by T. C. Edge
He leaned back, and wrung his hands together with a beaming smile.
“Ah, such fun!” he said, quite loudly as if to make a point that he could very well do whatever he wanted. “It’s going to be a truly wonderful few weeks. Listen to my advice, you pretty little thing, and maybe you’ll get to see a couple of them through before you die. And, who knows, perhaps we’ll get that time together that we both so crave.”
Kira had to focus with all she had to stop from lunging at the man and tearing his leering lips off. Her knuckles were white now from the tension, and her emerald eyes had narrowed to squints.
Lucius licked his lips in very obvious fashion, before stepping back another pace. And with a final flourish, he brushed his fingers through his wavy black hair, gulped down some more wine, and wandered back off through the crowd.
29
Kira had spent many nights thinking that she might die the following day.
It had, in fact, become her default setting. For most people, death would be a shock, a strike of lightning from the blue. Unless they developed some terminal illness, they’d usually never really know they were going to die until it happened. Most people, Kira thought, lived in a state of blissful ignorance.
She didn’t.
She was fully aware that any day might be her last. When she fell asleep, she might enjoy her final dreams. When she woke, she might eat her final breakfast. When she spoke with a friend, it might well be their final conversation. It was very much how she lived, and something she’d long since accepted.
Yet, there was something different about that night before the start of the games. Mostly, her life as a rebel in Haven was fraught with danger, but often there wasn’t the same immediacy to it. If she died, it would likely be an unplanned event – a hunting party gone wrong, or a raid by a bunch of Stalkers to take her and her friends out.
This was different. The games were beginning tomorrow, and she’d be fighting in the cull. It was official. It was structured. It was happening.
It would, she knew, be a massacre, and of the many people involved, only three would walk out alive.
Kira had confidence in herself, even after everything she’d seen here, and yet the odds didn’t stack in her favour. For the first time in a long time, she really believed that that night might truly be her last.
Yet still, she wasn’t afraid. When you live in a state of perpetual danger, the feeling of fear doesn’t register like with other people. As with anything, you get used to it, and even learn to use it. And sometimes, you start to depend on it too.
Kira would certainly depend on her fears tomorrow. Her fears gave her strength, primed her mind and purified her focus. In the heat of battle, that was critical.
Lose your focus, lose your life. That was the mantra her parents always used to teach her before they died. And it was a Stalker who killed them both.
Kira rarely thought of her parents these days, but that night she did. She was just a girl when they were killed, unused to losing loved ones, especially those so dear. Their deaths paved the solid stone around her heart, and began to change her into the girl who saw attachment as weakness. The more people you care for, the more vulnerable you are. That’s what she believed.
Here, Finn has renewed that belief. Their friendship, so callow though it was, would only serve to weaken them both should they have to face each other. Now, of course, she probably wouldn’t have to worry about that. Even if she survived the cull, she probably wouldn’t make it much further, and neither would he.
Yet, despite her insistence on maintaining that belief, she struggled with it sometimes. If someone got too close, she’d push them away. If she began to care about someone, she’d remind herself constantly that life was fleeting, and either they, or she, would probably be dead soon anyway.
It was her defence mechanism. And though it served her well at times, it had also become a curse. And beyond the purpose she assigned herself as a rebel, a warrior, someone to save her city, she really had little else that defined her life. Without war, who was she?
She’d probably never get to find out.
It was dark and quiet back in the dungeon, and through the high windows the moonlight came. Having spent the evening on display at the celebration, all of the contenders were happy for the shadows, and all had quickly escaped into their own thoughts as soon as they’d returned.
Most weren’t set to fight tomorrow. In fact, only Kira, Gwyn and Gecko were on the roster. The rest would stay here and train, their bouts yet to come. Only three would leave, and perhaps none would return. That was how the weeks would go.
As Kira sat, thinking of her parents and her life in Haven, and the war she left and would never return to, she began to consider Lucius’ words. If the three lowest seeds here were to stand a chance, surely they’d be best teaming up?
She pondered for a little while any possible game Lucius was playing, before concluding that that was just the sort of man he was. He enjoyed mind games. He enjoyed taunting and teasing people. And, perhaps he really did want to see more of Kira. The way he looked at her spoke of no lie.
Either way, it didn’t matter. His advice was sound.
So, in the quiet of the chamber, Kira determined to seek out her fellow fighters. It was a strange thing, having looked upon these people as her rivals, to now consider working together with them. But with the scope of it all expanding, and other players entering the game, suddenly the inhabitants of this cell became something else. They were, to some small degree at least, on her side. And tomorrow, if the three of them teamed up, they might just live to fight another day.
She found Gwyn first, hidden down a passage. She was curled in a ball on her bed, draped in her tunic, shivering even though it was perfectly warm. It looked to Kira that nerves were taking their toll now, the reality of sleeping her last setting in.
She approached cautiously and with a whisper.
“Gwyn, I need to speak with you.”
The woman turned slowly, eyes hooded and tearful. Kira felt a pang of pity at the sight. She’d been training better, seemingly hardening up, but now it was all so real.
Kira moved in, and crouched to one knee ahead of her in the dim light of the chamber.
“Do you know about the cull?” she asked. “Do you know what it entails?”
The closing of Gwyn’s eyes suggested she did. She nodded silently and more tears slithered down her cheeks.
“Well, then you’ll know that only three will survive. I think, Gwyn, that we should be two of them.”
Gwyn’s eyes opened up, and her face brightened. Not much, but a little. Enough to show hope.
“You’d…fight with me?” she croaked.
Kira nodded.
“You, me, and Gecko. We’re in this together in here. We should fight together out there.”
Gwyn’s mouth curled into a weak smile.
It was the only answer Kira needed.
Next, she sought out Gecko, and Gwyn came with her. The two women found him tucked into a corner, similarly afflicted by nerves and mumbling lightly as if to keep himself calm.
Kira could hear his words more clearly than others, her specialised hearing bringing a strange collection of phrases and mumbled jargon to her ears. It sounded to her like he was praying. Where he came from, maybe they still believed in a god.
He lifted his eyes at the sight of them, his quivering lips slowing to a stop.
“What…what do you want?” he asked softly.
Kira stepped slightly ahead of Gwyn, and a shard of moonlight, cutting from the high windows, lit up her face. And unlike the weakness in the man’s eyes, Kira’s showed only strength.
“We three are fighting in the cull tomorrow,” she said. “We three should be the ones to walk out alive.”
Gecko began to nod.
“I wondered the same,” he croaked. “I didn’t think you’d want to fight together.”
“And why not?” asked Kira.
Gecko shrug
ged weakly.
“What’s the point in living another day or two…” His eyes faded past Kira and to the other side of the chamber. Shadow stood in the darkness, his form a silhouette and nothing more. Two white stones shone. He was looking right at them. “We’re all going to die anyway,” Gecko murmured.
Kira shook her head.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“The west,” he merely said.
“And what were you there? A soldier? A mercenary? Have you killed people before, Gecko?”
He nodded.
“Then do the same tomorrow. I’ve lived my entire adult life thinking I might die the next day. Don’t let fear consume you.” She turned to Gwyn, whose head hung low, and reached out to lift her chin. “If you both lose yourself to fear, then you’re dead already. Yes, if we survive another day then we might just be delaying things. But that’s how I’ve lived my life, and I’m not going to stop now. Fight with me, and let’s give ourselves the best possible chance.”
Kira wasn’t one for making speeches, but her words seemed to inspire something in her fellow gladiators. They glanced at each other, and then Gecko began to nod.
“OK,” he said, firming his gaze. “What do you have in mind?”
The world was always so noisy the night before the games. Even back at the ludus, the parties through the streets and across the city could be heard. From the affluent Eastside to west of the Tiber, and all the way down to Southside, the night would go on for quite some time for many of the people here.
But not for Dom.
With his duties at the celebration done, he would take this time alone, thinking about the days ahead and hoping they all went well. Occasionally, he might summon Rufus to join him, discussing with his instructor certain tactics or strategies to pass down to the gladiators set to fight the following day.
But not that night. He’d done enough talking for now, and just wanted to sit in peace and be alone with his own thoughts. Thoughts that were centred around the opening bout, and the three gladiators of his who’d fight as part of it.
Yet, he barely spared much thought for Gecko or Gwyn. Neither would survive unless they worked together, and even then it would be difficult. He could, of course, instruct Rufus to tell them to team up and do this or that, ask him to pass on his many years of experience of such things to ensure they had the best chance of survival.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t for the very simple reason that the lowest seedings needed to prove themselves. They needed to work things out for themselves, and show that they were worth more than their place at the bottom of the pile. Later on, of course, Rufus would work more closely with the higher ranked gladiators. But not now. Not for this bout. He was ordered to keep most information about the cull from them, and see how they reacted. In the end, after all Dom’s testing, this was the greatest test of all.
Yet, while he spared little thought for Gecko and Gwyn, he did for Kira. She shouldn’t be in the cull tomorrow, and though Dom was strict in following his procedures, he was highly tempted to summon Kira and tell her exactly what the opening bout would entail. After all, she didn’t belong in it, and it would be a terrible shame for a warrior with such potential to be cut down so early.
A terrible shame indeed, he thought, shaking his head. To lose one so gifted. To lose one so beautiful…
He shook his head and smiled ironically. It was just like Dom to let a pretty face creep in and affect his judgement. Really, the fact that Kira was beautiful, and a girl, shouldn’t be relevant. Here in Neorome, while warrior women were more rare than men, there were always at least a few fighting in the games. This was nothing new.
Still, Dom had a weakness for beauty that he knew would sway his mind somewhat. His mother had accused him of giving her preferential treatment, and while he denied it, perhaps he had, even if only subconsciously.
He did, after all, put Kira and Finn together on the boat. He might have thrown her in with one of the more violent men, but chose Finn instead. Sure, he partly did it so she’d bring him out of his shell, but other than that, perhaps he wished her to have a slightly more pleasant cellmate that the others. Gwyn, after all, hadn’t been so lucky.
Then there was the fight with Shadow, which Dom tried to stop. Only Lucius’ goading and guilt-tripping made that happen, and after she’d been knocked out, he’d ordered for her to be taken straight into his own house to be tended to – that was a first – even though her wounds were only minor.
He’d made sure she trained mostly with Finn as well, ordering Rufus to keep the two together, and had been quite keen when his instructor had agreed with his assertion to put Kira as the third seed. And only that night, his eyes had spent plenty of time on her. Yes, the unveiling of her soft, pale flesh naturally drew many eyes, but Dom was supposed to be mostly unbiased. With her, he wasn’t.
So, he couldn’t very well deny it. She was his favourite, and not just because she was a fine warrior. He liked her grit, her determination, and her eagerness to help others. Perhaps, in the end, he saw in her something he’d like to be.
Because here, Dom didn’t help others…he merely arranged their elaborate deaths.
He sighed and stepped away from the balcony, moving into the house and towards the back. There, a set of winding stairs led up to the roof, the terrace atop his home affording a wonderful, panoramic view of the city.
He wandered to one side, and his gaze wandered too. It took in the magnificent sights, and his ears drew in the joyous sounds of celebration. And above, the sky was cast in a wondrous sheet of stars, the moon large and bright. Occasionally, the celestial white glow would be joined by others, rainbow coloured fireworks zipping into the sky from some of the many squares dotting the sprawling streets. They lit up and then, a moment later, the pop and fizz reached Dom’s ears, and he smiled at the beauty of it all.
But mostly, there was only one sight that captured his gaze. That of the Colosseum, the grand amphitheatre, so striking against the black of night and all ready for the following day’s events. It had been fully prepared now, draped in banners of various colours, fitted with its massive screens to show close ups of the action, both inside for those who had tickets, and outside for the rest who would gather and accumulate on the streets.
It was an ancient structure at its core, thousands of years old, but had been rebuilt with an amalgamation of the old and the new. And tomorrow, Dom dearly hoped that Kira wouldn’t be old news.
He hoped a new star would begin to shine.
30
“Right, up you get! Come on, up…get up!”
The calls were violent and loud, spreading from at least two voices. They echoed around the cell and were quickly joined by the banging of metal and the scraping of chains.
In the gloom, Merk’s eyes cracked open. His old limbs were stiff and aching, fed up with having to sleep on this damp stone floor. Squashed against one wall amid a sea of stinking men, he blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked beyond the bars.
There were half a dozen guards there, more than any he’d seen so far. Usually, a couple would come down, toss a new prisoner into the cell, and that would be it. The sight of six of them, all fully dressed in their armour, suggested something was going down.
Two of them were calling, and another four were working. One was opening the gate, and the three others were arranging chains on the floor. Merk recognised them immediately. They were exactly like the chains they used on the contenders on the boat.
He looked around and saw a swamp of fear engulf the prisoners. They retreated to the far corners of the cell, squeezing together like beaten dogs. Merk found the air being pressed from him as the weight came, climbing as quickly as possible to his feet to stop from being swamped and crushed.
“Right, come on, get yourselves out here!” called one of the guards.
Merk saw the four active ones enter through the now-open gate, and begin pulling on the arms of the prisoners. They snatched
them up and dragged them out of the cell, fixing their feet into the chains. It was a weird twist to see all these men now so desperate to stay in the cell. They all knew that leaving it meant death.
And that day had come.
What day it was, though, Merk was struggling to think. He’d lost sense of time down there, though his experience of acting caretaker on the ship gave him at least some inkling as to the passing of the hours and days. It was a little too convenient, he thought, all this ruckus. It must be the first day of the games, and the day of their punishment had come.
One by one, the men were grabbed, dragged, and fitted to chains. Within a few minutes of shouting, grovelling, begging and whimpering, all the fifty or so men in the cell had been chained together by their ankles in links of ten and were being marched up out of the dungeon.
It all happened in a rush, Merk’s old mind struggling to keep up. By the time they reached the exit, the old caretaker found himself squinting at the sudden brightness that assaulted his eyes, the sun just rising over the city and casting down a ferocious glow.
It was early, and all over Merk could see the filth on the streets. That was nothing new – not here so near the swamps – and yet it looked even heavier than usual. Last night, he knew, the wild celebrations would have been held, all locked away to his ears down in the dungeon, and the entire city will be waking, muddy-headed, to the most wondrous day of the year.
The warrior race was on.
Ahead, a convoy of cells-on-wheels waited, wagons fitted with bars and restraints. The men were led towards them and piled in, each filled with a grouping of ten. Merk had seen the drill many times in the past, but only as a spectator. He’d never been on this side of it. And he knew just where they were going.
The same realisation began to dawn on the other prisoners’ heads as the wagons began to roll, passing through the streets of Southside and heading north towards the Tiber. The trash on the lanes was joined by forms of drunken bodies, late night revellers yet to crawl back home to bed. No doubt they’d wake and continue the party. Lucky for some.