Creusus's Arc

Chapter 23 of 43

Creusus left the little building at dawn. Kallista was still asleep on the low bed, one arm folded under her cheek. He set her bandage roll on the blanket beside her hand. He did not wake her. He picked up his pack, felt the weight of the orb inside it, and stepped out onto the dirt track. The morning smelled of wet grass. His next bout was on the card before midday. He walked back toward the arena the long way, past the market stalls opening their shutters. His hands felt strange without the wrappings. The black material under his skin was quiet. He rolled his shoulders and lengthened his stride. He thought about the post. He thought about Kallista's thumb on his knuckles. He let himself think about both without choosing. Halfway down the track he heard the crash. It came from inside his pack. A hard sound, like a plate breaking under a boot. He stopped. He swung the pack off his shoulder and dropped it in the dirt. The canvas bulged. Something inside was growing. The pack split down the seam. A man climbed out of it. He was full-sized, standing where no full-sized man should fit, brushing dust from a skeletal breastplate. Dark hair. Bone plates on his shoulders. A red skirt at his hips. Creusus did not know his face. Shards of the black orb lay in the torn canvas at the stranger's feet, gold cracks still glowing along the pieces. The stranger laughed. It was a full, easy laugh, as if he had heard a joke on the way up. "You carried me a long way," he said. His voice was warm and uncaring at once. "I fed on every step. Every match. Every night in the garden with the girl. I filled myself on you." Creusus stared. The wrappings under his skin began to warm. "Diablo." "In a borrowed coat." The stranger spread his arms. The bone plates clacked. "His name. My hands. We built this body together, priest and master. I am his and he is mine." He laughed again. "You played god with an orb. So did I. I won." Creusus did not have a plan. He had a road, an empty pack, and a man in front of him who should not exist. His next bout was on the card. Kallista was asleep in a wooden building behind him. The orb was gone. He stepped in and threw the first punch. Malachai caught it on his forearm. The bone plate cracked. He was still smiling. He drove a fist into Creusus's ribs and Creusus felt the ground leave him. He landed hard on his back in the dirt. The wrappings under his skin flared black and hot. Creusus rolled to his knees and spat. The orb was broken. The tournament would go on without him this hour. He rose to meet the man who had climbed out of his bag.