A stand of bandages and water stood ominously to the side, and Anoor wondered if she would need them. Even if she lost and someone else managed to make her bleed first, she doubted they’d pause to patch her up before sending her to the rack.
She heard her own bones popping in her mind. The joints being pulled apart with her mother at the lever. She shook the image free.
The podium stood to her right. The sound projector was ready for Uka to start the final trial. Their metal thrones were empty. A Ghosting appeared behind one, making Anoor jump, her shriek echoing through the empty seats that rippled outward for infinity. The Ghosting was using a polishing cloth on the metal arms, making the metal gleam silver. They looked like runeguns in holsters.
Anoor exhaled, exhaustion settling into her bones. A whole night without sleep before the most important fight of her life.
Anoor placed her helmet on one of the benches and began her vigil.
She closed her eyes, kept her breathing steady. She emptied her mind of the chaos of the day and found the quiet rage within. Keeping her breathing steady, she moved through the Nuba formations.
A bird called overhead. Its caw broke through her thoughts.
One strike passed.
Sweat trickled down her neck as she moved fluidly through the slow movements. She could hear someone approaching, someone she knew. She knew the lilt of their walk, knew the breath that filled their lungs, the lips that spoke her name. She kept her eyes closed, retaining her balance in Nuba formation four. Back bent, right leg extended, hands pointing downward.
“Anoor.”
Still Anoor refused to acknowledge Sylah.
“Anoor, please look at me.”
“Have the Sandstorm sent you to finish me off?” Anoor’s balance was waning; she readjusted.
“Anoor, I would never hurt you.”
“Too late,” Anoor murmured. “How did you find me?” She moved into formation five. Chest up, back arched, left leg bent over the right.
“The Ghostings.”
Anoor nodded. Of course, the Ghosting cleaning had told Hassa.
“Then, I…I knocked out the officer…who I think is like your biggest fan or something. He really didn’t want to let me past lest I ruin ‘your routine.’ ” Sylah huffed out a laugh, but Anoor could tell it was forced.
Nuba formation six. Torso twisted, hands meeting behind the shoulder blades, neck rotating to the sky, right foot flexed off the ground.
“Anoor, I found out many things tonight. You can bloodwerk?”
“I could always bloodwerk.” She’d just never told Sylah. She refused to feel guilty for the omission.
Sylah didn’t reply for a moment, affronted by the truth as she was.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Anoor wanted to laugh. The irony of Sylah’s words must have struck her too as she rushed on. “Ghostings can bloodwerk too. In fact, Ghostings taught the Embers to bloodwerk.” Sylah was babbling. “The empire, the ruins, it’s all theirs. This land is the Ghostings’. The Ending Fire never happened.”
Anoor fell from her pose. Sylah tried to help her up, but Anoor shrugged her off.
“What?” Anoor looked at her for the first time. She was a mess. She was still wearing the silver dress from the night before, the slit frayed from where she had ripped it. She wore no shoes and yet seemed not to notice, despite the welts and blisters that covered her feet. She was a sorry sight but one Anoor was still glad to see despite herself.
Sylah looked around her, confirming the arena was as empty as when she entered, but still she lowered her voice and told Anoor all she had learned. The explanation that followed shook Anoor to the core.
“We have to go, don’t you see? This is our way out. We can help the Ghostings and save ourselves.”
Anoor picked up the sword from the bench behind Sylah and examined the blade, looking at her reflection. What she saw gave her courage.
“No.”