Arena (39 page)
Pierce hadn’t been out of his head. He’d been trying to tell her all along. And she’d been too dense—maybe too upset—to figure it out.
If he dies because of my—
She felt the initial vibration as the belt’s power cells burst to life—and died.
Calm down!
“I can see it!” Tuck cried. He was standing in front of the flowstone, one hand on his belt. “I don’t believe this! It’s been here all along. I can
see
it!”
“So can I!” Gerry exclaimed, standing beside him.
Callie drew a deep breath, forced all the fear and recriminations from her mind, and switched on the belt again, trying this time to maintain it. Something flickered in the flowstone behind the two men, then vanished. Tuck had his key out. He plunged it into the stone and turned it slowly—
Hope rose in Callie, and this time her belt stayed on. She saw three red circles in triangular array drawing together as Tuck turned the key. The entire stone glowed neon bright, red crystals streaking down its face like streams of blood.
Where the water of life mingles with the Blood
of Sacrifice
. The circles contracted into perfect intersection and a blinding light flared as a group of gray-uniformed figures burst out of the exposed corridor, gurneys floating in their wake. As Callie blinked away tears, one of them knelt beside Pierce and checked his pulse while the other waved the gurney to the ground beside him.
“He’s still alive,” the Aggillon murmured. “But barely. I don’t know if we’ve made it in time or not.”
He inserted an intravenous drip pack, and they moved him onto the gurney. Callie started to walk with them, but they waved her back, herding patient and platform ahead of them into the blue-lit corridor. Four other pairs hurried after them with their own patients and float tables, and they all disappeared around a bend in the corridor.
The passage remained open in their wake, and now the rest of them stirred.
“Well, I’ll be,” Brody said, gaping at the opening.
“Outstanding!” Gerry agreed with a broad grin. Then he and Tuck helped Brody up, while John assisted Dell. Whit led the way, and there was nothing left for Callie but to follow.
The corridor led to a platform where a train of open-topped cars awaited. Seeing no sign of the Aggillon, who had evidently taken their patients another way, the rest of the group could only board the train in hopes it would bring them back together. Gliding silently on a single rail, it bore them through a serpentine tunnel past stunning rock formations illuminated by hidden lights. Beds of tiny red teeth gave way to walls of short green knobs, then to vast stretches of slender white fibers that crumbled at the touch and shimmered in the glow of the train’s lamps.
Though the sights were beautiful, Callie couldn’t enjoy them for worrying about Pierce. The Aggillon’s words kept recycling through her mind.
“Alive . . . barely. I don’t know if we’ve made it in time.”
She could hardly stand not knowing where he was, or how he was, or what they were doing to him, and the train’s leisurely crawl only stoked the fires of her impatience. More than once she considered getting out and running up the track ahead.
After what seemed like an eternity, the train stopped at a second platform, where an elevator whisked them upward for so long that Callie’s ears popped. Finally, though, the car stopped, its doors opening on a white-stone courtyard illuminated by tall globe lamps beneath the dark sky. A graceful two-storied building surrounded the courtyard, and twinkle lights sparkled across the vine-hung balconies, while a jasmine-scented breeze tinkled through the wind chimes hanging along the eaves. Several white-and-gray-uniformed Aggillon stood near tables laden with punch bowls, cups, cheeses, crackers, fruit, and cookies.
As the travelers entered the courtyard, the closest man smiled in greeting. “I am Nahmel,” he said. “Welcome to Hope.”
Like all the Aggillon Callie had encountered thus far, Nahmel was incredibly handsome—dark skin and hair, dark eyes, perfect features.
“And congratulations on your progress,” he continued. “We salute you.”
The Aggillon behind him smiled and nodded, and Callie felt a peculiar rush of satisfaction, as if they had somehow conferred upon her the warmth of their feelings. Tall or short, well muscled or slender, dark or fair, they were all gorgeous. She wondered what they
really
looked like.
Then wondered if it mattered.
Three of them came at once to help Brody and Dell, leading them and the other injured down a side passage. “Help yourselves,” Nahmel said to the rest of the group, gesturing at the table of goodies. “We have prepared rooms for each of you, when you are ready.”
“What of our friends?” Whit asked. “Are they all right?”
“They are in surgery now, sir.”
Callie pushed around Whit to confront Nahmel. “Will they be back?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Miss Hayes.” Nahmel paused. “If they don’t, you may rest easy knowing they have resumed their lives on Earth well-compensated.”
He seemed no more cheered by this prospect than his listerners.
“How long can we stay here?” John asked.
“You have three weeks.” Nahmel lifted his voice to address them all. “Our dining room serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and there are always snacks in the lounge.” He spread his hands. “
Hope
is yours. Enjoy it as you will.”
As the others made for the tables, Callie cornered Nahmel. “I want to see Pierce.”
He spread his hands. “You can do nothing for him, Miss Hayes. No more there than here.”
“I would feel better there.”
The Aggillon studied her expressionlessly. “Very well.”
He led her through a lighted garden to a circular building and left her in a small salon looking out on an artfully lit and landscaped patio. She stood before the window, staring at her blood-and-grime-smeared reflection, feeling cold and jittery. Her stomach was a hard, painful knot, and every time she thought of Pierce, tremors swept along her arms and legs so powerfully she finally had to sit down. As much as she tried not to consider it, the possibility of losing him loomed very large. If that happened, she didn’t see how she could go on. It would be like having her heart and soul wrenched from her body. The worst of it would be knowing she might have saved him had she kept her wits about her.
She sat there a long time before she realized someone had joined her. Turning, she found a white-haired, bearded man regarding her soberly from the bench beside the door. He wore one of the Aggillon uniforms, though his had gold piping along the yoke and was all white. She recognized him immediately and leapt to her feet.
“Mr. C! We thought you were lost. How did you get through?”
He stood to meet her enthusiasm, his dark eyes crinkling in amusement. “Get through?”
“All those Trogs.”
“Ah.” His smile faded. “Callie, I couldn’t go through the Cauldron with you. At least not in this form. It wouldn’t have been a proper test.”
She stared at him, grappling with his words until understanding dawned and her mouth fell open. He was an Aggillon. An
Aggillon!
She’d trusted him, confided in him, loved him—grieved him, for heaven’s sake!—and he wasn’t even human. Never had she felt so betrayed. His care, his concern, his friendly manner—all an act to worm his way into her confidence so he could . . .
Her outrage sputtered away. No. That sober, dark-eyed gaze proved his care was genuine. And his counsel, his actions, had never been less than supportive. Without him . . . without him, she wouldn’t even be here.
She studied her clasped hands, feeling suddenly awkward.
“You wanted to see Pierce?”
Pierce! Old concerns wrenched at her, and she looked up. He smiled. “He’s going to make it. Come.” He led her down a long white-walled, beige-carpeted corridor. “You understand you won’t be able to talk to him.”
“I don’t care. As long as he’s going to be okay.”
Awkwardness closed about them again. Mr. C’s presence reminded her of her failures, how she hadn’t even remembered the most basic policy of keeping her belt on.
“You needn’t flail yourself about it, lass. Everyone fails.”
He never ceased to surprise her with his uncanny ability to read her mind. “Perhaps,” she said, “but that’s no excuse.”
“No. But any penalty associated with failure has already been paid.” He stopped in front of a door. “He’s in there.”
She hesitated, torn between the curiosity his cryptic words had roused and the sudden intense need to see what lay behind the door. The door won. Beyond it, she walked into a dimly lit room lined with monitors and smelling of oranges and spice. At its midst stood a transparent capsule holding a man submerged in amber fluid.
A blond Aggillon turned from the capsule as she entered. “Miss Hayes, I’m afraid—”
“It’s all right, Jaalel,” Mr. C said, coming in behind her.
The Aggillon bowed. “Of course, my lord. Shall I leave you?”
Callie didn’t hear the answer, her attention riveted on the man in the capsule. He lay naked in the fluid, eyes closed, arms drifting at his sides, hair floating around his head in a dark nimbus. As she drew near, she saw his ribs rising and falling ever so slightly—somehow he was breathing that stuff. He was shockingly thin, and his beard was far thicker than a few hours would account for. Dark amber coagulations floated at the puncture in his chest, hovered along his broken ribs, and completely obscured his pelvis.
It was hard to see him like this. If he hadn’t been breathing, she would have suspected a hoax. As it was, she kept wanting to take a deep breath, and never had she longed to touch him more. She laid a bloodstained hand on the capsule. It was cool beneath her palm, thrumming softly. She felt shaky again, close to losing it.
“This is why we discourage visitors,” Mr. C murmured. “He’s actually responding quite well.”
“I thought he was going to die in my arms,” she whispered.
“His injuries
were
severe: broken ribs, broken pelvis, ruptured spleen, punctured lung, concussion, plus that crossbow quarrel nicked an artery. The vessel burst just as they got him into the operating chamber.”
She took a moment to absorb the information. “What is this stuff he’s in?”
“Post-op growth stimulation gel. It’s nutrient rich and charged with a slight current to enhance absorption and stimulate tissue regeneration. He’ll be here for another ten hours, at least.”
Callie shuddered, and her gaze returned to the beloved face obscured by the beard and the red-gold fluid. How had she ever believed she did not care about this man? She splayed her hand on the box, and suddenly tears spilled down her cheeks. She hardly knew why she was crying. Grief, gratitude, relief, shame—it all roiled together and took her by storm. Mr. C wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned against him gratefully.
Her composure was slow in returning. At length she wiped the moisture from her face and chuckled. “All that outrage I nursed over his walking through that curtain, and here I’ve blown it ten times worse.”
His arm tightened around her. “It does no good to compare, lass. You’re not the same person. You don’t have the same weaknesses.”
She leaned away to see his face and he released her.
“Besides,” he added, “it’s behind you. Best learn what you can from it and leave the rest in the past.”
“You mean like remember to keep my wits about me and my belt activated?”
He regarded her soberly, his hair and beard glowing amber in the light. “I think it goes a little further than that.”
Yes. She should’ve trusted Elhanu. Except . . .
Callie shook her head, frowning. “Why didn’t you open the door? We’d made it across the meadow.”
“The doors only open from your side.”
“You come in to collect the bodies.”
“Those passways are configured for Aggillon frequencies, not human.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you remind us? That Tohvani was there. Why couldn’t one of your people come? We were upset and frightened. We needed your help.”
“You had the link, Callie. Right there inside you.”
“But I—”
“It was a test, lass. You knew that going in.”
“I . . .” She frowned. It was true. All of it. She’d had everything, known everything she needed. The fault was hers. Why was it so hard to admit that?
The rhythmic hiss of the fluid rushing through the tubes filled the ensuing silence.
He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re exhausted. How about I take you to your room?”
She glanced at Pierce’s unconscious form, and again Mr. C knew her thought. “My people want him well as much as you do. They’ll take good care of him. And your spending the night beside this capsule isn’t going to do either of you any good.”
With a sigh, she acquiesced.
A bath—steaming at just the right temperature—was drawn and waiting in the room to which he brought her. After a long, delicious soak, she stumbled to her bed and was asleep before she knew it.
She awoke to daylight filtering past the floor-length, rose-colored bedroom curtains. For a while she lay there, savoring the smoothness of the bed sheets, the soft comfort of the mattress, and the sweet sense of being safe and loved. She’d expected nightmares after what she’d been through. Instead, her dreams were filled with light—glorious, wonderful radiance so intense it had physical substance. Even now she could feel the pressure of it wrapping about her like a pair of strong, gentle hands. Never had she felt more content. Or more at peace.
Time and reality reasserted themselves when she glanced at the bedside clock. She’d slept nearly sixteen hours. Pierce would be out of the goop by now.
Arising, she pulled open the curtains—and gasped. Her room perched at the edge of a sheer cliff overlooking ranks of pale blue ridges that marched down to a vast plain webbed with silver ribbons. The sun stood high overhead, two hours past its zenith, its strong white light flattening and expanding the landscape.
She stared in wonder, her heart swelling with a sense of space and freedom that was almost like flying. And she wasn’t afraid. For the first time in memory she stood at the edge of a precipice and felt no fear. Even when she went onto the balcony.
