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They value strength above all else.
Perg is going to die.
I push through the bodies, even shoving a trollis as I rush toward the battlefield. Perg struggles to get up, to get his hand in the air. Grodd whirls and sends his heel into the side of Perg’s head.
“Stop!” I scream, waving my arms to gain notice. “Stop, he’s already won!”
Gasps and groans sound from the audience, but no one moves.
And then I’m charging the battle, my feet pounding the bridge, my heart thrumming in my head. I’m rushing toward Perg’s fallen form, over bloodstained planks, right toward Grodd. I can barely hear the audience jeering and complaining over the wind rushing in my ears, punctuated by my thundering pulse.
Grodd lifts his sword for a killing blow, then pauses, noticing me. A smile twitches his mouth.
Perg dropped his axe several feet away, and I grab it. It’s alarmingly heavy, but with both hands I’m able to point its top pike at Grodd.
Silence overtakes the onlookers.
“You’re killing him!” I shout.
Grodd laughs. “Two for one.” He steps toward me.
I hold the axe forward and releaseeverything. All the fear swirling inside me. Fear for myself, fear for Perg, fear of retribution for my actions. Fear of the monsters that attack Cagmar. Fear of the forever depths of the canyon. Memories of my father’s hard words and harder hands. Danner, the mobs, the wild beasts. My capture on the bridge. All of it.
I shove it from my body, through that axe, and out, so suddenly that I scream. Only the shaft of the axe, so long it presses into the ground, keeps me from crumbling under the weight of my own terror.
Grodd drops his sword. His eyes widen until they’re more white than green. He stumbles back, shaking. Liquid floods his trousers as he scrambles to get away, like a child confronted with a bedtime demon. Lamblike mewls escape his throat. Tears spill, and gooseflesh prickles his arms.
Mimicked terror tightens my limbs, but as Grodd scrambles, I unclasp stiff fingers from the axe handle and rush to Perg’s side, fear from my curse and fear for my friend mingling into one painful rhythm within my chest. He’s barely breathing. His face is unrecognizable. His blood clings everywhere, warm and blue and tacky.
I look up. “Help! Someone help him!”
The entire crowd goes silent. Gaping. Staring at me.
I broke my rule. I had to.
Tears flood my vision. “He’sdying!” I shout. “Someone help!”
Bodies shift in the stands straight ahead, and I nearly sob as Azmar rushes down the narrow stairs toward us, removing his vest as he runs.
Finally one of the medics follows. Then another. Then someone I don’t recognize from the crowd.
I don’t know where Grodd is, but I don’t care. Azmar drops beside me. He looks over Perg’s injuries before meeting my eyes.
I see his confusion and awe. “Please,” I whisper.
He blinks, focusing on Perg. He tears the vest in half and tourniquets the deepest wounds. Then the medics and the others arrive, stanching and bandaging what they can. A stretcher appears. They slide Perg onto it.
Not one trollis in the crowd takes their eyes off me, and over their heads, I meet the serpentine and unyielding glare of Qequan.
Chapter 10
I sit by the fire in Unach and Azmar’s apartment, absentmindedly peeling a large sweet potato over a dented bucket. My hair brushes the floor, falling around me like a protective curtain. I’ve always kept it long for that reason. It gives me a place to hide.
A knock sounds at the door.
“I’ll shove fire ants up your backside if you eventrythat lock!” Unach barks. Tense silence fills the room. I don’t hear whoever it is depart, but there’s no second knock.
“Sorry,” I murmur, focusing on the sweet potato.
