Creusus's Arc

Chapter 26 of 43

Creusus left Kallista on the bed and walked out of the shack. The ribbons on the porch touched his shoulder as he passed. He did not go toward the arena. He went toward the stables. He found a clerk at the tournament tent and gave him a folded piece of paper. On it he had written three words. I am out. The clerk read it twice and looked up. Creusus was already walking away. Behind him, a marshal called his name. He did not turn. He headed into the trees where Malachai had run. He pushed his will into the black wrappings on his knuckles as he walked. Still no thread. He kept walking anyway. He crossed a stream and climbed a slope of loose stone. He listened for anything wrong. By dusk he found a clearing where the grass lay flat in a wide circle. A man stood at the center. Not Malachai. Not the priest in bones he had glimpsed before. This one wore a long black robe with red at the hem. His hair fell past his shoulders. A single silver earring swung at his jaw. He was smiling as if he had been waiting a long time. "There you are," the man said. The voice was Malachai's mouth and someone else's weight behind it. "I hoped you would come." Creusus stopped at the edge of the circle. "Diablo." "He suits me," Diablo said. He lifted one sleeve and let it fall. "Lighter than the last shape. Yours was too much muscle. Slow. This one moves." He rolled his shoulders and grinned. "I have been reshaping him all afternoon. Longer hair. Better bones. A face people will open doors for." Creusus stepped into the circle and set his feet. Diablo lifted a hand. "Not yet." The air around him thickened. His robe stirred without wind. The skin at his throat darkened, then his jaw, then his eyes. The color climbed him like water rising in a jar. In a breath the man was gone and a black shape stood in his place, tall as a doorframe, with a shifting crown that looked like flame but gave off no heat. The grass under him did not burn. The clearing went quiet in a way that pressed against Creusus's ears. Creusus threw a punch. His fist passed through the shape and pulled back cold. The shape laughed. It was a small sound, almost polite. It shrank back into the robed man, who tilted his head and looked at Creusus's wrapped hands. "You cannot touch me here," Diablo said. "Not yet. Come find me when you learn how." He wiggled his fingers in a small wave. "Ta ta." The clearing was empty. Creusus stood in the flattened grass. Heat climbed his chest and neck. He hit the ground once, hard, and the earth split under his knuckle. He stayed on one knee and shook.