Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (19 page)

MASHINJI

“Close your eyes!” Olivia shouts. There’s excitement in her voice, loud over the shrieks of the crowd pressing at our backs. I close my eyes immediately, knowing what’s coming. I’ve just watched the teenaged boy on the pit floor spray a whole bucket of blood up into the gathering masses that circle the pit, dousing them bright crimson. The skin on my face tingles as a fine mist hit me. Olivia laughs brightly when I open my eyes. Her whole face is speckled with vivid red dots.
 

“Don’t worry,” she tells me, smiling. “It’s only pig’s blood.”

I’m not worried about being covered with pig’s blood. I’m more concerned by the fact that it stinks really badly, rotten and old. The tickertape and swatches of red cloth from the Colosseum seem very civilised to me right now. At least they only represented blood. The residents of Freetown are apparently a more literal people. I wipe my hand over my face and Olivia laughs harder. “What?”

“You have more blood on your hands than you did on your face. You’ve just made it ten times worse. You look quite scary now.”

When I look down, I see that she’s right. My hands are covered in blood and so is the front of the loose, flowing green shirt Olivia persuaded me to wear. Six feet down on the pit floor, the guy who threw the blood starts howling out a loud chant, side skipping around the circular pit. His chest is bare, marked with bloody handprints. The stack of lines running up from his wrists is small. Only a few kills. The crowd responds, and a call goes up from the hundreds of people thronging to get a get a better view. It sounds like a beating pulse at first, quickly growing in pitch until the noise of the voices around us turns into a crashing roar.
 

Raksha! Raksha! Raksha!
 

Olivia joins in, her eyes bright with the reflections from the fires that light up the hill on the other side of pit. With the blood and excitement on her face, she looks a little mad. “
Raksha! Raksha!”
she hollers, elbowing me to join her.
 

“What are they shouting?”
 

She starts slapping her palm against her thigh like some of the other women surrounding the pit, making the bells on her dress sing. “
Raksha!
We shout it when fighters are promoted. It symbolises the voices of all the men who have died before in the pit. It’s their death chant, calling for fresh blood to the other side. The most brutal fights always take place after the blood ceremonies. The step up in ability is too much for some men. They don’t fare too well against the more seasoned fighters.”

That sounds like a pretty morbid tradition. I shudder, noticing that there is more than one kind of fire reflected in Olivia’s eyes. A fever burns there, which is surprising. For such a sweet girl, she seems completely swept away in the furore around us. Jack was right: this is totally different to what I’m used to in the arena. Maybe it’s the sheer volume of people, shouting and bloody themselves, all eager to find out which fighters have been chosen to move up in the ranks. Maybe it’s the fact that Olivia and I are balanced precariously on the edge of the massive, yawning hole that dips down into the earth and rough hands keep shoving at us from behind. Whatever it is, I don’t feel all that well. Was Ryka right? Is this going to be too much for me? There’s a knot in my belly that I just can’t seem to shake. My hand flutters to my neck, subconsciously checking to see if my halo is whirring.
 
I feel stupid when I realise it isn’t there. Olivia notices and stops clapping her hand to her thigh, reaching over to take hold of mine.
 

“Don’t worry. This is all normal,” she tells me. “There’s no fighting tonight.” Her lips continue to move, but I can’t hear her words. The swell of voices soars, growing impossibly loud. “They’re here!” Olivia hollers, clenching hold of my arm. The crowd parts on the other side of the pit, the people forming a narrow walkway between them. A flash of red appears through the press of people and that’s when Olivia starts trembling. “The High Priestess!” she shouts. I can tell she’s not just pointing out the High Priestess’ arrival; she is genuinely excited.
 
The calls of
Raksha! Raksha
! grow louder as the staggering figure of a stooped woman lumbers into view, wearing the same fine red robe I saw earlier on the other priestess at the Keep.

Her back is so hunched over that it looks painful for her to walk. A handful of men gathered at the side of the pit leap down into the dirt, barely flinching at the drop. From there they hold their arms out and the fragile figure steps forward, letting them lower her to the pit floor. It looks like they’re lifting a small child; she mustn’t weigh anything. A roar goes up as soon as her feet hit the floor, and the men and the teenager who started the chanting vault up and drag themselves out of the fighting arena. As soon as the last man is up and the High Priestess is alone below, a silence falls across the crowd. It takes a moment for the people at the very back of the audience to realise everyone is waiting for them to shut up.
 

I look around and can’t help but notice the people’s faces: expressions of awe are echoed everywhere. Absolute reverence fills their eyes, men, women and children alike. Olivia is no exception.
 

“What’s going on?” I hiss.
 

Olivia shakes her head and shushes me. About five seconds pass before a loud voice cuts through the night air, echoing in the silence. The High Priestess.
 

“Calden Moore!” she shouts. Her voice is powerful and strong, entirely at odds with her fragile stature. A low muttering travels through the crowds, and people push back as a young guy with dark hair threads through them. He emerges four feet to our right, pausing to jerk his shirt over his head, where he throws it to the ground and drops down into the pit. Tattoos mark him past his elbows.
 

“Tamji!” the High Priestess shrieks, throwing her arms high above her head. A wild surge of noise ripples through the air, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I swallow a lump in my throat, wondering if Calden Moore is ready to be promoted to Tamji. The guy definitely looks surprised as he paces towards the High Priestess. He holds his right hand out when he reaches her and a pale hand appears from within the red folds of delicate material.
 

The unmistakeable flash of a knife glints in the High Priestess’ hand, and before I can ask Olivia what she’s about to do, the woman in red plunges down into Calden’s palm. The blade cuts through, sticking straight out the other side, and Calden remains completely silent. No way had I been expecting that. I look around to see if anyone else is as stunned as me, but the people gathered around the pit just look anxious, like they’re waiting. Calden blinks slowly, never taking his eyes off the High Priestess. She holds his hand in hers, unmoving, watching him. It’s like there’s some tense showdown between the High Priestess and Calden and everyone is holding their breath to see what happens. The jagged silence is only broken by the snap of dry wood crackling on the fires close by. Several moments pass before the bent old lady suddenly whips into life, thrusting Calden’s wounded hand high above her head.
 

“
Rashatta!
” she screams, muffled by the ceramic white mask that I can now see beneath the slowly fluttering veil across her face.
 

The crowd howls the word in response, louder and louder each time. The chant is still being hollered by the people of Freetown as the woman takes hold of the blade embedded in Calden’s hand and yanks it free.
 

Calden’s face remains neutral, entirely still and lifeless. He bows low in front of the High Priestess, and it’s only as he jogs back to the pit wall that he cradles his hand to his chest, wincing.
 

“He did well,” Olivia says into my ear as people reach down for Calden’s arms and pull him out of the pit.
 

“Do fighters dull their pain?” I ask. Why else wouldn’t Calden have screamed out when he was stabbed? Olivia shakes her head.
 

“No. Fighters have to take a cut from the High Priestess and show no pain or fear before they can be ranked. The last time Calden flinched when the High Priestess sliced his shoulder. He’s been waiting for the opportunity to prove himself again for a long time. He was only supposed to be raised one grouping, though. He just climbed three.”

I look back down on the High Priestess and shiver. “And she stabbed him through the hand this time, just to make it harder?”

“They have to be sure.”

“Sure of
what
?” My voice is strained, and Olivia gives me a startled look.
 

“That they’re worthy to die, of course.”

Before I can open my mouth, because I’m longing to, the High Priestess calls out another name. I don’t hear it, only the sea of people reacting around me, jostling me forward. My boots are pressed so close to the edge of the pit that the earth crumbles and skitters downwards, marking the same path I will take if I get shoved one more time. I push back, anger spiking in my chest. This is different, though. I thought I knew anger, but I was wrong. The power of the emotion pulsing through my body leaves me breathless and for a moment I consider turning and bolting through the crowds. I want to, only I don’t know how safe Olivia would be if I left her.
 

Three more men are called forward, Tamjis each one. They leap down and take the cuts that the High Priestess offers them. Only one of the wounds she inflicts is as severe as Calden’s. The last man called, Lettin Corr, a giant of a man with a bold chest tattoo to accompany the countless scores up his arms, jumps down and strides with purpose to the High Priestess. She reaches up before he even stops walking and slashes with frightening precision at the side of his head. The people in the crowd go wild, and fresh blood sprays down into the pit. A second or two passes before I can see the extent of the damage the High Priestess has inflicted. Lettin gets helped up out of the pit right beside Olivia and I, and as he pulls himself up the last few feet, I understand. His right ear has been sliced clean through, rending straight through the cartilage. The very top part of his ear hangs off by a thread, dangling and bloody, and yet Lettin grins at us when he stands. Even his eyes don’t betray his pain. His friends clap him on his back and he disappears into the swell of bodies.
 

“I think I’m ready to go,” I shout out to Olivia. She looks at me, confused, and as she does so the tall man standing beside her rocks forward, pushing her closer to the pit edge. She squeals and I instinctively reach out and grab her arm. She stares back at me as I hold onto her, her body leaning out over the drop.
 

“Kit!” she shrieks, “pull me back in!” There’s fear in her eyes when I tug her forward. She falls into me and her legs collapse out from underneath her; the man responsible for knocking her off balance is suddenly in our faces, apologising and wringing his hands, pushing the people around us back.
 

“You shouldn’t be standing at the edge,” he scolds. There’s a reprimand in his voice but the expression on his face says he’s scared.
 

“It’s okay,” Olivia breathes. “I didn’t fall.” I don’t understand why both of them are so terrified. The fall would only have been six feet, not far enough to warrant this much panic. They’re acting like it was a near death experience for both Olivia and for the man. He smiles nervously and backs away, allowing a hesitant line of men to push after him. They stand well back from me and Olivia this time, though.

“Thank you.” Olivia turns back to me. “Thank you for catching hold of me.” Her face is slightly green, and I’m about to ask her what the big deal is when the High Priestess’ voice splinters through the air once more.

“
Mashinji! Mashinji!
” In the silence that follows, I look around to find people staring blankly into the pit. Olivia’s hand tightens on mine. “Did…did she just call Mashinji?”

I blink at her, wondering why everyone has frozen still. Wondering who the High Priestess called while I was pulling Olivia back to safety. “Yes. What’s Mashinji?”

She swallows, her eyes big and round. “It’s a level of fighter. We haven’t had anyone called to be Mashinji in, well, forever. Since before, when I was really small. The last person
―
” She trails off, glancing around her. It takes a full minute for a pathway to clear on the opposite side of the pit, and when Ryka walks through, shrugging off his tight black long sleeved shirt, a strangled gasp erupts from Olivia.

“No,” she whispers. It’s as though Ryka somehow hears the word over the incessant, rustling whispers of the crowd and his eyes snap up. They lock onto Olivia’s. They look softer than usual, which is an odd contrast to his facial expression
―
harder than ever. He gives her a curt nod and drops gracefully down into the pit.

Olivia steps back and grabs hold of my arm. “We should leave,” she says.

“What?” All the excitement and shine has dropped right out of her. “I don’t understand.”

“Mashinji
―
” She swallows like she’s trying to remember how to breathe. “Mashinji is a rogue level. It means the fighter can be called to fight anyone at any time. More importantly, he can be called by a fighter instead of the priestesses.”

I look back down on Ryka standing in the pit before the High Priestess. His eyes have finally gone hard, the way I’m used to seeing them.

“How many levels are there above Tamji?” I whisper.

Olivia turns and looks at me, biting on her lip. “Three.”

Three. Three levels of fighters above the skill level Ryka has been training with. In his new ranking, Ryka could be called by people far more skilled than he is. “There was a danger he could have been called to one of the higher ranks, anyway,” I tell Olivia. She looks like she needs comforting, but my words don’t seem to have the desired effect.

“You don’t understand. Usually a fighter only has to participate in one match per night. It’s different for Mashinji. They can be called to every single fight in an evening if the others want to match him. People have used that to their advantage before
―
pitched the Mashinji against a handful of inexperienced men at first to tire him out, and then when he’s good and exhausted they’ll put him up against someone far better than they are. It’s a sure fire way of killing off a strong competitor.”