by Edward Lake
Maven began with a quick jab that grazed Declan’s ear. He had pretty good speed. But Declan responded with an even faster punch that caught Maven right between the eyes. The shot barely fazed the bulky slugger. Declan went in for a takedown, but Maven stuffed it. The despicable gamblers started banging on their ships like drums, creating theater music for my brother and his opponent.
Declan landed another hammering strike on Maven. He followed up with a swift kick to his leg and bent down for another takedown attempt. Maven decided to grapple with Declan this time. They wrestled with each other for a few seconds. Then Maven overpowered my brother and slammed him down on the rough soil.
I put my hand over my mouth and gasped. Get up, Declan. Get up! I prayed.
Maven slithered his large arms around Declan’s neck and squeezed hard.
“Oh my, looks like Zant is trying to end it!” Jarvis yapped. “The choke hold is locked in tight. Let’s see if Ezra can break free and make it to round two!”
I wanted to run into the fight and stop Maven. The soldiers would have shot me down, but I didn’t care. Then, somehow, my brother managed to get back to his feet and tried his best to pull his head out of the choke hold.
Feeling hopeful, I screamed, “Break free, Declan! Come on, Brother. Break free!”
Declan jammed his elbow into Maven’s ribcage over and over. But it was no use. Maven tightened his squeeze around Declan’s neck and yanked down every time Declan hit him with an elbow. My brother reached down and grabbed Maven’s leg. He lifted it, trying to throw him off balance. At first, Maven adjusted. Declan leaned his body weight into his larger opponent, and that was just enough to send them both stumbling backward and crashing to the ground.
I waved a fist at them and shouted, “Yes!”
The deathly grip was broken, but it had taken a lot out of Declan. He wobbled to his feet before Maven could get up and backed away to catch his breath. Maven, a laser-sharp glare in his eyes, got up quickly and moved forward, stalking Declan.
Thankfully, Jarvis sounded the horn for round one, stopping Maven’s momentum and saving Declan from another lashing. “Fighters, to your caretakers! This contest will resume in one minute!”
Declan staggered over to me and crumbled to his knees.
“Breathe, Brother. Deep breaths. In and out. Breathe,” I said and calmly rubbed his back.
“He’s strong, Zena. A lot stronger than I thought,” he gasped.
I caressed his neck and shoulders for a few seconds, then helped him to his feet. “He might be strong, but you’re faster than he is. Use your speed, move in and out, and wear him down.”
Declan rolled his neck and nodded. “Okay.”
I had never seen him this spent in a fight after one round. Dear God, please, help us, I prayed. I did not want to lose my brother. He was my hero and my best friend. “If I could fight for you, I would, Declan. I would fight this man, win or die. I would give it my all to save you from this brutality.”
He glanced at me with a bloody face and flashed a crimson smile. “I know you would, Zena. You’d do well, too.”
The bloodthirsty spectators cheered and applauded as they watched my brother and his opponent prepare themselves for round two.
“Ezra, ready to fight?” Jarvis called out.
Declan gave him a nod.
“Zant, ready to fight?”
Maven looked right past the fat man, his eyes burning with rage. He nodded, glaring at Declan.
“Round two. Fight!”
Declan bent low into a fighting stance and moved forward. Maven charged ahead and went right over to Declan. My brother stung Maven with a zippy punch that rocked him backward. Declan capitalized with another quick shot that made Maven cover up. The crowd boomed and roared as the action intensified. Declan kept the pressure on and used his speed to beat Maven to the punch. Had God answered my prayer? It was as if Declan had gotten a second wind.
Maven tried to counter with punches of his own, but he was too slow. Declan danced around the sturdy brawler and peppered him with more shots. Maven was bleeding now, covering his face and ducking low. I caught a glimpse of his wife covering her mouth and staring at her husband with red, watery eyes. Maybe she had called out to God, too, hoping the Holy Spirit would save Maven from Declan’s attack.
I didn’t want her husband to die, and I didn’t want her children to grow up without their father. Our father had died in a fight, and not a day went by that I didn’t think of him. I wanted more than anything to stop the carnage. I wanted to save Declan and Maven and end the suffering all of us slaves had endured for so long—from the hard labor slaves on Districts One, Two, and Three, digging up gold in the mountains, to the field slaves on Districts Five, Six, and Seven, harvesting crops for the High Priest and all his mindless followers.
Sometimes, I wondered what our lives would have been like if we were born in another district. Sure, we would still be slaves, but maybe our mother and father would still be alive. Maybe Declan wouldn’t have to go through this madness every ten days.
These were the moments that made me feel most powerless. Looking back on my youth, I believed that was why I was so fond of soldiers. They carried guns, and fancy armor protected their bodies. With those tools and equipment, they had power. They could kill a man with one shot or shoot down a ship with several blasts from their guns. I wanted that kind of power. I wanted to feel invincible so I could get revenge for all of us. The soldiers needed to die or feel pain like we did, even if only for a few minutes.
Declan kept the pressure on, stunning Maven with incredible quickness. He caught Maven with a devastating uppercut that sent him crashing down to the dirt. The crowd rocked and roared as my brother swooped in for the kill.
Jarvis danced around like a fool, waving his hands as the crowd in the sky howled and hollered. “This could be it! Zant is down and bleeding. Can Ezra finish the fight?”
“Kill him, Declan!” I shouted. God, forgive me. “I can’t lose you! End this so we can go home.” I would rather suffer in the darkness with you, Brother, than live a day in the light without you. “Come on, Declan! Finish him!”
Maven grabbed Declan’s leg to try and stop his momentum, but it was no use. Declan shook him off and kneed his face. Maven crumbled like a wounded animal and screeched in pain.
Rena yelled, “No, Maven! Get up!”
Declan pounded away with more knees and punches. He followed up with a few elbows, and it appeared as if Maven was done.
The horn sounded, and Declan was forced to stop his assault. The crowd booed and hissed, and a few of them threw things down at Jarvis.
“Hey, enough of that,” Jarvis said, his voice echoing across the prison yard. “I don’t make the rules, my friends. I just call the action. Send your grievances to the leaders of the GGC!”
Declan rose to his feet and walked over to me, taking deep breaths. “I thought I had him.”
“You will in this next round. Keep the pressure on and show no mercy.”
All at once, he and I turned and watched Maven crawl to his wife. Seeing them embrace, maybe for the last time, was hard to watch. Assuming Declan would win might have been premature. Still, it seemed his opponent was barely hanging on to the shred of life he had left.
“Round three. Fight!”
Maven screamed out in pain as he staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his body. Declan marched to the center of the yard and prepared himself for another clash. Maven wobbled onward, his arms loosely covering his head. Declan went right in for the kill, swarming Maven with a flurry of stiff punches. With all he had left, the bloodied and battered fighter managed to grab Declan’s arm. He leaped off his feet, sending all his body weight crashing down on Declan’s arm.
The crowd was stunned into silence, and so was I.
Declan shouted out in agony and reached for the shoulder Maven had crushed with his body weight. He managed to get away from Maven and tried his best to shake off the damage. His right arm, wh
ich was his strong arm, dangled low like a wet leaf. Had Maven dislocated his shoulder or broken his arm?
My brother carefully scanned his opponent and waited for him to get up. Maven slowly made it back to his feet and wiped away the blood in his eyes. He put his fist up and stumbled toward Declan. With his left fist, my brother popped Maven with a clean punch, right on his chin. He followed up with a swift kick to Maven’s lead leg. The kick sent Maven crashing down to his knees. Declan wasted no time and stunned him with a front kick to the face. Maven sank like a rock in a puddle of water. He was out. Declan went to the ground and jammed an elbow into his bleeding skull.
He kept going, over and over, blasting Maven with more punches. Finally, once it became clear that Maven was dead, he scooted away from his opponent’s lifeless body.
My heart thumped hard and fast for a few seconds. The pace slowed down as I let out a long exhale. Watching one of us die was never easy. It felt like having someone rip my soul out of my body for a moment, then spit and stomp all over it, only to shove it back inside me and laugh in my face. Over and over, year after year, with no end in sight. How could these rich slobs be so sick?
I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed for Rena and her family. Maven was just an innocent man, literally fighting to stay alive. Sadly, his journey had come to an end. I asked God to give him justice and to keep his wife and children safe.
It all led back to the High Priest. He was the ruler of Starlight. He had the power to stop this madness. Instead, he gave the GGC clearance to operate their death sport—and donate their riches to his temples. He should be hung and burned alive for such wickedness.
The boisterous spectators shouted to the stars as they watched Jarvis jog his fat body over to Maven’s corpse. He checked his pulse to confirm what I already knew, then announced, “The winner of this death match is Declan Ezra! He lives to fight another day, so place your bets on his next fight. Double your winnings!” Jarvis called his ship, and his pilot flew down in a hurry. “Good dawn, my friends. I shall return tomorrow for the next death match!” A cheesy grin stretched across his face. He spun his head and pointed at my brother. “Great fight, Ezra! We’ll see you again in ten days!”
One by one, the ships began to fly away. I looked up and watched them leave. Hideous scum, each one of you! I grumbled. Seeing them shake hands and exchange bags of money chips sparked an aching burn in my chest. I was left to heal my brother with hand massages while they flew away to their nice homes and ate the fresh vegetables that other slaves had died to harvest in the hot sun.
Declan stood up and walked over to me. I gently hugged him, making sure to not touch his bad arm. “You did it, Brother. I knew you would.”
He seemed relieved, but he did not want to celebrate. “Another man is dead, Zena. Let us take a moment to reflect for Maven and his wife.”
He was right, and I felt bad for gloating. I was so caught up in my own happiness of not losing my brother that I failed to show my respect to Rena.
Declan turned and faced her. He took one step forward, and she stopped him with a heart-wrenching scream.
Rena had already gone to her dead husband and was now holding him in her arms. “Don’t come near me! Just go home to your family.”
I wrapped my arm around Declan’s waist and moved him away from Rena. “Come on, Brother. Let’s go.”
The soldier who had brought us to the prison yard locked us back in restraints and shoved us along, ordering us to the elevators. At last, we were headed back to the darkness below. On the inside, my heart ached for Rena and her children. Yet as we inched closer to the elevator doors, all I could do was smile. My brother was still alive—with me.
3
Zena
The soldier freed us from the wrist and ankle locks and opened the door of our cell. Declan walked back into our dark, grungy home and shared a warm embrace with Grandma Petra. Turk and Lydia jumped up and down and hugged his legs. I sauntered inside and folded my arms, gazing upon them with utter glee. Our family had ten more days before Declan’s next fight. Ten days to rejoice and count our blessings.
The soldier closed the cell door and locked us in. The clang of his marching boots slowly faded away into a soft echo, blending in with the hundreds of patrolling soldiers on our cell block.
“How did you kill him, Brother?” Turk asked and threw a few pretend punches at Declan.
“Hey!” he snapped, pointing a stern finger at our little brother. “What did I tell you about that?”
Turk put his hands down and frowned. “Sorry.”
Declan knelt to his level and used his good arm to reach out to Turk. He placed a caring hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him closer. “I am happy to be alive, my brother, but someone else had to die so that I could live.” He firmly hugged him and said, “One day, you will have to fight, too, Turk. I’ll probably be dead by then, so learn what you can from me now.”
Hearing my eldest brother talk to my younger brother like this angered me. How could it not? Rich, snobby scum from across the galaxy and an immoral High Priest were the reasons we suffered. Each day, we were forced to listen to that fraud blabber about his misconstrued interpretation of God. He yapped about obeying the laws of God so his followers could live prosperous lives, yet we slaves were the ones allowing his congregation to prosper. We suffered every day so he could feed his disciples more lies.
Most nights, before I went to sleep, I prayed to God that someday we would have our revenge. I dreamed that our days in the light would be permanent and the darkness we had endured for so long would be left where we found it: in the underground levels of a prison on the North Star.
I hoped for happier faces and smiles that lasted forever and the freedom to roam the stars. Oh my, what a life that would be. The dream ended with all the soldiers of the Holy Army dead and Pastor Saros locked in a cage for the rest of his life.
“You kids go play. I need to rest my arm,” Declan said achingly. He kissed the top of Turk’s head, then shoved him along to Lydia.
I snapped out of my vengeful trance and watched the little ones prance to the other side of our cell. Turk got into a fighting stance and dared Lydia to come forward. She did not back down one bit and went right after Turk. They threw light kicks and punches at each other for a moment. Soon after, the fighting turned into tickling, and our cage filled up with blissful laughter.
“When we were that little, I used to beat you up pretty good,” I bragged, waving a frisky finger at Declan.
He laughed at my claim and shook his head. “When we were kids, the only thing you were good at was running from me.”
Grandma Petra rolled her eyes and rested her head on her hand. She playfully yawned as she listened to me and Declan argue over who was tougher.
“That’s funny, because I remember all the kids on the yard called you Declan the Dwarf for losing a fight to your little sister!”
Declan smiled and turned his head to look at me. “You were a great scrapper, Zena. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” He let those kind words hang over me for a few seconds. “But I was the best fighter on the yard back then, and I’m the best fighter on the yard now.”
From outside our cage, a patrolling soldier called out, “Listen up, slaves! It is time for the High Priest’s sermon and your midday meal, followed by your recreation hours on the yard.”
The midday meal and our recreation time on the yard was our only time to mingle with the other slaves and enjoy some fresh air in the sun. But sadly, before we could eat and relax, we were forced to watch the High Priest’s daily sermon. It was a dreadful recorded video that lasted for almost an hour.
The only good thing about the sermon was Sadie Saros, the priest’s daughter. She was absolutely stunning: a dainty beauty with long, glowing black hair and dreamy green eyes. She seemed like such an elegant, mild-mannered woman, the kind of woman who made anyone proud to be with her. Declan knew I fancied her. However, he made sure to only make fun of me
for it privately. If anyone knew about my affections for women, I could be killed. Pastor Saros had strict laws for people like me.
Grandma Petra knew about my preferences, too, yet she was not as accepting as Declan. “When they put that Sadie Saros on the screen, keep your mouth off the ground, young lady,” she whispered. “One of these days, someone will notice your ogling and report you to the soldiers.”
I looked down and kept my eyes hidden from her. She didn’t need to see my shame—she already knew it was there. Sometimes I hate myself for being like this, Grandma. Can’t you see that? I wondered.
I hoped Declan would say something to change the subject, but he stayed quiet and waited for Grandma to go on.
“You know I love you, don’t you, Zena?” she asked.
I waited a moment before responding and anxiously picked away at the dirt on the ground. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence, I said, “Yes.”
Grandma scooted over to me and placed her hand on my face. “Keep your hopes and dreams with me, dear. It will be safer that way.”
From afar, echoing shouts from marching soldiers on our cell block filled the air, ordering everyone to “stand and get ready to exit the cells.”
Grandma Petra and I quickly stood and helped Declan to his feet. He sorely grimaced with every movement. Maven Zant had really done a number on his shoulder. I prayed that he would be healed in time for his next fight. If not, the next battle could be his last. Turk would be the last male left in our family, and Grandma and I would be left to raise him into the next Ezra slave fighter. Dear God, please, answer our prayers. Declan needs your grace.
Sometimes, as slaves, we only had our faith. It gave us hope so we could keep fighting for what mattered most. Those were the values our mother, Gia, and our father, Valter, instilled in Declan and me. Since they died, my brother and I took on the responsibility of teaching those same beliefs to Turk and Lydia. They had to know the real God, not the lies Pastor Saros preached.