by David Salvi
Part of the allure was a foggy appearance, thanks to its home geography—the Marshland. Before settling in where Canaanite City is, the original inhabitants from Stargazer found a location on the fringes of the plains and marshes, which had quick access to freshwater. That was until they had the wherewithal to migrate to Lake Albertrum and its many great benefits. As an homage to their original settlement, they built this structure.
People revered games and events at the Theatre, as Canaanites came to call it, in the old world. Now it was a symbol of death, yet the populous had no problem with the respite from their daily lives.
Today, buzz around Canaanite City was centered on the Games as part of the Sestercentennial Celebration. If there was one thing Motus attacks did that pleased Canaanites, it was provide contestants for the Games.
Deep in the tunnels, one story below the crowd, a band of Motus members lined up against a wall in chains. Muddy sludge lined the floor. You heard the chains clinking and an occasional cough. Frequent rain caused water to drip from the ceiling onto their heads and shoulders. They’d open their mouths for a drink as something to put in their system. They had been down there for days after the Military Force transported them from the prison, sweating and stinking and rotting.
“Welcome warriors.” The Lioness. There was a grittiness to her voice, like she was pleased to honor them with death. She was the administrator of the Games. She personally asked for the responsibility, despite her high rank. She could have easily enjoyed them from the expensive seats and ripped whiskee until she drank herself into a vomiting stupor. But this was personal. After losing Riley Reuben, Motus’s famed leader, she was going to make the survivors pay.
“We’re going to have fun this week. Each of you will have the chance to die with dignity. Or you’ll run like cowards until your inevitable demise in this great arena says hello,” the Lioness said.
A few gulps came from the so-called Games warriors.
She continued her oration, “In the next room, you’ll take up arms. From there, you fight. If you win, you fight another day. And you’ll get a meal.” They hadn’t eaten in days. It seemed like enough of a motivation, the Lioness figured. Besides the whole dying part.
Next, a dozen Motus warriors marched in chains to the next room. Brute Military Force officers stood guard, unlocked their shackles, and handed them ancient-looking combat gear—rusted swords, wooden shields, and spotty leather armor.
The weapons and armor were fashioned centuries ago, and it showed. Taking native metals and hide from slaughtered livestock, the old Canaanites thought to replicate the old Roman way. There wasn’t much upkeep though. Motus warriors murmured complaints, which were universally ignored.
The one in front, Gabriella, took arms without a word. She put a metal helmet over her thick-curled black hair. Her eyes were dark like her hair and bags under her eyes had formed the last few days. Taking up a rustic sword the size of an adult’s arm, she turned to find the Lioness.
“What now?” Gabriella said.
Above their heads, they heard the pounding of the Canaanite audience. Cheers were reverberating the small tunnel space.
“The world is calling for you, little flower. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not.”
The Lioness loomed over her. “You should be.”
“I’d be more afraid if I were in those stands as a Canaanite.”
“Your superiority sickens me.”
“Your blind loyalty is that of a stupid dog.”
Without hesitation, the Lioness backhanded Gabriella. The rusty metal helmet cut into Gabriella’s cheek, but she did not wipe the blood. She felt it stream down her face.
The Lioness spoke through gritted teeth, “That’s the first of it, you Motus scum. You’ll see me at the end no matter what.”
Before Gabriella could respond, a gate raised and the mighty Apollo shined through.
***
For the next week, brutal battles entertained the masses. Bonzo cats were unleashed on Motus members. Limbs were torn to bits. Overwhelming brute military force officers toyed with the captives. Some Motus were stripped naked and thrown into the center of the stage. The crowd’s laughter ensued until a Military Force officer slit their throat and spilled blood with glee. Time and time again, the crowd erupted.
Despite the inhumanity, Canaanites cheered every last death. They hurled food and sticks at Motus warriors as they entered through the tunnel. They jeered, heckled, spit, and verbally abused every last one.
From the monolith, Arch Canaanites gathered on posh seating. Servants brought them the finest alcohol and food. They laughed. They got fatter than they already were. Every day they did this. Every day they sacrificed Motus and enjoyed it.
***
The last day of the Games was upon them.
The Lioness marched toward the end of the tunnel. There was one Motus warrior left—Gabriella. She scanned her last prey, seeing lacerations and abrasions across her body.
The young Motus member stood tall and proud, still donning her armor from the past week. She was shackled and without any weaponry.
“A precious flower like you making it to the end. Well done,” the Lioness said.
Gabriella panned the comment. Her eyes aligned with the stage ahead, which basked in Apollo.
The Lioness continued, “Don’t be a tough girl with me. After all, we are the same.”
This struck a nerve.
“I’m nothing like you.” Gabriella’s eyes still fixated forward.
“I beg to differ.” The Lioness smirked, almost like a hearty purr. “Like you, I care about a cause. Like you, I’m willing to do whatever is necessary. We would kill for the cause. We would die for the cause.”
“I’m surprised we aren’t best friends.”
A cackle erupted from the Lioness. She rubbed the back of her hand against Gabriella’s face, which was frozen still.
“Oh, delicate flower. You are a killer at heart. I applaud your strength.”
“I defend what is just. You defend the wicked.”
“Oh! What is just, what is right, what is wrong. Every cause is right and just until opposition crushes it into oblivion. Or the cause reigns supreme. It’s all a game. Right and wrong are relative to what team you’re on.”
“That sounds like something a foolish Canaanite would say.”
The Lioness backhanded Gabriella’s face and reopened the wound on her cheek that the Lioness gave nearly a week ago.
Gabriella turned to the Lioness and spit out blood, only to turn her head back to the stage in front of her. The crowds began to turn unruly, stomping their feet and demanding death.
Deja vu.
“Shall we, flower?”
Leading the way out to the stage under the bright sun, the Lioness yanked Gabriella by the shackles. The Motus member followed confidently, though, not letting the moment wrestle her to the ground.
The dull blaring of the crowd shifted to harsh shrieking. Tempers flared around the stadium. Vegetables were hurled toward the Games last combatant. She was thankful for the metal helmet that covered her entire skull, down to her cheekbones, and leather armor. None of the crowd’s projectiles harmed her.
In the heat of Apollo’s blaze, Gabriella was on display, being pulled like cattle to the center of the pasture. She accepted her role and never lagged behind. When she reached her spot, directly in the middle, an announcement came through speakers situated throughout the stadium.
The Lioness spoke. A microphone was handed to her by one of her officers.
“My dear Canaanites. Welcome to the last day of our Sestercentennial Games!”
Jubilant eruption in the stands.
She continued, “We have one final battle that’ll send this celebration home in style. Our last Motus member and valiant fighter is ready.”
A hissing of boos then filled the stadium.
Gabriella made one attempt to find someone in the crowd. Whether it was fate or her brain see
king solace in someone or something, she spotted a child. A girl in red. She was quietly sitting next to adults rampaging the air with hate. Yet she sat without a sound, accepting everything around her.
As stoic as she had been, Gabriella couldn’t help but choke up. No one could see the subtle nature of her face, just grand gestures of her body. Yet she remained still. A lump went down her throat, and a tear streamed down her eye. Together she broke, if only for a second, because the words from the vile woman with the microphone. Hate swirled throughout the stadium. This was the power of the violent masses. This was the power of controlling a population’s thought. She did not break for herself and her impending death on this sandy floor of a stadium. She broke for humanity’s sake. These people felt lost, at least for a generation, and nothing seemed to be viable enough to stop it.
The Lioness’s words pierced Gabriella’s ears, “Her final battle is…with me.”
Just maybe Gabriella would enjoy this round in the Theatre.
“If she comes out victorious, she will be granted freedom and safe passage back to Motus Island!” The crowd booed this. Gabriella did not buy it.
“Are you ready, Canaanites?!” The Lioness smiled and moved around the stage like an accomplished orator. She was an Arch Canaanite after all. Oration was part of the gig.
Collectively the crowd delivered a resounding “yes” in its many forms.
Then two officers darted in from the side and unshackled the captive warrior. They then handed Gabriella her fighting gear. An ancient sword, rusted and jagged at the blade, and a circular metal shield, dented and abused throughout its life. She was used to shoddy weaponry after a week of making the most out of damaged pieces.
As she assessed the sword, an arm’s length and pointed at the tip, Gabriella swung it around to loosen her body from wretched sleep the night before. She twisted her head around neck and stretched every limb, using the weight of her equipment to help blood flow. Then she crouched into fighting position, blade pointed forward.
Several feet away, the Lioness had ditched the microphone and readied her own sword and shield, both quite contrasting to what Gabriella held. Every inch of the Lioness was covered with metal-plated leather armor, gold and shimmering in the light of the day. The only weak points, Gabriella noted, were at the joints where the Lioness would have to move. Neck, underarm, elbow, waist, knee, and ankle. If she had an opportunity, these would be her strike zones. In her mind, Gabriella recounted the words Riley Reuben had imparted on her.
“Move fast and wait for your opening. Don’t over-attack. One good blow is worth more than ten lousy ones,” Riley instructed back at Motus Island months prior. That’s what she’d do.
Back to the present, Gabriella heard the challenge.
“Come get me, flower,” hissed the Lioness.
The crowd lowered to a faint roar in Gabriella’s head, hearing only her deep breathing. This was her routine to victory, surviving devastating obstacles en route to survival—not that survival meant much to her, since she knew her life would end in this stadium one way or another. Much of the ado around her faded to a blurry background. Her focus zeroed in on Commander Veras, the Lioness of Canaan.
Gabriella chose to sidestep, sword still drawn at the side of her face and pointing toward its target. The shield held high to guard her torso.
The Lioness followed suit, mirroring her opponent’s movement.
Slowly they stepped toward each other while circling, like a spiral.
As if to activate her primal instincts, Gabriella gnarled behind the sword and shield.
The face aggravated the Lioness. She charged.
Gabriella held firm as the Lioness attacked over the top with her sword, jabbing her blade violently and quickly through the air. The blow slammed the shield against her helmet, dazing her for a moment. She recoiled her senses and somersaulted into the ground to perk herself back into position after sustaining the force.
The Lioness growled while on the hunt. She was blood thirsty and angry.
Still the crowd was silent to the Motus member. Her eyes focused on the Lioness’s feet. How was she going to move? What was she going to do next?
Then the commander of the Canaanite military showed her. With three steps, she vaulted herself into the air and swung the sword from the side, generating even more power. Again, Gabriella blocked the incoming attack with her shield. This time though, one of the dents in her shield became a larger and deeper dent.
In a quick counterblow, Gabriella found an opening to the Lioness’s armor and swung. It was a blunt hit, but a hit nonetheless. It had to have hurt. Sure enough, she heard something—a scream from her opponent. Then a barrage of curse words.
The knee. She struck the knee.
“That all you got, flower!” Lioness’s words were filled with spittle and disgust.
Gabriella sidestepped again, to her right once more, the Lioness’s injured side. Riley’s words stuck in her head.
“Attack a weakness until it chops the entire body down,” Riley said back on the island.
Through the air came Gabriella’s blade, but the Lioness blocked it with her shield.
Then the onslaught of activity. Back and forth they exchanged incoming blows and parrying shots. The swords connected. Sparks flew into the air. Shields dented. Sweat dripped from their brows. At one point, Gabriella flipped her helmet off to clearly see her target. What good would it be now if it blocked her vision?
Just when the crowd’s roar was at an apex, Gabriella made the move that sealed her victory. Countering a lunge from the Lioness, the Motus member used her agility to crouch and slam her mangled shield into the Lioness’s arm, dislodging the weapon and cracking her wrist. Now without a sword, the Lioness retreated, but not before Gabriella sliced her jagged blade across the Lioness’s waist. That blow sent the Lioness to the ground.
The crowd gasped collectively. Officers to the side stood shocked. That was their commander. She lost to this scum?
Beaten and covered in the Theatre’s grainy ground, the Lioness coughed from pain. Part of the blade struck her ribs. Her wincing was interrupted by a shadow that came over her face. Gabriella blocking Apollo.
Gabriella’s blade rose high above her own head. She gnarled as if to attack. But she didn’t.
From her sides, Canaanite Military Officers rushed to aid their fallen commander. They shouted for Gabriella to stop.
“I face certain death,” Gabriella said. “Freedom is never an option in Canaanite City.”
No answer but struggling breaths from the Lioness.
She continued, “I will show what it means to right and just.” The blade lowered and dropped to the now blood-spotted ground,
A moment later four officers grabbed Gabriella by the arms and held her firm. Her gnarl evolved to a face of pity. She relented.
The Lioness was silent. An officer helped her to her feet. Another handed her a sword.
“This is dying for something.”
Without a second thought, Commander Veras thrust the blade into her prey. The fallen flower hit the soil, coughing up blood and gasping for air, only engaging her instinct to survive.
“Scum,” the Lioness mumbled her breath.
The crowd, only aware of the grand movements of the warriors, cheered fondly for their own.
CHAPTER 7
A CRACKLE IN THE BRUSH below woke Chris from his sleep. His eyes popped open, and he shot his body into a crouched position. He peeked over the rock—his bedmate for the evening. Straining from the hard floor sleep, Chris could barely crane his neck without pain.
A man jumped into a rocky valley in the side of the mountain before Chris could see who or what it was. The mountain face was littered with peaklets and ridges.
Chris snapped his head down. His heart palpitated like a beat drum at the gallows, an ominous sound that reverberated the city as a warning. The red bandana, he checked, was in the bag and not on his head. He’ll never make that error again.
Again Chris lifted his eye enough over the smooth, rocky surface. He saw movement around one of the ridges. That’s when a familiar figure was in view and earshot. The adrenaline in his body subsided for the moment.
“Jack?” Chris shouted.
Jack focused on his steps up the mountain until he heard his name. A grin stretched to his ears, and he shouted back, “Chris! I found you!” He wore a bulky green backpack stored with camp gear.
“What are you doing here?” Chris shouted.
Jack put his hands on his knees to catch a breath. He released a hearty sigh and chuckled a bit to Chris, who remained silently skeptical.
“I’m here for you, my friend. For you!” Jack seemed overly excited for Chris’s liking.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, of course! Believe me. You are gonna be glad I did.” Jack caught another breath.
Chris, handling his gardener knife at his hip, said, “What’s that?”
“I had to come tell you the news,” Jack said as his eyes lit up. He gesticulated proudly by flailing his arms about. “Your mom...is alive!”
Mom was alive? No, that can’t be true, he told himself. Instead of responding, as Jack had eagerly awaited, Chris fell to a knee and wanted to weep. He felt relief. Then happiness. Then regret for leaving. Then all three at once.
“Let’s go back. We have to go see her!” Jack urged. He scaled closer to Chris’s spot on the mountain, stumbling at times and slipping on loose rock. He hated climbing, even when Chris would pull him away to bunny hills when they were boys. Chris had a knack for it. Jack did not. He preferred tools, like a hammer and nails.
“What have I done,” Chris uttered. He could barely say it out loud in front of his tears.
“No, man. Don’t worry about that. Let’s just go down and see her. They have her at the hospital now.”
Chris was about to take a step, but something was off. It’s then Chris saw it dangle from Jack’s hip. A stunner.