The Last Narkoy_OSLO

by Elizabeth Price

  “What are we looking at?” Danstu asked.

  “Whoever wins this battle will face… will face her,” Rosanheer returned low over the speakers.

  Everyone in the command center watched as the two men ripped each other to shreds on the field. It ended with one man plunging his ax into the other’s abdomen. Nearly everyone in the command center turned away from the gore except Danstu and Ryn.

  “Sortec is up next,” Ryn called out.

  As he called out, the crowd erupted in cheers all around Rosanheer. The camera zoomed in on an image of Sedom walking out of the visiting gate. She was dressed in only a white jumpsuit and bore no weapons.

  Before anyone had a chance to blink, the battle was over. Sedom stood above the other player, the man’s own bloody ax in her hands. She dropped the ax over his skull, crushing it into two pieces. The man’s blood splattered everywhere, drenching her white jumper.

  “Oh,” Cidele gasped, having to look away.

  Sedom opened her arms outward, beckoning another rival. “That’s it? That’s all you have for me,” she screamed. “Why bother?” She tossed the ax to the ground.

  “That’s not Sedom,” Cidele gulped, pointing a shaking finger at the screen.

  “If it isn’t, let’s hope whatever is fueling her insanity continues for a bit longer,” Danstu muttered. He closed his eyes, centering his mind from the image before him. “We need a plan, now.”

  “For their sake,” Ryn mentioned seriously. “How the hell did she learn to fight?”

  “Tomcan Iya Nercon and living in the forest,” Cidele mentioned. “I think Tremble was also training her.”

  “It’s a good thing she does know how to fight. It’s the only way she’s going to survive this,” Ryn mentioned. He pulled Danstu to the side. “We know where she is. I suggest we start making arrangements for an extraction, sooner than later. She may have talent, but one injury could end her life.”

  Danstu grunted, then nodded.

  ___

  Jeina sat at a cafeteria table, staring blankly down at her plate of food. Rosanheer watched her for a long moment, trying to gain an idea of what she was thinking about. He gave up, moving from his seat to sit across from her.

  “I haven’t seen you around lately,” he mentioned.

  She picked at her food, not bothering to look at him. “I’ve been busy at work. Some Rook prince is coming to visit the Cassaus. It’s my job to handle all media matters regarding his arrival. It’s been crazy.”

  “Rook prince? Sounds exciting,” he joked. She let out an irritated laugh. A long moment of silence filled the room. “I know Zion, he’ll return,” he mentioned, stirring her from her thoughts. It was obvious she was missing him greatly.

  Jeina shook away her thought, turning to smile at Rosanheer. “Um, I’m sure he will. It’s not that. During one of your Chadon’s battles, she showed her opponent pity. I’ve never seen that before. Then I saw your Chadon today while she was waiting to go into the arena. I could see tears in her eyes and I could tell it was for those she was about to kill. I can’t get her out of my mind,” she admitted.

  “Yes… it pains her deeply having to take another’s life. So much so, I’ve heard she no longer sleeps at night,” Rosanheer mentioned.

  “I can understand that. She’s a phenomenal woman. I hope I’ll be allowed to meet her… considering,” she added.

  “Considering?” Rosanheer questioned. Then he could feel her apprehension. “Oh, well,” he motioned to his Marisheio tattoos. “Sortec is a unique soul. When she first saw me she hated me. Two minutes later she told me we were like-minded. She learned my father killed her family and now she treats me like her brother. It’s as if she can see inside of you; see your soul. She knows what kind of person you are. Trust me, she’ll love you by the time this is over.”

  “It’s good to know. I…” she paused, unsure if she wanted to tell him, “…arranged something rather risky. Some years ago, I went to school with a Matrad man and we became good friends. He was on Matrador when the Marisheio came and they took him. He’s now a game player. I help him when I can, including short-circuiting his collar so he could remember his life. I… told him about Sortec.”

  Rosanheer’s eyes widened in panic. “You did WHAT?” he yelled. “You’re risking her life for—“

  She raised her hand to calm him. “He will help us… help her. He’s very loyal to the Narkoy. She just needs someone to be with, a friend. She’s going through hell by herself. In exchange for his help, I’ve arranged for one of our sympathizers to purchase him.”

  “And what is he going to do? Give her a hug? She’ll probably kill him,” Rosanheer growled.

  She stood, taking her half-eaten meal to the trash. “The plan is for him to short-circuit her collar and give her back her memories,” she said. She glanced at him, unable to hide her worried expression. “I taught him how to short-circuit her collar right before he attacked me.”

  “WHAT?” Rosanheer screamed.

  NINE

  Sedom’s bright golden eyes stared down at the sand around her shoes. The tan color of the sand was quickly growing red as the blood of her most recent victim lay dying beside her.

  Red? She thought, unable to recall what species held red blood within their veins. She glanced at the man she had just killed, realizing he was human. Ice chilled her heart. She didn’t like humans, but why?

  “Bravo, Syrok!” called a voice from above.

  With heated eyes, she glared up at the visitors’ box, wiping away a splattering of blood from her mouth and nose. Once again Lord Wyice was staring down at her, clapping with his amusement.

  She picked up the head, his eyes still wide with surprise that a little girl had done him in. She quickly spun her body, gaining enough speed to propel it into the box.

  The Lord jumped back, staring down at the head that now wobbled by his foot. Two guards hurried over to the Lord, tossing the head back into the arena. By the time they had, Sedom was already walking into the tunnels.

  Inside the tunnels, Terrill was waiting with six guards. He watched her with frustration as she passed him.

  “You did it again. You stupid girl! That man can destroy us!” he yelled.

  She pointed to her collar. “He already has. I know exactly who that son of a sool is with or without my memories,” she hissed.

  “You want him to come down here?” Terrill warned.

  “Yes. I want to look Enos in his eyes. I want to know why he murdered my people,” she returned with confidence.

  Terrill shook his head, his green skin paling. “No, Syrok, you don’t.”

  She ignored his warning. “I need to bathe!” she demanded.

  “Fine. Follow me. After, you will receive your marks,” he explained.

  She followed him down a long hallway, the guards following close behind her. “Marks?” she questioned.

  He pointed to a massive Zalmin man walking out from the shower. On his left arm were six slash marks, three looked to be fresh.

  “Signifies how many wins you have in the arena. I had to prove you wouldn’t attack the awardsmen or you would have already received them. I have to say, I believe you set a new record. You’ll receive twenty marks in total today since you missed your marks from the last battles.”

  She turned to him, her eyes beating red. “Twenty-one. I’ve killed twenty-one,” she corrected.

  They entered the showers. The room was thick with moisture from the previous players use.

  “I stand corrected.” He pointed to a shelf of cleaning supplies and towels. “You have a half an hour before the awards ceremony. I will have someone bring you fresh clothing. Try not to bloody them before we get out there.”

  As he left, she could hear him say to someone, “After today, that girl is worth a fortune.”

  “Provided Lord Wyice doesn’t execute you,” Cizel mentioned. “I’m honestly surprised Waar hasn’t shown up yet. I don’t envy you that conversation.”

  “
It’s only a matter of time, I assure you. Lord Wyice and I have had dealings in the past,” Terrill mentioned low.

  Sedom’s eyes turned to her shaking hands. Why were they shaking? They were covered in three different colors of blood so thick that it took several minutes before she could feel the warmth of the water on her bare skin.

  Steam rose around her, streaking the round metal disk around the showerhead. Her thin finger traced the flat area, revealing her bloody image. She gasped, quickly scrubbing her cheeks and her forehead.

  “Syrok, time is short,” called one of the guards.

  “This… isn’t right,” she heaved. She rested her forehead on the cool white tiles of the shower. “I need my mind back,” she whispered. “Somehow I need to damage the collar,” she thought, pulling at the collar around her neck.

  “Syrok!”

  “Coming,” she screamed back. “Think, you stupid girl. You’re Narkoy. You know how to fight. You…” she glanced at her hand where her two moon symbol was tattooed. “You don’t belong here,” she whispered.

  After she dressed, she was escorted back into the arena. The crowd rose in pandemonium as she neared the center of the arena. A group of people stood in the middle, dressed in ceremonial robes. One man in the group addressed the audience, but Sedom paid little attention to what he was saying. Her gaze turned to the audience. Someone out there knew who she was, she could feel it.

  It was then her eyes focused on a Clove man sitting in the bleachers. He wore a long robe like the Clove priests. Even from their distance, she could feel their eyes meet.

  “Sortec,” the man mouthed several times. He bowed his head, then placed a balled fist to his heart.

  Sedom looked away, turning to receive her marks. Her mind buzzed as she attempted to decipher what the man said. It was obvious he knew her. The first cut caused her to seethe, but after a while her mind kept her from registering the pain. After the fifth cut, she felt nothing.

  “Syrok,” Terrill said as he shook her shoulder slightly.

  Sedom nodded, refocusing her thoughts. “I’m finished. Return me to my cage,” she ordered, shocking the group around her.

  Terrill nodded. “Of course,” he said as he guided her to the gates. “You did well today.”

  Sedom nodded, but her mind was on the man in the stands. He was saying something to her, something that looked like her name but wasn’t her name. She took a seat inside her cage quietly, still thinking. Even when the cage door crashed closed, it still didn’t stir her from her thoughts.

  “Leave her be. There’s obviously something rattling around in that empty mind of hers,” Terrill mentioned loudly, hoping to gain her attention. It didn’t. They moved on, leaving her to be.

  “Syrok… Sor…” she thought and as she thought her mind began to buzz with electricity. Suddenly her brain was engulfed by a migraine so horrible she had no choice but to hide her head between her knees. Blood began to seep from her nose, dripping onto the hay that surrounded her.

  “Syrok,” called a voice from an adjoining cage. “Syrok!” the voice called louder.

  The voice shrilled within her mind, causing her to cry out, “Shut up!”

  “Listen to me. Take a deep breath and focus on one of the bars,” the voice called softly to her. “Deep breath and focus on one of the bars,” he repeated.

  She opened her eyes, taking a deep breath as she focused on one point on a bar which happened to be a clump of dried hay. For several minutes she inhaled and exhaled, focusing on the one spot. The headache faded into a dull throbbing feeling behind her eyes.

  “That’s a girl. You were starting to remember who you are. The collar doesn’t like that and is protecting the memory wipe,” the voice whispered to her.

  She turned to the voice, searching for its’ owner. It belonged to a man in the cage beside hers, the same cage De’mek once occupied. She could barely make out the man’s image from the fogginess in her eyes the headache was causing. He was dressed in a black jumpsuit, like the one she wore, and he had long white hair he kept in a topknot. He was turned away from her, his back pressed against the bars and his head leaning back, cradled between two of the bars. If she was thinking clearly, she could have easily broken his neck. It shocked her he would allow himself to sit in such a vulnerable position.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, unsure what to make of the man. He was being kind to her. No one was kind to her without compensation.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her then quickly turned away when he noticed a guard pass. “I offer Nazula, a truths. I won’t attack you as long as you don’t attack me,” he assured when he saw the guard was far enough away.

  Sedom’s brain still throbbed. She gulped a heaving breath, nodding as she held her hand to her forehead. She hoped the pressure of her touch would help her pain. Slowly, she released a shuddering breath.

  “I recognized… a friend in the stands. He mouthed my true name. I can almost…” she fell forward again, pain engulfing the frontal lobe of her brain.

  The man grew closer to the bars, reaching his hand through to hold her shoulder. As he did, she couldn’t help but notice sixteen game marks on his left shoulder and one looked fresh. To her surprise, he was a Matrad man with pale blue skin and bright yellow, almost golden eyes.

  “It’s okay. It will come to you in time. Don’t force it. It’s only hidden, not erased,” he encouraged.

  She looked into his sparkling eyes. “You’re… far from home,” she mentioned with a nervous giggle.

  “So are you,” he pointed out.

  Sedom grew closer to the bars, reaching to touch the man’s hand. As their fingers folded against each others’ hands, he squeezed hers tenderly. It was the most tenderness she had felt since arriving. Joyful tears willowed in her eyes.

  “I know,” he said behind a thin smile. “It’s been a long time for me too,” he gasped. He closed his eyes, keeping his tears from escaping. “So… soft,” he wept.

  The man’s face was scarred and bruised from playing in the games. His nose looked like it had been broken several times and was still badly bruised. His left eye was barely open, unable to fully open because of yet another nasty bruise. An eight-inch wound across his left cheek was still held together by mangled stitches.

  She pressed her hand to his cheek, carefully caressing his swollen eye. He didn’t fight her when her hand neared his eye. Tenderly, she healed his battle wounds as she gazed into his eyes. It was as if he knew what she was doing. After she was finished, all that remained of his injuries were loose stitches on his cheek.

  “Please tell me I won’t be fighting you. I can’t handle it. I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve… I’ve killed--” she begged.

  “Hush, it’s okay.” He held her hand to his cheek to show her tenderness and she allowed him, holding her in his gaze. She needed to feel something soft, some tiny amount of kindness. He looked almost like a Narkoy and almost was good enough for her. A tear rolled down her cheek, cascading over his hand.

  “I’m only being held here for a short time. A cargo ship captain purchased me, so I’ve come to understand. They’re keeping me here until he collects me. I’m being retired… dishonorably. I attacked a member of the media. They don’t like that,” he explained.

  She rested her head against the bars, tears rolling down her cheeks. “At least you’ll live,” she figured. Honorably meant a player was sent into the arena with a much better opponent and would be allowed to die quickly… with honor. Dishonorable meant a player had to return to being a lonely slave.

  “It was a setup. I knew the woman I attacked. She arranged it along with my new master. I’m being freed,” he admitted in a whisper into her ear.

  A dim smile appeared on her lips. “I’m so happy for you. How? How are you escaping?”

  “Because of you,” he continued cryptically.

  “Me?” Sobs overwhelmed her throat. “How? Why? Can you take me with you… please? I don’t belong here.”

&nb
sp; “No you don’t, Chadon. None of us do, especially you,” he whispered into her ear.

  She looked up into his eyes with confusion clouding her own. He tapped on her tattoo on her hand. “You are Chadon Sedom Sortec. You are the leader of the Narkoy and of the Tasgool. One of the most powerful people in the galaxy,” he whispered.

  She mouthed the words he spoke over and over. The man in the stands did know her. He was mouthing Sortec. Her head was suddenly engulfed by a wall of agonizing energy. She bent forward, crying in agony.

  He took her scalp in his hands, soothing her by using his thumbs to massage her forehead. “Hush now. We can’t risk anyone hearing us,” he soothed. He reached to the back of her collar, typing in a sequence of numbers.

  Energy rushed over her, rendering her entire body paralyzed. Her body fell to the ground like a wet rag, her feet and hands twitching.

  “I… I can’t move,” she mouthed.

  He took her hand, squeezing it. “Give it a moment. The overload has stunned your mind,” he assured.

  “What… did you do?” She gulped, unable to feel her body. Her eyes widened in panic as icy chills flushed over her skin, sickening her stomach.

  “Stay calm,” he assured. He held her hand tighter. “I…” he paused, glancing around to see if anyone was watching them, “… I short-circuited the collar. A friend taught me how so I could use it on yours. I was given this task in exchange for my freedom,” he explained. “It will take your mind a moment to readjust to the flood of memories. Just hold my hand and I’ll get you through it.”

  “Why?” she gulped.

  “Mutual friends need your mind clear,” he explained. “Hold on, let me…” he reached through the bars, pulling her closer to him when he noticed her body begin to convulse. He pressed his fingers to her temples, making a connection to her mind just as she had done to others so many times in the past. Up until that point, she only thought purebreds had the ability.

  Her mind blanked for a moment, using his mind to filter through her memories and make sense of her own thoughts. “…there. Focus on the one thing you love the most,” he whispered.