by Aaron Hodges
“It’s you,” he said.
“I spoke with Falcon earlier, before she completely passed out,” Hazel replied. “There are recordings of every bout. Once you know your opponent, you can find out their fighting style, what weapons they use…” she paused, then sighed. “Honestly, it probably doesn’t matter.”
The light of her Manus reader flickered and died, leaving them again in the gloom.
“I hate this,” Johanas said abruptly, his voice rough, breaking the silence. He stared down at his hands, lying clenched in his lap.
“We all do, Johanas,” Rydian said quietly.
“No.” Rydian’s head jerked up at the venom in the man’s voice. There was a hardness behind Johanas’s eyes as he looked at Rydian. “I’ve watched you both training, saw how you celebrated, when you won. You might not have chosen to be here, but…” He trailed off, fists clenching and unclenching, the light of his Manus reader flickering.
“I hate this,” Johanas repeated finally, shaking his head. “The training, the weapons, the…violence. My father…he’s a doctor. He was training me to heal, to help people.”
The hairs on the back of Rydian’s neck tingled as he listened to the gladiator’s words, saw the pain in his companion’s face.
“I’m sorry, Johanas,” Hazel said, pausing. “How…how did it happen, for you?”
The big man glanced at her, and Rydian was shocked to see a tear streak his cheek. “Happen?” he whispered. “You mean what did I do to end up here? Which Alfurian laws did I break?” He looked at Rydian and snorted, the sound harsh in the night. “All you did was steal a loaf of bread, right? I’ll do you one better, Rydian. I did nothing.”
“I…what?” Rydian whispered, heart palpitating.
Johanas turned his gaze to the stars. “Whatever planet the Alfur came from, I hope one day it burns for what they’ve done to us,” he whispered. Then he lowered his head, eyes returning to his hands, his clenched fists. “They think we’re so uncivilised, so violent, that we cannot be trusted. But its them that make us fight. If not for the Alfur, I would never have stepped foot in one of those places. But no, Johanas is too big, too strong, they said. Only a matter of time before my violent tendencies appear. Cannot take the risk, they claimed.”
Tears ran freely down his face when he looked at them now, and Rydian felt the man’s pain, felt his hatred for the creatures that had so judged him.
“And now,” Johanas continued in a whisper, “now I have blood on my hands.” He shook his head angrily, his voice breaking. “My father, what would he think now? His son…a murderer!”
The conversation died then, as they were forced to confront the truth of what they’d done. They still lived, but it had cost another their lives. There was a guilt in Rydian’s heart now, and sitting on the grass with his new friends, he felt his anger boiling up, a rage that thrummed through every fibre of his being, burning, searing, demanding its release.
A flash of heat came from his Manus reader, but he barely spared it a thought. All he could focus on was the injustice of the Alfur, on what they’d done to him and his mother and Johanas, the pain they had inflicted upon the human race.
Everything the Alfur claimed to represent, their assertions of benevolence, all of it was laid bare by Johanas’s words, by their condemnation of the gentle, soft-spoken son of a doctor.
The Alfur were liars.
And there was nothing any of them could do about it.
14
The morning saw Rydian wake before the dawn, just as he had every day for the last month. With one difference.
His head was on fire.
A groan slipped from his lips as he scrunched his eyes closed again. An answering moan came from somewhere else in the dormitory. His head pounding, he reached up to massage his temple, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. He did, however, catch a flicker of Light, even with his eyes closed. Stifling another groan, he squinted through his eyelids…and froze.
Light shone from his Manus reader, bright enough to illuminate the ceiling above him. The glow flickered, pulsing in rhythm with his heart, far, far stronger than he had ever seen it. He swallowed, mouth suddenly parched as he watched the Light. At first he thought it must be some illusion, an aftereffect of the alcohol he’d drunk the night before, but…now that he was fully awake, he could feel the heat in his palm, the power.
A tremor shook him as he considered the possibilities. This was…unheard of, was surely more Light than any human had possessed before. What might that power be capable of? He struggled to concentrate, to think through the pounding in his skull, but it was impossible and instinctively he reached for the warmth in his hand.
The heat expanded immediately, rushing up his arm and filling his body. For just a second, his entire body was aflame, thrumming with that power…
…then abruptly, the Light in his palm vanished.
Rydian frowned, sitting up and raising his Manus reader to inspect it. What had just happened? One moment, he’d held the power of life and death in his hands, the next…the device was dead, its Light faded to nothing. And yet something had changed…
A lump lodged in Rydian’s throat as he realised what it was. The pain of yesterday’s bruises, the aching of his muscles, even the awful pounding in his skull, all of it had vanished. He felt refreshed, his body whole, as though the events of yesterday had been only a dream.
Swallowing, he looked down from his bunk to where the others slept. Hazel still lay below, twisting and turning and letting out the occasional groan, but Johanas’s bed was already empty.
Still half-convinced the entire thing had been a hallucination, Rydian levered himself out of his bunk and went looking for other conscious beings. The sun greeted him as he stepped from the barracks, its light still golden upon the distant horizon, though he could see the green already beginning to tint its edges. Watching its growing light, he swallowed, eyes suddenly watering. Yesterday, he’d never expected to see another sunrise. Today…well, today he had hope.
A heavy silence hung about the complex as Rydian wandered through the buildings, the other gladiators still abed. He wondered whether all the cities had celebrated in the same manner as Goma.
Recalling the night’s festivities, he was reminded of the past weeks, the loneliness and terror. The difference with the last night could not have been starker, and yet…
…Rydian couldn’t help but feel a similarity between the two. Amidst the drunken merriment, the revelry and rowdy cheers, he’d sensed something in his newfound comrades, an undercurrent beneath the Goman celebrations. It was as though the drinking was but a front, cover for what was silently acknowledged by every gladiator.
That they were doomed.
Death haunted every soul in their isolated complex, whether they be Goman or Boustoran or another of the five cities, gladiator or trainee. It might not have found them that day, but that was the truth. One day, sooner or later, they would come across someone better, someone faster or more skilled. Then death would claim them.
And the next night their comrades would salute their memory with drinks in hands.
Rydian saw no sign of Johanas or any of the other Goman gladiators as he wandered through the complex. The sun crept slowly higher, the enormous globe turning its familiar emerald. No breeze blew this morning and he felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck, the heat of the day already becoming sweltering.
Only as he neared the central building did Rydian finally hear sounds of life—the distant ringing of practice weapons. Frowning, he turned towards training complex, slipping into the long corridors leading through to the training yard.
The noise grew louder in the corridor, and Rydian caught the soft crunching of sand beneath boots. He shivered as his mind was dragged back to the arena, to his desperate battle with the Boustoran trainee, to the blood-stained sand. His hand was drawn to his side where the man’s blade had struck him, but of course that injury had been healed by the Alfur.
Shaking himself, Rydian set off down the corridor, listening for the sound, following the whispers. He wondered who would be training so early after a games. Most mornings this early, he and Johanas and Hazel had had the practice arena to themselves. Who would be training now, the day after a games?
Finally, he drew to a stop before the door to the courtyard. Unlike other doors in the hallways, this one had a window. Through the crystal, he saw the silhouettes shifting on the sands outside. Rydian hesitated. He had avoided the gladiators from the other cities for the most part, but now…reaching down, he twisted the handle.
And froze in the doorway.
On the sands, four burly men fought with shield and blade in hand. Each was dressed in the blue of Mayenke and sported the golden complexions of the island city. Rydian thought he recognised their faces from glimpses around the complex, but he had never spoken to them, and certainly not witnessed them in combat.
Now, he shuddered at the brutality of the men before him. Their swords might be blunted, but the men wore no padding, and this was no mere practice bout they fought. Rydian winced as a weighed blade slammed against flesh and the victim cried out. The pain did not stop him though, as spinning, he struck back, catching his foe in the midriff with the point of his weapon.
The Mayenken man staggered back, mouth wide and gasping, though he kept the presence of mind to raise his sword. Rydian watched on, heart thundering in his ears, as the four beat upon each other. It would take days for their Manus readers to heal the injuries, and yet the Mayenke did not seem to care.
The battle continued for a minute longer, before all four came to an abrupt halt and spun in unison towards where Rydian stood. He flinched, stumbling backwards into the door at the suddenness of their attention. Laughter rang across the sands as the four lowered their weapons and one stepped towards him.
“Ahh, yes, you do have the look of vermin about you, don’t you Mouse?” the man said, sneering. “We heard the Gomans liked to train early. I hoped you might come.”
Rydian gritted his teeth at the use of his new name, surprised it had gotten out so quickly. Even so, he pushed the discomfort aside and forced himself to face the man.
“And why were you looking for me…?”
“My name is Geitsen,” the man replied with a grin, though there was no mirth in his eyes as he came to a stop before Rydian. “Tell me, Mouse, have you seen the draw?”
“What?” Rydian asked, his frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”
The man laughed in answer. “Excellent, then I get to tell you the good news.” Geitsen leaned closer, eyes narrowed as he looked Rydian up and down. “The Alfur have drawn numbers for the full gladiators. You and I are to fight in the next games.”
Rydian’s heart stilled at the words. Unconsciously, he took a step back, reappraising the man before him. Geitsen stood half a head taller than himself and was built like an Alfurian warship, his arms corded with muscle and crisscrossed by scars. He had been one of the most violent as the four fought, his sword moving without halt to strike down his foes.
“I can’t tell you how joyed I was to see a Goman matched against me,” Geitsen continued. “Your Falcon shamed Drake, the way she fought, the way she killed him.” Baring his teeth, he lifted his blade and pointed it at Rydian’s chest. “I intend to make you pay for her dishonour.”
“I…” Rydian opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to formulate a response. His mind was trapped, consumed by what he’d seen just moments before, by the brutal battle between the four.
He knew now that show had been for him, a ruthless display of strength and skill, a demonstration of what he would face in a month’s time. He knew they were only trying to intimidate him, to plant the seed of fear in his heart…
…yet looking into Geitsen’s eyes, at the darkness there, the rage and hatred, Rydian felt himself shrinking before him, his terror taking hold. This was no novice gladiator like he’d met in the arena the day before, no untrained warrior. This was a warrior, his muscles like iron, his will indominable, his eyes without mercy.
He would cut Rydian down in a heartbeat.
And yet…amidst his terror, Rydian felt the soft pulsing of his Manus reader, and recalled the glory that morning, the Light he’d held in the palm of his hand. There had been a moment of power, where he’d sensed himself capable of something great, something terrible. That power might be gone now, but…he drew hope from its memory.
And so he stepped forward and offered his hand to the Mayenken gladiator. “Geitsen of Mayenke,” he said formally, “it will be an honour to meet you in the arena.”
The Mayenke stood staring down at Rydian’s outstretched hand for a long moment, then abruptly, he threw back his head and howled with laughter. Behind him, the other three joined in, and Rydian’s stomach twisted into a knot. He allowed his hand to fall to his side, and stood waiting for their laughter to finish. It was some time in coming before silence returned to the courtyard.
“An honour is it?” Geitsen asked, staring down at Rydian with cold eyes. “I confess the sentiment isn’t mutual. Still, it will be a pleasure to kill you, Mouse.”
A flash of heat seared Rydian’s palms as the man turned his back. The laughter still rang in his ears, echoing over the pounding of blood, of sudden rage. He clenched his fist, feeling a rush of strength, a need to act, to defend himself. How dare these four come here and insult him, call him weak?
Before Rydian knew what he was doing, he started forward. “Pretty words,” he spat after the departing men, his voice ringing from the walls. The warmth still grew in his palm and he clenched his fist, least the Mayenken notice the Light spilling from his Manus reader.
“Very scary,” he continued as Geitsen turned back. “I guess you’re used to opponents cowering in your shadow. You ask me, it’s a lot of hot air.” He paused, a smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me, Geitsen, what brought you here? What inspired this need to seek me out? Could it be…that you’re afraid of a Mouse?”
Across from him, the larger man’s eyes widened, and Rydian caught a flicker in their depths, a hint that his words had somehow struck true. Then the flicker vanished, washed away by a burning rage as the Mayenken gladiator strode towards him.
“How dare you,” Geitsen snarled. “I should cut you in two for that!”
Watching Geitsen approach, feeling the heat building in his palm, the Light, Rydian found himself sneering at the man. The Mayenke might be skilled with a blade, might be faster and stronger, but all that was nothing besides the power Rydian felt within, pulsing through his veins.
“No time like the present,” he said softly. “Why don’t you hand me one of those blades, and we’ll find out just—”
Rydian broke off as Geitsen’s fist crashed against his temple. Stars exploded before his eyes as he stagged back from the blow. Suddenly, he found himself slumped against the ground, knees sinking into sand. Desperately, he reached for the Light of his Manus reader, but to his horror he found the device cold, the energies of just moments ago vanished. Vision swirling, he looked up as Geitsen approached.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Mouse,” he hissed. “In the arena, there are no rules.” He smiled then, a cold, empty thing, and raised a fist. “Your life is mine.”
The blow fell before Rydian could avoid it, crashing against the side of his head, driving him into the sand…
…into darkness.
15
Rydian woke to the whisper of rustled clothing, to the soft crunch of boots upon sand, to the grunt of exertion expelled by a warrior as they swung a blade. Lying against the earth, head pounding to the rhythm of drums, it was a long time before Rydian could piece together the meaning of the noises.
Fear touched him as he realised someone was training on the practice ground. Afraid Geitsen and his followers still lurked nearby, Rydian gathered himself, then abruptly pushed himself into a crouch. His head swam at the movement and he almost collapsed back to the sand. Finally, his
vision cleared and he looked around for the unknown warrior…and froze at the sight that greeted him.
In the centre of the courtyard, Marcus Aureli danced.
Twin blades in hand, the ex-gladiator spun across the golden sands, his naked feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Dust rose around him as he ducked and twisted, leapt and kicked and thrust with his curved blades, never stopping, never pausing for breath. It was as though he fought a hundred enemies, overwhelming numbers, and yet the speed with which he moved, with which he attacked, left no doubt as to which would emerge victorious.
Rydian could hardly believe the big man’s grace, his speed and balance. This was no brutal contest with shield and gladius such as he’d witnessed with the Mayenken gladiators, but a warrior’s dance. A display of power and death, and yet of beauty too, of skill.
In that instant, Rydian knew what he had to do, the only way he and Hazel and Johanas would survive the coming months.
They needed Marcus Aureli to train them.
Abruptly Marcus came to a stop and turned towards Rydian, puffing slightly as he lowered his blades. Lines creased his forehead and he raised a hand, as though to wipe long-departed hair from his face.
“Mouse, you’re awake,” he said softly.
Rydian’s face warmed at the use of his new name, but swallowing his embarrassment, he took a hesitant step towards the man.
“What…what was that?” he asked.
Marcus shrugged. “It was nothing,” he said, then paused, eyes studying Rydian. “If you were attacked, there is an Alfur here. To settle disputes between gladiators.”
Rydian hesitated at the man’s words, but…he had challenged Geitsen to a fight, and reporting the gladiator would not spare him from the arena. Besides, the idea of setting the Alfur against another human, even one such as Geitsen…
…no, he needed something else, a better way.
“I…” Rydian trailed off as movement came from the shadows near the edge of the courtyard.
