Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER NINE

My back aches even with everything Naia has done to help me. I walk the confines of Ironhold, a part of me wondering if I should simply throw myself from the highest point I can find.

I know that I will have to fight again soon, and I can only guess at the things that will happen to me if I refuse to do what they want. Will they kill me? I look over to the impaling spikes. Will they drive one of those through my flesh and lift me high above the walls as a warning to the others?

Will they simply sell me at market the way they did with those who did not make the grade in the first trials? What fate would await me then? I would certainly never be free. But I’m still not sure if I can trade the lives of others for my own freedom, the way everyone seems to assume they must. I have a lifetime of training to heal and help others. It is not so easy to put that aside.

I walk, and it's easy to see the divisions within Ironhold. There are the barracks on the lower levels, there to hold those of us who have either been captured or forced into this against our wills. There are rooms higher up for those who have entered this life voluntarily, seeking glory or position, fame or wealth.

I cannot imagine how someone like Alaric decided to become a part of this place just for the glory. He has already survived one set of trials in the colosseum, and I know that he has killed at least one person, probably more. Does it not trouble him that people are dead because of his desire for fame and honor?

I almost turn to seek him out, but I do not. I need to be alone right now. Turning away from the fine rooms of the wealthy who have come into Ironhold because of tradition or the need for prestige, I head into the bowels of the fortress, and I find myself drawn along twisting pathways. There are storerooms here, and dungeons. Will I find myself in one of the latter if I refuse to fight again? Am I brave enough to risk the tortures they will inflict on me for the sake of my principles? Naia has healed me, but I can still remember the pain of every blow that landed on me during my punishment. I am not sure I can endure that again.

I go beyond those spaces, because somewhere ahead I believe there are animals. I can hear them now, their scratching and their snorts, the roar of a big cat and the huffing of some large creature. I follow the sounds, intrigued now, wanting to see more.

It is not long before I come out into a huge underground space filled with animal pens. Some hold livestock, either there as food for the other creatures or to produce food for us. More of the pens hold other, stranger things.

I see bears with claws like knives. I see antelope whose horns seem to be made from iron. A great snake slithers in one space, while a cage holds a chimera with lizard, lion, and goat heads atop the body of a big cat. I see shadow cats in cages, each midnight black, each with a shadow that moves independently of them. I see one of them step into that shadow, appearing across the cage, emerging from another patch of shadow to pounce on one of its fellows.

Everywhere I look, I can see creatures being bred to fight and kill. I can feel their hunger, their frustration at being contained, their desire to lash out on command. I feel something else, too. I feel fear and pain.

I follow those sensations to another pen. There is a shadow cat there, smaller than the others and with a wound on its side that appears to have come from claws. A heavily built, middle-aged man is kneeling next to it, laying hands on it, healing magic flowing into it. He looks up as I approach. His dark beard is flecked with grey, and his eyes are almost as dark as the shadow cat’s fur.

“What are you doing down here?” he demands.

“I was just exploring,” I say. “And I… felt the animals.”

“Felt them?” he says.

I shrug. “Understanding animals is my talent.”

“Beast speech?” he says. He looks me over with the new interest. “A rare enough talent, although hardly useful for fighting. Pity you're destined for the colosseum. Someone like you could do well down here, in the beast pits. In there, the talent is useless, though.”

He makes it sound like a certainty that I'm going to die. Everyone seems so certain of it, although I guess since I am currently refusing to pick up a blade, it's not a hard bet to make.

“What's this one saying then?” he asks.

I concentrate. I can feel the shadow cat in front of me. “It's afraid. It wants its mother.”

“Well, there's not much chance of that. The cat that whelped this one is dead.”

“It knows,” I say, and the pain of that makes a tear run from my eye.

“What's your name, girl?”

“Lyra,” I say.

He nods. “I'm Stefano. I'll tell you what, if you want to come down to the beast pits and help out, or just visit, you're welcome to do so. I can always do with another pair of hands around here, and someone with your talent might be useful, whatever they say about the more powerful of your kind.”

I'm grateful for that, if only because it gives me a place of respite. I reach out towards the shadow cat.

“Careful,” Stefano says. “Even a young one like that can still have your arm off if you're too casual with it. When they hunt, they lie in wait, then jump from one shadow to the next.”

I can feel that the cat doesn't mean me any harm though, so I continue to stretch my arm out, running my fingers against its side, feeling the silkiness of the midnight black fur.

“I need to go,” I say softly to it. “But I’ll be back.”

Stefano looks surprised that I’m able to do it, but he lets me go. I head back towards the barracks, and I'm a little surprised to find that Rowan is waiting for me, looking concerned as I approach.

“Lyra,” he says, moving forward to catch me by the shoulders. “What were you thinking?”

I make a small sound of pain as his hands brush some of the remaining welts from my beating. He pulls back quickly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. But what happened in the training pit… they could have killed you.”

“It seemed better than being made to kill someone else,” I say.

Rowan’s eyes widen slightly as if he can't quite believe what he's just heard. “Do you really value your own life that little?”

“There's nothing that special about me,” I say.

He shakes his head. “You're wrong. You are precious. Everyone is.”

“Meaning that my life is not worth any more than theirs,” I say.

“If you don't fight, you'll die,” he insists. “Or worse. I've been a slave to a rich Aetherian. I know how bad it can get.”

He isn't going to change my mind that easily. Maybe I will pick up a blade next time around, but a part of me really doesn't want to. If I do, it will only be because of a sense of self-preservation, not because I want to.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“I needed to think,” I say. “And I found… I found the space where they keep the animals for the games.”

“What kind of animals?” Rowan asks. I guess that if he knows what there is, he can prepare for the possibility of facing them.

“Too many to tell you all of them,” I say. “But there was a shadow cat that had been wounded. I could feel everything it wanted. It let me touch it. It was beautiful.”

I can’t help smiling as I say that.

“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Rowan says. “It’s a beautiful smile.”

The compliment catches me by surprise, so that I stumble over the words, not answering for a moment or two.

“Thank you,” I say. “I guess there hasn’t been much to smile about.”

"You have to be strong," Rowan says. "You have to trust that you will get through all of this. Five sets of trials in the colosseum. That's all we have to manage to be free. But you'll never manage that if you won't fight."

“I’m not sure if I’ll make it even if I do fight,” I counter. “You can shift the ground beneath your opponents’ feet. The man you fought could summon flames to his blade. Even Naia can heal the wounds she suffers, so that she can keep going. I’m not sure what being able to talk to animals will do to keep me alive in a fight.”

“None of us is exactly an archon,” Rowan points out. “A few of us have more magic than others, but generally not the slaves, unless they’re dampened. There are those who survive here merely by making the most of what they can do.”

“And talking to animals will help how?” I ask.

I see Rowan shrug. “I’m not sure, but I’ll tell you this: I’ve seen people with a hint of beast speech before. They’ve all been glimmers, barely able to feel a hint of what the animal wants. With you, it’s more. Maybe you can do more.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say. “What you’ve described sounds like all I’ve managed to do in the past.”

“There’s more to it,” Rowan says. “I feel certain of it.”

I give him a pained expression. “Still, it’s probably not enough to let me survive my next bout.”

“Then you need to pick up a sword,” Rowan says. “You need to be prepared to use it. You have as much right to survive this as anyone here, Lyra. Seeing you punished like that was awful. I can’t imagine what it would be like to watch you die.”

He might not have any choice about that, though. This is a place where death is always close, and it feels as though my personal doom is approaching far too quickly.