by L M Feldt
We have stopped. Then shuffle forward, then stop again. I imagine people pleading their case so they don’t have to go back to the horrible cells below.
“Chin up. Shoulders back. Look your best.” The boy in front of me whispers.
I wonder how I will plead my case since I don’t know what my crime is. Trespassing I suppose. Inciting a riot a little later but I have no intention of owning up to that.
I am eighth from the front and now I can see the dias. The person sitting on the throne is quite naked except for the large glittery crown on his head. It is canted sideways, sort of hung over one horn and his mane of curling black hair trails down his shoulders. His skin is dark red, the color of dried blood and his eyes are yellow with a vertical slit. Kind of like mine.
Just as the boy steps forward to plead his case the King sees me.
“You!” He roars. “Come here!” The guard gestures to the boy and the king waves him off. “Yes, yes. All forgiven. You have my forgiveness and all that. Bring the girl.”
The boy is released and quickly scoots through a side door and to freedom.
“Look at me girl.”
I raise my eyes, ignoring his nakedness as best I can and stare at the King. He seems both fascinated and angered by my appearance.
“Another pair of such beautiful eyes….only one other had eyes like ours. Lolita. Remember her Swarez?” He addresses a royal guard standing to his right, not one of the tentacled guards, but a twist.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Whatever happened to her? Such pretty eyes.”
“I believe you had her executed, Commander.”
“Hummm.” He studies me and I wonder if I am supposed to be saying anything in my defense right now.
“I don’t like spies or traitors. Are you a spy girl?”
“No Commander.” I shiver under his gaze. Fangs poke through his generous lips as he speaks and I realize that the faint lisp I hear is because his tongue is forked, like a snake’s.
“You’re not from here or I would know. So, not a traitor. Not a spy you say, yet you and your friends were captured on the doorstep of our weapons factory.” The threat is obvious even with the quiet tone. A hush has fallen over the room. I have to answer right or we are all dead.
But I can think of nothing. Not one thing. My mind is a complete blank.
“We were lost.” I finally blurt out. It is true but who in their right mind would believe that weak excuse?
Not the King. I see his eyes tighten and a hand clenches into a fist. He glowers at me and just as he is about to accuse me of being a spy I hear Micha shout from behind me.
“We are envoys from the Queen!”
Thirty Five
The resulting chaos is startling after the silence. Micha is cut from line and dragged forward to stand beside me. The King studies him as the rooms fills with whispers and nervous laughter. The King is not impressed. Micha is the smallest of our group. He is not attractive and he doesn’t display any overt signs of mutation. His hair is greasy and his face dirty.
“An envoy from the Queen? She would send such as you? A drowned rat?”
“I….”
“I don’t think so. Even if she has heard of me, she would not send such a pathetic thing as you.” The Kings face says it all. If Micha isn’t executed as a spy he’ll be sent back down to the dungeons for sure. Micha has never been the strongest of us. He’d hid secrets from us from the start and while we have all come to accept him, there has always been a bit of the weasel in him. I am worried that his suddenly run away mouth will get him killed. He should have stuck to silence like he usually does. And where did he come up with such an obvious lie? One dangerously close to revealing my connection to the Queen.
“It is true!” Micha insists.
“Liar! Spy!” Roars the King. “Guards! Take this rat and….what is that?”
“This is….” Jax has chosen this moment to press its mouldering body against Micha’s side.
But the King isn’t interested. His already red toned skin has flushed a deeper shade, nearly purple, and his fangs press down past his lower lip. His anger is so pervasive that it drives the closer courtiers back, as though pushed by an invisible shield. Or, maybe they just don’t want to be next. Micha is dragged away by the dungeon guards and the King turns his attention back to me. His yellow eyes, so similar to my own are clouded by the storm of his fury. I don’t know if I am to be dragged away too or killed right where I stand. My wings flutter softly against my back as my agitation grows.
“You.” He whispers. “You I will give the chance to prove yourself, prove you are not a spy. Defeat my champion in the Red Tournament in two suns or you and all your friends will be executed at the Rite of the Burned Moon.”
The King sits back and seems to deflate, slouching in his throne like someone has let out all his stuffing. He looks sad and the scope of emotion displayed make me wonder if he is entirely sane. I don’t have much time to think about it, however. The throne room erupts into boisterous cheering and I am suddenly surrounded by guards, herded away as the people chant; “Kreas! Kreas!
It isn’t until later, when I ask the servant who brings me dinner what the word means, that I realize that the people weren’t happy for me. They were chanting “Meat! Meat!”. They are happy for themselves, that it isn’t one of them chosen for death. An unpleasant death according to my assigned servant, lots of knives and fighting. She shudders to her toes just telling me the little she has. I think she is both afraid to appear friendly with me but also full of curiosity about me. I get the impression she has never met anyone from outside the city. My plan is to grill her when she comes to collect my plates….but the long day has taken it’s toll and I am asleep before she returns.
The next morning I am awakened by the smell of eggs, roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread. In my half asleep state I wonder if I have died already and been allowed into the Bountiful Garden. I had heard of eggs and bread of course, I just never expected to be allowed to eat them.
“It is requested that you follow me after your bath to the training grounds where you will be allowed to spar with some of our guards.”
My serving girl, if the label is not too down putting, is soft spoken and very pretty. Her pointed ears deftly hold back the waves of sea green hair and her pale skin is subtly accented with a rosy hue. I look like a tangle of sticks and worn leather next to her.
“So, how tough is this Champion?” I ask as I sink into the tub of hot water. Hummm. If I do die in two days this is a heck of a way to go.
“Oh.” She shakes her head and shudders delicately. “No one ever wins. He is….” Her voice trails off.
“Ah. So it’s an execution and a show.” I had expected as much.
The girl shoots me a look I can’t figure out and offers to comb my hair. I am tempted to let her, it has to be a rats nest by now but I don’t want her getting to close a look at my back. My steel wings are my deadly surprise and I plan to keep them hidden or at least downplayed until the last moment.
“That’s ok. Maybe I’ll leave it and scare the Champion to death.” I tell her.
She giggles and some tension leaves the room. I’m not crying or pressuring her to help me escape, so she allows herself to relax. Leaving a wide toothed comb conveniently within my reach, she promises to return shortly and lead me to the training grounds.
Refreshed, clean and with my hair re-braided down the one side, wild but mostly tangle free on the other, I have achieved what I hope to be a fierce yet feminine look. Females, even in the compound where a twist is often more dangerous than they look, are usually underestimated. I hope to work this to my advantage.
“How are my friends, is Micha ok?”
“Your three friends are well cared for in another wing. They will be at the event tomorrow night. Your other friend, with the strange pet, has been taken below.”
Tomorrow night, I muse. I had expected to be put on display the following morning but ni
ght may actually work better. I can see just fine at night.
“Will the Champion also be sparring?” I would love to get a read on my executioner, see for myself just how terrible he really is. I know I should be a lot more scared than I am but I have always had a practical side and I tend not to react to something I can’t see or touch for myself. Tomorrow night may be another matter but for now I just want to get as much information as possible.
“No, you will not see him until it is time.”
The building we are passing through looks more like an immense home than a castle for a King. There are numerous unprotected entry ways and tall windows that open out to views of the jungle. My room has no window of course, can’t have the main attraction slipping away in the night. Otherwise, even though the decor is over the top and too ornate for my taste, there is a sense of comfort to it. Soft couches piled high with plush cushions are arranged periodically with bowls of fruit resting invitingly on side tables. Woven tapestries decorate the walls and even though it is a little warm, the thick stone walls seem to keep out most of the jungle’s heat. This place is well thought out and pleasant, aside from the whole ‘we’re going to kill you for our entertainment’ bit.
The training grounds turn out to be the sort people construct when they have no intention of actually fighting anyone. The layout is all wrong and weapon racks are set within the courtyard to designate ‘areas’ rather than lining the walls to leave as much open space as possible. A real fight isn’t so easily confined to a ten by ten square. Young boys with oil rags are working diligently to keep the rust at bay on the various weapons, a never ending job I suppose so deep in the jungle, especially when everything is made of iron. The weapons themselves are crudely made and I am willing to bet, poorly balanced. No way am I damaging anything of mine sparring here. I will use whatever is provided and claim I have no real weapons of my own.
“This is Captain Elhier. He will set you up and I will return for you in time for an early dinner.”
“Wait. What is your name?” I felt like a heel for not having asked already.
“Zara.”
Zara doesn’t waste any time exiting the training grounds. Hungry eyes follow her and I hear a lewd comment or two. Every male in the area watches her except for the captain who is busy studying his shoes with narrowed angry slits. For a moment I almost decided to reconsider my plan to appear weak. These boys need to learn a lesson in manners. I don’t know what to make of the captain.
“You have brought your own weapons?” An imperious tone starts me from my daydreaming.
“What? These?” I look down as though surprised by the knives strapped to my legs.
“May I see?” The request is polite enough but I know better than to make a big deal of it.
“Sure. They are mostly decorative but I use them for gutting fish sometimes.” I hand him a knife. “They are made out of stone I think.” The color is believable if you know nothing of weapons. So is the weight.
Elhier turns the odd colored knife in his hands and suddenly, without warning, grips the tip and throws it. It lands with a thud, handle first and bounces off the stone wall of the enclosure, startling one of the oil boys.
“No balance. Poorly made but interesting.” He proclaims loudly. “You are welcome to use one of our fine weapons that we make here.”
He proceeds to offer a variety of useless weapons, explaining their many terrible uses when I can plainly see they would be better used as a spit over an open fire. These are kitchen tools not weapons. I shake my head at yet another weapon I don’t want. It looked like it would make a better spoon for the stew pot than a sword.
“Yes, it is a bit long for a small girl like you. Let’s find you something more to your abilities.” He smirks widely and rolls his eyes.
What the hells?
I retrieve my knife and tag along after the captain, listening to the soft laughter that follows. They think I am a joke. At first I feel the anger mounting. Anger has always been the easiest emotion for me. Then I start to wonder.
“These disks are fun, yes? You can toss them at your opponent.” He is speaking louder now, putting on a good show for the boys and guards in the grounds. We are too far from them now to hear their jokes at my expense but they are clearly having a good time and even now are turning back to their respective bouts, ignoring me.
“What happens if I win?”
“No one wins.”
“What if I do?”
“No one wins.” He insists. The captain studies me with narrowed eyes, sizing me up.
“Yes, so I’ve heard. There must be a prize though, to dangle in front of me, to give me hope.”
Elhier sighs and grabs another weapon, a misshapen waste of metal that I think is supposed to be a mace. He makes motions as though demonstrating it’s many wonderful uses, probably cracking large rocks into smaller ones is my bet.
“Should the King’s Champion be bested in a fight to the death, the winner is absolved of all charges and given one wish.” He swigs the ‘mace’ as he talks, keeping up the charade of a lesson in weapons. Why? Why has he got us over here, away from prying ears?
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Good. You are smart. I hope you are good with those knives you carry. And I know they are not stone or bone or any other weak thing. I think you have no need for lessons and if you do best the Champion I want you to kill the King too.”
I am shocked. Kill the King? Is he crazy? I would never make it out of the city in one piece.
“Are you nuts!”
“As for the Champion, aim for the tattoo of the sun. There is a gland….”
We are interrupted before he can finish.
“Captain Elhier. How goes training?” It is the King’s own body guard. He is lean, taller than Elhier and there is an air of menace to him that seems excessive. Hard eyes take in the discarded weapons behind us. He stares at me for a moment, then shifts his intense gaze to Captain Elhier.
“Make sure she knows how to use at least one of these. We don’t want our entertainment to die too quickly, do we?”
Thirty Six
It has been a long day of pretending to be an inept fighter. Every time I miss a swing or fail to hit the dummy I can hear money changing hands. There are a lot of side bets going. Not on whether I’ll win but on how long I’ll last. According to this lot, it’ll be about a five swing match, with the Champion taking only one swing. Well, what do they know! Still, in spite of myself I am a little nervous.
Zara has led me back to my room and there is a hot bath waiting as though I have sore muscles to soak. I am grateful anyway. The thought is nice and I tell her so. Also…..two baths in one day! Heaven. A little later she returns with dinner and a goblet of what I am told is wine.
“Will you dine with me?” I ask. “It is possibly my last dinner and I would rather not eat alone.”
Zara grins and when she returns with her dinner we sit at a small table and eat. I ignore the wine. I have never had it and it seems a poor idea to start drinking right before a fight to the death. I am sure there is a warriors code about that somewhere but I have forgotten it. Alcoholic beverages were not served to twists… for good reason.
“I almost forgot!” Zara roots around in one of her pockets, pulling out something I have only glimpsed a few times, the bracelet Aito had confiscated from Micha. The one I had heard him talking to only to wake the next day believing it all a dream.
“Your friend thought you might like to have your bracelet back. He says you like to rub it for good luck when you are lonely.” Slowly I take the strange thing and thank her.
“Zara?” I catch her just as she’s leaving with the empty plates. She pauses in the doorway. “Have you ever heard of another city?”
She looks at me strangely.
“No, only here, surrounded by jungle and horrible creatures.”
It seems an odd answer to me. She knows I am not from here so why is the idea of another city so unlikely
to her? I can’t believe that this place is the City we have been traveling too for so long. I cannot make my home here. I can’t put my finger on it but there is something rotten here…..aside from the crazy King and his spy issues.
“Which is the tallest building, do you know?”
“The King’s Tower….but it is not allowed. It is forbidden.” This question alarms her for some reason.