Eden, Dawn

by Archer Swift

Chapter 44

  As I fought to keep every muscle in my body from ossifying, I watched the portly Zikalic, who had dribbled hot liquid onto the arena floor earlier, shuffle to his feet and fluff his flowing garments out from his bulky frame. Playing herald, he puffed out his ample chest and at the top of his rotund voice, began to speak in the Zikalic language. The acoustics of the arena were remarkable; he needed no amplification. His voice was clear and powerful, even though I had no idea what he was saying.

  In immediate response, the lights of the entire Zika city dimmed. Instantly. At the flick of a switch? No longer was it midday light, an early-evening radiance now pervaded. Resplendent colours from the purple, green, red and blue lights above seemed to dance all around the arena. I couldn’t help but be impressed. It was almost romantic if the occasion, of course, could have been vastly different.

  On cue, the Zikalic royalty began to enter amid great pomp and ceremony and fanfare. Adorned in draping, ostentatious attire, they made those on the third-level look like ill-clad vagrants. And among the pretentious showboating Royals … drawn on leashes … many, many human pets. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a strained agitation begin to creep over us.

  “Remember, if you’ve lost a loved one or friend, eyes down! There’s nothing we can do if they happen to be in the crowd … you can only lose your res—”

  I heard a voice scream like a lost soul … from somewhere in the crowd, somewhere on level one, and the hair at the base of my neck bristled as my blood went cold. “Mummy! It’s me! Help!” It was so much softer than the trumpet blast, but like a harrowing caterwaul, it cut deeper.

  “Racheli?” I heard one of the older women in our number reply, the timbre of her voice high and trill. “Racheli! It’s my Racheli!”

  Oh, Hog’s breath! It’s Lily’s daughter.

  “Mummy, helllllpp!” Her piercing tone tore through my heart.

  “Sarah!” I yelled as I realised we needed to intervene. “Tend to Lily.”

  Sarah and Deborah tackled Lily, just as she was going to run in the direction of her daughter. As they collapsed in a frantic, muddled heap on the floor, the Zikalic, particularly on the third tier, rose to their feet, cheering and jeering. This was far more amusing than watching the pretentious Royals enter.

  “Mummyyyyyy!!” The shrill shriek echoed around the arena and goaded me into action.

  My eyes caught sight of the source of the scream: a young human girl among the Zikalic Royals. Yes, it was Lily’s Racheli. I recognised her despite the garish makeup paint. One of the youngest among us, arriving on Eden at the age of five, she was captured this past year. I had to act quickly.

  “Mummy!” she shrieked in a desperate and distraught wail. Clearly embarrassed, her red-eyed owner yanked hard on the leash around her neck, barking loudly in the Zika-tongue, but to no avail. Like a wild thing, cornered and traumatised, Racheli kicked and screeched, fighting feverishly to escape her captor. I needed to do something to calm her down, to prevent her from getting seriously hurt, to silence the growing, restive roar of the crowd.

  In haste, and without a plan, I bolted in Racheli’s direction.

  Pulling against her leash, more than ten strides high on the first level; Racheli strained over the guard railing; in tortured desperation, wanting to leap free. I knew that if she did go over the edge, it could well be a fatal fall. If her Zikalic owner held on to the leash, she’d hang herself.

  Oh, God, please!

  “Racheli!” I said, craning my neck to see her. “Racheli! It’s me, Ristan, from a southern clan. Do you remember me?” She seemed to calm down ever so slightly as her eyes focused on my face. I needed to keep talking.

  “Racheli, your mum is fine, um, just happy to see you alive.” She settled down as my words started to hit home. Even from my position on the ground, I could see the red marks around her neck, welts caused by the biting strap, obvious despite the amount of paint on her face.

  “It’s important that you stay where you are, for now. Just be brave, Racheli … you’ve been so incredibly brave for so very long. You can do it now, again.”

  I could see her start to weep; her smudged face-paint turning her into a comic tragedy. “Why? Why have they done this to me?”

  I gulped hard. “Racheli, um, be brave. You’re a survivor. You’ve fought to survive for ten years on this planet, don’t stop fighting now. You can do this!” I just spat out the words as they surfaced; I refused to think about the next scene in this unfolding horror show. Yes, I couldn’t allow myself to imagine what would happen when she watched her mother torn apart by a Sabre. This was the obstacle now; we’d face the next when it came. Still, I could hardly contain my relief when she wiped away her tears, smearing makeup everywhere, and stopped sobbing.

  Brave, brave girl!

  I had been looking so intently at her; I didn’t notice the Zikalic Royals in her section staring just as keenly down at me. Again, their eyes gave me hope. Glowing green and sparkling blue meant that Racheli’s plight might have touched their hearts. This seemed to be confirmed when her owner, now with shimmering green eyes, did the unthinkable.

  Untying the leash from around Racheli’s neck, she motioned to the Zikalic around her. After a little confusion, and before I knew what was happening, five big Zikalic males lifted Racheli up and over the guard railing.

  Oh, please God, no! They’re going to throw her off?!

  To my utter relief and astonishment, they made a five-bodied chain-crane-thingy with the help of their hands and dexterous feet lowering a panic-stricken Racheli towards the arena floor. Still pinching myself at the wacky spectacle, I ran under her dangling feet as she wiggled and kicked frantically. When I took hold of her ankles, she stopped squiggling and the Zikalic dropped her into my grateful arms.

  Flinging her arms around my neck, Racheli squeezed me like she’d never let go. Her oily makeup smeared across my cheek; her skinny body shuddered uncontrollably in my arms. “I’ve got you,” I whispered in her ear, still marvelling at what I’d just witnessed.

  Turning on my heels, I ambled back as calmly as I could to the middle of the arena. I didn’t want to run and appear desperate, nor did I express any gratitude to her owner. That might translate as weakness.

  Racheli’s master had shown mercy in the moment, but surely she knew those on the arena floor were going to be slaughtered? Perhaps she was aware of Xakanic’s plan for their pets, that Racheli would share our fate?

  The questions swirling in my head became more acute when, in a crazy, unscripted moment, other human pets began to be lowered to the arena floor. A second, and then a third … and then a glut. I lost count at twenty-three. All hoisted up over the railing and offloaded in breathtaking configurations of four or five linked Zikalic bodies—clasped remarkably hand-to-hand and feet-to-feet.

  Once grounded, the traumatised girls were hungrily welcomed back by the clans, seemingly gobbled up in the enthusiastic open-armed bear hugs of overjoyed, jubilant loved ones and gladdened friends. What caught my attention most, however, was that not one Zikalic touched the arena floor. While their incredible dexterity was certainly the reason for the ease with which they delivered our girls to the arena dirt, I couldn’t help my eyebrows arch in surprise as one older Zikalic recoiled in panic when he was almost slipped and touched the ground.

  Huh?

  Racheli let go of her vice-like grip on my thin neck when I got near her mother, and she just about jumped into Lily. In turn, Lily’s face beamed with unbridled ecstasy; awash with tears—a glorious reunion of parent and child. My throat tugged with guarded happiness as despair locked its claws around my gullet; the reunion, of course, wouldn’t last long. Yet my anguish didn’t have time to throttle me.

  A split second later, to my growing amazement, the arena’s audience erupted into vociferous applause, cheering the return of Racheli to her mother. At least, from what I could see, most of the Zikalic on the top level did. Many of those seated on the second level joined in too, b
ut those on the first tier looked uncertain about how they should respond.

  “We’re winning fans,” I rasped above the roar of the noise, trying to catch my breath, hoping to capitalise on the strange outcome. “We’ve got a helluva way to go, but one heart at a time is all we can do.” I looked around at my people; an ever-deepening determination marked our faces.

  “Well done, son,” Matthew said with a half-smile; still, he was looking older by the minute.

  “We’re behind you,” Sarah’s face was stoic as ever. Beside her, Deborah’s countenance glowed with obvious pride.

  Their encouragement kept my knees from turning into mush. I didn’t have time to dwell on how fast I’d gone from pariah to paragon.

  The trumpeters blasted on their instruments again to still the crowd and bring the pet drop-off to a halt; followed by the flustered, corpulent herald, who jabbered on even longer than last time, his indignant, red eyes evident that he was delivering a tongue-lashing of sorts. With his finger wagging profusely, there was no doubt; he was giving them a thorough working over, possibly about etiquette and honour and royal yadda-yadda-yadda.

  Despite the flurry of the last few minutes, and my vastly elevated heart rate, a terrible sorrow stabbed at my soul. Many, many of the pets who remained in the crowd looked unperturbed by what had happened to Racheli. They looked eerily at ease with their captivity and their role as ‘pets’—their painted faces unfeeling; the empty gaze in their eyes cold and distant. Vacant. They appeared, from where I stood, less than human.

  However, I didn’t have time to lament; my eyes were scanning the first tier, anticipating the next unfolding scene in this tale of terror, looking for two faces: Shumbalic and Miltredic. Surely, our only hope. While most of the Zikalic men looked alike, and the Zikalic women looked the same, I knew I’d recognise Shumbalic, and I was sure I’d be able to identify Miltredic.

  If they were in the arena.

  If they’re still alive.