Survival Rout

by Ana Mardoll

  "That feels so good." I manage to rasp out the words in a hoarse voice. "T-Thank you." It seems a strange thing to say, but for all that the lashing of her tongue feels beautifully right I have no memory of the etiquette in this situation. Can I tangle my hands in her hair? A part of me very much wants to, but I have no way of knowing whether she would like that.

  Her mouth pulls off, the sudden absence of her warmth ripping an involuntary groan of disappointment from me. Yet she doesn't move away. She remains kneeling there, looking up at me. "I am so glad I please you," she murmurs, her smile warm and easy. "At first bell, when I must leave you, Handler will ask how you enjoyed your Prize. It would mean so much to me if you tell him I made you happy."

  "Oh." I blink down at her, as images I didn't want in my mind at this particular moment flood in anyway: that creepy guy with the strange face and the way he spoke to us like we were meat. "Yeah, I'll tell him that," I promise, wincing with pleasure when her tongue darts out to caress me. "Diamond, as far as I remember, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." She giggles and I'm rewarded with another plunge into her warm mouth, gasping under the welcome assault of her tongue.

  I'm just about to reach out and try some hair-touching when she pulls off me again. This time I manage not to groan, but the effort is immense. I'm achingly grateful for everything she's doing with her mouth and hands, but her sudden stops are going to be the death of me. Maybe she doesn't realize. Should I be telling her what I want? She'd made it pretty clear that she wanted to make me happy, after all.

  She aims a sly smile up at me, her fingers moving over my stomach. "I won't be the best thing that's ever happened to you for very long," she teases. "An amazing fighter like you will have so many Prizes."

  "Do you think so? Well, I am pretty strong." I'm not sure how I should respond to her praise, but I'll agree with anything she wants if it means more of that tongue. I receive another lick and a smile, the combination sending shivers up my arms.

  "There are other Prize girls here," she murmurs, still gazing up at me. "They're good girls, all of them, but some of them are frightened or confused. New here, just like you." Another long lick then, from the very base to the tip then circling around the top until I'm ready to tear the bed-pad apart in the intensity of my grip. "Will you do me a favor?" she whispers. Her eyes hold mine like shining pools in the darkness.

  I can barely focus on her words for the blood pounding in my ears. "Uh. Yes? I mean, of course I will. What would you like?"

  She gives me the sweetest smile I could imagine, her pink tongue darting out once more. "If you ever have a Prize who doesn't want to play, will you treat them gently for my sake? Tell Handler they were good, even if they were not. I know it may seem a tiny bit unfair, but I promise I'll make it up to you the next time we're together, you and I."

  A pause hangs in the air between us, the cave silent save for the constant trickle of water. I feel a heightened awareness, almost like I did in the arena when time had seemed to slow. I'm conscious of the throb of my heart thrumming through the lower parts of my body and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes. Her earlier words echo in my ears: Handler will ask how you enjoyed your Prize.

  What would he do her in the morning if I told him she'd been bad? What would happen if I said I hadn't liked her or that she'd been rude to me? I remember the way Matías had moved to stand between me and Handler when he arrived with our food. I recall how quickly the boys leaped to obey his commands, flinching away from the fear gathered around him whenever they stepped too close. I'd felt threatened by his presence, by the power he seemed to hold over us—a threat that loomed especially large after the fight in the arena and the news of my predecessor's death. Is this girl under similar threats?

  "Oh. Hey." My voice is hoarse and I have to clear my throat to speak. "Hey, I ain't gonna tell stories on any girls, okay? If someone is, you know, scared or whatever? I won't tell on her. I get it." I give her a smile I hope is reassuring. "We're all friends here, right? We have to stick together."

  Her smile is brighter than the arena sunlight, and she nods vigorously before dropping her head to engulf me with fresh enthusiasm. I hold my breath, thinking she might stop again to speak, but this time she keeps going. A wave of relief rushes over me and I half-close my eyes, leaning back on the bed against my elbows. I can't imagine being more relaxed than I am right now as she works.

  Works?

  Why did that word pop into my head? She's not working; she said herself that this was play. She's been all smiles the whole time, clearly having as much fun with this as I am. I open my eyes, looking down at the soft curtain of wavy brown hair bobbing enthusiastically between my legs. Well, maybe not as much fun as I am, I admit as another wave of pleasure ripples through me, but she's enjoying herself. She's happy to have come here.

  Except she didn't come here, did she? She was brought here. Handler announced a Prize would be sent to my room. This girl, Diamond, is that Prize. She'd said I could do anything to her. I'd thought she was exaggerating, but now I'm not so sure. I'd wanted to tangle my hands in her hair and wondered whether it would hurt her; I'd thought about asking if she'd like that. Would she have told me the truth? Or would she have allowed something that hurt her rather than risk a bad report to Handler?

  She's smiled at me all this time and even initiated this: stripping her clothes off, pushing me down onto the bed, dropping to her knees. But how much of a choice did she have about any of it? How much of what she's doing right now is to protect herself? Is she making me happy because it makes her happy, or is she doing it so she won't be hurt? The answer is clear if I'm honest with myself: she is working, and I let her do so without asking if she was happy about the situation.

  "Hey, listen." I take her by the shoulders, pulling her away from me as gently as I can. Trying not to curse myself for calling a halt to the most pleasurable moments of my new life so far, I study her face in the dim light. She looks up at me with a quizzical smile and the gentle curiosity of her expression hardens my resolve. I don't know what I want to see in her eyes, just that her polite sweetness isn't passion.

  I clear my throat again, fumbling for words. "You, uh. You don't want to be here. Doing this. Do you?" I give her an apologetic smile, trying not to scare her.

  She lowers her eyes, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I am very honored to be your Prize," she murmurs, her voice still warm and flirtatious. But she doesn't dive forward, or lock her lips onto me again. She doesn't say 'yes, I need you and I need this, please don't make me stop'. I don't know if that's what she would say, but it's what I need to hear; from her or anyone else who'd do this with me.

  "It's okay," I whisper, giving her another smile. "Can we start over? I never introduced myself. My name is Keoki. Well, we think it is." I tap the leather bracelet on my wrist and give her a goofy shrug. "You're called Diamond?" She nods silently at the question.

  She looks so beautiful kneeling on the floor, but now that I study her closely I can see tiny goosebumps on her shoulders and arms from the chilly cavern air. My hand moves in a casual way to cover myself, knowing I'll feel better with my sarong wrapped around me. "Why don't we put our clothes on again and we can lie down and share this blanket? There's only one, but I think it's big enough for both of us."

  Diamond watches me, her expression giving away none of her thoughts. "Okay," she says, her voice lower than before, and more serious. She pads over to pick up her clothes and drape them around herself. My own movements are faster and without grace: wrap, tuck, and dive under the cover. She slips under the blanket with me then, taking half of the long pillow without hesitation.

  I notice she doesn't offer to take the inside wall where I lie and she doesn't touch me under the cover. She lies on her side and watches me, her face in shadow now that the cave lighting is at her back. "Handler says you fought well out there," she tells me, her voice soft. "You survived."

  I laugh without amusement. "That's what the
y tell me. I gather that's how you get ahead around here? Fight good; get food and... stuff." I fumble awkwardly at the end, remembering she was part of those promised rewards.

  She's cool about the gaffe, not acknowledging it. "Eat, but don't stuff yourself," she advises. "Train, but don't wear yourself out. Sleep as much as they let you. Don't just fight; put on a good show for the audience. That's how you stay alive."

  The lump in my stomach sours until I wonder if I'm going to vomit. Tony, Reese, Diamond; they all talk about my death as something I can avoid as long as I do everything right. What happens when I don't? But I smile in the dark and try to sound cheerful. "Is that how everyone else manages? The other boys, I mean."

  "Some of them. They stay alive because they're good fighters, or good entertainers—which is not always the same thing. Or else they're useful; that's how your teacher stayed alive, even when he was too injured to appear in the arena anymore."

  "There's seven of us, right?" I ask, biting my lip as I count heads and names from earlier. "Does that change a lot? They said there was a guy before me who died; am I his replacement? But there were more than seven doors out in the main cavern."

  She shakes her head against the pillow. "They bring in new fighters now and again. There's been up to twelve at once, at least as long as I've been here. The Master has to balance the profitability of the bouts against the cost of keeping you fed well enough to fight." She tilts her head, and I can feel her studying me. "Do you know your talent yet? Sometimes they take time to surface."

  "My talent?" I blink at her shadowed face. "Oh! Uh, Tony said I was strong? I pulled the armor off a rock monster so he could stab it."

  I think I've impressed her; there's fresh interest in her voice when she speaks. "Crowds love strong fighters. Especially if you were paired with Tony. He's nimble, with finesse to supplement a partner's raw strength."

  I feel my shoulders relax a little. It's easy talking to her about Tony and the others; much easier than dwelling on my impending death and her task here with me. "Have you seen him fight, then?"

  "We watch most of the matches. The Master keeps us on display near his throne. We see you well enough, but given the sun and the distance and how busy you are down there, you might not see us. We weren't out there this cycle, but I imagine we'll watch your next fight."

  Next fight. I hadn't really thought ahead to that, though I suppose I should have. Fighting is what fighters do, right? The brooding mood that has been threatening to pounce now settles around my temples, reigniting the headache I woke with earlier. I wonder how long it's been since I opened my eyes in the arena; it feels like an eternity ago.

  The girl in my bed seems to sense my mood, or perhaps it's written on my face more clearly than I'd like. "Keoki?" she whispers, my name soft on her tongue. "You should sleep now. You're safe in here until first bell, I promise."

  "I'll try," I tell her, unsure how well I can deliver. My groin is still throbbing from where we stopped earlier—though after all this talk of death and fighting, I'm not sure I'd want to continue even if she did. And she doesn't. And that's that. So I close my eyes and let all the fatigue I've been pushing away since the fight wash over me, dragging me into dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Aniyah

  Hana was gone and would not return until first bell. I sit on my cushion by the stone table, numbness fogging my mind. What if she doesn't come back? I barely know her, but she saved my name at great risk to her own life. I don't want to imagine she might die out there on the other side of the golden doors.

  Across the table, Sappho fusses over Heather's bleeding arm. The blond girl holds perfectly still throughout her ministrations, looking bored. When the wound is wrapped and the end of the gauze tucked into place, Sappho douses the area one last time in water from the pool. She frets over the gash, her hands fluttering around the wrapping several times to reassure herself the bandage has not come loose.

  "Eat up, Heather," Chloe orders, her voice flat in the wake of Heather's dramatic demonstration. She pushes bowls of fruit and warm meat in our direction also, her nod encompassing myself and Miyuki. "You two as well," she says firmly. "I know you don't feel like eating, but you'll be hungry later if you don't."

  Miyuki reaches for a bowl of spiced meat, picking out plump bites with her fingers and eating without relish. For my part, I tuck away a bowl's worth of tiny bright orange fruits I don't have a name for. They're tasty—sharp on my tongue, but with a sweet aftertaste—yet I can't really enjoy them. The danger hanging over us robs me of any comfort from the food, and I feel physical pain from sitting on the floor. I find myself squirming between bites, trying and failing to ease a persistent ache in my lower back.

  Imani misinterprets my squirming and touches my elbow with a kind smile. "Let me show you two the restroom," she offers. As we've both eaten all we want, Miyuki and I follow her to the far side of the cave.

  A flat stone wall stretches between the heavy golden doors and the waterfall, and for a moment I'm confused as to where she's leading us. Then she reaches out to touch the rock and it ripples in her hands. I jump, and my startled eyes adjust to recognize brown canvas. A huge curtain hangs from the ceiling, the shade on this side of the cavern just dark enough for the material to create the illusion of a wall.

  "There's just one toilet for all of us," she says, holding the canvas back. The cave curves sharply behind the curtain, carving out a private area about six paces deep. A long stone bench juts out of the wall, with a hole carved in the center and strips of cloth stacked nearby. "Everything goes down the hole. We pour water in after. Don't worry about the cloths; Handler brings more at first bell. Go ahead. We'll have a bath when you're finished, and then we'll all go to bed. We put the curtains up before fifth bell."

  I blink at her. "We'll have a bath together?" This doesn't seem to fit my idea of the word.

  Imani smiles at my question. "It's more like swimming. Or wading, if you can't swim. It'll be okay," she assures me.

  I don't consciously remember swimming but I must have done it before, as my body knows exactly what to do from the moment I dip my feet in the water. I feel vulnerable being naked in front of the other girls, knowing they can see the scar on my back. So I let my body take over, sinking low into the water and swimming quickly out to the deeper end of the small pool, keeping my back pointed towards the privacy of the far wall where the waterfall trickles down.

  "Aniyah! Aniyah, wait for me!"

  Sappho splashes out to join me, waving in her enthusiasm. I'd expected Miyuki to come out, but she squats on the shallow shelf near the lip of the pool, scrubbing silently at her arms and ignoring the rest of us. Imani sits near her, knees pulled up to her chin and the water reaching almost to her chest. Chloe drifts on her back in the deep water near the center, her long hair spreading in all directions around her.

  "I'm not going anywhere," I point out to Sappho, spreading my arms and treading water. Despite my earlier funk, I have to laugh at her infectious exuberance to reach me. "Unless there's an underwater tunnel or some such thing."

  She giggles, catching up to me with quick strokes. "Nope!" she says, shaking her head. "We've looked. There is a bottom, it's just pretty deep."

  "That's too bad," I tell her, but I hadn't really expected anything else. Wherever we were brought from, wherever the University is, I wouldn't think we could just swim there. Still, a thought nags at me. "Where does the water go?" I ask, turning my head to look at the waterfall behind me. "Why doesn't the pool overflow?"

  "We wondered about that, too," she says, undoing her ponytail and leaning back to dip her hair in the water. "One of the other girls—we called her 'Lane'—said the rock is porous. Water goes through, even though we can't."

  I bite my lip, unsure how to phrase the obvious question. "What happened to her?"

  Sappho stares up at the ceiling as she floats, avoiding my eyes. "The fighter she was sent to had a bad dream. Strangled her before he realized he wasn't in
the arena. He couldn't live with the guilt, so he threw his next match. We saw him die, but only learned what had happened to Lane afterwards."

  I cover my mouth as I listen in horror. Sappho sighs, a world of sadness in the sound. "We never knew her real name, just a tag on her clothes. Same as with Heather; they were both brought in before Hana was. Hana came up with the idea to wake newbies before their memories could be taken. She even woke herself up! Too strong for the drugs. It was amazing—and a little scary, knowing we could be killed."

  There's pride in her voice as she talks about Hana, admiring her bravery. "You were there for that?" I'd assumed Hana was the oldest from the way they all deferred to her.

  She smiles, sorrowful reminiscence playing over her soft features. "Oh, yes. I was here for Hana, and Chloe and Imani after her. Heather was here already when I was brought in, which makes her the oldest now. And I've been here for others. They're gone now, though."

  How many? I think, and immediately push the thought aside. No, I don't want to know. I'm sad enough already about a girl I'll never meet and whose name I'll never learn. "If Hana arrived after you, how did you know your name?" I ask, casting about for another topic.

  Sappho grins at my question and bobs in the water until she's vertical again, inches away from me. I'm very aware of how naked we both are, but the close proximity doesn't seem to bother her. "I had my name tattooed on me," she brags with a giggle, "along with everything else."

  She's not lying about that. Her entire body is a canvas of shy maidens, beautiful mermaids, horned succubi, and twisting dragons. Tiny black birds fly across her collarbone and rise over her shoulder while colorful little butterflies climb the back of her neck into her hairline. She extends her left arm to me, twisting so I can see the soft inner flesh of her upper arm. Words are there, a scrolling script written in letters so small I have to squint to read them in the shade.