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  “Tell me, priestess, have you ever fought a juar before?” the caretaker says, his voice saying that he already knows the answer.

  I stare back at him, figuring I can use any hints he deigns to give me, and shake my head.

  “It’s not so hard as it looks. Nobody expects you to kill the thing, even Jakkan. The point is to live long enough. You do that, and you’ll prove yourself worthy of the high priest’s attention.”

  “How long?”

  “Ah, see, that’s the trick,” the caretaker points across my pit to the next one. The one that had contained a pair of slaves. It too appears empty. “In another minute, someone will be entering that pit. Same as you did now. They’ll be facing another juar. All you’ve got to do is outlast them. See?”

  “Outlast them?”

  “Juars need to eat, priestess. They like their food fresh. You want yours to go hungry.” The man laughs as he walks out of the arena.

  This is a savage game. Look for a way to run, Kaishi. It does us no good to stay.

  Except there isn’t anywhere to go. People crowd up to the fences, their faces wild and leering, full of drink and tossing coin back and forth. Taunts and jeers mingle with the odd shout of encouragement.

  I try to close off from the frenzy. Fall into myself. I must be able to think if I’m going to get out of here alive.

  The posts on the north side appear the weakest, and the crowd there is thinnest at the main passage. When you run, I would go that way.

  Cheers rise up, coupled with an animal’s harsh snarls. No, a pair of them. Now the crowds move quick, if only to get out of the way. I see the juar I’d shot in the cage, hissing at the end of a rope collar as the caretaker pulls it along. The rest of the leash leads away from the collar to the thick coil around the man’s arm. The caretaker has slipped on a thick coat of leather that covers his chest, arms, and neck. Gloves woven in with gray metal wrap around his hands.

  Protection I don’t have.

  A shout rings out behind me. My competition. In the other pit, pushed out into the open, wearing only a tattered robe and nothing else, stands Viera. She’s whirling at the crowd, her neck and face red from yelling. Not that she can understand the Charre, or they her.

  When Viera finishes her look around, she catches sight of me and stops.

  “What’re you doing here?” Viera calls across the pits.

  “A test. Same as you,” I reply.

  Behind me, the caretaker leads the juar up to the side of the pit. The creature lopes over the low barrier into the arena with lazy familiarity, though its collar keeps the beast tight to the caretaker. I retreat to the far end of the pit as the caretaker slips the juar’s collar over a thick post, tying the juar at a distance.

  “This isn’t a test,” Viera yells back. “It’s an execution.”

  “Only for one of us.” I watch the juar as it watches me. I see, thankfully, my dart is already having an effect. While the creature prowls back and forth, its eyes look heavy and its breathing heaves.

  Sleep will come soon.

  “What do you mean?” Viera sounds frustrated. “I can’t understand a damn thing they’re saying.”

  “If you die, I live,” I shout back. “Or the other way around.”

  A second set of growls comes out from the other side of the Pits as the caretaker leads a second, mangier, juar towards Viera’s arena. This one’s coat holds more gray, and it’s gaunt. Decaying with age. But the creature lets none of its years show in its eyes, in its sharp claws that slash at any poor reveler that comes too close.

  “It’s insanity,” Viera cries. “How can they do this?”

  I have no answer. No demand from Ignos calls for pitting the unarmed against wild creatures. This is simple bloodsport. Pleasure at pain.

  The caretaker leads Viera’s juar to the corner of his pit, the closest one to mine, and then takes up the second juar’s leash. Holding one leash in each hand, the man lifts the coils high and begins a sort of song. The crowd joins in, and while I can’t catch all of the words, it sounds like a prayer. A blessing for the fight.

  As they sing, I stare at the juar, at its big green eyes. My death lies in those pupils.

  The song ends, but before the last note dies away, the caretaker lets the ropes fall free, gives the juars all the slack they need to get around the pits.

  “How do I fight one of these things?” I hear Viera yell.

  “Keep moving!” I reply.

  I sidestep to the opposite corner of the pit, keeping my eyes on the juar across from me, who watches my shifting without comment.

  Technically, nothing is keeping the juar in the ring. It could leap the barrier and tear into the yelling crowd, but it doesn’t. Afraid, maybe, of the rope tying it to the caretaker. What the caretaker could do to it.

  Watch out!

  I jerk my eyes back and see the juar bounding towards me. The great beast takes one lope, then bursts into a leap at my throat. I do what I’d done in the jungle in games with other children - I roll. Fall on the stones and twist. I hear the juar strike the rock behind me. Claws tug on my moss wrap; the dried vines tearing apart. I don’t pay attention to that, only to pushing off of the ground and running away.

  Back along the juar’s rope, towards the corner and the grinning caretaker beyond those wooden stakes.

  Behind me, the juar tries a roar that starts strong and fizzles to a yawn. The crowd laughs, and one man calls out to the caretaker and asks if the juars had their rest.

  “Plenty of it!” the caretaker replies. “They sleep all day as it is. This one’s just got to wake up!”

  The caretaker snaps his rope, and I see the crack wind to my juar and jerk its collar, stopping its yawn. The juar snarls back at the caretaker, then its eyes move to me. Slow, though. Not much longer and the creature would collapse. Behind me, the crowd around Viera’s pit begins clapping and shouting. I want to look, want to see if the Lunare has fallen, but I don’t dare glance away from my own monster.

  The juar lunges towards me, ready to pounce again, and I tense. Ignos is screaming in my head to run, and I try to ignore the god’s panic. No time for that now. The juar opens its mouth wide, long fangs sharp and white. Tilts its head slightly, locking on my face. Ready to lunge for my neck.

  Ready to go for the kill.

  I feel the stiff wood boards of the pit’s border against my back.

  Nowhere left to retreat. The caretaker, directly behind me, is laughing. The crowd hushes. They know the moment is coming, just as I do.

  Those claws will be finding their mark.

  28 Lights Out

  The first thing Sax does when his vision goes black is drop to the ground. Lower his profile. What is dark for him will not be for others; Bas, Gar, and Lan still have their masks on and those will flip to show the infrared spectrum: greens and reds playing off of heat signature. The Sevora may have something similar.

  Sax does not. His only immediate comfort is that Avan, without a helmet or mask of his own, is probably seeing the world as the same endless black as Sax is.

  “This way!” Bas’ voice rasps out from the nothing, and Sax traces the sound behind him.

  Claws scratching against metal floors mingle with other noises - the moaning of injured Flaum, the clatter of larger things running through the section. The Sevora wouldn’t have made this move unless they had a plan.

  The Oratus must make their own quickly.

  Bas meets Sax out of nowhere. She taps him on the shoulders with her tail, which Sax then grabs. She leads him along the path, and Sax has enough memory of the section to know where they’re going.

  If they can’t tell where their opponent might be, they need to find ways to limit the options.

  “The door is shut,” Lan’s voice this time. A higher hiss than Bas. “The control panel isn’t responding.”

  There’s a bang, followed by a second and a slight tremor as something hits the ground.

  “That works too,” Lan sighs.
r />   There’s a deep laugh that Sax attributes to Gar, and then Bas is moving again. Sax follows her, reading the movements in her muscles to duck beneath the door’s threshold. He recognizes the feel of the place, the sudden absence of moving air, and the deadening of noise from outside.

  They’re back in one of the buildings. Ready to hole up.

  “He took my mask,” Sax states the obvious, reminding the other three that he’s blind and unarmed.

  “How?” Bas asks and Sax relays the details.

  “Then they’ll want the rest of us,” Lan says after it’s done. “Protocol says we destroy them. And ourselves.”

  “We’re not at that stage yet,” Sax replies.

  The outcome isn’t certain. Yes, they’re likely trapped in a section with a seed ship’s worth of Sevora getting ready to make an attack, but Oratus don’t give in to despair.

  “I won’t be a plaything for some parasite,” Gar says.

  “Then don’t be,” Bas hisses. “The Sevora know our protocols as well as we do. They’ll be expecting us to hole up, to guarantee that none of us are taken. So we do something else.”

  “We attack.” Sax agrees with his pair. “Split apart. They’ll need to restore some power to open the gateway, and when it does, rush it. Move quickly and focus on getting through, not killing them.”

  “What are we waiting for, then?” Gar asks, and they all agree.

  No point in waiting for the Sevora to come after them. The Oratus are predators. Everything on this ship is prey.

  29 Bloody Night

  The juar hesitates. I wait, but it doesn’t jump. Instead, the juar opens its mouth wide and its tongue lolls off to the side. Relief runs through me like ice - the poison is taking effect.

  The crowd laughs, and the caretaker shouts at the juar, cracking the rope again. I sneak a glance Viera’s way, but people have filled in the space between us. I can’t see her.

  Pay attention!

  I snap back to see the caretaker’s managed to get the juar moving. Instead of looking at me, though, the creature snarls towards its master. It crouches, those big legs tensing, and leaps towards me.

  Over me.

  It blocks out the lights as its mass of fur and claws dives above my head.

  The juar clears the wooden stakes and flies into the caretaker. The beast knocks the him over, clawing at openings in the man’s armor. Biting at his face, trying to get through. The caretaker fights back, wrestling to throw the juar off, but the beast is too big, too agile, too angry.

  You can either watch the man get eaten, or you can run, Kaishi. You know which one I’d choose.

  Ignos makes a good point. I clamber over the barrier, unmolested since crowd is too distracted to notice me, and finally get a look at Viera’s arena. The Lunare is sporting some deep scratches. Bleeding, but she’s still standing. Her juar isn’t even watching Viera anymore, but is staring, open-mouthed, at the caretaker’s scuffle.

  The crowd, meanwhile, begins to back away. Realizing, maybe, the juar may win the fight and come for them next. Some flat out run; dashing from the courtyard into the city streets. Some call for guards.

  With a growl, the second juar follows its rope and joins its brother. Its teeth and claws sink into the caretaker’s leather, tearing it to pieces.

  “Come on, priestess,” Viera shouts as she climbs over the barrier towards me. “I say we leave before anyone knows we’re still alive.”

  The courtyard breaks into full pandemonium. Guards, holding weighted nets, run by us towards the juars. Caretakers of other pits join them. The rest of the crowd alternates between fleeing and calling for new bets, now that the stakes have changed. I’m splattered with someone’s drink as I push through the Charre, and I see more fun than fear in these faces.

  From one show to the next.

  So when Viera’s hand pulls me through the last of the mess, I’m relieved. We’re out of the courtyard and back into the dark streets. At the first deserted alley, though, Viera stumbles aside. She leans against a house wall, away from the bustle. Torchlight sneaks in from the street, but most of what I see is shadow. Shapes in the stone reveal, upon a closer look, tracings of Charre animal gods.

  “You need something for those wounds,” I say, looking at Viera’s body. Several deep cuts on her chest and arms bleed freely; long gashes with white puckering at the edges.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Viera replies, but her voice is taut. “You don’t happen to know where a doctor is in this city? Anyone that won’t turn me in on sight?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have any friends here. These are not my people.”

  Viera sinks against the wall until she’s sitting in the dirt. “Isn’t that just fantastic? Your people. I thought the whole point of you coming was to make these your people?”

  “I’m supposed to tell them about Ignos,” I say. “Then, if they believe what I say, they might help me.”

  “Any chance that belief is coming soon, and with medicine?”

  What would Jakkan say if I went back to the temple with Viera?

  What would the high priest do?

  Viera groans. Jerks my thoughts back to her. Someone who protected me. Helped me.

  I can’t leave her here to die.

  “Come on. I don’t know a doctor, but I do know someone who may help.” I offer my hand, and this time it’s me lifting Viera to her feet.

  I sling her arm over my shoulders. Together, we walk through the streets. Curious glances from the few Charre running the around this late, the imperious stares from guards on their way to the Pits. Most don’t bother with a second look, and those that do see my medallion and quickly turn the other way. For once, I like being the outcast.

  Unwanted and dangerous.

  The Vaos towers above the surrounding houses and blazes with torches set on every step. A shimmering, fiery pathway to the home of the Charre’s chief priest. An appropriate image, I suppose, for Jakkan.

  Both of us climb, slowly, towards Jakkan’s chambers. I don’t know what I expect, but seeing Jakkan standing with a pair of other men wearing priestly ropes doesn’t surprise me. The small boy in the middle of the room does.

  Jakkan recites some sort of chant while the other two priests, using colored paste, paint the child in intricate designs. When we, with Viera leaving a bloody trail, walk into the room, all of them look at us, but none of them stop.

  Jakkan, without breaking his recitation, catches my eyes and nods towards his water basin. There’s a cloth there. I lead Viera around the ceremony, keeping as quiet as I can, and begin to wash the Lunare. Viera, for her part, sits on the floor and closes her eyes. Her breath rasps in and out. With torches flickering and a solemn prayer droning in the background, I focus on wiping the cloth back and forth, gently cleaning away the blood from her wounds, washing out the dirt and grime.

  These are vicious cuts. If we were back among my friends, they could be healed in moments. As it is, you’ll need to resort to stitching. Or cruder methods.

  I look around, but there doesn’t appear to be any needle and thread. No way to perform the stitching. Viera’s cuts continue to bleed. If there’s no way to stitch, to close the wounds, then what?

  Fire, Kaishi. She’ll hurt, but she’ll live. At least for now.

  There are plenty of metal instruments in the room. Ceremonial brands, irons. I take one, lift it softly as the priests continue coating the boy in swirling art. Patterns I recognize as the Charre Emperor’s sigil. A helmet and a rolled scroll combining with the glowing orb of Ignos. The crest of the Emperor.

  Who is this child? What is his purpose?

  I’ll ask those questions later.

  I hold the brand in the torch flame, keep it there till the metal begins to glow a warm orange. Then, lifting it out carefully, I angle it towards Viera.

  “I’m sorry. This will hurt.” I whisper the words, though Viera looks like she’s unconscious.

  I press the brand close. Nearly brushing the a
ngry red wound.

  A light touch. Brief and then on to the next spot. We’re trying to seal the blood, not cook her.

  I go to work. Press the brand to the open flesh. It sizzles, smokes, burns and turns white-pink in front of me. Scarring and sealing. Viera’s eyes shoot open, and she might have screamed except I shove the balled up, bloody cloth between Viera’s teeth. Keep it there as I guide the brand along Viera’s gashes. Scar them white. Stop the bleeding.

  Keep the Lunare alive.

  30 A Moment’s Respite

  Without saying so, the four of them separate into their pairs. Gar and Lan leave first, angling to the left. Bas and Sax will go right, and then both sets will turn towards the gateway, approaching it from opposite angles. The unspoken side of this is that whichever pair draws the Sevora will sacrifice themselves, leaving the remaining two to complete the mission.

  It is grim. It is required.

  Sax feels no sadness as they leave the building, only urgency. Determination. A desire to find Avan and destroy the taken Oratus.

  Sax holds on to Bas’s tail with his foreclaws, though she provides him with a Flaum miner. Their own weapons are missing - taken after their capture and not present at the birthing pool. Flaum miners are too small for Oratus claws, so Sax holds it with both foreclaws. Awkwardly.

  Back outside the building, the groans of the wounded have stopped. It’s quiet, except for the clatter of Oratus claws on the surface. The sheer silence unnerves Sax. It’s not in an Oratus to be quiet. They are destructive, not made for stealth.

  “Do you remember our Enlightenment?” Sax whispers to Bas, a noise that sounds the same as air leaking from a pressure pipe - high pitched and static-y.

  “How could I forget a dying star?”

  The flares had been beautiful, a gift after the trials of their pairing. The two of them had watched from the radiation-shielded deck of the station called Nova, designed and used exclusively for viewing interstellar phenomena. The Nova would stay at this particular star until a solar storm destroyed it. Then a new Nova would be built wherever was deemed most beautiful.