by Leia Gray
The bell dings as the previous fight finishes and the victor emerges, covered in dust, blood, and bruises. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” I snark at the horned warrior. His name is Vax, I learn from the betting board.
“Oh, I do,” he replies, and the attendant ushers us through.
I step out onto the arena and take in the crowd. There’s a full house here today, chanting and screaming from their seats. They don’t care who wins or loses; they’re just out for blood. Not like there’s anything better to do on this station.
I love the roar of the crowd filling my ears. It steels my resolve. It’s times like these that I get really pumped up. I love being in the spotlight. What can I say? There’s something about it. Something about being watched, being so brutal and visceral and giving in to my most animal primal urges.
Some may call it barbaric. I call it life.
The Gorvakian appears on the other end of the arena, fists balled and ready to fight. He lets out a roar that shakes the ground.
I give him one in return, letting my alpha instincts break free. He messed with the wrong man.
A bell rings and the announcer yells, “Fight!” as the crowd cheers.
Vax wastes no time, running at me at full speed. Full speed isn’t saying much for big guy like him, though, and I dodge away before he can get his hands on me.
I duck away easily and use my hands to clap both sides of his head. He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, his head spinning. He lunges forward with a haymaker while I pummel into his stomach. The air rushes out of him in a long whoosh sound and he stumbles backwards, falling against the railing. The crowd jeers and shouts.
The look in his eye is even more murderous now. “Why you little...” he grunts. Blood runs down his forehead from a small cut I’ve left there. This is too easy. I take a moment to look upon the crowd, and I catch the eye of a woman there. For a split-second, my heart leaps in my chest as I think she’s the one I saw on the shuttle. But then she turns, and I realize it’s someone else. Vax uses my momentary distraction to his advantage. He comes up behind me and lays a heavy punch to the back of my neck. I crumble to my knees, my world tilting out of control. I’m not going to go down like that. Not without a fight.
As if reading my mind, Vax lands a punch to my gut when I spin around. I double over, wheezing, the air rasping through my lungs uneasily. “How you like that?” he taunts. “Ready for more?”
Be careful what you wish for.
I put all my weight into lunging forward and grabbing him around the waist. We tumble to the floor together, limbs flailing as both of us struggle to maintain dominance. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze as hard as I can, landing a punch right to the side of his jaw. Spittle and blood go flying. I hear something crack.
Vax groans and whips his head to the side, trying to move out of the way of my fists. Too slow. I’ve got him right where I want him.
The long seconds drag out while I hold him, pinned and struggling, to the dusty, dirty cage floor. 5…4…3…2…1…
Ding ding! The bell goes off.
“We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen!”
The world comes back into focus a little bit at a time. I’m still panting, still poised over my opponent.
Vax groans again, but I see the hint of a smile there as well.
“Well fought.” I clamber to my feet and offer my hand. It’s the sportsmanlike thing to do.
The Gorvakian only grunts in response, leaving the ring without a word. Fair enough. I don’t need to make friends. I’ve done what I came here to do.
I shake myself off, ignoring the aches and pains. For these few precious moments, I can forget about my past. I can forget about the fury burning me from the inside out. And that’s all I need right now.
5
Liana
I’ve never felt so vulnerable. It’s like everyone is staring at me, watching my every move, waiting for me to mess something up. I don’t give them the satisfaction. They would like that too much.
I skate through the first round by the skin of my teeth. I don’t feel like I should be here at all, much less be participating in a beauty pageant. But apparently the judges see something in me, and I’m going to milk that for all it’s worth.
The next round is swimwear. Even more personal and revealing. Luckily, the mean girls didn’t get into that suitcase, and my swimsuit is available. I double-check the straps before I go on stage, just in case. I’m not the only one they’ve been sabotaging. For some, I quickly learned, this is just as important to them as it is to me. They’re in it to win, no matter the cost.
I still can’t help but feel awkward and exposed as I strut my stuff across the stage. I have one thing everyone else doesn’t, though. While all the other girls opted to go for just the skimpy bikini and nothing else, I have an elegant one-piece that accentuates my curves and has a plunging neckline all the way down to my belly. In addition, I refuse to take off the metal bracelet from my grandma. The staff tried to give me crap about it, but I threw it back in their faces.
“The bracelet stays,” I say with an icy glance at the staffer. He holds up his hands in submission and backs away.
At the end of the second round, though, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. I’m no stranger to these kind of ‘feelings’, but usually I can decipher them or realize what they mean based on the context. But now I’m far from home, with everything at stake, and I just feel...I don’t know what else to call it but weird. Like something, or someone, is reaching out to me, trying to contact me, but getting only static.
I go back to my room to collect my thoughts and prepare for the third and final round. The talent competition. I’ve made it this far, and the rest of the competition is judged on merit alone. My talent is all that stands between me and that crown.
“Liana Hathaway, please come forward.”
It’s my time to shine.
I take a deep breath and step out onto the stage and the shining lights where the panel of judges awaits me. There are three of them there, lazing about with tired expressions and one too many empty glasses of Mixian Ale.
I am the last contestant of the day, and I know that means I have the opportunity to stick in their minds if I play my cards right. That also means they are tired, bored, and ready to go home after a long day. That, and they’ve over-indulged a little in the meantime.
“Go on, go on,” the main judge says, twirling his finger. He’s not even looking at me. “Show us…whatever it is you do.”
I try to keep my breath even, but indignation flares within me the more I look at them. This was my one ticket, my one shot to a new life, and they can’t even be bothered to pay attention?
Maybe it’s a test, I think, and try to calm my nerves. Just proceed with the act as planned.
The assistant brings out the makeshift target I put together and sets it up on the far end of the stage. In my pocket are three small steel balls and a slingshot. They’re not the same as what I’m used to working with, but it’s all I could find at a moment’s notice.
“Liana Hathaway,” I repeat my name as instructed. “Target shooting.” I try to smile, but it fades when I see them still chatting among themselves, still with their chins cupped in their hands and their minds nowhere near the stage.
Chewing my lip and taking a breath, I turn to the target, feeling the cool weight of the steel in my hand. Don’t let them get to you, I repeat to myself over and over. You can do this. You’ve done this a million times before. They’ll have to notice you when they hear you hit the target.
I fit the first ball into the sling and focus on the target. My hand shakes more than I’d like it to and the target seems impossibly far away, swimming in my vision.
The judges are still talking, still laughing at some unheard joke. They don’t even care.
And that’s what makes me mad most of all. I grit my teeth, aim, and fire, hoping against hope that it will snap them to a
ttention.
My hand quivers at the last second and the ball flies wide, smacking into the wall and rolling away. The judges look up for only a moment, see my totally botched slingshot attempt, and I swear one of them even rolls their eyes.
No! This was not how this was supposed to go! I feel panic start to rise in my throat and my breathing quickens. I’ve got to save this. I’ve got to make them notice. But how?
If I can just make this next shot…
Breathe. Fit the ball bearing to the sling. Aim.
My vision narrows to only the target and me. My hand moves almost of its own volition, making the tiny adjustments that will lead me to my prize. I let out one more breath, center myself, and let it fly.
The bearing flies true, hitting the bullseye dead-center. The metal plate vibrates like a gong.
Nailed it!
I whirl around to see the judges’ reaction, but the smile quickly fades from my face. The lead judge had his head turned! He blinks and adjusts his glasses, yawning. “Sorry, missed that one. Could you do that again?”
What?! My temper rises up, hot and violent. How dare they be so flippant! How dare they miss my perfect shot! Before I realize what I’m doing, I fit the third steel bearing to the sling and focus in on the empty Mixian glass sitting on the judge’s table, right at the edge. Right where they’ll be able to see it.
My heart thrums like a frantic drum and I watch the bearing fly toward the judges as if in slow motion. Only the split-second after it leaves my hand do I realize what I’ve done.
I’ve attacked the judges.
I’ve done it now.
The sound of shattering glass breaks the silence. Shards fly everywhere. Make no mistake: that got their attention. Every eye in the venue is on me now, eyes wide, mouths open.
Their eyes flicker from the shattered glass to me, and back to the steel ball laying on the floor next to them.
I drop the slingshot, heart still racing. What were they going to do to me? Would they disqualify me? Arrest me? Kick me out on the spot? I hold my breath.
“Thank you, Miss Hathaway.” The lead judge’s face is stiff, expressionless.
I wait there for a few seconds, expecting the other shoe to drop. It doesn’t.
“Someone come and clean this up!” The judge to the left of the head barks, and an assistant rushes out to pick up the shards of glass.
“You may leave.” The judge waves at me. “Thank you for the demonstration.” It’s not the dismissive brush-off I got when I stepped onto the stage though. If I had to guess, he almost looks impressed.
I turn and leave the stage. As my heart rate returns to normal, the gravity of what I’ve done sinks in. This will either disqualify me for life, or give me the edge I need on the competition.
I cross my fingers and pray for the latter.
The next day, I stand in the final four, breathless and awaiting the judges’ verdict. How I made it this far still eludes me, but I gave it everything I had, and then some.
Sabotage and spite played out across the contestants, knocking out one after another. I pressed on, no matter the cost, and held my head high. The judges must have noticed my persistence and scored me accordingly. Even after the incident with the glass during the talent round, I wasn’t visited in the dead of night by enforcers or removed from the competition. Hopefully that was a good sign, but who could say what my little outburst had cost me?
A gong sounds as the master of ceremonies, Mr. Voxbury, strides out onto the stage. In his hands, he holds a single envelope with the name of the pageant winner. In just a few moments, my life will either change forever or go back to square one.
Remember to breathe.
“Welcome one and all to the final ceremonies of the annual Miss Avia pageant. There has been more beauty, charm, and grace in this stadium these last few days than in all the galaxy combined, and it is with that in mind that the judges have made their final decisions. Whoever wins today will go on to represent our great and noble galaxy with the Theros Corporation. Representatives have come all the way from Arrilon V just for this ceremony, and will be interviewing all four of the final contestants for promotional opportunities. You all should be proud.” He waves a hand at the four of us. “You’ve come this far through wits, talent, and cunning. You’ve passed all three rounds, answered questions under pressure, demonstrated talents, and regaled us with both your evening wear and swimwear choices. Alas, not every young Avian can take home the crown.”
I wish he’d just get on with it. I can’t take my eyes off the envelope, in some vague hope that if I stare long enough I can see right through it and read the winner’s name without sitting through Mr. Voxbury’s rambling.
“I’d like to take a moment to thank each and every one of our sponsors, without whom this pageant and all the amenities would not have been possible…”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes and smooth out a crease on my dress instead. There’s that prickling feeling again, like I should be noticing something obvious.
My eyes flit around the giant auditorium. A faceless crowd fills the seats and the ceiling stretches up in an elegant archlike cathedral.
A cathedral of pain... the thought flickers through my mind and I can’t suppress a shudder.
The master of ceremonies drones on and I look carefully at the other girls. They’re all sitting back straight in their chairs, watching the master and waiting for the verdict. But something is wrong. I can’t tell what it is but something is very wrong.
I feel the urge to get up and run, but I don’t take heed of it. To do that over a simple feeling would be pandemonium.
Then I hear those damning words.
“Without further ado, we’d like to present the winner of this year’s pageant. I can say with certainty it wasn’t an easy decision, but the judges finished deliberating and we decided that one young woman stood out to us beyond them all. This young woman has displayed courage, beauty, and resourcefulness. She has varied talents, skills, and the grace to accept each challenge as it comes. That’s why today, in sight of all the spirits, we’d like to present Miss Liana Hathaway with the crown for this year’s Miss Avia pageant.”
The cheers of the crowd and the eye daggers from the other contestants fade into the background. Did I just hear that right?
“Liana...” The master of ceremonies holds out his hand to me. “Come on up; don’t be shy.”
I stand, dumbstruck, walking toward the center of the stage, where a crown awaits me. I can’t believe it.
I won?
Assistants come out from the side of the stage with a silk sash. It’s milky white with red lettering reading Miss Avia. As I stand there, staring at the cheering crowd, they lower the sash over my shoulders.
That’s when I feel the prickly feeling of terror again. I shift in place, suddenly restless. I need to get out of here.
But you just won, my mind tells me. You did it. You beat all these other girls and you did it. Didn’t you hear him say there would be new opportunities for you now? Isn’t that what you wanted?
When the cool metal of the crown descends over my forehead, I’m not sure what I want anymore.
I know only two things: one, I just won the Miss Avia pageant. And two, things are about to get very, very complicated.
6
Darvok
I’m in the ring again.
A feisty reptilian man swipes a webbed hand out at me and I duck, narrowly missing him. He roars in a strange combination of clicks and rushes forward, head down. His skull’s flat on top save for a few spikes, which makes him an alien battering ram. I strafe to the side and he plows forward with the momentum, crashing into the walls. I take the momentary discombobulation to clock him square across the jaw. Cartilage crunches beneath my fist.
That’s more like it.
The Pythian isn’t done yet, though. He rounds on me, black blood seeping from a gash on his head. He gives me a crooked smile and raises his fists again, bouncing on the bal
ls of his feet.
“You got something to prove, Rathian?” he hisses through his teeth.
“No more than you do,” I spit back, circling around him. “Nice to burn off a little excess energy, you know?”
The Pythian’s forked tongue flashes out in warning. “You and me both. Now let’s finish this!”
He lunges at me, and suddenly, foreign emotions flash through my mind.
Triumph. Victory. A struggle, a rise through the ranks. Hope. And a deep, unsettling fear.
A crown. Flowers. Cheers.
The Pythian strikes me across the face and my nose crunches, blood spewing. I tumble to the dirt on my hands and knees, trying to make sense of the visions.
These feelings, these images...they aren’t mine. It’s like I’ve tapped into someone else. They feel...familiar in a way I can’t name, but without the Imala ore, I have no way of tracking them.
“Hold up!” I pant, doubling over. I grip the sides of the ring, my head still buzzing with someone else’s thoughts, someone else’s feelings. I shake my head, and they go nowhere. I hold up my hands even as the Pythian comes closer. “Let’s just...” I put my hands on my knees. “Call it a draw, eh?”
My opponent makes that strange clicking sound again and his tongue shoots out, snatching a wayward fly from midair. “A stalemate?” He tilts his head curiously. “Giving up so soon?”
At any other time, a taunt like that would have sent me into a full-on feral rage, but not right now. Not while my brain’s been hijacked by someone else. “I need to...” I stammer. “I need to go. Split the pot fifty-fifty?”
The alien regards me for a few moments, but he must notice how out of sorts I am. In the ring, we might be opponents, but both of us are here for sport. We harbor no ill will toward the other, and the Pythian dips his head in a show of mercy, one fighter to another.
I stumble out of the arena, grabbing one of the towels nearby to wipe my face of the blood, sweat, and dirt. The onlookers and bar patrons watch me with uneasy glances. Their faces range from amusement to awe to confusion to outright hatred. Ignoring them all, I push through to the banker window and hand in my fight record. He’s one of those cyborg-men from Sivir, and his mechanical golden eyes sweep over the papers and then my face.