The Duelist

by Eric Vall

  Instead of shuffling back a step like I had been, I planted my feet and angled my body as if I was preparing to get him with a left hook to the ribs.

  Dagmar picked up on my movements just like I was hoping for, and when he leaned in to block, I struck a jab to his ear and then ducked under his counter strike to grab him around the waist. My intent was to use my lower center of gravity to knock him up and off his feet.

  That, unfortunately, was not what happened.

  The momentum I’d built up literally died when I collided with Dagmar’s solid mass. Like a fucking redwood tree, the man refused to budge as if he was rooted right there into the ground. No matter how hard I tried, there was no way I could shift him to off-set his balance.

  Dagmar laughed a throaty laugh as he pried me off by the scruff of my neck and threw me to the ground. Then he landed a leaden kick to my stomach and then three more in quick succession that each made my spine tingle like I’d fallen down skateboarding.

  I rolled away as fast as I could and coughed on the ground as the spectators cheered. I could taste blood in my mouth, and my ribs ached like I was a pinata for the 1990’s Oakland Athletics. The pain made me dizzy, but being on the ground was as good as being dead, so I tried to stand up on my feet.

  “Get up, pig,” Dagmar said and lifted me the rest of the way up by my throat with one of his large hands. Then he threw me again, and I landed on my hands and knees right in front of the ram-lord.

  Those thick fingers wove into my hair as Dagmar wrenched my head back, and his putrid breath against my ear made me shudder when he spoke.

  “Look at her!” he hissed. “It will be the last time you are able to do so.”

  I lifted my eyes up to Zoie as Dagmar’s arm squeezed around my neck from behind. If I was going to die, I wanted to at least try and convey to the beautiful woman how much I was sorry I couldn’t help her.

  Her blue eyes glimmered when we stared at each other, and it felt like a world of understanding passed between us.

  It might have been the lack of blood flow messing with my perception, but time seemed to slow along with the beating of my heart. The thumping noise reminded me of the ticking of that god-forsaken watch that landed me here in the first place, and I wheezed and struggled as Dagmar’s arm constricted tighter.

  Then he stood and dragged me off my knees toward the center of the arena. I banged my heels uselessly against the ground, and my fingers clawed at his elbow.

  “Greet your death, No-Rank,” Dagmar sneered.

  As darkness slipped into my vision, my beating heart faded, only to be replaced by the ticking.

  Tick… tick… tick…

  Six seconds. That’s how long I probably had left before I fell unconscious. I could feel the time I had left like drops in a bucket as the spaces between my last seconds dragged on.

  This must be what they said dying is like: a whole eternity in a handful of moments.

  Tick… Tick…

  My eyes focused for the last time on the beautiful cat-woman’s face as Dagmar continued to drag me away. She said something to me, but I couldn’t quite make it out. Then she mouthed it again and again, and her lips slowed bit by bit until I could finally read them.

  It was one simple word over and over again, one word that changed everything.

  Fight. She was telling me to fight.

  And she was right. I couldn’t give up. This was my life and, oh, how I wanted to keep living it. Failure was Not. An. Option.

  A huge surge of adrenaline flowed through my veins, and everything snapped into sharp focus. Like a passing police siren, the screaming of the crowd tunneled out, and it was suddenly like someone hit the slo-mo button.

  Maybe it was from being so close to death, but whatever the case, my mind seemed like it was accelerating faster than my surroundings in some extreme flight-or-fight response.

  It was powerful, and I let the raw instinct inside me take over as my senses sharpened to new primal heights.

  Everything was clear.

  Tick, my heart beat.

  I could feel each step Dagmar took at half-speed. Each time he stepped down, the world seemed to turn slower and slower on its axis.

  Tick.

  The next time he stepped on his right, there was a tell-tale wobble, a weakness in the foundation thanks to my kicks.

  Next step.

  Tick.

  The sound was beginning to return.

  Another step.

  Tick.

  My heart started beating harder.

  Another step and…

  There.

  I waited for his knee to wobble again, just as time resumed its normal speed.

  In one fluid burst of motion, I planted my feet, pivoted into his body, and slipped out of the hole through his arm.

  Dagmar, the stupid oaf, stumbled and then spun around to face me in confusion.

  The audience in the arena exploded with furious cheers, and I gave Dagmar a teasing wave that sparked an inferno of hatred in his eyes.

  “Vile worm!” he yelled and barreled toward me like a freight train gone off its tracks.

  “Let’s do this,” I said after I dove out of the way and popped up on the balls of my feet.

  From there it was a lot simpler.

  Dagmar was tiring, and it was clear he wasn’t used to fighting this long without a weapon, so I just had to keep my hands up, dodge, and counter strike. I specifically focused my attention on alternating between distracting jabs to his face and low rear-kicks to his weak leg.

  If Dagmar was a tree, even a redwood could be chopped down with enough swings of an axe.

  Cross, lead hook, post out, side-step, kick.

  I saw Dagmar’s thigh muscle ripple in slow-motion when my kick landed. My next series of punches felt like I was throwing them through molasses, but they were still deadly.

  Jab. Block. Uppercut. Side-step.

  Kick.

  Boom. Another slow ripple, but bigger this time. I registered Dagmar yelling out in pain, but I didn’t break focus.

  I pressed in harder instead, and I zeroed in for the kill just as time snapped back into its normal pace for the last time.

  Like a mongoose facing a cobra, I faked a step so I could follow through with a powerful Superman punch to the ugly fucker’s face.

  His head snapped back, and he wavered on his feet.

  Just a little more now.

  I brought my leg back, took a step, and followed through with a deep, low-cut kick to his leg.

  Crack.

  Dagmar’s knee finally caved as I spun rapidly out of the kick, and he went down like a telephone pole rammed by a front-end loader.

  I unleashed my fury like a honey badger as I kicked him in the fucking gut, and then I flopped on top of him in mount so I could deliver some tasty elbow-strikes to his bloody face.

  “Argh!” Dagmar yelled and tried to avoid my elbows, but it was useless. The big asshole obviously didn’t know anything about grappling, so when he tried to pull me into a hug, I just slipped behind him for the rear naked choke.

  We fell back together as one, and I clamped my legs around his trunk in a rear-mount and knocked his right hand away as he tried to block my choke. Then I squeezed hard with my over-under grip until he was just on the edge of unconsciousness.

  “Finish it,” the ram-lord said in a deep, resonant voice.

  During the battle for my life, I’d almost forgotten he was there, and my eyes snapped up to his.

  There was a heaviness in the order, and his expression suggested if I didn’t end this event in the way that was expected, he would.

  Somehow, I got the feeling it wouldn’t end well if he had to step in.

  The blood pounded through my veins as I tucked my other hand behind Dagmar’s neck for more leverage. He spluttered and gasped, and his sweaty fingers struggled in vain to remove my hold.

  For one brief moment, the reality of what I was about to do made me pause. Did I really want to kill a perso
n? I had no problem with violence when it was necessary, but this was cold-blooded murder.

  I looked around, and my eyes landed on Zoie again. Her fingers were clenched tightly in her lap, and I followed where her degrading leash rested in the ram-lord’s hand.

  No. This wasn’t murder. This was self-defense in its purest form, and if I didn’t win, not only would I die, but who knew what Zoie’s fate would become as well?

  With a savage yell, I arched the both of us back so I could put the maximum amount of pressure against Dagmar’s carotid.

  I felt the fine bones in his trachea crush and pop, but I didn’t let go until the twitching in his limbs stopped.

  When it was over, I dumped his body to the side and slowly sat up.

  There was a beat of absolute stillness from everyone in the square.

  I gathered myself to my feet and hunched over with my hands on my knees so I could catch my breath.

  The ram-lord rose from his throne and walked toward me. He still had the leash in his hand, and because of this, Zoie came with him. He stopped and looked down at me, then at Dagmar’s corpse. He extended his free hand to me, and I paused for a moment before I stood up to my full height. I accepted his offered hand, and the ram-lord gripped my fingers in a strong grasp.

  “Duel!” he shouted and raised our joined hands up into the air.

  “Duel!” the townspeople screamed as one.

  “As Lord Asher of Nata Isle, I, Gavlain Mec, recognize the Duelist Laws,” the lord said, and he placed the leash attached to Zoie into my hand. “I have never heard of a No-Rank successfully killing a third-rank in hand-to-hand, but that just adds to the excitement of our ruling class! May you adopt the ancient Asher Power and uphold your level three status better than Dagmar did, and may you protect all you gain through Mercedes’ blessings. I deem this prospective union pleasing to our gracious Goddess. Now, go to your estate, and may you be blessed with many powerful heirs.”

  Gavlain Mec put one hand on my shoulder and then his other on Zoie’s.

  The square burst into jubilant applause, and I stared around dumbfounded.

  These people previously hungry for gore and violence were now waving and smiling, and some were even throwing flowers and bits of colored confetti. Stringed instruments began to play, and suddenly, the ram-lord’s words finally sank in.

  Union? Heirs? Estate?

  I looked back at Zoie, who was staring at me with an open yet stoic expression. Then she reached out and cupped her soft hands around mine where I was still numbly holding on to her leash.

  What.

  Did I…

  I think I just got married.

  Chapter 3

  “Someone get the new Asher a carriage!” Gavlain Mec summoned.

  This must have been the signal for everyone gathered around the square to go back to the festivities, because business resumed as usual as if a man didn’t just die right there in the street.

  The attendant who brought out the improvised throne for the horned man earlier jumped to attention and ran off to find a carriage.

  “What is your name, stranger?” the ram-lord asked as he turned to me.

  “I’m Alex,” I said as I stared down at where Zoie’s hands were still curled around mine. “I’m sorry, but did you just marry us?”

  It was probably a really dumb question, but I was also crashing from an incredible amount of adrenaline and really wanted a hot meal and about a gallon of water. To say I wasn’t thinking clearly would be an understatement.

  Gavlain laughed a low laugh like thunder before he clapped a hand down onto my shoulder that jarred my sore body.

  “You must be one of the nomads from West Alem,” the horned man said. “It has been many years since I’ve been to my home isle. From one country-man to another, heed my advice: try not to draw too much attention to yourself, hm? The other Ashers on this island will be trying to determine your weaknesses so they can duel you.”

  Before I could question what exactly the title of “Asher” actually meant, Gavlain crouched down to Dagmar’s fallen form and pulled something off from around his neck.

  It was a clear crystal stone with a black leather cord through one end, and on its shiny surface I could see an engraving of three fish circling what looked like a shield.

  At that moment, a carriage pulled by two insect creatures with six beady eyes, spotted brown shells like a beetle, and a set of horns on their watermelon sized heads came to a stop in front of us. A man with the features of a golden eagle handed the reins over to the second driver on top of the carriage, and then he jumped down from the driver’s seat and gave a pat to one of the ox/cockroach beasts.

  “The new Duelist can use my carriage today,” the golden-eagle dude said.

  “Thank you for the use of your personal transport, Bala,” Gavlain Mec said to the eagle-man. He then handed me the crystal pendant, and I had to let go of Zoie’s hands to take it.

  When my skin touched the smooth stone, there was a flash, and the fish swam once in a circle around the shield symbol before they stopped. I wasn’t sure what that was about, but I got the feeling some sort of important initiation had just taken place.

  “What is this?” I asked him.

  “You must be tired,” Gavlain chuckled as he ushered me toward the carriage. “Your new wife will show you to your estate.”

  “Wait--” I tried again, but Gavlain put another hand onto my shoulder and squeezed gently in warning.

  “Go explore your new estate, Alex,” he said and then tied the Duelist Stone around my neck.

  “Yeahhh… okay…” I nodded my understanding despite all the questions swirling around in my head.

  “Enjoy your triumph tonight.” Gavlain’s smile returned. “Blue Night is almost upon us, and I would like to welcome you in advance to my annual gala as my guest of honor. Your presence has definitely generated interest, and you will require rest, so be on the lookout for my courier to summon you.”

  I nodded my heavy head again and followed my new wife into the carriage. When we were both settled across from one another, Gavlain Mec thumped the side of the carriage, and with a lurch, we set off.

  To where, however, I had no idea.

  The cat-woman across from me sat as still as a statue, with her arms wrapped low around her ribs in a posture that looked comfortable and gave me a great view of her breasts in her tight bikini halter. She stared at me, and her blue eyes turned all the different shades of the ocean as the light flickered in through the window of the carriage.

  “Um, I, uh…” I stuttered. It was awkward, and my mushed brain almost didn’t know where to begin. “Your name is Zoie?”

  “Yes,” she said and hugged herself tighter.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course,” she said and frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, I did just kill your last husband right in front of you,” I said.

  “He was only my prospective husband,” she replied with a shrug. “Actually, I think he was going to sell me back to the traders.”

  “Why would any husband do that?” I asked.

  “Because I beat him in a fencing match and humiliated his honor,” she scoffed. “He bought me to show me off, and I made him look bad instead. Dagmar still had two days left to decide whether or not he wanted to consummate our union.”

  “Like a try-before-you-buy situation?” I asked.

  “In so many words,” she confirmed. “When a prospective wife is bought or traded, the Asher has five days to decide if his purchase was worth it.”

  “And us?” I asked. Zoie was sexy, and for all intents and purposes, she was my wife now by some crazy blood law, and I would be lying if I said sleeping with her didn’t interest me. But one thing I was beginning to understand was this world I found myself mixed up into had some very particular laws, so I needed to tread lightly. “Would our consummation be… prospective?”

  “You really aren’t from here, are you?�
�� Zoie said, and a new light of understanding entered her deep blue eyes. “The nomads from Alem don’t really observe the new laws, but they do know of the old ones.”

  “I’m not-- ” I started.

  “Shh!” Zoie shushed me, and then she indicated by pointing to the roof where the driver was still guiding the carriage just outside.

  The message was clear: we were not alone to talk freely.

  With cat-like grace, Zoie flowed over to the bench next to me and draped one leg across my lap, and I had no choice but to grab the back of her silky thigh so we both wouldn’t suddenly slide to the floor.

  It was a surprise, but a very welcome one. She smelled like fresh clover flowers, and she was warm and soft in all the right places. One of her long arms draped across my shoulders behind me as she drew herself closer like she was going to tell me a secret, and it felt natural to wrap my other arm around her waist, so I did it with ease.

  It was nice. More than nice. When she leaned close with her face next to mine, I really struggled not to seek further physical comfort by kissing her smooth rose petal lips.

  She saw me glance down at her mouth, and she locked me with her kaleidoscope gaze.

  There was an instant electricity between us that was almost tangible, and I’d sensed it from the first moment I laid my eyes on her.

  Zoie stared back at me with equal intensity, and I could see from this distance her pupils contracted like a typical cat’s eye. However, I’d never seen such an intriguing shade of mysterious blue, and I wondered if she experienced the same thrill as I did, the same gut-drop sensation like trying to take a step off a staircase that was no longer there.

  Then she looked away, and the spell was broken.

  “I know what you are,” Zoie whispered and glanced again at the roof as a reminder.

  “You do?” I replied in a low voice that matched her own.

  Zoie nodded as she took one of my hands into both of hers, and she began to unravel the fighting gloves I crafted out of the purple seaweed. “When I was a young kit living on the island of Vartha, I would sometimes hear talk about people coming from over the sea. People not from the Aventoll Archipelagos.”

  “Where do they come from?” I asked as she massaged my aching left hand. The way her thumbs kneaded into the meat of my palm felt sinfully good.