For the love of God, please bathe before I suffocate and your fumes contaminate the rest of my house.”

Zurach let out a hearty chuckle. “Do something about the smell, slave.”

His futile effort to resist the man’s command ended with the flare of heat from the collar. With a sigh, he Spoke, “The Gates open for all men, but not all reach His Garden. Tread with care, for He watches over all.” The scent of flowers and roses drowned out the stench wafting off of him and Zurach. A faint glow washed the room in a crimson radiance, but when Terin blinked, it was gone.

“Better?” Zurach asked.

“That’s just as disgusting. Just bathe. Please.” Muttering curses, Emeric marched out of the room, down a long hall, and out of sight around the corner at the end of it.

“Come. I trust you know how to serve as an attendant?”

Terin nodded and managed not to sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Follow me and make yourself useful.”

~*~

Instead of the claw-footed tub Terin had expected, a steaming pool dominated a blue-tiled room. Zurach’s stare bore into him when he didn’t step through the doorway.

“What are you waiting for? Strip and get in,” the man snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

Terin swallowed and stood as still as he could. “The master bathes first,” he replied, staring at the rippling pool. Light and water reflected on the polished marble overhead. Lanterns nestled in sconces along the wall burned with a pure white light born of Speech instead of fire.

“Damned slaves.” Zurach swept past him, the whisper of fabric dropping to the floor accompanied the slap of the man’s bare feet.

Terin glanced back at the door leading to the foyer. If he could get back to the sewer, he could find his way to the city above. If he did, he wouldn’t live long enough to face the Arena again. He bit his lip.

“Fine. I’ll bathe first. God forbid anyone dare change the habits of a trained slave.”

Warm water splashed over the pool’s lip and washed over Terin’s bare feet, leaving behind trails of yellowed sand and filth. Zurach let out a sigh and splashed again.

“There should be soaps in one of the urns, knowing my brother. Fetch some,” Zurach ordered.

Terin frowned and twisted around. It took him a long moment to spot the urn tucked in the corner, patterned in the same tiles as the floor and walls. It stood as tall as his knee. Pulling the ceramic stopper free revealed bars of soap and bottles arranged on linens. Taking as many as he could carry, he hurried to the pool’s side, bowed his head, and held them out.

Zurach grabbed Terin’s wrist and pulled. The bars of soap flew from his grip and splashed into the pool. His feet slipped on the water-slicked tile, and he pitched forward. A hard, muscled arm cracked against his chest and drove the breath out of his lungs, holding him long enough for him to suck in a breath before dumping him into the pool.

Terin’s cry cut off in a choked gurgle. A white rose inlaid among the blue mosaic of the pool’s bottom shimmered beneath the ripples of the surface. Seizing his hair, Zurach yanked Terin’s head up. A sharp blow to his back forced the water out of his mouth. Terin gasped and kicked his legs. Panic choked off his breath. While he knew how to swim, he couldn’t move his arms, and it triggered his fear of drowning despite Zurach’s grip on him.

With the fervor of a man possessed, Zurach scraped one of the bars of soap against Terin’s scalp. He gasped at the sharp pain of pulled hairs and struggled to free himself. His slick fingers slipped off the man’s hand.

“I can’t stand filth,” Zurach snarled, jerking Terin’s head with each word. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. As if Terin weighed nothing, Zurach dunked him beneath the water and pulled him out again. “With God as my witness, I’ll scour it all off you—the sand, the stench of that arena—all of it!”

Terin struggled to escape, clawing at Zurach’s arm. A shake of the man’s hand jerked Terin’s head from side to side and rattled his teeth. Not even the heat of the water managed to drive out the chill of his fear as he was shoved beneath the surface and held there until his lungs burned. The strength flowed out of his arms and legs until he floated in water that darkened with each stroke of the rough bar on his skin and clothes.

Zurach pulled Terin up, slipped the bar of soap under his singlet, and scrubbed his back until he coughed and sucked in a breath.

“You’ll thank me for this later,” the man said, continuing to scrub. Terin hissed as the edge of the bar scraped against his cuts. It was as though Zurach tried to erase every memory of the Arena off of him and his clothes, until he ached from the scouring.

A finger prodded at his side and heat spread up his ribs. Terin gasped and flinched from the touch.

“At least that fool of a bronzeling didn’t mark you too deep. It’ll hurt, but it won’t kill you.” Zurach’s hand lingered on his side, fingers probing at the cut. Terin’s breath hissed through his teeth from the pain of it.

“Get out,” Zurach said in a tired, dull voice. Terin scrambled to obey, crawling up the steps to the safety of the other side of the room. Every breath rattled in his chest as he panted. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Still facing the pool, he backed toward the door.

Zurach slapped his hand against the surface of the water, sending ripples across the murky water. Clean water flowed through the center of the pool, driving the filth to a drain hidden in the depths. “Tell me, slave. Don’t you want to destroy them for what they’ve done to you?”

Terin opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. The collar warmed in warning. Lowering his eyes to the floor, he struggled for words that wouldn’t get him punished for disobedience or displease the man. “I don’t know,” he whispered when the collar’s heat grew too much for him to bear.

“Better than no, I suppose. Don’t you want to be free?” The man’s tone betrayed nothing. “You were discarded by your master. Why fight me? I can give you your freedom.”

Terin balled his hands into fists and shook his head. “I failed my master.”

“It’s the same thing, slave. There’s no difference. You were sentenced to death in the Arena. Combat slave you may be, but you faced me. You’d have been better off as a pleasure slave.” Zurach laughed and slapped his hand on the surface of the water. “You’d fetch me a high price, that’s for certain.”

A shiver ran through Terin and he glanced toward the door and the foyer beyond. All signs of the passage to the sewers were gone, and no matter how long and hard he stared, he couldn’t spot the outline of the door.  He counted the number of steps, his entire body tensing as he considered whether or not he’d make it to the threshold before Zurach noticed him.

“How many masters have you had?”

“One, Citizen,” he whispered.

“He got tired of you, then.”

Terin winced. Was the man right? Had his master purposefully set out to abandon him? Still shaking, he slid his foot across the tiles toward the door to the foyer. “Yes.”

“Useless.”

The next step took Terin to the threshold. He pressed his toe against the marble lip, staring at Zurach’s back. The man draped his arms over the pool’s ledge and paddled at the water with his feet.

“Get out doesn’t mean leave the room.”

The collar’s heat burned away Terin’s every thought and he recoiled from the door to escape its punishment. He gasped and shuddered. With one more step, he might’ve at least made it to the foyer. With one more step, he might’ve escaped Zurach’s influence over his collar.

One more step, and he might’ve been able to find out if his master had abandoned him, even if it meant his death.

Zurach tilted his head back to look at him. “That’s a good expression, boy. You almost look serious. Angry, even. It seems you didn’t learn your lesson in the arena.”

The man stepped out of the pool and his grin had a feral quality to it. “This time, remember it.”

~*~

Blaise stared at the shredded storm clouds overhead. The wind tore at them, scattering them across the clearing sky until nothing remained but a few dark smudges. Dust settled around him, tickling his nose and obscuring everything yellow haze. Distant cries filtered through the buzz in his ears.

Falling had hurt. Tumbling from the second tier would’ve killed a mortal. Blaise’s breath left him in a sigh, and he wondered how he would explain his survival.

A tickle in his nose gave birth to a sneeze that tore through him and woke fire in his bones. Muttering a curse at the human body’s inability to handle his heightened senses, Blaise clicked his tongue and tapped his fingers against the broken stones beneath him. The burn concentrated in his hand and worked its way up his arm when he moved. His bones cracked and writhed beneath his skin and his muscles ached and convulsed as though trying to escape the confines of his human shell.

If he wasn’t careful, the injuries he sustained from the fall would trigger a transformation to his true form in front of too many mortals.

The pain grew, but his breath stuck in his throat and kept him silent when he wanted to scream. Heat flared through him and threatened to consume him from within and turn him to ash. When it cooled, his body throbbed with each beat of his heart.

“Blaise!” Frolar didn’t quite scream, but the panic in the man’s tone roused Blaise’s hunger and for a moment, all he could smell was blood, flesh, and food.

His fingers curled into claws, but the trembling weakness born from fighting against transforming and coping with the pain of his bones mending kept him still. The hunger died away beneath the desire for rest so he could heal and recover.

Frolar knelt beside him, one hand held out. Sucking in a breath, Blaise tried to avoid the man’s touch, but the bishop’s fingers brushed against his skin.

“I’m not dead,” he rasped. Finger by finger, he forced his hand to relax and struggled to avoid lashing out. Hunger once again roused, and Blaise closed his eyes until the urge faded away.

“You fool! I warned you,” Frolar snapped. Blaise cracked open an eye and met the old bishop’s gaze. The man’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “It’ll be both of our heads at this rate. The Archbishop is going to tan both of our skins to make rugs for his floor. What did you break?”