Counting the Stars (3)
Pulling your wrist away mid-story while warming yourself by the fireside would startle anyone. Learning that the priest of the Conclave had been the one manipulating the final match through Arqueba was shocking enough. But nothing compared to the revelation that a core figure of the Celestial God Church—a Conclave priest—had also forged ties with the god Keres. Nathan began to wonder if the man was a pathological liar.
“A Conclave priest and a Hedonic? Is that even allowed?”
“When Benny, a Hedonic, was backed into a corner, the other Hedonics who should have stood with her turned their backs. In the same way, a Conclave priest can harbor divided loyalties.”
“Uh… what if you get caught?”
“Of course, if your brothers discover you’re a hedonistic traitor, they’ll douse you in oil and burn you for kindling. But so what? Among Eleim who live for centuries, you’d be hard-pressed to find one without some grotesque little hobby.”
Ezgel gave a dry laugh.
“And among the priests ranked above me, there are easily hundreds who have committed acts far more deserving of the stake. My own indiscretions don’t even register on the scale.”
The man was a priest of the heavens. A power broker who technically belonged to the enemy camp. No amount of sudden trash-talk about his own organization could magically create trust. Especially not when the god he served had tried to burn Nathan alive mere hours earlier. So Nathan hadn’t dropped his hostility entirely.
Still, he was beginning to understand. Why Benny had revealed the identity she’d guarded so fiercely in front of this man. Why Aspen had allowed him into Nathan’s hospital room without a hint of wariness.
“We had… quite the reliable ally after all.”
“You may call me a deranged friend if you prefer. I could tell that’s what you were thinking.”
Struck squarely in a sore spot, Nathan pressed his lips together.
The pervasive autumn chill outside. The season when firelight eases the weight on one’s heart. In that languid warmth, even conversations heavy with grim subjects drifted sideways like a light skiff caught in a current. Because of it, Ezgel had to close his eyes, murmur to himself, and retrace his own story.
“So. Galarhorn went to great lengths to reclaim you. They applied for an immediate rematch. After all, the only way to overturn a decision made through a gladiator fight is through another gladiator fight.”
“But you remained isolated until the end. Did you lose the match? Or was it never held at all?”
Nathan clapped once, as if the pieces had clicked into place.
“You said gladiator fights require permission. The position of Great Arena Owner passed to Benny. So the Conclave refused permission and the match was canceled?”
“No. Obtaining permission from the Conclave is easy. They love bloodshed so much there’s a saying they hand out approval documents like candy. The problem lies with the Great Arena itself. I am no longer its owner.”
Benny sniffled and picked up the thread.
“The shares of the Great Arena have been split into eight pieces.”
There were occasions when the Great Arena Owner’s opinion wasn’t required to host a gladiator fight—namely, when the match itself was a contest for ownership of the arena. Nathan was growing tired of raising objections.
“Didn’t you say the Great Arena Owner is like a chief justice?”
“Something like that.”
“But it’s neither an appointed nor elected position? You can just fight to seize it?”
Then what should it be called? A contested seat? Nathan pictured Federation Supreme Court justices bashing each other’s skulls in to determine who would wear the robes. No matter how deeply the character of an ancient state lingered here, this was…
“I do prefer settling matters with violence over words, but this seems a bit extreme. Could the owner of the Great Arena change by the hour as gladiators get carved up?”
Benny’s face went pale. Nathan thought he could guess the circumstances. Four years had passed since Benny herself had entered a gladiator fight. Yet the existence of this underground hospital suggested her worldview hadn’t changed. That warm heart of hers had undoubtedly saved lives, but it could never give her an edge in a game where gladiators’ lives were wagered like chips. The butchers aiming for the Owner’s seat, on the other hand, would have no such scruples.
Benny had been fighting on an endlessly disadvantageous battlefield all this time.
After biting her lip for a moment, she answered.
“It’s not quite like that. Santra has held the position of Great Arena Owner since before I was born. If just anyone could challenge her every day, maintaining power for three hundred years would have been impossible. A gladiator fight can only be established when both scales carry equal value. The side that initiates the fight to seize something must offer a commensurate price if they lose. A fatally large corporate share, for instance. Or the life of a child or lover… that sort of thing.”
Benny’s eyes grew deep.
“We lost a great deal. Shares, capital—we gave up much. But we didn’t only lose. We knew exactly why we could not afford to be pushed back. The reason Santra asked me to protect the position of Great Arena Owner was because catastrophe would follow if its authority ever left Hedonic hands.”
“Catastrophe?”
“The entrenched powers of the heavens and the Conclave do not welcome Hedonics in the slightest. They want to cage the sparks of rebellion and change, to control them. Without Santra, gladiator fights meant to suppress Hedonics would have been held without end.”
Santra had used her authority to block those attacks. For a full three hundred years.
“So I could not retreat. After defending our shares to the end, I at least managed to secure one of the eight fragments.”
Aspen continued.
“But because of opposition from the other seven, Benny has been unable to file an appeal on your behalf until now. Even those affiliated with the Hedonics were reluctant to offer much help regarding your case.”
“Unable to file an appeal? Wasn’t there a best-of-seven series?”
Ezgel, who had been dozing and nodding while excluded from the conversation, suddenly lifted his head and spoke in a hoarse voice.
Aspen’s expression remained unchanged. But Benny’s face hardened.
“It wasn’t an appeal. It was the process of obtaining the right to appeal. Ezgel, we agreed to discuss that later, didn’t we?”
The unmistakable scent of something being hidden made Nathan’s gaze dart from face to face around the room.
“Tell me now.”
“There’s no need. Today you should rest and stabilize—”
“If I were Nathan, I’d be too curious to rest. Even while suffering through hell, he was worried about our well-being.”
Aspen spoke awkwardly. At the advice of someone experienced in creating misunderstandings, Benny turned her head away.
“Do as you like.”
“Only by completely regaining the Great Arena’s shares could we regain the right to contact you. So I entered the gladiator fights.”
Nathan’s fingers, clutching the blanket, tore at its seams.
“Why?”
“For the exact same reason you would have felt if our positions were reversed.”
A heavy warmth. And heavier still, a directionless fury. Complex emotions churned inside him, but he could not question what had already been done.
“This is why Benny didn’t want to tell you. She was afraid you’d be sad.”
Afraid he’d be sad. True. He had been terrified they might be in danger where his hands could not reach them. But Nathan wondered whether that was the entire reason.
“…I’m glad you’re safe.”
“What’s there to be glad about? I didn’t even fight with everything I had. In the end I forfeited.”
A match to reclaim the majority with only Benny’s one-eighth share. On the surface it had been an absurd proposal, yet the enemy had accepted it with sneers. In exchange they had imposed brutal conditions.
A best-of-seven. A single gladiator representing Galarhorn would have to fight seven consecutive matches without rest against the champions of the other seven Great Arena Owners.
Yet Aspen had stunned them. He had been unstoppable through the fourth bout. An unexpected incident occurred in the fifth as well, but he still emerged victorious. However, in the sixth match, Aspen ultimately forfeited.
“It wasn’t a casual surrender. Aspen intended to fight to the end. I’m the one who desperately stopped him.”
Benny made the excuse on his behalf.
“I should have talked him out of it the moment he volunteered. I shouldn’t have let myself be persuaded by talk of risking everything for you. I realized it during the sixth match. That all five previous bouts had been traps. The leader of the Sword Star Sect had been hiding his identity and waiting.”
“That’s when I injured my eye. I never expected the opponent to throw sand. It wasn’t serious, and the opposing side paid a heavy fine for breaking the rules. It’s fine now.”
Aspen, still wearing the pirate-like eyepatch, lifted it for a moment and winked. Before Nathan could get a proper look, he covered it again.
At a glance it seemed fine. At least, if you only glanced.
“You said earlier it was just a mild eye infection.”
“It is now. In truth, even back then it wasn’t a major issue, but my depth perception was completely off. So I quit.”
If he spoke of it so lightly, it had to be a lie. Tension gathered in Nathan’s jaw.
This was the Aspen who had faced a chimera while on the verge of death. The Aspen who had tried to charge Morbi even with one arm crippled. The Aspen who had crossed blades with Nathan over nothing but pride. Judging by his usual personality, he would not have stopped a duel over an ordinary injury.
“It wasn’t a major issue even then? Exactly when was this fight?”
It was a keen observation. Aspen clicked his tongue.
“I should have coordinated the story with Benny if I knew this would happen. It was about three years ago. Now it’s fine—”
There was no way sand in the eye would cause an infection lasting three years. When Nathan kicked off the bed and stood, the IV needle tore free.
Paying no mind to Benny’s gasp, Nathan seized Aspen’s shoulder and yanked up the eyepatch. Aspen sighed and met his gaze.
“I told you it’s fine. It’s completely healed. If you need to check to feel relieved, then look.”
“You said it can’t be exposed to air! ‘Almost healed’ is not ‘healed’! You’re still recovering!”
Benny grumbled as she rose, trying to pull the patch back down. Aspen deftly swatted her wrist aside, blocking the attempt. It looked like kittens batting at each other.
The eye was slightly bloodshot, but the focus was clear.
“Are you really okay?”
“I’d bet everything and my pinky finger that I’m okay.”
His hair had turned black like Santra’s, and the shadows under his eyes suggested sleepless nights. Other than that, he was exactly the same. Exactly the Aspen Nathan knew. No matter what he had endured, he was here, safe.
After breathing hard and studying him for a long moment, Nathan gently stroked through Aspen’s hair. Then he lowered his head, swallowing his anger.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? I should be happy that you’re worried about me.”
“Why would you do something like that…”
“I once said something similar to you. Don’t risk your life for the likes of me. I suppose we’ll keep tossing those words back and forth like a game of catch. Like a pair of idiot parrots.”
Aspen caught the back of Nathan’s neck and pulled his head down, pressing their foreheads together.
“You’ve gotten bigger.”
The crackle of the fire. The sound of breathing. After watching them for a moment, Benny shot a meaningful glance at Ezgel, who had buried himself in a chair behind them.
How long do you plan to stay here?
“It’s not my place to intervene. But, Nathan Maia.”
Yet Ezgel was not looking at Benny.
“It is precisely for that reason that I strongly recommend you participate in the gladiator fights.”
Benny rose with a shudder.
“It really is not your place to intervene, Ezgel. Would you kindly leave now?”
“Even if you beat Eleim the way you did today for an entire week, your owner will not go bankrupt. However, those who wish for Galarhorn to perish existed a week ago and will continue to exist afterward. The heavens hold countless enemies of yours, and Galarhorn will fall into crisis after crisis from now on.”
“Ezgel!”
Nathan slowly drew away from Aspen. He glared at Ezgel, who was subtly fanning the flames.
“If you wish to protect your loved ones, and if you wish to legally assault Eleim in the future, the best method is to step forward as a registered gladiator and—”
“You have no right to interfere! I will decide what my gladiator does, Priest Ezgel!”
Benny cried out in a voice sharp as a blade. It was the most venomous tone Nathan had ever heard from her.
“And Nathan. You will never set foot in the arena. Never!”
“…Then what about Aspen?”
Benny looked at the floor. Then at the ceiling. Finally she glared at the flames in the fireplace.
“Priest, it seems the patient requires rest. Would you please leave?”
Ezgel nodded gravely and rose.
“I acknowledge that I overstepped. I made the mistake of thinking from the collective standpoint, like other Hedonics. One who pursues the Hedonic path should respect the Hedonic paths of others.”
“You understand well.”
“I was wrong. If you need anything at all, please tell me anytime.”
“What we need right now is for you to leave. I don’t wish to be rude, but you understand?”
The priest bowed and left the room.
After the sound of the door closing, for some time only the crackle of branches in the fireplace filled the silence.
“Then what about Aspen? Why did Aspen enter the gladiator fights?”
Benny tried to steady her hoarse voice.
“Because you might die. Because I was terrified of what might be happening to you where our hands couldn’t reach. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying alone, without understanding anything, resenting us or missing us—whether in nightmares or imagination.”
In that unreachable place, everyone had been thinking the same thing. Nathan felt his nose sting.
“Aspen risked his life because he feared you might die. After agonizing over it, I gave my consent and then shook with regret hundreds of times. It was as if I had sent the person you love off to war without their permission. I will never do that again.”
“I’m not blaming you. If Aspen risked his life for me, then I should also—”
“I—no, we—will not let you walk back into a place where you might die.”