Black Knight (13 page)

Fastened to the gray stone is a wooden plaque etched with six lines. Despite the fact they’re written in an elaborate flowing script, the words are in English and are easy to read.

It takes me a moment to realize I’ve seen the script before—when I was with Kendor in the desert outside Las Vegas. He took me to a delicious pool of water hidden within an outcrop of rocks he said used to belong to a tribe of Paleo-Indians. At one end of the pond was a stone wall covered with petroglyphs, and littered with words written in this style, only in an unknown language Kendor had to translate for me.

At the time Kendor had implied the Alchemist had been involved with the creation of the Paleo’s petroglyphs, although he hadn’t elaborated on the point. Yet standing before the wooden plaque with Marc by my side, I’m more and more convinced the Alchemist must be behind our abduction.

The message on the plaque reads as follows:

To protect the righteous and slay the wicked

Six of six are called to the Field

To live

To fight

To die

One will survive

“What the fuck?” Marc says.

“You’ve got to stop saying that. I have a feeling this place is going to be full of surprises.”

“To hell with that. Do you know what this message is saying?”

“Yep. We’ve been put here to fight to the death.”

“Fuck that shit!”

“I told you . . .”

“Shut up, Jessie!” Marc steps back, shaking his head. “This is too much. Who would set something like this up?”

“Somebody who wants to see who’s the strongest.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you saying this honestly means something to you? I mean—what is it with you, Jessie—you’re not acting at all surprised.”

“I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Bullshit! I may not have Chad’s IQ but I know people. And from the second you woke up in that tin can, you haven’t so much as blinked. I’ve been in some pretty hairy situations in my life and like to think I’ve got balls. But right now, standing next to you, I’m the equivalent of a whimpering schoolgirl. While you . . .” He doesn’t finish.

“Go on,” I prod.

“You know what’s going on here. Don’t deny it.”

“I don’t, honestly. I don’t know where we are or who put us here.”

He stares at my face. “But you’re not surprised we’re here. Admit it.”

I shake my head but don’t speak. When it comes to my lying, Marc’s almost as good—or bad, depending on your point of view—as Jimmy at picking up when I’m being evasive. Somehow he can see right through me. He puts his hands on my shoulders as I glance at the ground.

“Tell me what you know,” Marc presses.

I raise my head. “We’re in a place called the Field. We’re here with five other groups containing six people each. The six of us here—Shira, Chad, Li, Ora, you, and me—have been selected to work together to defeat the other groups.”

Marc takes back his hands. “Why do you assume we’re supposed to work together? So far Shira acts like she’d love nothing more than to stab me in the back.”

I hold up the bright green bracelet on my wrist. It appears to be made of plastic but it’s not. Because I can’t break it off and I have the strength of twenty men when I draw on the power of my witch gene.

“This bracelet is bright green because it’s designed to identify us,” I say. “I doubt it has any other purpose. Our uniform is green for probably the same reason—although if that’s the case we’re lucky because it blends in with the surroundings.”

“Are you saying we’re the green team and the other groups we run into will be wearing red, brown, yellow, blue, or purple?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s possible they’ll have on green uniforms as well but I’m confident they’ll have different-colored bracelets.”

“How can you be so sure?” Marc asks.

“Because it’s logical,” Chad says, causing both of us to jump. People are not normally able to sneak up on me, which makes me wonder again if Chad and his buddies might not be latent witches, just unaware of who they are.

“How long have you been standing there?” Marc demands.

“Long enough to follow your argument,” Chad says, stepping closer to the plaque and briefly taking off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his green shirt. Already, I’ve decided the long sleeves will have to go—it’s just too hot and humid. I keep eyeing the river, wishing I could strip down and take a dip.

If I do go for a swim, though, it will be quick. My antenna is on high alert. We’re in an unknown environment surrounded by hostiles. The plaque made that clear. It wasn’t by chance that it was placed in the one spot we’d head to before going anywhere else—at the edge of the river. The person or people who organized this contest wanted us to know the rules of the game right from the start.

Chad studies the plaque for a full minute before speaking. “Whoever etched this had a steady hand,” he says finally.

“Who gives a damn about his hands?” Marc snaps. “It’s the message I’m worried about.”

Chad wipes at the sweat on his forehead and gives Marc a weak smile. “If it’s any consolation I’m as freaked out as you are.”

I groan. “Would you two quit acting like I’m not scared. I’m supposed to start college in a couple of months. Instead I’m stuck here in a wild jungle like some idiotic character in
Battle Royale
.”

“Is that a book?” Chad asks.

Marc speaks. “Yeah. I read it, I liked it. It’s one of those gladiator-inspired novels where everyone kills everyone else.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Chad says before turning back to the plaque. “This last line, ‘One will survive’—it can be taken two ways. It can mean that only one of us will survive or it could mean—hopefully—that one of the six of six will survive.”

“Meaning a whole group,” I say.

“Exactly,” Chad says.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Marc mutters.

I punch him in the arm. “Hey, what’s with all the gloom and doom? You were the life of the party on the way here.”

“That was before I knew I’d been chosen to amuse a group of rich assholes,” Marc says.

“Is that our latest theory on who brought us here?” Chad asks.

Marc shrugs. “Unless Jessie’s got a better one, which wouldn’t surprise me. But consider the opening line here. It says, ‘To protect the righteous and slay the wicked.’ A line like that could only have been written by two types of people: a religious freak or a sadist. Personally, I think this is some kind of elaborate sadistic ritual designed to amuse a small group of sick minds.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” Chad says. “But if we’re here for entertainment, the trees should be loaded with video cameras and omnidirectional microphones, monitoring our every move.”

“Who says they aren’t?” Marc says.

I scan the trees. “I don’t see any cameras.”

“Give it time,” Marc says.

Chad speaks up. “Hey! What if we’re on the Internet and don’t know it? Think about it. A fight to the death would easily draw a hundred million hits on YouTube.”

“The whole world would watch,” Marc agrees. “Shit, I’d watch if I weren’t here.”

“I for one would stop watching if the hero kept swearing every other time he spoke,” I say.

“Since when did you become such a prude?” Marc asks.

“I’m not a prude,” I say.

“Since when is he the hero?” Chad asks, insulted.

I have to laugh. “We’re off to a great start. If we’re being watched, no one’s going to bet on our group winning. We may as well lie down here and surrender.”

No one responds for a moment but I notice the guys have slowly turned back to the plaque. My remark was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood but it seems to have had the opposite effect. Probably because Marc’s right—I’m the only one who has a clue what’s really going on.

Marc and Chad are both brave young men. But that’s the problem—they’re men, they’re
human
. In a crisis they can’t call upon genetically enhanced powers to protect themselves. I’m scared too but I know what I’m capable of. There might be other witches in the Field—there probably are—but I know I’m not going to be defeated easily.

“I hope we can win,” Chad says softly.

I pat him on the back. “Seriously, with your huge brain and Marc’s diabolical mind, we’re way ahead of the curve. Let’s wake up the others. We’ve got to explore this area. If there’s thirty people out there plotting to kill us, we’ll be sitting ducks if we stay here. I say we refill our water bottles in the river and head for the high ground.”

“What about weapons?” Marc says. “Shouldn’t we make some kind of weapons?”

“Out of what?” Chad says. “Jessie’s right. We need to see what the Field has to offer in the way of supplies and defensive positions. I’m for climbing out of this valley.”

Chad heads back toward our gray cell, which lies wedged between a half dozen trees at an awkward angle. It looks like a cargo carton that was casually dumped from the sky. The idea disturbs me for some reason. For all I know we may have been flown here alongside five other metal containers, in the very same craft.

I go to follow Chad but Marc grabs my arm, holding me in place, and speaks softly in my ear. “I’m not fooled, Jessie. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

I turn and stare into his blue eyes, inches away. “Same with you.”

“How are we going to protect each other if we don’t trust each other?” he asks.

“Trust takes time. You of all people should know that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why me of all people?”

“Because while I’ve got my secrets, you’ve got yours.”

Marc squeezes my arm harder and sharpens his tone. “I said it a few minutes ago but I wasn’t sure until now that it’s true. I’m scared, Chad’s scared, but you’re not. Not the way an eighteen-year-old chick fresh out of high school should be.”

With my free hand, I reach over and mess up his already unmanageable brown hair. “I’m glad you think I’m fresh,” I say, before effortlessly shaking free of his grip and walking away.

* * *

By the time we reach our open cell, the others are beginning to stir. Shira jumps up fast when Marc gently shakes her awake and immediately demands to know who gassed her. I should have been the one to awaken her, I realize. But Marc smiles at her fury; and I swear he’s determined to push Shira over the edge.

“It was those damn Nazis,” Marc replies, a joke that only he finds funny. Shira glares at him and shoves him aside and this time I don’t blame her. After all, there was probably a good reason her family ended up in Israel.

Ora drinks four of our ten remaining bottles of water—we had twenty-four total—for breakfast, while Li spends over ten minutes in the bathroom. In the end Chad has to knock on the door to get her to come out. Li also drinks a lot of water; for such a small thing, she has a huge thirst.

We show the others the plaque. We have to take them to the river to see it—the thing is practically embedded in the stone. None of them is too happy to read what it says. Then again, I’m just glad no one gets hysterical. I suspect the gang as a whole was already prepared for the worst.

Yet when I think about it, I realize why none of the others is shocked. Shira serves in the army in one of the most violent parts of the world. Ora, also, lives on the edge of civilization and the Stone Age, and is used to fighting to stay alive. And Li—we don’t know much about her except that her past was undoubtedly brutal.

“Looks like I’m not the only one acting suspicious,” I can’t help but whisper in Marc’s ear after the others read the plaque and slowly absorb the enormity of our predicament. Of course, Marc is quick to point out that Shira, Ora, and Li come from vastly different worlds than we do.

“They’re used to violence,” he hisses at me.

“I didn’t exactly grow up in Candy Land.”

“Do tell?”

I push him away. “Would you shove it?”

Even though Shira doesn’t overreact, she does insist on giving orders as to what we’re to do next. It’s like she assumes she’s in command. Since she wants to climb to the top of the nearest hill, none of us puts up an argument. But I can see we’re going to have trouble with her in the near future.

We refill our water bottles in the river, carrying four each in dark green backpacks our benefactors have thoughtfully provided, and begin our hike. Except for the bottles and packs, there’s absolutely nothing else we’re able to salvage from the cell that would be of any use to us. Yet as I walk, I marvel at how snug my brand-new black boots fit. It’s as if someone molded them to my feet.

I’m glad we’re on our way. Since finding the plaque, I’ve been anxious to get moving. I’m glad Shira and Ora appear to share my anxiety. This very instant, I think, someone could be stalking us.

I immediately rip the sleeves off my shirt—Marc and Ora follow suit—and store the extra material in my pack.

“Who knows, we might need it for bandages,” Marc says as we plow up the nearest hill. Shira is in front, naturally, leading the way, with Ora by her side. Chad and Li walk in the middle, and from what I can hear it seems Chad’s managed to get her to open up a bit. Marc and I bring up the rear.

“The others may not act scared but they are,” I warn. “You might want to curb that loose tongue of yours.”

“On one condition.”

I groan. “How did I know you were going to say that.”

“Why did you say, ‘It’s you,’ when I woke you up?”

“You’re as bad as Shira.”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

I hesitate. “I dreamed about you before we were brought here.”

“No shit. Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“And you say I’ve got a loose tongue.”

“Sorry.”

He pauses. “What was the dream about?”

“I saw you at work, parking cars. Then I saw you hiding in the trunk of a car.”

Marc stops midstride and I have to ask myself why I bother to taunt him. However, my loose mouth may not be so reckless after all. At some point I’m probably going to have to tell the others I’m a witch. I’m just hoping I’ve earned their trust by then. Preparing Marc ahead of time with a few hints might not be a bad strategy.