by Joy Spraycar
The Armors handed them each a double-sided, six-inch blade, one of Zalphia’s favorite weapons. She was terror with a blade, fast and dangerous.
The two Glads circled each other. The man lunged, sweeping his arm across Zalphia’s abdomen, but she sucked it in, avoiding the serrated edge of the knife. At the same time, her own blade flashed in the sunlight as she drove it down, taking a chunk from the upper arm of her opponent. The Lisban’s weapon clattered to the ground.
Zalphia’s elbow followed the line of her weapon, catching the chin of her opponent and sending his head careening sideways. In one continuous motion, she spun around, sending a heavy calf into the man’s knees and sweeping his feet from under him. The Lisban hit the ground like a sack of stones.
Zalphia could have tortured this Glad for much longer, but the fluttering inside returned and convinced her to end it quickly. In one swift move, she sprang like a cat onto a mouse, pinning the Lisban to the ground. The evil claws atop her fingers caught the sun and sent a shimmer of light across the front row of clubbers as they sliced into his chest and ended the match.
The strange rippling inside occurred again. Zalphia didn’t stand with the heart like the Clubbers expected. She threw it down and marched back to her Armor. The crowd roared.
This time he handed her a six-foot stick of hardwood for her next match. While they cleared the arena floor, she glanced at the crowd. Nothing seemed different from when she met Max here, but a feeling of closeness to him washed through her. Zalphia scanned the faces around her. No Max.
The next opponent’s gate shuddered up, and Zalphia strode forward.
This guy was at least Zalphia’s size and definitely more seasoned than the last opponent. They circled. The Glad swung his stick, and Zalphia jumped it, cracking her own on his back as he passed. The Glad brought up an elbow, catching Zalphia in the jaw, and caused her to stagger backward. The loss of balance didn’t stop the backswing of Zalphia’s stick to the rear of her opponent’s head. The man fell to one knee.
Twirling around, Zalphia hoped to take him out with a sideswipe, but he wasn’t there. Instead, his stick whacked against Zalphia’s back. Her turn to drop to one knee. She immediately rolled to the side, bringing her stick up between her opponent’s legs. He flipped over, landing on his feet.
Using the stick as a balance point, Zalphia pushed to a standing position. As the other Glad swung for her head, Zalphia leaned back. The stick barely missed hitting her face. She straightened. Using the moment of hesitation from her opponent, Zalphia’s stick shot out, striking him between the eyes. The rest was just for show because the last blow ended his life.
A jagged breath was all Zalphia could muster before the Armor relieved her of her stick. How could she defeat the next opponent when it was all she could do to breathe? The strange flickering teased her insides.
“It is all right, Zalphia.”
Her skin prickled. That voice!
She whipped her head to the side, and the Armor’s dark eyes met her gaze.
He shoved a lightning stick into her hand. “I will help with this one.”
That was Max’s voice. She was sure of it.
“Shhh,” he whispered. For a moment, his eyes shifted to the blue she remembered before becoming dark again.
It had been him before. He was here. He was the Armor beneath the silvery helmet.
“We would not want to give things away,” he whispered.
She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and bury her face against his shoulder. If only he would pull her against him, this would all end. She pictured them lying on the skin beneath the stars.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, and her skin warmed with his touch.
She jerked back to the arena. “Ah...” She couldn’t gather her thoughts. His musky smell wafted around her, and every nerve sizzled.
“Fight the best you can.” He winked.
She stared at the stick in her hand. “This is supposed to be hand to hand.”
“Never was. Platy only wanted you unarmed. We cannot have such unfairness, now can we?”
She wanted to cry and dance and leap with joy. Wanted to feel his skin against hers. But instead, she brushed the sweat from her eyes and shook her head.
“But...” Confusion filled her mind.
“I know. Do not worry.”
The Afri strode into the arena. She was every bit as tall as Max and almost as large.
“How does a girl get to look like that?” Zalphia whispered.
Max shook his head. “You can do this.”
“I can’t. Platy took away my mind powers. And look at her.” Zalphia trembled.
“I will help you.” Max strode back to his position.
If he hadn’t just spoken to her, Zalphia would have been in a panic. The dark-skinned girl grabbed her lightning stick and circled. For the first time in months, Zalphia missed the ability to use her mind powers.
The Afri narrowed her eyes, faked a lunge, and shot from the left. Zalphia dodged right, dancing directly into the line of fire.
The shock hurt worse than she remembered from any lightning stick. Zalphia’s hands shook, and she rested her own weapon against the ground to remain on her feet.
A second shot landed, driving her to her knees. As she fell, she managed to squeeze her trigger at the precise moment the tip of her rod fell past the Afri.
The hulking frame of her dark opponent twitched.
In spite of the pain, Zalphia noticed her adversary’s weapon aimed at her head. Standing wasn’t an option. Instead, she rolled forward and fired again, narrowly escaping what could have been the final blow.
If Max was going to help, now would be an excellent time. As if he determined the same thing, the girl seemed to freeze in place.
Zalphia still twitched as shock waves of pain coursed through every nerve, making getting to her feet seem to take hours. But if she didn’t take advantage of her opponent’s hesitation, this battle would be lost. At last, having reached a crouched position, Zalphia squeezed her trigger, sending another lightning bolt racing across the space that divided her from the Afri.
The moment the blow landed, Zalphia managed to regain her feet. She shot again, knowing that she needed to gain every ounce of strength she could muster if she wished to win this bout.
Her opponent’s eyes rolled back in her head as she crumpled to the ground, her weapon falling off to the side. Zalphia managed to squeeze off one more shot as she wobbled toward the incapacitated warrior, ensuring the girl would remain prone.
The jerking of the Afri’s extremities convinced Zalphia she had time to end this match and, once again, be the victor.
The bumping deep inside halted her footsteps. But she had to finish this. Now! Forcing her legs to move, Zalphia staggered to her opponent, who still lay on the ground, her eyes rolled back in her head.
Zalphia fell to her knees and positioned herself for the kill. The rumbling within caused a momentary hesitation as she raised the wicked claws into position.
In that instant, pain raced through her muscles, and her body arched back. She’d been hit again. But how? Her opponent still lay on the ground. A second shot sent Zalphia crashing down beside the Afri. Then a third blow made all physical movement impossible.
Who? Why?
A trainer suddenly appeared beside them, probably the Afri’s. “Unfair advantage,” he yelled.
The two lightning sticks sat in the dust, side by side. The trainer bent down, glared at Zalphia, and picked up his own Glad’s weapon. Then he stood, raising it into the air. “I demand an inquiry.” He turned to face the main section where the Arena Board would be seated.
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Immediately, two Armors rushed in, grabbed Zalphia by her arms, and hauled her to her feet. She fought to gain control of her twitching muscles. When she did, an elbow shot into the jaw of the guard to her left. With her free hand, she flipped the other onto his back.
“He’s lying,”
she screamed as she lunged toward her opponent’s trainer. “That’s his Glad’s stick.”
The trainer pointed the stick and fired.
Zalphia fell to her knees. No, this was wrong. She had to defend herself. It wasn’t her weapon, couldn’t they see that? This entire match had been unfair.
The trainer fired twice more in rapid succession, and Zalphia flopped onto her back. The guards once more hefted her between them.
“That’s not my stick,” she murmured again under her breath.
One of the guards punched her in the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. Blackness rolled at the edge of her vision. She coughed and shook her head. She should have known better. Glads had no say inside the arena. When she managed to draw a breath and her vision cleared, she glanced around.
The Clubbers booed as Zalphia was dragged from the arena. Without someone to defend her actions, the crushing stones were assured. Where was Platy? Platy would tell them that she hadn’t carried a double-charged stick. Platy would know the truth. What about Max? He’d save her, wouldn’t he?
Wait! She wasn’t even supposed to have a weapon. Platy arranged for this fight to be fought with her bare hands. Zalphia had been sent into the arena to die.
Zalphia gulped. Only one way she was supposed to leave this arena.
In a body bag.
No, Platy wouldn’t help her.
What about Max? He was the one who gave her the forbidden weapon. She hoped they wouldn’t find him. That they would never figure out who he was. Who they were together. His part in this would surely come up in the inquiry, and she would pay for the strange Armor giving her the lightning stick.
The guards hauled her through a heavy wooden door and down under the Glad cages to the dungeon. Those who refused to fight were held here until the time came to meet their end. They threw her onto the dirt floor of the cell, slammed the iron bars, and locked them. Shutting the upper door behind them, they left Zalphia in total darkness.
Confused and disoriented, she pulled herself into the back corner and replayed the incident over in her mind.
Platy wanted her dead. After all Zalphia had suffered at the hands of her trainer, it was now crystal clear that this was to have been her execution. This match was meant to be her last. Platy’s final revenge.
It made sense. Why else would Zalphia be pitted against another Glad without a weapon while her opponent held a double-charged lightning stick? Platy had given her up for slaughter, but somehow, Max was there to even the playing field.
Zalphia let her head fall into her hands. So much she didn’t understand. Platy could have let her be. Left her and Max in the wilderness. Instead, her trainer hunted them down, dragged Zalphia away from Max, and made up an outlandish story about what happened, only to orchestrate the execution of her Glad just a few months later. It made no sense at all.
Why couldn’t Platy have let them be?
Zalphia knew why. No one bested Platy. Not a trainer. Not a Clubber. Not even an arena general. No, Platy recaptured Zalphia to make her pay for her betrayal. Death had always been the ultimate goal.
Looking back at her life, Zalphia realized when she traveled here the first time and faced Maximillion, she was supposed to have died then.
She sighed. Platy would not defend her.
Zalphia sat in the dark hole and waited. Her only hope now rested with Max. His face loomed in her mind. She would hold it there and wait. Maybe he could find a way out of this predicament.
Yes, Max would find a way to free her. But as hour after hour dragged by and he didn’t appear, Zalphia’s hope faded. Nothing but darkness and the distant sound of cheering from the Clubbers reached her. Maybe Max had been captured, too. Where would that leave her? At dawn, those in the dungeons faced the stones. If no one came, that would be her fate.
Tears brimmed. She let them fall. After all, no one would witness her weakness here, in the dark.
CHAPTER 14
The sound of matches being fought overhead faded. Zalphia remained huddled in the corner, wondering what her fate would be. It would only be a matter of time before they came and took her before the Arena General.
If she was allowed to tell her side of the story and let them know she was to fight unarmed, it might make a difference. The General would have to consider that Platy gave her up to be slaughtered. But then he would know Zalphia wasn’t even supposed to have a weapon. Having the double-charged stick would then seem plausible. But it was illegal to fight an armed Glad with an unarmed one.
Of all the matches she observed from the safety of her cell, she’d never witnessed anything similar, where one competitor faced such unfairness. Lack of training or skill was always the deciding factor of who was victorious and who met their end inside the stone walls.
It didn’t matter. The General would never allow her side to be heard. Frankly, she doubted that the General would even care.
Overwhelming fatigue caused her to sag against the moist, cold stones. This was more than the normal exhaustion she felt after fighting. Pain, despair, and weakness all rolled into a ball that dragged at her limbs like the anchor of a ship, halting any movement.
Max had been in the arena, but somehow managed to change his appearance so no one would recognize him. If they discovered she wasn’t supposed to have a weapon, it might give his identity away, and he would be punished also. She shook her head. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen. If it did, she would be stuck in this dingy hole all night. Come morning, she would face certain death.
Even if Max somehow escaped detection, how would he sneak her out of this dungeon and past all the guards, Armors, trainers, and physicians who constantly milled in the arena alleyways? Maybe he’d find a way. How she wished she could reach out to him and feel the warmth of his essence. But even that comfort had been taken.
Damn Platy. Hopefully, she, too, would suffer because of this match.
The weight on Zalphia’s mind and heaviness in her body finally won out. She lay down on the slimy dirt beneath her. Lacing her fingers together, she rested her cheek on them and pulled her knees to her abdomen. The floor slurped with her movements, and a chill raced up her spine. What sort of creatures inhabited the muck beneath her? The thought seemed insignificant in light of her other problems, but she shivered nonetheless. As if curling into a ball was their cue, her eyelids slid shut, and she drifted off.
Dreams flooded her mind. Dreams of her and Max, living in peace with their small child clinging to her garments. Everything she wanted, but then darkness gathered around her. The sound of breastplates clinking sent her rushing outside to warn Max. If he fled, they wouldn’t find him. Max escaped into the trees as flames burst from the door of her home. The guards surrounded her, grasping arms and restraining her while her child was dragged away. Four men kept her still as the one holding her precious babe pulled a knife from his belt. Flames billowed and growled behind him, the light dancing on the wicked blade. Screams ripped from her throat as the sharpened edge bit into the child’s fleshy neck and red spurted out, staining the ground. She tore free and sprinted to the youngster’s side, cradling him in her arms as the light faded from his eyes.
Zalphia started, moaned, and rolled over. The dream began again.
This time, she ran into the trees, her child clutched to her breast. Max remained behind to protect their escape, but the guards overpowered him, leaving him bleeding on the ground. When the soldiers left, Zalphia returned. She slipped Max’s head into her lap and begged him not to leave her. He never spoke. His eyes fluttered and then closed as he slipped away. Over and over the dream played out. No matter what Zalphia did, either the child or the man she loved so much died.
Finally she awoke. More exhausted than when her eyes closed, she feared trying to sleep again. The anguish, left from her dreams, sent shivers racing through her. Images of Max and their child and the many ways in which they were killed rolled over in her mind. Even though she no longer slept, the panic she felt in the dreams rem
ained.
Suddenly the hinges on the door leading to the dungeon creaked, drawing her attention. Each breath she took seemed to echo in the stillness. The door latch clicked as it again fell into place. In the dim light, Zalphia could barely make out the bars just a few feet away, and it was impossible to see anything beyond that. Maybe it was Platy. Sitting up, she held her breath and listened as soft footsteps traveled closer.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Shhh.”
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Zalphia.”
Her heart leapt at the sound of Max’s voice, and she scurried on her hands and knees to the bars, no longer caring what she might encounter on the squishy floor.
“Oh, Max. You came.”
Through the iron rods, she could barely see his outline.
He knelt next to the cell, and his face appeared. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
She wrapped her hands around the unyielding iron and pressed her nose between the bars. “Now that you’re here, I am.”
He traced her cheek with one finger.
A lump formed in her throat. How she missed this. The months of separation seemed like a sandstorm that stung her mind and pulled the water from her mouth. Now, in one moment, he quenched her thirst and blanketed her mind with peace. They belonged together, and his mere touch sent tingles racing across her skin. Zalphia sighed. What she wouldn’t give at this moment to lie in his arms, to have him hold her against the comfort of his massive chest. That was impossible with the bars separating them.
At least she could feel his touch. She reached for his hand and curled his fingers in hers. She wished they were back in the woods. If only they could leave all this madness behind.
He stared at their hands, folded together.
“I’m so glad they didn’t arrest you.”
“They have not yet asked questions about why you had a weapon, just argued about the double-charged one.”
Zalphia laid her other hand against his cheek. “That’s good, right? Now we can escape before they come looking for you, too.”