56. Pyrophobia

56. Pyrophobia

Marilynn

“It’s a real bad signif the stadium is spinning, isn’t it?”

“Shit,” Dessin says through an exhale. “It isn’t good, Niles.”

I have no doubt Dessin will get across that plank unscathed. Warrose just put on a show for everyone with how quickly he was able to maneuver every obstacle that was meant to throw him into the pit of heat. And we all know Dessin is better.

“Why do you say my name like it’s a dirty word?” Niles pokes Dessin in the side.

I try to hide my smile from both of them. It isn’t the time for Niles’s poorly-timed humor to surface, but it’s too funny not to enjoy.

“Because the name gives me a spike in cortisol levels. And it sours my stomach,” Dessin replies, preoccupied with watching the line disappear across the stage.

“But why?”

“Niles, stop.” I laugh into my hand.

“No.” He looks down at me with betrayal creasing his brow. “You’re pretty.”

I laugh again.

Dessin turns to face me. “We’ll need to be on either side of him. He’s shitfaced.”

“A Niles sandwich? Hot.”

Dessin looks at me, ignoring our shitfaced friend. He inspects the spear Warrose threw to him with hazy eyes that are working overtime to see clearly. It reaches the height of his chest, made of black crystal.

“We’re up, let’s go,” Dessin orders, waving Niles and me to walk in front of him. “I’ll keep the line from overrunning us. You just focus on getting him across safely.”

Stepping up to the edge of the plank, the heatwaves alone nearly singe the hair off my arms. Chemical bursts of lava bubble and pop from the pit. And my god, that fire roars to life, as if it senses Niles’s presence.

“No,” Niles utters, sounding completely sober.

“Niles, I’m right here. I promise we’ll be quick.”

Involuntary tears drizzle over his cheekbones as he stares at the flames in debilitating shock. He doesn’t move a centimeter.

“I can’t move,” he whispers.

My stomach twists in knots at the sight of him. The careless, drunk humor vanishing from his eyes like a dying candle.

Sentinels throw their whips out toward us for holding up the line, and we all hiss as the lashings bite into our warm flesh.

“Go, Niles!” Dessin barks.

“I can’t.”

Bits of rocks are thrown by the enraged audience, cheering and booing as we cause a traffic jam. The arena is a carnivorous zoo of sweat, unrelenting heat waves, and thick puffs of smoke that burn our lungs. It’s overwhelming to all five senses, beating down on Niles like a torrent of rain from a monsoon.

“I can’t,” Niles says again, shaking from head to toe with a wet face from both tears and beads of perspiration.

I try to tug at his wrists, but he flails away from me, grunting like a child having a fit. His face pinches together, creating new lines on his forehead. He doesn’t even seem to notice the way the whips slash into his flesh, or the small rocks grazing his scalp, smashing into his shoulders.

“Please, Niles!” I yell over the terrifying symphony of people screaming as they melt in the pits. “We just have to get across, and it will be over!”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

My panicked voice doesn’t reach him. My sweet, golden boy is trapped in a nightmare brought on by the heat flaring across his skin. I look up at Dessin with bulging eyes, pleading for him to have one of his ideas.

Dessin’s stoic gaze finds mine, staring into my soul as a decision unravels throughout his thoughts. He moves to Niles’s side with a calm grace that appears like he’s unhurried, unafraid, tranquil in every sense of the word.

“You’re thinking about that day on the beach,” Dessin says to Niles in a low voice. Meanwhile, he catches the end of each whip in his muscular hands, yanking them toward the pit and sending sentinels screaming to their deaths.

Niles doesn’t say a word. He pants shallowly and silently sobs.

“I get those flashbacks, too.” Dessin wraps a hand around Niles’s neck, urging him to look up. “But you became a warrior that day, buddy. And I need that warrior fighting by my side today. Do you understand?”

Niles blinks away the hot tears that drench his face.

“You’re my comrade. My friend. My brother. I need you to show up for me.” Chills race down my arms, pulsing through my fingertips as Dessin stares intently into Niles’s beautiful eyes.

“I am?”

I do my best to shield flying rocks, letting them tear the skin on my arms as Dessin smirks, giving Niles’s neck another squeeze.

“You are. Will you be the warrior I need by my side today, Niles?”

The gray, feverish storm clears over Niles’s face, replaced by a look as fierce and protective as a lion guarding his pride. He rises to his feet, reaching out his hand for me to take. Relief soothes the nerves in my chest, setting my shoulders straight.

“We have to run,” I yell at them so they can hear me over the ruckus. “The plank is really hot now!”

The boys nod as we sprint, my hand clenching around Niles’s knuckles to make sure he doesn’t fall. The metal sears into the sensitive underside of my feet, but we move quickly, never leaving our skin against the panel too long.

I hear Niles yelp as the fluid limbs of the fire reach too close to his legs. I tug him along faster, keeping my eyes nailed to my feet as they move in a straight line. Almost there. Almost there.

A firm hand snatches my wrist, pulling me to the end of the line. I lift my eyes off the ground, seeing Warrose and Ruth looking down at me in relief.

“We made it!” I screech, jumping up and down!

Niles matches my smile.

“Wait…” Warrose shouts, looking over my shoulder to the pit.

Niles and I turn on our heels, searching for Dessin, who was supposed to be right behind us. And he’s there, still on the plank, burning his hands and knees as he tries to free himself from something jagged and black tying his leg to the metal plank.

“Dessin!” Niles bellows, taking off in the direction of the fire.

I freeze at first, not believing what I’m seeing. Niles. Niles, who’s mortified by the flames, runs back to them to save his friend.

I throw myself forward, following Niles back to the plank.

“Keep the other prisoners from pushing us off! I’ll free him!” Niles demands.

I push ahead, stepping over Dessin’s crouched body, snagging the spear so I can fight off the mass of shoving bodies trying to get past Dessin.

I can hardly feel the burning of my feet as adrenaline strengthens my body, fuels my arteries with power. I throw my weight into each defensive movement. Looking over my shoulder, I notice the detail of barbed wire fashioned into a whip, which was used to hook around Dessin’s leg, nailing it to the path. His legs turn bright red as the heat no doubt injures and melts his skin.

“It’s nailed into the metal!” Niles grunts, trying to find a way to unwind the barbed wire.

“Just get out of here!” Dessin retorts, sweat making his face shiny.

But Niles doesn’t listen. Doesn’t respond. Instead, his expression changes into something calm and determined. With his bare hands, he uses all of his strength to pull the contraption free from the hot metal. That soft flesh rips from the tiny spikes, fresh blood spurting out around Dessin’s leg, dripping into the flames with a sizzle.

Niles grinds his teeth, grunting against the fiery pain burning his knees, tearing new wounds into his palms and fingers as he finally breaks the hold of the whip, untwisting it from around Dessin’s calf.

“Go!” I shout, pushing away more inmates that try to rush us.

Dessin helps Niles to his feet, guiding him to the exit as I follow behind.

Once we’re to safety, we stand in a circle, a bubble of silence that separates us from the chaos of this Fun House Night. Dessin looks down at Niles’s blistered, shredded palms still gushing with bright puddles of crimson. His forearms are covered in thick webs of blood that drip down to the tips of his elbows.

And Dessin stares at it all with parted lips. Niles shifts on his feet like he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable being under the spotlight of Dessin’s focus for this long. As I look back, I see Dessin blinking, exhaling slowly, then doing the most unexpected thing I could have imagined.

Dessin takes a step forward and hugs Niles, causing our golden boy to release a heavy sob.

“Thank you, my friend,” Dessin whispers.