The Legend Trilogy Collection (9 page)

I make a clicking sound with my tongue to turn off my microphone.

I spend most of this first morning pretending to dig around in the garbage bins. From the other beggars I hear stories about plague victims, which areas the police seem most nervous about, and which have started to recover. They talk about the best places to find food, the best places to find fresh water. The best places to hide during hurricanes. Some of the beggars look too young to have even taken the Trial. The youngest ones talk about their parents or how to pickpocket a soldier.

But no one talks about Day.

The hours drag on into evening, then night. When I find a quiet alley to rest in, with a few other beggars already asleep in the garbage bins, I curl into a dark corner and click my microphone on. Then I take out Day’s pendant necklace from my pocket, holding it up slightly so I can study its smooth bumps.

“Calling it a night,” I murmur. My throat barely vibrates.

My hearing piece crackles faintly with static. “Ms. Iparis?” Thomas says. “Any luck today?”

“Nope, no luck. I’ll try some public places tomorrow.”

“Okay. We’ll have people over here twenty-four seven.”

By “people over here twenty-four seven,” I know Thomas means he’s the only one there, listening for me. “Thanks,” I whisper. “Going dark.” I click my microphone off. My stomach rumbles. I pull out a slice of chicken I found in the back of a café’s kitchen and force myself to munch on it, ignoring the slime of cold grease. If I need to live like a Lake citizen, I’ll have to eat like one.
Maybe I should get a job,
I think. The idea makes me snort a little.

When I finally fall asleep, I have a bad dream, and Metias is in it.

I find nothing substantial the next day, or the day after that. My hair grows tangled and dull in the heat and smoke, and dirt has started to coat my face. When I look at my reflection in the lake, I realize that I look exactly like a street beggar now. Everything feels dirty. On the fourth day, I make my way to the rim of Lake and Blueridge and decide to spend my time wandering through the bars.

That’s when something happens. I stumble into a Skiz fight.

THE RULES FOR WATCHING—AND BETTING ON
—a Skiz fight are simple enough.

1. You pick who you think will win.

2. You bet on that person.

That’s about it. The only problem that comes up is when you’re too infamous to risk placing a public bet and possibly getting picked up by the police.

This afternoon I’m crouched behind the chimney of a crumbling, one-story warehouse. From here I can see the crowd of people gathered in the abandoned building next door. I’m even close enough to make out some of their conversations.

And Tess. Tess is down there with them, her delicate frame nearly lost in the shuffle, with a pouch of our money and a smile on her face. I watch as she listens to other gamblers discuss the fighters. She asks them a few questions of her own. I don’t dare take my eyes off her. Street police who are unhappy with their bribes sometimes break up Skiz fights, arresting people as they go, and as a result, I never stand with the crowd when Tess and I watch the fights. If they catch me and fingerprint me, it’s over for both of us. Tess, though, is slender and wily. She can escape a raid much more easily than I can. But that doesn’t mean I’ll leave her on her own.

“Keep moving, cousin,” I mutter under my breath as Tess stops to laugh at some young gambler’s joke.
Don’t get too close to her, you trot.

A noise comes from one end of the crowd. My eyes flick there for a second. One of the fighters is stirring up the onlookers by waving her arms and yelling. I smile. That girl is named Kaede, or so the crowd’s chants tell me. Kaede is the very same bartender I met days ago while passing through the Alta sector. She flexes her wrists, then bounces on her feet and shakes out her arms.

Kaede has already won a match. Going by the unspoken rules of Skiz, she must now fight until she loses a round—until her opponent throws her to the ground. Each time she wins, she gets a cut of the overall bet on her opponent. My eyes wander to the girl she just picked out to be her next challenger. The girl is olive-skinned, with furrowed brows and an uncertain expression. I roll my eyes. Surely the crowd must know that this fight’s going to be a no-brainer. This challenger will be lucky if Kaede lets her live.

Tess waits for a moment when no one is paying attention to her, then glances up quickly in my direction. I hold up one finger. She grins, then winks at me and looks back to the crowd. She hands money to the person organizing bets—a big, burly guy. We’ve cast one thousand Notes, almost all our money, in favor of Kaede.

The fight lasts for less than a minute. Kaede strikes early and hard, lunging out and striking the other girl viciously across the face. The other girl wavers. Kaede toys with her like a cat playing with her food before lashing out again with her fist. The challenger crashes to the ground, hitting her head on the cement floor, where she lies in a daze. Knockout. The crowd cheers, and several people help the girl stumble out of the ring. I exchange a brief smile with Tess, who gathers up our winnings and stuffs it into the pouch.

Fifteen hundred Notes. I swallow hard, warning myself not to get too excited. One step closer to a vial of cure.

My attention is back on the cheering crowd. Kaede flips her hair at the audience and strikes a mock pose for them, which makes them go wild. “Who’s next?”

The crowd chants back. “Choose! Choose!”

Kaede looks slowly around the circle, shaking her head or sometimes tilting it to one side. I keep my eyes on Tess. She stands on her tiptoes behind several taller people, straining for a good look. Then she taps them hesitantly on their shoulders, says something, and pushes her way forward. I tighten my jaw at the sight. Next time I’ll join her. Then she can sit on my shoulders and finally get to see the fights, instead of calling unwanted attention to herself.

A second later, I bolt upright. Tess has pushed her way past one of the larger gamblers. He shouts something at her, something angry, and before Tess can apologize, I see him shove her roughly into the ring’s center. She stumbles, and the crowd roars with laughter.

Anger boils up in my chest. Kaede seems amused by the whole thing. “Is that a challenge, kid?” she shouts. A grin breaks out on her face. “Ya look like fun.” Tess looks around, bewildered. She tries to take a step back into the crowd, but they block her path. When I see Kaede nod her head in Tess’s direction, I rise up from my crouch. This trot’s going to choose Tess.

Oh,
hell
no. Not
while I’m watching. Not if Kaede wants to live
.

Suddenly, a voice rings out from below. I pause. Some girl has made her way to the front of the ring, where she stares at Kaede. She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” she calls out.

Kaede laughs. There’s a brief silence.

Then Kaede shouts back, “Who the hell you think ya are, talking t’me like that? Think you’re better?” She points at the girl, and the crowd lets out a cheer. I see Tess scurry into the safety of the crowd. This new girl has taken Tess’s place, whether she meant to or not.

I let out a long breath. When I’ve managed to calm down, I take a closer look at Kaede’s new opponent.

She’s not much taller than Tess and definitely lighter than Kaede. For a second it seems like the crowd’s attention has made her uncomfortable and I’m ready to dismiss her as a real contender until I study her again. No, this girl is nothing like the last one. She’s hesitating not because she’s afraid to fight, or because she fears losing, but because she’s thinking. Calculating. She has dark hair tied back in a high ponytail and a lean, athletic build. She stands
deliberately
, with a hand resting on her hip, as if nothing in the world can catch her off guard. I find myself pausing to admire her face.

For a brief moment, I’m lost to my surroundings.

The girl shakes her head at Kaede. This surprises me too—I’ve never seen anyone refuse to fight. Everyone knows the rules: if you’re chosen, you fight. This girl doesn’t seem to fear the crowd’s wrath. Kaede laughs at her and says something I can’t quite make out. Tess hears it, though, and casts me a quick, concerned glance.

This time the girl nods. The crowd lets out another cheer, and Kaede smiles. I lean a little bit out from behind the chimney. Something about this girl . . . I don’t know what it is. But her eyes burn in the light, and although it’s hot and might be my imagination, I think I see a small smile on the girl’s face.

Tess shoots a questioning look at me. I hesitate for a split second, then hold up one finger again. I’m grateful to this mystery girl for helping Tess out, but with my money on the line, I decide to play it safe. Tess nods, then casts our bet in favor of Kaede.

But the instant the new girl steps into the circle and I see her stance . . . I know I’ve made a big mistake. Kaede strikes like a bull, a battering ram.

This girl strikes like a viper.

I’
M NOT WORRIED ABOUT LOSING THIS FIGHT
.

I’m more worried that I’ll accidentally kill my opponent.

If I run right now, though, I’m a dead girl.

I silently scold myself—what a game to involve myself in. When I first saw this crowd of gamblers, I’d wanted to leave it alone. I’d wanted nothing to do with brawls. Not a good place to get caught by street police and taken downtown for questioning. But then I’d thought that maybe I could pick up some valuable information from a group like this—so many locals, some who might even know Day personally. Surely Day isn’t a complete stranger to
everyone
in Lake, and if anyone knows who he is, it’s the crowd that watches illegal Skiz fights.

But I should not have said anything about the skinny girl they shoved into the ring. I should have let her fend for herself.

It’s too late now.

The girl named Kaede tilts her head at me and grins as we face each other in the ring. I take a deep breath. Already she has started to circle me, stalking me like prey. I study her stance. She steps forward with her right foot. She’s left-handed. Usually this would work to her advantage and throw off her opponents, but I’ve trained for this. I shift the way I walk. My ears are drowning in the noise.

I let her strike first. She bares her teeth at me and lunges forward at full speed, her fist raised. But I can see her preparing to kick. I sidestep. Her kick whooshes past me. I use her momentum against her and strike her hard when her back’s turned. She loses her balance and nearly falls. The crowd cheers.

Kaede whirls around to face me again. This time her smile is gone—I’ve succeeded in angering her. She lunges at me again. I block her first two punches, but her third punch catches me across the jaw and makes my head spin.

Every muscle in my body wants to end this now. But I force my temper down. If I fight too well, people might get suspicious. My style is too precise for a simple street beggar.

I let Kaede hit me one last time. The crowd roars. She starts smiling again, her confidence returning. I wait until she’s ready to charge. Then I dart forward, duck down, and trip her. She doesn’t see it coming—she falls heavily on her back. The crowd screams in approval.

Kaede forces herself onto her feet, even though most Skiz fights would’ve called her fall the end of the round. She wipes a bit of blood from her mouth. Before she can even catch her breath properly, she lets out an angry shout and lunges for me again. I should’ve seen the tiny flash of light near her wrist. Kaede’s fist punches hard into my side, and I feel a terrible, sharp pain. I shove her away. She winks at me and starts circling again. I hold my side—and that’s when I feel something warm and wet at my waist. I look down.

A stab wound. Only a serrated knife could have torn my skin that way. I narrow my eyes at Kaede. Weapons are not supposed to be part of a Skiz fight . . . but this is hardly a fight where the crowd follows all the rules.

The pain makes me light-headed and angry. No rules? So be it.

When Kaede comes at me again, I dart away and twist her arm in a tight hold. In one move, I shatter it. She screams in pain. When she tries to pull away, I continue to hold on, twisting the broken arm behind her back until I see the blood drain from her face. A knife slips out from the bottom of her tank top and clatters to the ground. (A serrated knife, just as I thought. Kaede is not a normal street beggar. She has the skills to get her hands on a nice weapon like that—which means she might be in the same line of business as Day. If I weren’t undercover, I’d arrest her right now and take her in for questioning.) My wound burns, but I grit my teeth and maintain my grip on her arm.

Finally Kaede taps me frantically with her other hand. I release her. She collapses to the ground on her knees and her good arm. The crowd goes nuts. I clutch my bleeding side as tightly as I can, and when I look around, I see money exchanging hands. Two people help Kaede out of the ring (she shoots me a look of hatred before she turns away), and the rest of the onlookers start up their chant.

“Choose! Choose! Choose!”

Maybe it’s the dizzying pain from my wound that makes me reckless. I can’t contain my anger anymore. I turn without a word, roll my shirtsleeves back up to my elbows, and flip my collar up. Then I step out of the ring and start shoving my way out of the circle.

The crowd’s chant changes. I hear the boos start. I’m tempted to click my microphone on and tell Thomas to send soldiers, but I keep silent. I’d promised myself not to call for backup unless I had no choice, and I’m certainly not going to ruin my cover over a street brawl.

When I’ve managed to walk outside the building, I risk a look behind me. Half a dozen of the onlookers are following me, and most of them look enraged.
They’re the gamblers,
I think,
the ones who care the most.
I ignore them and continue to walk.

“Get back here!” one of them yells. “You can’t just leave like that!”

I break into a run.
Curse
this knife wound. I reach a large trash bin and swing myself up onto it, then get ready to jump to a second-floor windowsill. If I can climb high enough, they won’t be able to catch me. I leap as far as I can and manage to grab the edge of the windowsill with one hand.

But my wound has slowed me down. Someone grabs my leg and yanks hard. I lose my grip, scrape myself against the wall, and crash to the ground. I hit my head hard enough to send the world spinning. Then they’re on me, dragging me to my feet and back to the screaming crowd. I fight to clear my head. Spots explode across my vision. I try to click my microphone on, but my tongue feels slow and covered with sand.
Thomas
, I whisper, but it comes out as
Metias
. I blindly reach out a hand for my brother, and then I remember that he’s no longer there to take it.

Suddenly I hear a pop and a few shrieks, and in the next instant they release me. I fall back to the ground. I try scrambling to my feet, but stumble and fall again. Where did all this dust come from? I squint, trying to see through it. I can still hear the noise and chaos from the onlookers. Someone must’ve set off a dust bomb.

Then there’s a voice telling me to get up. When I look to my side, I see a boy holding out his hand to me. He has bright blue eyes, dirt on his face, and a beat-up old cap on, and at this moment, I think he might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

“Come on,” he urges. I take his hand.

In the dust and chaos, we hurry down the street and disappear into the afternoon’s lengthening shadows.