by Jani Griot
I roared again.
The slave, seeming to have lost all will, dropped to the wind-touched sandstone, joining the other fallen. I didn't know what I had just done, but the way my master smiled down at me only fueled the flames building inside.
Ochloc examined his nails for a moment. He spoke words that were almost appeasing. "Don't grow silent, brothers and sisters. No one taught the rat violence. It’s the old blood in him that makes him this way."
The other families had already begun sending in more slaves. The group shuffled down the steps. I didn’t understand what my Lord had said to them, but after he spoke in that moment, everything changed. The crowd looked at me differently, and so did the slaves. Even Lady Ezra did.
“Ochloc, why would any of us believe you? We were brought up during the purge of the old bloods,” Avery said. “You expect us to believe that you had not one, but two of those vile creatures around? How could such a thing conceive a child?” He emphasized the last point.
I followed Ochloc, making sure to face him, not knowing what he'd want of me next. The crowd snickered when I turned my back to my enemies.
Ochloc responded with grit. “Avery! Brothers and sisters! Let this be known before things fall to gossip and mutterings—we didn't know the boy’s father was old blood until we had killed him. Seeing it was a boy with no possible mate, I figured I could break this stallion, as my father had in his time before me. Who here can admit they wouldn’t have done the same?”
He quieted and moved behind Avery, whispering in his ear as five slaves fanned out in an arc behind me.
“Well Avery, how about we just call it here? Save yourself the embarrassment,” Ochloc taunted, spewing the Oceanborn’s chides back at him.
I didn’t hear my lord’s whispers.
I did hear Avery speak aloud to everyone.
“I think you lie, Ochloc. You haven't won the Slave Games in cycles and we’ve all seen how it has affected you. The house of Vassilious isn't what it used to be, brother Loc,” Avery spit the words as his anger spilled free, his rusted voice trembling.
My lord scoffed before the word shot from his mind like a spear into mine.
Fury!
More violent images filled me. Every section of my brain flooded with his knowledge. He had experienced the cycle of seasons hundreds of times. Trying to fit all of that in any one vessel was murder. Elementalist or not, my master was trying to kill two birds with one stone. He would win his first Slave Games in ages.
But he would ensure I was forever ruined for it.
I let loose another scream, releasing everything I felt, my mind heavy with scenes of death, battle, violence, training. One slave ran back to the stairs, grabbing discarded practice tools. The others quickly followed. The situation had become a senseless free-for-all. Ochloc seized the opportunity the spectacle afforded. He would either win gloriously or lose the entire kingdom his father had built, gambled on a whim. That was how he liked things—risky.
“I wonder…” Ochloc spoke as if he regarded no one, counting how many extra slaves had entered the arena. "Do you all have the ability to pay, or has Avery tempted you into my debt?" Ochloc said, biting back a laugh.
Fury!
The word itself seemed to sharpen my senses. It rattled in my skull.
The command came again. I finally understood what it meant. Those who came before me were meant to rest as well.
I turned to face more nameless danger.
Free Fury
Never had I understood what it meant to have fun. I only knew what it was to be beaten down. Being made into the aggressor was surprisingly satisfying.
But finally able to scream without repercussion, to feel real, raw power—that was fun.
I let it out. My vocal cords, silenced for so long, had little trouble vibrating, shaking, almost like an earthquake tearing through my throat.
"Aahhhhhhhhh!" And it sounded…natural. Real.
This was beyond fun. The Honorborn above me were uncharacteristically silent. Everyone in the fighting pit was a slave, but they were battle-trained, distinguished by the light leather garments they wore. Those slaves were trained from birth to protect the Honorborn, sacrificing themselves to guard the lords and ladies of their kingdoms. Only the fiercest of slaves could join the guard and most of them had seen battle and war. Unlike me, they had shed blood. Not just their own, but that of their enemies.
That didn't matter. The members of the service had their secrets. But so did I. Secrets I was unaware of. And they coursed through my veins.
"Is that the garb of a castle slave he’s wearing?" I overheard one of the Honorborn ask.
"Is he smiling?" said another.
What Ochloc was doing to me—viciously projecting his combat expertise into my mind—was the training his father had once forced upon him. I wished I could pity him. I couldn’t forget it, and my heart would never forgive him.
The slaves had surrounded me in a half-circle. My back was against the wall. They lunged one at a time, cornering me as best they could, careful not to strike one another. The sword and shield at my sides only rose when I needed to block or parry. I kept my guard low, making them all feel safe. Awareness was pivotal in battle. A new understanding of mine. It didn't matter where the knowledge or information came from, I would use it.
Their current perception of me was that I was conquerable, and that's how I wanted it to stay. At least until it was too late.
"They've cornered your rat, brother Loc," said Avery.
Ochloc chuckled at this, then he yelled into my mind.
Fury!
At my master's signal, I retaliated. Ferocity coursed through me at Ochloc’s trigger. Between that and the flood of violent images drilling me in battle, sport, and the killing arts, I was becoming exactly what they feared.
Fury! he yelled.
Fury! Again.
I couldn't see the attack that came from my left, but my body reacted instinctively all the same. My sword arm flicked out, soundlessly colliding with one attacker’s wrist. This happened as I punched another opponent in the bridge of their nose with the rim of the shield. I could barely hear the cheers coming from the crowd as I spun through my enemies with a dancer’s grace. A screaming girl charged me, holding the wooden sword high above her head. I turned slightly, driving my shoulder directly into her sternum. I heard the wind leave her body. Her arms, nearly powerless, hung dangling over my back as she dropped her sword behind me.
She lay flat across the buckler attached to my right arm as I lifted her over my shoulder. With a forceful twist of my body, her limp figure was launched into the wall behind me. Small cracks formed in the stone where her midsection had hit.
No one could survive the wrath of my fury.
Ochloc spoke, stirring the pot to a near-boil among the Honorborn. "I wonder if my house slave is going to kill your service slaves?" He laughed until tears rolled down the side of his face and dampened his beard. "None of you would be dumb enough to waste battle-hardened slaves in a petty game for riches, would you?"
The Honorborn looked at each other, unease reflecting from one set of wealthy eyes to the next. The arena above the pits became a house of mirrors.
"Now you must watch them die at the hands of my daughter's cleaning boy." Ochloc roared in laughter at their expressions.
I shield-slapped the nearest slave with such force he lost his footing and fell into his ally, sending both toppling to the sand. I quickly closed the distance between myself and the two defensive slaves left standing.
They moved as I moved. The opponent to my left went in for a high attack. I brushed the sword aside with a quick flick of my left wrist, parrying the strike with ease. The second strike was far more difficult to work around, as it was aimed at my ankles. My first thought was to launch the buckler at the slave, but something told me not to. The second slave couldn't stop his momentum as he was already mid-swing; I leapt into the air. Both of my feet contacted his body, snapping him into a
twisting fall, face-first into the sand. The dropkick had me grounded, laying on my left side—the first slave was already upon me bringing his sword down. I deflected the attack with the wooden buckler and offered a riposte in the form of a punch to his groin. As the winded slave fell to his knees, I took the opportunity to roll back into a battle-ready crouch.
I smiled.
The realization that, for the first time in my life, I was within an element that was entirely my own struck me. But there was little time to ponder that. The two slaves groggily attempted to stand. I stood and swiftly circled around and lined them up. Then, screaming, I charged.
My screams filled me with violent power. The slave before me was still crouched, one knee down. The one behind him had risen to his feet. I made my move.
The lower slave attempted to shield himself but brought his buckler up too slowly. I threw the sword. It spun end over end, crashing handle-first into the face of the standing slave, leaving him staggered. I ran up the wooden buckler the lower slave held. My foot forced the shield against the ground, tilting it upward. I kicked off the back of the lower slave's head like a springboard, causing his face to violently rebound off the top edge of his shield. I spun, soaring through the air toward my next target. The desert breeze whipped through the tangled mane of my hair.
The shield shattered as it smashed into my remaining foe. I landed on my feet, my heart pounding in my ears. My hands were red and throbbing. I looked down at the two slaves whom I had earlier knocked into one another. They had put up little fight and had, by now, lost their spirit for battle. One lay on his stomach, staring at me defiantly as he grasped for the nearest weapon. The other cowered with her hands over her head. I roared.
Whatever fight he had left must have dwindled, and he at once stopped reaching.
I unconsciously picked up another wooden shield, feeling naked without it. Ochloc spoke above, not noticing the move.
The king tilted his chin high. "We haven't held the Sea Sun Games at Vassilious Keep since my father's days, when even slaves held magic and lions soared the skies. Times were much harder then.” I had just won him the right to host the games in the arena of his choosing.
Ochloc looked down at Avery, who sat back in his chair in a lifeless heap, no doubt realizing the large sum he’d just lost.
Ochloc sighed and referred to the past once more. "I suppose those hard times created harder men."
Avery, red and reanimated, screamed in protest: "You had this planned all along! You threw in the boy, dressed like a manor slave, to trick us!" He slammed his knife into the armrest of his chair as he jumped to his feet. The Honorborn who were filing out of the arena stopped in place, no doubt eager to hear Ochloc’s defense to this accusation.
The king chuckled quietly as he turned, walking back to meet his accuser.
“Avery, when has a member of the Vassilious family ever deceived anyone in such a manner?” His irritated tone grated against my ears as I watched from below. “You question my integrity? Believe I have tricked you?” he said as he moved closer to Avery, his eyes flashing to me for a second. “I could run you through this very moment for such an insult,” he snapped. “Be thankful for our past, and for the occasion, old friend. If you ever accuse me of such a thing again, I’ll bear witness as you shout your apology to the sky when you hang by your skull.”
I could hardly hear him over the sound of my heartbeat, that word still echoing in my mind. Fury. But the thought was shattered by a familiar whine.
Why?
It was Lady Ezra.
Why? Why? Whyyy?
She was screaming at me, on the verge of a tantrum.
You were supposed to die here! Not...
She trailed off as I turned, slowly shifting my eyes from Ochloc to meet her gaze. I had always seen my lady as beautiful. In that moment, I felt something else. Something far from admiration. I walked toward the double set of stairs that led to the balcony without looking away from her.
What are you doing? Ezra asked, her tone shifting into something foreign.
I climbed the steps slowly. The Honorborn were focused on Ochloc and Avery—who had reclaimed his chair and continued to fidget with his knife—as Ochloc collected smaller wagers from the Honorborn who could pay without sending for the funds.
I gripped the handle of the shield, my body moving without my input.
Here you are, disrespecting me once more. Have you learned nothing?
A look of disbelief bloomed in her eyes. I stopped at the top of the balcony, standing toe to toe with her. For the first time in my life, I was looking down at my lady, and I saw something I had never seen in her before. It was fear. Pure, carnal fear.
I howled in her face. She tried to take a step back, stumbled, and fell. She could barely speak; the words never made it out of her mouth. Except one, uttered in stages of sobs and stutters.
"Fa-fa-Father," she whimpered, in a small voice, clearly unfamiliar to her.
I raised the shield and smiled, ready to strike.
Directing the Rampage
All eyes shot in the direction of Ezra's scream, settling on me. My arm was fully cocked, ready to strike. This would be no halfhearted measure. Anger consumed me. I screamed at the child who lay before me. The only word I knew.
“Fury!”
She closed her eyes, no doubt in anticipation of the blow that would end her life.
“Control that, that beast, Ochloc!” Avery cried. “He’s going to kill your child!”
Ochloc softly rapt the banister with a closed fist as he turned and walked toward Ezra. The hatred and strength instantly drained out of me. I fell back, unable to stay on my feet, and careened down the stairs. I’d hit my head several times. Consciousness slipped away from me. Words formed and swirled in my mind. Faintly at first, then louder, like the swishing of Ezra’s whip as she strolled through the halls of the keep.
A king never breaks a vow. But he’s done so today. I won’t forgive this. Nor will I forget. And neither will anyone else.
It sounded like Almarine, but it couldn’t have been. She wouldn’t dare speak to an Honorborn lord, especially not in such a tone.
I woke the next day on the softest thing I had ever felt. I heard people speaking, but I didn't want to move, afraid that whatever was giving me such comfort would be taken from me.
“We have other slaves, Father. Why would you choose this one, especially, after it tried to kill me, your own child?”
Ezra continued her whining. “The retrieval of the Sun Lion Diamond isn't like gambling on a fight. You need a slave far more educated than that savage.”
I peeked out just enough to see Ochloc, his eyes fierce as he regarded Ezra. “Educated slave!” He pounded his hand on his desk. “You dare compare me to one of those soft-hearted Oceanborn bastards? I do not educate slaves! I don’t even have my own service, unlike the rest of these weak, simple fools.”
Ezra’s small feet shuffled across the floor.“Father, I didn’t—” she was trying to calm him, an impossible task when he was in such a frenzy.
“Just yesterday,” he interrupted with a hint of mockery, “you were literally begging me to put the damn thing in the games. I allowed him to compete, and he revealed his old blood to every Honorborn eye in the realm. I did not wish for him to compete, and you, my darling child, forced my hand. Now, you would tell me what I must and must not do with my own slaves? Have I spoiled you so much you’ve forgotten your place?”
A heavy silence filled the room.
“Avery trades across the sea and your aunt creates marvels with univers. Every day they build their power. They grow wealthier and wealthier as the seasons pass. Soon they will have enough influence to challenge me for the throne. They will cite the Contract of Clans: only the mightiest conqueror may guard the Throne and its secrets. I tell you this, so you will understand. The Sun Lion Diamond is the key we need to maintain our strength, and that savage’s old blood is the tool we will use to obtain it. Before they rais
e fresh armies of eager warriors and march them to our gates, demanding we secede,” he finished. Then there was the sound of a cup sliding across wood, followed by the deep gulping of a drink.
Ochloc’s chair groaned. His footsteps were heavy on the floor as he paced the room.
“We could save him for battle season,” Ezra began. “The skill he showed in the games would be unmatched by any of the filth he faced.”
Ochloc sighed. He stopped pacing.
“It's in his blood. I know you don't want to lose a possibly priceless weapon, but without risk, we may be overthrown. We must pay the boy's strength no mind. If it weren’t for the ritual that protects a master from their slaves, his father would have killed me nearly eighty cycles ago. His kind kill with insatiable lust and taken. Had he been trained from birth as you were, you may have died today, daughter,” Ochloc said.
Could it be possible that he worried for her life, or was it simply an attempt to convey a message to her?
Ezra laughed in response. After a long pause, she spoke again. “Surely you jest, Father. No slave could kill a trained Elementalist. We control univers,” Ezra said.
Ochloc was the one laughing now.
“I’ve seen Elementalists hundreds of cycles my senior die to the single blow of a developing Fury like that boy. Vola was a force of nature. He…” Ochloc began but trailed off when he saw me peeking at him over the blanket.
Ezra followed her father's eyes, and they both stared at me. Neither said anything, and since I knew of nothing to say, I didn’t either. Then, Ochloc must have come back to reality; he snapped his fingers, signaling for me to approach him.
“You’re awake. Good. I was starting to think I was being too kind, letting you rest here. I would have been more unforgiving if it had all been for naught,” he said, calmly.
He walked over to a tall cabinet as I got out of the bed. I was slow to stand, knowing that after what I had done yesterday, I'd be sore. The days following the training yard showed me the lingering characteristics of pain. When I stood though, I was met by another sensation entirely. I felt more energized and fulfilled than I could recall ever having felt. I touched my side, where I remembered being struck, and nothing was broken or bruised there.