I take a deep breath. “It wasn’t intentional—at least not at first.”
“She won’t forget.”
In that moment, the serene vocal sounds of the acapella hymn fill the night.
Midnight Ghost Time. . . .
A wild buildup of noise rises in the distance from the Games audience. They stand up in the tiers to shout and express their adulation to all the Contenders who have survived. . . .
We glance below us at the water and see the rotating land rings slow down and stop, while all the orb lights running along their edges brighten in intensity, burning at a maximum, illuminating the concentric circles with fierce light. . . .
Meanwhile, the great stadium screens flash scores, final standings, and the faces of the celebrity Contenders. I’m assuming Thalassa is on one of those screens—no longer wrapped up in my razor net, but definitely covered with some nasty cuts—because the announcers proclaim her as the Grail-holding Winner of this stage.
We’re too far away to see any of it.
As for us—at once the underlying despair and tension is gone. We dare to laugh as we breathe with relief.
Once again, unbelievably, we did it!
And just like that, with an unexpected low-key ending, Stage Three of the Games is over.
By the time we return to the outermost ring, the exterior clear wall has receded back down into the ocean, opening up the Game Zone to the public and the Games staff and cleanup crew.
Friends, family, and fan entourages rush inside to greet us, hover cars descend, and it’s joyful mayhem.
I pause long enough to make sure Tuar is handed off to medical techs, and exchange a few parting words with my teammates and Hedj’s people. All the while my eyes search the crowds for Aeson. . . .
In the next instant an electric prickling travels down my spine and I feel him nearby.
No idea how I know, but he’s here.
He’s right behind me.
“Aeson!” I exclaim hoarsely, as my beloved grabs me in his arms, crushing me to him.
“Gwen!”
At once, he is my world, my universe. . . . I feel his warm strength surround me, smell the rich musk scent of him, feel the stubble of his lean jaw, run my fingers through his soft golden hair . . . drowning, drowning in the wonder of him. . . .
When at last I turn my face up to see him clearly, Aeson is wild-eyed, with gaunt cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, and dilated pupils. Sleepless. . . .
Oh God, Aeson!
“Gwen . . .” he whispers. “I almost died. Just now when you were shot I thought it was a lethal burst, I thought—”
“No, sweet, but I lost my voice, Aeson!” I say with a sad laugh. “Can you hear me croaking? I can’t sing!”
“Gwen, oh, Gwen. . . . Nothing matters! You did it again, you survived!” He presses me to his chest. And then he kisses me hard, and I taste his lips, his essence.
“Let’s go home,” he says firmly, his deep voice raw with emotion, and wordlessly nods to the Imperial guards surrounding us. “You must sleep and we will get your voice back by morning.”
“Where’s Gracie? Where’s Gordie?” I exclaim in sudden nervous excitement, looking around us and seeing only the guards.
“They were right here, watched and cheered you on, nearly every moment. . . . But right now they know you need rest, with no distractions!” he says sternly with a smile. “So I sent them home and told them to be patient.”
“Oh, no! How could you?” I exclaim with a half-hearted frown and tug his nearest glorious golden lock of hair, because I can’t even be pretend-angry at him, not now. “Look at all those other Contenders—how come they’re all surrounded with their friends and families hanging on their necks?”
Aeson chuckles. “And what do you call this?” he says, wrapping his arms around me again and squeezing me very hard—so hard that for an instant I can’t breathe.
Then his lips again descend on mine and I can no longer protest anything at all.
I vaguely remember the trip back to Phoinios Heights, flying high above Poseidon, colorful twinkling tapestries of city lights below. . . . As usual, two med techs attend to me even as I sit in the car next to Aeson. They attach IV lines, give me additional liquids to drink, constantly check my vitals. . . .
Soon I feel relaxed and pleasantly drowsy. I nod off, and then at some point Aeson carries me inside the house, with solicitous estate servants rushing to assist.
I mumble something about tomorrow’s schedule as I am put to bed, and then I really don’t remember anything until morning. This post-game-stage-completion loss of consciousness on my part is becoming an annoying habit.
I open my eyes in the soothing pre-dawn darkness on the morning of Green Mar-Yan 23, day one of the fourth and final stage of the Games of the Atlantis Grail. The door of my bedroom is ajar and a sliver of light falls from the other room—Aeson’s bedroom—while Aeson himself is leaning over me, fingers carefully brushing my cheek. As always, he is fully dressed, freshly shaved, impressively put-together at such an early hour.
“It’s time, im amrevu,” he whispers gently.
And at once the familiar panic jolt of adrenaline kick-starts my pulse.
One more stage remains.
Just one.
I can do this.
Breathe!
I sit up, taking a shuddering breath, and then I put my hand over Aeson’s arm, squeezing it involuntarily.
He responds by sliding his hand around to cover my own, and at once I feel the strong calming pressure of his warm fingers entwined with mine. “How do you feel?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t know.” My voice sounds a little raspy, but it’s mostly from recent sleep. The burning ache is gone from my lungs, and my throat feels normal. “Better . . . I think!”
I inhale and clear my throat again then try to form a musical note. It begins a little flat but I focus it, and within seconds I sound just like my normal singing self, on-key. What a relief!
He watches me with an indescribable softness in his eyes. But I see the exhaustion underneath.
“Oh! Did you get any sleep tonight, Aeson?” I exclaim, forgetting everything else. “Did you sleep even a little, please say yes!”
“Yes,” he says, smiling fondly at me. “I did get a couple of hours and had my staff wake me. Incidentally—” and here he turns serious, “we have the new Game Zone location coordinates.”
I feel a wave of cold fill my gut with nerves. “Where is it?”
Aeson pauses a little before replying, then exhales. “Once again the location is in the middle of the ocean.”
“Oh, no. . . .”
“But this time, it’s on an actual island off the Golden Bay coast, more to the east, miles away from the previous stage. The island is called Benben and is part of a small archipelago known as the Akhet Islands. But—more after you get ready!”
At once I go into my usual morning frenzy while Aeson tactfully steps out of the room and lets me do my thing. I shower joyfully, washing off the fine grime of the past four days, including the dead choonu residue that’s encrusted my hair, because once again last night I only got a sponge-bath while I slept.
My freshly cleaned uniform is ready—after all those violent days in the Games it’s getting a little worse for the wear (I notice a few minor rips that have been fixed overnight, with visible seamwork), and its mother-of-pearl white surface seems a little duller than before. But I put it on over my body armor and then put on yet another brand new pair of shoes with my custom shoelaces. . . .
Getting ready for the final battle, warrior, the thought passes through my mind. ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more’—
Shut up, Shakespeare.
Next, my protective contact lenses go in. I pull my hair into a tight ponytail. Then I allow myself five seconds to stand staring in the mirror, looking at a gaunt, sunburned, weather-beaten stranger with permanently exhausted eyes. . . .
Finally, I strai
ghten. My hand reaches into the inner pocket of my uniform, searching for the familiar feel of smooth silk.
Aeson’s black armband, clean and neatly folded, lies over my heart.
He is with me, always.
Downstairs, the estate servants are lined up according to strict protocol. They wait in rows along each wall, greeting me with respectful, genuinely sympathetic faces.
They are probably saying goodbye, I think.
Aeson stands at the doors holding my equipment bag and a basket of food because, once again, there’s no time for a sit-down meal.
“You look like a fierce champion . . .” he tells me intimately, leaning close to my ear, and his lips curve into a proud smile.
I gaze up at him, pausing for one final time to experience the moment. This—the here and now, me being in his house that has, over the past month, become my home—this may be our last time here, together.
No, stop. . . .
I steel myself and follow Aeson outside into the silvery pre-dawn.
We get into his car and lift off, followed by the security detail in their usual vehicles.
And then we fly into the lightening sky.
It’s hard to focus on all the high-tech details Aeson tells me about my replacement weapons and the other new contents of my equipment bag. I chew the delicious stuff from the basket with the eos bread service, drink nikkari juice, and simply listen to his rich, profound voice pouring over me like balm, beautiful and forceful.
And then we’re past the city limits, heading beyond the cliffs and over the sand and rocky beach coastline. . . .
For the next few minutes we’re flying over silver-aqua-mauve water faintly covered with morning fog. The month of Green Mar-Yan is in its final week, and the weather is slightly warmer now, but the cool breeze from the Djetatlan Ocean is still an invigorating force, pouring in through the open windows of the hover car.
Aeson drives with tight lips and a stoic expression on his face when he thinks I’m not looking at him directly, but switches to a warm smile the moment I turn towards him.
“Aeson,” I say after a while. “Please take care of yourself. . . . I know you’ll do everything to take care of my family and friends but, please, don’t forget about yourself—for my sake.”
“Don’t . . . speak this way,” he says, turning away at once, keeping his eyes on the flight course ahead, so I only see his stark profile. “You are strong and you’re a champion. You have proved you can do it three times already—do you understand that, Gwen? Three times! So all you need to do is survive one more time.”
“Just four days . . .” I whisper.
“Yes! Four stupid short days,” he says fiercely.
I exhale and nod silently.
And then I glance at the misty horizon and see the dark shapes of land taking form, like sha rising out of the silver waters.
No wonder they call them Akhet—Horizon Islands.
We’ve arrived.
Chapter 83
Turns out, Benben Island is the largest of the seven that comprise the archipelago. It’s still negligible, only three miles across its widest part, and is shaped like the letter U, or a horseshoe.
A shallow natural cove fills its interior, and most of it is a flat sandy beach with a few low, rocky hills and occasional gnarled trees resembling cedars back on Earth. If you stand along the back of the horseshoe upon the short cliffs, you can see the other six islands in the fog, scattered around it. Most of them are just large rocks surrounded by water, and only a couple have one or two trees.
Hundreds of aerial vehicles converge upon the beach along the cove, like a flock of metallic birds, carrying Contenders and depositing them along the empty beach.
We’re among them, hurtling down smoothly. . . .
As Aeson lands the car, I glance in all directions anxiously, sizing up the area, looking for any demarcations that might indicate which part is the Game Zone.
Also, where’s our Games audience? Where are the hovering platforms with tiered seats? All I see are the arriving Contender cars.
Our hover car stops a foot above the pale sand, with a nearby view of low dunes striated in golden yellow, mauve and aqua layers, and behind them the gently sloping rocky hillside with patches of green.
I take my equipment bag and step onto the sand. Aeson follows me.
All around us, Contenders do the same, with a few members of their support networks standing by them to say their farewells. My nervous glances show me some vaguely familiar faces, but I can’t see any of my teammates.
As I pause, smelling the ocean breeze tinged with the island’s growing scents, my gaze returns to Aeson.
My Bridegroom stands before me with an indescribable look in his intense lapis lazuli eyes.
“I’m tired of saying goodbye to you. For the last time—you will come back to me,” he says.
In answer I quickly reach out with my arms, wrapping them around his neck, fingers digging into his hair, and press myself against him, silently. . . .
I breathe him in, his complex musky scent.
I kiss him fiercely, and he responds, crushing my lips with bittersweet despair.
“Come back to me,” he whispers into the pulse point at my throat . . . my cheek . . . my ear.
I step back, letting go.
“I will,” I say.
And in moments he is gone.
I am alone on the sand, and I look around me in the usual state of pre-Games uncertainty. I’m tense, high-strung, ready to fight or flee—the latter being most likely. But at the same time the compounded weariness of the many previous days of competition is making itself felt, weighing me down, already leaching my fresh reserves of energy.
Dozens of Contenders continue to arrive. In my desperation-laced urgency this morning I forgot to ask Aeson about the numbers—the various scores, tallies, averages, and my own standings, and also how many of us still remain in the Games.
I’m sure somebody will tell us, eventually.
But right now I can see over a hundred people deposited on the beach, and more still coming.
And then I see the audience.
The morning fog lifts, revealing several great ships and numerous lesser ocean vessels beyond the cove. They stand at about a mile out beyond the rocky archipelago in deeper waters. Each of these ships and floating vessels is carrying seating tiers and terraces enclosed in walls made of the same transparent material we’ve come to know so well.
In minutes the great transparent rectangle boxes filled with seats and people lift up from the floating barges and hover in the air, approaching our cove. They rise about a hundred feet and float in the sky above us, advancing with the smooth slow motion of hot air balloons. And then the floating audience boxes come to a hover stop, parking themselves in the air along the curvature of the horseshoe shape of Benben Island. They bring crowd noise and energetic notes of recorded music playing above us as usual before the Games begin.
I gawk at the audience who in turn gawks at the spectacle of all of us down on the sandy beach. From where I stand, if I look up directly I can see through the bottom of their hovering platform structures . . . the seating levels and the rows of people finding seats, vendors carrying food, families pointing and laughing—and all of this is happening overhead.
It’s almost seventh hour.
“Gwen Lark! Here you are!”
I glance to my right and find Lolu Eetatu.
The young Technician looks slightly better than yesterday, which is not saying much. The hollows around her great big eyes are emphasized by little sleep, but her mood seems elevated. Maybe Lolu dares to feel hopeful at last.
Not too far behind her, Kateb approaches, looking confident and also much better than yesterday. He greets me with a nod and folds his arms at his chest, waiting. “Ready for the last stage?” the Inventor says with a faint smile.
I smile back. “As much as it’s possible to be ready, yes.”
Then I’m distracted momentaril
y by the sound of the aerial audience above our heads chanting “Kuk-ku! Kuk-ku!” and see Hedj Kukkait exit a hover car nearby. Tall, lean, and menacing as usual, the White Bird notices me and nods slightly, then proceeds to locate his own team. I watch his unreadable face with its dark unblinking eyes and wonder if we’re still allies. . . .
“Hey, Lark!” Brie is next, striding toward us.
Immediately I note that she’s alert and her energy level is back to normal, while her torn arm sleeve has been repaired with neat stitches.
“How are you, after the sha attack?” I ask, nodding to her. “How’s the arm injury?”
Brie snorts and flexes her elbow, raising her hand and arm with ease. “Pretty amazing medical tech. All healed, overnight. As soon as I got back to Correctional, Sangre had them put me inside this long medical device which basically grew me some new muscle tissue and sealed the wound. We can really use some of that machinery on Earth. . . .”
And then her words trail off because—well, what’s there to say? Just thinking about Earth is painful right now, for both of us.
No, stop. . . .
I force myself to focus on my teammates and the surroundings.
“By the way,” Brie resumes, looking at me with a peculiar smile, “Sangre sends you his regards. Or at least he would—if he didn’t have such a hard stick up his a—”
“Walton, seriously . . .” I interrupt, shaking my head at her.
Just then Chihar arrives, looking his usual slightly weary self. His generally calm expression this morning appears a little uncertain, as though he’s surprised at himself and doesn’t quite believe that he’s still here with us. “Nefero eos,” he greets everyone.
We all pause just then to stare around us when we hear the “De-neb!” chant from the floating audience boxes. There’s Deneb Gratu himself on the opposite side of the cove, leaping out of a hovering vehicle and waving brashly to everyone while the audience screams his name.