CHAPTER 70

Red Harbor spreads from the keep like a puddle pinpointed with lights. The first time I was in the city proper I was feverish and ill, too weak to walk and forced to sate my curiosity on the meager fare of Reva’s descriptions. Later, when I did get the chance to visit the alleyways, Godtouched tried to rob me and Medrein, perhaps even to kill us.

Now, not long after but a lifetime ago, past the craziness of the early phases of the Challenge, the Harbor strikes me mostly for its liveliness. Even though the hour is late, far later than revelry extends in Reach, people still walk about like it’s full day, some aimed for the taverns, others coming back from them, unsteady on their feet, and others still on business, carrying packages and hawking diverse wares.

I’m a thousand miles away from the child who could only stand back and watch while his father faced the robbers head on, but I still feel trepidation when Gedden leads me away from the well-illuminated avenue and into a crooked and narrow alley.

“Where are we going?” I ask Gedden’s back.

“You’ll see,” he answers casually.

He strides with the confidence and purpose of a man who knows the world owes him. It’s almost imperceptible, but his movements have grown more and more Godtouched-like ever since he arrived in the city. A man, Untouched and drunk, bumps into him. He raises bleary, red shot eyes to Gedden’s face, a snarl on his lips, then stops, pales, apologizes profusely and stumbles away into the darkness.

“Gods. It’s like he saw death itself.”

“Were I someone else, he might have,” Ged answers.

“I thought guilds frowned on wanton murder.”

“They do. Which is why you phrase it as self-defense if you’re caught. Really, some of the people in the guild, you’d be pardoned to think they were Reavers.”

“Reavers?” I ask. Subtly, I’m trying to copy Ged’s stance. The careless roll of the shoulders, the swing of the arms, the chest puffing out. It’s harder than it looks, but the fire in my heart purrs approvingly at the display of power.

“Ah—” he hesitates. “A guild for the guildless. The losers when the new world order was installed. Vicious, vicious losers.”

“You’re speaking gibberish.”

Ged sighs.

“You know how the Black Sword guild rules the land? Valkas’ particular style of a mock government sort-of-but-not-really concealing a hive of corruption, just barely stopping Godtouched from killing whoever they like?”

I make a noise of noncommitting acceptance. As far as I’m concerned, the rules in place more easily lead to sanctioned tyranny than order and justice, mocking or not.

“If the Reavers were in charge, the land would be charred black, and everyone would be dead. First they were just the people no one wanted to associate with, and then they started attracting rejects and bottom-feeder. Along the way they developed some… weird beliefs.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird as in they think this is all a game, and they don’t believe they should restrain themselves when dealing with Untouched,” Ged says drily. He looks at me over his shoulder, shaking his head. “They got kicked out to fend for themselves for good reason. Now they haunt the far North, where there’s no one they can hurt.”

Someone who’s even more unhinged than regular Godtouched?

“And you’re saying some Black Sword members are like that?” I ask.

“I’m saying that when you’re immortal there’s a piece of you that can’t help but wonder,” Gedden says slowly. “What if I just let go?” He looks over his shoulder again, a quick glance before he wipes the conversation away with a flick of his wrist.

The conversation about distant horrors and the depths that Godtouched will descend to has lent the shadowy alley a subtle eeriness. I watch the darker patches and momentarily forget to keep my back straight, my face uncaring. Like I’m immortal.

“Ged,” I say. “Where are we going?”

“Just a little farther ahead,” he answers. “Quick now.”

We’ve left the warmth of the avenues behind, and even the lit streets have given way to a dark, broken down, and twisting maze that turns unexpectedly and throws refuse in our way. Gedden keeps walking like he doesn’t just know the way but has actually traversed it many times with poor to no illumination. His pace is brisk and sure, and with every step I have the feeling he puts more distance between us.

Gedden makes an unexpected turn, and when I follow I only catch the hem of his jacket as he turns again. I run, seized by an unspeakable sense of foreboding, but when I reach the end of that alley I find the streets empty. I look one way then the other, finding nothing, not even cats moving among the shadows. The air is heavy with the smell of the sea, the tilting wooden buildings asleep in the dark night.

“In here!” a hiss.

A shape is standing past the limits of a rounded alcove. It moves, and a knock sounds on wood, followed by a scraping sound. A sliver of bright yellow light falls on Gedden’s face, illuminating it fully. And then a door opens, and the light spills out along with distant shouts and music.

“Ged! Long time!” says a husky voice.

“Hey, Vit,” says Ged. “Been otherwise busy. This here is Malco. Say hi to Vit, Malco.”

I approach. Vit is a portly woman, with strong, fat arms nearly completely blue with tattoos. She takes my hello with some puzzlement.

“Bit young, aren’t you?” she says in a clipped, quick accent. “I know you lot are always young, but you’re a special case.”

“My lot?”

“Your…” Vit’s brow creases as she realizes what’s amiss. “Oh, no. Ged, c’mon. You know the rules. ‘S Godtouched only. That’s the whole point.”

“Well, you’re here,” Gedden insists. “You’re not Godtouched, lovely as you are.”

“Yeah, but me and the girls are special cases, aren’t we?” Vit crosses her prodigious arms, presenting an unshakeable wall to Ged’s assault of charm. “Someone has to keep the undesirables out and serve you lot drinks.”

“Malco’s something of a special case too. Aren’t you, Mal?”

“I am?”

Ged’s smile is frozen in place as he nods meaningfully. Realizing my cue, I bring my hand up and Create a tiny flame on it, letting it wink out right before it hurts. Vit’s face doesn’t show the right sort of amazement. Her eyes have shrunk to the size of marbles, her skin has gone pale.

“You brought a Chamption to my doorstep? You asshole!” she hisses at Ged.

The door rotates on its axis, slamming with full force against Ged’s outstretched foot, the only thing stopping it from closing completely.

“Sanctioned Champion, Vit! Sanctioned!! You’re crushing my goddamn— Vit he’s the missing Challenger! MygoddamnfootVityou’recrushingit!”

The pressure eases. Vit’s distrustful eye peeks out.

“That true?”

“I am,” I say. “I left through the White Door.”

“you’re the right age, at least…” she says, unsure.

“Come on, Vit,” Ged’s face comes between ours. “He’s it, the real deal. Not some random Untouched hunted for his past exploits, the kid is newly minted. Please?”

The door opens. Vit steps aside.

“Go on in,” she says, arms resolutely crossed. “But if you give me trouble, Ged, I swear to the gods I’ll bury you up to your neck and leave you for the crabs.”

Gedden ignores the threat and walks in, limping a little. As I follow, Vit stops me with a strong hand and gives me a respectful nod.

“Good job, kid. Heard you had those bastards in the keep searching for ages.”

Her smile is bright and genuine, and it lights up her face like a candle on a windowsill.

Ged leads me down to the basement. We pass another two thick doors before the third opens into a large, open space. It’s not wooden like the rest of the buildings in this poor part of town, but of old stone, smoothed by time. A hearth is blazing on one side of the room. Right before it is the only square of space not taken up by tables or chairs. The room is packed to the brim, loud with conversation, with the whine of a lute filling in the gaps.

“Here is where the cool people come to hang,” Gedden yells in my ear.

They’re all Godtouched.

Grubbier and less distinct Godtouched, happier to knuckle down in the grime instead of dining fancy in the keep, but Godtouched all the same when you know what to look for. At the same time, it’s hard to believe that an entire host of Geds, Godtouched capable of blending in with Untouched, gets together to drink.

“Is this safe?” I ask.

“Safer than the keep, at the very least,” Ged answers with a smile. “Come on, let’s find a table.”

The place is packed, but Ged doesn’t aim for the tables. Instead he drags me to the counter and places a mug of beer in my hand, yelling at me to nurse it, not drink it. Then he just leans back and surveys the crowd, drawing large gulps from his own mug and taking up valuable space.

I have no clue what he’s waiting for, but I take the time to survey the crowd. There are definitely people I recognize here, but from where? The trial earlier, or maybe visits they made to Reach over the years? With my mug safe in front of me I watch them all warily, taking in the practical weapons and armor, the various conversations taking place and all mixing together into cacophony. Just then a discordant sound echoes in the small space and the lute, which I’d stopped noticing when it modulated itself so perfectly to the atmosphere, came to silence. Thunderous applause follows as each Godtouched stops what they were doing to clap at a stage I can’t see from the mass of people in front.

It gives me a strange feeling of discomfort seeing them like this, so vibrant, so alive, in another space that Untouched are not welcome in. They have the keep and the slums, the towers and the gutters. What’s left for us? The thought sinks in that I seem to be the only mortal person in the premises.

“Galling, isn’t it?”

I turn to find a man has sidled up next to me on the counter. His graying hair and droopy mustachios give him a hopelessly sad look, but the many-colored mantle on his shoulders is anything but, mixing yellows and bright blues, oranges and purples in a dissonant, but altogether pleasing look. I catch the tip of a lute peeking out from under the folds of his robe.

“Nice playing,” I yell back, for lack of anything else to say.

“Sure,” he nods, looking me up and down with grey eyes.

He’s little taller than me. For a moment, we stand there, shoulder to shoulder, while the multitude of Godtouched in the room resume their loud merrymaking. A shiver courses over my body as I look over at Ged, perfectly content to watch the room. Am I the only one not enjoying this?

“You’re not, you know,” the lute player says.

I give him a quizzical look.

“The only native in attendance,” he explains with a smile quick as a snake’s. “I have that honor also.”

“Did you read my thoughts?” I ask after some consideration.

“Wielding magic in my lowly position is a peril few bother with,” he answers.

“That’s not a no,” I insist.

He smiles again, lightning-like.

“Only a watchful eye and sense enough to read what’s written on a man’s face,” the man says. “That and following the news, Malco the Challenger.”

I look quickly away from him, drink from the mug to keep the distaste from showing in my eyes. Fame doesn’t suit me.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to come off like I was…”

“Here we go,” Ged says, placing a hand on my shoulder and interrupting the bard.

I follow his eyes to a table in the corner. It’s still occupied by a group I noticed before. They seem to get a wider berth than most, their heads a little closer together for a quieter conversation, but a man has extricated himself from the tight circle and is looking in our direction. As I watch, he waves, and Ged wades into the crowd with open arms.

“Hum. Really was nice hearing you,” I say, already half a step away, following Ged.

The bard holds my gaze for a steady second, and then nods, lifting his mug.

“Room for two more?” Ged asks when we near the circle of people.

They yell his name and quickly gather the extra seats for us. Ged introduces them, one by one, strange names that I promptly forget. Whoever they are, the noises of surprise they make when I say my name are something between astonished, overly drunk, and excited. A man with a decorative eyepatch asks me about the upcoming fight. It seems word has spread beyond the keep.

“Sorry, Loron,” Ged interrupts. “We’re not discussing strategy at this point.”

“Strategy? Man, you’re insane. You’re telling me you still think you’re gonna win?”

Loron’s position is echoed by others at the table. This group has clearly decided my fate already.

“Don’t listen to these losers, Mal,” Gedden says, all confidence and poise. “They’re the Giantsblood’s babies, and all that time spent by the pool being fanned by servants has taken its toll on their senses.”

Giantsblood? Trugnar Giantsblood?

“And you don’t disrespect the big man, Ged,” says woman who I’m sure has giant’s blood herself.

“Me? Wouldn’t dream of it. Just saying: you need to get out of the house more. The world is changing, boys and girls, and you’re getting left behind.”

Gedden sinks in his chair, looking at the cuff of his jacket and giving the buttons a polish. After a moment, Loron breaks the lull.

“You’re saying you know something. You have a trick up your sleeve.”

“He doesn’t have shit!” says the big woman.

“I don’t have shit,” Ged repeats, his smile wide, his eyes twinkling.

Loron looks like he’s about to stab him, but at the last second he turns to me.

“Kid, come on. Spill the beans.”

I shrug. Play it safe. Let Gedden work his magic.

“Full of shit!” the woman shouts.

“Goddamn you, Ged,” Loron sinks his head in his hands. When he looks up again his drunk, beady eyes focus unsteadily on my face.

“Could you defeat me? Not kill me for real, no,” he underlines that with a punch on the table. “But defeat me. Right here. Right now.”

Gedden remains at peace, sedately looking from me to the man, but the sudden tension in his legs tell me what’s really going through his mind.

The party continues outside our bubble. Inside, I let the silence linger for a beat, then another, while staring Loron in the eye, doing my best to live up to Ged’s example.

“Did you watch the Challenge?”

Mutters of assent course around the table, every pair of eyes focused on me along with Loron’s one.

“Then you saw me go through the White Door?”

Again, a chorus of yesses falls from half-open lips.

“How rare are your Archetypes?” I ask. The sudden turn in the conversation has many blink and gawp while their drunk minds catch up to the world.

“’s… Common, man,” Loron says, clearly the group’s most eloquent speaker. “They’re all Common. Godtouched don’t… we don’t get more than that.”

“All right,” I lift one finger on my hand. “After Common comes…”

“Uncommon,” says the giant woman. “I know that. That’s what Brawlers are. Trugnar once killed one.”

“Right!” I lift a second finger. “And after that?”

“Extra uncommon,” says a long-haired man dressed in forest green. Everyone laughs at the stupid joke.

“Rare,” Ged says softly.

I lift another finger.

“You’ve got a Rare Archetype, then?” Loron asks, eyes wide.

My smile climbs up the sides of my face, as confident as I can make it seem.

“What comes after Rare, Loron?”

He stares at me, dumbfounded.

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

I shrug, look at Ged, and he nods with all the calm in the world. Together, we get up.

“Sorry, gents, but it’s late I need my beauty sleep.”

“No, no, no!” Loron yells. “What rarity is it? You gotta tell us, man! No way you have an Epic Archetype!”

The shouting continues as me and Gedden proceed out the door. I take a final look over the crowd, catch the bard raising his mug in my direction, flashing his smile. We’re already climbing the stairs when Loron’s final shout follows us out, audible over the din and the doors, loud enough that Vit gives us a frown.

“I’ll kill you, Ged! If I lose money on this I’ll kill you for real!”

The night is cool and pleasant, and the alley seems perfect for a little walk before turning in. I don’t know what had me so worried on the way here. If anything, I notice, eyeing the way Ged unfurls, breathing hard out of his mouth.

“Goddamn it, Mal… That was killer.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t drag me to these things again without telling me where we’re going.”

I start walking. Ged runs after me, squeezes me in a side hug.

“You’re fuckin incredible. I was just coming to shake the waters a bit, parade you for the people. You know. But you! You blew that out of the water!”

His excitement is contagious. Almost enough to wipe away the fact that, no matter how many tricks we play, how many people we convince to bet on the wrong horse, I’m still fighting for my life in a scant few hours. And finding a way out of that is a trick I have yet to pull