by Rob J. Hayes
I tried to ignore the thought, but it repeated itself again and again. Fear is a powerful motivator. Sometimes it motivates us to good, to run from danger or shy away from a flame. Other times it motivates us to evil, to take before it is taken, or to attack first. To mistrust those who are closest to us. Ssserakis fed on fear, nurtured it and drew strength from it. In me, it found a feast never-ending.
We each chose our faces and hid the dice with hands. For a long time, we watched each other. I had known Josef for most of my life, all of it that really mattered, yet I couldn't be sure what he was about to do. I knew him as well as I knew myself. I trusted him with my life. Or at least, I used to. I was no longer so sure. I wasn't certain if I trusted him with my life or my hope. I considered the possibilities again. Even if he did betray me again and took the rope I needed, I would have another chance. He might have even given me the rope. All I had to do was pick friendship and my victory was assured. One way or another I would get the rope. I had almost talked myself into it as well.
"Ready?" Josef asked, still smiling at me. I looked at that smile and didn't recognise it. I didn't even recognise the face he was showing me. A voice in my head whispered deception and I didn't know to ignore it.
I nodded and we both took our hands away. Josef's dice showed friendship and I breathed a sigh of relief. I glanced only once at his face too see the hurt there, but I couldn't bear more than a glance. With some empty platitudes about luck and next time, I gathered my winnings and fled before Josef could find his tongue.
Chapter 20
I found Hardt pacing back and forth near the crack. Tamura waved at me as I approached and I saw his eyes goggle at the rope, a grin lighting his face.
"Chains with which the moons are anchored to the world," Tamura said. "Lokar would be proud." Those words have stuck with me for some reason, and I have puzzled over them many times. I still cannot fathom their meaning. There are many tales of how our two moons became one, but I have always preferred the story of the Chase.
Millennia ago we had two moons. Lokar and Lursa. They were lovers, sharing everything but flesh. They passed through the night sky watching over us all so far below. Until one day Lursa broke away. The bards call her capricious, fleeing Lokar at a whim for no offence at all. I believe she wanted to strike out on her own, away from her lover for a time. Lokar gave chase, as jilted lovers often do. For a long time Lursa ran and Lokar followed, always gaining on his smaller counterpart. I have often wondered what it might have been like to look up into the sky and see two moons so close together and yet so far apart. Eventually, Lokar caught up with Lursa. The stories say he gathered her up into his arms, an embrace so strong they began to merge into one, and that is how they remain. Two moons slowly becoming one, spinning through the sky above our world. Some think it romantic, some think it a marvel. Personally, I think those people hopeless. They have clearly never stood on the ground amidst a moonshower, hoping not to be squashed by falling rocks.
Tamura snatched the rope from me and started tying knots into it. I stopped Hardt from pacing. He glanced up at me and I saw anguish on his face. Hardt was never one for undue worry.
Prig has killed Isen. The thought paralysed me, fear scaring me away from asking for the truth. I didn't just think it possible, but probable. In that moment I imagined never seeing Isen's cheeky smile again, never seeing the green of his eyes, or the brown flecks dotted throughout. I imagined never hearing his voice again, never hearing him say my name again. Never getting to feel his arms around me. Yes, I was a foolish girl who believed herself in love, but that is what we do when we are young, before life has ground the optimism out of us. We love hard and love easily, and then we turn the feelings of loss and rejection into sickening melodrama.
"...Eska?" Hardt's voice snapped me out of my daydream and I shook the lingering images away.
"What happened?" I asked.
Hardt shook his head. "Isen signed up to fight today," he said. "I tried to talk him out of it, pointed out we're getting close." The big man pointed to the crack in the ceiling. "We need him hale, not wounded. He signed up regardless, something about keeping up appearances."
I shrugged. "So? Isen fights all the time." I decided to go and watch him. If for no other reason than to shake the fears of his death from my mind. More than that. though, I wanted to see him fight. There was something brutal and passionate about the dance of combat, and seeing Isen move like that always warmed me up, and I felt like I needed warming. I felt like a cold had frozen the marrow in my bones.
Hardt grabbed hold of my shoulders and I almost shook him away. The look in his eyes stopped me. An intense fear that bordered on panic. "Deko matched him with Yorin," he said through gritted teeth.
Fear hit again, and I felt even colder than before. No one fought against Yorin and won. No one even survived. "Can he win?" I asked.
Hardt growled and stalked away, bunching his shoulders like he was about to throw a punch. "No one ever has."
"No one else has been trained by you," I said.
"He's not as good as I was." Hardt set to pacing again. "Isen has the speed but he lacks power, and his technique gets sloppy when he tires. Yorin..."
"Could you take him?" I had yet to see Hardt fight and didn't know the truth of it. It is a sight to behold, even more so when the man is in a rage. There is little as terrifying in this world, or the other, as an angry Hardt. Even now just thinking about it gives me chills.
"I don't fight," he said. I have rarely seen Hardt look more pained than he did then, and the other times I have, have been entirely my doing.
"But you could," I pressed him. "The rules of the arena say a scab can't back out, but they also say someone else can take their place." Sending one brother to die in the other's stead.
"It is the curse of the living to mourn the dead," Tamura said as he crouched against the wall, still tying knots in the rope by the flickering lantern light. "It is the curse of the dead not to care. They're dead." It put a haunted look into Hardt's eyes. I knew then, he wouldn't take Isen's place. I thought him a coward. I didn't know why at the time, but Hardt was willing to let his brother die rather than throw a punch.
"He's not fucking dead yet!" I all but screamed, storming out the tunnel and leaving the two men behind to wallow in their premature grief.
I was in a rage as I stormed out of the tunnel. I kept going despite not knowing where I would find either Isen, or Yorin. I wasn't even sure of what I'd do when I did find one of them. I couldn't stop the fight, and I certainly couldn't take Isen's place. The horrid truth was that I had no way to stop Isen from dying but I couldn't just let it happen. I was a fucking fool. I thought I loved him. I thought I could save him, and if I did, he would love me back.
It can't be a coincidence. The thought struck me like a hammer blow. The timing was too perfect to be coincidental. We were so close to making our attempt, a week or two at most. Isen signed up for one fight and now, unlike every other time, he gets assigned to fight Yorin. It had to be planned, by Deko or maybe even the overseer. It couldn't just be chance.
I think I might have been talking to myself, muttering maybe. I have been known to curse and insult under my breath when in a rage, though I rarely remember anything said. Scabs backed away from me, staring as I passed. Some even trailed after me, no doubt hopeful they were about to see me perform another spectacle. I didn't disappoint.
Riding the lift down to the Trough I braved standing close to the edge so I could look down on the main cavern. From high up, even Deko and his captains looked small. There's a lesson to be learned there about power and perspective.
You might fall. It doesn't take much to plant the seed of fear in a person. Just a few days earlier I had seen a man leap from a lift— at least we were told he leapt. He screamed on the way down and the sound as he hit the rock below was sickening. A long way to go for a quick way to die. I ignored the thought and crept closer still to the edge. I have ever been one to court danger when a
ngry.
"Well look who it is." The foreman, I never bothered to learn his name, who operated the lift was a fat man with a patchy black beard. I ignored him and started towards the Trough, already looking for Isen amongst the scabs.
Many of the scabs around the tables greeted me as I passed through, searching their faces. They knew me by name and reputation both, and I even stopped to ask a few of them if they had seen either man. Yorin, I was informed, never bothered to visit the Trough and was rarely seen outside of the arena. None of them had seen Isen.
The fat foreman was watching me as I made my way back to the lift. My reputation wasn't just with the scabs. The foremen tended to hate most of us anyway, but Prig was very vocal about me. He knew he could no longer touch me, but that didn't stop the mangy bastard spreading disgusting rumours amongst his friends. Most of the foremen thought me a slut, screwing my way through the ranks of scabs. I'd even heard one or two claim I'd bent over for Deko and all his captains. I'd like to say I let the rumours wash over me and ignored them all, perhaps these days I would simply laugh them away. But I was young and angry and didn't want the lies getting back to Isen.
"Send me down to the arena," I said. The man was leering at me. I didn't have time for him or whatever rumours he believed in. I stepped onto the lift platform and waited. It didn't start to move.
"How about I get a taste of what Deko gets?" he said.
Contempt, anger, and loathing were all things I had to spare. I took a couple of steps closer to the man and glared up at him. I think he saw the rage in my eyes. He may have been close to twice my size, but he paled and took a step back all the same.
"How about I go tell Horralain you're possessed by a bloody horror?" I said. "Have you seen what he does to those things? How do you think it feels to have your intestines pulled out through your nose, you fat, ignorant cunt?"
There was shock and fear on the foreman's face. I doubt any scab had ever talked to him like that. A part of me, deep inside, grew stronger as it drank that fear in. I saw him shiver and take a step back. It broke whatever rage-fuelled trance I was in and I stepped backwards onto the lift. Looking down at my arms I saw the little scars Ssserakis had given me standing proud and white amidst the goosebumps. I was cold to my core and the anger made me colder still. I longed for a Pyromancy Source, they sit like little flames inside the stomach and I have always enjoyed the warmth of them.
"Send me down to the arena," I repeated and this time the foreman leapt to the task without so much as a word. He never spoke to me again and I was more than glad for it.
I'm not too proud to admit that I spent some time brooding on the way down. I cracked my knuckles, paced back and forth, and ground my teeth. My anger was lending me a nervous energy and standing still only let that energy build. I never once stopped to consider why I was angry. I think if I had, I might have tried to find another solution. Maybe if I had, all my friends would still be alive.
I was off the lift and moving before it even bumped to a halt. There were a few scabs in the nearby corridors and the sounds of digging echoed all around me. Deko had work crews fashioning a second arena to expand his underground empire. The other scabs watched me go but said nothing. I think maybe the look on my face convinced them silence was the best option. I was still just a girl and already feared by my peers. I was not to be fucked with.
I found Yorin in the arena antechamber. It was only the second time I had ever seen him, and the first time that he was not speckled with another man's blood. Yorin was tall, maybe a couple of fingers taller than Isen, and thick with muscle. He shaved his head completely clear of all hair and his life's story was written all over his body in scars. He had a strange sense of peace around him. I don't think I ever saw him angry. Most of the time he was cold, distant. That was probably why the other scabs gave him such space. Well, that and his proficiency with killing people.
Yorin didn't notice me at first, or maybe he just didn't care to spare me any attention. The antechamber had a number of benches where fighters waited for their turn and Yorin was sitting on one, waiting despite the fights being hours away. There were scabs nearby as well. Some were signing themselves up to fight, while others were the audience, turning up early to debate the matches and secure themselves the best spots to watch.
After a while of being ignored, my anger got the better of me. Yorin knew I was there, and my pride and arrogance wouldn't allow him to pretend I wasn't. I was flush with the energy and anger of scaring a foreman. It made me bold. It made me a bloody idiot.
"Get up," I hissed. Looking back, I could have handled that first encounter somewhat more diplomatically.
Yorin raised his head slowly and locked eyes with me. He stood then, rising to his feet with a fluidity that belied his size, and towered over me.
Now that I had the man in front of me, I struggled to think of something to say. Yorin was as much a monster as any I had encountered in the Other World. He killed one scab a night down in the arena and all while the rest of the Pit watched. He was a murderer and a damned good one. I sometimes think back over the encounter and imagine how it might have happened had I a Source in my stomach. With only a small Kinemancy Source I could have picked Yorin up with a burst of psychokinetic force and dashed his head against the wall.
"I know who you are," Yorin said, his voice flat. Just the memory of that man's voice makes me so angry I want to burn the world to ash. "I have no wish to deal with one of Deko's pets." And like that I was dismissed.
Yorin didn't dig. He didn't abide by Deko's rules and laws. He spent his days either fighting in the arena or wandering the Pit. I think maybe Yorin could have challenged Deko for control and won, but he didn't want control over the foremen or scabs. All Yorin ever wanted was to fight and kill. He told me as much once, tried to convince me I was no different. I scoffed at the idea at the time. Now I'm not so sure he was wrong.
I treated Yorin to the full fury of my icy glare. It was arrogance to think that it might cow him like it had the foreman. I barely saw the strike coming. A flash of pain lit up my cheek along my still-healing scar and I was on my hands and knees, spitting blood onto the stone beneath me. Scabs started to gather to watch. I had a reputation, and I was even liked by many, but none were going to stand up for me against Yorin. Besides, there was little the inhabitants of the Pit liked more than to watch people fight.
After shaking the spots from my eyes, I lurched back to my feet to find Yorin still standing there, watching me. I think he was curious. I would have been, in his stead. Yorin was a pit fighter. The best I have ever seen, and there I was, a young girl with the fire of anger in my eyes, treating him with as little respect as he was giving to me. These days if someone came to me like that, I would hear them out just to see what they had to say. Then, I would probably put them where they deserved; on their knees or in the dirt. I see now just how thin the edge was on which I walked.
"You're fighting Isen Fallow tonight." My voice was an ugly hiss even to my own ears, and I've always quite liked the sound of my voice.
"One dead scab is as good as another," Yorin said with a shrug. I realised that he meant it. It was not a plot to bury my plans of escape. Neither Deko, nor the overseer, nor Josef were trying to kill Isen. It was sheer chance, bad luck, that Yorin had been picked to fight Isen so close to our attempt at escape. Some of the fire went out of me at that realisation, but it let some clarity seep in instead.
"Don't kill him," I said. I couldn't stop the fight. Neither man could change their mind and back out, the rules forbade it. But the loser didn't have to die. Yorin didn't have to kill.
"Go away." Yorin sank back onto the bench behind him, took a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh.
I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let Isen die. I couldn't let Yorin kill him. My infatuation with the younger of the two brothers had grown into something I thought I couldn't live without. In my most private moments, I dreamed of Isen, of our skin touching, hot breath tickling each other. In
my defence, I was still young and naive. The closest I had come to a sexual encounter was in the pages of a book. I thought myself romantic, fighting for the life of the man I loved. I was a desperate little girl clinging to the idea of something I didn't even understand. Desperate, but also determined.
"What do you fucking want?" I asked, a note of despair in my voice. I dared a step closer so the other scabs couldn't hear. "For his life. I have food, a half loaf of bread. Snuff. Bandages, balm, dice..." Quite a fortune I had amassed, at least down in the Pit, up in the sunlight it was all as good as worthless. Trinkets and baubles for the most part.
Yorin's eyes flicked to mine then down and back up again. "You have nothing I want," he said flatly. "There is nothing I want. The only thing down in this hell is death, and digging, and I will not dig. I kill because I can. Because in the circle of stone and blood, I am free again. So. Go away."
"Freedom?" I asked, latching on to the one thing I had to offer. "You want to be free?"
Yorin didn't answer. There was a sullenness to him, like a caged animal that remembered what it was like to run wild. I knew that feeling all too well. Yorin wanted to be free, but he had given up the hope of it. In the arena he found a different freedom of sorts. I think the need to kill was something else, though. I think that was about power. The need to feel powerful by holding another's life in his hands and snuffing it out. I've always wondered what Yorin felt in those moments where he took another's life. Even more so, I've always wondered what he felt afterwards. Did he feel the disgust and regret like I do? Or was it all just nothing to him?
"I can get you out." I leaned in even closer, so close I could smell the sweat on him. "I'm getting out. I can take you with me."
There is a point in all relationships where the power shifts. Countless little points, small changes in the dynamic between two people. This was one of them. The change from me wanting something from him, to him needing something from me. He didn't believe me, not really. But he wanted to.