Hey, it’s not a competition, but I’m winning.
Sharkie does his emcee-thing. The Oligarchy, angels, and demons all take their places in the Arena. An eternity ticks by while I stand near the other fighters. I pass the time playing rock-paper-scissors with my tail. My stomach growls. I must be missing lunch.
THUD. THUD. Sharkie sets his staff against the ground. “Angels, demons, and ghouls! We’ve a special announcement today from the fearless leader of our troops, Armageddon!”
The demon seats go ballistic. The angels clap politely.
Armageddon stands from his stone throne, his long black face twisting into an especially evil-looking grin. “We have found the Scala Heir.” His eyes glow with menace. “As promised.”
Verus takes to her feet. “Excellent. If this is indeed the Scala Heir, then we should be able to perform the Scala Initiation ceremony right now.”
Armageddon slowly reseats himself into his throne. “Of course.”
Verus points to our group of fighters. “Please line up along the base of the Arena wall. You’re witnesses to the changing.”
A Scala changing? That could be cool to watch. To be safe, I pick out a spot by an exit archway, the easier to duck out if things get really boring.
Verus raises her arms. “Let the initiation begin!”
All the angels take to their feet. The air echoes with the rustling of wings and robes. They speak in one voice. “Has the Scala Heir been found?”
Verus lowers her arms. “Yes. Among the thrax nobility.”
Thrax nobility? My stomach sinks to my toes. Yuck.
Moving as one group, the angels extend their white wings. Half the arena becomes blindingly bright. They speak again as one: “Let them bring the Scala Heir to us to be awakened and angelbound.” They all retake their seats.
“We will bring out the Scala Heir.” Verus smiles softly. “But first, the realm that produced the Heir will take the Arena floor. Today, this honor goes to the thrax. The thrax are divided into many Houses, the greatest of these being Horus, Striga, Kamal, Acca, and Rixa. All five will appear before us today. First is the House of Horus, the descendants of the Nubian Pharaohs.”
I exhale with relief. Nubian Pharaohs? That means Lincoln isn’t likely to take the Arena floor. At least, not yet.
I pick at the lint under my nails with my tail. Not that I care what he does, of course.
A trumpet call echoes through the air. The dirt floor shakes as the House of Horus does who-knows-what in the maze of hallways leading to the Arena floor. More trumpets blare as a dozen two-wheeled chariots barrel out of a nearby archway, each one driven by a pair of gray stallions.
The Arena floor rattles beneath my feet as the chariots charge around the stadium. My mouth bursts into a grin. These guys are so badass, it isn’t even funny.
As they tool around the Arena floor, I can see that the drivers are tall men with ebony skin, solid frames, and long dreadlocks. They wear brown linen pants topped by black leather tunics. The image of a looping Egyptian eye is sewn onto their chests in bronze thread.
The chariots ride in different formations, their paths creating a complex series of circles and lines. Golden bridles glimmer in the horses’ mouths. The chariots crisscross into the most complex pattern yet. Then, they stop in neat rows in one corner of the stadium. Whoa. I can’t believe they didn’t bump into each other at least once.
I clap wildly, but everyone else is silent. Oops. I pop my hands behind my back.
“Second is the House of Striga,” says Verus. “Their skills in sorcery and witchcraft are famous across the five realms.”
From the opposite archway, two-dozen men march onto the arena floor, their bodies thin and lanky. All have olive skin and square faces. Purple beads are woven into their long brown hair. They wear the brown leather pants, silver chain mail, and velvet tunics decorated with a purple pentagram. The stick-men march into the middle of the stadium floor, align themselves into a huge circle, and quickly bow their heads. A low chant echoes through the air. A massive ball of red flame appears by the stadium floor.
I gasp. I’ve never seen magic before.
The scarlet orb zooms up into the sky and bursts like a firework. The Striga men march to another corner of the Arena, taking their place beside the House of Horus.
I bob on the balls of my feet, excited to see what the next House has in store. Sure, it’s a bummer I’m not battling anything right now, but this show almost makes up for that. Almost.
“Third is the House of Kamal,” says Verus. “These thrax are renowned for their skill with animals.”