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One by one, inmates climb to the very top, as if it’s routine, a regular occurrence in their week. The first five hesitate, looking down as if waiting for something to appear.
The stage floor unlatches mechanically, parting right down the middle. It looks like a large pool. Dark water. And for the view of the stadium, it has a glass outer wall so the audience can see inside. A rumble of boots stomping on floors erupts through the crowd. They roar with anticipation. Shout words I don’t understand.
And the five inmates jump away from their ladders, spreading their arms out to latch on to the brass swings six feet in front of them.
My stomach drops as a heavier prisoner slips, plummeting toward the water with a garbled cry. But it’s strangely quiet as he breaks the surface of the water. I lean forward to see his body floating. No struggle. No attempt to tread water, paddle his way to the edge of the stage, or scream for help. Instead, for a few long seconds, he looks like he’s enjoying himself.
Dessin nudges me to look back up at the other prisoners holding onto their swinging bars. It looks harder than it should be. They’re slipping, gasping, making an impressive effort to wrap their fingers around the bars.
“I think they’re trying to swing to the next set of poles, but they’re fighting to hold on,” Dessin whispers to the group.
Jolting my body upright, the man in the pool lets out a childlike cry. A feeble sob. He thrashes through the water like it’s made of mud. His words come slurring past his lips in a rushed attempt to call for help.
“He’s calling out for his mother,” Ruth tells us cautiously. “He keeps saying, ‘you’re not a pet. Don’t obey them.’”
“Alright, what the fuck is going on?” Warrose growls from behind us.
But Dessin and I are at a loss for words. I’m only sprinkled with an ounce of relief when two prisoners swing to the next bar and fumble to the ladder at the end of the stage. They whoop as they descend, flipping off the crowd of Vexamen soldiers.
“So that’s the goal? Make it to the next set of bars, then to the last ladder?” I ask.
“That’s the goal,” the woman in my head answers.
I balk at the sudden intrusion, forgetting she is still here.
“I’m more concerned with the pool at the bottom.” Dessin watches two more prisoners plummet to the water, having the same reaction as the first.
“Tell your friends it’s an oil from their Raven Bone Mines. It seeps into your skin and pulls you into your worst nightmares.”
I blink, process the faceless, nameless thought. They’re going to think I’m insane.
I repeat her words exactly, pausing at the end to wait for the questions that are bound to surface.
Dessin turns to face me with an even expression. “How,” he ponders in disapproval, eyes tracing over my face. “Skylenna, we just got your body temperature back to normal. You can’t go into the void now.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
He narrows his eyes, looking back at Warrose.
“She has another card to play, doesn’t she?”
It’s silly, the way a fire in my chest flickers to life with pride. I was never the one with impressive traits to show off. I was the one to cower behind Dessin. To watch his work in admiration.
“I heard a voice when the Blood Mammoths hunted me through the prison. It knew things. Guided me while I was blind. And now it’s back, helping me to make it through tonight.” It sounds…nuts. Off the wall, feverish, out of my mind, in la la land crazy.
But Dessin lifts his chin, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “Incredible,” he whispers.
“This may be the only time in my life I will blindly follow someone who hears voices in their head,” Warrose states.
“Wrong.” Dessin steps forward in line without looking back.
Warrose purses his lips. “Forgot you were here.”
The pool is now crowded with flailing inmates. Some of them are swallowing the oil and sinking to the bottom. Some of them are trying to reach for an edge.
I raise my eyes to the stadium of soldiers. They wear their plates of matte black armor, some with helmets, others with half their heads shaved in intricate designs. I follow the crowd to an organized row at the highest perch in the stadium. It’s hard to see that far away, but their faces are painted. Clowns and skeletons. Beasts and reapers.
“Those are the commanders and highest-ranking officers.”
