Page 40 of Blue Arrow Island
“We’ll see.” I breeze over the words. “I’ve known people like you before, who talk big. But they’re almost always all dick and no balls.”
This time, it’s not just Keira who snickers, but also one of Marcelle’s friends. Marcelle shoots her a death glare and then gets up and walks away, her reeds still in hand.
Keira nudges me with her elbow. I look up and she gives me a nod of approval, whispering, “Good job.”
I shouldn’t have said anything. But there aren’t many pleasures here on Blue Arrow Island, and I enjoyed that. A lot.
The circle is made up of rocks, each of them a little larger than a coconut, stacked side by side to form a circle that’s about thirty feet in diameter.
That evening, as I walk into the clearing near the beach where the circle is, it’s the outer ring around the rocks that grabs my attention.
It’s dusk, so everything is cast in shadow. At first, I thought the larger ring was made from driftwood. But my breath catches in my throat when I see what it really is.
It’s made of human bones. Hundreds of them. I make out femurs, skulls, partial rib cages and shoulder blades, all packed into a tight outer ring.
A bonfire roars in the center of the circle, its dancing flames casting flickering light over the human remains. These must be the bodies of everyone who has died here. I’m shocked by how many there are.
If the point of this place is to build an army, soldiers killing each other seems counterproductive.
Spectators are still coming in to line the circle, some of them carrying tall, primitive wooden torches. Pax’s friend Luke stands on one side of me, another four I don’t know on my other side.
I can see Olin, but it wouldn’t be wise to talk to him in public. I’ve been hoping to get a minute alone with him since Rona told me what happened to him. But I have to be careful, because I don’t want to get him in trouble.
“He’s got this,” Luke says confidently. “Don’t worry.”
Do I seem worried? It would make things harder for me if Pax isn’t the one who walks away tonight, but I don’t feel fretful over it. Mostly, I’m morbidly fascinated by this pointless ritual.
Some species of animals, like kangaroos, fight to the death over mates. But it’s their innate biological drive to perpetuate their genes that makes them do that.
This is different. It almost seems like entertainment, the expressions of the onlookers lit with anticipation. Many people used mud to make war symbols on their faces, chests and arms, most of them just looking like lines. All the men are shirtless.
Everyone turns and I do, too. Virginia is approaching from the beach, a torch in hand. Pax is behind her, dark streaks painted across his cheeks and chest. Anders is next, the lines drawn on his face looking like dried blood.
The crowd around the circle parts as Virginia approaches the circle. She stands aside just outside the ring, Pax and Anders both stepping over the piled bones and rocks to enter.
Pax gazes at the spectators, his eyes stopping when they land on me. He holds me in a stare for a few seconds, my heart racing and my core aching.
How does he do that? A thrill passes through me at the thought of what he’s about to do.
I close my eyes and look away, sending my mind somewhere else.
The types of plant tissue are dermal, vascular, ground, and meristematic. A plant cell structure has ten parts.
“Rising Tide, give your full attention to the circle.” Virginia has backed away from the edge of the circle, now standing on top of a wooden box someone brought. “Anders has called Commander Thatcher into the circle. The rules must be followed. No one else may enter the circle, no weapons may enter the circle, and neither person may leave the circle until confirming the other is dead.”
She’s naturally authoritative, her tone commanding and her expression unflinching. The crowd is silent, everyone’s full attention on Virginia.
“Anders, do you have anything to say before we begin?” she asks crisply.
He’s average height, his lean body taut with muscle and his dark hair shaved. Tattoos and scars cover his chest and arms, one of the scars a jagged pink line running from the top of his nose down to his jaw.
“I’m here to say what most of us are thinking.” Anders’s voice booms, waves crashing and birds calling in the background. “This place needs new leadership.”
There’s a collective gasp. Pax stands about ten feet away from Anders, looking unfazed. He’s using one hand to massage the other, working his thumb over his palm and knuckles.
“We’re all starving!” Anders continues. “And they don’t even care! We spend too much time training and not enough hunting and gathering. It’s gonna catch up to all of us real fucking soon. There won’t even be enough for the kids.” His expression darkens and his voice rises. “I’m not selfish! I’m not just looking out for myself. I want better for every single one of you!” He points at the onlookers. “We’repeople. We have needs and wants. We deserve more than this!”
Virginia cuts in before he can continue. “Anders, we’ve heard you. Commander Thatcher, do you have anything to say?”
