by Jeff Gunzel
Viola peeked out from their room. She saw several others with wet hair and damp clothes, shaking out like dogs as they cursed. Two were actually shouting at one another, apparently right in the middle of an argument. “It looks like everyone got the same treatment,” Viola said, glancing back at the nearly recovered woman. “Hey, partner, I think we better get going. I don’t imagine you want to get doused with water a second time.”
Smiling at Viola’s attempted joke, Salina’s playful expression suddenly turned serious. Still looking in Viola’s direction, her eyes went wide. It was evident she was no longer looking at her, but through her. Eyes slightly crossed, unfocused, her lips moved softly as if whispering to no one. She blinked once, twice, before a steely glare refocused on Viola. “I am not you partner,” she said flatly. Her tone was not angry, but resolute and final all the same.
“I– But I just thought that—”
“Well, perhaps you should think again instead of making assumptions,” Salina cut her off. Despite her relative calm, she snatched Viola by the wrist, practically dragging her out into the hall. Salina scanned about, eyeing those who had already paired up and were making their way towards the gate. There was still a fair amount of shouting going on. Glaring down at who was most likely his roommate, the warrior roared at a much smaller man, his open palm repeatedly smacking the stone wall just above the man’s ear. “There,” Salina pointed, shaking a finger in their direction. “Those two aren’t getting along. That little fellow there, he is your partner. Now go.”
“But—”
“Go!”
Unsure as to what had come over her new friend, Voila spun away and stomped the floor. Why was Salina so adamant about not being her sparring partner? She had to admit she was a little hurt by the harsh rejection. And all the while it had seemed like they were getting along just fine.
Her mind began to connect the dots as she shuffled her feet towards the arguing men. Although she had refused to see it originally, it was nothing more than an old pattern repeating as it always would. Of course Salina didn’t want to be the one person showing kindness to the freak. Why, that would just make her a marked woman among the other humans. Not wanting to be an outcast wasn’t her fault. She was just doing what she had to do. I’m so stupid. When will I learn I wasn’t meant to have friends? She slunk up near the men, but stopped just short of stepping between them. Given how close the argument was to flying fists, that didn’t seem like a good idea.
“You snore like a damn bear!” said the warrior, gripping the smaller man by the collar of his tunic. “I couldn’t sleep a wink. If these damn pillows weren’t so small, I would have smothered you in the night! If you dare keep me up tonight—” Suddenly noticing Viola standing there, both heads turned. “And what the hell are you looking at?”
Viola quickly turned her attention to the smaller man. Frail-looking, especially standing next to the warrior, she could see that he was probably older than Salina. “It seems like you two aren’t getting along so well,” she blurted out nervously.
“Quit yer stalling!” came an angry call from outside the gate.
“You can train with me, if you have no one else...to work with...and...” Unable to finish her barely coherent rambling, her voice trailed off into silence.
The little man scoffed, smacking the large fist off his collar. “Sure, whatever,” he growled, speaking more to the warrior than to her. “I’d rather work with the dead girl than some brainless oaf. Come on then. Looks like I get to beat up on a girl for the day. Or whatever it is you are.” Springing off the wall, he glared at the warrior one last time before heading towards the hall. Head down, Viola followed. From the corner of her eye she could see Salina walking with the only other girl in the group. No doubt she saw her as well but didn’t attempt to make any eye contact.
Herded down the narrow hall, they were each required to grab a sword from an old barrel before marching out onto the sand. The weapons were old and crude, but probably well suited for some light sparring. Despite the lack of breeze down in the pit, the early morning air was plenty cool. The sun having yet to peek up over the high walls, the sandy floor still lay in shadow.
Ozryn was waiting for them, his thick arms folded over his round belly. It was starting to seem as if that scowl was the only expression his face was capable of. Not needing to be told, the group lined up before him, swords gripped loosely in their untrained hands. But Viola held hers firmly, two hands hugging the pommel with the tip sunk down into the sand. It was hard for her to imagine, but it was possible that she just might be the most able fighter here. The obvious exception being the warrior who was standing at the end of the line, his blade slung causally over his right shoulder. He was certainly no novice when it came to weaponry.
But neither was Viola at this point. By her own request, Thatra had pushed her to and beyond her limits in a short period of time. Substantial strides had been made, and there was little doubt she could more than hold her own against any novice swordsman. And this group did not exactly seem like a group of trained fighters. An odd combination of criminals and debtors, yes. But that hardly meant they were battle-ready warriors.
Heads turned to the sound of clapping coming from high above. There stood Kuuma, gazing down on them like some kind of vulture. Continuing his slow clapping for some time, it was unclear as to whether he was truly applauding their first day in the pit or simply taunting them in some fashion. The snickering soldiers behind them hinted at the latter. The scene looked so familiar somehow. Standing where he was, Viola could picture the king as he glared down at her brother the same way Kuuma was looking at them now. It gave her chills. Somehow, it had all just become real. Like her brother, she was now a part of this inhuman freak show.
“Good morning, warriors,” he shouted down, hands spread wide. His deceptively deep voice carried throughout the arena—a deep, powerful boom that should have belonged to a man twice his size. “I trust you’ve slept well and are now ready to begin your journey. But before we begin your training, I need to be clear on what is expected of you from here on out.” With a half turn, he waved his hand back over his shoulder. “As of now, you no longer belong to that world out there. Their society, views, rules, and etiquette no longer apply while you’re here with us.
“That does not mean we do not have rules, but it does mean your punishments will be swift and severe should you break them. Out there,” he swept his hand a second time, “you would be charged with your crime, then ultimately locked away for a determined amount of time. A number of you already know how that works.” A few shuffled their feet in the sand. “Here, it is much more simple. Here, I am god! If you do not obey the commands given by Ozryn, myself, or any of the guards, as they are also your superiors, you will be punished without question.
“With that unpleasant information out of the way, I would now remind you that you are equals among yourselves. Not a one of you is superior to another. You are now brothers and sisters by trial of combat and should embrace your titles with honor. It is your job to defend each other and protect the man or woman fighting at your side. Forget the world you once knew, for it has already forgotten you. We are your family now.” He turned his back to them. “Remember my words and there will be no problems. I now hand you off to your trainer, Ozryn.”
Ozryn stepped forward, his ever-present scowl seeming to cut deep lines into his cheeks and forehead. “So, it seems our time has finally come,” he bellowed. Unlike Kuuma, his deep, gravelly voice fit his looks perfectly. It was exactly what they thought he might sound like if he ever got around to speaking. “Day one of your training begins right now. There are ten of you, and each of you has already chosen a partner, presumably the person you’ve started to bond with at this early stage. Therein lies the true test. Moments from now there will only be five of you.” Confused mutters rattled down the line, heads darting this way and that as if he might be hinting at some unseen danger close by. Like Kuuma had, he too turned his back to them,
knuckles planted on his hips. “I think you will find my first command simple enough.
“I want you to kill your partner.”
Viola’s sight contracted as tunnel vision took over, the world around her seemingly engulfed in shadow. She couldn’t see her partner, or anyone else for that matter. All she could focus on was the beastly man’s back, his stance casual as if he had just ordered them to start cooking the morning meal. What started as confused mutters quickly became a rising storm of panicked protests. Gasps, defiant shouts of refusal, and even outright sobbing all blurred together in her ears. It was all little more than a sorrowful song of suffering, its pain swirled together into a dark, traumatic melody.
A pained screech filled the arena, its shrill pitch assaulting eardrums as heads jerked to see what they instinctually already knew it was. Only the dying could make such a sound. Eyes bulged, tongue protruding with unnatural length, the man stood with his chest puffed out. Mercifully, a second push yielded a sword tip that penetrated through the front of his throat. Hand wrapped around his forehead, the warrior released his poor victim. The lifeless body thumped down onto the sand.
“Guess my day is done,” the warrior chuckled, eyeing the fresh blood on his palm. Briefly, his hand flinched towards his own tunic before he changed his mind. “The rest of you better hurry up and end this so we can eat,” he said, crouching down to wipe his bloody hand on the dead man’s clothes.
Viola froze, panic racing through her body, rising into her throat. No. No, this can’t be happening. She wanted to run away, but where would she go? The collar suppressed her abilities, leaving her unable to transform. Desperate for a way out, she scanned the upper rim of the pit. Soldiers gazed down, grinning with crossbows in their hands. Even if she could transform, there was nowhere to go. I don’t want to do this. There has to be some other way—
Instinct taking over, her blade flashed to intercept the clumsy strike coming in. Blades crossing with a clang, her partner looked at her with terror-filled eyes. I’m sorry he mouthed silently. He didn’t want this any more than she did, but like her, he could see no other way. He didn’t want to die. Crazed, desperate, no different than any other man fighting for his life, his began flailing his blade in wide, looping circles. Having grown accustomed to Thatra’s skilled swordsmanship, this man’s handling of a sword seemed nothing short of ridiculous. Slapping away his errant strikes with a flick of her wrist, most of which would have missed anyway, Viola continued to back up. Purely defensive in her movements, she needed to buy time to think.
Although she was only partially aware of it, the sounds of battle raged all around her. The clanging of steel, followed shortly by the screams of the dying. The captives’ skill sets were not even at all. Some had moderate skill with a blade, while others had never held a sword in their lives. More often than not, the one-sided fights were over in a flash. Indecision was the real enemy here, and any who hesitated for even a split second would pay with their lives. The first to strike held a significant advantage.
Viola deflected the clumsy strikes as her mind raced, searching for some way to end this without bloodshed. Awkward, but with his full weight being thrown behind each swing, she had to be mindful of the danger posed by the unskilled but utterly desperate man. The adrenaline dump beginning to play out, she heard his wheezing breath with each wild but slowing swing. She could take him out at any time, but still remained purely defensive in her tactics. There has to be another way! Think!
Eyes wild with fear, arms numbing as the burn of fatigue set in, the little man charged her with his head down. Caught off guard by the surprise maneuver, Viola stumbled backward, unable to avoid the straight charge. He tackled her at the waist, planting her on her back. As the back of her head thumped against the packed sand, her legs fired up to wrap around his hips. Thatra had taught her some ground fighting. She knew to use her legs to control his body while moving her head to avoid his weapon. This was a dangerous spot to be in, and it was all due to her failing to end it when she’d had the chance.
But holding his wrist with one hand, nearly eye to eye with the man, he just gazed down at her with a blank expression. Feeling a warm wetness coating her hands, she released the blade she had all but forgotten about. The sword pommel stayed in place, its blade lodged deep in the man’s gut. With a final breath his eyes crossed, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
She rolled, pushing the corpse aside before retching in the sand. Her stomach heaved again and again until every drop of bile had been emptied, and then heaved some more. All seemed to go quiet around her. The fighting had ended and she didn’t even know who was still standing. She spared a glance towards a pair of feet dragging past her blurred vision. They were taking the bodies away. She didn’t look up. She just didn’t want to know. None of that mattered to her right now.
I killed a man. I killed a man! Impossibly, her stomach heaved anew and she retched again for what seemed like the hundredth time. She swore her insides must have been coming out. “Get her back on her feet!” Ozryn ordered. “Your day is not finished yet. That is, for half of you anyway.” Hands cradling her head, refusing to look up, Viola could hear the fading sounds of bodies being dragged away. From the corner of her eye, she saw the one next to her move slightly. She jumped, eyes going right to the corpse she was responsible for. His legs rose as the soldier pulled, his head turning towards her with wide-open eyes. Accusing eyes judged her for what she had done as he was dragged away.
“Viola?” A hand touching the back of her shoulder made her jerk back the other way. Salina dropped to one knee, tilting her head sideways to look Viola in her eyes. Her hands were bloody and there were blood splashes on her white tunic. It was unclear as to how much, if any, was her own. But she was alive, so she must have been victorious. “Viola, you need to get up. This is not a patient man we are dealing with. You must steel yourself.”
“But I—” Viola choked on her own words, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I know,” Salina replied, her voice soft and reassuring. “I promise you there will be time to mourn, but for now you must get back to your feet and push on. You must put it out of your mind.” Salina glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Later. You must mourn later,” she repeated with a bit more urgency. Wiping tears on the back of her hand, Viola nodded and rose to her feet.
“I have no time for your blubbering,” Ozryn barked at her. “Now fall back into line, and be grateful that pale body of yours is still breathing.” Kuuma watched from above, a sleepy-eyed, nearly bored look on his face. How could a person be so detached from death? This barbaric event was no more than a formality to him. He wanted the top five, and the rest could be discarded. A cold-hearted, businesslike perspective. But undeniably efficient.
“I’ve got you,” Salina whispered, helping Viola along with one arm draped around the back of her neck.
“Why?”
“Hush now. It’s all over with.”
“Why?” Viola squeaked a second time before realizing she was standing in line on her own. A young-looking boy, no older than twelve, came running from the tunnel with an armful of wooden sparring swords. He handed one to each person. With hardly any acknowledgement of the chilling evil that had just transpired, their training was already moving forward.
“And then there were five,” Ozryn said, chuckling to himself. Viola could hardly stand, her trembling hands clutching the wooden blade as she leaned on it like a crutch. She would almost certainly be back on the ground without it. “Now that we have weeded out the weaklings, I can finally get down to training those who actually deserve to be here.”
“What was the point of that?” asked the warrior, shrugging at his own question. Stabbing a man in the back of the neck didn’t bother him one bit. He had done it before and was certain he would do it again. But he was genuinely curious. Why go through the trouble of bringing all of them here, knowing there would only be five within a day?
“What was the poin
t indeed,” Ozryn replied, arms folded as he moved closer to the warrior. “I know a veteran when I see one. Tell me, have you ever watched a novice soldier take to the battlefield for the first time? And I mean painfully trained, one who has worked so hard that his sword, bow, or any weapon he so chooses has practically become an extension of his own body.” The warrior didn’t reply, but the gleam of recognition in his eyes spoke volumes.
“It’s quite a sight, is it not?” Ozryn continued, now speaking more to the others than to the warrior. “A paralyzing terror grips his heart as the screams of the dying penetrate his skull deeper than any arrow ever could. Skills that should have been second nature flee from his mind, leaving him a quivering coward who has forgotten all his training. But there is a method to the madness, a solution that can right his ailing mind and turn our warrior back into the tool of violence he was bred to be. That first kill is a remedy like no other.” His eyes flickered towards Viola, but she was completely oblivious to it all. Lost in her own mind, his words were but a distant muttering.
“It’s what permanently changes a man and sets his mind right to do what needs to be done.” Again, Ozryn’s eyes flickered down the line at the shaken expressions staring down at the sand. “Well, I say why wait for that moment? For a few of you, today’s test was nothing. To others, you will never be the same. Believe me, it was better to get that fist kill out of the way here and now, within a controlled environment. No longer can any of you claim innocence. You’re all killers... There is nothing holding you back. So now that your hands are already stained with blood, your real training can begin.”
You’re all killers... You’re all killers... You’re all killers...
Possibly the only words Viola heard from his speech rattled around in her mind. Already Ozryn had pulled one of the men from the line, and was demonstrating some basic sword work. You’re all killers... Like a dream, the scene before her was hazy, unfocused, the two working their weapons in slow motion as Ozryn barked out instructions. You’re all killers... It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real. You’re all killers... Ozryn was right, there was no going back from this. She would never be the same.