by Aaron Hodges
Rydian’s stomach twisted. Tasting bile at the back of his throat, he released the hilt of his gladius and retreated from the man, from the death that could have been his. Around the stadium, an awful silence swept over the crowd as they watched their gladiator topple backwards, as the black-garbed man struck the sands with a thud.
“I’m sorry,” Rydian found himself whispering as he looked down at the dead man.
Then he turned and fled back into the darkness beneath the amphitheatre.
12
Standing in the open field, Rydian looked to the sky, at the infinite stars stretching across the heavens, and finally thought he understood what Marcus Aureli had meant that first night. It seemed so long ago now, another lifetime, though only a month had passed.
One month, and a day.
A shiver ran down Rydian’s spine as he breathed in the humid air. Though a member of the Alfur had moved amongst the gladiators after the games, healing any wounds with its terrible Manus reader, Rydian felt he’d left a part of himself in that arena. But…the Rydian that had emerged was stronger for it—had become the man he needed to be to survive this life.
The man that might take the infinite possibilities of the stars, and make the impossible a reality.
“We’re alive.”
Johanas spoke the words in a rasping voice, as though he’d been trying for long minutes to speak. The larger recruit stood to Rydian’s left, Hazel to his right. She too had emerged victorious from her bout. Now the three of them stood studying the stars. They’d been that way for some time, since the Alfurian ship had dropped the triumphant Goman gladiators in the familiar field. The others had long since departed, but the three of them remained.
“I told you we’d be fine,” Rydian said softly.
Movement came from Hazel as she turned towards him. “No you didn’t.”
“No…” Rydian let out a sigh, a smile tugging at his lips, “but I should have.” He swallowed. “I…don’t think I would be here without your help. Without the two of you training alongside me, I couldn’t have kept going.”
It was true. The three of them may not have spoken much, but at least they had worked alongside him this last month, trained with him, done their best to prepare one another. Abandoned by Falcon and her ilk, these two were the best chance he’d have.
Though…a voice still whispered deep down inside Rydian that his victory had been a fluke, his foe a novice like himself. The next games…
…shivering, he forced the thought aside.
“So,” he said, exhaling into the night air as he turned towards the distant barracks. “Shall we get ourselves a drink?”
The others looked at him at that, their eyes widening momentarily before they followed the direction of his gaze. Understanding dawned in their eyes then, and he smiled Like himself, the two had avoided the revelry of the other Goman gladiators. Now though…tonight was a night for celebration.
“Let’s go,” he said, then started walking before the others could disagree.
His heart began to pound as they approached the Goman barracks, and glancing at the others, he could see the trepidation in their faces. After their crossing with Falcon on their first day, they had done their best to avoid the woman. That could not continue, not if they were to spend the rest of their lives in this place, to fight alongside one another.
Lanternlight spilled from the open windows as they approached the building, lighting up the night. Silhouettes moved beyond the shutters, the voices of their comrades carrying from within, already growing louder as the gladiators sank into their cups.
Only on the threshold did Rydian hesitate, glancing back at the others. Then, determined, he pushed his way through the door.
The warmth of the room swept out to greet them, along with the rowdy voices of their comrades. Those quickly fell silent though, as the others in the room turned towards the newcomers. There was a moment of confusion in their eyes as they looked at the three young gladiators that had stepped into their midst.
Then the room erupted in cheers.
Rydian was so surprised he leapt backwards into the others, almost causing all three of them tumble backwards through the still open door. Only Johanas’s bulk kept them standing, his massive arms steadying them. Hazel flashed him a glare, but before either of them could speak, a voice carried through the cheering.
“There they are!” Falcon bellowed as she pushed her way through the other Gomans. “Our conquering heroes! Who knew the three of you had it in you, ay? Must be the first clean sweep of Goman trainees since…well as long as I can remember!”
Rydian swallowed as the woman dragged them forward into the room and turned to face the room. Beyond, some dozen gladiators were still standing, while a dozen more were slumped against their tables, apparently already overcome by the night’s festivities.
Falcon didn’t seem to mind. Sweeping several large bottles from a nearby table, she thrust them into Rydian and the others’ hands, then turned back to the room.
“You’ll have to excuse our dear brothers and sisters,” she said, laughter dancing in her blue eyes. “We expected you to join us much earlier, but no matter. Here, let’s have another cheers to our fallen brother!”
A roar came from the Gomans still alert enough to understand the woman’s words, and raising their bottles they drank in unison. Falcon did the same, though finding her own beverage exhausted, she reached out and snatched a bottle right from the hands of one of her companion.
Rydian hesitated, looking to the other two in confusion, and Falcon let out a groan.
“It’s tradition,” she said, gesturing to their bottles. “After each games, we salute those of our number who fell in the ring. Here, let’s try again.” Turning to the room, she raised her stolen drink. “To Scarlet Hog!”
“To Scarlet Hog!” the room bellowed back.
This time Rydian and the others followed suit. Immediately, Rydian began to cough as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. Alcohol was another of humanity’s flaws the Alfur could not understand, and so had been strictly prohibited in Goma. That wasn’t to say it could not be found amongst the underground markets, but this was the first time Rydian had had the opportunity to sample the fiery drink.
For once, he found himself on the side of the Alfur.
Falcon took no notice of their reaction—only grinned as she turned back to them.
“We’ve been brainstorming names for the three of you,” she announced in a voice loud enough to reach the farthest corner of the mess hall. Swinging towards them, she stumbled slightly, before finding her balance. “I think you’ll enjoy what we’ve come up with,” she continued, regarding them with those crystal eyes.
Rydian gritted his teeth at her words, his sense of trepidation returning. Judging by the name of the fallen gladiator, Falcon and her followers were not the most…creative of people. But the woman would obviously not be diverted. Stepping forward on unstable legs, she stopped before Johanas. There she paused, reaching out to place a hand on his chest.
“You are a big boy,” Falcon murmured, and Johanas shifted nervously beneath her gaze. “I watched your bout on the Lightscreen,” she continued, voice surprisingly clear despite her obvious inebriation. “Very impressive. I’m honoured to welcome you properly to the team…Bloodlust!”
She shouted the name, and the room cheered again at her announcement—though Rydian noticed another of the men seated at the rear of the mess hall had slumped against his table.
Standing before their cheering teammates, Johanas went bright red at Falcon’s announcement, his eyes falling to the floor. Rydian thought the man might actually object, but in the end, he only nodded, accepting the title with a murmur of thanks.
Still wearing her smile, Falcon moved to Hazel. Here she paused, hands returning to her hips as she looked the young woman up and down. For her part, Hazel glared back, refusing to shrink before the champion’s gaze, until Falcon finally burst out laughing.
; “Feisty one, aren’t you?” she snorted. “I like you, girl. I think Hawk is going to suit you perfectly.”
Hazel frowned at the name, even as the other gladiators cheered yet again. Rydian was coming to see why the men and women of Goma were rarely seen in the practice arena before noon.
Then Falcon turned to him, and he found himself swallowing, unnerved by the sharp intelligence behind those sapphire eyes. It was hard to reconcile this boisterous woman with the champion he had watched on the Lightscreen earlier that day.
“Now yours was an interesting bout,” Falcon said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how I feel about a Goman trainee that spends half his match running away.”
Rydian’s cheeks grew warm at the woman’s words, but abruptly Falcon broke out in laughter. “Nah, let the Boustorans grumble. You’re here, their man ain’t. End of the day, that’s the only thing that matters.” She paused again, raising an eyebrow as she continued her inspection. “Still though, I suppose the name should match the gladiator. We’ve been struggling to find something…appropriate.”
“I call him ‘mouse,’” Hazel said from behind him.
A curse leapt to Rydian’s lips as he spun to confront her, but Falcon leapt upon her words. “Oh, that’s much better than what we came up with!” she exclaimed, and Rydian’s heart sank as she continued. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Hawk. Mouse it is!”
She clapped Rydian on the shoulder then, as though offering her congratulations, before a movement from the entrance drew her attention. Rydian followed her gaze, and was surprised to see the white clad Marcus Aureli stepped through the doorway.
“Marcus!” Falcon exclaimed, practically shoving Rydian out of the way to greet the weapons master. “What brings you to our esteemed hall!”
Marcus paused in the entranceway as though surprised to have been caught there. His eyes flickered over the mess hall and lingered a moment, before returning to Falcon. His face hardened.
“I heard your trainees had some success,” he said shortly. “I thought I would come to offer my congratulations.”
“Of course, of course,” Falcon replied, taking the man by the hand and trying to draw him further into the barracks. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. We just named them…you know, going to be great, I’m sure.”
A frown twisted Marcus’s face as he looked from the woman to Rydian and his two companions. They stood frozen to the spot, staring with surprise at the white-clad intruder.
“I watched your bouts on our Lightscreen,” he grunted, offering a nod. “The three of you fought well.”
“I…” Rydian swallowed, struggling to find a response. The strange man’s words that first night in the complex had stuck with him, though he could not have said why. Finally, he managed to nod. “Thank you.”
“Yes, yes, they were excellent,” Falcon interrupted. “It’s good to have some fresh blood that doesn’t fall over dead the first time they get a glimpse of a sword. But you know all about that, don’t you Marcus?” She smiled, nodding towards a nearby table. “Come on, Marcus, why don’t you join us for a drink? We can talk about old times. It’s been too long.”
The ex-gladiator paused at her words, his eyes flickering around the room again, taking in the gladiators in their revelry—and their stupors. For a moment, Rydian thought he glimpsed something in the man’s eyes, a desire, or longing…but it vanished a second later as the man shook his head.
“No,” he rumbled, “I’m past all that. I had best retire. The weapons must be cleaned.” He glanced at the three of them again. “Well done today,” he said softly.
Then he was gone, disappearing through the door into the darkness outside. Rydian and the others stared after him for a moment, before Falcon shrugged and turned to them, raising her bottle once more.
“A salute!” she exclaimed with her familiar grin. “To our new gladiators!”
13
It was late into the night by the time Rydian stepped from the Goman barracks. In need of fresh air and a break from the noise, he stumbled out into the darkness. His head spun as he moved away from the building, causing the white specks of the stars to swirl unnervingly in the sky. His stomach swirled with it and his hand burned as his Manus reader tried to protect him from his own stupidity.
It failed, and a moment later he was on his knees, hurling the scant remnants of his supper onto the dewy grass.
A groan rasped from his lips as he straightened. After the initial burning of the alcoholic drink Falcon had passed him, Rydian had begun to enjoy the buzz it had given, the haze that took the edge from his mind. It made it easy to forget what he’d done, the blood on his hands.
Now though, four large bottles later, he was beginning to have some regrets.
Laughter carried through the night, but Rydian ignored the onlooker as his stomach convulsed again. Clutching at the damp ground, he sucked in great lungfuls of air, struggling to regain control of his faculties. His hand still throbbed, and even through the haze on his mind, he frowned at the sensation. The Manus reader should have used up his scant store of Light hours ago.
Instinctively, he reached out into the ether, images of his father flickering into his mind. For just a moment, Rydian thought he sensed something, a distant presence, a flash of concern…but then it faded, and he was left alone again in the empty night.
“What’s…the matter, little mouse…can’t…handle your…booze?”
Rydian stifled a groan as he saw Hazel—or Hawk, as she was now called—approaching. Although approaching might have been too generous a word. She zagged one way across the field, then the other, one of the bottles from inside still clutched in her hand. Finally she stumbled to a stop beside him and sat abruptly. She laughed again, leaning in close to him.
“That’s okay,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Neither can I!”
At that, her eyes widened and her face grew tense—then it was her turn to hurl her evening meal onto the grass. Rydian hated to think the other gladiators would say the next morning. His palm still pulsed and the fog over his mind seemed to be clearing slightly, the spinning of the stars slowing.
“Can’t say this…was what I expected,” he said, a hiccup interrupting the flow of his speech.
“No…” Hazel panted as she sat up. Her eyes had a glazed look, but she seemed to have finished evacuating her dinner. Sitting back on her haunches, she picked up her bottle and took a swig, then wrinkled her nose. “Argg, but that’s foul.”
Rydian chuckled. “Then why did you drink so much?”
The young woman said nothing to that, only lay back in the grass, eyes to the sky. Rydian shivered at the silence. The last sounds of revelry were fading from the mess hall as Falcon and her gladiators retired for the night. Letting out a sigh, he lay back on the grass beside Hazel.
“To forget,” she said at last, her words sombre despite the alcohol. As though to emphasise the point, she took another swing from the bottle before offering it to Rydian. “Sorry about the name by the way.”
Rydian snorted and silently he waved away the bottle, his stomach swirling at the thought of more alcohol. Shrugging, Hazel finished the last of the amber liquid.
“What was it like…your fight?” Rydian asked softly. After his own…he’d barely registered Hazel leaving, other than to wish her good luck as she had for him.
Lying beside him, Hazel contemplated the bottle she held in her hands, as though already regretting its end.
“I got lucky,” she murmured. “He was too good for me. But…it only took a second. He tripped, and that was it.”
Rydian shivered at her admission. “I barely survived my own,” he whispered. Swallowing, he glanced at where she lay alongside him. “I…don’t know what I’m going to do. When we face the real gladiators…”
“I know,” Hazel whispered, then glanced over her shoulder as footsteps came from the shadows. “Johanas, is that you?”
The giant gladiator appeared at her question, his b
ig frame silhouetted by the single lantern burning on the wall of the barracks. He said nothing, only crossed to where they sat. His eyes lingered a moment on a particular patch of grass, then he seated himself as far from it as possible.
Rydian and Hazel shared a look. “You okay, Johanas?” Rydian asked.
“Bloodlust now, I guess,” Johanas replied, still looking distracted. He held a bottle of his own, but the alcohol didn’t seem to have the same effect on him as it had Rydian and Hazel. “I heard…you talking about the next games. I…I think we should ask Falcon again. To train us, that is. Maybe now we’re full gladiators…”
Rydian swallowed, sharing a glance with Hazel. The man was right—they had to at least try. Without proper training, they would stand little chance at the next games. No wonder the Goman barracks seemed so depleted, compared with the other cities. Yet…Rydian doubted Falcon could be the answer to their problems.
Maybe they wouldn’t be called for the next games. Normally only a half dozen gladiators from each city fought at a games, so chances were they would not all be called upon.
In the silence of that night, the thought offered little comfort, and Rydian reached out a hand in askance for Johanas’s bottle. The man passed it over without a word and Rydian took a swig, then offered it to Hazel.
“At least we’ll have more time to train,” Hazel mused. “And we’ll know our opponents in advance.”
“How will that help?” Rydian asked, frowning. Unlike unnamed candidates, the matchups between gladiators were drawn weeks before each games, to allow excitement to build amongst the cities. But he didn’t see how it would help the fighters themselves.
Hazel shrugged, taking another drink from the bottle before lifting her Manus reader. Its Light pulsed dimly, before two figures took form above her palm. They watched as the pair leapt to battle, the silent clash of sword and shield eerie in the darkness. It was a moment before Rydian recognised the woman in the recording.
