Taming The Ringmaster

by Erin O'Kane

  Picking up the bundle of clothing, I look at them in dismay. There must be pieces missing. Raising the skimpy top up to eye level, I search around in case I dropped something, and then shake my head as I realise this is it. They can’t expect me to fight in this.

  The top consists of a bright red crop top, with matching red bands that circle the tops of my arms, the loose red harem bottoms have slits up the sides so my legs show as I walk. The cloth is unadorned and plain, but the fabric is high quality, far better than anything I had when I lived in Cinders. Shaking my head, I pull the clothes on, drop my old clothing on the bench, then turn around and call out to the guard.

  “They expect me to fight in this?” I probably shouldn’t be talking to him like this, but I get the feeling he will answer my questions where others wouldn’t.

  Turning his head slightly, the guard’s eyes flick up to me, and once assured I’m dressed, he turns fully, shaking his head. “You’re not fighting today.”

  Frowning, I pluck at the loose fabric around my legs. “Then what’s with the costume? None of the other fighters dress up.”

  “You’re different.” For a moment, I think this is all the answer I’m going to get, but he continues as he walks over to a hook on the back of the door, which I hadn’t noticed before. “We’ve never had a woman before. Every slave is for sale, you know that. They are simply… showing off their new merchandise,” he explains, but I catch the hint of disgust that enters his voice. Taking a red cloak from the hook on the back of the door, he hands it to me. “Wear this, and these.”

  The cloak is made from a beautiful light, sheer red fabric attached to a thick golden band, which I clip into place at my neck. The other items he hands me are two matching golden bands which he slides onto my wrists. I frown down at them in confusion before he picks up a chain and steps towards me. I take a hasty step back and he frowns at me.

  “Don’t make this worse than it is.” His words are the conformation I need that he isn’t happy with what is happening. Swallowing hard, I nod and stay still as he attaches the chain from one wrist, to the collar at my neck, and then through to the band on my other wrist.

  Once I’m dressed, the guard runs a critical gaze over me before nodding and taking my arm to lead me out of the room.

  “Wait!” I call and he pauses, glancing back at me for a moment before facing the door again, but I caught his look of guilt before he looked away, his shoulders drooping for a moment...

  “I have to take you out there. Please don’t ask me not to.”

  His comment makes me pause, but I ask the question I had wanted to know since he brought me in here. “What’s your name?” I ask, staring at his back.

  A pause fills the space between us, and for a moment I think he’s not going to answer me. “Tobias.” His answer is quiet and surprised, like the fact he responded was a shock to him.

  Nodding, I straighten my shoulders and hold my head up high.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  The roar of the crowd hits me almost like a physical force and I feel my mouth drop open in astonishment. I’ve never seen so many people all in one place. Shielding my eyes as we exit the tunnel-like entrance way into the amphitheatre, I try to look around at the crowd.

  They’ve not seen me yet, their attention on a figure in the center of the sandy pit. The crowd seems to be filled with all men, their cries all mixed together into an almighty roar. Looking around again, I see that I was wrong, there are a few women up there, but they are quietly standing next to their masters, glancing down at their hands, and that’s when I realise that they may be dressed in finery, and their manacles might not be visible, but they are just as much a prisoner as I am.

  Slaves, so many slaves.

  A hand on my shoulder stops me, and I realise Tobias is looking over at one of the other guards, as if waiting for a signal. Using the pause as an excuse to look around, I realise that cages surround pit in the center, facing down into it. In each cage is a slave, their gazes on the figure in the center of the pit. Looking closer, I recognise that it’s Xavier currently being paraded around, and something in my gut clenches as I see his blank expression. He’s preparing himself to kill, emotionally detaching himself from the situation before he’s forced to fight.

  “I’d stay away from him too. He’s brutal,” Tobias warns under his breath and I nod, accepting his warning. He’s right, Xavier is brutal, but I suspect that is the person they have made him become and I can’t help but wonder what kind of person he was before this.

  Xavier finishes his final lap of the pit and turns, starting to prowl back towards the rows of cages, his walk that of a predator. His steely gaze meets the eyes of all his potential opponents, until he sees me. His steps falter, but he covers it up, and before I know it, he’s standing in front of me.

  Bristling, Tobias puts a hand on his chest to keep him back from me. “Step away, slave,” he orders with a bark. Xavier’s eyes slide from me to the guard currently touching him, and even I would flinch back from the ice in his expression. At the sound of hurried footsteps crunching on the sandy floor, Xavier takes a step back, his eyes falling once again to me, his gaze intense, and I get the feeling he’s trying to tell me something. I just wish I knew what.

  Tobias grabs my upper arm again and walks me out to the edge of the pit, the crowd’s shouts only getting louder as they see a new slave being shown off, and not only that, but a female slave.

  “Walk around the edge of the arena, they want to see you, then come back here and I’ll put you in one of the cages,” Tobias explains, and I nod sharply at his words, taking the few steps out from the alcove and fully into the fighting pit.

  Head held high, I start walking around the edge of the sand, keeping my shoulders back and my steps steady. If I show them any sign of weakness, they are going to eat me alive. The burning midday sun shines down on me, making the golden bands glisten, my red silken ‘cape’ blowing out behind me as I walk, the chains clinking with each step. The feel of hundreds of eyes on me makes my skin crawl, but knowing that my guys are watching makes me feel stronger.

  “Our newest fighter is the lovely Rhea, and we’ve been told she has the nickname Rhea the Immortal. We will be putting those claims to the test, make sure you place your bets before the big fight.” The loud, amplified voice fills the amphitheatre, and almost makes me stumble, but I catch myself at the last moment. A cheer rises up and I realise they don’t care that our lives are at risk here. I knew this was a game, but I thought they would want us alive...they don’t. They simply don’t care.

  As I walk back towards Tobias, a rising feeling of defiance runs through me and before I can stop myself, I stop and glare up at the box the Masters are lounging in. I meet their eyes, and I hope they realise that my look holds a promise. I will burn this whole place to the ground if one of my guys gets hurt. Just as the crowd starts to shift restlessly, I break eye contact with the Masters and walk back to Tobias, who leads me to my cage.

  Hearing the scrape of the metal lock slide into place, I eye the small space before turning around to face the pit, glancing at the cells on either side of me. I don’t recognise the person in the cell to my left, but to my right is Xavier, who is gripping the bar of his cell like it’s his lifeline. I look around to see if my guys are nearby, but they seem to have spread out us across the arena.

  A curse comes from Xavier, and I see him shaking his head, his face grave as he nods out towards the pit. “He’s one of yours, right?”

  Confusion makes me slow, but when I turn my head to see what he’s talking about, terror freezes the blood in my veins.

  “No.” With a gasp, I leap forward, grabbing at the cold bars and shaking them in vain as I watch Nixon, my gentle giant, be led into the pit.

  “Don’t let them see it’s getting to you, they will use it against you.” Xavier’s voice brings me back into the present, and I spin on him, my fear and anger bubbling over until I’m snarling at him.

  “T
hat’s easy for you to say, someone you love isn’t being forced to go out there and fight to the death!” My whisper shout is starting to gather attention, the slaves on either side of us watching and guards striding over with their batons out.

  “You know nothing about me,” Xavier replies, before stepping away as the guard smashes his baton into the cage door, the loud metal sound making me take a step back. The guards say something, but my full attention is on Nixon, my heart in my throat for each step he takes.

  His fight can’t last long, ten minutes max, but every second he’s out there feels like an eternity, and my hands are burning in pain from where I’m gripping the bars. Nixon’s opponent, a thin, weaselly man I’ve not seen before, didn’t stand a chance. Even with his powers of invisibility, Nixon was able to find him and pin him to the ground. At one point, I thought he was going to kill the man, but his eyes shot up and met mine, and he simply pushed the guy into the ground and held him down until the Masters called an end to the fight. They didn’t look pleased, and the crowd booed at the lack of bloodshed, until Xavier is sent in to fight against the same guy. The weaselly man was no match, and just before Xavier slits his throat, he raises his eyes to meet mine in a mimicry of Nixon, then he cuts deep and the man’s blood turns the sand in the pit red.

  Dropping the now dead body to the floor, Xavier stands, his eyes not leaving mine, until he is led out of the arena completely, through the tunnel doors, and back into the room we had all been staying in.

  Looking over at the corpse as the crowd starts chanting for the next fight, I can’t help but feel responsible for the stranger’s death.

  “Wake up, you fucking freaks! It’s time for a show! You have thirty minutes to eat, shit, and wash before I expect you all at the gate! Get moving!” one of the guards yells, running his baton down the front of the cells, the metal clanking loudly in the early morning. I can’t be sure what time it is, due to the lack of windows down here, but it is definitely early. Clambering from my sleeping mat, I hold back a wince at my sore muscles from sleeping on the floor. Twisting in the middle of the cell, I pop my back and quickly re-plait my hair, winding it at the back of my neck to keep it off my face.

  I glance over at Nixon to see him waiting in the middle of his cell, watching everything outside. I hope today isn’t like yesterday. I can’t watch any of my men fight again. Keys jingle as guards unlock the cells. Men burst free and head straight for the showers. I crinkle my nose, looking down at myself. I could really use a shower, but I can’t protect myself. I would be vulnerable, naked, and that would be tempting fate down here, especially with all the slaves heading that way. Hey, if I smell, it might even put some of the slaves and Masters off. So I don’t shower, leaving that problem for another day, and head for the feeding area.

  Nixon follows on my heels and I hear a second pair of footsteps. I glance over my shoulder to see Xavier whispering to Nixon before he throws me a look and breaks away, grabbing his food and sitting at his table away from everyone like usual. I grab a tray of food with Nix and we sit silently at our table. A couple of minutes later, the rest of my men file in. Jessie’s hair is wet and shaggy around his face, there are bags under his eyes, and when he spots me, even his smile is weak. This place is grinding us down already. Rex is a little more put together, but he’s pale and his usually tanned skin looks dull and lifeless. Alcide appears normal, his hair is slicked back and styled even though it’s wet, and he is smiling and watching everything like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I frown at that before looking away. Alcide is good at pretending, I guess it’s part of his charm, but can he really be that unworried? He didn’t even look over at us. I shake off the thought and glance down at the gruel on my plate.

  It makes the time Nixon tried to cook look like a five-course meal in comparison. It’s lumpy and a weird, creamy liquid is forming in the middle. It doesn’t look appealing, but I need to keep up my strength, so I grab my spoon, and without even tasting it, I swallow it down, fighting back my grimace at each mouthful.

  Nixon just glares down at it before grabbing the tray and holding it to his mouth. He tips it back and swallows it before dropping the tray to the table with a grimace. Guess he isn’t a fan of the food either. I manage half of the slop before I drop my spoon and sit back, my stomach too tense to eat much else anyway. I do, however, force myself to drink the cloudy water they provided us with in little silver cups. I can survive without food for a while, but my body needs water, and I know I haven’t gotten enough recently. It’s evident by the headache lingering in the back of my head and the parched feeling in my mouth. Once I’m done, I look at Nixon and lower my voice to not be overheard.

  “I’m heading to the bathroom, will you watch the door for me?” He nods and stands instantly, both of us not wanting to be too careful, it’s not just the other slaves I am worried about, but the guards too. I have noticed the way their eyes linger on me, I’m not stupid, I know I’m the only female here. A freak, a slave, and soon they will try something simply because they can. I won’t make it easy for them. I head to the bathroom, noticing most of the slaves have made their way to the eating area now. We can’t have long left, so I hurry down the hallway to the open doorway of the bathroom. I spot a few naked men still showering in the open cubicles, but I avert my eyes and rush to the empty bathroom stall on the end. I shut the door slowly, watching as Nixon takes stands before it, with his arms crossed and his face daring someone to try and get past him.

  There is no lock on the other side, so I keep one hand pressed to the scarred, off green wood as I shimmy my pants and underwear down before squatting over the hole in the floor. I pee as quickly as I can, looking around for the roll, and I groan when I realize there isn’t any. Dropping my head back, I blow out a breath before standing and pulling up my underwear and trousers, then I drop my hand from the wood. Pushing it open, I run into Nixon’s back, so I tap it and he moves aside. I see both men watching him from the shower stalls, and their eyes instantly dance to me, filled with a recognisable look.

  I give them my best ‘don’t fuck with me face’ that I learned from Blain before tilting my head back and prowling from the room, giving them my back to show them I don’t fear them ,even though worry snakes through my body. It’s easy to feel brave with Nixon at my back though.

  As soon as we leave the bathroom, I notice people starting to move to the gate, so we fall in with them and Nixon makes sure to stay so close he’s touching me from behind as we line up in front of the closed door. No one is handed weapons today, so I guess we aren’t fighting...then what are we doing?

  Two lines of slaves, all waiting impatiently, all wondering what is happening. People start to shift and murmurs run through the gathered slaves before we hear the unmistakable grind of the gears as the gate starts to lift, letting in light from outside. It hits the top with a boom, and we are herded into the arena up top, the stone under our feet turning to packed sand as each line is led to the left and right of the gate, until we stand in a semi-circle facing the Masters’ box.

  “Greetings fighters!” Arthur calls, sounding way too pleased with himself.

  My eyes flicker to Chester, who is sitting beside him, but he stares straight ahead, his face blank.

  “Today you will understand our entertainment, the pleasure and joy you bring us. Today you are watchers as well!”

  I shift my eyes, noting the guards lingering here. The other slaves must be thinking the same, since all of them are looking around in confusion. If we aren’t fighting...who is? Just then, the main doors to the theatre are thrown open and my mouth opens in horror as I watch a giant, silver cage be rolled in by guards...with Fluffy inside.

  He is roaring, throwing himself at the bars and swiping at the guards he can reach. My eyes fill with tears as I spot Sid in a cage behind him, then Tiny, and Rumples and Bubbles. Not my babies, please, anything but them.

  My eyes swerve to the Masters’ box and I see all of them looking at us...looking at me.
Hardening my gaze, I glare at them, letting them see my hate. With that look, I let them know that I won’t take this lying down.

  They fucked with the wrong freaks.

  Arthur looks away, but Trent stares right back, his lips kicking up in a smirk. “Guards, escort our slaves to their seats,” he calls.

  A hand grips my upper arm and yanks, I stumble and turn to glare at the guard as we’re pulled across the arena and pointed into the first row of seats in the theatre. We all file in. Nixon sits on one side and Xavier sits on my other. I glance back to see Alcide, Jessie, and Rex behind me...all as angry as I am. Alcide’s eyes flash dangerously, but he quickly masks it. Rex’s hands are fisted, tightly clenched on his knees, his whole body vibrating with hate. Jessie is scowling and sitting straight in his seat.

  I turn back to the front when Fluffy howls. Leaning forward, my hands grip the crumbling stone barrier. Look at me, I beg him silently. He turns in his cage, puffing up to twice his size, but his amber eyes catch on me and he freezes. They dart behind me and he whines, staring at us so sadly that it breaks my heart.

  Tears fill my eyes again, but I blink them away, staying strong for them. I connect my eyes with each animal, each member of my family, and with that I tell them that I will protect them if I can. That I love them. They settle slightly until a guard gets too close, then Fluffy paws at them, Tiny smacks them, Sid hisses, and Rumple and Bubbles curl up, their fangs flashing in warning.

  “Let them out, I want to see them fight. The one left alive at the end will become a new fighter,” one of the Masters calls, and I watch as the guards unlock the cage doors, swing them open, then hurry away. Four guards, covered head to toe in protective gear, weapons, and shields step into the arena, their gazes locked on the animals.