Arena (42 page)

Everything stood still: her heart, her breath, the birds, the fish. “Going into what, Pierce?”

He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised. “Marriage. Didn’t I say that? I’m hoping when we get back you’ll marry me.”

Her heart was beating so hard and fast she could barely hear him, and her head felt like Styrofoam. “Marry you?”

He turned to face her. “I know you’re skittish about it. I know you don’t want to repeat your parents’ mistakes, and I remember your lecture about being reasonable and rational, so I don’t expect you to give me an answer now. I just want you to think about it. And I want you to know how I feel.” He stroked her hair. “I love you, and I want to share my life with you. Wherever that may be.”

She swallowed on a dry throat. “You’ll—” She stopped and tried again. “It’ll be different back home. There’ll be other girls—”

His fingers touched her lips, silencing her. “I know what I want. I’ve known for a long time.”

She was in his arms again, and he was kissing her lips, her throat, her neck, her shoulders. She clung to him, wanting him with an unbearable ache, wanting all of him—his body, his soul, his life—so there was only one answer she could give him, and no point trying to be rational and reasonable.

He drew back to stare at her wide-eyed.

“Yes,” she said, laughing and caressing the side of his face. “I’ll marry you, Pierce. I’ll marry you here or back home or anywhere you wish.”

The next day Pierce began to teach. They had three weeks to prepare for the final leg of their journey, which would take them through the Inner Realm by way of the city-states of Zelos, Morres, and Splagnos. It would be no picnic. The plain was an inhospitable waste, its air fouled past breathing by the toxic residuals of perpetual warfare. People dwelt in terrarium cities, traveling outside only in sealed cars or by way of an elaborate underground rail system. No one traveled the open plain if they could avoid it, and all the soldiers wore life-support suits.

Thanks to the Change worked by their passage through Elhanu’s Gate, participants were immune to the poisons and therefore enjoyed significantly greater mobility than their adversaries. Their biggest problem would be crossing the crevasses that scored the plain, because all the active bridges were tightly controlled, often by warring factions. There were, however, a number of ruins—abandoned, toxin-reeking casualties of war—that housed the remnants of old bridges. Augmented by secret Aggillon-placed passpoints, these routes would provide safe passage. The travelers would have to keep their belts operational to find the activation ports, but if they got that far, that discipline would be old hat.

The belts themselves—and the armor they controlled—would be upgraded. Thin and lightweight, they would require no hand switch to activate them. Finding and accessing the link was enough. Instead of a spongy breastplate, fibers woven into the fabric of their clothing would provide the energy matrix to support the belt’s protective field, and a single golden circlet worn round the head would suffice for a helmet. As before, the devices provided shielding and the vision enhancement necessary to find both the passpoint ports and the randomly appearing Auxiliary Supply Boxes that would provide logistical needs and instructions.

This time there would be no predetermined route. They would be directed as they went, so if they missed an ASB or a passpoint, they’d be in trouble. The key to success was their link with Elhanu, the strength of which depended solely upon their trust in him. That, in essence, was what would resolve this otherworldly trial. By trusting Elhanu, they allowed him to prove himself the better master. There was no spoken testimony, no verbal deposition, no swearing upon holy books, for words alone could lie. Decision and action, repeated over time, did not.

“He forged a link with us when he changed us back at the Gate,” Pierce told them, “and so far we’ve made poor use of it at best. No more. From here on that link must be more real to us than anything our eyes and ears tell us. Only then will we have the wit and strength of will to choose the right path and resist our enemies’ lies. We must see everything from Elhanu’s perspective, never lose sight of the reason we were brought here, and never give up, no matter how bad things get. And they will get bad. So far the Tohvani haven’t taken us very seriously. From now on, they will.”

As Callie’s relationship with Elhanu grew and clarified, her relationship with Pierce grew equally strong. In some inexplicable way the two bonds were intertwined. The more she got to know Pierce, the better she understood Elhanu, and the deeper became her regard for him. Conversely, the more she understood Elhanu and the greater her affection for him, the more she appreciated Pierce’s devotion to his cause.

As a teacher, Pierce held nothing back. He spoke plainly, forcefully, bluntly. Sometimes the power of the link blazed through him, lighting his face, vibrating in his voice, its energy leaping through the air to link with the power in Callie’s own soul until her skin tingled with it. He inspired them, drove them, challenged them. And Callie wasn’t the only one who loved him.

She was, however, the only one he intended to marry, and he’d made no bones about it. He’d even produced a ring for her—compliments of the Aggillon—so they could be officially engaged. He refused to marry her here, though, despite everyone’s contention that he should get Elhanu to perform the ceremony. “I want it to be right and proper on Earth,” he told her.

Every night after dinner, they strolled the gardens, never running out of things to discuss. Past, present, future—they covered it all, though most often they talked of the future. It had acquired a new luster now that they saw themselves together in it.

“I suppose we’d live in Colorado?” Callie asked him one night.

He looked down at her with cocked brow. “Only if we agreed. I do have work there—the ranch and all. It’s a beautiful spot. You could paint to your heart’s content.”

“You wouldn’t want me to go to work?”

“I’d consider that your work.” He grinned. “I’ve seen what you can do.”

Another time she asked him, “What about kids?”

And he said, brows arched, “What about kids?”

“Do you want any?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Maybe one. Or two.”

“What a thought!” he murmured with a grin and slid a hand around her waist to pull her against him, ending conversation for a while.

They talked of furniture and finances and families—the one they hoped to create and the ones they already had. Callie delighted in anticipating the reaction of her mother and sister when she introduced them to her
fiance
. How shocked they’d be to find she’d picked a cowboy— shocked she’d picked anyone at all. Or perhaps that anyone would have her. It was a joyful, golden time, and of course it couldn’t last. On the eve of their departure from Hope, the expanding bubble of anticipation burst.

Pierce was unusually preoccupied at dinner, and afterward, as they strolled the Wilderness of Rock at the far end of the plateau, he grew even more so. They walked silently, hand in hand, past a succession of fantastic formations—huge slabs balanced mushroomlike on slender pillars, or stacked like pancakes, or combined to form whimsical animal figures. Callie barely noticed them, so keyed was she on Pierce, while he seemed barely to notice her.

They climbed past a dark pool sprinkled with stars to a stone pavilion on the hilltop. Marking the farthest point of the loop trail, it offered a breathtaking view of the plain, and, as they stood surveying the dark expanse with a balmy breeze sighing around them, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. She glanced at him occasionally, standing like a statue at her side, the breeze ruffling the short locks of his hair, newly shorn in preparation for their departure.

The silence stretched out, long and taut as she waited for him to tell her what was wrong, and she finally could stand it no longer. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

When at first he didn’t answer, she nearly died.

Then he started and turned toward her, frowning. “What did you say?”

She repeated the question, and his expression turned to horror. “Changed my mind? Heavens, no! I love you more now than ever—so much I can hardly bear it.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

The stone mask slid back into place. “I’m not sure it’s something I should tell you.”

“Better to tell me the truth than let me stew in my imagination!”

“Perhaps.” Still, he hesitated. Then, “If we die out there”—he nodded at the plain—“we aren’t going to remember.”

She brushed dancing tendrils of hair from her face. “Remember what?”

“Anything.” His hands clutched the stone ledge. “When they resuscitate someone, there’s a significant amount of memory loss, encompassing most of the individual’s recent past—which would be all the time spent in the Arena and possibly some period prior to it. That’s why they can’t put us back into the game. We’d have to start all over again.”

It took her a few moments to process what he was saying, and then she sagged against the stone, feeling sick and shivery. “You’re saying if we die here, we won’t remember each other once we get back?”

“For most participants it’s a blessing, since they leave without understanding most of what’s going on anyway—and their memories are often anything but good. It makes it easier to slide back into their old lives.”

“But that’s not how it is for us. We do understand. Surely—”

“I suppose it depends on how one dies.” In the shadow his eyes were as dark and deep as Elhanu’s. “The nature of the injury, how long it takes them to collect you . . .” He was reaching for something positive, and they both knew it.

Callie bit her lip. “How could we go through all this, learn everything we learned, and not remember anything? Not remember him? Each other? Just go back to what we were before? There’d be no point.”

“Not that we can see anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her and she pressed her face into his chest.

“They’d put you back in Colorado,” she said, “and me in Tucson. There’s no way we’d meet by chance.”

He sighed. “You’re jumping to conclusions. We probably won’t both die. One of us might make it through the portal.”

“But if the other one doesn’t remember—”

He stroked the back of her head, fingers sliding through her long hair. “You think I wouldn’t fall in love with you all over again?”

“But how would you meet me?” She pushed away to look at him.

He smiled. “Durango’s not that far from Tucson. You could find me.”

“And do what? Tell you I’m a lost love you can’t remember? Hire on as a cowhand?”

“Ask my folks to let you visit for a week so you can paint the mountains. They’d go for that. Especially my mom.”

“They’d think I was nuts. And so would you.”

“After a week of being with you, I’d be totally smitten. The last time it only took a day. Some things are just right, just meant to be.”

And some things aren’t
, she thought.
Oh, I knew this was too good to
be true
. Suddenly the dreadful conviction that she was going to lose him dropped over her. Her thoughts began to bolt like frightened mice, seeking shelter anywhere they could find it—they could stay here, or go back to Rimlight, or, or—

Pierce took her face in both hands and looked into her eyes. “Callie, we have to trust him, remember? That’s the whole point. He’s promised us reward when we return to Earth, but what reward could be worth losing each other? I don’t think he’ll do that to us. He brought us together in the first place. He knows how we feel, how right we are for each other. Our happiness is important to him. We have to believe that.”

She looked up into his sober face, into those wonderful eyes, so like Elhanu’s. The link pulsed, and she remembered the quiet understanding, the steadfast care, the warm blessing of approval—and knew the truth of Pierce’s words.

“If we can’t trust him here and now,” he said, “we’ve lost already. You know that.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course, I do.”

He regarded her gravely, then bent and kissed her with such exquisite tenderness she cried.