Black Water Page 17

  The klee who had chosen me stepped into the circle. He looked me up and down, smiled in satisfaction, and nodded. He walked to the gar who was cowering in the dirt and gave him a sharp kick. The gar whined in pain, but didn’t move. The klee faced the assembled audience and said, “Make your wagers.”

  Instantly the klees started chattering with one another. It was slowly dawning on me that this was going to be some kind of contest between us gars. I had no idea what it would be, but I had to believe that I was the favorite. I was in much better shape than the poor gar who was balled up on the ground. I was pretty sure I was smarter, too. However, I couldn’t help but think about the two other gars who had been pulled out of the cell. One came back full of blood, the other never came back. Gulp.

  “What’s the contest?” I asked the klee.

  Everyone grew quiet and stared at me. None could believe that a gar would speak that way to a klee. I was beyond caring.

  “You can win your freedom,” the klee in the circle answered.

  “How?” I asked.

  Something was thrown down in the dirt between me and the other gar. I looked at it, and my stomach dropped. It was a knife. But no ordinary knife. It was a three-pronged knife made from the talons of a tang. The blades were long and thin, and looked just as sharp as when they were still attached and used to attack helpless gars.

  “One gar leaves the ring . . . free,” the klee said with an evil smile. “The other dies.”

  Before I had the chance to process that sickening piece of information, the gar who a moment before had been curled up like a sick puppy, dove for the tang knife and held it up, ready for action.

  “Forgive,” the gar said.

  The klee jumped out of the circle and the gar jumped at me.

  The fight was on.

  JOURNAL #17

  (CONTINUED)

  EELONG

  I dodged out of the way and the gar’s knife thrust missed me by inches.

  If I wanted my freedom, I’d have to kill this gar. Yeah right. Like I could do that. I’d never thrown a punch in anger in my entire life, let alone stabbed somebody to death! But if I didn’t do something drastic, and fast, the gar would kill me. From the way he attacked, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t faced with the same moral dilemma I was. It was a no-win situation. For me, anyway.

  The gar stumbled a few steps but kept his balance. He whipped the knife back toward me, sweeping the air, barely missing. I backed off to the far side of the ring, trying to buy some time so I could figure out what to do. The klees were cheering. This was all sorts of fun for them. “Fight! Fight!” they yelled, and pushed me back toward the gar. I was the favorite, after all. There must have been a lot of bets down on me. The gar now faced me, holding the knife low. His knees were bent, looking for an opening, ready to attack. I circled away, making sure to keep him in front of me. His eyes were wild. For him, this was about survival. I had no doubt he’d kill me.

  He lunged again, knife first. I dove the other way, but the gar slashed at me as we crossed. The blades raked three slices into the front of my shirt. My adrenaline was pumping so hard I had no idea if he’d cut my skin. Some klees cheered, others booed. I’m sure I was disappointing those who bet on me. Tough.

  The gar was breathing hard. That was good. It meant I was in better shape than he was. I felt sure that if the fight lasted much longer, he’d burn out. That was my best chance. I had to tire the gar out until he couldn’t attack anymore and then, and then, and then what? There was no way I could kill him. The gar slashed the knife back and forth, cutting nothing but air. He wasn’t much of a fighter. The klees who bet on me saw it too. Their boos turned to cheers. The gar charged. I dodged him like a toreador dodges a bull. The gar stumbled and fell to his knees. A few klees picked him up, turned him around, and pushed him back toward me.

  The gar was out of gas. Spittle flew from his nose and mouth as he gasped for air. I think he was crying, too. He made another run at me. I dodged out of the way easily, but this time I ducked down, swept my leg in front of him, and tripped the guy up. He stumbled and crashed to the ground. I jumped on him, trying to pin his arm and get the knife. But this was a wild animal. When he realized he was being attacked, he dug down deep into some primal well and found the strength to shrug me off. The move totally surprised me. I was thrown off his back and landed flat on my own. A second later I found myself staring up at a knife that was slicing the air on its way toward my neck.

  But I had a little animal instinct as well. I rolled out of the way and the knife stabbed the ground right where my head had been. I scrambled to my knees and quickly moved to tackle the gar before he could pull it out of the ground. But with his free hand the gar backhanded me in the mouth with surprising strength. The punch landed me on my back again, blood dripping from my mouth. The gar was back in charge. He yanked the knife out of the ground and came in for the kill.

  I stopped thinking. It wasn’t like I meant to or anything; it’s just that my reflexes took over. Good thing, because it saved my life. Up until then I had been all tactical in trying to figure out a way to beat the gar and save myself without either of us being killed. But there was something about the combination of fear, pain, and impending death that made me stop reasoning and click into survival mode. I was flat on my back and vulnerable. The gar charged, the knife held high, ready to kill. He leaped for me, and I instinctively threw up my leg. My foot caught him square in the chest, and I flipped him over my head. The surprised gar did a full end-o and landed flat on his back. When he hit the ground I heard him let out a pained “oof.” The fall knocked the wind out of him. I quickly flipped over and went for his knife hand. The gar was gasping for air and didn’t have a chance. I jammed my knee onto his outstretched arm and his hand went slack. He released the knife. I grabbed it.

  The klees cheered. At least the klees who bet on me, anyway. I clutched the knife and brought it toward the neck of the gar. Another cheer went up. They sensed the kill. I held the knife there, ready to slash it across his neck and save my life. It was something I never thought I could do, but the heat of battle and the fear of my own death turned me into something else. Something primal. I was an animal whose only concern was survival. I was a gar.

  That’s when I heard a familiar laugh. It cut through my insane haze, forcing me to look up. Standing among the cheering klees was Timber, the cat who was Saint Dane. All the cats around him were cheering wildly, coaxing me to cut the throat of the gar. But Saint Dane was calm. It was like everything had gone to slow motion, except for Saint Dane and me.

  “This is your way out, Pendragon,” he said calmly. “Kill him and you’ll be free.”

  This was the opportunity Saint Dane told me about. I had to kill this gar to save myself.

  “Kill him,” Saint Dane said. “It’s not difficult.”

  His words triggered something in me. Maybe it was because I had won and was no longer scared. Maybe the adrenaline was wearing off. Or maybe I realized that if I followed through, I would forever be a killer . . . just like Saint Dane. That truth brought me right back into my own head. I grasped the knife tighter, kept eye contact with Saint Dane . . . and backed away from the gar. A second later all hell broke loose as the klees charged into the ring. In the brief moment before that happened, I saw the smug smile fall from Saint Dane’s cat face. I wasn’t a killer and there was no way he was going to turn me into one.

  Score one for me. I had just beaten Saint Dane in this small battle.

  Then came the riot. The klees jumped into the ring, angered that I had ruined their show. There was all sorts of pushing and shoving. It was a blur of fur and fury as they argued over how the bets should be paid off. I felt the tang knife pulled out of my hand, then felt a strong, furry arm wrap around my waist and pull me out of the scrum. I was too exhausted to do anything but go along for the ride. The strong cat pulled me out of the mess while fighting off klees who were grabbing at me. Once we were clear, I finally looked to see who
my savior was.

  It was Kasha.

  “Leave him be!” a klee yelled at Kasha. “He’s ours!”

  Kasha stopped and squared off against the others. “He’s not!” she snarled back. “Durgen had no right to sell him.”

  “Then where’s our value?” another klee shouted. “We paid for him.”

  “You had him long enough and he gave you a good fight,” Kasha yelled back. “He owes you nothing more.”

  “But he didn’t kill the gar!” the first klee argued. “The fight isn’t over.”

  Kasha took a threatening step toward the other klees. “The fight is over,” she snarled viciously. “Unless you want to enter the circle with me.”

  The klees exchanged nervous looks. Nobody wanted to mess with Kasha.

  “Durgen won’t like this,” the klee said.

  “You say that like I should care,” Kasha spit back sarcastically.

  The klees shrugged and backed off. “Just letting you know, is all,” one of them said.

  Kasha watched them to make sure they weren’t going to come after me, then looked to me. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m alive,” I answered. “Where have you been?”

  “What? I get no thanks for saving you?”

  “Thanks. Where have you been?”

  “You need food,” she said. “Come with me.” She held out a leash for me to slip over my wrists.

  “Not a chance,” I said, and walked off.

  Kasha didn’t argue. She dropped the leash and we walked, together, back toward her home. I was weak and hungry and a little wobbly on my feet, but it didn’t matter. I had my freedom and I didn’t have to kill a gar to get it. For all I knew, being sent to that prison and starved and mistreated was all a Saint Dane-orchestrated setup to get me to kill a gar. If so, it failed. The nightmare was over.

  As we walked I saw that the prison was next to the zenzen corral. We walked through the animal enclosure, passing several of the multijointed horses, who were kept in much nicer conditions than the gars, I might add. Being outside for the first time in a month made me appreciate how truly beautiful Leeandra was. Heck, anyplace would have looked beautiful compared to that gar hole.

  “We tried to rescue you sooner,” Kasha finally said, but it was more of a statement than an apology. “It was impossible. Durgen has many friends among the handlers.”

  “You should have tried harder,” I said bitterly.

  “Should I?” Kasha snapped. “You forget why you were there in the first place. It was because I chose to save your life instead of a klee. Now I’ve saved your life twice. But instead of thanks, you criticize.”

  I wanted to argue, but didn’t think it would help.

  Kasha added, “We couldn’t even get close to you. We had to wait until they brought you out to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to say it.

  “To get killed,” I said, finishing the sentence. “Why do they keep gars in prison like that? It’s beyond cruel.”

  “It’s not a prison,” she corrected. “Prisons are for klees. You were in a stable.”

  “Whatever,” I answered angrily. “They treat gars worse than animals. Why? So they can have their little bloodsport?”

  “No,” Kasha answered. “Gars have many uses.”

  “Like?”

  “Like working to keep Leeandra operating by clearing the water pipes and replacing power crystals above the trees. The handlers train some for wippen tournaments; or to help blind klees who can’t get around on their own. Some go into homes as servants or perform acrobatics in shows for young klees. If a gar doesn’t show a particular talent, but is loving, a handler can train them to be excellent pets. Gars are very important to Leeandra.”

  “And some are used to kill each other to amuse the handlers,” I added. “Or to feed tangs to protect the foragers.”

  Kasha didn’t comment.

  “Bottom line is, the gars are your slaves,” I said. “The klees treat them as totally disposable creatures who do all your dirty work. It’s wrong, Kasha, and the thing is, you know it. I saw you save that gar in the jungle when I first got here. You’re not the hard case you pretend to be.”

  “There are many things I don’t agree with,” she said softly. “I still see all sides.”

  We walked in silence for a while. I then asked, “Has Seegen turned up?”

  Kasha didn’t answer, which meant that the Traveler from Eelong was still missing. I was beginning to worry that he might never come back, which would spin my situation into a whole ‘nother, scary direction. We didn’t say another word for the rest of the walk. I wanted to stay angry at Kasha, but didn’t have the energy. If they couldn’t rescue me sooner, I had to accept that. Besides, I was too relieved to be out to stay mad at anybody. Except for Saint Dane, that is.

  When we got to her home, Kasha gave me some fresh clothes (rags) and allowed me to use the running water in her bathroom to clean up. It was an incredible feeling to shower off the crud that had been building up for the last month. I felt like a snake shedding its skin. Once the filth was gone, I took a look at my body to see I had lost a ton of weight. I actually had a six pack for the first time in my life, but it wasn’t because I was in shape, it was because there was no fat to cover the muscle. I looked totally cut . . . but felt horrible. I couldn’t look at myself anymore; it was too depressing. I quickly put on my new, clean rags and joined Kasha in the main room of her tree house.

  I was overwhelmed to see that while I was washing, she made me a feast. There was a roasted bird, bowls brimming with fresh, nonmoldy fruit, and round loaves of dark brown bread.

  “Don’t eat too fast,” she warned. “Your system isn’t used to it.”

  Tough. I was starved. I sat down and did my best not to be a total pig, but the more I ate, the more I wanted. I chowed, only stopping long enough to let out a belch that felt like it came up from my toes. After that I dug right back in. Kasha stayed in the kitchen, allowing me to enjoy my meal in peace. It didn’t take long before I was totally stuffed. I actually didn’t eat all that much because I think my stomach had shrunk down to the size of a walnut. There was still a tableful of food left over when I had to call it quits. I thought of forcing myself to puke, just so I could do it all over again, but realized that would have been idiotic. Not to mention rude. So I sat back and enjoyed the sensation of a full belly for the first time in a long time.

  “I fear for my father,” Kasha said. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Boon and Yorn have been taking turns watching that tunnel in the tree.”

  “The flume,” I said.

  “They are convinced he will somehow magically appear there,” she said. “I don’t share their optimism.”

  Kasha sat across from me at the table. For the first time since I’d met her, she seemed unsure. She wanted answers, and I sensed that she might finally be willing to listen to what I had to say. I may have been a lowly gar, but if it meant finding out what happened to her father, she would listen.

  “Believe it or not,” I began, “I know how you feel. My life used to be normal. I had a great family; I liked my school; I had excellent friends—it was about as close to perfect as you can get. But I also had an uncle Press. One day he showed up and told me I had to leave home because people needed my help. It didn’t take long for me to find out my life wasn’t as normal as I thought.”

  “And where is this Uncle Press now?” Kasha asked.

  I quickly realized I had gone down the wrong road. But I had to answer truthfully. “He’s, uh, he’s dead.”

  That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Bad move, Bobby. Kasha stood and paced anxiously. It was odd how I couldn’t hear her feet making sounds on the floor, but after all, she was a cat.

  “I don’t know how to say this in a good way,” she began.

  “Just say it,” I coaxed her.

  “All right. I don’t care. I really don’t. All this talk of Travelers and territories and evil demo
ns is nonsense, and it’s ruined my father’s life. He was respected. He was about to be named to the Council of Klee! But once he found that tunnel in the tree, he changed. He became obsessed with this foolish mission. It consumed his life. And Yorn encouraged him! I tried to get him to see reason, but instead he told me that one day I would have to take his place. I turned to my best friend, Boon, to help me talk sense to him. But instead of helping me, Boon got sucked into the ridiculous fantasy as well. They amuse themselves with tales of battles on other worlds, while ignoring the real problem facing Eelong.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “We’re starving,” she said bluntly. “The klee population is growing quickly. The number of gars is growing as well. Our ability to grow food crops isn’t keeping up with the demand. All the fertile land has been overfarmed for generations. We can’t even maintain the level we’re used to, let alone increase it. The meal I just prepared for you is a feast that would normally be stretched to feed an entire family of klees for several days. If we don’t find a way to turn this around, quickly, our civilization will begin to starve to death. So forgive me if I don’t care to chase an evil demon through time and space, when my own home is on the edge of catastrophe.”

  “Kasha,” I said softly. “That’s exactly why you have to worry about Saint Dane. He goes to territories, uh, worlds that are reaching a critical time. Like the food shortage here on Eelong. That’s perfect for him. He’s using it as an excuse to get the klees to start killing gars. Right now, he’s on the Council of Klee, trying to get them to repeal Edict Forty-six. Who knows where it will go from there?”

  Kasha shot me a look. “There are no gars on the Council of Klee.”

  “That’s because he’s taken the form of a klee named Timber,” I said. But even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew Kasha wouldn’t believe them. Heck, if I hadn’t seen Saint Dane transform myself, I wouldn’t believe it either. I decided to change the subject before I lost her.