Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (25 page)

“Olivia, I just want to go to sleep,” I say. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just don’t think I’m going to be very good company right now.”

“Fighter,” a low voice says, and in the thick silence the word sounds strangely muffled. My pace slows instantly, while I peer into the night, trying to work out who is waiting for me. “You and I have business,” the voice says.

The person is definitely male—tall and really broad. A black mask disguises his face, one I recognise, and it takes me a beat to remember where from. The priestesses—they wear masks like these, except theirs are white with black counters running around the rim. This one is coal-black, complete with white counter, an exact inverse.

“What—what kind of business could you have with me?”

The stranger’s head tips to one side and the effect is altogether eerie and disturbing. “Surely there is only one kind?” he responds. A flash of silver in the moonlight betrays the blade he’s holding in his hand, his arms hanging loosely to his sides. I suck in a breath and ready myself. It’s instinctual; I have my own knives in my hands in a heartbeat.

“Listen, I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t want to fi—”

It doesn’t matter what I want. In a flash, the stranger with the black mask leaps forward, flinging a hand out towards me, and a plume of dusty white powder explodes in the air, hitting me square in the face. I choke on the burning sensation that sears down my throat, trying to spin and meet my attacker. He’s quick. Quicker than anyone I’ve ever fought, or seen fight before. The blades in his hands spin so fast that it’s like the night air is filled with molten silver. I sink into a defensive stance, but everything is suddenly off kilter, strange and unfamiliar. Blurry eyes, shaking hands, pounding heart, panic racing through my veins like wildfire. The fight might well be over before my attacker even makes his first move, because I know in the pit of my stomach that I’ve just been drugged and I’m about to get my ass kicked. I’ve never felt so disjointed and confused, and the effects are devastating.

He comes at me, lethal and silent, and I dodge the edge of his knife as it cuts towards my stomach. One staggering step backwards. He responds by easing to the side, blocking my path back out into the forest. My attacker darts forward with both knifepoints extended, ready to spear me through my chest, but I drop just in time. I react finally and kick out at his legs, aiming to take them out from underneath him, but the man in the mask literally jumps, avoiding my strike. His leg comes down in an axe kick aimed directly at my head. I roll out of the way, only to receive a dazzling blow to the temple. I somehow manage to climb to my feet, but my efforts are all futile, and the stranger makes short work of pinning me into the dirt. My head is spinning, my mouth filled with a sharp, acidic taste, and it feels like my stomach is about to purge itself.

“Interesting,” the man in the mask says, as he kneels over me. “Most people can’t stand for ten seconds after a hit of the Haze. You’re very strong.”

If I wanted to reply, if I had any sort of motor function at all and wasn’t completely incapable of speech, then I’d tell this guy that I’m stronger than he thinks. Sadly, I’m like a puppet with cut strings, and I can do nothing but stare up at him with glassy eyes, trying to discern which of the five figures looming over me is the real one.

“They’ve Seen you,” he says, his words rasping against the ceramic mask covering his face. “They’ve Seen what will happen if you stay here. The Sanctuary will find you and bring destruction down upon the heads of all free people. The last person to threaten our safety in this way was dealt with, and so it shall be with you.”

The black and white mask distorts as my eyes roll back into my head, but not before I see the glimmer of metal descending toward my throat. I have the wherewithal to acknowledge that this is it; this is the moment when all the fighting, the struggling, the pushing and pulling finally ends for good. The thought is actually kind of peaceful.

“
Stop!”

The roar sounds like it’s coming from the forest, like the massed body of countless trees all inhaled and bellowed the word in unison, rocking the ground. The ground, however, continues to spin long after the word dies on the wind, and I pitch onto my side, retching into the dirt.

“Leave the girl be.” I recognise the voice now, the deep rumble of it, and I know that Jack has found me.
 
“Leave. Immediately,” he says.

A pressure lifts from my body as the man in the black mask stands, stepping over me, his knives still clenched firmly in his hands. “Will you prevent the will of the Gods, Grandfather?” he asks.

“The will of the Gods takes place on the pit floor, not hidden in the shadows out of view from the world.”

“Exceptions shall be made,” the man retorts flatly.

“
None
shall be made. Leave, or the town will hear of this.”

Miraculously, my attacker doesn’t persist. “So be it,” he says, his voice hard and irritated. He moves stealthily towards the tree line, but Jack lunges and grabs hold of his arm. “If you think I don’t know what’s going on here, then you’re sadly mistaken. I won’t allow this to happen again. You tell them.”

The black mask turns to face Jack head on, and the figure appears to stare at the old man before ripping his arm free and melting into the darkness. Jack’s boots make their way over to me; they’re all I can see from my doubled-over foetal position on the floor. He tuts and bends down, his shaggy grey hair and concerned frown coming into view.

“Well, well, young Kit. Seems like you’re in a bit of a state.”

******

Groggy, sore and miserable, I recover enough by the next day to go hunting with Jack. My lungs burn the whole time and it takes every ounce of strength I have just to keep up with the old man. The forest is littered with snare traps, so eloquently hidden that I would never see them if Jack wasn’t there to point them out. Sharp metal teeth hide in the hollows of dead, rotted out tree trunks, and incredibly thin wires pause, taught, ready to sink into the flesh of an ankle or a neck. It’s fairly obvious why there are no people wandering around out here: there are just too many ways to die.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” I ask, as we navigate our way through the invisible gauntlet.

“What do you want to talk about?”

I gawp at the back of his head, raising my hands in sheer frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that
someone tried to kill me
? Who
was
that?”

“Could have been a number of people. I have my suspicions, however.”

“Care to share them?”

Jack shakes his head and grunts, crouching to study some track in the undergrowth that I’m completely blind to. “No point in guessing. Only makes people paranoid.”

“Uhh…I think I’m going to be paranoid, regardless, now.”

“Still.” Jack straightens and sets off again. “All I can tell you is that he was sent by the priestesses.”

I had assumed as much, but having Jack confirm that the priestesses sent out an assassin to murder me makes my blood run cold. “Why would they do that?”

“I couldn’t say. You should keep well out of their way for the time being, until I can get to the bottom of the matter. I’ll go and see the High Priestess.”

None of that makes me feel any better. I stalk sullenly after him for a while, feeling like my insides got ripped out and squashed back in all the wrong places. “What was in that stuff I breathed in last night, anyway? And what did you mean when you told that guy you knew what was going on? That you wouldn’t allow it to happen again?”

More grunting follows as Jack stoops to collect a dead rabbit from a trap, its body limp and broken, which makes me feel remarkably sorry for the poor animal. “The Haze is a compound the priestesses make up to enter their trance-like states. I have no idea what’s in it, but I’ve heard it’s powerful stuff. And I do know what’s going on—when they’re trying to pull strings and work things to their favour. I said I wouldn’t allow it to happen again, because this isn’t the first time the priestesses have caused hurt within my family. I aim to protect mine and those they love.”

My brow crinkles as I take this in. Is Jack telling me he thinks of me as one of his family? “What do you mean?”

He sighs, looking at me like I’m just not getting something. “Have my grandchildren ever told you how their father died?”

I shake my head, no.

“Ryka’s father was a good man. He loved my daughter so much, and those children…you know, most young boys idolise their fathers. Ryka did idolise his father, but Matthew
―
” Another deep sigh. “Matthew worshipped the ground his children walked on. He couldn’t have been a better father. It was hard when we lost him. That loss is still a rancour that eats away at Ryka every day. He’ll never admit it, but losing his father destroyed the gentle part of him. Or at least buried it so deeply that it barely sees the light of day anymore. He’s protective over his sister and me. That he’s been spending so much time with you says a lot about what he thinks of you, too.”

I don’t say anything, because uncomfortable memories of last night, before I got attacked, rise to the surface: Ryka and I arguing over my halo and our blood.

 
“Matthew was Mashinji,” Jack continues. His eyes are on his scarred hand, weaving through the grass. He doesn’t look at me. “He was a real character. Everyone in Freetown loved him. He was always quick to laugh and joke with people. Always available to help whenever he was needed. It was a shock when he was called as Mashinji. Mirry, my daughter, worried about Matthew being called into the pits, but no one else really thought much of it. There had been Mashinji fighters before and no one ever called them. It was always left to the High Priestess to pair them with an opponent. It was that way with Matthew for a while. Six months, in fact. I think we all got used to the idea that Matthew’s ranking was little more than a title that meant he couldn’t train with his friends. It was a surprise when he was actually called. Ryka was eight, Olivia six. She was with her mother, thank the Gods, but Ryka was with me. He was never usually allowed to watch his father fight, but for some reason, that night, I
―
” Jack shook his head. “A low ranking fighter called Matthew first.”

My stomach twists instantly. It is the word
first
that’s done it. I know the way this story plays out. Olivia practically told me herself the night of the blood ceremony. Jack clears his throat and continues. “After Matthew won that match, he was called to fight three more. It was clear there was some kind of collaboration, because they were all low ranked fighters.”

“They were wearing him out,” I say. My chest squeezes when Jack tilts his head into a small nod. “Why would they agree to that?” It’s impossible to work out why low ranked fighters would be willing to call an experienced opponent, knowing they’re probably going to die.

“Because of the priestesses, of course. People here border on fanatical when it comes to their faith. They’ll give up their homes, their families, their lives even, if they’re asked to.”

“And you think the priestesses asked them to?”

He nods. “Matthew was exhausted after four fights. That’s when he was called by the last fighter. He made short work of my son-in-law and Ryka watched the whole thing. I should have taken him home; I know that now. But Matthew and I were close, and I knew what was coming. I didn’t want to leave him to die alone.”

Hot streaks trace down my cheeks as I realise I’m crying. I don’t feel too foolish, because Jack’s face is wet as well. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Not half as sorry as I am,” he returns. He straightens his back and takes a deep breath. “Anyway. Ryka’s his father’s son through and through. He’s going to be a good man and a good father one day.”

Jack’s statement makes me feel strange. The thought of Ryka as someone’s father is completely laughable, but I’m too caught up on Jack’s first statement to find it funny.
Ryka is his father’s son, through and through
. He really is. He’s Mashinji.

“Who was the fighter that called Matthew last?” I ask.

Jack finally looks at me, his eyes hollow. “It was James, young Kit. James is the man who killed my daughter’s husband, but I know that the priestesses were involved. So you see, my grandchildren have been dealt enough pain by those robed witches to last a lifetime, and I won’t allow them to suffer any more. They both care about you in one way or another, and until that changes I will protect you as best I can.”

******

It’s dark when we hear a loud cracking through the forest. Jack hitches the rabbits we caught higher onto his shoulder and lets out a low whistle. A pair of bright eyes flash at us in the dark. Jada comes bounding out of the trees and slams into Jack’s legs, sniffing madly around him. No wonder he hitched the rabbits up; the dog is clearly more interested in the meat than saying hello to us.

“Come on, girl. Come on. Move or you won’t be getting anything at all.” Jack growls, but it’s pretty clear Jada’s belly will be full by the end of the night. The way her tongue hangs sideways out of her mouth, giving her a broad smile, says she knows it, too.

“Thought you were dead, old man.” More branches snap underfoot and Ryka emerges from the darkness, his black clothes making it hard to pick him out of the shadows. His eyes travel briefly over me but move on before I can read him.

“See you had a helper,” he says.

“I did.” Jack reaches up and throws a pair of rabbits at Ryka, who catches them out of the air. It feels hard to breathe when I look at him now. I still can’t believe that James,
James
, the man he was sparring on the beach with only a few days ago, who cut off my hair, is responsible for killing his father. Ryka is silent as he turns around and melts into the darkness, back the way he came. We follow after him with a hungry-looking Jada on our heels. I pat her head as we walk, trying to work out if she is Ryka’s only real friend.

“You left it late coming back,” Ryka says quietly.

“Ahhh, don’t tell me you were worried about us?” Jack teases. Ryka just grunts into the dark.