by Aaron Hodges
Shaking his head, Rydian lowered his eyes to the floor, a familiar fear wrapping its fingers about his throat.
“I stole a loaf of bread,” he said suddenly, not quite sure why he was speaking, but knowing he couldn’t stand the coldness between them any longer. It wasn’t right, that the three of them knew nothing about one another. Not when everyone else on the planet thought them already dead. They were all each other had now.
“Well, some bread, and some apples, a pear too, I think it was. Plus the box of chocolates, that’s what I took first.”
Silence answered his words. Rydian sighed and forced himself to look at his companions. They stared back at him, confusion writ across their faces.
“Actually, that’s a lie,” he continued, though the pair gave no indication they had any desire to hear his story. “That’s what got me into trouble in the first place, but…that’s not why I’m here—” He broke off as a roar came from overhead, though it quickly faded. On the Lightscreen, the combatants fought on. “I couldn’t hold my tongue when the merchant caught me. If I’d just shut my mouth and acted like a good human, a good slave, he might have let me off with a warning. Even with the Alfur that sentenced me…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It called me violent. Guess I gave it a good fright—it almost used its Manus reader on me. Suppose that would have been a quick way to go, though, I’ve never seen one used…” He stopped speaking, aware he’d begun to ramble. He glanced at his companions. “Sorry.”
Another silence answered his apology and he looked away. The pounding of the crowd in the stadium vibrated down through the ceiling. He could feel their excitement building, could sense the battle coming to a head. Soon, blood would be spilt on the golden sands…
“I have.”
Rydian’s head jerked up as Hazel spoke in a soft voice. A frown creased his forehead, but the young woman wasn’t looking in his direction.
“Seen one use their Manus reader, that is,” she continued, her eyes distant. “I can still smell the burning. One moment…one moment he was there, the next…”
“Who?” Rydian prodded gently when she did not continue.
“My brother,” the young woman rasped, turning to look at him. Her eyes shone and Rydian shivered at the grief he glimpsed there.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“For what?” Hazel snapped, her face hardening into a scowl. “It wasn’t your fault he got himself killed.”
Rydian swallowed and turned to Johanas for help, but before anyone could speak further, another roar erupted above. The words died on Rydian’s lips and he closed his mouth, looking instead to the Lightscreen. A fresh body lay on the sands above.
Heart hammering in his chest, Rydian watched as the numbers at the bottom of the screen began to change.
Not twelve, not twelve, not twelve.
He repeated the words to himself, and yet…a part of him wondered if it might be better, to finally be the one to leave, to come face to face with the death that had haunted him these last weeks.
But it wasn’t the number twelve that appeared.
“No!”
Rydian’s heart lurched as Johanas cursed. Seated across from him, the colour slowly drained from the giant’s face. Terror dawned in the man’s eyes as he stared at the piece of paper in his hand, at the number fourteen clearly etched onto its pale surface, a match for the one above. It seemed he would not move, until finally the man swallowed and rose carefully to his feet. Without a word, he started towards the stairs. Only at the last moment did he glance back, as though seeking something from the room, from them.
A chill passed over Rydian as their eyes met. Despite his size, Johanas was still just a boy, barely out of adolescence. This shouldn’t be happening to him, to any of them. They hadn’t had a chance to live, to experience the world. Now they were about to step out in front of a crowd and fight, to kill or be killed. It wasn’t fair.
But fairness had no place in this world of Light.
“Johanas,” Rydian called as the giant made to turn away. “Good luck!”
Confusion showed in the Goman’s eyes as he looked at them, but Rydian only nodded, offering what encouragement he could. Still Johanas hesitated, until finally he shuddered and turned to the metallic helmets hanging from a rack beside the stairwell. Taking one for himself, he slid it over his head.
Then he was gone, swallowed up by the light above, and Rydian was left alone in the darkness with Hazel. A muffled rumble carried down through the ceiling as the crowd greeted Johanas’s appearance.
A brief silence fell, before fresh cheering began, and Rydian knew that somewhere above, Johanas was now fighting for his life. Despite the distance between them these past weeks, he found himself sending a brief prayer to the Gods below to preserve the giant Goman.
Hesitantly, he turned again to Hazel.
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asked softly.
Blood pounded in his ears as the sounds of the crowd rose and fell, but he still caught the young woman’s curt response. “Readier than you, little mouse.”
Rydian answered with a scowl, but as silence fell suddenly above, he found he had no words for a retort. As one, their eyes drifted to the Lightscreen. Rydian’s heart palpitated as he watched his companion battling for his life, until he forced himself to look away again. Soon enough it would be him out there on the sands.
His mouth dry, Rydian rose abruptly and crossed to the water basin in the corner. For once appreciative of Alfurian technology, he twisted the tap to pour himself a mug. The water that came from the pipes was clearer than anything drawn from the wells of lower Goma or the gladiator complex, and he savoured its freshness as he drank.
Refilling the mug, he made to return to the bench, then hesitated. “Would you like some, Hazel?”
His companion’s head jerked up at the question, and for a second he glimpsed fear behind her eyes. She nodded hesitantly, as though she hadn’t quite heard him. He filled a second cup and passed it to her, before seating himself.
Thump, thump, thump.
Rydian’s attention was drawn again to the Lightscreen as a pounding began, reverberating through the ceiling, as though the entire arena had come to their feet. In the images, Johanas’s foe was forcing him back with a deadly barrage of steel.
Swallowing, Rydian exchanged a glance with Hazel. It appeared the match was already nearing its climax.
They sat there in silence, listening to the swelling crescendo, the roar, then…silence.
Rydian squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Lightscreen, to discover who had emerged victorious. A silence hung about the room and he feared it meant the worst, that the quiet giant who had trained alongside him all these weeks had fallen.
Clang.
Rydian flinched as a door sounded, spilling water down his tunic. A moment later, the chamber erupted into cheers. His head jerking up, Rydian watched in amazement as Johanas stumbled across the room towards them. Grinning, their fellow Gomans slapped him on the back as he staggered past them and shouted their congratulations, but the young gladiator didn’t seem to hear them.
Staggering to where Hazel and Rydian sat, Johanas slumped onto his bench. The gladius and shield slipped from his hands to strike the metallic floor with a thud. He no longer wore the helmet and his head hung low. Blood matted his beard, dripping slowly to the ground to gather amongst the metal rivets of the floor. It didn’t appear to be his own.
Seeing the man alive, Rydian felt a moment’s joy, a flicker of hope. Swallowing, he turned to Hazel. The last of her colour had drained away at Johanas’s reappearance. Before anyone could speak, a new silence fell over the room. Belatedly, Rydian looked at the Lightscreen, at the new numbers that had taken form.
Twelve. His time had come.
He didn’t look at the other number. Blood pounded in his ears as he rose and gathered up his equipment, his body seeming to function by a will of its own. Fear clawed its way up his throat
, but there was no point delaying now. Knees trembling, he started towards the stairwell.
“Rydian.”
Rydian paused as a voice came from behind him, and he found himself looking back. Hazel was on her feet, eyes wide, the mug he had passed her clutched in two hands, though she didn’t appear to have drank any of the water.
“Good luck,” she whispered.
Despite his terror, Rydian still managed to be surprised. Finally, though, he forced a smile, nodded his thanks.
Then he took a helmet from the rack, placed it over his head, and marched upwards into the light.
11
Rydian felt the heat of the sands through his sandals. Strange, that this was the first thing he noticed as he walked across the arena floor. Not the thousands of faces watching him from the stands, not the sweat that trickled down his face despite the cool breeze, nor the pounding of his heart so hard against his ribs he thought they might break.
Not even the red-stained patch of sand a group of attendants were hurriedly raking over.
The hot sand. Beneath his feet.
Clutching his gladius to keep the blade from trembling, Rydian paused to draw breath, though the air seemed light here, strangely lacking in substance. Fixing his eyes on the emerald sky, he imagined the stars he’d first glimpsed a month ago, their endless possibilities.
But there were no stars this day, only the jagged points of the Boustoran mountains rising above the circumference of the arena.
A roar from the crowd drew Rydian’s attention back to his surroundings, and looking around, he found a man garbed in black striding towards him.
Boustoran.
A weight settled in the pit of his stomach. Just his luck, that his opponent would be favoured with a home crowd. Even now he could sense the mood of the arena turning against him, the sudden hostility of the watchers. Silently he adjusted the straps on his shield, doing his best to appear unperturbed as his opponent approached.
When the Boustoran was just a few yards away, a soft crackling burst into life between them, and Rydian looked up to see a barrier of Light had formed, separating the two gladiators. At least for the moment.
Shivering, Rydian forced himself to focus on his foe. He too wore the helm of a gladiator, his features obscured by the steel encasing and reflective visor that protected them in battle—and concealed their identities. Not that it mattered. Rydian’s only encounter with the trainees of the other cities had been on that first day in the complex.
Other than the helmets, neither wore armour, just the uniforms of their respective cities. Like him, the Boustoran was armed with the standard gladius and shield.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Rydian flinched as a drum began to sound, its rhythm slow at first, but already growing faster. Behind his foe’s visor, Rydian thought he glimpsed a flicker, a hint of his opponent’s own apprehension. Sand crunched softly as they each shifted on their feet.
The drumbeats grew faster, and silently Rydian raised his sword in salute, the one thing Falcon had shown them. His opponent mimicked the action, a final farewell between servants about to face death. Rydian shuddered, the steel plates of his helmet seeming to constrict on him, even as his heart raced faster. Carefully, he dropped into his best approximation of a warrior’s crouch.
Abruptly, the drums fell silent.
The crowd roared as the Light barrier vanished, and the Boustoran gladiator surged forward. Taken off-guard, Rydian almost fell in those first moments, as his opponent’s gladius lanced for his throat. Only instinctive saved him, as his shield lurched up, almost by a will of its own, and caught the point of the blade on its metal embossing.
Steel shrieked on steel as Rydian stumbled backwards, struggling for balance as the sands shifted beneath his sandals. Fortunately, the Boustoran found himself in similar difficulty, and Rydian was granted a second’s reprieve to recover before his foe was upon him again.
Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the crowd as Rydian caught another blow on his shield. Teeth clenched, he retreated before his opponent’s fury, struggling for a chance to breathe, to find his footing, to think.
But if this Boustoran was a trainee like Rydian, he did not show it. Roaring, he launched himself after the retreating Goman. Another blow slammed against Rydian’s shield and this time he felt the weight behind the gladius, a pain in his wrist. Desperately, he stabbed out with his own blade, but the attack was clumsy and the Boustoran batted it aside easily.
Rydian cried out as his foe’s sword came hissing at his face. Thankfully instinct came to his rescue again and he thrust his shield upwards, catching the heavy short sword on the metal rim. This time, though, his foe did not give him the chance to retreat.
Instead, the Boustoran attacked again, hacking and slashing at Rydian’s shield. The harsh ding of each blow rang in Rydian’s ears as he retreated, struggling to keep his feet, even as the impact of each attack thudded through his arm, lanced through his shoulder. He could feel the heat of his Manus reader as it tried to heal him, but the repeated blows were far beyond its abilities.
Around him, the crowd cheered on their man. Just a minute had passed, but it was already obvious which of the two had the advantage, and the Boustorans were more than pleased to watch Rydian forced back. They knew it was only a matter of time before their gladiator found his way past Rydian’s defences.
But teeth clenched, Rydian refused to surrender. Frantically, he fended off the terrible blade, keeping it from his flesh, desperate to survive just a moment longer, then another. His lungs burned in the thin air and he struggled to match the tempo of his enraged foe, to keep moving, to twist away from each renewed assault.
Faced with the fury of the Boustoran, he was suddenly glad for the time he’d spent with the shield. He would not have survived the first minute without it, though he shuddered to think what the wooden front must look like now, dented and dinged by the unending attacks.
Watching Rydian’s continued retreat, the mood of the crowd shifted. Soon the cheers died away, excitement at the Boustoran’s ferocity shifting to frustration that his foe refused to engage. Soon the booing began, as the Boustoran citizens hurled down abuse at the Goman coward.
Rydian clenched his teeth against their derision, risking a glance at the crowd. They were on their feet, waving angrily at him, demanding he stand still for their man to slaughter. His gut twisted at the rage on their faces, the hatred, and he was so distracted that he almost missed his opponent’s next attack.
Only at the last moment did he notice the man and spin, catching the blow yet again on his shield. This time, though, the momentum behind the Boustoran’s charge carried him on, and with a terrible crash their shields came together.
Gasping, Rydian dug in his heels as the man’s greater weight bore down against him. Heat seared his palm, the Manus reader throbbing, burning, as though it longed to aid him…
…a scream sounded from the Boustoran’s helmet as he strained against his smaller foe, but Rydian held on. Teeth bared, he looked up at his larger opponent, at his helmet just a few inches from his own…
…and saw an opening.
Abruptly, Rydian retreated a step, releasing the pressure from his shield. Taken by surprise, the Boustoran staggered at the change of weight—and Rydian finally went on the attack. Pressing his weight into his shield, he drove forward, aiming the metal brim for his foe’s helmet.
A harsh crack followed as the embossing caught the Boustoran on the chin. The man reeled away from the blow, though he retained the presence of mind to unleash a wild swing of his gladius.
Rydian felt a jarring thud as something struck his hip, followed by a burst of heat in his hand. Heart pounding, he didn’t pause, didn’t stop to assess the damage. There was no time. Adrenaline swept through his veins, washing away what pain the Manus reader could not, and raising shield and sword, he advanced on the Boustoran.
A roar came from the man as he saw Rydian coming. Snarling, he tossed aside his s
hield and grasped his gladius in both hands.
“Are you ready to die, Goman?” the Boustoran snarled.
Rydian frowned at the man’s question, but he saw no need to respond.
“See your blood?” the Boustoran continued, raising his sword. “Soon it will stain the sands beneath our feet.”
Indeed, the tip of his gladius was stained red. Rydian could feel the damp warmth trickling down his side, but he forced himself to ignore it. So long as he had the strength to stand, he would fight on.
Despite the roaring of the crowd, Rydian found himself smiling. Despite the Boustoran’s bold words, he sensed something had changed between them, as though the balance had somehow shifted. Silently he raised a hand and gestured the man on.
The action seemed to enrage the Boustoran, and howling, he launched himself forward. Swinging the gladius like a club, his blows hammered against Rydian’s shield. Yet despite the man’s two-handed grip, still his blade could find not find its mark.
Again Rydian retreated, though this time with his shield discarded, it was clear the Boustoran held nothing back. The man swung his blade in great, violent arcs, seemingly confident in his ability to beat his foe down, to force Rydian back.
So the next time the Boustoran raised his gladius, Rydian leapt forward, instead of retreating. The move caught the black-garbed warrior off-guard, sword still raised for a blow with enough power to take Rydian’s head from his shoulders.
It would never fall.
The end came almost as a surprise for Rydian, as his blade slipped beneath his opponent’s careless guard and buried itself in the man’s chest. A gasp tore from the Boustoran as they both came to a sudden stop. Again, bare inches separated their helmets. This time when Rydian looked into his foe’s visor, he caught a flicker of the man’s eyes, the spark of his sudden terror.