Miri used the bone pole to scrape off the hardened bits of slop from the edge of the runoff. The main drainage channels were a series of massive holes five yards across that were laid out in a long, horizontal line. The city was built along a sloping mountainside, with the nobles and their underground springs flowing downhill until it reached the less wealthier sections of Lethe by dint of gravity. By the time the aqueducts had drained out into the slave areas, the once pure water had been turned into a nauseating sludge, for the sewage system was interconnected with it. Many who lived in the lower parts would purchase water directly from the great houses, for they preferred to pay rather than leave their lives to chance by drinking the runoff. Slaves had no such luxury, and many of them died out due to the constant outbreaks of diseases associated with the contaminated water. Kind masters would occasionally make exceptions, and their favorite slaves were given pure water to drink, while the lowest of the low would have to make do. Mothers would sell themselves into bondage just to have some precious gold coins in order to buy water for their children.
When she turned her head and noticed Buarl waking over to Chenyk, she knew something terrible had happened. Buarl’s legs and the lower part of his tunic were stained with excrement. Miri turned around and started walking towards them, the bone pole still in her hands. She figured that once she went on this path then there would be no turning back, but she had to know the fate of her friend.
Both slave-masters were in a heated discussion but they quickly noticed Miri making her way over to them. Chenyk took a few steps forward and raised his hand to make her stop. “Miri, what are you doing? Get back to work- now!”
Miri stood less than ten yards from them. “What happened to Zuuaz?”
Buarl sneered at her. “It is lethal for any slave to speak out against their masters like this. You had better be silent and go back to work, or this shall end in your death. Consider this your final warning, slave.”
Miri stayed where she was. “Where is Zuuaz?”
Chenyk placed a hand on Buarl’s elbow, hoping to dissuade him from further conflict in order to keep to the schedule, but his partner refused to be disrespected any further. Buarl uncoiled his whip and snapped it loose, drawing an instant gasp from the other slaves. Chenyk’s worst fears came to fruition, as the other thralls stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the unfolding scene.
“You will suffer before you die, slave,” Buarl said as he lurched forward and snapped his whip at her.
Miri saw the length of the scourge coming, and she put up the pole in front of her body, catching the tip of the whip as it coiled around the rod and held it fast. She dashed forward and smashed the rear end of the pole onto Buarl’s elbow. Even though the slave-master had thick arms, the pole connected with the bone in his joint and almost shattered it. Buarl howled in pain as he dropped the whip, though his other hand was clenched into a fist and he brought it down to her face. Miri had fought like this before and she reacted by using the center of the rod she was holding to block it.
Buarl screamed like a caged beast as he broke the ligaments in his other hand. He had never fought a slave that was as fast as this and his fear of her was suddenly realized. Buarl tried to back away, but Miri caught him at the side of his head with another blow from the pole she was using. Bright flashes of light swam in front of his vision as he dropped to his knees and slumped over backwards, stunned.
Chenyk was aghast, but he could not let this offense go unpunished. He tried to pull out his whip, but Miri sensed it as she moved into range and brought down the pole on the top of his head. Chenyk fell backwards as his head slammed onto the cobbled ground.
Several guards that were stationed at the upper levels above saw what had happened and three of them came down the nearby stone steps. Unlike the slavers, they were armed with metal tipped bone spears. The guards quickly surrounded Miri, who had dropped her pole onto the ground since she realized that there was no chance she could overcome them. More guards came down the steps as they quickly fanned out and got the other slaves back to work. Miri was escorted out and into a nearby dungeon.
Wiping the blood from her nose, Miri decided to wait and allow the crimson liquid to dry on her bruised forearm since she had no rag to clean it with. The guards had worked her over and one even tried to have his way with her, but she fought them like a crazed animal. In the end they decided it was easier to rape the more docile slaves in the other cells rather than her, so they just bloodied her even more. It had been several days and most of the bleeding had already stopped, though every part of her body still ached with purplish bruises. All that she could hope for now was a swift execution for the law required it. A slave had no rights.
When the crystal door swung open she had a feeling that it would be the guards once more, this time to escort her to the execution plaza. But instead of the Watchers, it was a man wearing an elaborately sewn tunic and had shoes with studded gemstones on them. The stranger smiled at her, his orange dyed hair styled in a bowl cut. She sensed he was a noble, since his paunchy frame and plump jowls indicated that he was well fed.
“A good morrow to you, slave,” the stranger said. She noticed that he wore numerous jeweled rings on his fat fingers.
“If you are here to escort me to face my death then there is no need for pleasantries,” she mumbled, as her cheeks were still swollen from the beatings. “If you wish to avail yourself of my body for your pleasure, then I would suggest you seek it elsewhere, for my skin is more purple than pale.”
“I seek neither of those things, slave,” the man said. “My name is Magub, first husband to the matriarch of House Oranto. Have you heard of us?”
Miri sighed. “I cannot say that I have.”
Magub looked away and nodded. “Yes, yes. I am not surprised that you have not heard of us. We are but a minor house, not as powerful as say House Aranida or their rivals, House Kentis. It is our business when one of our slaves revolts against their masters and that is why I am here.”
“Because I belong to you?”
“In a sense, yes,” the nobleman said. “You were able to stun two of our slavers without so much as a scratch on you. I would have come by sooner had I heard, but I was only told of the details this morrow. I can see that the Watchers did take a bit of revenge for the disturbance you caused, but I have given them enough gold to ensure that they will not harm you any further.”
Miri stared at him. “If you paid the guards not to hurt me anymore then there must be something that you want.”
“As a matter of fact there is,” Magub said. “You see, in addition to the slaves we employ to clean the garbage from the sewers and then sell it as fertilizer, we also run a school, a place of learning, so to speak.”
“What kind of school?”
Magub’s eyes gleamed. “It is a fighter’s school. During the early days of the city, House Oranto had the reputation of training the greatest pit fighters the world had ever known. We were a powerful house back in those days, before the last few thousand cycles. I love my family, and we yearn to reignite our forgotten glories.”
“You want me to fight for you?” What makes you think I am a fighter?”
“I have heard rumors of a Striga that came upon the city gates several moons ago,” he said. “These stories also told of her having fought and killed a high executor belonging to the Order of Magi. Even stripped of her powers, a former Striga such as that would still be formidable against other pit fighters.”
Miri snorted. “Assuming that these tales were about me, what makes you think I would fight for you?”
“One way that a slave can free himself is to become a renowned pit fighter and buy his way to freedom,” Magub said. “Those rumors that told of a Striga from the wastes also mentioned a boy who was with her.”
Despite her pain, Miri stood up. He must be talking about Rion. “Do you know where this boy is? I need to know!”
Magub chuckled. “All in good time. Of course, it is ass
umed that you would be willing to become a pit fighter for us. If you refuse, then you will be escorted to the execution plaza later today, and all hope of ever finding that child will be gone. So what shall it be?”
The journey to the Oranto compound was faster than she had anticipated. Escorted by Magub and his bodyguards, Miri was led past the freemen district and they soon entered the city center, with its numerous temples and marketplaces. Instead of being situated up in the noble’s quarter, the manse of House Oranto was beside the walled gardens, where one could observe the many rows of otus plants being carefully tended to from its upper floors. It was clear that the family had indeed fallen on hard times, and longed to return back to prominence by any means possible. The former protector of the Arum Navar was accompanied into the outer courtyard and stood before an elevated limestone staircase. An old woman wearing the customary purple-colored chiton dress of a matriarch stood looking down at her. The matriarch was tall and thin, with special clay rubbed on her skin daily to smooth out the wrinkles. Her silvery locks were curled into ringlets above her forehead; neck and arms fastened with elaborate jewelry. She was surrounded by numerous slaves of both sexes.
Magub blew a kiss at the matriarch before hurrying up the stairs and soon stood beside her. “Matriarch Silili, allow me to introduce to you Miri, the Striga from the wastes. A most excellent addition to our stable.”
Miri knew enough to at least acknowledge the ones who saved her life. She bowed slightly, but kept silent.
Silili gave her first husband a haughty look. “Does it talk, or did the guards rip its tongue out?”
Magub’s face reddened. He threw a glance at what first seemed to be a young male slave, before silently gesturing at Miri to answer.
Miri had learned that the matriarchs could have as many spouses as they pleased, so it was apparent that there was some intrigue within the walls of this place. She guessed that the younger man was probably another husband, or a concubinus. Whatever the case, she needed allies among the family if she was to free herself from bondage. “My apologies, Matriarch. I am not accustomed to the ways of proper etiquette in Lethe, for I am an outsider of these parts. My name is Miri, and I was formerly the protector of the Arum Navar tribe.”
A faint smile came over the matriarch’s face. “Ah, a protector. I have heard that the barbarians in the wastes value protectors highly since they defend their tribes against marauders and various desert beasts. You must have some knowledge of fighting then, I take it?”
Miri nodded. “I have, my lady. I have fought all manner of men and beasts.”
“Just a few days ago, she was able to overpower several of the sewer slavers,” Magub added.
“And paid for it with her beauty it seems,” Silili said, acknowledging the bruises on Miri’s body. “Nothing broken, I hope?”
Despite her aches and pains, Miri made a slight smile. “None, my lady.”
“Know this,” the matriarch said. “We never force any slave to become a pit fighter, it must be voluntary. The life of someone who kills for sport is generally a quick one. Luck plays a role in survival, not just one’s skill. A slight wound may become infected, and could eventually kill the man who otherwise takes care of his own body. Most battlers die within their first cycle, and only the few who are blessed by the gods shall ever afford enough gold to be free. Therefore I ask you now, do you wish to become a fighter for House Oranto?”
“I do,” Miri said tersely. She had already made up her mind that this would be a quicker way out than the slave pits.
“Then be aware that you must be ready to give your life for this house,” Silili said. “Loyalty and the willingness to face death in order to preserve the honor of House Oranto is paramount. If you ever attempt to escape, harm a family member or slave without permission, then your execution will be swift and sure. Only I shall ever have the power to declare you free, and that road shall be long and hard. As of this moment, your life now belongs to my stable. Kneel now and swear before all the gods of your pledge.”
Miri bent down to one knee and bowed her head. “I swear to all the gods that I shall be loyal to House Oranto.”
The side gate was made of obsidian and it opened slightly. A well-muscled man wearing a leather cuirass and carrying a short sword came out of it, then walked over to them. He kept his right hand on the hilt of his weapon as he stood beside Miri. The man’s face had a long running scar from the top of the forehead and down onto the cleft of the chin. His right ear was missing, along with patches of his hair.
Silili gestured at her. “Rise. The man beside you is Todrul, he is a former pit fighter who gained his freedom and now serves as head instructor for my stables. You will obey his every command.”
Miri stood up and bowed once more before being led to the side gate by Todrul. When she made it past the flank entryway the whole place changed in character. The stone sculptures and rock gardens of the main villa were replaced by a much larger courtyard with training equipment. She could see racks containing blunt weapons of bone, along with a massive potter’s wheel that spun a stone column with rough protrusions that served as a training obstacle. The entire enclosure was subdivided into smaller arenas, including an actual pit for practice fighting. The stone walls around the place had been lengthened to discourage would be escapees. There was a balcony overlooking the whole school and was obviously used by the matriarch as an observation point.
The courtyard was filled with mostly men and a smattering of women who were training with blunt weapons in mock duels. A number of armed guards with spears and leather gambesons stood dutifully near the entryways, ready to deal with potential trouble. Miri could hear the grunts and shouts as the fighters were being put through their paces by their trainers.
Todrul slackened his pace until he was walking beside her. “I heard of your exploits in the sewers. If you try any of that on me, I will split you wide open. Do you understand?”
Miri nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, gesturing at a shadowy entryway. “Through there. You will start your training tomorrow.”
Miri made her way into a dim corridor and ended up in a room with a horizontal slab of stone in the middle. Along the walls were embedded clay shelves that seemed to hold numerous pots. Standing at the opposite side of the room was an old woman dressed in rags, her back turned away from Miri while she busily arranged small strips of leather on a stone table.
“Greetings,” Miri said softly, not really wanting to intrude.
“Strip and sit yourself on the slab,” the old woman said, not even turning around to face her.
Miri made her way to the stone bed. She took off her breast-cloth, then slipped off the loincloth before placing them both on the smooth floor by her feet. Then she sat up on the slab with a slight groan.
The old woman turned around and waddled slowly over to her. The crone had grey matted hair and her face was a mass of wrinkles. A pair of beady eyes was pinched into slits, yet it seemed to regard Miri with an eerie intensity. The voice that came out of her toothless mouth was raspy and dry. “I am Adaste, the healer of the stable. Open your mouth.”
Miri did as she was told. The healer’s skeletal hands rubbed at her gum and molars.
“Your teeth are healthy and still intact. That is a good sign of hardiness,” Adaste said while carefully examining the rest of Miri’s body. “Nothing seems broken, so your injuries are merely scratches and bruises.” The healer then stretched out her eyelids. “One of your eyes is bloodshot, but that too will pass. Can you see clearly?”
“Yes,” Miri said.
The old woman stood back while rubbing her hands with a damp rag. “You may clothe yourself again, girl. A few days of rest, and you shall be in proper shape once more.”
Miri put her clothes back on. “How long have you been a healer here?”
“Since the day I became free, for I was once a pit fighter like yourself,” Adaste said. “The matriarch may seem harsh at first, but she is a fa
ir master, and will reward loyalty and long servitude with eventual freedom. Alas, I fear that it is her candor that is holding back House Oranto.”
Miri was confused. “What do you mean?”
The old woman gave her a faint smile. “You are obviously an outsider. Lethe is not the fabled last city, she is a capital of deceit and illusion. In order to prosper in this godless place, one must be a master of lies and manipulation.”
Miri sighed. “You are correct. The moment I ventured into this forsaken world, everything is not what it seems.”
“You must always be on guard, and trust no one,” the healer said. “Everyone in Lethe seeks power, and will do so at any price.”
Miri stared at her. “Why are you telling me all this? I am but another pit fighter who shall die soon.”
“I have heard of you and I know a kindred spirit,” Adaste said. “Like yourself, I was once a Striga.”
Miri’s eyes opened wide. “But h-how did you?”
“I felt the softness at the back of your skull,” Adaste said. “That was where the healers of the Watch bore through your skull to remove a part of your mind.” The old woman turned her head sideways and placed a hand at the back of her own head. “It was done to me as well.”
Miri blinked several times as the tears began to form on her eyes. “They t-took away everything from me. The gift of Vis was my life, now I am … lost.”
Adaste moved closer to her and placed a reassuring hand on her trembling shoulders. “Hush, girl. You must not show any weakness in this place. Lethe devours her own children, and only the strong and the cunning survive here. If you wish to go on living, then focus on the task at hand. Learn from the trainers and hone your fighting skills. Your muscles are taut, and judging from your body it seems that you have the attributes to become a skilled fighter in the pits. Remember that men will be generally stronger than you, so you must use your quickness and speed to keep them from getting close. Was there any weapon that you focused on?”
City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2) Page 5