I see an opportunity to pull on Adrian’s thigh, making him lose his balance. He plunges to the ground. When we’re both face down to the ground, I hook one leg around his and hook his ankle with my foot. I pull his arm back and finish the pin by rolling backwards and locking my hands around his neck. Adrian hisses out a curse.
After wrestling a while without any significant attacking maneuvers, I manage to get behind Adrian. I thrust my arm over his neck and place him in a submissive hold. “Raise your hand,” I hiss.
“The hell I will!” he fumes, as he grabs my arm and shrugs his shoulders, but he doesn’t succeed in getting out of the headlock. He goes down, as he bends his knees, and I tighten my grip to close his airway.
I easily lay him down and keep him pinned to the ground so the referee can see it. I even have time to glance over to see Don and Andreas entangled on the ground. Around us, people are screaming and chanting our names.
“Don’t get too excited,” Adrian growls, while I keep his body under control. “I’ll see you at boxing.”
“For your sake, I hope you are a better boxer than a wrestler,” I pant and release him.
In the last wrestling match, I am up against my best friend. We look angrily at each other. For now, there is no friendship, and we will both give everything we have to win this last round. I can almost feel that wreath around my head.
“Sorry, Don,” I gasp, as I swing my leg around him and pin him to the ground for a third time.
I leave the battleground to loud applause. My first wreath is in the bag.
After a break where I scrape the dirt off my body and get patched up for the second combat sport of the day, I take out my straps and wrap them around my wrists and fingers. An official is walking around, keeping an eye on the wrapping.
Pumped up and jazzed, we walk through the crypt. The tension is palpable. My opponents watch me in awe because I have taken down both Adrian and Don in the same game. Adrian leers at me and flashes his satanic smile when our eyes meet. I have no doubt that he is eager to give me a solid beating. If I don’t beat him first.
Back on the field, the urn goes around. This time I draw Bow, who immediately turns his back to the sun. Smart guy. I squint and take in the athletically well-built guy in front of me. Bow combines speed and agility, which makes him invincible in running and the long jump, but not in combat. I can take him.
I get through the first round not too much worse for the wear, and again I draw Adrian.
We take our boxing stances with our hands up and elbows in. As soon as the referee gives us the go-ahead, we start to circle around each other. Adrian punches the air in front of me and next to my head to distract me, to test me. When he actually takes a real swing at me, I raise my hands to protect my face. Adrian shuffles back, grins, and moves quickly in front of me. When I see an opening, I take a swing and aim at his face. My jab lands accurately on his chin—not hard enough to eliminate him, yet hard enough to piss him off, judging by his low grunt.
Adrian lowers his body and throws a counter-jab straight into my left rib, followed by a blow to my head. Fuck, he is fast, and he hits me hard. He grabs me. “Once I’m done with you, Laurel won’t even want to take another look at that pretty face of yours,” Adrian growls.
I feel an unpleasantly sharp pain, and I glance at his straps. Somehow, Adrian has prepared them, because I am staring at hard straps, and I am certain he wasn’t wearing them a minute ago.
“Bastard,” I growl.
“Yeah, what you’re going to do about it? Sell me out? You really want to go to the next round without putting up a fight, taking the easy way out?”
The referee hits Adrian’s back with the stick, and with a deep groan he lets go of me.
I walk up to him and grasp him. “Come on then, fucking coward.”
The stick lands hard on my back and a jolt of pain shoots right through me. Grimly, I take my stance. I refuse to squeal on him in front of all the spectators and go on to the next round without putting up a fight, but I have to change tactics in order to avoid Adrian’s jabs. If I don’t, I won’t last long. I have to try to counter his punches, wear him down. Play defense—a position I am not comfortable with.
I manage to avoid his fists for a while, and we keep circling. When Adrian sees an opening to hit me, I stagger backwards. He makes use of the situation and lands one hit after another. He punches my face without holding back.
I’m vaguely aware of the desperate cries around me as the son of Hades beats me up. I go down but get back to my feet. Slightly dizzy, I try to keep up with Adrian’s quick movements, but blood is dripping down my face and one eye is closed. I bite back the pain and continue on intuition.
“This is for interfering with my dates,” he snarls at me. He lands a blow on my ear, and I cry out as I feel it tear apart. “Give it up, dammit! You’re staggering around the field like a drunk. You’re a disgrace to the community. You really want me to finish you off in front of your family? You know I will, you fucking piece of shit.”
Losing to Adrian is unbearable, but I know he’s right. I have to give up. If I let my face get beaten even more by the hard layers lying across his knuckles, I won’t stand a chance at beating anyone at pankration. I can still win if I give up this match. It’s a strategic move.
I throw my arm up in the air, and the referee calls an end to the contest. Cries of dismay are heard from the stands.
Furious, I walk into the crypt and enter a side room of the palaestra, where my wounds are cleaned and stitched up.
Moments later, I am joined by a completely exhausted and beaten up Bastian. I’m not surprised. He wasn’t in tip-top shape from the get-go because of his alcohol abuse.
“Hoi theois agathoi, what the hell happened to you?” he wants to know. “Have you seen your face?”
“I can feel it, that’s enough. Who are in the finals?”
“Andreas and Adrian. It doesn’t look too good for Andreas. Adrian will walk away with that second wreath.”
I can’t help cursing. Adrian gets a wreath, and I am going to make sure it stays that way—even if it is the last thing I do in my mortal existence.
When I come out of my trance, lukewarm compresses are resting on my face. I remove them and see Olivia sitting in a chair. Her face is full of concern—the last thing I need right now.
“What are you doing here?”
“Walking your dog. Fixing you up. You’re welcome.”
I get off the bed and throw aside the compresses.
“I can heal myself. Go!”
“What has he done to you, Sam?”
“He hit home.”
“You don’t get wounds like that from soft straps. He used the pigskin, didn’t he?”
“Let it go, Liv. It’s done.”
“You have to report this to the jury, Sam. He violated his oath. He should be punished.”
“Too late for that now.”
“Sam…”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” I say angrily and disappear into the bathroom. All I want to do is to concentrate on the third and final game this evening. I turn on the faucet and study my busted face in the mirror. “What the hell have you put on my face?” I call out to her.
“I brought some calendula officinalis with me.”
“Thank you. You should leave now.”
Olivia sticks her head around the corner. “If I don’t see you anymore… you can do this, Sam. Bastian and Bow aren’t in good shape and Kai and Filemon are no match for you. You four are the strongest.”
“We’ll see,” I hum and wash the healing herbs off my face.
For the last time, we enter the combat zone. The referee reminds us that eye gouging, biting, and genital ripping are not allowed and shall be punished severely by the whip bearer. He pairs me with Andreas, and we both take our stance on the
field, our bodies turned slightly sideways. With our hands held high, palms facing forward, and one arm stretched out, we glare at each other. It’s going to be a tough fight against the trained warrior son, and there’s no time for hesitation.
Right after the signal, I kick squarely at Andreas while at the same time lifting my knee to block his low kicks. With the bottom of my foot, I kick him straight in his stomach.
Around us, there is yelling and shouting, and the valley is shaking in its foundation as we beat the shit out of each other. It amazes me that the pilasters don’t succumb. The adrenalin rushes through my body. We give everything we have in this final round to show our community what we are worth and to gain respect from the Keepers and the gods. We give everything for that coveted final wreath—but for me it’s more than that. To hell with the last wreath. This is personal. I want Adrian. In hand-to-hand combat and without straps.
From a standstill, I jump up and kick Andreas in his face. He hits the ground, and I fall right on top of him, roll him over in the sand, and place him in a leg-lock he’s never going to come back out of—unless he gives up.
“Erre es kórakas,” he curses.
“No, you go to hell,” I pant. “Give it up, before I choke the life out of you.”
Andreas tries to break free, but when I start choking him, he finally stops resisting.
“Smart move,” I say, all the while hoping that Adrian is still standing. Andreas throws up his arm and I let go of my lock. “You can take your revenge four years from now. Gives you some time to practice.”
“Fuck you, Sampson,” he says, breathing hard and fast. “You better win this thing now. Two wreaths should be enough to get out of that damn wedding.”
“Got it.”
Moments later, I easily force Bastian to surrender by kicking him in the kneecaps and getting him into a chokehold on the ground.
As hoped, I face my thoroughly hated relative in the last match.
The site is now shrouded in darkness, and under the moonlight we compete for the honor of the last wreath—at least, Adrian does. I want to simply eliminate him. If they’re going to place an olive wreath on top my head because of it, so be it.
Adrian is grinning at me, and I can only think that once I’m finished with him, there won’t be much left of that fucking smugness.
With outstretched arms and our heads together, we hold each other in a headlock. Adrian sniffs. I want to clutch his neck and force him onto the ground, but it doesn’t pan out. Adrian tries the same, but he doesn’t get a good grip either. We spend more than twenty minutes in the same position.
All of a sudden, Adrian lets go of my head and jerks at my upper arm with such force that I dislocate a joint. Cursing, I step away from him and push my shoulder back into place. Before I can react, he jumps onto my back and places his toes at the back of my knees. His left arm is thrown around my neck. His left hand grips the biceps of his other arm and he strangles me. He presses the palm of his other hand against my head, and if I don’t think of something quickly, I’ll lose consciousness. I would not be the first and certainly not the last athlete to die during pankration, though we have no permission to kill each other. But Adrian doesn’t care much for rules.
“That last wreath is mine, Sampson,” Adrian pants in my ear. “You will yield, because I swear, I’ll break your neck right here and now. I don’t give a shit about my vows.”
“Screw you,” I grunt as I try to wriggle loose.
“You mean screw her? I will, you have my word on that.”
Before Adrian completely pinches off my blood supply, I am able to move my leg and his own leg swings loose. The moment his feet hit the ground, I kick his ankle. He goes down cursing, and cheers break out on all sides of the field. I’m positive I broke his ankle, but I am also sure it doesn’t make any difference. Adrian is far from giving up.
He’s in front of me right away, and we start hitting and kicking each other. The pace is fast, and we easily switch from wrestling to boxing. We punch, kick, and use knees, elbows, and everything in between that is allowed. When we hit the ground, I manage to lock Adrian between my legs, leaving my hands free to strangle him. He’s gasping for air and then puts his mark on me by sinking his teeth into my forearm. I scream. He pulls up my flesh and doesn’t let go until the stick lands forcefully on his back.
I roll away, but Adrian rolls me onto my back and sits on top of me. The air is knocked out of my chest. “Surrender!”
With a head-butt, I manage to get Adrian off me, but before I can jump to my feet, he stomps on my arm with his foot. I fall back with a thump. Ah, dammit, my right arm must be dislocated.
The cheering stops, and silence descends over the battlefield. When I look up, all I see is Adrian’s devilish grin.
“Yield!”
“Oupote!” I growl and push myself back up.
“If you don’t yield, I am going after her, Sampson,” he whispers. “I’ll take her soul, and she will never see the light of day again. Surrender and I leave her alone.”
The moment I close my eyes, an excruciating pain shoots through my head, and all sounds fade away into the background. I suppress a groan and a curse. A foresight…
The next moment, I am sitting in a coffee shop feeling deeply grieved. Laurel is sitting across from me, looking at me with an anguished expression.
If I can’t protect myself from him anymore, my life is over. I’m better off dead.
Violently, I tear myself away from my vision and look back at that accursed face, still hanging over me, harassing me. Smiling.
“You saw something, didn’t you? Fucking hell, you got a vision in the middle of a fistfight. You’re pathetic.”
I grab Adrian’s broken ankle and with a quick jerk, I get him next to me on the ground. “You stay the fuck away from her,” I growl.
“Yield.”
For the second time, I hold up my arm.
Adrian’s head falls aside grinning. “Giving up while you’re still in the game… Who’s the coward now?”
I bruised one of Adrian’s eye sockets, but it’s a shame I wasn’t able to punch that grin off his face. With throbbing, aching temples, I look at the pine branches swaying in the moonlight. Finally I know against whom I have to protect Laurel. It has been Adrian all along. He used her to beat me today.
I lie sprawled on the ground for another while, my limbs spread out awkwardly. I’m not ready to face the shame of losing. I gave up, which I swore I wouldn’t do. I think of all the consequences I will face if anyone ever finds out that I have given up, and I cover my eyes with my arm. What have I done?
26
laurel
With my mind elsewhere, I stare into my coffee. The opening of the door startles me. Disappointed to see it’s not Lou, I lower my eyes again. I think about Sam, who is somewhere in the mountains right now. I don’t even know which mountain—it could be Mount Fuji, for all I know. And I am sitting here. And I broke the promise that I made him. I can’t shake the feeling of betrayal. With a sigh, I take a sip of coffee and wonder if I should leave before there’s no way back. Before things get really dangerous.
“Since you’re not going to join me, I figured I’d join you—otherwise we’ll have to yell to hear one another, and considering the questionable topic of our conversation, I’m afraid that the vast majority of the other guests might be offended. Another coffee?”
Totally flabbergasted, I look at the man who is now taking a seat across from me. The beard is gone. Despite the lines that define his face, he suddenly looks like he is about twenty years younger.
“Lou?”
Lou smirks, but immediately turns serious again. “Let’s have a little chat about Sam Laurens.”
Now Lou has showed up, I manage to relax a little. I’ll soon know who the Keepers are and how Sam’s mysterious world works. “Can you tell me who the�
�you know, that word—who they are?”
“Soon. First I have some questions I want you to answer.”
I blow strands of hair out of my face and realize that I have to be patient today. “What kind of questions?”
“Tell me something about him.”
“About Sam?” I whisper, and I look up at the door, afraid that he might saunter in any moment now to order a coffee.
“Try to relax, sweetie. Just tell me about his hobbies. Do you know what he likes to do?”
Yeah, saving me from all kinds of awkward situations. “Well, ehm, he plays in a band. Chaos.”
“Chaos? The band’s name is Chaos?”
“Yes. Sam is the band’s guitar player. He’s also obsessed with playing sports. And he loves his dog, a wolf dog. One of his friends called him Sampson.”
“That’s a Greek boys name for sure. What sports does he play?”
“Boxing and wrestling. And when I was at his birthday with a group of friends, the guys had a running contest. It was an old Olympic sprint.”
Lou’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “Really?”
“Yeah. They were all extremely competitive.”
“Did you notice anything else?”
Sure, they were butt naked. “Like what?”
“A curious conversation, maybe? Something out of the ordinary.”
I frown. “Actually, there was.”
Interested, Lou looks at me even more intently. “Go on.”
“They were just having a normal conversation, and all of a sudden they switched to some strange language. It might have been Latin, or some other dead or extinct language. I’ve never heard anything like it. It was a harsh, raw sound.”
Lou leans toward me and starts to speak softly. Goose bumps immediately cover my body at the sound of those strange words.
“Yeah, yeah, it sounded like that! Just less melodic. What is it?”
“It’s an Ancient Greek dialect.”
“That’s not strange per se, right? When they’re all related and of Greek descent?”
House of Guardians Page 25