Arena: Part One

by D. Michael Withrow

  “Get that piece of shit to the pit,” he said with a raspy, barely audible voice. “He fights now.”

  It took all six protectors to get Cole to his feet. Two of them helped him walk while the others kept close watch on him. Colston picked himself up off the floor and walked past his father. He wanted so badly to ask him how it felt, but he knew it would come back to haunt him in the end. So he stayed quiet as he passed him, still coughing and struggling to get his breath.

  When they got to the pit Jacob looked confused by the sudden arrival of Cole and the protectors. “What’s going on here,” he asked. “Why is this man here now? I didn’t send for him.”

  “My father says he has to fight now,” Colston said.

  “But this man has had no training. He’s not ready to fight.”

  “He’s also been sedated by Doc Shraver,” the boy said again. “And he was just stunned in his cell.”

  “Get him off my floor,” Jacob said. “This man is in no condition to fight.”

  “He fights,” came a raspy voice from behind Colston. His father had finally made his way up to the training floor.

  “But,” Jacob began.

  “He fights,” his father repeated.

  “You’re the boss,” Jacob said, then walked over to the weapons locker that held the weighted practice swords. As he reached into the locker he heard Mr. Carlson’s raspy voice ring out in the midday air.

  “Real swords,” he said.

  Jacob hesitated for a moment before closing the locker and walking to another a few feet away. He waved his wristband over a sensor and the cabinet unlocked. Inside were two dozen gleaming metal gladius, though they were far superior to the ones used by the Romans more than two thousand years before. They were stronger, lighter and sharper than anything made even fifty years prior. Jacob brought out two swords then pushed the locker closed with his foot. The electronic locked whirred and clicked as he walked toward the center of the pit. Colston could tell he was thinking. Probably wrestling with whom to match against Cole in what was sure to be a bloody spectacle. Would he pick a man that was less skilled but less deserving to die than others or would he pick the most despicable of the lot in the hopes that Cole could best him.

  “Riley,” Jacob shouted. “You’re up.” He had chosen the despicable, for Riley was a man known to have murdered a great many innocent people, to include women and children. No one was more hated among the men and few more feared.

  The protectors that were working the floor gathered round Colston and his father in case the feel of real steel in the hands of the fighters inspired some kind of lunacy. Jacob handed a sword to Riley and then backed away. He then made his way over to Cole who was still being propped up by two protectors. Jacob held the sword out by the blade so that Cole could simply grab the handle. It was all Cole could do to reach out and take the sword and then stand on his own as the protectors backed away to join the others.

  Riley lunged toward the giant in an effort to kill him quickly. It was obvious to Colston that Cole was barely able to stand, let alone fight. But somehow he managed to parry the blow. Riley began a vicious assault against Cole backing him up with every swipe of the sword.

  Cole was able to block a few of the blows, but his main defense was to keep backing away from the smaller man until his hand touched the waist-high wall behind him. Cole shuffled sideways but Riley was ready for this and sent a slashing blow towards Cole’s abdomen. Cole took the last step back that was left to him, the blade just barely grazing him. Still it cut a bloody line into him, though it was not deep. Cole continued to shuffle sideways causing Riley to continuously pivot to try and catch him. He was surprisingly quick for a man his size. Surprisingly quick for a man that had been anesthetized and stunned.

  Dark clouds drifted in and blocked out the sun. The crack of thunder startled Colston, momentarily distracting him from the fight. Despite the impending storm his father did not stop the fight. The two men would have to fight on despite the threat of lightning.

  Cole abruptly stopped and sent an overhand slash at Riley who quickly jumped to the side and parried the blow. Cole continued slashing at Riley. He seemed desperate now as if just realizing what was on the line.

  Rain began to fall on them all as they stood watching the two men do battle. The rain came harder now, with large drops smacking into the concrete walkways and stone walls with loud popping sounds. Both fighters were forced to periodically wipe water from their eyes as they now circled each other cautiously.

  Cole seemed to be coming out of it. Perhaps the cold rain was helping to wake him. Regardless what the reason was, he went on the attack, though Riley blocked every blow sent his way. When he had backed Riley up almost to the wall of the observation platform the smaller man slashed at Cole’s sword hand, cutting him and causing him to drop the gladius in the dirt.

  Colston gasped. Riley swung at the big man with a killing blow but Cole caught his sword hand in his own and started to crush it. The sound of bones breaking could be heard over the rain. Cole reached out with his cut hand and grabbed Riley by the throat. He began to lift him into the air as he had lifted Colston’s father earlier. Cole slammed the smaller man into the wall of the observation platform. Riley grunted and grasped at his throat with his free hand while Cole continued to crush his other hand. Cole finally ripped the sword from Riley’s feeble grasp then shoved the blade through Riley’s skull and several inches of the concrete wall behind him. The blade was horizontal and because of this was able to sustain Riley’s dead weight, effectively pinning him there like a butterfly on display.

  Blood and rain streamed down Riley’s face as he hung there limp on the wall of the observation platform. His dead eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking in the rain. His arms hung limp by his side. His right hand was curled into a deformed claw. The other fighters stared up at him, some in disgust, others in disbelief.

  It was only then that Colston realized he had his hands clasped together and was squeezing them so tightly that the blood had pooled in his fingers. His father was furious though it appeared as though he had, by now, lost all ability to speak as his throat began to swell from the trauma. He stomped off in disgust and left others to clean up the gore that he had insisted upon.

  8

  Colston’s father was worse off than he had first let on. Only rage had allowed him to make it back to the house unassisted. He had now not only lost the ability to speak but his throat had swollen to the point that he was having trouble breathing. Doc Shraver had been summoned and now stood over the man as he lied in bed gasping for breath. The doctor had an oxygen unit brought over from the infirmary and was fitting the mask to his father’s face when Colston walked in. His father did not even acknowledge him. There was no fight left in him at this point. It appeared as though his entire existence was focused on trying to take that next breath. Doc Shraver brought out a medicine dispenser and injected his father with something.

  “What’s that,” Colston asked.

  Doc Shraver looked startled by the sound of the boy’s voice. He turned to look at Colston and the look on his face changed before he could speak. “You alright son?” Doc walked over to Colston and turned his face to the light coming through the window. “That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.” Colston didn’t want to talk about the swelling in his face that his father had caused. So he merely repeated his question.

  “What was that you gave my father?”

  “Just a sedative,” he said. “He needs to calm down so it’s easier for him to breath. There was also something in there to help take the swelling down in his throat. What happened to him anyway?”

  “Cole took offense to…” the boy paused. “Well, he and Cole had a disagreement and Cole grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet.”

  “That the big man?”

  “Yes. He’s very strong.”

  “Indeed. Looks as though all that rehab he did paid off.”

  “Rehab?”

 
“When he was in the hospital,” Doc said. “He was in there for so long that his muscles were sure to have atrophied. He would have had to do extensive rehabilitation in order to get even a fraction of his strength back.

  “But he’s so strong.”

  “Just wait. He’s sure to get stronger. If he applies himself anyway.”

  “Wow,” Colston said. Despite his father’s condition he was excited. Excited about the possibility of what Cole could become. Excited that he was his fighter and not his father’s.

  His father was asleep now and breathing much easier. “Will he be alright?”

  “Sure son, he’ll be fine,” Doc said. “Might take a few days before he can speak or eat, but he’ll be just fine.”

  “Thanks Doc,” the boy said as he turned and walked out of the room.

  Colston was lying on his bed thinking about what had happened in the ludus that afternoon when Doc Shraver walked by his open door. “You’re going to have to let me check you out sometime Colston,” the man said. “Might as well be now.”

  The boy turned his head to look at the man standing in the doorway. He was an older man with white hair and bushy eyebrows whose nose was larger than it should have been. Jowls were starting to form on his weathered face. But his blue eyes still shone brightly making him appear more youthful than he probably was.

  “Sure Doc,” the boy said. He sat up in bed and continued to stare at the man. “What do you need me to do?”

  “You can start by taking your shirt off.”

  Colston took off the t-shirt he was wearing and laid it on the bed. There were a smattering of bruises in various stages of aging across his torso. Doc Shraver looked Colston over carefully. He listened to his heart and his breathing then had him lie down and pushed on his belly in multiple places. “Does this hurt,” he asked the boy.

  “No.”

  “Colston,” Doc Shraver said. “How did you get all these bruises?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that Doc.”

  “But I need to hear you say it, son. I’m here to help.”

  “How,” Colston said. “By having me taken away from my home to become a ward of the state? I’ve heard the rumors about those places just like everyone else has. No thank you.”

  Doc Shraver sighed. Colston thought he looked tired. Or perhaps age was just catching up with him. “I don’t want you to keep getting hurt, son. It’s not just my job, I care about you. I don’t like standing by knowing that your father is hurting you.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle Doc,” Colston said. “Besides, he’s getting better.” It was a lie, but one he felt was necessary.

  “Okay, son. But I’m going to keep an eye on you. I want to see you in the infirmary once a week. Let’s say every Monday morning before you begin your work with the fighters.”

  “Sure Doc.” Colston sat up and put his t-shirt back on. Doc Shraver began walking towards to door to leave. “It’s the alcohol that does it to him,” he said.

  Doc Shraver stopped and turned to face the boy again.

  “He never used to be like this. When my mother was alive I mean.”

  “He was a different man then, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Colston said. “I guess so.”

  Doc Shraver stood there a moment longer. When neither of them said anything else he bid the boy farewell, leaving him in silence to remember how good life had been when his mother was still alive.

  9

  The computer touch screen was a piece of light weight clear plastic that could be carried around separate from the computer itself which was stored in another part of the house. Colston sat on the couch in the living room working on his schoolwork. A video played as Colston typed on the virtual keyboard which was also displayed on the screen. A virtual book was also open on the screen leaving little room for anything else. When she sat down beside him it startled him. He had not seen her approach. She smelled like soap and smiled at him with warmth. She smiled with her whole face. Her brown eyes were so dark they looked almost black. Her skin was smooth and tan. Her long black hair flowed down past her shoulders to her breasts.

  “Whatcha working on,” Anna asked.

  “Uh, research for a paper.”

  “How come I never see you go to school?”

  “I do all my schooling on-line.”

  “I never thought I’d say it, but I miss school.”

  “We’ve never had anyone here as young as you. How do they expect you to get schooling?”

  “I guess,” Anna said, “they don’t.”

  “Well that kind of sucks.”

  “Yeah well. It is what it is.”

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “What’s your research paper on?”

  “The ancient Roman gladiatorial games.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well,” he said. “It’s not too different from what we do here.”

  “And what’s that?” She smiled and leaned in towards him ever so slightly. Colston began to feel warmth rise in his face.

  “We train fighters for the arena.”

  “Oh,” she said and withdrew slightly. “I didn’t know.”

  “I guess not,” he said. “You haven’t really seen much of the place since you got here.”

  “Just the house.”

  “Want a tour,” Colston asked. “I can do this research anytime.”

  “I don’t think I’m allowed.” She said, looking around as if suddenly aware that she probably should not even be sitting there talking with him.

  “It’s okay. You’re with me,” he said. “No one would dare say anything to me except my father, and he’ll be asleep for hours.”

  “It’s not dangerous is it?”

  “No, we won’t go into the pit,” Colston said. “Besides, there are protectors there to keep us safe.”

  “Protectors?”

  “They protect owners and their staff from the fighters. They’re really more of a deterrent than anything.”

  “Okay,” she said and smiled the smile that made her beautiful. Cole found himself smiling too as they rose from the couch to walk together through the house to the kitchen door.

  The click of heels could be heard coming down the hallway as they passed it. The last voice they wanted to hear was practically yelling at the girl. “What exactly do you think you are doing, young lady,” Janice said.

  Anna froze. She looked back and forth between Janice and Colston unsure of what to do or say.

  “She’s coming with me,” Colston said. “I have some work I need her to do in the ludus.”

  “That is completely unacceptable. Her work is here in this household.”

  “I think you’re confused about your role here Janice,” Colston said. “You should know better than anyone that no one questions the masters.”

  She stood there for a moment. Obstinate. Defiant.

  “Don’t you have some work to do,” Colston asked.

  “Your father shall hear about this,” she said. Then heels went clicking down the hallway in the direction they had come.

  They walked the grounds talking and laughing. In those moments one child did not own the other because his father had bought her mother’s debt. They were just two kids having fun together. They walked towards the ludus now, Colston snatching peeks at her every few moments. His eyes traveled from her face to follow the length of her hair once again to where it ended at her breasts.

  “How old are you,” he asked.

  “Fifteen,” she said. “You?”

  “Fifteen in a few months.”

  “But you’re so tall and you act so mature. I figured you were older than me.”

  “My mother was tall.”

  They walked along in silence for a time.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died,” Colston said. “Parvors.”

  “I’m sorry. I bet you miss her. I miss my father.”

  “What happened to him?”


  “He died too. In a mining accident.”

  “Don’t they have machines do all the mining now?”

  “They do,” she said. “But when the machines break down someone has to go down there to fix them. That’s what my father did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We couldn’t afford much after he was gone. We struggled along for a few years, but, in the end, we reached our debt limit and were arrested.”

  “Debtor’s prison?”

  “Yeah, it sucked. We weren’t there long though. We got picked up by an auction house and next thing you know we’re here.”

  “Well,” Colston said. “I’m sorry about your circumstances. But…”

  He paused for a long moment. She looked at him, squinting in the bright sunlight. “But what,” she said.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” she said and smiled at him.

  Riley had been taken down by the time they made it to the ludus. Colston was thankful for that. He did not want Anna to see the brutality of his world just yet, if ever. The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the pit. The men looked tired and sweaty from their vantage point on the second floor walkway. They watched from the shadows as the men fought each other in pairs, practicing the lessons they no doubt had learned that day and those from days past. Jacob was there watching them train, walking among the men, correcting mistakes where he saw them.

  “Do they do this all day long,” Anna asked.

  “Not all day. They have classroom study and a break for lunch.”

  “But this is their whole life?”

  “Well,” Colston said, “yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Doesn’t seem like much of a life.”

  “You have to remember that these men are convicted killers. Each of them has been sentenced to die by execution. They chose this over death. This is their choice.”