Defiant

by Aaron Hodges

  And then there were the beasts.

  Attacks had grown rarer in recent years, as the Alfur worked to exterminate the creatures from the five cities, but still a month did not go by without one mauling. At least the hounds no longer moved in packs—those had been deadly, his parents claimed, in the days of their youth. As it was, an individual hound or a pack of felines could still prove dangerous.

  Thankfully, no eyes appeared in the shadows and Rydian made it the last few blocks to his home without incident.

  Only there did he pause, anger lodging in his throat at the sight of his refuse-strewn door. A tremor shook him as he clenched his fists, the Light of his Manus reader shining between his fingers. He had cleaned the door before his departure that morning, but apparently his tormentors had not yet grown tired of their cruel games.

  Steeling himself, he raised his Manus reader to the handle, allowing a burst of light to wash across the metallic surface. Pure Light could sterilise. Exhausted from the pursuit, it was the best Rydian could do for this night. He would deal with the mess in the morning.

  Within, Rydian’s father and his disappointment waited.

  “Where were you?”

  The voice greeted Rydian from the darkness. Gathering himself, he pressed the door closed behind him and opened his palm, allowing his Manus reader to illuminate the single room that he and his father had shared since his mother’s…disappearance.

  His father, Rafael, sat alone in the dark, face grim, pale eyes staring at a point just over Rydian’s shoulder. They didn’t move as he crossed the room and lit a lantern. His father rarely bothered with such formalities, not now that he spent his days alone in his blindness.

  Rydian might have kept using the Light of his Manus reader, but…he found a comfort in the glow of a flame, in its flickering warmth. Oil might be a precious commodity and difficult to obtain, but since Rafael never used his allocation, there were rations enough for this night.

  “I was hungry,” Rydian finally answered his father’s question.

  Crossing the room, he took the loaf of bread from his rucksack and placed it on the tiny table they shared for meals. He paused for a moment to stare at his prize, the invaluable item the merchant thugs had chased him halfway across the city to recover, and found himself shaking his head. So much trouble for something that would barely last them a meal. Picking it up again, he broke it in half with an audible crunch.

  On the sofa, his father’s head perked up at the sound, or perhaps the smell—Rydian could only guess at the accuracy of his father’s senses. Then a scowl marked Rafael’s forehead.

  “What have you taken now, Rydian?” he cursed.

  Rydian grunted, moving to his father and waving a piece of the bread before Rafael’s face. “Bread,” he replied flatly. “Don’t worry, Father, Carlos won’t miss it.” Carlos was the merchant Rydian had stolen from.

  Despite his reassurances, Rafael’s frown only deepened, though he still snatched the bread from Rydian’s fingers. “Men like Carlos see everything, Rydian,” he replied bitterly. Shaking his head, Rafael gestured towards their tiny kitchen. “Why do you still take such risks? We don’t need it now. We have the credits, after your mother—”

  “Maybe I like teaching that traitor a lesson,” Rydian snapped, cutting off his father. He didn’t want to hear the next words, the lies they whispered. Not tonight. Drawing in a breath, he forced himself to continue in a calmer voice. “Maybe I need to remind people who the real traitors are.”

  Merchants like Carlos were favoured by the Alfur, considered trustworthy enough to be given access to transports between the five cities of Talamh. Not for themselves, of course, but for the goods they then sold to lower humans for senseless prices. The bread Rydian had stolen would have cost a simple labourer half a month’s earnings—and his family did not even have that. Not unless…

  “Why can’t you accept it, boy?” his father said softly, his voice sad. “Perhaps then, the pain…”

  “I can’t,” Rydian whispered as his father trailed off. “I won’t.” Angrily, he shook his head, wiping away the tear that threatened to spill from his eye. Drawing in a breath, he turned to his father. “It doesn’t matter. The examination is tomorrow, after the games. When I pass, they’ll invite me to join the scholars. Then you can finally stop worrying about me.”

  And I can find the truth, he added silently.

  The scholars were glorified librarians, assistants to the Alfur. But theirs was one of the few professions that granted humans regular access to the Alfur—and their records. It would be difficult, working alongside their overlords each day, but it was Rydian’s only chance of uncovering what had truly happened to his mother…

  …rather than the official story.

  That she was a traitor.

  That she had betrayed the resistance to the Alfur.

  2

  Excitement touched Rydian as the crowd roared, the pounding of boots striking the metal stands echoing through the stadium. On the sands of the arena below, weapons shrieked as blade met blade, and a man grunted, staggering back from his opponent as a bloody gash appeared on his chest. His shield bore the blue of the island city of Mayenke, while the woman he fought was garbed in Goman green.

  Little wonder then that the crowd applauded as she darted in, her gladius evading the Mayenken’s shield to bury itself in the man’s throat.

  The arena exploded as the gladiator slumped to the sands in death, but Rydian did not rise to his feet with them. Gladiators might have been fighting below for gold and glory, but Rydian’s thoughts were occupied by greater concerns.

  This afternoon were the examinations, his one chance to earn a position closer to the Alfur, one that would allow him to uncover the truth about what had happened in the Alfurian Temple.

  His one chance to clear his mother’s name.

  He shivered, glancing at the crowd once more. A bubble of empty seats had formed around where he sat as his neighbouring citizens sought to avoid associating with the offspring of a traitor. Despite the space, he could sense their eyes on him, the looks they flashed from the corner of their eyes. Six months had passed since the massacre at the temple, yet his family’s notoriety showed no sign of diminishing.

  After all, his mother was not just a traitor, but the traitor. Merchants like Carlos were favoured by the Alfur, but even they were not sufficiently immoral to turn completely against their own kind. That was how the resistance had survived in the first place. They had not merely been freedom fighters—they had been part of the Goman community, brothers, daughters, mothers. To betray them was to betray one’s own family.

  All the more heinous, then, his mother’s alleged crime, and his own notoriety.

  Shaking his head, Rydian struggled to focus on the present. A fresh pair of gladiators had appeared on the sands and offered their traditional salute, a sign of respect between warriors about to do battle. These two wore the yellow of Lutryde and red of Riesor. Without one of their own in the contest, the crowd quieted as the pair began to circle one another.

  Rydian, however, found himself paying more attention, wondering about those other cities, so far from the poverty-stricken streets of Goma. Was life the same in the other cities, with every aspect of their lives from birth to employment to death controlled by the Alfur and the fortunate few chosen for positions of power? Or was there freedom in some of the cities, choice to work as whatever you wished, to leave the great walls that barred the frontiers of the city?

  There were only five cities on the planet, each isolated by vast swathes of wilderness infested by hounds and felines and beasts far worse. Travel between the cities was possible only by Alfurian ship—which made the transport contracts granted to merchants like Carlos all the more valuable.

  The flour for Rydian’s bread had probably arrived on the same ship as the Lutryde gladiator below. Surrounded by vast savannahs, the city was the food basket of Talamh, while the arid deserts of Riesor provided minerals such as quart
z and graphite, which the Alfur used in their devices. The lush jungles around Goma provided little in the way of sustenance, but many of the plants were collected by botanists for medicines.

  Below, the fight continued and cheers came from the crowd as the Lutryden drew first blood. The man from Riesor retaliated, his short blade opening a gash on his foe’s arm. Rydian glanced away at the sight, his stomach tying itself in a knot. The games were held each month, and while they rotated between the five cities, attendance was mandatory for home games.

  Rydian himself had little interest in the bloody contest, but the Alfur had strange ideas at times. The creatures were convinced that humans as a species were innately violent, and seemed to believe that regular exposure to the “entertainment” of the games would curb their subjects’ more bloodthirsty urges. For Rydian, he struggled to understand how a species that had once burned entire cities to the ground could consider humanity “violent.”

  The crowd roared as the Lutryden scored another hit on his foe. Scarlet blood shimmered in the sunlight as the Riesoran gladiator staggered back, blood streaming down his chest. A snarl rumbled up from the sands on which the gladiators fought as the red-garbed warrior charged—only to find himself impaled on the blade of his foe.

  Cheers rained down upon the victor as the crowd rose to their feet. Rydian sighed as he felt again the isolation of where he sat alone. Once he’d had friends, children of other families that would sit together at these events. Most had had at least one connection to the rebellion. All avoided him now.

  Abruptly, a hushed silence fell over the arena, as though the Light had just been cut from one of the Alfur’s mechanical speakers. Frowning, Rydian rose to his feet, trying to get a glimpse of what had quieted the crowd. The victorious Lutryden gladiator had already retired from the stadium, while several attendants were hurrying to remove the body of the Riesoran and rake the sands clean for the next match. But it was not their activity that had drawn the attention of the mob.

  Below, a new gladiator had darkened the gates to the arena floor.

  Or rather, Lightened.

  Rydian’s chest constricted as he watched the glowing figure emerge from the shadows into the daylight. The gladiator wore a tight-fitting white jumpsuit and a sleek metallic helmet with a crystal visor to conceal the figure’s identity. But no one could mistake this fighter, not with the glow that rippled across its skin as it stepped into the sunlight.

  Rotin, gladiator of the Alfur.

  In the stands, Rydian shuddered and slumped back into his seat. Ripples carried around the stadium as the other citizens of Goma followed suit.

  Nourished by pure Light, Rotin lit up the sands as it strode to the centre of the arena. Even its sword seemed to glow with the power, as though a portion of the Light thrumming in the Alfur’s veins had been transferred to the metal. Standing beneath the angry gaze of thousands, the creature showed no signs of fear. Indeed, as it stood and appraised the onlookers from beneath its opaque visor, none could mistake this creature’s distaste for the humans above.

  In that, at least, Rotin was more honest than its brethren. The other Alfur might claim to abhor violence, but Rotin stood as proof to their lies. The Alfur that fought, that killed, that revealed the true nature of its kind.

  Rydian swallowed as movement came from the sands below. A collective sigh passed around the stadium as a black-garbed figure emerged. It seemed Boustor, not Goma, had decided to challenge Rotin these games. Few cities wished for one of their own to step into the ring with Rotin, not with the Light burning in the creature’s veins, feeding its strength. That Light powered everything on Talamh, from the Aflurian ships to the towering skyscrapers, to the Alfur themselves. The creatures had no need of food or water for sustenance, only Light. Light that gifted them superhuman strength and impossible speed, that had allowed Rotin to fight on the sands for decades, prevailing against each and every champion humanity sent against it.

  No, there was no hope of victory against Rotin.

  And yet, that did not seem to have stopped the challenges. Rotin’s decades of victory had created a legend about the Alfurian gladiator, about the prize that would be rewarded to the gladiator who defeated it. Freedom, it was whispered around the hearths of humanity, for the gladiator, for their city, for Talamh.

  And so every so often, a city, a gladiator, would challenge the creature, to test their strength against one of the immortal Alfur.

  And die.

  Rydian watched as the two figures squared off on the sands. The Alfur’s glow had lessened now, seeping back beneath its translucent skin. Even so, Rydian still shivered at the sight of that power.

  And yet…Rydian held his breath with the rest of the crowd as the two champions met with the shriek of clashing blades. Despite his doubts and dislike for the contest, Rydian found himself leaning forward in his seat with the rest of the crowd, eyes locked on the figures below.

  Even to his untrained eye, he could see the human gladiator fought with incredible skill. She spun and twisted on the golden sands, longsword flashing in the emerald sunlight as she danced with death itself. Even Rotin seemed surprised by her skill, as step by step the Alfur was forced back, its sabre flashing as it deflected each of the human’s blows. For a short moment, it seemed the people of Goma could be witnessing history.

  But the minutes dragged on and still the Boustoran showed no sign of breaking Rotin’s iron defence. Even as she continued the assault, Rydian could see she was slowing, her skill being chipped away by the fury of the battle. Even with years of training and competition, there were limits to human endurance.

  Not so for a creature fuelled by Light.

  Suddenly, the Boustoran tripped, staggering on the sands.

  And Rotin went on the attack.

  The power of the Alfur’s first blow as it struck the human gladiator’s shield could be heard from the highest stands of the amphitheatre. Rydian winced as the thud was echoed by a harsh cry. Below on the sands, the Boustoran retreated from Rotin, her shield hanging in pieces from its strap, her arm beneath bloodied. She stumbled, swaying on her feet, and for a moment it seemed the mighty warrior would fall there.

  Yet after a moment she straightened. Releasing the remnants of her shield, she raised the longsword in her good hand and pointed it at her foe. A hush fell across the stadium as Rotin accepted her challenge. Tossing aside its own shield, the creature advanced with sabre in hand.

  The two came together once more, blades clashing, sparks flying, but within moments it became obvious that the momentum had shifted. Now it was the human gladiator who was forced back by the blows of the enemy. She still spun and riposted, trying desperately to land a blow, but her efforts were in vain, as each attack found only empty air.

  And with every effort, she slowed.

  Rotin had no such weakness. The creature showed no sign tiring, nor of its advanced years. It moved with the languid grace of the Alfur, untouchable, unstoppable.

  A moment later, the gladiator lay still on the sands, blood pulsing from a terrible gash in her throat. Rydian turned away as the crowd slumped in their seats. Though she hailed from a different territory, for a few short moments, all of humanity had stood with the woman who dared defy the Alfur. The enemy of all of them.

  Rydian felt the sadness of those around him, their anger too, that despite the Boustoran’s skill, Rotin had still emerged victorious. Knowing it was only a matter of time before someone noticed his presence and turned that anger on him, Rydian rose and slipped back into the stairwell beneath the stands. He’d been a fool, allowing himself to be carried away with the crowd, with the false hope that somehow, finally, someone might defeat Rotin.

  No, the Alfurian gladiator was but a game the Alfur played on their slaves, a forlorn hope they dangled before humanity.

  Rydian had other plans. He would clear his mother’s name, and in doing so discover the secret of her death, the one their overlords had worked so hard to cover up.

  The
true weakness of the Alfur.

  3

  Rydian reached the exit of the stadium and started down a nearby street, just ahead of the first revellers. Breathing a sigh of relief, he headed in the direction of the examination hall, just as he knew hundreds of other recently eighteen youth would be setting off from their homes. Each would be eager for a positive result, preferably an assignment in some undemanding occupation, far from the Alfur.

  The humid heat of the summer sun beat down on him as he wove through the broad avenues surrounding the stadium. From behind he could hear the voices of the crowd rising, though the tune was one of celebration now. Apparently their anger at Rotin’s victory had dissipated before the success of their own gladiators. They’d had three gladiators fight today, including the Falcon, Goma’s champion, and all three had emerged victorious.

  Even so, Rydian picked up his pace. There was some truth to humanity’s violent nature, after all. It was not uncommon for fighting to erupt after the games, even when the host city had enjoyed success.

  Activating his Manus reader, Rydian pulled up a map of his route, then turned into a nearby alleyway. With the revellers spreading through the city and hundreds of other new adults filling the streets, it would be faster to stick to the back routes.

  He fished in his knapsack as he walked, removing the last of the bread from the night before. His stomach rumbled and he tore off a piece with his teeth, glad for the sustenance—though it had already grown hard. He chewed as he walked, his mind already turning to the questions the examiners might ask, and the details his teachers had hammered—

  Rydian’s thoughts were brusquely interrupted as a baton flashed from the nearby shadows to catch him full in the stomach.