by T. C. Edge
And among all these great warriors from around the world, Jaeger might just have the most power of all.
28
Kira felt violated.
She could, maybe, if she was being very generous, just about get on board with the idea of fighting in the games. If she had no other choice in the matter – which she didn’t – then at least it was something she’d been doing for years. It wasn’t completely out of her comfort zone.
Standing on a podium, dressed in a loincloth bikini and made up like a barbarian-whore was, on the other hand, another matter entirely.
The previous evening had been dreadful. She’d completely screwed up her performance in front of the empress after so stupidly losing her cool, and went on to learn that her seeding had plummeted and she’d be in some huge great free-for-all called the cull.
So no, she wouldn’t get to ease herself in. And yes, she was probably going to die when the games kicked off tomorrow afternoon. But still, nothing could be quite as bad as this.
Standing on a podium, she had to suffer the gawping eyes of a thousand leering men and spiteful women, like some piece of meat on show at the market. It was far from her character to show off in such fashion, and while she wasn’t completely averse to the odd bit of nudity, and had no body complex to speak of, she certainly didn’t take kindly to be paraded like this.
For the last few hours, she’d had to suffer the growing drunkenness of nobles and lords, laughing and smiling and talking about her as if she couldn’t hear and wasn’t even there.
They’d speak of her body, her hair and eyes and lips, and various other parts of her anatomy that they found interesting. They’d discuss with utter flippancy her chances in the arena, and laugh at the rumours that circulated about what happened the previous night, throwing in some glib remarks about her having ‘no chance’ come the cull the following day.
Some were a little nicer, offering complimentary comments even though they were quite aware that she was forbidden to speak. But they appeared to be few and far between. Or perhaps it was just that the more obnoxious men and bitchy women among the crowd were simply more vocal. Whatever the case, it was quite possibly the worst evening of Kira’s young life, even after everything she’d been through.
The only positive, she mused, with no lack of irony, was that it made the following days’ imminent bloodbath seem quite attractive by comparison.
That was how it sounded. The cull, that is. A total and utter bloodbath, one of the goriest days of the games.
Kira had to garner all her information about it from what she heard among the crowd. Last night, Rufus had been quite miserly with his information, as usual, and hadn’t gone into great detail about what it all entailed – partly, perhaps, because he wasn’t yet sure.
All she knew was that it was intended as a means of kicking off the Imperial Games with a great big bang, and included a number of the lower seeds from the different lanistas, with three people, and no more, being allowed to go through to the next round.
Those would be the final three standing. All others – and Kira wasn’t quite sure how many there would be – would perish on the sand. And so it was called the cull, the fight to wipe out the weaker warriors and see if any of the less celebrated gladiators could stake a claim and raise their profile.
The only point of positivity for Kira was that it would be only lower ranked warriors included. At least, that’s all she knew so far. If that were the case, then perhaps she’d have a chance. Perhaps…
Mostly, she kept her gaze fairly tight that night, standing rigid and staring forward. She wondered if any of the contenders ever got fed up and stepped off their podium. Or better yet, take exception to some snobbish comment and seek immediate revenge on the moron who uttered it.
If that ever did happen in the past, it certainly didn’t that night. Because to do so, they’d all been warned, would be death by a punishment even worse than the decimation; a public humiliation and pain-filled end so complete it would prevent even the most daring and embittered of warriors from making any sort of move.
All over the massive plaza, guards stood with their weird, shiny rifles. They were so different to the weapons Kira was used to back in Haven, looking more like swords in a way than regular guns. That was probably the entire point of this strange place: to make everything appear ancient, to conceal modern flourishes within the guise of something more archaic.
The entire plaza was certainly a sight to behold, although Kira was hardly in the frame of mind to enjoy it. Still, she couldn’t exactly miss it either, standing in the corner as she was, slightly away from the main action and thus being granted a full view of the square.
It was massive, lavish, encircled by a wall of stone pillars and with a host of grand buildings beyond. Yet the most striking thing was the imperial palace, the home of the detestable empress, standing above a long flight of marble steps flanked by white columns and coiling like a great snake around a hill.
Her position afforded her a good view of it, and she’d spent most of the evening staring at its balconies and bastions, its walls and ramparts, the many statues and figures carved into its wings and looking down upon the vomit-inducing assembly littering the plaza.
She gazed at it in wonder and awe for a time, and imagined that it was about as far removed from Haven as it was possible to be. But, that was all on the surface. Because here, as with Haven, and any such city dominated by a tyrant, it was the people that really counted. And the people before her now were people she wanted dead.
Yet it wasn’t just the palace, or the people around her who demanded her attention. Though she wasn’t able to move much, her supreme eyesight allowed her to carefully inspect some of the other contenders dotted upon podiums that she hadn’t yet seen or heard about.
There were many, over a hundred by her count, clearly acquired by various men like Dom. She was well aware, however, that the true contenders were either those she’d trained alongside, or those at the opposite end of the square; the men under the patronage of Lucius.
She’d heard only bits and pieces about some of them, and now saw them with her own eyes. Men of various sizes from far flung places. Men with dark skin and light skin, red hair and black hair. Men with powers like those she possessed, and powers she’d never seen before.
She couldn’t tell much from here, though knew that those placed centrally were the higher seeds. Domitian had done the same, with Shadow front and centre, flanked by Oom and Malvo, then Lee and Finn, all the way to the far ends, one of which she inhabited.
She grumbled at the thought, knowing she should have been closer to the action, but her chagrin didn’t last long. It was her fault, after all.
The same set up revealed a motley crew of fierce looking warriors on the other side among Lucius’ territory. Some giant with a red beard and flaming hair. A dark-skinned guy with a weird mohawk. A crazed looking man with strangely long arms. All very odd and unlike anyone Kira had ever seen.
Yet, the man in the middle, Shadow’s primary counterpart, didn’t seem odd at all. He looked to Kira to be just a regular soldier, like so many she’d known over the years.
She had a commander back in Haven called Beckett, a gruff sort of man who had a similar power set to her own. Lucius’ number one seed reminded her a bit of him, though a younger version. He looked like a man of discipline, a military man perhaps, unassuming and yet clearly very powerful.
Maybe, Kira thought, he’d be the one to kill Shadow. Now that would be a fight she’d rather like to see.
As she looked upon him now, she saw Domitian wandering around in the midst of the crowd. He, too, was staring at Lucius’ main man, perhaps pondering his powers as she was. She scanned across and noticed that Lucius, however, was nowhere to be seen. He’d been over there all night, meandering between his gladiators but rarely straying too far from the centre.
At least, until now. Because as Kira drew her binocular vision back, those immediately before her came
into view once more.
And Lucius was right there among them.
Kira was caught slightly off-guard by the presence of someone she recognised. He carried the same self-satisfied sneer on his face that he adopted on the balcony several days ago, and Kira couldn’t prevent her already flat expression from taking a turn towards severe dislike.
Seeing her countenance morph so suddenly, his did too; his smile grew larger. He seemed to enjoy the hate it generated.
Kira withdrew her gaze from him as quickly as she could, and swept it elsewhere. Her hands, which had been hanging by her sides all evening and only occasionally balling into fists due to some insulting remark, now adopted the shape on a more permanent basis. Lucius seemed to notice it, and stepped a little closer to her from the smattering of people who were still ogling her, sipping on wine and making quiet conversation that added to the general din.
And through that din, Lucius spoke.
“You don’t much like me, do you Kira?” he asked.
Kira was quite taken aback. People were meant to be able to talk about her only, not to her. Apparently, speaking about someone as if they weren’t there was fine, but engaging them in conversation a big no-no.
Everything in this place was off.
She turned to look at him but didn’t answer. No one seemed to notice that he’d spoken. He had done so very quietly after all, and plenty of wine had been drunk by now.
“You can speak,” he said. “It’s OK. I am son of Lord Pontius. The rules don’t apply to me.”
Kira didn’t speak. She would rather not do what this man wished, and thought that perhaps keeping quiet would make him go away. She didn’t much like the idea of the punishment worse than the decimation, but Lucius was just the sort of man who she might make an exception for.
“Well, I know you don’t like me,” the smirking brat went on. “Why would you? I doubt you like anyone here. Again, why should you? I wonder who you like least of all. Prince Domitian, perhaps? It was he who stole you from Haven, after all…”
A frown fell over Kira’s green eyes.
“Ah, of course,” said Lucius, nodding. “You didn’t know he was a prince, did you? Well, yes…yes he is. He is Prince Domitian of Neorome, son of the great and wise and benevolent Empress Vesper.”
He smiled, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of sarcasm. It seemed as though even high nobles like Lucius had an aversion to the empress…
“So, you are in the favour of a prince,” Lucius continued. “How does that make you feel?”
“I’m in no one’s favour,” mumbled Kira.
Lucius smiled.
“You talk. Good.”
He bent his neck to one side, stretching, and took a long swig of air. Then he zeroed in on her again with piercing amber eyes.
“You are in his favour,” he said coolly. “I saw that the other night when you went right at Shadow like some sort of feral thing in the woods. He tried to protect you, but he’s soft. Too soft to become emperor of this great city.”
He drew up a goblet and took a sip of wine, that smirk never leaving his face, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment.
“I did hear about your performance last night with the empress, though. What a pity for you to be entered into the cull. I had hoped to get to know you some more.”
His eyes took on a lustful quality as he led them around her body. She felt like recoiling, like covering up and stepping away, but couldn’t.
“What a fine figure of a woman you are,” he sighed. “And that flaming hair of yours…quite striking. I’ll be cheering for you tomorrow, Kira. Oh I do hope you make it through. Then, perhaps, we’ll get a chance to spend some time together…in private.”
He smiled once more, the alcohol evident in his cheeks and the relaxed framing of his eyelids. Kira had been looked upon by many men that night, but none quite so bad as this. She felt extremely uncomfortable, like dying tomorrow on the sand would be better than spending any time alone with this man.
“But,” he said suddenly, shaping himself back up. “Alas, we probably won’t get that chance, and such a shame…such a shame. The cull is…brutal,” he chuckled. “And this year it’ll be more brutal than ever.”
He continued to inspect her, hoping for some reaction. Unfortunately, Kira had heard all about the brutality of the cull and had begun to set her mind to the task of getting through it already. She wasn’t one to be cowed by such a thought. Such a thing wasn’t inbuilt in a girl like her.
“You’ll be battling a few of mine out there, you know,” he said, turning his eyes to the other end of the square. “They’re…OK, nothing too special. I mean, they would be, seeing as I seeded them so low. But I suspect they’re rather better than what Domitian has on offer. Apart from you, of course, Kira.”
Still, she didn’t react. Well, that wasn’t true. She did. She rolled her eyes and yawned. And Lucius didn’t like it.
“Boring you, am I?” he sneered. “Well, how about this. I have three warriors in the cull tomorrow, and only three go through. If you’re to be one of them, oh mighty Kira, then you’ll need to kill at least one of my men to do so. And, well, that means facing down and murdering your little friends too. Who is it…Gwyn, is that her name? And, what was the other one…the one who can climb on walls?”
Kira glared and mumbled, “Gecko.”
“Yes, that’s it, Gecko and Gwyn,” he laughed. “A fine couple of warriors old Dom’s rounded up there. It’s a shame you’re lumped in with such losers. But…it should make for a very entertaining bout.”
He leaned in a little closer. Kira saw that a few people nearby had noticed them speaking. And several guards had too. No one did anything. Either the rules were bendable, or they simply didn’t apply to this conceited cockroach.
“Now, if you want my advice, oh lovely Kira, then I’d speak tonight with Gwyn and Gecko. If you all work together, who knows, maybe you can all go through?”
Kira sensed a trap of sorts. Or maybe this was just part of his game. She could hardly trust any advice given by a man like him. And yet, it did make sense. It made a great deal of sense, actually…
“Yes, good girl, that’s it,” he smiled. “I’m sure you’d have thought of that on your own, of course. What, a rebel girl like you, so used to working with other soldiers.”
He leaned back, and wrung his hands together with a beaming smile.
“Ah, such fun!” he said, quite loudly as if to make a point that he could very well do whatever he wanted. “It’s going to be a truly wonderful few weeks. Listen to my advice, you pretty little thing, and maybe you’ll get to see a couple of them through before you die. And, who knows, perhaps we’ll get that time together that we both so crave.”
Kira had to focus with all she had to stop from lunging at the man and tearing his leering lips off. Her knuckles were white now from the tension, and her emerald eyes had narrowed to squints.
Lucius licked his lips in very obvious fashion, before stepping back another pace. And with a final flourish, he brushed his fingers through his wavy black hair, gulped down some more wine, and wandered back off through the crowd.
29
Kira had spent many nights thinking that she might die the following day.
It had, in fact, become her default setting. For most people, death would be a shock, a strike of lightning from the blue. Unless they developed some terminal illness, they’d usually never really know they were going to die until it happened. Most people, Kira thought, lived in a state of blissful ignorance.
She didn’t.
She was fully aware that any day might be her last. When she fell asleep, she might enjoy her final dreams. When she woke, she might eat her final breakfast. When she spoke with a friend, it might well be their final conversation. It was very much how she lived, and something she’d long since accepted.
Yet, there was something different about that night before the start of the games. Mostly, her life as a rebel in Haven was fraught with da
nger, but often there wasn’t the same immediacy to it. If she died, it would likely be an unplanned event – a hunting party gone wrong, or a raid by a bunch of Stalkers to take her and her friends out.
This was different. The games were beginning tomorrow, and she’d be fighting in the cull. It was official. It was structured. It was happening.
It would, she knew, be a massacre, and of the many people involved, only three would walk out alive.
Kira had confidence in herself, even after everything she’d seen here, and yet the odds didn’t stack in her favour. For the first time in a long time, she really believed that that night might truly be her last.
Yet still, she wasn’t afraid. When you live in a state of perpetual danger, the feeling of fear doesn’t register like with other people. As with anything, you get used to it, and even learn to use it. And sometimes, you start to depend on it too.
Kira would certainly depend on her fears tomorrow. Her fears gave her strength, primed her mind and purified her focus. In the heat of battle, that was critical.
Lose your focus, lose your life. That was the mantra her parents always used to teach her before they died. And it was a Stalker who killed them both.
Kira rarely thought of her parents these days, but that night she did. She was just a girl when they were killed, unused to losing loved ones, especially those so dear. Their deaths paved the solid stone around her heart, and began to change her into the girl who saw attachment as weakness. The more people you care for, the more vulnerable you are. That’s what she believed.
Here, Finn has renewed that belief. Their friendship, so callow though it was, would only serve to weaken them both should they have to face each other. Now, of course, she probably wouldn’t have to worry about that. Even if she survived the cull, she probably wouldn’t make it much further, and neither would he.