Rift in the Sky

“What are ‘pox’?” Aryl asked, leaning forward herself. The free portion of her hair, well mannered till now, slipped forward to twine possessively over Enris.

“Pox? Attitude with teeth,” the Human female replied, looking startled—enhanced by black-and-white stripes coursing over her skin—then intrigued. “How do you do that? An implant? I must know.” She waved a length of lifeless black curl under Enris’ nose.

She might not remember her own past, but Aryl found she knew more than she expected about Humans. For one, a female’s hair remained the same, Chosen or not. “You’re incapable,” she said sympathetically.

“I’m—you piece of crasnig crust! Don’t you know who I am?!”

Irritating? Aryl restrained herself. “No. Who are you?”

Surrounded by an unflattering blaze of yellow dots, the Human’s bright blue lips flapped without sound coming out. That was entertaining, Aryl decided, but probably not a good sign.

“Look! Are those pox?” Enris interrupted with an air of desperation.

Balls of harmless-looking brown fluff were launching themselves—or being pushed—from the holes. They dropped on the sand, where they huddled in terrified-seeming clumps. A loud whistle from overhead drew everyone to press close, talking excitedly. Many slapped palms to black trays being passed around by the multi-armed servers. Each time, the black flashed a symbol in silver.

And each time the black sparkled, one of the pox did, too, only its silver symbol remained in place, hovering above its fur.

Aryl reached out to try for herself, but under her palm, the black turned a dull gray. The server shook its doleful head. “No credit, no wager.”

“Crasnig crust,” the female beside Enris repeated, her lip curled disdainfully. She slipped her arm into his, the skin of cheek and brow now flickering with cheerful pink-and-green spirals. “You’re better off with me, gorgeous. I could buy this place for you.”

Enris laughed. Aryl, too busy watching what was happening, missed his reply.

For a tall, thin door had opened at one end of the pit. At the same time, a bell rang out, loud enough to be heard over the hammering drums and din of voices. The pox stilled and oriented themselves to the opening.

Through which was shoved a—Aryl frowned. The bulky big-eyed creature with flopping ears and large back feet seemed completely harmless, unless it sat on the much smaller pox. If this was a contest of some kind, she couldn’t see the point of it.

The creature lumbered forward, awkward in the sand. The surrounding pox shifted to face it, trembling in place. Those watching began to shout, as if exhorting some effort.

Their quarry wasn’t among them. Let’s look over there, Aryl sent. She tried to turn away, only to find a solid wall of beings behind them. Enris, his other arm encrusted with Human female, half shrugged.

We’ll have to wait till this is over.

Aryl shared her frustration.

The shouts intensified. The fluff on the pox flattened against their bodies, revealing them to be long and thin, with small eyes, heavy jaws, and protruding yellow teeth. The symbols glittered above each, like bizarre decorations. Suddenly, the pox were in motion. As one, they scurried at the creature, kicking up little clumps of sand in their haste. Almost too quickly to see, they were on it, climbing, biting, eating.

Aryl watched in horror as the bigger creature bawled its torment. It reared and struggled, but any pox it dislodged jumped back. Tufts of fur filled the air like snow. Blue blood streamed from each bite.

Some pox weren’t biting, but instead climbed the creature’s back and sides, their target the eyes. They bickered as they climbed, snapping and pushing. Often they’d lock jaws and fall to roll in the sand. When one of those went limp, its symbol disappeared and someone among the spectators would cry out with disappointment.

The creature threw itself against the walls, tried to shake off its tormentors, but the pox gripped with their teeth. It wouldn’t last long.

Nothing should have to face the swarm.

Aryl didn’t stop to think. She threw herself over the rail, her longknife finding targets before her feet hit the bloody sand. The pox were slow to react, intent on their prey. They died with a little squeal, as if surprised, their symbols winking out. She slashed one way, then used the side of the blade to send a pox against the wall with a most satisfying crack.

They were slow to react, but more and more began to notice her, reoriented, scurried her way. Making it easier to smack them. Aryl bared her teeth.

Enris landed beside her, his boots squashing several pox. “This is not—” he said calmly, stomping another, “—one of your better ideas. The people up there aren’t happy.”