by Jeff Gunzel
She remembered reading something similar in one of the books Assirra had given her. One of the books about strategy and leadership, if her memory served correctly. Funny how she could remember such things and apply them to real-life situations. Even a month ago her mind would have been incapable of thinking this way.
“I am to be his replacement in the pit,” said Viola, trying to keep her voice steady as everyone seemed to be hanging on her every word. She hated being the center of attention, but speaking openly felt like a necessity, and she couldn’t let her fears stand in the way. “I suppose that now makes me the main draw for this bloody event.”
“So it’s true, then,” said Kalmton. “The rumors, I mean. They say he is locked up somewhere beneath the keep. Now that they have a new creatu—” He cleared his throat. “Now that you are here to take his place, they no longer need him. The bloodthirsty mob is ready for fresh meat. So is that part true as well? Is your brother locked away somewhere?”
“I don’t know where he is,” Viola admitted. She wasn’t lying—she really didn’t know where he was. Although she highly doubted he was being held anywhere. The last time she saw him, he had become a free man at her expense.
“Enough of this!” said Salina. “You’ve asked more than your fair share of questions. Let the poor girl eat.” They grunted in turn, but didn’t deny her point. Viola flashed her a grateful smile and continued eating. She didn’t regret their talk, though. If nothing else, they had gained some familiarity with one another. Hopefully in time they could build on that.
“Your mealtime is over!” barked one of the guards standing near the entrance. “It’s time for your marks. Line up and follow me.” Viola quickly scraped the bottom of her bowl, hurrying to shove in her mouth what little remained before sliding out from the bench. They followed the soldier, marching along behind him in a loose line.
After a short walk they were led into a small side room. The moment they stepped in, a blast of humid heat smacked them right in the face. The salty scents of heated metal and burning coal hung in the air. A sweaty, shirtless man ignored them as he continued to work. Pumping the bellows with a foot pedal, he turned some kind of handheld poker seated in the glowing embers. A brick shaft rose up over the spread of flickering orange to funnel away the smoke and fumes.
“Roll up the sleeves of your right arm!” the soldier ordered. They hesitated, not liking the look of this one bit. “Now!” he grunted, grabbing Kalmton from the middle of the line and pushing him towards the hot coals.
The shirtless man lifted the end of his poker from the coals and raised his shaded goggles to get a good look at the glowing end. Twisted wire in the shape of a clover with a squared center hovered up above the blaze, its angry glow taunting, promising them a most unpleasant experience.
“No... No!” the portly man protested, whirling around as he tried to run from the room. A heavy knee was pushed into his stomach, driving all the air from his body before he took his first step. But it wasn’t the soldier guarding the entrance who struck him.
“Get back up there!” said Umoro, snatching the gasping man by the collar and hoisting him back to his feet. With a tug, he tore the sleeve right off Kalmton’s tunic and spun him around. A split second later the glowing brand hissed against his flesh. Kalmton screamed as the tangy scent of burned skin wafted into the air. Umoro held him fast so he couldn’t pull away. After another second or two, which seemed more like minutes, Umoro let go, sending him spinning down to the floor. Whimpering, Kalmton gripped the fresh burn while sitting on the floor.
The soldier at the door came and helped him to his feet. “Come on then. We have a salve for the pain, but that mark is going to be yours for the rest of your days. Wear it with pride or wear it with shame, but wear it you will.” He led the whimpering man away.
“Who’s next?” asked the shirtless man, rolling the brand back and forth across the coals. Bits of sticking skin sizzled, black smoke rolling off in rings before the small clumps flaked into ash. With his goggles propped up on his bald head, he seemed indifferent to the whole affair—bored, even, like someone who had done this hundreds of times already.
Umoro stepped forward and rolled up his sleeve. There on his upper arm was the telltale mark of a man who had been here before. Slightly misaligned, two separate outlines of the branded clover stood out against his tanned skin. The man shook his head and waved him off, continuing to roll the brand in the coals. Already bearing the mark, twice in fact, there was no reason to brand him again. “Who’s next?” he repeated, a bit more impatiently.
When Salina rolled her sleeve and stepped forward, Viola gently pushed her back with a sweeping hand. “I’ll go next,” said Viola, stepping up to take her place.
“Ah, the dead girl,” Umoro taunted. When he went to grab her shoulders to hold her still, she shrugged him away. “Very well,” he sneered, sending her stumbling forward with a harsh shove. “But just remember, if you pull away, he will have to do it again. Let’s see if you’re half as strong as your brother was.” She lifted her sleeve to expose her pale arm. Holding the fabric up around her shoulder, she turned to glare at Umoro. She hated him. His arrogance, his bullying; in her mind he represented everything that was wrong with humans. Not all were like him, but she had met enough like him. Her constant mistreatment from men like him was growing tiresome.
No longer needing her disguise in this place, her red eyes peered back at him through a curtain of white hair. She could sense the shirtless man approaching, the radiating heat of his brand nearing her skin. Still she watched the warrior, refusing to look away, refusing to let him make her feel inferior. How dare you compare me to my brother? He is nothing but a traitorous murderer. I am nothing like him. Nothing!
She heard the hiss first, an airy sizzle accompanied by light pressure against her arm. Then came the wave of agony. A thousand bees stinging at once. She wanted to leap away, to dive into a cold river to soothe her burn. But she held fast, fingers on both hands flexing open and closed. She blinked, sending a tear rolling down her cheek. She gnashed her teeth, and her face trembled with tension. But all the while, she never once took her eyes off Umoro. His expectant grin melted away, clearly surprised by how well she handled the pain. Scowling now as her unblinking eyes fixed on him, he turned away and left the room.
Glad to see him storm off, she glanced down at her arm. Steam was still rising from the charred wound. It throbbed, a pulsing pain that just wouldn’t cease. “It’s over,” said Salina, touching her other arm. “You can go get that salve to stop the pain.”
“I know,” Viola admitted, unable to take her eyes off the clover-shaped burn. It would always be there, she knew. It was part of her now. The pain had been unreal, yet as witnessed by everyone, she was able to deal with it. It was not as bad as the pain caused by her collar when it was activated. Nothing she had ever experienced could top that. There was something empowering in all of this, yet another mental test she had passed, if only in her own mind.
“Viola?” Salina repeated. Viola looked up from her wound, the tangy scent of burned flesh still heavy in the poorly ventilated room. “Go,” the older woman mouthed silently. Salina managed a weak smile while rolling up her own sleeve. “Nald and I will join you shortly.” Viola nodded and turned to leave. “Oh, Viola.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “You made him very angry.” There was no need to point out who.
“I know,” Viola replied, smiling despite the burning pain. With that, she hurried off.
A short way down the hall, she passed another small room by a few steps. If not for seeing Kalmton sitting on the floor from the corner of her eye, she would have missed it entirely. Doubling back, she stepped halfway in before feeling the need to knock on the wall. He looked up, eyes puffy with dried tear tracks running down both cheeks.
“Kalmton, are you all right?” Viola asked, a genuine look of concern on her face. “Doesn’t the salve work? Are you still in pain?”
“No,” he mumbled
, shaking his head. “Aren’t you in pain?”
She glanced at her arm, the clover’s border starting to swell. “Very much so,” she replied. He barked out a laugh, wiped his wet eyes, and handed her a clear jar filled with a white paste.
“You’re stronger than me,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “Everyone here is stronger than me. You saw me back there. I screamed like a little girl when they marked me. Even now I don’t know if it was because of the pain, or just because I was terrified.” He looked up at her, glistening eyes threatening to release fresh tears. “I’m going to die in here. Men like me aren’t meant to survive situations like this.”
She walked over, placed her back against the wall, and slid down to sit beside him. Gathering up a generous portion of the white substance, she slathered it on her burn. Its cooling effects were nearly instant, and it was only at that moment she realized how much pain she had actually been in.
“I don’t think you’re a coward,” she said, enjoying the effects of the salve as she rubbed it in circles. “What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to me. The strongest people I’ve ever met get scared sometimes. The way I see it, being afraid when there is good reason is not the same as being a coward. If your claim were true, then everyone in the world is a coward.” He huffed at her innocence, but couldn’t deny that it made him feel a little better.
“We’re all in this together, right? Your survival means just as much to me as it does to you, so I’ll make a deal with you. Whatever they throw us up against, I’m going to watch your back. That goes for the others too. We need to work together, and as long as we do that, I think we’ll be all right. We came in together, so I say we leave together. Deal?”
Not sure he believed any of her optimism, but feeling much better than before, he nodded his agreement and patted her on the knee. Whatever she was, he liked this girl. Her charm, her innocence, and her naive optimism somehow provided him with just a glimmer of hope.
“And I’ll watch your back as well. Uh, what about Umoro?” he asked.
She crossed her arms and tucked in her legs. “I don’t care what happens to him,” she huffed, looking just like a pouting child. Unable to keep it in, he roared with laughter, nearly doubling over. A second later, they saw Salina and Nald run past the entrance and down the hall. Catching just a glimpse, they too doubled back and streaked inside, each holding one arm.
“Give us the salve,” Salina demanded, eyes wide and clearly not in the mood for small talk.
Chapter 8
Together, the four of them made their way back down the hall. A soldier stood stoically at the crossway, pointing to his left like a frozen statue. They knew exactly where they were being herded to. It was time to train. Luckily the salve had proved to be nothing short of a miracle cream. Their pain was completely gone and the swelling had gone down completely.
When they stepped out onto the sand, Umoro was already standing in formation waiting for them. The way he had been pushing everyone around, it was easy to forget he was still just a prisoner like the rest of them. Standing before Ozryn with his back straight, arms at his sides, it was clear he had no actual authority here.
“Fall into line,” Ozryn ordered, snapping his fingers to spots in the sand. Scrambling up, they stood to either side of Umoro while trying to mimic his stance. Even if they didn’t like him, it was still wise to watch his behavior. After all, he was a veteran of this world and was familiar with the procedures.
Ozryn hooked the lip of the barrel next to him and tipped it over, spilling several wooden practice swords out onto the sand. He eyed Umoro, who promptly stepped forward, chose one quickly, then stepped back into line. Returning to his stiff pose, Umoro pushed his weapon’s tip down into the sand and lifted his chin. Catching on quickly, the others did the same, stepping forward one at a time and quickly choosing a weapon.
Ozryn picked up one of the practice swords and held it above his head, point facing out with his legs slightly apart. Viola recognized this stance as something she and Thatra had worked on extensively. It was a neutral stance, equally perfect for either attacking or defending.
“Weapons up!” the man barked. Wooden swords rose into the air, the warriors’ stances loose and awkward as they tried to mimic what Ozryn was doing. Only Viola and Umoro seemed to have some grasp of how to properly hold a sword.
“Look around you,” Ozryn said, using his weapon to point. “This sand, these walls, they may very well be the last thing you see before you leave this world. But it is my job to help ensure that day is delayed. By the time your training is through, you will have been transformed from commoners and petty thieves into finely tuned instruments of death. Perform well and your debt to our fine society will be paid in full. Perform poorly, and your live is forfeit. The stakes don’t get any higher than that. Commit fully to my teachings, and perhaps a few of you will survive.”
The next several hours were spent drilling the same three sword strikes, along with their counter defenses, over and over. The work was tedious and executed at a high pace. But by the end of the session, which lasted several hours, each of them could perform these basic strikes in their sleep. Having worked so extensively with Thatra, Viola could appreciate Ozryn’s teaching style. He was a barbaric brute who was hard on the eyes even on his best day, to be sure, but he had a clear understanding of how to quickly advance novice swordsmen: Teaching only a few tactics at a time, then beating those tactics into their muscle memory with nonstop repetitions.
Hours into the drill, their practice blades still sliced the air in unison while Ozryn barked out timed commands. Again Viola found herself thankful for Thatra’s training—not just the skill with a blade, but the nonstop drills that helped her build up some resistance to this intense training. The practice swords were far lighter than real ones, but after wielding them for hours straight, slashing the air in the exact same patterns again and again, they might as well be made of stone.
“Halt. Lower your weapons,” Ozryn called out—a simple command, yet one that brought on a collective sigh of relief. Drenched with sweat, Viola resisted the urge to lean on her sword for added support. More than aware of her own fatigue, she glanced over at Kalmton with concern. Gasping for air, drops of sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, he didn’t look good at all. She felt sorry for him. His conditioning was far too poor to handle this pace. It was going to be a long day for him.
“Now we will move on to live combat,” Ozryn said, marching up and down the line to assess the shape they were in. “It’s time to apply what you’ve learned.” Hands on knees, mouths open as sweat-drenched hair clung to their faces, they were in exactly the shape he expected. Even Umoro was sucking wind, running a large hand across his face to remove the salty sting from his eyes. Ozryn started by pairing Viola and Salina together, then led them away from the others.
“You’re number one,” he said, poking a stout finger into Viola’s chest. “And your number is two.” He jabbed Salina with the same finger. “When I call your number, you attack. But I don’t want to see anyone getting creative out here. We learned only three strikes today along with their counters, remember?” They each bobbed their heads. After drilling the same motions that many times, it was possible they would remember them for the rest of their lives. “Good. Now remember, those are the only strikes permitted. All the same, when it’s your turn to defend, these are the only strikes you should be expecting. Understand?” Again they nodded their understanding.
“When it’s time to switch, you will change partners with another. Since there is an odd number of you, I would suggest the spectator use the opportunity to catch his breath.” He turned away to go pair up Nald and Umoro and give them the same instructions. Kalmton would be the first to sit out, getting a much-needed breather.
“How are you holding up?” asked Salina. She looked exhausted, a hand falling to her knee as she leaned on her sword. Her weapon seemed to be the only thing holding her up at the moment.
; “At least as well as you are,” Viola replied, concerned for her friend.
“Oh, don’t count an old woman out just yet.” Salina pushed off the blade in order to stand up straight with her messy hair flailing out wildly. Viola could only assume she probably looked the same. It had been a grueling day so far. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, within the given rules of course.” She winked, then raised her sword up over her head.
Seeing her friend holding that stance, weapon raised high above her head and ready to strike, a horrible vision flashed across Viola’s vision: Salina’s face covered in blood, her broken body contorted, bent unnaturally and sprawled across the sand. Her lifeless eyes wide open, judging, hating Viola for taking yet another innocent life. “No... No, I won’t!” Viola shrieked, dropping her weapon as she backed away. “I won’t do it. Not again!”
“What the hell is going on over there?!” Ozryn called back, annoyed by the women’s sudden outburst.
“Nothing,” Salina called back, rushing up to Viola. “Viola,” she rasped right in her face. “What’s gotten into you? What’s wrong?”
“Wh-What if they do it again? What if they make us fight to the death? I won’t do it. I won’t. Not again. Never again.” Her desperate words came out in a broken rush.
“Viola, they’re not going to do that a second time. Look around you. We’re all that’s left. I promise you there is nothing to worry about.” Viola sighed, but was willing to take Salina’s word for it. The horrible memory was just so fresh in her mind.
“Look at me,” the older woman urged. Viola looked her right in the eyes. “You’ve got to get past this. I know what we did was awful, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but you have to move on. If you don’t let this go, it will consume you. Do you understand?” Viola nodded.
“Good. Now I want you to concentrate on me. Put all your effort into our sparring. Let your mind focus on that and nothing else.” She snapped her fingers and turned away. “This old woman has yet to show you what she’s made of.” That made Viola smile. In a motherly way, Salina was good at calming her down when she needed it most.