Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(80)
“Be careful,” I whisper, though I know he’s already gone. Chessie’s warmth under my hair offers a small comfort.
I pass a cluster of fountains. An odd assortment of creatures play handcrafted musical instruments, composing haunting songs on pumpkin drums, celery guitars, and flutes made of river reeds. Glowing sprites spin in the air and perform aerial ballets, using the spouting water to propel them upward. They screech as the water changes to a haze of steam that boils their bare flesh. Breaking free, they scramble for the edges of the fountains and whimper, nursing their blisters. The bestial spectators beside me laugh and shout slurred encouragements, as if intoxicated by the violence. The steam turns back to liquid, and the sprites mount the water sprays once more. The tiny netherlings must be driven by a compulsion to seek out pain, for they continue until their bodies are so damaged, they die and turn to piles of ash.
I fight my fascination and turn away.
Everywhere I look, similar gruesome sports and sadistic games take place. In one corner, inside an open tent, feline creatures covered in scales with serpentine faces and forked tongues walk on all fours along high wires strung over a flaming pit. Their tender paws sizzle across the searing metal and the noxious scent of scorched scales fills the air. Again, I notice piles of ash where prior participants died.
“Faster!” a woolly creature with moss sprouting from his ears yells from below. “No *footing! Give us a show!” The participants yowl and cry, yet still limp back into line to go again as soon as they leap down.
Inside another tent, contenders take turns crawling through a trench filled with beetles whose exoskeletons are shiny, silver, and as sharp as double-edged razor blades. Though each player is sliced and bleeding by the end, they don’t hesitate to return for another bout.
Clenching my teeth against an unsettling urge to walk barefoot through the trench myself, I make my way toward the center of the yard, where reptilian guards roll in two clear, glassy balls—each one big enough to house a garden shed—and hoist them with ropes and pulleys onto the skeletal roller-coaster frames I saw earlier. The guards lock them in place on steep inclines that will launch the spheres into the thirty-story drops. The image reminds me of the marble runs Jeb used to make with his dad, only these are to scale.
A crowd gathers and grows restless for the event. I stay in the back, curious, but keep my eyes open for any sign of the Queen of Hearts. With a glance to assure no one’s looking, I tug on Chessie’s tail, the signal for him to set off on his search for Nikki. He’s supposed to find her and come back to me. He flitters away, using the shadows for cover.
A tall man, built like a Greek god and wearing only black satiny pants that hug every muscle, climbs a ladder to the top of the wooden incline. He steps to the edge of the giant frame. Instead of bare feet, he has silvery hooves, although his hands are humanoid.
His smooth skin shines like copper—a severe contrast to his pale blue eyes. Thick white hair grows from his head, along the nape of his neck, and down between his shoulder blades like a horse’s mane. A swirling nine-inch silver horn curves out above the bridge of his aquiline nose, centered between white eyebrows.
He’s gorgeous. And he’s obviously in charge.
Manti. I edge closer to the noisy crowd. He’s the best lead to find Hart and Red.
“Any one of you who wishes to challenge me for the king’s throne . . .” His voice, deep and dulcet, silences the murmurings. “This is your chance.” He holds up a golden crown and smiles, teeth canine-sharp and blinding white.
Someone stirs in the crowd. A lion creature, walking on two legs like a man, raises his fisted paw in the air. “I challenge thee!” he roars. His golden fur glistens in the soft light as two lantern-bearing guards escort him toward the ladder.
Once they’ve scaled to the top, the guards snap open transparent doors on the glass orbs so Manti and his opponent can climb into their spheres. Each guard drops in a small, fluffy creature from a box.
Although the animals look as adorable and benign as Pomeranian puppies, manticorn and lion alike bristle and back up, keeping a wary eye on their companions.
“Let the caucus race begin!” one of the guards shouts as the doors slam shut.
The crowd howls as the ramps click open, propelling the balls into play along the twisted run with a sound as loud as thunder. It doesn’t take long to realize why Manti and his opponent feared the addition of the tiny animals. The creatures have the ability to turn themselves wrong-side out and become nothing but teeth. Spatters of red appear on the insides of the orb, smearing as the occupants try to avoid the snapping torture. They’re stuck in a rotary fish tank with furry piranhas.
My netherling sensibility holds me captive, makes me hungry to watch. Each participant tries to stay balanced enough—in spite of being eaten alive and slipping in his own blood—to increase the momentum of his rolling ball and be the first to the end of the run.
Manti’s orb reaches the finish line, and he’s quickly dragged free while the still snapping inside-out puppy—saturated with blood—is shoved back into its box. Two guards help Manti stand, pouring something down his throat from a bottle. The gouges in his skin miraculously heal, leaving no scars.
The lion’s sphere comes to a stop and two other guards drag him free. He’s been gnawed so much, his fur is gone—leaving his whole body a raw gaping wound.
The spectators start to chant: “Take him apart! Show us the heart!”