Page 65 of The Only Way Out Is Up

I’ve got you.

[Query: are you all right?]

His mental voice sounds frantic. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him, blind and deaf without PERCEIVE sigils, no connection to the world but his fragile link with my mind.

I’ll be fine, I send, trying to project calm. But you owe me for this one.

I yank my arm back, gathering further cuts. Blood sheathes my hand in a crimson gauntlet and drips all over Star’s sigil. Ky has her sword in hand, breathing hard, her eyes wide and her pupils blown out. I stand up and grab her arm, and there’s a metallic rasp above us. Very slowly, I turn.

Vripiai is looking down at me.

It’s one thing to see a runic fighting another runic and think, Oh, that’s a big one. To watch the blows they exchange, metal on metal, and follow the flow of a fight from a safe vantage point. But here, with Vripiai’s head looming a half meter above me, I’m suddenly very aware of just how fragile flesh would be against steel. The jaws that crushed Star’s reinforced armor would barely notice my bones breaking between them. The snake’s head weaves back and forth, back and forth.

I glance at the other platform. Quech is watching me, too, and when I meet his eyes he raises one hand in a mocking salute. Vripiai turns away, its bulk hissing across the metal floor as it winds back up the ramp to its master.

The two platforms with their ramps are the only way to access the arena floor. Quech and his snake are blocking one way out. Gestian and the thugs occupy the other, and with Vripiai’s retreat they’re getting bolder, edging toward us. No hurry; we’re trapped.

But that can’t be right. There must be another entrance. Somebody has to clean up the mess, after all.

I look around frantically until I spot it. Off to one side, concealed beneath the lip of the arena’s edge, there’s a tunnel big enough to crouch in. A heavy iron grating covers it, probably controlled by sigwork construct. One way out, and no choices. I yank on Ky’s arm, and she stumbles after me, blinking in confusion.

“Where—” she says.

“Just follow me!”

The thugs see what we’re doing and pile down the ramp. I reach the grate; it’s too heavy to lift, but as I guessed there’s a mechanism up at the top. It must be a simple MOVE and a few STRONGS, nothing complicated, but whatever controls it I can’t reach from this side. I can reach the mechanism itself, though, snaking my hand—the one that isn’t currently drooling blood in a pitter-patter on the floor—through the grate and pressing a fingertip against one of the sigils.

I need it to work. It shouldn’t be hard. A MOVE wants to move. It just needs a little power…

Sigwork devices don’t work that way, just by effort of will, but somehow I nonetheless feel the familiar tug at my spirit. With a deep grind, the grate swings up and open.

The thugs are halfway across the arena. I pull Ky into the tunnel, then reach up and rip the MOVE out of the mechanism in a shower of red sparks. The grate falls back with a clang, and we run.

The tunnel lets out into a maze of back rooms. We push past a few of Venci’s startled staff, through a back door, and out into the streets. Ky seems to come back to herself once we’re in the open air, breathing hard and clutching her head. She runs beside me without prompting as we take turn after turn, losing ourselves as best we can.

When we’re out of breath—well, when I’m out of breath—we stop in the shadow of a broken stairwell. I lean against the wall, gasping, and Ky kicks the bricks beside me and swears.

“Fuck. Fuck!” She aims another kick and a piece flies away with a clatter. “We had it. We were almost there. How did they—fuck!”

My injured hand is still clutching Star’s sigil. Very shakily, I put him into the pocket of my coat, then press my other palm against the puncture wound.

“FUCK,” Ky screams, voice ragged.

“Can I get some help with this?” I manage. “Also maybe it would be better to stay quiet.”

“Shit,” she says, more quietly. Something seems to drain out of her. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and turns back to me. “Right. Of course. Uh, hang on.”

She grabs the knife from my hip and starts hacking at the edge of her coat. The ragged strip of cloth makes a crude bandage, but for the moment it keeps the blood on the inside where it belongs.

“Thank you.” I flex my fingers experimentally. It hurts, but they all move. “We can’t stay here.”

“No shit,” Ky snaps, then softens slightly. “You really think we can hide in the undercity?”

I nod.

“Better than dying here,” she mutters. “Though my attempts to get back to Hod keep moving in the wrong direction.”

“We’ll… figure something out.” I have nothing to back that up, but one thing at a time. “Let’s get to the stair.”