by J. A. Ludwig
“Yme, we can’t do it alone.” Daniil motions to the fighting erupting all around them.
“I’ll take care of them. Keep her safe. Don’t use any of your magic unless you have to,” he says the last to Aya, turning away.
She grabs his arm. “Wait. What’s going on? You wouldn’t even talk to me before now. How did you know I could heal those close to death?”
“You said they called you a Life Healer. Life Healers are the rarest Healers. That doubles the targets on your back.”
Annoyance fills her quickly. “Just because I’m a healer doesn’t mean I’m weak. I can fight.”
“Not against him.”
“Why do you care?”
“There’s no time to talk now. Stay safe. Don’t fight.” Yme runs towards the flailing arms and legs, grabbing up and throwing chunks of rock at the Butchers. Great, stirred winds keep those attacking far from him.
“Come on, we need to move farther from the center.” Kylii pulls Aya away.
A beefy combatant with a heavy axe appears in front of Kylii, swinging his weapon down. Daniil throws his hand at the man. A rush of cold air surrounds the fighter, freezing him. Kylii smashes the man in two with a quick kick, and the three make their way from the center of the arena. Daniil and Kylii stay to either side of Aya.
“Don’t think too much about Yme’s reasons for anything he does. We Rare Kinds have to stick together, that’s all there is to it,” Daniil says.
She glares at him, pulling herself free from Kylii’s grip. “Stop saying that! You sound like you don’t care about any of the others. Why do you think you can trust me?”
Another volunteer fighter runs at them, swinging his sword. Kylii turns to the man and throws a dagger covered in flames into the man’s throat. His body ignites immediately. As fast as he can howl and beat at the flames, he falls to the ground, dead.
“You’re a slave like us. That means you were taken from your home forcibly and someone you love was probably hurt or killed in the process. Now all you want is to go home. We’re the same,” Kylii says, his eyes darkening with bad memories.
“But so are they,” she argues, motioning towards those around them. The fighting slaves scream as the larger volunteers overpower them. “Why don’t you trust them?”
“Why do you?” Daniil demands.
She doesn’t answer. She catches sight of Rava and Mava. They both have their weapons at the ready and fight any who approach with surprising skill. Cuts and bruises discolor their arms and legs. Aya sees the fire in their eyes—the fire of hope.
She searches the chaos for Yme. But he’s lost amongst all the fighting.
A scream behind Aya makes her spin in time to see a slave stabbed in the stomach with a spear. The man holding it laughs and digs the spear deeper as the slave begs for mercy. She recognizes the slightly overweight man from the caravan cage, his nose disfigured from the quick-heal of the Arena healers after having it broken by touchy locals.
Aya turns to Daniil and Kylii. “We have to help him.”
The brothers stare at her, confused. She points to the man and Kylii shakes his head. “He’s a goner. We can’t help all the fresh flesh.”
“You either fight or you die,” Daniil adds.
“This coming from men who’re telling me not to fight?”
Both throw knives at attacking men who drop to the ground dead. “To be fair, only Yme told you not to fight.”
“We only told you to stay close to us,” Kylii adds.
Two other men manage to maneuver behind Daniil and Kylii. The brothers try to throw more knives, but the men dodge and knock the brothers away from Aya.
Ignoring her for what they assume are the larger threats, the men batter the brothers with constant attacks. Daniil and Kylii are stuck on the defensive, unable to find openings to attack. Or keep track of Aya.
She grabs a discarded spiked club from the ground. Trusting the two can handle the men on their own, she runs towards the fighter with the spear and the screaming slave. She slams the club into the fighter’s back as hard as she can, getting the weapon stuck. The volunteer drops to the ground away from the wounded slave.
Aya pulls the spear from the slave’s stomach and kneels down to him. “What’s your name?”
He cries and pleads, grabbing her arms. “You’re the powerful healer! Please! Help me! Don’t let me die!”
She nods. “I’m going to help you. Stay still.” She places her hands on his stomach and closes her eyes. Hands grab her and haul her to her feet.
“What are you doing?” Daniil yells. “Yme said no magic. Besides, his wounds are too severe, and you don’t have time.”
The man whimpers pathetically on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes as blood spurts from his belly.
Aya rips her arm from his grasp. “I’m not leaving him. The Blood King already knows I’m a healer. If I don’t have enough time, make time!” She kneels over the wounded slave again and places her hands on his stomach. She closes her eyes and concentrates.
Kylii walks up to them, carrying two swords. Daniil shrugs. “She did say she wasn’t weak.”
Each brother takes one of the swords and they brace for combat.
Chapter 28
Aya feels the wounded slave slipping away, his whimpers of pain quieting. She stretches her magic far to bring him back. She sees the muscle, fat, and skin reform, willing it into reality. She furrows her brow, sensing something new.
She feels how the blood flows through the slave’s body and senses each muscle moving. Small shocks explode thousands upon thousands of times as nerves come to life. The current of information overwhelms her.
Finishing the healing, she tears her arms away and falls on her backside, gasping for air.
The large slave sits up and touches his stomach. His clothes are still torn and bloody, but his skin is clean, and no wound remains. His wide eyes peer up at her and he cries, “Thank you. Thank you!” before he stands.
“Daniil,” she gasps.
Daniil jumps at his name and turns to see a combatant sneaking into Kylii’s blind spot. He thrusts his hand out, and ice forms on the man’s legs. With the warrior hobbled, he draws a throwing knife and hurls it. Kylii turns in time to see the man behind him drop.
Aya grabs the handle of the spiked club and pulls it from the back of the man she killed. She grabs the arm of the man she healed and twists it, forcing him take the spiked weapon into his hand.
He stares at the club and shakes his head furiously. “I can’t! I’ve never killed anyone!”
She grabs him and pulls him close, sweat rolling down her forehead. “Neither have I. But if you don’t, you’re going to die. I won’t heal you again if you don’t at least try to fight back. We have to look out for each other, or none of us will survive in here.”
A hand grabs Aya’s collar and pulls her back. She falls onto her back and stares up in terror at the man she thought she’d killed. He aims a sword at her throat. She screams. The spiked club smashes into the side of the man’s face. He falls to the ground dead, revealing the large slave.
His face is pale, and his eyes nearly bulge from his head with shock. He swallows and nods, making a decision. “My name is Bern. I will fight for you. I will fight to protect you.”
“No.” She points at his chest. “You have to fight for yourself. And for others who need protection.”
After hesitating, he moves next to Daniil and Kylii, attacking combatants who come too close. Another slave trips, running from the two men chasing her. Bern runs up behind them and swings the spiked club, knocking one man away and killing the other with one of the spikes buried in his head. Before the other man can recover, Bern swings the club down onto him.
“Thank you,” the woman wheezes.
Helping her to her feet, Bern’s cheek flush scarlet. “Men shouldn’t attack women like that.”
“Well, this woman—Eka by the way—appreciates the help. I dropped my weapon once the fighting started.
”
“If we gave you a weapon, can you fight?” Aya asks, rising to her feet. Her legs are still shaky, and her vision blurred.
Eka nods her head. The brothers each hand her a throwing knife, and she and Bern face oncoming fighters.
Aya squeezes the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She still feels everything that was happening inside of Bern’s body in addition to her own body’s workings. The world spins and she falls forward into the sand.
Kylii grabs her, helping her stand. “Whoa there! This isn’t the place to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles, shaking her head to clear her vision.
Daniil freezes a group of three. Bern and Eka move behind them to protect them as they move away from the combat. They set her down against the wall of the arena.
“Sit there and rest up. The fighting doesn’t look like it’s going to end soon,” Daniil says, cleaning the blood from throwing knives he recollected from those who died at their hands.
Nodding her head, Aya gazes across the arena. Bodies lie on the ground, those still fighting stumbling as they step on the soft masses.
No time to mourn. She holds her head in her hands, forcing herself to recover, to concentrate.
* * *
Four combatants surround Yme. They attack him from all sides, and Yme uses his air magic to keep them back, but they’ve clearly fought magic users before. They maneuver closer to him without a single hit.
He’s forced to use his earth magic. He stomps, and the ground crumbles beneath their feet. All but one manages to move to solid ground; the fourth disappears into the earth. Yme then creates hard rock spears from the ground to attack from beneath, but the men avoid them.
He searches the walls of the arena for troughs of water, but none are placed in reach of this fight. He groans, then spies spectators sitting along the wall with glasses of water. He takes a deep breath and pulls the water from the stands to him. The crowd cheers at his maneuver and all focus goes to him.
He uses some of the water to moisten the earth and agitates it using his magic, making a pool of deep, wet sand. He shoots another spear out of the earth at one of the combatants, throws him into the deep mud, then hardens the earth, making it impossible for the man to escape. The two others move away to avoid the same trap.
Yme takes the remaining water and throws it at one of the men, who dodges and laughs. Yme pulls the water back, twirls it and ices it, honing it to a sharp point. It stabs through the man’s back and explodes through his chest. He falls to the ground dead.
The third man grabs Yme from behind and tries to crush him with brute strength, keeping his arms pinned to his sides. Yme releases a blast of air magic, sending both flying into the air. They land with Yme on top, but the man tightens his grip. Yme kicks hard at the ground, and the earth crumbles. The man rolls away as soon as he feels the earth loosening, throwing Yme off of him.
They stand and face each other, other fighters milling around. The man pulls a hidden blade out of his arm cuff. Yme rolls his eyes and throws his hands up into the air. Pillars of earth surround the man and crush him. Those fighting nearby stumble at the sudden lurch of the earth.
The man still trapped in the muddy quicksand trap pleads for mercy. Yme turns to him, walks over and raises a boulder over his head. When he drops it on the embedded man, the crowd explodes with excitement. They thrust their arms up in rhythm and chant:
Yme! Yme! Yme!
Yme faces the central box and throws the bloody boulder at the Blood King. He only smiles and crosses his legs. One of his guards moves in front of him, pulling a long chain from his belt. He throws it at the boulder, and the chain comes to life. Magic fills the metal and it wraps around the boulder. The guard changes its course to hit a group of slaves huddled against the wall of the arena.
The slaves scream, but Yme stops boulder in midair and redirects it to the ground, harmless. Two combatants attack the group while they’re distracted, easily killing the entire group quickly.
Yme yells furiously and punches the closest combatant, powered by air magic. The force sends the fighter flying into the wall of the arena, crushing the man upon impact.
Chapter 29
Aya feels her strength returning and uses the wall of the arena to stand. Daniil and Kylii keep fighters back with walls of ice and fire. Bern and Eka join Mava and Rava holding off more of the volunteer fighters. Everyone able to is fighting. Wounded slaves trying to run are eventually swept back into the fray.
The few slaves who can provide healing magic are trying to help as many with minor wounds as possible. But those with more severe wounds lie barely conscious, forgotten.
Aya feels a strong urge to help, the brothers’ words repeating through her mind. Some are more valuable than others. She can’t sit and watch as others die.
Those fighting focus on the more dangerous slaves, so Aya carefully makes her way to those injured. She stumbles and steadies herself with the wall. The sounds of her body fill her mind and she closes her eyes.
“Breathe,” a voice says to her.
She looks up. A cloaked figure stares down at her. She tries to see his face, but he leans back, out of her sight. She returns her attention to the injured slaves and takes a deep, calming breath. The noise in her mind softens and a small surge of strength fills her.
She uses the wall to propel herself forward. She’s thankful for the tall seating that towers above, blocking the morning sun from showering heat and casting a shadow over her corner of the arena.
Reaching the group of wounded, she moves to a woman with blood-crusted hair. She’s trying to heal a man who legs are broken, when she stares up at Aya. “You’re the new Healer they brought yesterday, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I can help with the more serious wounds.”
“We have people dying here. I can only stop the bleeding.”
Aya points to another Healer. “How about you?”
The man looks up from the slave he’s tending. “I can fix broken bones, but if they’ve lost too much blood, I can’t do anything.”
She eyes the third Healer.
“I can only heal cuts and bruises.” The young girl’s voice is high and shrill.
“All right, I need names.”
“Skara,” the woman with blood-crusted hair says.
“Tristan,” the man answers.
“B-Bon,” the girl squeaks.
Trailing over the wounded, Aya takes a breath to organize her thoughts. She remembers several years ago when a storm tore through Foula Valley. Many in her village were injured and Iria needed help when too many wounded flooded his home. Aya’s magic was still new to her, but Elder Mircien requested her help. Aya helped identifying internal injuries, Iria did his best to heal, and Mircien cleaned the injuries and helped with recovery. It’s what led the two men to determine that Aya should study healing. Now, she divvied up the duties similarly.
“Skara and Tristan, fix those with broken bones and internal bleeding. Bon, once they’ve finished, clean up the cuts and bruises.” Aya points to each as she speaks. “Have you already separated the ones with more life-threatening injuries?”
Skara nods and points to a small group lined up against the wall. “Some of them are too close to death for us to help.”
“Don’t worry about that. Make sure you move together and communicate clearly. Whoever isn’t working, keep an eye out for attackers.”
“And what do we do if someone does attack us?” Tristan asks.
“We’ll take care of them.” Rava, Mava, Bern, and Eka surround the group, weapons at the ready.
The three Healers leap to their posts while Aya brings those closest to death back. Unfortunately, one is too far gone for her to help. She reluctantly moves on, after using her magic to keep the pain as minimal as possible.
She moves from one body to the next, absorbing an overflow of stimuli, but she manages to focus on the areas she needs to heal. She gains more and more control as she works, though h
er energy levels are quickly depleting. The tips of her fingers and toes tingle, numbing as she pushes her magic. Her head feels disconnected from her body, light and floaty. Before long her eyelids droop and she struggles to fight the exhaustion.
Those she and the others heal take up discarded weapons to help screen the healers from the fighting. When Aya finishes, she takes a few minutes to regain some of the strength she’s lost before more freshly wounded approach.
Aya ignores the fighting until she needs another few minutes of reprieve.
Daniil and Kylii stand at the forefront, protecting the healers and ordering the growing group. A slave strangling a combatant with a chain is unaware of two men readying to stab him in the back. Daniil freezes one and Kylii sets fire to the other. The slave remains none the wiser and continues fighting.
Fighters not focusing on the gathered slaves are picked off by Yme. Wind sends a number crashing into the walls of the arena, earth buries others, and water covers one man’s head, drowning him where he stands.
With her strength back, Aya returns to healing, working on a man whose arm is held together by only a strip of muscle. The number of wounded brought to them slows, but Tristan, Bon, and Skara still listen to every direction she gives. The four function cohesively as a group. Soon, they don’t need to vocally communicate anymore. They simply exchange looks and motions.
The loud bell rings out across the Arena, but it isn’t until the drums start again that Aya realizes the fighting is over. She finishes healing the last of the wounded and looks up. Standing with effort, she gently pushes her way to view the Arena, gripping the shoulders of those she passes to keep her balance. Blood stains the ground and bodies of slaves and opponents alike litter it.
Even with all the frantic healing, the slaves lost a third of their numbers. The Bloody Butchers lost fewer, the last of the volunteer fighters grab their wounded and exit the arena floor.
“Aya!”
Daniil and Kylii make their way to her and each grab a hold of her. Cuts on their arms are shallow, but mostly they’re intact. They bounce from her to the wall of people behind her, their expressions a mixture of awe and sadness.