Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  That fight won, Siray turned again, looking to see where else she might be needed. Yet although Kovi was down, Baindan and Zale seemed to have fared okay, both just now turning away from their own opponents, who lay or knelt on the sand, defeated. The battle was over.

  Siray blinked in the brightness of the arena as she gazed around, watching those who were still conscious try to stand. Reaching up to wipe away the sweat running down her nose, she grimaced in pain, looking down at her shoulder.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Siray glanced up in surprise and saw Baindan standing beside her. She raised her other arm, tentatively touching her collarbone to see how bad the damage was. ‘I’m not sure—I was hit here’—she pointed roughly to the inner edge of her shoulder, ‘and it’s tender to move.’

  Baindan looked where she was pointing. ‘How bad is it?’

  Siray pressed her lips together and tensed as she moved her arm gently. The pain was like a hot knife in her shoulder and she breathed out in a rush. ‘It’s not too bad.’ She looked at Baindan, not wanting him to think her weak, slightly annoyed at him in case he thought so already.

  Baindan’s grey eyes were deadly as they burned. ‘Who did that to you?’ His voice was low, the words spoken as if he were forming each one carefully.

  ‘Who did what?’ Now Zale was arriving beside them.

  Baindan’s head flicked around to look at Zale, and Siray’s pulse quickened once more as she saw the look of challenge that shot between the two males.

  Baindan turned his head slowly away from Zale, his eyes coming to rest on Siray again. ‘Siray’s injured,’ he told the other reluctantly.

  Siray’s pleasure at the attention of the two males died quickly. She didn’t need them worrying over her—she was tougher than both of them put together. ‘I’m fine. Just need to rest it a bit,’ she told Zale casually, pointing to her shoulder. Then she turned back to Baindan. ‘And it was Melora, but she’s down for now.’ Her smile was pure smugness.

  Baindan opened his mouth to say something, but the drawling voice of Master Herrin cut him off.

  ‘Move out the way,’ ordered Herrin gruffly, then he proceeded to call forth the next two units.

  The voice of command made something in Siray want to obey quickly. Master Herrin was the authority here—and authority should be respected. Or feared. Maybe both.

  As she, Baindan, and Zale moved off the sand that glittered here and there with specks of red, Siray saw that the unconscious forms of Melora and two other males in her unit had already been carried off by others. Genlie was supporting Kovi back to the main group of captives, and the other two males from Melora’s group were walking back together, one of them limping. Siray grinned at the sight—they had won. Were stronger than the others.

  As Siray headed to rejoin the larger group of captives, Wexner, Loce, Kinna, Tamot, and Annbov passed them. It was their turn now to fight.

  To Siray, their battle against unit three seemed to finish quickly and with a similar result, mostly thanks to Wexner and his experience. As the opposing unit charged Wexner’s group, he had Loce, Tamot, and Kinna break one way, and he and Annbov went the other. This simple tactic caused instant confusion amongst the members of the other unit, giving Wexner and the others a precious moment in which to turn back on their opponents and rapidly take two of them down.

  Siray observed that Wexner didn’t rush in to disable his opponents, but neither did he waste energy. He was an efficient fighter—block once and then one, two, three strikes with his weapon, each landing in quick succession on the vulnerable parts of his opponent’s body, and they were down.

  The efficiency of his attack clearly alarmed the remaining two members of the opposing unit, their concern swiftly turning to resentment as they both rushed to attack Wexner.

  Observing their charge across the sand, Siray’s own anger flared and she yearned to join in the fight. But her orders had been clear, so she resigned herself to watching impatiently as Wexner, Tamot, and Loce quickly knocked down the remaining two enemies. She was sure their battle had been completed in less time than hers, and it looked like no one on their side had really been injured either. Envious, Siray mused over this for a moment and decided that it was the element of surprise that had been the decider in this encounter. Something she would have to remember for next time.

  Next time. Her pulse pounded at the thought. She wondered when Herrin would let them fight again. Maybe she could do another round against Melora … seeing as she’d left her alive.

  Hang on—I almost killed her? Something in Siray’s mind seemed to flicker, allowing the errant thought, before the same feeling of complete confidence took over again and the odd thought was gone.

  As Wexner’s group rejoined them all, Herrin had the next two units moving out on the sand, repeating the process until all twelve units had gone through the vicious exercise.

  As per the previous day, the healers filed out of the tunnel and quickly tended to Melora, Kovi, and the other captives who had been knocked unconscious or injured, reviving some using the vials of strong, clear liquid and applying healing strips as required.

  Standing off to the side amongst her friends, Siray watched Melora regain consciousness, her scars stretching slightly as she smiled with satisfied as the bruised female climbed unsteadily to her feet. She would happily knock Melora back down again, given the chance.

  When the final confrontation was over, and the healers had examined the last two units, Herrin commanded them to line back up, and he proceeded to stalk back and forth along the front line, his body rigid with agitation despite his scarred face being clear of emotion.

  ‘It seems I have much work to do in order to get your skills to where they need to be. Many of you forgot tactics and strategy and got lost in the heat of battle. While it is fine to let your anger fuel you, you must still keep your objective always foremost in your mind. Dispatching your opponent quickly and efficiently is only the short-term goal so that you can get closer to achieving your real objective. Whether you use brute force, surprise, skill with a weapon, or numbers to do this doesn’t matter—what you don’t do is draw out the fight for your own pleasure.’

  Herrin turned and, after a brief moment of scanning, found first Siray’s, then Melora’s, face. He blankly held each of their stares in turn with his own cold eyes, a far more unpleasant experience than if he had glared at them. ‘Tomorrow we will try this again. And next time, I expect to see a difference.’

  His words promised dire consequences if there wasn’t.

  ‘Replace your weapons in the rack, run five laps, then return through the tunnel. Go.’

  Siray broke into a sprint across the sand with the others.

  ***

  Panting, Siray was on her fourth lap of the arena when the odd feeling returned. But this time, it didn’t go away. And slowly, some deep part of her that had shut down during most of the afternoon reawakened. She had fought with the other captives. Wanted to hurt them, beat them down into submission. Her stomach turned as she remembered the feel of her weapon impacting upon flesh and bone, and how close she had come to killing Melora.

  As bile rose in her throat, Siray stumbled, but she felt a hand speedily seize her elbow to steady her. After swallowing with some difficulty and taking a few big, steadying breaths, she snuck a look to her left.

  Where Zale was running and looking at her with concern.

  Recovering her balance, Siray shook her head at Zale to let him know she was fine, and increased her pace. She wasn’t fine, of course, far from it, but now was not the time to discuss it or think on it.

  So she focused instead on completing her fifth lap, counting her steps over and over. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

  She slowed with the others as they reached the end of the lap, moving into a walk as they all began forming a line at the exit to the tunnel, and she noted that some of the others were looking uncomfortable and confused. One particular male who she thoug
ht had fought in the first battle had actually gone pale, and he was looking hard at a female ahead of him with horror.

  And shame.

  Siray’s heart was pounding again, but this time it wasn’t from excitement or exertion.

  What had she been doing, agreeing to fight the others? Against her will, her mind was replaying images of other captives dropping during the fights—both in her own and in the other confrontations she had watched. Striking one male in the head with her staff … trying to choke the life from Melora not long after … two males in another battle that had looked like brothers, hacking away at each other with their staffs until one had fallen, bleeding, to the ground …

  She began to feel lightheaded. Something was wrong with her.

  Something was wrong with all of them.

  Before her, a shaking Genlie was turning slowly to look at her. ‘Siray … what did we do?’

  Images of Genlie battling fiercely before a downed Kovi erupted into Siray’s mind. During the confrontation, she had registered a difference in Genlie’s style of fighting. But now she realised that her friend hadn’t just fought bravely or passionately. She had fought with abandon. Without control or thought for survival. It had been win, or die trying. No middle ground. Genlie had been fuelled by anger. Just as she had.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she responded quietly to her friend, unable to meet Genlie’s eye as she remembered how she had thought about giving her friend a beating to remind her that you didn’t run from a fight. Siray’s stomach turned again as the captives ahead of her began to file through the exit, and she pivoted slightly away from Genlie.

  To look right into Herrin’s expressionless and scarred face.

  ‘So.’ Herrin was leaning against the wall by the door Siray was about to file through, a particular gleam in his eye. ‘I can see that you’re all finally coming down now. Good thing too—it would be a shame if we lost too many of you tonight.’ He shifted his position slightly and smiled knowingly.

  Siray heard Herrin’s words but couldn’t process them, lost as she was in trying to sort out what had happened to her during the fight and why she felt so ill and off-balance now. It was with great relief that she moved through the door behind Genlie and into the tunnel that connected to the yard beyond, away from Herrin’s amused posture.

  The captives were subdued as they progressed through the long corridor, their heads bent as each individual contemplated what they had done.

  Back in front of the cells, they immediately lined up, waiting for their next orders.

  Siray stood blandly looking at the back of Genlie’s head, disgust rising within her at her own lack of control.

  ‘I assume that Master Herrin made you all work hard today,’ came the voice of Captain Raque. ‘Or is it the drug that’s making you all look so miserable?’ His look of concern was twisted slightly by the slight uptilt of his mouth, although his delighted tone was what really expressed his amusement.

  Siray was shocked. They had been drugged?

  ‘Well, I’m always interested to see if anyone still has any lingering effects in their system. Anyone care to try me?’

  Siray held her breath. Surely no one would be so—

  ‘By the Mother, I’ll drop you like a rilander on a tree,’ came a shout from Siray’s right.

  She whipped her head around in time to see a large male charge out from the lines, and she heard someone else hiss after him, ‘Don’t be a fool! Get back here!’

  Siray’s jaw actually dropped open as she watched the overeager male sprint straight out at Captain Raque, barely believing that any drug could override sense in such a way. But then a second captive, this time from unit one, gave a shout.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t! He’s mine!’ A female streaked out from the lines, also rushing for Raque, her lighter frame allowing her to make up ground behind the large male as they both charged forwards.

  Raque’s smile stretched across his face, and he opened his palms outward, inviting anyone else to also step forwards.

  Then a small motion drew Siray’s eye. Beside her, Tamot was shaking, his fists clenched.

  ‘Tamot, don’t,’ she whispered.

  He turned to look at her, his expression pained, and Siray caught her breath. She knew that look in his eyes. Knew that despair. He was thinking of Jorgi.

  The image of Jorgi’s body sprawled on the ground, the rivulets of blood escaping from beneath his body, loomed in Siray’s mind. Her breathing began to hitch, but she told herself she was fine, that they had a plan, that they would get vengeance, just not this way. She wouldn’t be driven to do something so stupid by a mere chemical.

  But then another image popped unbidden into her mind. Deson. His eyes like glass as they stared through her, no longer registering anything in this world.

  Anger bloomed cold and hard inside her, an organism that seemed to feed on itself, and she had to dig her fingernails into her own palms for a moment, closing her eyes so she could look at just blackness, focussing on breathing deeply. This new rage, an icy rage, was stronger than the hot anger she had felt earlier that day. As if the drug they had been given, probably in their midday rations, fed on and amplified strong emotion. And there was nothing stronger, or more unshakeable, than anger built on grief.

  Siray stood tense and still for a few more breaths as she fought her own body and mind for control. Opening her eyes again, she saw Tamot looking at her, obviously still riding the same edge as the sounds of hand combat broke out. She knew that if one of them gave in, the other would follow.

  ‘Don’t give in, Tamot,’ she managed to hiss out through her teeth. ‘We’ll get our chance. Remember?’

  She hoped he remembered—recalled that they had a plan. Soon they would be out of here. Soon they would be fighting again for the right side. As Deson would want. As Jorgi would want. But they couldn’t do that if they gave in to anger now.

  That thought allowed Siray to focus enough that she was able to breathe evenly and finally unclench her fists.

  Tamot had apparently watched her silent struggle, and he gave her a reluctant nod. She watched as he, too, slowly relaxed and uncurled his hands. Reaching out to grip his shoulder, partly in support, partly to steady herself, Siray turned her attention back to assess the fates of the captives who had charged the captain.

  She wasn’t surprised at all to see that the male who had been the first to leave the formation was already down, a crumpled heap behind Captain Raque, who had then apparently turned around and was now dealing with the angry female.

  The captain easily dodged a number of quick strikes that the female threw, then crouched low and struck out viciously at the female’s midsection with a snapping punch.

  The female, whose hands had moved into an open-bladed attack towards the captain’s head, had no defence against the blow, the force of which could be seen reverberating up through her body and which caused her to stumble back a step.

  The captain wasn’t done, though, and as the female’s head flicked forwards as her stomach caved, he almost casually reached up and landed an uppercut to her chin before throwing a blurred left hook into her cheek.

  The female’s body resembled the straw figures Siray had once attacked, her figure bouncing around from the hits before she simply fell in the direction that the left hook had finally sent her body. She didn’t move after she hit the ground.

  The captain looked up, straightening his bent knees. Took a breath. ‘Anyone else?’ His voice held a dangerous note, and Siray knew that the next person to leave the line would not survive.

  She felt Tamot’s muscles tighten in his shoulders once more, and she gave him yet another squeeze. Another reminder.

  ‘I guess not,’ Raque said, smiling smugly, an echo of the smile Siray herself had given earlier that afternoon after her victory over Melora. It made her feel ill all over again.

  Raque nudged the body of the female with his foot. ‘Have these two thrown into the pit. It’s about time their friend had so
meone to play with.’

  The captives all seemed to stiffen once more as they remembered the pit’s existence, and that of the female who had been thrown in there the previous morning.

  The Faction guards followed their orders, dragging the bodies of the male and female across to the pit, then lifting them bodily over the wooden posts and rolling them in.

  Siray winced as she imagined the drop and the bruises both would wake up with. If they woke up.

  A sudden howl from the pit made many of the captives flinch, and the hairs on the back of Siray’s neck stood up.

  The captain merely smiled at the noise and opened his arms wide. ‘Food barrels are there.’ He pointed. ‘Enjoy.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A FEW OF the captives made a mad rush for the barrels. Siray assumed those who did so were the ones whose bodies were still processing the chemicals from the food they’d consumed earlier. Meanwhile, the rest of them headed over hesitantly.

  She also had no doubt that the male and female who had charged Raque had taken double helpings of the drug-laced food earlier that day, and she thanked the Mother that she’d had the good sense to have only one serving.

  Even when Siray and her group reached the barrels, they had to wait while the four captives who were still under the influence of the drug fought over who would be first to collect their portion.

  The fights were short and brutal, with none of the captives holding back. Not one of them submitted, and it became a sort of rapid knockout round, with two of them overpowering the other two before they then turned on each other.

  Siray watched in disgust as the last one standing limped over to the barrels to their meal, but then she looked away from the sight. Had she and others appeared similar when they had fought Melora’s unit earlier? Her stomach curled as she considered the three captives now sprawled across the ground, in varying states of consciousness.

  Stepping around and over bruised limbs and bloodied faces, Siray joined the queue at the barrels—the first orderly line for food any of them had made here. Sneaking quick glances at the faces before and behind her, including those of her friends, Siray realised that they were all unsettled by the effect of the drug on their behaviour, what they had done, and even more by what they had just seen.