A Wolf in the Dark

by S E Turner

  The General made a left turn at the centre of the causeway with Skyrah still firmly fixed in front of him to inform the Emperor of their arrival. The convoy proceeded to the arena where the grim-faced boys were ushered out of the cages. Some fell and had to be supported, others looked about in disbelief, but most just stood quietly, looking blankly ahead. Once the captives had tumbled out, the caravan continued round and veering to the left of the palace, went out of sight. The General could be seen discussing terms with a huge man. This had to be the Emperor, for there was a resemblance to the marble statue that they had just passed. He pointed to Skyrah who was taken inside by a guard. She would have to wait to discover her fate. The black mare was led away by a cowering stable lad, and the Emperor walked towards the arena with the General.

  Both men wore their hair long and tied into a ponytail. By definition, it seemed the longer the ponytail, the more authority one had. The Emperor's spindly grey hair was pulled back off his plump, ageing face. He wore a red cloak over knee length britches and a white shirt while his hands were concealed inside gold coloured gloves .

  'You see, my lord, I have brought you a fine selection of savages this time.'

  'You have done well, Corbulo. You will be greatly rewarded.' A nod reinforced a job well done.

  The General tilted his head at the accolade. 'Here is a list of their ages as you required.'

  'Thank you, Corbulo.' The Emperor took ownership of the list and studied it carefully while stroking the jowls on his wrinkled chin.

  'It makes for such good entertainment when savages like these are locked up together.' The General drooled as he leaned into his master and shared the delight.

  'Yes, just like last time, Corbulo. They will go mad, they will fight, and they will kill each other.'

  Corbulo stifled a pertinent cough. 'Have you spoken to the other two savages. If you get my meaning, sire?'

  'Our two spies, you mean?' The Emperor curled one side of his mouth, and his eyes narrowed into a cruel slant. 'They have been given their instructions and will pass on the details of who we should put in the arena first; and yes, I am fully aware of what happened last time, so they have been warned.'

  The two men sniggered at the thought and exchanged a glance that validated their similar thinking. Then the Emperor scanned the paperwork one last time before handing the parchment back into the possession of the General. He walked slowly up the line of boys, feeling their arms, looking inside their mouths and inspecting their teeth; then recoiling in disgust at being in such close proximity, and wiping his soiled gloves on their shoulders. He took note of their tattoos. 'What is this mark on your arm?' he asked with a frown.

  'It is my totem. It is a wolf,' replied a gallant Lyall.

  'And this one, what is your totem?'

  'It's a leopard.'

  'And yours, what is this?'

  'A bear,' said Norg.

  'And how old are you to have a bear on your arm?'

  'I am seventeen.' Norg stood tall to enhance his age.

  'You are a seventeen-year-old fool.' The Emperor's venom knocked him back. 'You are all fools—depraved, unruly savages that rely on the marks of animals to give you strength.' He snorted from the back of his nose and turned his back on them.

  'It is our custom. We are not depraved, we are not savages, and we certainly are not fools,' shouted out Bagwa.

  The General punched him hard in the stomach with a cruel fist. Instantly Bagwa folded like a scythed ear of corn. The General followed into his agonised posture and seethed at his crumpled face. 'Forget about your customs, forget about your clans, and forget about everything you have ever known before. Here you are savages and will be treated as such.' He wiped the spittle with the back of his hand and lowered his tone as he stepped back to address the Emperor. 'They may be savages with ridiculous marks all over them, but they fight extremely well, my lord. I have already witnessed a range of animal like hostilities and pack behaviour.'

  'So maybe the marks do work for them,' the Emperor sneered again. 'That all sounds very promising, indeed.' He raised an untidy eyebrow as he relished on the information, his gaze still resting on the boys. 'Animals always tear each other to shreds if provoked enough.' He turned to face his accomplice. 'You may retire, Corbulo. Your work is done here for now. Go and enjoy yourself with that wench of yours.'

  The General was dismissed with a wink from the Emperor.

  Namir felt his blood rise, but there was nothing he could do. He was flanked by two burley guards who could crush him with one blow. One was particularly pugnacious with a furrowed scowl, and the other bore deep pitted pox marks across his face.

  'Welcome, savages, welcome to your new home.' He jutted out his chin, pointing to the accommodation behind them. 'This is far better than the mud huts you are accustomed to.' His grin was sickening. 'And this is my new arena where you will train hard, and in the summer, you will entertain the nobility.'

  The boys turned to see the ravaged face of the quarry and observed the sombre grey walls of the dormitory.

  'But you will have to do something in return for my generosity. You get nothing for free in this life.' He paused while the boys digested his words. 'I am not an unreasonable man. I know that the daylight hours will be short now. I know that we cannot accomplish very much in these dark months. But you will still train, and you will learn how to use weapons. And as the daylight hours increase, you will train even more and work even harder for your comfortable accommodation.' He paused to sniff the air. 'We have games in the months of June where you will fight each other. Everyone is treated the same, regardless of age and health concerns. There will be winners and there will be losers. Life is like that. Freedom comes to those who fight well for two years. And for those who don't,' he paused to inspect his manicured fingernails. 'Well, you will see...'

  'What if we don't want to fight. What if we want to go home?' cried out a piteous voice.

  The scowling guard stepped forward and punched Silva in the face with a brutal fist. He fell instantly, almost unconscious, his head throbbing with blood running from the wound.

  'You don't get choices here,' the Emperor bellowed. 'You are my slaves now, and you do what you are told.' As he turned, the billowing cape swirled, and his ponytail sashayed. He strode back up the causeway into his pavilion, leaving those final orders to settle.

  Unlocking the doors to the dormitory, the boys were summoned by the guards. No words were uttered, no expressions were exchanged. Namir stopped to help Silva to his feet and followed the rest of the boys inside. The curl of a breeze brushed past the closing doors as the guards locked them in. Then their captors followed the Emperor to their sentry positions outside the palace and faced the dormitory—they would only move again to protect their master or bludgeon escapees.

  The boys now faced a room with one large wooden table and several chairs arranged on a cold stone floor. A huge recess allowed for a fire, around which was a display of worn cooking utensils. There were no knives or sharp implements. In an adjacent room was the storeroom where food rations would be left on a daily basis. A pump brought water up from the indoor well and a rusty tin tub was provided as a bath. Sombre faces matched their pitiful surroundings and their freedom seemed a lifetime ago.

  Suddenly, a voice sounded out over the gloom. 'Well, seeing as we are going to spend some time together, I should introduce myself and my clan. I am Dainn from the Hill Fort Tribe. This little lad is Rufus, and four more boys from my clan are Storm, Durg, Malik and Tay.' He gestured to them as they were introduced, and grim faces responded to the introduction. 'But I remember many of you from the Gatherings.'

  'Yes,' said Namir. 'You beat the champion Torré in the boxing this year.'

  'I certainly did, and still bear the scars to prove it.'

  Namir and the others immediately shook his hand, as nodding heads and gestures of recognition tripped round the dormitory.

  'I am Siri from the Giant's Claw. This is my little brother, Zeno, and
for two years in a row, I have been beaten by a woman in the archery event at the Gatherings. I don't think I can ever live that down.'

  Hali laughed. 'Lace gave me her prize-winning bow two years ago, and I still can't match her skills. Came second again this year to another woman.' He shrugged.

  Dainn smiled knowingly.

  'Well it's better than me,' complimented Siri with a raised brow. 'I came third. I think I'm getting too old now and have lost my edge.'

  Zeno clung on to his brother's hand .

  Hali smiled at his friends’ misfortune but was tinged with his own sadness. 'That bastard trashed the bow she gave me.'

  'I saw him do that, Hali,' said Siri. 'But remember, he may have broken the weapon, but nothing can break the skill. Nothing can take that away from you.'

  'How come it's just the two of you that were captured?' asked Storm under the guise of uncertainty. 'There are six of us and ten of the other clan. I'm just curious, if you don't mind me asking?'

  Siri looked ashen as his younger brother gripped his hand tighter. 'In all honesty, we were totally outnumbered and unprepared. We were weak amongst the Emperor's men. Many of our clan fell. It was only my brother and myself that were of use to the General in the end. I will never forget the smells or the sounds as the wagon was pulled away. I am not even sure if our leader, the great Thorne, will survive.'

  Dainn put a strong arm around him. 'Have faith, Siri. Your strength saved you and your brother, and that courage will get back to your clan again.'

  'All of us have been tested these past few days,' said Namir. 'All of us have witnessed unimaginable brutality, but we must not weaken. We have to stay strong.

  Those words sat proud with Siri, and he found his valour again. While around him, old acquaintances found familiar faces and began to introduce themselves. Smiles replaced forlorn guises, jokes were exchanged, and banter and playful boyish behaviour broke out. A happier time brought back so many good memories and for a while, the reality of why they were there in the first place seemed to escape them.

  'Oh, yes, such happy joyful times,' sneered an unfamiliar gruff from out of sight. 'So glad that you were all so happy.'

  'Because it ain't gonna last now you are in here,' mocked an equally distasteful tone.

  Slowly and systematically each group of new friends turned and sought out where the taunting was coming from. The voices came from another room where twenty frames were arranged. Underneath each bed was a commode, and on top of a thin mattress was a pile of clothes, one grey sheet, and a sack filled with straw for a pillow. A small table offered a candle and a solitary book about the 'Rules of Ataxata by Emperor Gnaeus.'

  Sitting together on one of the beds, wearing only lightweight exercise trousers, were two severely undernourished boys with shaved hair and red eyes that stared out from dark grey sockets. Their heads looked far too large on their thin, twisted, hunched bodies with barrel chests that bore deep scars. Snarled callous fingers gripped on to the edge of the frame, and white veins ran down their arms.

  'Suma? Targ?' Namir barely recognised the two gaunt faces behind their death like veil. He was visibly shocked at their appearance, though the memory of their exile had not escaped him.

  Targ looked at Namir, then at Lyall. Suma followed his gaze. Both savages began to piece together a detailed map of loathing as the hideous memory unfolded. Their faces turned to hatred while their fists curled tighter onto the frame. Namir sensed the unease and Lyall steadied himself ready to protect himself. He was bigger now. He had faced a lot since he last encountered these two brutes, and he was prepared this time.

  Suma stood up and making his way across the room, unravelled himself against Lyall. 'I remember you, small prince,' he growled menacingly. 'I've been praying for this day ever since I was thrown out of the clan because of you.'

  'You are mistaken, Suma,' corrected Namir. 'With all this time away, you have forgotten the true events.'

  Suma span round to face Namir. 'Because of him, your father banished us.'

  'My father banished you both because you threatened his son.'

  'His son? What are you talking about? The prince of darkness has stolen your father as well?'

  'That's right,' said Namir. 'This is my true brother, and Laith is his father as well as mine.' The hatred in Suma suddenly gave him strength. He found a voice that had been dormant for many months and he began pacing around like a prowling carnivore. Everyone backed away as he advanced. 'And now we all meet again to finally thrash it out.'

  The smaller boys looked terrified—these two looked like ogres now and capable of anything.

  'Leave it. You are frightening the younger boys,' urged Namir.

  'We are frightening them?' Suma laughed out loud. 'Just wait until the games of death start—we are like puppies compared to the Emperor and his entourage. '

  'That's enough!' Dainn's tone was low.

  'What! Are you scared big man?' Targ goaded. 'Are you frightened that someone might hurt that pretty face of yours? Hey Suma, do you remember the pretty boys who fled the arena in terror but were hunted down and killed by the guards?'

  'Of course, I do, that was really exciting,' came the chilling reply from his brother.

  Dainn squared up to him, at nearly twice his size, and bellowed. 'I said that's enough!'

  Ronu then exploded. 'You are the depraved, foolish savages that the General likened us to earlier. Have you not learned anything during your time in captivity?' he raged in disgust at the vagrants before him.

  Responding to the nefarious blood being pumped round his grey veins, Targ threw himself across the room and landed within a finger's width of Ronu. 'I remember you, pretending to be the great hunter when actually you favoured boys over girls. That's why I always had an excuse not to go trapping with you, just in case you snared me and kept me for yourself. Will we all be safe from you in here, I wonder?'

  Ronu launched at him, knocking him backwards into the large wooden table, and grabbing his head, started ramming it against the timbers. 'I'll rip your head off right here and now. By the name of the gods, I will kill you.'

  Clebe rushed in to pull him off.

  'Leave him, brother. He's not worth it. Vengeance will be yours another time.'

  Ronu was led away with Clebe, his tense anger unable to settle .

  Targ sat up, feeling the back of his bloodied head. 'Yes, you are all going to die anyway, so let's wait until we get into the arena where we can fight it out with swords, axes, and other implements that will decapitate.'

  'And I thought the General was the only barbarian here,' said Lyall with a withering look.

  'Once a savage, always a savage. It's people like you that give the rest of us a bad name. It's little wonder that the General and the Emperor believe we are the scum of the earth, only deemed fit for fighting and throttling each other to the death,' seethed Dainn.

  'I'm sorry, Dainn,' said Ronu. 'I should have known better.'

  'It's not you, Ronu, it's them. Look at them, goading, threatening, and playing right into the Emperor's hands. Doing exactly what he wants by instilling hatred and fear amongst us. But I'm telling you two right now, while there's breath in my body and a will in my heart, I believe that we will all get out of here alive, and you two are not going to jeopardise that for any of us. Do you hear me?'

  'You are not going to tell us what to do, big man. No one tells us what to do.'

  'You really are an unsavoury pair. No wonder you were banished by a clan leader,' Dainn seethed coldly.

  'Yes, we were banished. A heavy price to pay for something so insignificant.'

  Lyall rolled his eyes, hardly able to stop himself blurting out. Dainn held out an arm to stop any more attacks as Suma continued.

  'We were walking for days. Foraging, doing a bit of hunting and fishing, trying to keep warm, stocking up for the winter. You know, survival and all that.' A sarcastic tone accompanied the satirical words. 'We managed to build a makeshift den, and we had collected
a lot of firewood to keep us warm, but that must have alerted the soldiers. Because after a few weeks, we were approached by Scowler and Poxface, the two guards that you have already met.' The savages glanced at each other as they recalled the events. 'They offered us shelter, food, warmth, clothing, and everything to keep us safe, so of course we went with them. Our supplies would have run out very quickly. You know how difficult the winter is—even with lots of men, women, and children helping, we have to stock up for months before.' Suma slowed to a stop as the horrors flooded back.

  'But we were really their prisoners with eighteen other boys,' continued Targ, still rubbing his head. 'Just like you are now, and we were made to fight to the death, just like you will have to.'

  'We are the two survivors from last year's games,' said Suma. 'We took the powerful stimulants they offered to give us strength. If you survive two years combat, then you win your freedom.'

  'What stimulants are you talking about?' asked Dainn.

  'Stimulants: moon mushrooms, white reed grass. At least, that's what we were told by one of the guards. They make you go crazy and stuff.'

  'Yeah, crazy, like mad, with froth coming out of your mouth and blood seeping from your eyes and...'

  'That's enough, Targ,' butted in Dainn. 'I think we get the picture. '

  'Yeah, that's all it is right now, a picture that you don't have to look at. But the reality is when that picture comes to life and you've got nowhere to hide.'

  'And that is what we are going to do this year: take the stimulants again, go crazy, and get our revenge.' Targ's hateful eyes flickered between Lyall, Namir, Ronu and Clebe.