Bax groans. “Enough,” he snaps. My eyes open as he marches over and rips the silver protector insignia from the breast of my uniform. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” He tosses it to the dirt.
I release my pent-up breath. But my relief is short as I’m hurried toward the opening, hobbling as I put my boots back on. I manage a quick glance over my shoulder at the prince, meeting his enlarged, worried eyes before I’m shoved into the Cage.
I cross over a metal plank connecting the caged ring and the chamber. Beneath is a trench filled with flowing dark silver. Mercury. It surrounds the inside perimeter of the Cage, flowing like a small, murky river.
“No killing!” Bax shouts. “Just hurt him good, protector.”
I’m shocked that Bax is talking to me as if I’m his accomplice—his partner. Like I have any intentions to murder an innocent stranger on his behalf.
But when the mountain of a man steps into the domed ring, I question myself. He doesn’t look innocent. He looks like he’s scented blood and is searching for the source, ready to mutilate anything in his path.
He’s wearing a similar, plain tunic as the others in my league, except his is red. It’s grimy and tattered, as if he’s fought a hundred battles. I tilt my head and look closer. His cuff flashes two blue lights. Cocking his head to one side, then the other, he cracks his neck.
Above my head, the electric field of blue and white crackles and pops like lightning.
The risers are filled to the top with citizens of the Otherworld—cheering, whooping, rooting for their contenders. They chant the name “Carnage”, and I assume that’s who is about to put a hurt on me.
My eyes land back on the guy working his way into the center of the Cage. He must be a Colossal, because he towers at least three feet above me, and his biceps are the size of tree trunks. He smooths back his long dark hair and wraps a band around the tail of his grease-streaked mane.
I back up a couple of steps, wanting to study his moves as he attacks.
He favors his left leg, and one of his gray eyes droops, the skin scarred and sagging toward the middle. When he lunges, I jump to my left, forcing him to use his right side to keep balance.
I continue to leap sideways, and he stumbles over his large, booted feet.
“You have to fight sometime, little girl,” he growls. Then he swipes, closing his massive arms like clamps, as he tries to lock them around me.
He lunges again, but this time I sweep his bad leg. He bellows as he grabs his knee and falls to the ground. The crowd roars.
Goddesses, forgive me.
I straddle his huge chest and anchor his arms to the earth with my feet. His eyes widen as he grunts and struggles, probably angered that a five-foot-nothing girl has pinned him. The mercury pumps in my veins, pounding against my skin and singeing my blood.
Bearing down harder on his heavily-muscled arms, I reach down and scoop a handful of the black, damp dirt and smear it over my face to cover the swirls of silver. Then I raise my arms above me and rip a scream from my core.
The crowd jumps to their feet with cheers.
I drop down and drive my forearm against his throat.
He gasps for air as I attempt to put him to sleep just as I did Crew back in the cell. Only he’s not blacking out. He grasps my thighs with his thick fingers and lifts me up. I lose my balance and release his neck, landing on my palms to brace myself.
“You’re strong,” he wheezes. He says this as a revelation. Then he backhands me, and my head snaps to the side with a blinding sting.
The roar of the crowd is muffled as the shattering pain throbs against my ears. I shake my head, and the world tilts as he sends a crushing kick to my stomach. He grabs my arm and leg, his large fingers encircling my limbs as if they’re nothing but twigs, and lifts me above his head.
Turning in circles, he parades me around the ring, hollering to the crowd.
Dropping to his good knee, he brings me down over his bent leg. The crack of my back splinters through me like shards of glass attacking my body from the inside. I scream and choke on the blood being pushed into my throat. My spine feels shattered even though I know it’s not. I can still move my legs—though painfully.
I roll to the dirt and cough, the thick black of the earth coating my lips as I drag air into my stinging lungs.
His shadow covers me as he looms over. “Next time we fight, you won’t crawl your way out of this cage.”
Lifting his leg to land a drop kick, he shouts—and I sweep my arm from beneath my body. I latch on to his planted foot. He teeters and howls as I twist his ankle. I roll onto my side and kick my leg straight up into his groin.
He falls back, landing with a hard thud. Before he has time to recover, I race to my feet and drop another kick into his rib cage. And then his head. And his head again. Again.
Blood pools on the ground underneath his face. His head wobbles back and forth as he loses consciousness.
I stand there, breathing in and out, looking down at Carnage. He’s alive, but my insides twist into a sickening knot. I’ve never fought anyone for sport before, and next the time, one of us will be dead. This realization brings me back with a sudden jolt as the crowd cheers from the risers, banging against the stands and stomping their feet.
An Otherworlder wearing a black leather jacket and pants, his short dreads spiked straight up on top of his head, walks to the center of the Cage. He wears a vissa display over his eye, and a mic rests beside his pale lips.
He raises my arm above my head. “Colossal!” he announces.
I crane an eyebrow, confused as to how he can rank me something so ridiculous. The rankings must have nothing to do with the actual size of the contenders. I’ve beaten a Colossal, and Crew said that was the highest rank.
He tries to lift my arm again in a show of victory, but I yank it free, wincing at the sharp pain the action sends to my back. Then I slug toward the closed door, where I wait, swaying on my feet.
As it begins to slide open, I hobble over the plank, and stop when Bax steps in front of my path.
He cracks a lopsided smile. “I knew you’d be worth the risk.”
I squint, but don’t have time to question his words as I spot Prince Caben a few feet away, getting ready for his match. Queasiness roils my insides, and I sidestep Bax to get to the prince.
Grabbing my arm and halting me, Bax says, “Rest, protector. Nothing you can do for lover boy.” He croaks a horse laugh, and backs me into a wooden chair.
Alyah, protect the stubborn prince who’s about to get his head knocked off.
As Prince Caben approaches the opening, he glances over his shoulder at me. His blue eyes reflect the black lights, and his face is twisted, cast in a dark void.
I can feel his fear. It creeps inside me and grips my soul. I recognize the look he’s giving me—I have to stop this fight. I have to protect him.
Before he’s pushed into the Cage, his lips curl into a knowing smile and—
He winks.
“Now ranking our last contender of the season,” the announcer says, waving Prince Caben into the center of the Cage.
I spring from my seat with a wince and grab my back as I stumble over to the giant, barred door.
The prince stands deathly still in the middle of the ring. My heart lurches in my chest when the door on the other side of the Cage grinds open. I wipe the dried dirt from my face, clearing it from my brow and eyes to get a better look at the monster entering the ring.
He’s nearly seven feet tall, and thin, his long limbs extending from his torso like knotted tree branches. But he’s solid. And as well-defined as the prince is, I can tell this contender spends hours working out. Not being pampered by maids and women. The tall contender doesn’t have a lot of flesh, but he’s all hard muscle.
I bow my head for a moment, praying to the goddesses to help the prince. He’s not going to win, but I pray he’s not beaten so badly that he’ll never walk again. He just has to go down—throw the
fight, and not get back up.
Only, I’m not sure his pride will allow him do so.
As I look back into the Cage, they’re already circling each other. Tree Man grins, staring the prince down. I have no clue as to why Arnik chose Prince Caben to be a cage fighter. Bax should’ve taken one look at him and fought his master’s orders. But I have to trust that the goddesses kept the prince with me for a reason, and that they won’t let him be killed.
Tree Man takes off in a run, black dirt kicking up behind him, and crashes into the prince. Prince Caben cries out, and I move my head back and forth, trying to get a better angle to see what’s happening.
Caben has fended him off by meeting the guy’s crushing blow with his fist, right in his kidneys. The prince raises his hand, palm flat and fingers in hard lines, and chops the back of Tree Man’s neck. The guy falls to the ground, grabbing his head.
My eyes widen. What the goddess?
As Tree Man tries to recover, Caben pitches dirt in his face and tackles him from the back. He straddles him, pulling the guy’s feet toward his mid-section in a wrestling hold. A harsh wail rips from Tree Man’s mouth, and he reaches behind him to get a grasp on his foe.
I barely hear the shouts from the stadium as my heart hammers in my ears.
Tree Man finally gets ahold of the prince’s tunic and yanks him backward, throwing the prince off him. Caben rolls to a stop and rights himself onto his knees.
Stand up.
The prince stays close to the ground. Tree Man advances toward him with long strides and reaches down. Caben ducks and latches on to Tree Man’s ankles, pulling the guy’s feet from under him. Tree Man lands on his back, and the prince rises up and bends the guy’s legs toward his face.
Caben has him in some kind of locked hold that Tree Man can’t maneuver out of. Caben only releases him when he bounds up to land a blow. He elbows the guy’s throat, and my own throat tightens in response.
Clutching his neck, Tree Man kicks himself along the ground, out of the prince’s reach. But Caben doesn’t allow him to move far. He grabs ahold of Tree Man’s foot and drags him back to the center of the Cage. Then Caben lifts his arms to the rooting spectators.
He turns his head in the direction of the chamber, seeking me. Our eyes meet briefly—and with a small hike of his lips, he lands the finishing blow to Tree Man’s head.
Tree Man lies limp, his thin, knobby limbs splayed out around him. Caben rises to meet the announcer entering the center of the Cage. The leather-clad Otherworlder says something to the prince away from his mic, then laughs . . . laughs . . . and looks to the crowd.
“Our victor,” the announcers says, his voice booming. “The Colossal, The Prince of Pain!”
The shower stalls are separate and enclosed. Thank the goddesses for small mercies.
I step onto the cold, rough stone floor of the bathing area, and a glass door slides shut behind me. Our bathing facilities have five shower encasings, and the glass stalls are painted black, so that we’re given privacy. This area is the farthest away from the master cell, which is what Bax calls our mingling quarters. The tunnels and chambers go on for what feels like miles. I haven’t explored them all yet.
Glancing around, I locate a metal locker to store my clothing. I open it and strip down, careful not to bend my back too far, then place my ruined uniform and chest harness inside. My mind flashes to the morning when I eagerly and proudly dressed for the protector ceremony, and my heart aches. That morning feels like a lifetime ago. I wish I would’ve said something more to my mother. Assured her that I never blamed her for all those years of suffering at the hands of my father.
Because she suffered, too.
There’s a plain blue tunic and matching pants in the locker, and I know this will be my new uniform from now on. I slip my fingers down the ribbed, worn cotton, and am thankful it’s at least not polyester. That irritating material always brought out the mercury more than any other.
A loud beep sounds and sprayer nozzles along the sides of the stone walls turn on, blasting lukewarm water in different angles. I brace my hands against the wall and hang my head, allowing the water to pelt the layers of dirt away.
I lost my temper in the Cage. Carnage, like the rest of us, is a prisoner. Forced to fight and kill for the sake of his own life. Maybe he has a family somewhere. Maybe he’s just trying to win like everyone else here so he can obtain this freedom ring and go back to them.
Clamping my eyes shut, I try to push the surfacing image of my father’s angry face from my mind. I can’t allow my temper to best me in this place. Although, I can’t lose and die either. I have to make sure the prince returns to his kingdom; unharmed. And I have a family to return to, also. I wonder if my father is in a new ward, being taken care of by someone. Whether or not my mother is with him, helping to feed him when his mind wanders.
The conflicting emotions become too much and my chest constricts. I slam my fist against the wall. Then again.
The showerheads cut off automatically, and I wrap my arms around myself, searching for a towel. There isn’t one. I grab my new clothes from the locker and fight my drenched limbs into them. Then I ball my protector uniform up and put it under my arm.
Another beep, and the door slides open. One of the contenders walks past, and I follow behind him down the long stretch of dimly lit tunnel. He’s one of the feather-tatted men. He leads me to the master cell where he then tosses back a flap to a chamber and walks inside, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
The cell is empty, and I assume everyone is in one of the chambers. But then I hear noises coming from the side of the master cell that leads to the large room. I bunch my uniform up and slip it under a discarded blanket, then walk over to the opening in the wall.
Thin strips of black lights run along corners and edges of the large, blocked off area. The ceiling reaches as high as one of the rock buildings outside, and there are tables and chairs.
And weapons.
One wall is covered with swords, spears, battles axes, maces, and other weapons I’ve never seen before.
A training ground.
“See something you like,” the prince says near my ear.
I spin around. “No. But you can explain that show in the Cage.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“What?” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “I tried to tell you before. I trained with the greatest grappling master on the Nablis Peninsula. He began mentoring me when I was five. Mainly meditation back then and—”
“Then why did I have to defend you at the palace during the attack?” I rake my eyes over his proud stance.
He groans. “Of course you don’t know who Narik is. You only put females on pedestals.” I open my mouth to retort, but he holds up a hand and quickly continues. “What I mean is, Master Narik is the most renowned grappler in Perinya. But, as your country only awards the achievements of women”—he raises his brows and rushes on when I scowl—“and rightly so, I might add. I’m just not surprised you haven’t heard of him. Narik only trains in the art of the body. Not weaponry.” His features harden, and I sense there’s more to his admission than he’s willing to say.
“So you’re some master in the art of body combat?” I tilt my head, and my lips involuntarily curl into a smile. “But not weapons. And why not? Did you not feel that learning to handle a sword would be beneficial at some point in your life?”
“I’m not discussing this with you, protector, if you’re only going to mock me.” He sidesteps me and heads toward the wall of weapons.
Figuring that I’ve touched on a sore subject, I change my tactic. “Wait,” I say, pulling him to a stop by his sleeve. He faces me, broody mask in place. “I’ll refrain from mocking your customs if you’ll do the same for mine.”
He considers this for a moment, then says, “Agreed.” Raising a finger, he adds, “And on the condition that you’ll train me in weaponry.”
I suppose in order to keep him alive, this
is something that must be done. “It would be my honor”—I bow my head regally—“Prince of Pain.” As I straighten, my back flames. I grab it with a groan.
“Maybe you shouldn’t wield a weapon,” he says. “You’re injured.”
As I turn and walk toward the weapons, I say, “Better injured than dead. I’m a fast healer. Let’s go.”
Crew and the woman contender with a high, slicked ponytail stand before the wall, their eyes scanning over the weapons. As I approach, the woman peeks at me through her thick lashes, but keeps her focus on a long obsidian spear. She takes it down from the wall and walks away, testing its balance as she goes.
“Her name is Lena,” Crew says, reaching for a broadsword. “We’re both from Taggar, though we didn’t meet until we were brought here.”
My chest bristles with needling pricks as I make the connection of his homeland. The war with Taggar was the last major war my country fought before the Otherworlders’ invasion.
Prince Caben sidles up beside me, and says, “I’m Payne. From Perinya.” He extends his hand. “And the one with the foul temper”—he cocks his head toward me—“is Kaliope.”
Ignoring his remark, I stare down at his outstretched hand, wondering if Crew will slice it off with his sword. To my disbelief, he cups the prince’s hand, wrapping it with his giant one and shakes.
Crew then offers me his massive paw. “I know our countries had their differences,” he says. “But here, that is of no matter.” So he recognized my protector uniform when I first came here. Why did he attack the prince and not me? “I’ve never met a woman who can fight like you other than Lena,” he continues. “She was one of the most feared assassins in my country. I assumed, like many, that she was a man until now.”
Quickly glancing at the assassin in the corner of the training room, I catch her throwing the spear into a target’s center. Then I meet Crew’s gray eyes and accept his hand. “Thank you. I’m a protector to my empress. I’ve trained for years, but you truly gave me a great fight.”
He chuckles. “Were,” he says, stressing the word. “You were a protector. Now your Bax’s property and his top contender.” He swipes his hand over his shorn hair and sighs. “I picked a fight with Payne to test you. I wanted to know what I might be up against during the last match.”
Of Silver and Beasts (Goddess Wars) Page 11