The Finisher Page 22
She smiled. “It is because you are so very much like your grandfather, Vega. So very much.”
“You liked him?” I thought back to Delph’s description of the pair arguing right before my grandfather had left Wormwood.
“I respected him, which is even more powerful, Vega. Virgil was a great Wugmort. He has been … he has been sorely missed since his …”
She did not seem able to finish the thought.
“I miss him too,” I said. “I wish he were here right now, to be with me.”
Morrigone reached out and gripped my hand. “I see you have drawn the symbol he carried on your own hand. It is a strange mark, is it not?”
I had not let the female at Council wash it off. I had told her it was not part of the map and she had relented.
I had been giving this symbol a lot of thought lately. “Three hooks,” I said. “Not one, or four, but three.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Yes, three,” she said sadly. “Three can be a very powerful number. A trinity of sorts. But you don’t know what the mark means?”
“I do not.” I paused. “What is my fate, then? If not execution, then it must be Valhall.”
“It is not Valhall.”
I looked at her, puzzled. “If not execution and not Valhall, then what?”
“I will not mince words with you, Vega. The discovery of the marks on your skin was very damaging. It took all my resources and gathering support from other Council members to dissuade them from either beheading you or putting you in Valhall for the rest of your sessions.”
I drew a deep breath, letting this sink in — how close I had come to dying.
I looked at her. “So what, then? What is my punishment?”
She gathered her own breath. I had never seen her look so exhausted.
“You must fight in the Duelum, Vega. You must fight your heart out. You cannot surrender or go down easily, for if you do, you will be put in Valhall for the rest of your sessions. That is the vote of Council and it is final.”
“But I’m only fourteen sessions old!” I said. “I’ll be fighting against fully grown males.”
She rose and rubbed at her eyes again. “The fact is, Vega, they don’t care. They simply don’t. If you fight valiantly, all will be forgiven, your life will return to normal, and you will owe nothing else. If you won’t fight, then you will be taken to Valhall immediately. And in truth, I cannot guarantee that Krone will not push for your execution. And this time he might succeed.”
“Then I will fight,” I said. “I give you my word that I will fight my hardest.” I paused and then asked, “What happens to me until the Duelum starts?”
“You are the only Finisher left at Stacks. You can return to your work on the straps next light.”
“And when I’m beaten to death in the Duelum?”
“I’m sorry, Vega. That is the best I could do. At least this way you have a chance.”
“A chance,” I repeated without enthusiasm. But really how much of one?
Morrigone held up a cautionary hand. “Krone and his allies are convinced you will attempt to flee Wormwood and use the map you had to lead you.”
“The marks are gone from my skin,” I said.
“You could have memorized them. In any event, do not think of doing so. If you were to attempt to flee, Delph would take your place in Council’s eyes. And it would not simply be Valhall.” She paused. “They will take his life.” She paused once more and studied me intently. “And I would do nothing to block it.”
“Why, Morrigone? What does Council care if a Wug goes into the Quag? If he makes the decision and dies, it’s his life.”
“It is not that simple, Vega. Council’s job is to protect all Wugmorts, and ensure the survival of Wormwood. If Wugs started going into the Quag and dying, it would embolden the beasts there to perhaps once more take up battle against us. We might not survive a second war with them.”
“And then of course there are the Outliers.” I thought it enlightening that she had forgotten to mention them since we were building a bloody gargantuan wall supposedly to keep them out.
If I was expecting some barbed retort, I was to be disappointed.
Morrigone looked at me with a bittersweet expression that resembled one my mother would sometimes give me, but then her features grew hard. “I was very serious, Vega, when I said I admired you. I have no wish to see such a promising life snuffed out. But there are limits to even my feelings for you. Please do not forget that. I have my duty and I intend to carry it out. For the good of all Wugmorts and the survival of Wormwood, I cannot and will not play favorites.”
With that ominous statement, she left me.
DELPH ARRIVED AT my digs right after he finished work on the Wall.
“Wotcha, Vega Jane,” he called out through the door.
I opened the door and looked up at him while Harry Two jumped around our ankles.
“What is it, Delph?” I asked.
“I heard ’bout things,” said Delph.
“What did you hear exactly?” I asked. I searched his face, looking for the least little hint of doubt.
“You got to fight in the Duelum.”
“Yes.” I slid back my sleeve and showed him the clear skin. “They found the map on me.”
“We need to practice, then.”
I looked at him, dumbfounded. “Practice what?”
“Practice for you to win.”
“Delph, I’m not going to win the Duelum.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a female. And I’m only fourteen sessions old.”
“Very nearly fifteen,” he amended. “So you’re not going to even try? Don’t sound like Vega Jane to me. Flying and throwing that spear thing so good-like.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” he said, staring at me.
I took a step back and considered this. “How would I practice?”
“You showed me how to fly and throw. I can show you how to fight. Morrigone said females should train up. And if you have to fight, you’re entitled to get trained up proper just like any other Wug. Preceptors ready to help. Well, I think I’m just as good as any Duelum Preceptor.”
“I know you are. But where do we do this?”
“At my digs. Lots of privacy there.”
“When?”
“Now.”
It was dark as we approached the Delphias’ cottage. The usual sounds associated with a beast trainer’s home were no longer in evidence. There were no new beasts, as I was sure Duf had no slivers to train them. All his time was spent on the Wall.
But there were sounds, because the adar had seen us approach. “Hello,” it said.
“Hello,” I said back.
“And who might this be?” the adar asked.
“This might be Vega Jane,” I answered.
It stood very tall and its great chest swelled. “Ooohhh, Ve-Vega Jane. So pr-pretty, Ve-Ve-Vega Jane. So be-be-be-beautiful, Ve-Ve-Vega Jane.” It sounded exactly like Delph.
Delph roared, “Shut up, you great pile of feathers, before you end up in the pot for me sup!”
“Be-be-beautiful, Ve-Ve-Vega Jane,” the adar said one last time and then gave Delph a surly glance before tucking its head under a wing and going back to sleep.
I was stunned by this outburst, but there was also an odd tingling sensation at the back of my neck. The thing was, adars only use words they’ve heard. I had no time to think about it really because as I looked over, Delph was charging straight at me full speed. I only had time to cry out and put my hands up before he had collided with me. He lifted me off the ground, raised me over his head and was about to crush me against a tree when he stopped. He looked up. I looked down.
“What in the bloody Hel are you doing, Delph?” I gasped.
He slowly lowered me to the ground. “At Duelum, there’s no stopping. No rules really, neither fair nor foul. There’s no point not being ready to fight at all times. Blokes co
me at you right from the first clang of the bell, Vega Jane. Charge, pin your arms to your sides, lift you up and smash you against the hardest thing they can find. Then you won’t be getting back up. Trust me. I did it to Non last Duelum. He got careless-like, the big oaf.”
I looked at the tree and then back at Delph and shivered.
“Okay,” I said. “I get the point. So what now?”
“So we fight.” He backed up a few paces and went into a crouch. “Now, with Ladon-Tosh —” Delph began.
“Ladon-Tosh!” I exclaimed. “He’s older than twenty-four sessions. He won’t be in the Duelum.”
Delph shrugged. “Well, the bloke says he’s twenty-three sessions.”
“Bollocks,” I blurted out.
“He’s in the Duelum, Vega. Just the way ’tis.”
“But aren’t there referees?”
“O’course, but I think they’re all so afraid of him. If he says he’s of proper age, they’re not about to challenge him, are they?”
I continued to fume. “That is the biggest load of tripe. Fine, who else?”
“Non. Ran Digby. Cletus Loon. Lots of blokes.”
“But none so big as you.”
“Most ain’t. But it’s not only the big ones you have to look out for, Vega Jane. The little blokes are quick and cagey and they pack a wallop. My last Duelum, I almost got knocked out by a bloke half me size.”
“How?”
“Threw dirt in me eyes and then hit me with a board he had hidden on the pitch.”
My eyes bulged. “They can do that?”
He looked at me in exasperation. “Don’t you watch the Duelums, Vega Jane?”
“Well, just the championship bout. Sometimes.” The truth was I could not stand to see Wugs trying to kill one another. The last time I had watched Delph win, I was violently sick as blood flowed from him and the other Wug.
He nodded. “Aye, they don’t let you fight as dirty in the last round, to be sure, because the full Council is watching. But to get there, you got to expect anything.”
He went into a crouch again, keeping his hands up and his arms tight to his sides. “Protect your body, Vega Jane. A blow to the belly or your side is right painful.” He held his fists up higher. “And watch your head. Hard to fight with a cracked skull.”
I began to feel sick to my stomach. “A cracked skull?”
“Got one two Duelums ago. Had a headache for a half a session.”
My mouth had gone totally dry. “How can I protect my body and my head at the same time?” I croaked.
“Just got to keep moving.” He danced around a bit on nimble feet, showing more agility than I would have allowed him credit for, given his size.
He said, “You can hit a bloke with anything. Fists, head, legs, knees.”
“And boards,” I reminded him.
“Now, when you get hit —”
“So you’re presuming I’m going to get hit?” I interrupted.
He said matter-of-factly, “Every bloke gets hit in a Duelum. In fact, count on about a dozen times a bout. Meaning the hard shots. ’Bout fifty times total, but I don’t count the little shots that just make ya wonky for a bit.”
I wanted to turn and run screaming.
“When you get hit, no matter how light or hard, I would recommend you going down.”
At first I rejoiced at this proposition, but then I recalled Morrigone’s words. If I did not fight to my fullest, I would be going to Valhall for the rest of my sessions. But Delph’s next words showed he was not planning for me to surrender.
“Going down dinnae mean you’ve lost the bout, Vega Jane. The bloke will just jump on you and pound you till ya can’t see or hear nothing no more. It hurts,” he added unnecessarily. “Now, ’tis true if ya put both your hands up in surrender, the bout is over and no Wug can hit you without getting a foul called.”
“I can’t surrender, Delph,” I said. And I thought, No matter how much I may want to.
“You’re nae surrendering, Vega Jane. What you do is go down in a special way. Like this.”
He fell onto his back, his knees tucked up to his chest. He continued. “Just about every bloke will come at you hard soon as you go down. He’ll charge head-on at you. Now, you wait till he’s just a wee bit away and then you do this.”
Delph kicked out with both feet with such force that I jumped back even though I was in no danger of being hit. In the next instant, he was on his feet. He leapt into the air and came down with both feet on top of his imaginary opponent. Then he jumped up again and came down with his right arm in the shape of a V and his elbow pointed downward. He sprawled on the ground with his elbow poised a quarter inch above the dirt.
“That’s the bloke’s throat. Elbow strike there he can’t breathe, can he? He passes out. And you win. And go on to the next round. Clean and quick. Har.”
I felt my own throat constrict. “But if he can’t breathe, won’t he die?” I said in a dry, cracked voice.
Delph rose and dusted off his trousers and hands. “Well, most blokes start breathing on their own pretty quick. For those what need a bitta help, there’re Mendens standing by to come over and beat on their chests. That usually does the trick. Sometimes they have to cut open the throat to get the air flowing again, but the scar is pretty small and it don’t bleed all that much.”
I turned around and heaved the meager contents of my belly into a bush.
I felt Delph’s big hands around my shoulders a moment later. He supported me while I finished being sick. I wiped my mouth and turned to face him, my cheeks red with embarrassment.
“Delph, I had no idea the Duelums were like this. And you winning three of them already? Well, that’s about the most amazing thing ever.”
His face flushed with pleasure at my praising words. “’Tain’t all that special,” he said modestly.
“But what you’ve taught me will help.” I didn’t believe this of course, because even if I jumped off the tallest tree in Wormwood and landed on Non’s throat, I doubt he would even cough.
“This is just the start, Vega Jane. There’s a lot more for you to learn. And you’ve got to build up your strength too.”
“I’m pretty strong.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“How do I get stronger? I work all light at Stacks building straps for the Wall. When will I have a sliver? I have to sleep.”
“We’ll think of a way.”
“When will we know who we have to fight?”
“They’ll post the first bouts seven nights before the Duelum starts,” he replied.
We worked some more on various moves and strategies until I was exhausted.
Before taking my leave, I glanced over at the adar.
“Delph, that adar —”
“Dad’s been having no end of trouble with the durn thing,” he grumbled.
“What kind of trouble?”
Delph would not meet my eye. “Saying things we got no idea where he heard ’em. Dad says some adars have minds of their own, they do.”
“But adars can’t naturally stutter, can —”
“Gotta go, Vega Jane.”
And then he disappeared into his cottage and closed the door tight.
NEXT LIGHT, I rose early. I wanted to get out of Wormwood proper before other Wugs got up.
As Harry Two and I walked down the cobblestones, we passed an old Wug I didn’t know but had seen before. He glared at me and aimed a slop of spit at my boot. I hopped away and kept going, my head down. Obviously, word had gotten around about my arrest and sentencing to fight in the Duelum. It might be that the entire village loathed me now, although it was hard to fathom that Wugs could turn against me so quickly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roman Picus coming down the cobblestones. I braced myself for his insults and slurs. But he did something that bruised me even more. He pulled down his hat and cut between two buildings, apparently so he would not have to talk to or perhaps be seen with me.
As I passed the Loons, Hestia Loon stepped out to put some rubbish in the dustbin. I tried not to make eye contact, but she called out, “Vega?”
I stopped, fearing the worst. Hestia had always been nice to me, but she was under Loon’s thumb completely. I eyed the broom in her hand and wondered if she was going to take a swat at me.
“Yes?” I said quietly.
She walked over, gave Harry Two a pat and said, “’Tis a beautiful canine.”
My spirits lifted a bit at her kind words. “Thank you. His name is Harry Two.”
She glanced up at me, her features hardening. “It’s rubbish, what they’re saying ’bout you. Know that as well as I know me own frying pan.”
I felt my face grow warm and moisture crept into my eyes. I hastily rubbed this away and continued to stare at her.
She looked over her shoulder back at the Loons and came forward, drawing something from her pocket. She held it up. It was a little chain with a metal disc on the end.
“Me mum gave this to me when I was but a nipper. For good luck, they say.” I looked at her in confusion. She hurried on. “Luck, for in the Duelum. Heard you had to fight. Bloody mental Council is, ask me, but no Wug did.” She gripped my hand and placed the good luck charm in it and curled my fingers over it.
“You take this, Vega Jane. You take this and you beat them males. I know you can do it. Bloody Outliers! Like you’d be helping them, and your grandfather being Virgil Alfadir Jane. Bloody mental, that’s what they are. Barmy, the lot of ’em.”
She looked down at my thin, dirty frame, and I saw her heavy cheeks start to quiver. “Give me a mo’,” she said.
She nipped into the Loons and was back a half sliver later with a small cloth bag. She handed it to me. “Just between us,” she said and gave my cheek a pinch. Then she was gone.
I looked in the bag and saw a loaf of freshly baked bread, two apples, a jar of pickles and a wedge of cheese and two sausages. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of devouring it.
I looked at the charm she had given me. The disc of metal was copper and had the image of a star with seven points to it. I lifted it over my head, and the chain settled around my neck. I stared back at the Loons and found Hestia peering at me from a window. She disappeared quickly when she saw me looking.