Arena: Part One

by D. Michael Withrow

  “Yes, sir.”

  They rode on in silence. Only the sound of ice tinkling and bourbon pouring over it could be heard for the rest of the trip home. With every glass that was consumed Colston tried making himself that much smaller and less noticeable. But, in the end, he knew it would make no difference. He would pay for his mistake, whether he deserved to or not.

  3

  His mother was still alive in his dream. She walked in sunlight on a spring afternoon, smiling and laughing at some unseen happiness. Colston imagined it was him she was smiling at. She turned to him and held out her arms. He began to run toward her until he got closer and her face melted into a rotten mess of dead flesh. He backpedaled quickly as his mother advanced towards him. He began to cry in his dream then he fell backwards in the grass. He scrambled backwards as quickly as possible, but he was being slowed by some unseen force. His mother drew closer, becoming more horrific with each step.

  When he woke it was the same as it always was. She was still dead and he was still alone with his father. He stared at the ceiling as tears ran down into his ears. The dream began to fade and, for a moment, the emptiness of his reality consumed him. When it had passed he got up and dressed for the day.

  On his way down to breakfast he remembered that his fighter was being delivered today. The pain in his cheek helped to remind him. That did not matter though, he was excited about his purchase and could not wait to see him up close.

  He made his way down to the breakfast nook which sat off the kitchen and caught the morning sunlight when there was any to be had. Marjorie was in the kitchen making breakfast for the family and staff. The smell of bacon and sausage overwhelmed the room. His father was not there. The day was looking better by the minute.

  “Sit down and get yourself some breakfast Colston,” Marjorie said “You got a big day ahead of you.”

  He looked at her for a moment trying to decide how she could know about his day. To say she was a large woman was being kind. She had what Colston thought was the perfect physique for her profession.

  “Oh your daddy already been down for breakfast and told me all about your new fighter,” she said. “Said he the ugliest thing he ever seen. None too happy about the money you spent on him neither.”

  Colston sat down and prepared himself a plate from the food that had been laid out on the table. “Well, he’s not pretty, that’s for sure.” He chose to ignore the comment about the money.

  “I think I might know this man,” she said. “Heard about him anyway.”

  Colston looked up from his meal and watched her intently. She continued cooking while she spoke.

  “He was some kind of professional man,” she said. “Wife and son. Doing well for himself. Then one evening some hell-bent men broke in. They say he fought them with his bare hands. He got an axe in the face trying to save his family. Didn’t matter none in the end. Lost them both. Almost died himself. Doctors took every last penny he had and a whole lot more. Least that’s what I heard.”

  This new information intrigued Colston. He was both horrified and fascinated by it. Now he just had to see this man up close. Colston finished his breakfast and brought the dishes to the sink.

  “How many times I got to tell you,” Marjorie said “you ain’t got to do that.”

  “At least a few more,” he said.

  When Janice walked in Marjorie abruptly stopped talking, ignoring Colston entirely now. Janice was a debtor that had paid off her debt long ago, but continued to work for the man that had purchased her twenty years prior. Since his mother’s death, she had run the Carlson household with her own sense of tyranny. She was a small woman who, through her actions, made it clear to the world that she should have been born a man. She stood bolt upright as if trying to gain every last inch of height from her posture. Her gray-flecked hair was piled atop her head as if to make her appear even taller.

  Trailing behind her were the mother and daughter that Colston’s father had purchased the day he had bought his fighter. She lined them up in the living room as if placing them before a firing squad. A lecture began spewing forth from her mouth the likes of which Colston had heard a hundred times before.

  “You are to go unnoticed,” she said to them. “You shall go about your duties without interfering with the masters.” She paced in front of the mother and child like a drill instructor from the vintage war films that Colston liked to watch on the view station. Colston always enjoyed these sessions, at times imitating Janice from behind the wall as he did now. He had learned her speech so well that he could mouth the words in sync with her own, making Marjorie struggle to contain her laughter.

  “Lord child, you going to get me sold off to some other household,” Marjorie would whisper. “Then who going to cook you eggs?”

  “You shall not speak unless first spoken to,” Janice went on. “You shall attend to the duties assigned to you and call the day done only when I say so.” This was Colston’s favorite part as she would point at them with a bony finger, stabbing the air every few words for emphasis. Colston would stab the air right along with her. Marjorie let her laughter slip and Janice’s head snapped in her direction. The small woman marched into the kitchen where Marjorie stood in front of the stove.

  “Do you not have enough work to do,” Janice asked sternly.

  “Oh yes ma’am,” Marjorie replied.

  “Then how is it you have time to stand laughing at me whilst there is work to be done?”

  “She wasn’t laughing at you,” came a voice from behind Janice. She had not yet seen Colston. “She was laughing at me.” Her look of surprise changed to one of rage as she turned toward the boy. “Well, Master Colston, I should expect you too would have plenty to do at this time of day. School work perhaps. Or your work with those ghastly men.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business Janice, but my school work is done” Colston said. “And my work with those ghastly men does not begin for another half hour.” Standing up to his father was one thing, but he refused to let this woman push him around.

  “Very well then,” she said. “Then perhaps you might afford me the professional courtesy necessary for me to perform my duties?”

  “Sure Janice. Whatever you say.”

  With that Janice abruptly marched out of the kitchen and back into the living room where the mother and daughter stood waiting for her return. Once Janice continued her pacing in front of the pair, the girl looked over at Colston and smiled. It transformed her from an average looking girl to a dark-haired angel. Cole watched from the kitchen until Janice led the pair upstairs. He had completely forgotten about Marjorie until she spoke.

  “Ooh Colston, honey” she said. “You got it bad.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, turning to her.

  “You like that sweet little girl in there, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, blushing as he spoke. “She’s just another girl.”

  “That why you been watching her for the last fifteen minutes?”

  Fifteen minutes? He had to meet the transport. His fighter would be there any minute. “I’ve got to get to the ludus,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.” He was glad for an excuse to get out of the conversation.

  “All right honey.”

  He walked to the ludus quickly with his face feeling hot from the morning sun. Marjorie didn’t know what she was talking about. She was just a girl after all. Just a girl. His thoughts soon turned to his fighter. It was his first day of training with the giant and he was anxious to see what he could do.

  4

  The ludus had been built far off from the house and other out buildings. It had been fashioned after the Ludus Magnus of ancient Rome, but on a smaller scale. Stone blocks had been substituted for the red brick used in the original building. The blocks were rough-hewn on the exterior, causing the building to look much older than it actually was.

  It was an unusual building in that the center was open to the air. Each wing o
f the rectangular building had multiple rooms with doorways facing inward to walkways, and ultimately, the pit where the fighters trained. One wing on the lower floor was nothing more than a row of cells to hold fighters that were being punished or for those awaiting more permanent housing. Two other lower wings were made up of apartments for the fighters. The upper floor was restricted to owners and trainers, while the fighters could move about the lower level when not confined to their apartments.

  Colston stood outside the loading pen waiting for the transport to arrive. Several times he thought he saw the glimmering transport amongst the heat waves as he stared off in the distance. But each time it proved nothing more than a mirage.

  “You excited?” Colston heard the voice and turned to see Jacob approaching.

  “Father said you weren’t allowed to train this one,” Colston said.

  “Just here for moral support, son. I have to admit though, I am kind of excited myself. Can’t wait to see this one. I hear he’s ugly as all hell.”

  “He’s awfully big too,” Colston added. “Bigger than Racus I think.”

  “Well, big don’t mean he can fight.”

  “Oh he’s a fighter,” the boy said. “I’ll wager on that.”

  The hum of the transport coming down the road drew their attention now. The gleaming metal craft glided across the gravel road as though it floated on air. This transport was different than the ones Colston rode in as it had a cargo area in back. But still it had the smooth lines of a modern-day transport and the ubiquitous shiny metal skin that had come to be associated with the most commonly used transport service of the day.

  Jacob helped the driver back into the loading pen. Once connected to the pen the back doors of the transport opened and the debtor appeared hunched over in the opening. He bent down further still to avoid hitting his head on the transport as he exited onto the walkway of the pen.

  “God damn,” was all Jacob could say. The debtor’s head rose above the top railing of the pen, something neither man nor boy had ever seen before. The man had to be close to seven feet tall. He stood there a moment, blinking in the sunlight, uncertain of what he was expected to do. Jacob had the cattle prod ready in case his instructions were not followed. But before he could utter a word Colston’s voice rang out. “Go down the walkway until you get to the door. It will open for you once you reach it. Once inside the protectors will show you to your cell.”

  The man looked over at Colston for a moment and for the first time the boy could see the extent of his wound. He had a deep scar that ran at an angle across his forehead and down between his eyes, splitting the top part of his face in half. The man stared at Colston for a moment before plodding ahead towards the door. The loading pen creaked under his weight as he carried more than enough muscle to sustain such an enormous frame. Once the man was inside the door shut behind him.

  “God damn,” Jacob said again.

  “He’s really something, isn’t he?”

  “I ain’t never seen anything like him before. And I’ve been doing this going on thirty five years.”

  The boy hesitated for a moment. It was clear there was something on his mind, but just as clear that he did not know how to go about voicing it. Jacob seemed to understand.

  “Don’t mind what your father said Colston,” he said. “I’ll help you train him.”

  Colston looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”

  It was quiet inside the ludus save for the sounds of men training in the pit. The click of the protector’s heels rang out in the corridor as he and Colston walked to the cell. Inside was the giant man that had arrived just minutes earlier. He sat on the bed against the wall looking entirely too big for the cell that he occupied.

  “What is your name,” the boy asked.

  No response was given by the man. He merely sat there on the bed staring at the floor with his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands hanging limp between his knees.

  Colston looked up at the protector by his side. “Leave us,” he said. Without a word the protector turned and left the way he had come, returning to his post at the end of the corridor.

  “My name is Colston.”

  Still no response.

  “I am truly sorry for what happened to your family,” the boy said. “I too have lost someone that I love. I think of her every day.”

  Colston stood there for several minutes waiting for the man to respond. Still nothing. As he turned to walk away he heard a faint rumbling come from the cell.

  “Cole,” the man said.

  “Yes?”

  The man looked confused.

  “My mother used to call me that,” the boy said.

  “No, my name is Cole.”

  “Oh,” the boy said. “It’s nice to meet you Cole.”

  “Yeah,” was all the man could manage before slipping back into his trance. Colston stood there for several more minutes before finally walking away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man look up to watch him leave. Colston smiled as he walked along the corridor. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  The afternoon sunlight shone through the barred windows at the top of the classroom, lighting the dust motes as they floated and fluttered through the air. The room was filled with three rows of student desks. The kind that had been used in schools for centuries but on a larger scale. Colston stood waiting whilst the afternoon turned over lazily in the sun. He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of the door opening.

  Cole had to duck and turn sideways to make his way into the room as he was too tall, and his shoulders too broad, to fit through the doorway in a conventional fashion. The desks proved too small for him as well, so Colston gave up the instructor’s chair for him to use, which was just as well as he did not like sitting for any great length of time. A table from the back of the room was then placed in front of Cole.

  The two protectors that had escorted Cole there stood guard by the doorway at attention. While they were tiny in comparison, there was little doubt that the pulse rifles they carried could stun, or even kill if necessary.

  The boy watched Cole as he looked around the room without moving his head then took in a deep breath and started going into a trance again. Colston felt that he needed to act quickly to gain control of the situation.

  “Why do you think you’re here,” Colston asked.

  Cole stared back at him for a moment. Despite the fact that he was seated and slouching in the chair he was still eye level with the boy who was tall for his age. The man did not respond. Perhaps he did not feel as though he needed to. What could they do to him after all? Shoot him? There was really nothing left that they could take from him except his life and he no longer seemed to care about that. He took in another deep breath then looked away from the boy.

  “What if I told you that you would have a chance to inflict suffering on men like the ones that killed your family?”

  Cole’s eyes flicked back to the boy. “What do you know about my family?” Cole asked in a low, rumbling voice.

  “Only what I’ve heard,” was the boy’s response. “But I know you fought to try and save them.”

  “Then you also know they are dead now.”

  “Yes,” the boy said. “And I’m sorry.”

  “I believe you mean that,” Cole said. “But sorry won’t bring them back. Nothing will.”

  “So you’ve given up then?”

  “What is it you want from me,” Cole asked.

  “I want you to fight.”

  “Ah yes, a fighter. In the great arena. For honor and glory, and all that shit.”

  “I don’t believe that fighting will bring you those things,” Colston said.

  Cole looked surprised by this. “No? Then what?”

  “A chance at something more than starving yourself to death in your cell. A chance at a new life.”

  “By fighting,” Cole said.

  “Look, if this life really has nothing left for you then what quicker way to end it than in the
arena?”

  Cole did not respond. Maybe he was thinking over what Colston had said.

  “If it were up to me you wouldn’t have to fight at all,” Colston said. “But it’s not. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said.

  “Well, I’ll give you some time to think about it. I know it can’t be easy.”

  Cole was silent once again. Colston stood there for a moment longer, waiting for something. Anything. But no response ever came. The boy turned and walked out of the room, leaving the protectors to take Cole back to his cell.

  5

  Colston’s father was drunk again. The two sat at the dinner table across from each other. Colston had learned years ago that sitting within reach of his father, when drunk, was a painful mistake. The boy ate in silence, staring at his plate as he did. He was careful not to eat too quickly. He was careful not to talk with his mouth full. He was careful about everything that he did when his father was like this, which was most nights these days.

  His father sat staring at him, ignoring his food in favor of the tall glass of bourbon that he clutched in both hands. The thick fingers of each hand were interlaced in front of the glass while the thumbs rested behind it. The bottle stood well within reach should an emergency refill be necessary. There had been several already. There was sure to be more. “I hear your fighter won’t fight,” he said. The words spilled out only slightly slurred despite the large amount of bourbon missing from what had been a new bottle. “That’s a shame too after all that fucking money I spent on him.”

  “He’ll fight,” was all Colston said in response. He was sure to make eye contact with his father when he spoke to him. He did not need to make him any angrier than he already was. The bourbon had a way of taking care of that all on its own.

  “Well, he’d better,” his father said. “I don’t need any more worthless fucking mouths to feed around here. I’ve got enough of those already.” His glassy eyes stared at Colston in a way that implied he was one of the worthless. Colston ignored his derision and continued to eat. These rants had become a regular part of their dinners together.