by Jeff Gunzel
“Oh, sure,” said the big man dismissively, intrigued by the creature for some reason. “I’ll give you a hand.” Gazing at the creature’s wrapped face, he unsheathed a dagger from his side.
“W-What are you doing?”
“Don’t mind me,” he replied casually, working the blade underneath the creature’s metal eye plate. “I’m just liberating our friend here. Surely he’ll need the use of his eyes.” With a creaking sound, the thin metal covering gave way and landed on the ground. Bloodred eyes opened and blinked, then darted over to meet his gaze. The big man stumbled back, startled by that red-eyed glare. It was uncertain what he had been expecting, but those eyes had certainly caught him off guard.
“Now you did it!” the other guard yelped. “There was no need for that. All its bindings are attached to this single lock.” He wiggled the apparatus at the creature’s back for emphasis. “Once I unlock this, it all comes detached. Now it can see you!”
“I-I didn’t think it could... I-I wasn’t sure if—” the big man stuttered, clearly shaken and already regretting his decision.
“Forget it. Just help me get it up on this cart. The sooner we get this thing out into the pit, the sooner we can get out of here.” Agreeing with his logic and suddenly eager to just get on with this, the big man helped roll the bound creature onto the standing cart. The being appeared calm throughout, not thrashing or trying to escape in any way—not that it could, anyhow, due to the bindings and chains that still pinned its arms to its sides. But it seemed calm somehow, resigned to its fate.
As they drew closer to the iron gate at the end of the tunnel, the chants from outside became more apparent. The creature squinted against what seemed to him to be a brilliant radiance. Eyes that had grown used to a world of pitch-blackness burned when exposed to the natural sunlight.
“Stop right here,” said the big man, coming around to the creature’s front as the other soldier propped up the cart. Pushing up its chin, he fixed a black collar around its neck. “There we go,” he said, latching it with a click. “I’m told this will ensure us you won’t do anything rash, you stupid beast,” he grunted, spitting out the last word as if it tasted bitter on his tongue.
“Jarlen,” came a low rumble from underneath the tattered mask of dirty wrappings.
The big man jumped, quickly jerking his hands away. “What did it say?” he gasped, his own voice barely a whisper.
“I am not a beast,” it rumbled again, this time with a bit more authority. “My name is Jarlen.”
A stunned silence hung in the air before the big man started laughing. “It can talk,” he said, glancing at his partner. “Jarlen?” he then repeated, his glare drifting back to those bloodred eyes. “So not only do you speak, but you have a name as well. Even so, I’m not sure whether or not that’s important.” Behind him, the iron gate began rising with a series of clicks, prompting the people outside to roar with approval. The big man smiled, refusing to break eye contact with this strange being. “No. The real question is...can you bleed?” He laughed once more, stepping aside so the other soldier could wheel the creature past.
The direct sunlight blasted his face, a blinding radiance that seared his watering eyes. Thunderous cheers rained down, followed by a fair amount of gold coins. The coins sank into the sand, many bouncing off the heads of both the creature and the soldier. When they were about twenty feet from the gate, the soldier propped up the cart and began fiddling with the lock at its back.
“It doesn’t matter to me whether you can talk or not,” he said in the creature’s ear, speaking loudly to be overheard above the boisterous crowd. “Whether it be beast or man, I don’t think any being should be treated this way.” With a grinding click, the lock came loose in the soldier’s hands. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, he turned and ran back towards the gate.
The creature stepped out from the cart, chains and wrappings uncoiling from his body. The cheering crowd silenced, chants turning to stunned gasps as hands rose to cover their open mouths. For the few who kept chanting, this was not the first time they had seen this creature. Only the truly prosperous citizens of Shadowfen could afford to witness this marvel more than once. Those select few already knew what to expect.
Jarlen squinted against the sun, his blinking eyes taking in all those standing around the edge of the sandy pit. Staring down at him were a mix of bosomy, plump women with gaudy pearl necklaces that seemed to disappear into their ample cleavage, along with equally well-fed men with greased hair slicked back as it clung to their scalps. These were not the sort of folks who worked for a living, but clearly had no problem paying vast sums of money to be entertained.
His eyes slowly adjusting to the sun, Jarlen shook his head to free himself of the last clinging wraps. Braided white hair spilled down around his shoulders, many of the ends having tiny bells woven in. The subtle shake of his head produced a quiet jingling. His black lips stood out boldly against his pale face. Shirtless, he stretched his arms as lean muscles twitched beneath his ghostly white skin. Barefoot, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting black pants, his bloodred eyes scanned upward, eventually settling on the king and queen. He appeared calm, confident, and ready for whatever was to come.
“Ah, so the beast has noticed me at last,” said King Milo, glaring down at Jarlen with casual indifference. He didn’t much care what the creature thought of him—or what anyone else did, for that matter. The creature was a slave to be used for his benefit, no different than any other tool.
“My, my, would you look at that glare it is giving me, my dear. I do believe it wants to kill me,” he said to his queen. Seated under the shade of their stretched canopy, he held out his half-empty goblet. Promptly, a servant dashed up to him, immediately pouring red wine from a crystal pitcher. When it was full, he backed away while bobbing his head repeatedly.
“I would choose my words a bit more carefully, dear husband,” Queen Bella replied, snapping her fingers towards the servant on her right. Already cooling her with a large red fan, he began to move the device in longer, faster strokes. “As difficult as it may be for you to understand, that ‘thing’ is still a man, one that can best any of your soldiers with a halfhearted effort. I would take him a bit more seriously if I were you.” Flustered by the heat, she flipped her long dark hair over to one side, exposing her moist neck to the servant with the fan. He immediately targeted the area with vigorous fanning.
The king smoothed his thick brown mustache with two fingers, appearing to briefly consider her words. He wasn’t. He never did, but of course she already knew that. “But you are not me, therefore what you think on my behalf is irrelevant,” he said at length, rolling his head to look at her with a sideways glare. His dark eyes held hers until she finally looked away.
With a satisfied nod, he then glanced back at the towering figure looming behind them. Clad in dark red robes, the king’s personal shaman stood at the ready, like he always did. Face hidden behind his red mask with black swirls around the cheek area, he stood with his arms crossed, each hand tucked into the opposing sleeve. The shaman waited silent as death; sometimes the king needed to see him just to be assured of his presence.
“I trust you’re prepared in case that ‘thing’ down there tries anything foolish, Diovok?” the king asked, glancing briefly at the queen when he emphasized the word thing. Several seconds passed before the shaman responded with a slow, silent nod. He never spoke, but that didn’t bother the king. His shaman was more than capable when needed. And as long as that held true, his inability—or possibly outright refusal—to speak was of little importance.
“Then let us begin!” the king shouted, rising from his seat to the thundering roar of a re-energized crowd. Flashing one last glare at Jarlen, he motioned towards the iron gate at the opposite side of the sand pit. On cue it began to rise, clattering away as rusted gears creaked and sparked with friction.
Watching it rise with an emotionless expression, Jarlen glanced back over his shoulder when he heard a
soft thud. There in the sand was the imprint of a sword that had been pushed through the iron gating. He casually stepped over and retrieved the rusty blade. Holding it up, he twisted it back and forth as if determining its worth, or possibly even deciding if he wanted to use it at all. After giving it a final twirl, he stalked towards the center of the makeshift sand arena.
Peering into the opposite tunnel, he saw bits of fleeting movement here and there shuffling around in the darkness. There came a screeching sound before several humanoid shapes began to appear from the darkness. Jarlen did a silent head count as rardens came slinking from the darkness.
Their dull-green bodies waggled back and forth, tails snapping the air like rattlesnakes warning a potential adversary. Toothless beaks flickered with multicolored tongues, mostly red with touches of orange and black. Gills on the sides of their necks flapped open and closed while filtering the dry air. Hissing and gurgling, the creatures swiped the air with their webbed hands, the fingers tipped with sharp claws. Unsure and confused, the stupid beasts worked their way around the arena, surrounding Jarlen more on instinct than as any tactical plan.
“Twenty-three, twenty-four,” he whispered to himself as the last ones slunk from the darkness. Holding his blade up high, his red eyes swept across the beasts. Normally they would have attacked on sight, given their aggressive nature, but there was something off-putting about this pale-skinned being. Something smelled...wrong. They sensed a total absence of fear. Fear normally drove their primal instincts crazy, sending them into a blood rage, but in him they sensed nothing. Everything about him seemed completely unnatural.
“Twenty-four,” he repeated, whistling the number between his teeth. Bracing himself, his front foot pivoted in the sand, his toe pointed towards the hissing batch directly in front of him. “That’s all of them? This is insulting,” he grumbled under his breath. With a straight-ahead burst, his body exploded with speed no human could ever match.
Streaking right past four of the beasts, he pulled up just short of the hardened sand wall. Gazing up at a series of stunned faces, Jarlen flashed a fiendish grin. A single drop of blood hung from the very tip of his rusted blade. Other than that, the weapon looked to be bone dry. As if hit by a stiff breeze, the four rardens tipped down onto the sand, their severed heads rolling a short distance away from their bodies.
With a collective gasp, the folks watching from above backed away from the edge of the pit. Amused, Jarlen savored their fear. Although he himself was part human, he found them to be weak and limited. In a sense he loathed his human side, and wished that that inferior blood could somehow be removed. That weak link was the sole reason he could never truly reach his full potential.
From a standstill, he burst forward and began scaling the wall, scrambling straight up as if the laws of gravity did not apply to him. This only made the humans scurry away faster, fearing that this dark creature was climbing up to slaughter them all. More than once he had entertained that very idea, but such ambitions would have to wait for a more opportune time.
Just before reaching the top of the wall, Jarlen thrust himself straight back. Tumbling through the air in a series of backflips, his body morphed into something unworldly. To a chorus of terrified shrieks from the spectators, he melted into a spinning cone of liquid black. The twisting funnel of swirling black birds floated across the pit, drifting down to the sand on the far side of the pit, then rematerialized into his humanoid form.
Coming out of his spin, Jarlen turned back and rushed into the pack of rardens headlong. He roared, steel flashing with impossible speed as he shredded their scaly flesh. The savage creatures were not slow by any stretch, but they appeared to be so as the pale creature carved right through them. Body parts tumbled into the air, arms and heads streaming speckled trails of red.
Survival instinct taking hold, the remaining lizards halted their charge and actually began running away from the living blade cutting them down like weeds. Now seeing only their undefended backs, the ruthless killer embraced the role of hunter. With no fear of a counterattack, there could only be one outcome. His bloodlust approaching new heights, he charged them with reckless abandon. No matter which direction the living weapon streaked, it resulted in an instant kill. Terrified rardens tried desperately to outrun a being who couldn’t be outran. Mere seconds later, the massacre was complete.
Rather than the expected cheering that usually followed such a one-sided slaughter, there was nothing but tense silence. What was this creature? Had he used some sort of black magic to aid him in his easy victory over these rardens? After all, no known creature could move like that, yet alone morph his body into something so unworldly.
Stepping over shredded carcasses, Jarlen casually strolled across the dirt arena. The privileged audience was so stunned, so silent, that they could even hear the little bells in his hair jingling with each confident step. He stopped near the king and queen, and watched them expectantly. The king glared down at his champion...his property...his slave. If anything, the performance had been too quick. These special guests had paid good money to witness this exceptional creature perform, many traveling great distances. So far, he might have performed too well.
Milo held Jarlen’s silent gaze a moment longer before a tight-lipped smile turned up the corners of his mouth. With a most subtle gesture, his hand lowered slightly towards the iron gate on the far side. His smile widened as the screeching squeal of rusty gears rang out. The gate was rising for a second time.
Jarlen grimaced, unable to hide his frustration. Once again he would be used as a tool, a low form of barbaric entertainment for these soft, weak-minded humans. In the wilds he was practically a god, but his physical gifts meant nothing in this closed-off world. He was a freak, and would always be forced to display his might in a never-ending show of bloodshed. This was his reality.
It won’t always be this way. Once I gain my freedom, taking your head will be my first order of business, King Milo. He turned away from the smirking king and headed back to the center of the arena. Clapping broke through the silence from a single man who may have had a bit too much wine. Despite all those around him looking on in stunned awe, clearly he was ready for more. Jarlen raised his sword in silent salute, prompting others to join in. Although the ovation was nothing like the first time around, men and women were sounding their approval. It was time to see this man...or whatever he was...get tested once more.
Just as the ovation was picking up momentum, a sharp roar from the black tunnel silenced them all. Jarlen watched the enormous outline appear through the darkness, swaying side to side until it came into full view. The stony klashton sniffed the air, jet-black eyes appearing to glisten in the sunlight. It had long, heavy chains attached to a single collar around its neck. Soldiers with their lion-head helmets yanked and pulled at them while trying to guide it along.
Wasting no time waiting for them to unlock the chains, Jarlen charged forward with a savage roar. Tired of this endless game, he would seize the initiative. Seeing him coming, the giant jerked one of the chains, sending a soldier flying through the air. He smacked against the side wall with a crack, leaving a wet trail as he slid down to the sand below. Armor badly crumpled from the impact, the body just lay there leaking like a water skin with a hole in it. The other soldiers abandoned their chains and ran back into the tunnel. They had seen enough and wanted no part of this.
The klashton circled the free chain around the top of its head, bringing it down as Jarlen blazed up to him. Impossibly, Jarlen brought all his momentum to a sudden halt, allowing the chain to crash into the sand right at his toes. Missing his nose by inches, the impact threw a cloud of dry sand into the air.
As fast as he had stopped, Jarlen dashed forward again. With all his speed returning within two steps, he slid right between the beast’s legs and slashed out as he skidded through. The old, rusty blade snapped on impact, cracking like a twig against the klashton’s rock-hard inner thigh. Not missing a beat, Jarlen rolled once and sp
rung back to his feet, heading right for the wall for the second time. Folks up top scattered in all directions. He had already proven he could leap out of the pit any time he chose to, and none would wait around to see if he would actually try it.
He hit the wall and sprang off, his body mutating in midair. Flesh melted apart in dark strips. The caws of black birds squawking echoed about as the living black funnel spun towards the giant. The klashton paused as the mini tornado blurred towards its face. With a thunderous crash, it slammed its open hands together, crushing the funnel much like catching a fly.
The crowd gasped, then complete silence followed. They watched on in stunned awe as the beast sniffed around its clasped hands, black feathers fluttering down to the sand below. Bringing his hands up to his face, he slowly opened them, determined to make a meal out of the remains of this annoying little insect.
Peeking at what should have been a tasty paste, the klashton’s whole body suddenly shuddered. Several in the audience turned away, more than one emptying their stomach. Legs straddling one of the giant’s open palms, Jarlen sat unharmed.
A long blade penetrated the beast’s eye, jutting out from the back of its head. The blade slowly began to recoil with a wet slurping sound, melting back into flesh. Within seconds it shifted back into the form of Jarlen’s arm. He leapt down as the dead beast tumbled to the side.
Wiping the blood from his arm on his pants, Jarlen gazed up at the stunned faces of the crowd. They had heard he was special, had heard he was unmatched in combat, but none of them ever imagined his unarmed body could actually shift into a weapon.
The king rose from his seat and gestured down to the clear victor. He began clapping, which helped snap the spectators from their bewildered trance. Others joined in, cheering one of the most amazing spectacles they’d ever seen. There was little doubt that word of what they had witnessed this day would spread, and others would simply have to see this demon in action. Not only was King Milo certain of this, he was counting on it. Most likely he would charge double at the next event, and possibly double again after that. The opportunities for profit were endless.