Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) (41 page)

“I see where it gets its name,” Castor said, though his voice sounded fascinated, not frightened. He should be, Ravan thought. That was lethal current, one touch and it was good-bye.

“I just want you guys to know,” Holt said, staring at the Turret uneasily. “I never wanted to find myself here, and I know you didn’t either, but after the way we beat the last round, there’s no other group I’d rather be in this with than you. Whatever happens … I’m glad you’re here.”

Ravan looked at him. Holt looked back. He held out his hand and she took it, running her thumb over the rough outline of the unfinished tattoo. “Guess you might as well finish this,” she said.

He held her gaze … then smiled.

The blaring tone of sound filled the arena. The windows on the giant screen whirred and slammed into position, creating a huge 9 above them.

Ravan held Holt’s gaze a moment more … then they all ran toward the Turret as the crowd cheered for them to fail. That wasn’t going to happen, she vowed.

They ran through the dirt, dodging around cars and old water tanks. Ahead of them, the dirt was replaced by solid metal, the interior floor of the arena.

“Watch the ground!” Ravan yelled to Masyn and Castor, both several strides ahead in their eagerness. They slowed down as they saw what she meant.

Parts of the metallic ground flickered in bluish energy. Tiberius had designed the electricity to be visible, even in bright sunlight; it wouldn’t be fair otherwise, he said, though what he really meant was the matches wouldn’t last as long.

Ravan found a clear patch of ground that wasn’t electrified and headed toward it, followed by Holt. Right now the parts of the Nonagon that were electrified were set, they didn’t change, but that wouldn’t last long.

She hit the metal, felt herself slide on its slick surface. The thing was like ice. Ravan slowed, felt Holt do the same, but watched Masyn and Castor actually pick up speed. She envied their agility.

Ahead sat the Turret, three hundred feet tall, spinning powerfully. The arms attached to it varied in length up the entire thing, whizzing through the air as the tower spun.

A dozen more strides and Ravan reached it, ducking as one of the arms whizzed past and almost took her head off. She risked a glance at the screen; it showed 8. Not bad, but all they’d done so far was the easy part.

Masyn swung the grappling hook and launched it upward where it clung onto one of the Turret’s support rods, about fifteen feet above. Instantly, she started climbing, fist over fist, pulling herself up.

Castor reached the pulley system for the harness, a length of cable that went straight up to the top, where the green light that marked his keyhole flashed. When he was hooked in, he yanked the cable down with his good hand, and shot upward.

“At least they
look
like they know what they’re doing,” Ravan observed, slipping on the gloves and dodging another arm as it whizzed past.

“Wonder what that’s like?” Holt asked back, the fasteners of the two climbing claws already around his wrists. One whole side of the Turret was covered in metallic plating, and Ravan could see the slits that were cut into it in a stair-stepping pattern running up the whole way, slits that would only work with the climbing claws. About halfway up was the flashing yellow light, Holt’s goal.

“Geronimo,” Holt said … then leapt up and plunged both his claws into matching pairs of slits in the paneling, holding on as the spinning column whipped him away and he began to climb.

Ravan didn’t have time to wish him luck. Another arm sailed towards her, and she grabbed it. The impact was jarring, but she held on. After that, it was no longer the Turret that spun past her, it was the world outside, racing by in a dizzying blur.

The crowd cheered louder: the four were on the Turret now, where the Eel could do its worst.

As she spun, Ravan looked up. She could just make out the red light that marked her keyhole about three-quarters of the way up, mixed in with the central supports that kept the whole thing standing. She was going to have to climb those supports, and she could see the flickering, blue arcs of electricity covering most of them. Only the gloves would protect her, and if she touched it with any other part of her body …

Ravan slid over the arm toward the center of the column, where it was attached. She studied the interior column, could see the supports, found one that was below her and somewhat isolated from the rest. It wasn’t electrified, it was her best shot.

Ravan fell … and grabbed onto the support, almost slipped, pulled herself back up. She made it, but she didn’t congratulate herself. That red light was a long way up, through a maze of crisscrossing electrified strands of metal.

The nearest support was electrified, she could see the flickering energy. She felt a sense of doubt. Would the gloves really work? Could they insulate her from that kind of current?

Get on with it, she told herself. No hesitation.

Ravan grabbed the support above, let her fingers close around it.

She didn’t fry on the spot; nothing happened other than she could feel the vibration from the current running through it.

Emboldened, she grabbed another rung, swung over, careful not to let her dangling feet touch anything. She did it again, climbing, pulling herself through the maze of electricity as the world raced by. She tried not to think about the spinning—it was disorienting, which was clearly the point.

The crowd wailed suddenly.

Ravan looked and saw Masyn, the chain and its hook attached to one of the spinning arms, flinging herself through the air, using the momentum to shoot straight up and through the spinning arms.

The crowd cheered louder. They liked it, and Ravan didn’t blame them. That was definitely
not
how that item was meant to be used.

Castor reached the apex of the Turret in his harness, and shuddered to a stop where his receptacle and the green flashing light lay. He didn’t waste time, started unbuckling. The strategy had been to get him to the top as quickly as possible, because once the second phase of the Eel started, the entire top part of the Turret became electrified, making it impossible even for a White Helix to reach it after that. It was important Castor be the first to get rid of his item, and it looked like he would.

Nearby, Holt kept climbing, slipping the claws into the slits, one hand at a time. He stuck the right claws into their grooves, shifted his weight …

… and the entire panel came loose and he fell. The crowd whooped loudly.

Holt barely caught himself with his left hand, dangling, trying to find a new panel for his right. Eventually he did, cementing himself in place, holding on.

He stared up at Ravan warily. She shot him back a pointed look.

His path up had fake panels in it, and you had to test them carefully. Hopefully, Holt had learned his lesson.

Ravan grabbed a nonelectrified support, then pressed herself up, wrapped her legs around it, and held on, catching her breath. All around her the electrified poles sparked and fizzled, and her receptacle was still a good twenty feet above, through a tight maze of more supports.

The usual blare of sound filled the arena. A corner of the giant screen shifted to green. Castor had deposited his item. The screen showed 6, they were making good time.

But once the countdown hit 5, the configuration entered its second stage. Which meant …

“Castor!” Holt yelled up at the Helix, who, like Ravan, had found a perch to catch his breath. “Get off!”

Holt was right, he had to get out fast. Even climbing down, he wouldn’t have enough time to get out of the zone that was about to be hot, and he didn’t have the harness anymore.

“Jump!” It was Masyn’s voice, farther up, using the chain and hook to swing through the Turret.

Castor stared down at Masyn, but not with a worried look, rather a mischievous one. He waited another second, watching her swing, timing it … then he dropped into the air and fell like a rock.

There was a gasp from the crowd.

Masyn slammed into him, using the chain to swing her like a pendulum. Castor grabbed on and they soared over to a lower rung like trapeze artists.

The crowd went crazy, and it wasn’t with menace or disappointment. Odd as it was, it seemed like the Menagerie were actually cheering
them
now.

Ravan didn’t have time to contemplate it. The bar she was wrapped around suddenly began to vibrate. She felt her hair stand up.

The support, and all kinds of other things on the Turret, were about to get hot.

Ravan used the adrenaline to swing herself onto the support, and with her legs, kicked up and off into the air. She grabbed another rung above her, just as the one below electrified.

The Eel’s electricity was no longer static. All around her, she watched it move in patterns, switching from one piece of the Turret to the next, up and down its length. It was now much more dangerous.

Ravan grabbed another bar, pulled herself up. Another, climbing toward the red light. She was almost there. She grabbed another rung … and her leg, just barely, flicked across the top of an electrified support beam.

The pain was intense. Every muscle in her body cramped hard and then she was falling. She got control back in time to grab another bar with a gloved hand, and the impact almost ripped her shoulder out of its socket. She groaned, but held on.

“Rae!” Holt shouted from above.

It took everything she had to just keep her grip on the bar. She could hear the crowd cheer, eager for blood, to see her tumble to the ground, and the sound filled her with more rage. She would
not
give them the satisfaction.

The screen showed 4 now. They were running out of time.

Ravan gritted her teeth and started climbing, pulling herself up and through the deadly maze. She couldn’t say how she managed it—maybe it was the crowd, or the memory of Holt and her in the cell, or the thought of strangling Tiberius with her bare hands—but she pulled herself through that maze, one bar at a time, keeping away from the supports as the electricity danced along their spines, until she finally reached her receptacle.

It was a faded red box, and there was a single rung that wasn’t hot for her to sit on. She pulled herself up onto it, unstrapped the gloves, and shoved them into the box.

Another blast of sound. A corner turned red on the screen. The wail of the crowd overpowered everything again.

She’d done it, but now she was trapped, surrounded by electrified supports, her only option was to hold on while the Turret spun and hope Masyn and Holt could do their jobs.

One was having better luck than the other. After depositing Castor in a clear zone, Masyn swung back down and through the supports, then flipped upward, grabbed a rung, twirled around it and shot up again, dragging the chain and the grappling hook behind her.

It was a sight to see, especially when contrasted with Holt’s decidedly slower progress.

He was below, the only good thing about his receptacle was that it was the lowest of the four, and she watched him gingerly test one panel, stick in the claw, shift his weight, and pull himself up while avoiding the electricity. It was a painstaking process, and to make it worse, the giant screen now showed 2.

“Maybe we should have given yours to Masyn too!” Ravan yelled at him.

Holt didn’t retort, he was probably too tired. The receptacle was just above him, almost in reach …

Another blaring tone of sound, and a third corner of the screen rotated to orange. Above, Masyn had unlocked her keyhole, she was done.

But if Holt didn’t get those claws to the yellow light, it was all over.

As Ravan watched, Holt froze, his eyes widening. Ravan could guess what was happening. One of the panels his claws were in had started to vibrate, it was powering up. Desperately he tried to remove his right hand, but the claw stuck in place. He tried harder, bracing his feet against the panel itself, pulled.

The whole thing snapped apart, though it didn’t break completely loose. It hung in place by the bottom rungs, but the impact was enough to jar Holt’s hand loose from the claw, still stuck inside the panel, right as it electrified. Sparks flew as the current arced through it.

Holt jerked, lost his grip on the left panel … and
fell.

“Holt!” Ravan screamed, watching him plummet. He managed to jam the claw into the slits of a panel, jerking himself to a stop about twenty feet below. His feet dangled wildly as he tried for purchase, supports and panels electrified all around him.

The screen shifted to 1.

Ravan’s gaze moved from Holt to the missing claw, stuck near the receptacle. There was no way he could get there now, even with both claws he couldn’t climb it that fast. It meant they weren’t going to be able to disarm the configuration, which meant they could no longer beat the Nonagon.

The smart thing to do would have been for everyone to just hold on where they were, and survive the round, but Ravan could see the desperation in Holt’s eyes, could see what this meant to him. It wasn’t just that he would fail, but that he would fail people he’d made promises to. It meant he would never make it to that little girl in San Francisco. Everything he’d struggled for and been through would be for nothing.

It was a fear she knew well. Maybe that was why she made the decision she did. Or because, like she’d told him not that long ago, he was the only person she had ever sacrificed for. What was one more time?

Ravan let go of the railing and fell through the air. She slammed into a support, and it spun her. Another hit sent her reeling the other way. She felt a rib snap, felt the pain, heard the crowd gasp.

She could just make out the big metal box and the flashing yellow light. She slammed into the paneling, slid, grabbed hold of the box with her hands, and barely held on.

The claw was just below her, still stuck where Holt had left it. She kicked it once. Twice. Knocked it loose, reached down, and grabbed it, barely holding on.

The crowd erupted, watching her, and once more it seemed like they were actually cheering
for
her. She liked it, wondered right then how Tiberius felt.