The Pirate ran out behind her just as Varklee looked up, his moment of surprise changing to one of delight.
‘Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here, Flickers.’ Varklee’s head was angled to one side, a glint of amusement taking over his dead eyes briefly. ‘Two for the price of one.’
Scarlen stood between her enemies, searching for an exit, but the twins had their sights firmly on her, and she knew they wanted more than a wounded arm, especially as they were clutching their stomachs, obviously damaged from eating the yellow berries.
Varklee placed the tip of his dagger to his top teeth while grinning like the fox that had its chicken cornered.
With everything her father had put her through over the years, Scarlen found it hard to believe this would be the way she would die.Well, fuck this shit!She stared blankly at the enemy either side of her, not knowing who would come at her first. If only they knew who they faced. At least the Pirate would help her then. Maybe. But she couldn’t tell her truth. Her grave awaitedher secret, and soon her lifeless body would be taken there. Wherevertheremight be.
‘I found her first,’ the Pirate told Varklee. ‘You can’t interfere when it’s one-on-one. Those are the rules.’
Yes, War Zone rules, but of no help to her, because without a weapon, she was vulnerable.
Varklee waggled his blade their way. ‘You’re not in a fight yet, but do carry on. I’m happy to watch.’ He bowed at Scarlen. ‘May the luck of the south be on your side, my dear.’ Words he clearly didn’t mean.
Ignoring his sarcasm and snide grin, she turned her attention to the Pirate, his blade ready to cut her throat. Balancing herself and raising her fists, she tried to examine his moves to see if she could block him, but as he charged, Bear flew at him as though in animal form, smashing him to the ground, growling and punching wildly.
Varklee cheered his approval as Scarlen stumbled backwards, almost tripping over herself.
The Pirate managed to scurry out of Bear’s hold, his face bleeding, his eyes filled with water and fury.
‘I don’t see a one-on-one,’ said Varklee, and with that he tossed his dagger straight at the Pirate, hitting the unsuspecting man in the heart, dropping him at once, then Varklee raced forward, grabbed the weapon and pulled it free so he could continue to puncture the wound until he felt satisfied.
Silence loomed for a long moment, then the horn blew, and Kane’s voice called into their circle of death.
Scarlen stared at the dead man before her, her heart as quiet as his. She was being summoned back into the building, but her legs wouldn’t move, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the blood covering the dead body, smearing the ground to his side.
‘Scars,’ came Bear’s voice softly, as though waking her gently from a sleep. His hand touched hers, jolting her from the nightmare. ‘It’s time to go.’
Just like that, they were to leave, but it didn’t feel right. Nothing did, and Varklee singing made the situation even more surreal. Dark and lonely.
Kane frowned at her wounds as she passed him by. ‘Healer, Smithson.’
She didn’t hear much more as someone led her away to a cool room where a male healer had her lie on a bed. His breath smelled of stale rum, and his grey eyes held no sympathy.
‘I’m Professor Posla. All will be well soon enough.’
She focused on his gaunt features, shaded and deathlike, as nimble fingers pressed into painful parts that soon faded as though no damage had ever taken place.
Posla moved to a cabinet, tall, oak, filled with tinctures and balms, his long lilac shift floating around him. ‘Hmm, let me see.’ Three small bottles were removed, and each was poured into a wooden bowl, something white and powdery sprinkled on top. ‘Drink this.’
Scarlen was too lightheaded to argue so drank the vile concoction, feeling queasy once more.
‘Five more minutes, then you can leave.’ Posla began putting his medicine away. ‘You’re my only patient, as I’m not treating the likes of stomach ache. Not much to the Zone this time then.’ It was almost a question; she wasn’t entirely sure. He frowned at the amber sweatshirt peeking beneath her green top. ‘Which are you, Green or Amber?’
‘Green,’ she mumbled, her lips yet to defrost.
‘Didn’t anyone tell you to only wear your own colour?’
She remembered being told on arrival. ‘Does it matter in the Zone?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
So I’m to be punished again. What more can they do?
Damp and tired, she sat up. The bloodstains were still around her sleeve, but the wound had healed, and the burn on her hand was gone. The mist in her head lifted, and the sickness in her stomach disappeared.
‘Feeling better?’ asked Posla.
