“Hurry, Cain,” Luc says in soft warning.
What does he mean make a target? A creature? A thing? Like the dagger?
The tiger growls.
I growl back, and some of the tension in my chest releases. My nerves tingle. I focus on the tiger and think about what I’d do to defend myself, then to release this buildup of energy. My first thought is to shoot the creature if it charges, but then I imagine fighting it. Tackling it the way another tiger might. A stronger, larger, fiercer tiger in a showdown I might see in a documentary.
Another growl. But this one comes from beside me.
A second saber-toothed tiger—larger than Luc’s—flickers with extra tendrils of nightmist curling off its back. Did I create this?
My breathing slows. My anger and emotion settle into something calm. Cool. Detached. I glance at Luc.
He shakes his head with a half smile.
“You truly are amazing, Cain.” He says it the way a professor might. Impressed with my skill but still acknowledging that I’m not as skilled as he is.
I’m okay with that. I’m used to that. I’m not used to being the smart student. Yet here in Tenebra, I’m Icarus. I’m the guy who created wings on his first visit to the Arena. I’m the guy who killed a Spore and befriended the Emperor.
And now I just created a tiger. This is not like a spear or a dagger. Up here the battle of emotion has been far easier than when I’m in the Arena.
“How do I get rid of it?” I put plenty of distance between me and the nightbeasts, now that the two tigers eye each other instead of me.
“Ah, that’s the trouble. You don’t.” Luc gives a clucking sound to his tiger, and it lunges.
With one swipe of razor claws, it slices open the throat of my tiger. Mine falls to the ground dead, liquid shadow blood pulsing from its neck. Then Luc throws a dagger into the skull of his own tiger. It flumps to the ground. A stream of shadow blood comes from its temple.
I stare at the spot where my tiger lays. Killed before its first real fight. Before its first meal. Something feels rotten about the death of the nightbeast even though my mind formed it. It wasn’t real . . . right? Yet somehow I feel dishonorable.
No more than when I killed that girl.
I need to stop thinking about her. I need to stop letting that haunt me. According to Tenebran citizens I did a good thing. I was avenging Nole. Instead of a murderer I’m a Tenebran soldier—or tiro, or whatever—defending his people.
But they aren’t my people.
This isn’t my home.
And Nole would be ashamed of me.
I killed her because the Nightmare infected my emotions and took control of me. But even as I allow this thought in, I know I could have stopped myself. I could have stayed my hand and let her live. But I gave in. I gave in and I paid for it. Though no one else saw me this way, I will always know myself as a murderer.
Murder comes from the heart before it comes from the hands.
“Very good.” Luc sinks into a chair. He seems unnerved. “I expected an object—a cage, maybe. Or a whip. Not a living, breathing, nightbeast. How are you so advanced already, Cain?”
Nothing feels advanced to me. I still feel lost in this world, struggling to understand how its nightmist magic works.
“I wanted to be a Draftsman.”
He nods. “You would have been an excellent one. But now you get to do even more than a Draftsman could—instead of creating one world and pressing Play, you get to create as you go. The more you create, the easier it will get. And then you can get more complex. Your nightbeast was still a bit wavery. Commit to its creation. Don’t hold back your emotions.”
“My anger, you mean.”
“The faster you’re able to channel it into a creation, the less hold it will have on you.” He tosses me a small leather pouch. It plops halfway between us, victim of a weak throw. I cross the space and pick it up. The pouch clinks upon my grabbing it. Coins?
“Go treat yourself to something. A new sword, a nice meal . . .”
“A nice meal,” I say flatly. “It’s not like it affects my real body.”
“But your mind processes taste, hunger, satiation. And because food and drink are very much a part of this world, they will affect your Nightmare form the same as if you were in the Old World.”
I’m not ready to celebrate or revel. I still want answers. I need to find the Spores. But I don’t expect them to let me waltz in and ask a few questions. Not after I killed one of their own and not if they know I’m helping Luc.
I leave Luc’s training and venture into the coliseum proper. I take it in a bit more now that I’m not burning to death or overwhelmed with the New World. It still amazes me that this coliseum has an Arena, yet it’s also a city. I gaze at the broad street that forms its circumference, protected by the high walls with locked gates and bars for windows, opened to the sky.
The road is made of cobblestones. Homes are built into the thick walls on each side. They seem to be for the wealthier citizens of Tenebra. The homes we passed on the outside of the coliseum were all abandoned—part of the original dreamscape design, but not safe enough for anyone to dwell in. Is that where the Spores live?
I see very few children. Those I do see band together and play outside the front of a home in small groups of two or three. The adults without children seem weighed down.
No wonder the citizens attend the Arena every day. It’s the only way to know if their child has been rescued. How many of their kids have the Spores kidnapped? And what are they doing with them?
I find myself scanning the streets for brown hair, which is ridiculous because every other person has brown hair. I can’t pinpoint why, but I think it has something to do with the Real World. My thoughts are muddled. I hate this part of Tenebra. Some things come to mind clearly, and others remain behind a misty veil.
I’m looking for a girl, but somehow I don’t know what she really looks like. Why a girl? Why do I care?
I wander down the street labeled forum and am surprised to find shops carved in between homes and into the thick stone wall. No doors, just arches with little decoration aside from different paint colors—brick red, dusty brown, and other ancient-seeming colors. A few have cloth awnings and curtains tied to the side that would do little to deter a thief. I suppose they don’t need to worry about poor weather or bugs. Unless the Spores make them.
My thoughts screech to a halt. If the Spores have enough control over Tenebra to enter and exit at will, wouldn’t they also have control over the creation? Luc considers them enemies. The girl attacked me in the Arena. But if the Spores are so powerful, why don’t they attack with nightmist? Make it darker. Send mammoth dragons. Why didn’t the Spore girl in the Arena try to kill me with a bow and arrow or giant lion? Why come into the Arena herself?
