Bloodfall Arena

by J. A. Ludwig

  Rage that is now aimed at her.

  The ground rises beneath her, the sudden movement throwing her off balance. Wind slams into her, throwing her to the rising ground. She gasps in shock but knows she can’t stay still. She rolls onto her stomach before scrambling to her feet. She feels a change in the air and dodges to her right. A line of water slams into the ground where she’d been lying.

  Locking eyes on Yme, Aya sees he’s thrown his left hand towards her, but nothing happens. Confusion causes Yme to hesitate. In his memory, he has not yet lost his fire. She uses his stunned moment to grab her discarded axe.

  She hears the crowd murmuring with excitement as the wind dies down. She imagines the shock of seeing two slaves who had worked together now fighting each other. As one of the two slaves, however, she finds it terrifying. Especially with the other being Yme.

  The moment of confusion passes and Yme runs at Aya. He swings a fist at her, wind magic curving the air around it.

  She holds the axe up, the flat side making contact with the fist, but the blast of wind sends her a few steps back. A second fist, covered in earth, zooms to uppercut her. She leans back; his second hit misses her. She uses the handle of the axe to hit him in the back of the knee, dropping him to the ground.

  She knows it will only be for a short time, and moves away from him. Yme is back to his feet quickly and stomps one foot onto the ground. The earth around her feet softens to fine sand and she struggles to find footing. Her ankle rolls. She falls onto the softened ground.

  Again, he thrusts out his left hand, expecting fire, and again nothing happens. Frustration fills his face as he stares at his hand.

  Aya crawls out of the sand. The confusion in his eyes reminds her of how she realized she was inside of an illusion. She sees the white filling his eyes fade slightly, the magic weakening. But then the white takes over again, the confusion fades, and the rage returns.

  The wounded soldier’s focus is entirely on Yme. Without her splitting his magic, the soldier’s full force keeps Yme trapped in the illusion.

  He can’t break free on his own. And if I don’t free him soon, he’s going to kill me.

  Chapter 42

  The Arena isn’t just about strength but outsmarting your opponents.

  Kylii’s words echo in Aya’s head. She’s barely keeping up with Yme; how, she doesn’t know. His fighting is more instinctual than skillful, and she wonders if being trapped in the illusion might mean he’s forgotten his skills from the arena.

  Would it be better to go for the wounded soldier? Or try to snap Yme out of the illusion?

  She doesn’t know enough about this kind of magic. She feels it in the air but doesn’t understand how it affects them. This magic doesn’t require contact of any kind, doesn’t need the user to perform any movement. All he needs is concentration, and yet he can still watch Aya while his magic focuses on Yme. Even his broken leg doesn’t waver him.

  Which means he’s aware of me. But with Yme blind...

  Aya bolts straight at the soldier, but Yme creates a wall of earth between them. She turns to the right, running along the wall. Water splashes the ground in front of her, freezing. She slips on the ice, but slams the axe into the ground, breaking the ice. The shards cut her ankles, but she keeps moving.

  Following around the wall of earth, she again aims for the wounded soldier. He takes a step back, his broken leg dragging.

  The wall of earth explodes, turning to fine sand and filling the air. Wind blows it, creating a small sandstorm. The grains get into Aya and the wounded soldier’s eyes. The soldier winces, struggling to move away from Aya. She closes the distance between them, throwing the axe at him. The weight is too heavy, and it lands harmlessly in front of him.

  Pick it up, pick it up, Aya chants in her head.

  The wounded soldier awkwardly leans down and picks up the axe. He stares at her and raises the blade, readying to throw. She knows he won’t have trouble with the weight.

  His body jerks and his eyes widen, the white fading away. He drops the axe and falls forward. A sharpened spear of earth sticks out of the wounded soldier’s back.

  Standing behind him is Yme, his eyes fading from the white to silver and filling with confusion. “What...?”

  The sandstorm stops. The arena is eerily quiet as the sand falls to the ground.

  Aya gives a shaky breath. “You were stuck in an illusion.”

  The bell rings loudly, igniting screams of approval in the crowd.

  Yme’s eyes move from the dead soldier to her. “He caused the...illusion?” Anger vibrates through his voice.

  The spear of earth from the soldier’s back rises, blood covering its pointed end. Aya watches the spear, nerves causing her to take a step back. “He wanted us to attack each other. You thought I was somebody else and...you thought you still had your fire magic.”

  His attention lowers to the cuts on her ankles and the burns on her skin from the sand. “I did that to you?”

  She shrugs. “You didn’t know it was me.”

  “Did I...did I say anything?”

  Should I tell him? Should I ask him who he saw? Aya hesitates, the pause seeming to last forever. “You said Niya.”

  The expression Yme aims at the dead man is the most terrifying Aya’s ever seen. Yme grabs the spear of earth and slams it into the soldier’s head over and over. Aya turns away from the bloody sight, gasping in shock.

  The door to the cage opens and workers of the arena enter, including the magic blocker. He meets her eyes before cutting off her and Yme’s magic.

  “What a treat!” Dolus Otho’s voice booms. “The first to ever survive against our star fighter! Looks like we’ll need to keep our eyes on the Healer.”

  The workers try to usher Yme and Aya out, but Yme refuses to move, threatening the workers with the spear of earth in his hands.

  “Shall I draw the next name?” Dolus asks to stall for time, but this draws an excited murmur of cheers from the crowd.

  “Enough of this!” Yme throws the earth spear into the wall of the cage. The force causes the spear to break apart. He turns to the private box. “If you want us dead, fight us yourself!”

  The audience soon grows silent at Yme’s bold words. The workers stop attempting to drag Aya out and wait to see the Blood King’s response. Aya watches the still man sitting patiently in the private box. By now the sun is lower, her stomach growls, and everyone must be terribly thirsty. When will this end?

  Klaeon stands and walks to the edge of his box. His eyes never leave Yme, showing no interest in his two dead soldiers. “Our star fighter seems to be bored with the Arena. Perhaps he needs something to remind him who is the slave and who is king.” He motions to Dolus Otho above him. The other man leans over to hear what the Blood King has to say.

  “Remove Yme from the cage,” Dolus announces. “The next fight will be the Healer alone!”

  Chapter 43

  Before they can process Dolus Otho’s words, the Arena workers drag Yme from the caged arena and Aya is locked in, alone. She stares behind her at the slaves, confused.

  The door across from her opens and two women enter. Aya faces them, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Welcome to the Arena the Bowton Sisters. Perhaps you know them better as TrueStrike Faye and Jera Ironwind?” Dolus Otho’s voice is drowned out by the excited cheers of the crowd.

  Clanging on the door behind Aya grabs her attention. She turns and sees Yme holding onto the metal bars. “You can do this.”

  “If I die, it’s your fault.” Aya means it as a joke, but the fear inside of her fills the warning with truth. “Any tips, partner?”

  “They’ve fought many battles in the arena, but rarely two on one. Don’t get stuck between them...unless that’s part of your strategy.”

  “Not helpful.”

  He glances behind her at the two fighters. “They’re both using weapons to keep you away. Get in close to limit their attacks.”

  The bell
rings and Aya grabs a dagger from the wall. “That’s helpful.”

  She watches the women. They curiously meet her gaze. Neither appear particularly threatened by Aya. One carries a spiked ball on a chain, which she lazily swings in slow circles. The other has a spear, leaning on it as she stares at Aya.

  “We get stuck with the easy kill. How is that fair?” the one with the spear says. She must be TrueStrike Faye, Aya thinks.

  “At least she’s a Rare Kind. We’ll get more gold for her,” ball-and-chain, Jera Ironwind, answers. “Just keep her from healing herself. You gonna try to break our legs, too, healer?”

  Aya bites her lower lip. These two had been watching the previous matches.

  But so have I.

  Aya raises her knife in front of her, defensively. She reaches deep inside, the warmth of her magic gathering in her chest.

  “Not gonna talk, huh?” Jera asks, spinning the chain in her hand faster. The spiked ball blurs as it moves faster and faster.

  “That’s fine,” Faye says. “We ain’t ones for talking either.” She lowers the tip of the spear to the ground in one hand, her other hand in front of her defensively.

  Jera slowly walks to Aya’s right. Aya counters the move, keeping both women in front of her. It’s difficult, but she doesn’t want to get stuck between them. Not yet.

  Which one will attack first? I thought ball and chain might, but I can’t lower my guard to the spear holder. Tension fills Aya’s muscles, her magic responding with flutters in her chest. If they won’t attack, that leaves it to me.

  Aya runs towards Faye, surprising the woman. But not enough. The spear rises quickly, almost a blur. Aya dodges the point, but not the pole swinging into her side. The wood hits her rib, sending a vibration of pain through her chest. The flutters of her magic spring to life, soothing the pain away. She tries to grab the pole, but Faye spins away, pulling clear of Aya’s hand.

  Movement in the corner of Aya’s eye catches her attention. She falls to the ground and rolls as the spiked ball flies overhead. If she hadn’t moved, the ball would’ve collided with her head. She manages to get back on her feet and uses the chain on her arm to tangle around the chain.

  “Bad move,” Jera says, smirking. She wraps the chain around her arm and turns sharply. The sudden tug drags Aya towards Jera.

  But Aya expected it and uses the momentum to increase the speed her speed. She slams into Jera, knocking the wind out of the woman in a loud whoosh. She buries her dagger into Jera’s inner thigh, then lets her go. The time Jera spends pulling the weapon free allows Aya to detangle her chain and grab a spiked club from the cage walls. She moves away from the wall, her eyes on the wounded fighter.

  Jera jerks the blade out and glares at Faye. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

  “You’re the one who made the leg comment. I thought it was ironic,” Faye’s face moves in a twisted smile as she circles behind Aya.

  The blood rolls down Jera’s leg thick and dark, rolling to the sandy earth. Taking a step, Jera’s face pales and she collapses to the ground.

  “Jera!” Faye yells to her sister.

  Now Aya rushes at Faye, swinging the spiked club into her side. She grabs the spear pole and pulls the woman close. “I can save her if you concede right now.”

  Faye looks into Aya’s eyes, gasping for air and wincing at the spikes in her side. She tugs on her spear, trying to free it.

  “She’s got maybe one minute before she’s beyond saving. You might have less. Concede,” Aya demands.

  Faye’s eyes glance to her sister then to Aya. Her eyebrows lower and her lips curl down into a frown. “This is a trick.”

  “You can wait and find out or you can concede right now, and I’ll heal her and you.” Aya tightens her grip on the spear, feeling Faye pulling. “You’re both running out of time.”

  Faye’s foot kicks Aya in the stomach. Aya gasps and releases the spear, falling back. The spiked club falls from her hand as she wraps her arms around her stomach. Faye places a hand on her bleeding side, then grips her spear with both hands and attacks.

  The spear jabs toward Aya and she dodges as best she can, but the tip stabs into her left arm, making her scream. Faye pulls the spear free and aims for Aya’s middle. When Aya dodges, Faye turns and slams her elbow into Aya’s tender stomach. Before Aya can catch her breath, Faye uses the bottom of the spear to sweep the feet out from under Aya. Aya falls onto her back and the last of her air is forced out of her lungs. She feels something hard lying in the sand against the back of her head.

  Faye slams on top of Aya, her knees on either side of Aya’s torso. She lowers the butt of the spear to Aya’s throat, but Aya is able to catch the pole with both hands to keep the wood from cutting off her air. Faye pushes with all her strength to force the spear pole lower.

  Reaching with one hand, Aya feels the hard thing under her head. She grips the wooden handle and with one motion, pulls the axe up from where it was buried in the sand. She feels her magic fill her arm and give her muscles the strength to drive the axe into Faye’s neck. The spear pole at Aya’s throat stops pushing down. Faye’s eyes widen and her mouth opens in shock. Blood drips from the neck wound onto Aya’s face. Faye’s eyes glaze over and she falls to the side.

  Gasping for air, Aya stares at the roof of the cage. She turns her head to the side and sees Jera still lying motionless on the ground. Behind the body she sees movement beyond the cage. The slaves are on their feet, cheering for her. The realization brings the sound of the Arena back to her.

  Aya slowly sits up, shoving the rest of Faye’s body off her. She climbs to her feet and spots Yme, knuckles white on the bars of the cage. A smile breaks out over his face, he nods at her.

  She walks towards him, her legs shaking as the adrenaline and her magic fades. She grabs the bars. “I did it. I guess my death isn’t your fault...yet.”

  “Not today,” Yme says.

  The guards open the door to the cage and enter the arena to clear the bodies. They pull the axe from Faye’s neck and lift Jera from the large puddle of her blood. She walks towards the door of the cage, using the bars to keep her legs from giving out. Yme follows along the cage to meet her at the door.

  “Congratulations to the Life Healer,” Blood King Klaeon’s voice booms through the air.

  Aya freezes, her eyes widening. She turns to the royal box and sees him watching her. Beneath the smirk she can see fury sparking.

  Klaeon stands at the edge of the royal box, his mismatched eyes never looking away from Aya. “An impressive display. Deserving of a reward.”

  Aya feels a hand on her arm and Yme pulls her quickly from the cage and back to the seating area before the king can say anything more. She sits down next to Leid, not caring how frightening the other slaves find him. He stares at her in silence, his eyes not betraying his thoughts.

  “You’re bleeding,” Leid says, his eyes lowering to the injury on Aya’s arm.

  Aya places her hand over the wound. She heals it before the magic blocker cuts her off. Revealing the healed arm, she raises her eyes to Leid. He leans his head to the side and raises his hand. He pokes the healed skin and makes an interested noise before turning away from her. He crosses his arms and watches the workers inside the cage.

  The arena workers finish clearing the arena and await orders. The audience murmurs with anticipation and excitement for the next twist of the fights.

  Dolus Otho silences the crowd with the raise of his hands. “Our King was so impressed with that last fight he has decided to reward the slaves. The fights are over.” He pauses.

  The audience erupts in shock and disagreement, but Aya watches Dolus Otho. She sees through the theatrics to the lie. But what does it mean? Aya wonders.

  Chapter 44

  “The fights are over...but the spectacle is about to begin!” Dolus Otho announces. “Our King has decided for the final four fights, you, our loyal audience, will be rewarded! Our King knows what you want to see.”

  Th
e audience roars from disappointment to excitement. The other slaves physically relax, but Aya notices the tension in Yme’s shoulders grow.

  “Bastard,” he curses.

  “The final four fights will be fought by Yme. Alone!” Dolus Otho announces. “Take the other slaves back to their cells!”

  Klaeon shoots a look to Dolus Otho, his lips moving quickly.

  “Leave the Healer to watch,” Dolus adds quietly and hastily, speaking to the workers.

  The rest of the slaves are forced to their feet and led away. The only one who doesn’t move is Leid. The workers eye Dolus Otho, who checks with Klaeon. Klaeon nods, and the men leave the silent man sitting next to Aya. Aya watches Yvette limp away and wonders if she will be taken to the healers.

  The workers inside the cage leave to grab Yme and shove him into the arena. Yme glares at them.

  Aya leaps to her feet and runs to the door as the workers close it. “Can you fight four more fights?”

  Yme turns to her. “I don’t have a choice. Guess you did too good a job of not dying.”

  “This isn’t the time for jokes. Even bad ones,” Aya says.

  “Bring on the next fighters!” Dolus Otho yells.

  Yme turns to face the incoming fighters. Aya reaches through the bars and grabs the back of his shirt. She sees him tense, but he doesn’t turn around.

  “Don’t abandon us,” Aya says softly.

  “Us?” Yme asks.

  “Me, Kylii, Daniil, the other slaves...us.” Aya pushes him forward. “Now get fighting, crowd favorite.”

  The bell rings and Yme faces the two fighters waiting for him. Aya walks back to the seating area and sits down next to Leid. The two fighters facing Yme are large men carrying spears with blades on both ends. Yme’s magic fills the air as he walks forward.

  “Interesting day,” Leid says.

  Aya jumps at the man’s voice, almost forgetting he was still there. “Do you ever speak more than two words?”