Snatched

by Vijaya Schartz

  "You die." Dakini said, matter-of-fact, then she glanced at Morrigan with a smirk. "Keep your girlfriend away from my man. I don’t like the way he looks at her."

  Morrigan blushed and nodded. "Don’t you worry about that, my queen."

  Irritated by Morrigan’s submissive attitude, Zania snarled at Dakini. "You can’t really pretend to control Svend, too."

  Dakini’s face hardened. "I can control a lot of things."

  "Such as?" Zania hated herself but couldn’t leave it alone.

  "I assign the fights for the event in five days." Dakini’s smile turned evil. "I’ll make sure you meet with a proper challenge. If you can’t kill your opponent..." Dakini dragged a ragged nail across her own throat, then she turned away and marched back to her fighting circle.

  Stunned, Zania lowered her sword and faced Morrigan. "Can she do that?"

  "It’s her privilege." Morrigan frowned. "I’ve seen her arrange ugly fights to get rid of someone she didn’t like. You better be careful out there."

  Why couldn’t Zania keep her mouth shut when it came to Svend? What mess had she gotten into this time? She wondered whether he was worth it. After all, she’d just met him. "That’s just perfect!"

  *****

  That night, Morrigan climbed to Zania’s upper bunk after lights off. She looked lovely in the faint orange glow of the night lantern. "I could give you a massage to loosen your achy muscles," she whispered suggestively.

  But Zania suspected Morrigan wanted more. "Sorry, my friend. I’m just too exhausted." She forced a smile. "And besides, I have to save my strength for the fight. What good am I to you if I’m dead?"

  Morrigan pushed back a strand of Zania’s hair. "You are right. Forgive me for being selfish. I just missed you so much..." She kissed Zania’s forehead. "I’m so glad to have you back. Sweet dreams."

  After Morrigan climbed down to her lower bunk, Zania sighed softly. How long could she pretend? She didn’t feel good about lying to Morrigan, but did she have any other choice? Although Zania couldn’t return the young woman’s adoration, she desperately needed a friend.

  *****

  Over the next days, training took precedence, and Morrigan proved an invaluable partner. Zania successfully managed the labrys, not so different from the double-edge hatchet. The spear moves reminded her of the bayonet, and she learned from Morrigan several ways to wield and avoid the long reach and the wicked curved blade of the naginata.

  Observing the other Amazons, Zania learned from their vastly different styles. After all, each of these women was an undefeated survivor.

  Who would Zania have to fight? A man? An Amazon from another tribe? It could be one of the women training in this very hall. When asked, Dakini remained tight lipped about any detail of the fight schedule. All she volunteered was that Zania would be the star of the show, and the way she said it made Zania shudder with foreboding.

  But Zania couldn’t allow intimidation to shake her confidence. When the day came to fight, she would be ready.

  *****

  Days and nights passed in a blur without ever seeing the sun rise or set. In her underground prison, Zania missed the fresh air, the open spaces, and the feel of the desert sun on her skin. She hoped that the trip to the fighting arena would provide an opportunity, or at least useful information about possible ways of escape.

  Two days before the fight, while Zania trained with Morrigan, as usual, a loud rumble shook the walls of the training hall. All activity stopped, and stone dust sprinkled from the ceiling.

  Zania spread her feet for balance, waiting for the tremor to cease. She’d heard of earthquakes but had never experienced one. It only lasted ten seconds or so. Then the Amazons returned to practice as if nothing happened.

  Zania brushed dust from her shoulder and faced Morrigan. "Does this happen often?"

  "It didn’t use to." Morrigan frowned, squinting at the vaulted ceiling. "But it seems to happen more frequently these days."

  Zania didn’t relish the idea of being buried alive in an earthquake, but once the tremor had passed, it seemed harmless enough. She pushed her fears aside. If she escaped during the transfer to the fighting arena, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting buried in the next quake.

  Chapter Five

  On the morning of the public fight, a dozen grays erupted into the Amazon quarters. Electric prods in hand, they ousted the Amazons from the dorm, creating an uproar.

  "Silence!" Dakini shouted. "Everyone comes along for the ride."

  Zania turned to Morrigan, whose name wasn’t on the list. "Why bring you guys along? To cheer us on?" Zania suspected the owners wanted the non-combatants to get scared, so they’d practice harder for their own fight.

  "I always go," Morrigan whispered, patting her healer’s satchel. "If the fights are too short and the audience wants more, they may need extra warriors."

  Zania jumped when a guard slammed her bunk frame with his stick.

  Morrigan clammed up and seized Zania’s hand then led her into the corridor, where they joined the gathered Amazons. Dakini walked ahead of the column, exchanging furtive glances with the Gorgon at her side. Those two were up to something.

  The hammering of booted footsteps filled the corridor. Why was not talking so important? Did the guards fear a revolt? Thirty Amazons, even unarmed, could overpower a dozen grays armed with electric prods, so why didn’t anyone try?

  Could they have tried before and paid a high price? Not that there would be any witness left to tell about it. A failed rebellion would probably condemn all the participants to become food for the beasts. Everyone in the bunker knew that.

  The grays herded the Amazons through drab passages and down worn stairs, deeper and deeper underground. Zania tried to remember the layout of the maze and observed the painted stripes on the ceiling. Besides the gray stripe for the guards, she noticed a purple stripe. Did purple indicate an exit, or only that particular exit? Or just the way to a specific area?

  At regular intervals, junction boxes connected metal conduits on the bare wall. Larger clay pipes ran along the tunnels as well. Water? Sewer? As the Amazons progressed deeper through the passages, several metal doors and iron fences slid open to let the cortege pass, then clanged shut behind them.

  Zania again wondered who controlled the doors. Someone at a computer station must be watching, activating the portals remotely. Keeping a low profile, she looked for hidden cameras. Sure enough, she spotted a small sphere attached to the ceiling near a door.

  Along the way, Zania noticed other similar spheres in strategic locations at each bend of the tunnels. She’d have to look for such devices in the Amazon quarters as well. After all, despite the medieval feel of the bunker, this sophisticated society had the technology to spy on their unsuspecting slaves.

  The passage broadened then opened upon a spacious hall with lofty ceilings. The footsteps echoed eerily in the empty space. The yellow glow of high sconces made the place look dirty. It reeked of mildew. Pools of stagnant water filled holes and crevices in the broken concrete floor.

  A few crates sat on pallets, scaffolding lined one wall, and a forklift sat in a corner. It looked like a warehouse. Zania recorded every detail in her mind. Any of these things could come handy in her escape.

  Unfortunately, the facility seemed as organized as a military camp. During her short stay, Zania never lacked food or water or basic amenities. Security would be just as efficient.

  The group passed through the warehouse and entered what looked like an underground train station with a boarding platform, or rather a loading dock. The train sitting along the platform looked wider than those in Zania’s world, and instead of the familiar narrow twin rail, the thick metal wheels sat on a wide track with a black flat rail in the middle.

  An electric strip like in the old subways? The slick engine did look electric. The cars resembled large metal containers with blind doors and no windows, sitting on a flat bed. A freight train.

  This Earth mus
t have been heavily industrialized before they reversed to this green planet. If they had underground trains, there must be a complete network sprouting from the nearby city of Dagora, linking various facilities, industrial suburbs, old mines, factories, small towns now defunct... How else would the larger population of that time commute or receive their supplies?

  Was the access to these tunnels under the city heavily guarded? Probably, but by whom? A non-violent race wouldn’t keep soldiers. Even the guards of this highly illegal facility didn’t use lethal weapons.

  Although very old, the train and containers looked well maintained. Dull brown paint prevented rust from eating the metal, and black oil that smelled like rotten fish drenched the wheel mechanism. Had this parallel Earth reversed its heavy industrial development in time to counteract global warming? Or did something else happen? Zania would have to find out. Knowledge was power.

  A cool, moist breeze blew in from the wide tunnel and Zania could swear she smelled fresh air. Could this be her escape route? If Morrigan were right about floating the containers on barges, this tunnel went east, to the lake twenty kliks away.

  Zania recorded that bit of information. "Why so many cars?" She asked Morrigan in a barely audible whisper.

  Morrigan answered in kind. "One for the Amazons, one for the Vikings, one for the Centurions, two for the weapons and one for the grays."

  Morrigan stopped talking when a guard walked up to the closest container and opened the door. He motioned for the women to get in. When Zania stepped inside, the same yellow glow from electric sconces bathed the bare interior.

  After they all boarded, the metal lock clanged behind her, eliciting a shudder. Zania’s prison had just shrunk. Thirty women in a metal box, about four by four meters, felt rather crowded despite the high ceiling.

  Imitating the others, Zania sat on the floor, next to Morrigan. "Why do they need two cars for the weapons? Can’t the guards and the weapons travel together?"

  Someone chuckled at the question.

  Morrigan smiled with indulgence. "The weapon cars also carry the dead after the games. The grays fear the dead. They believe the dead killed unjustly can exact revenge after death. That’s one of the reasons why this society eradicated violence."

  Zania couldn’t believe an advanced culture would sustain such superstitions. "For fear of angry ghosts?"

  The Amazons laughed softly.

  A loud bang on the container wall stopped their giggling.

  Dakini glared at the seated women. "One human sound out there can get us all killed!"

  Remembering the defense satellites ordered to seek and destroy any sign of human life outside Dagora, Zania remained mute. The heavy metal cube would protect them from visual detection and probably blur their individual body heat signatures, but she hadn’t expected the satellites to recognize human voices from space.

  From inside the container, Zania heard others boarding the train. Heavy crates slid and raked on metal, probably weapons. Time stood still as she waited for the train to leave.

  A few Amazons dozed off, others stared at the floor. Zania sized them up one by one, wondering whether she would have to fight any of them. Finally, the train lurched forward and moved at a snail pace, each turn of the heavy wheels taking Zania further away from her prison but closer to deadly combat.

  Dakini kept close to the Gorgon. Zania found the smile on the snakehead disturbing. She’d never noticed it before, but when the snakes forming the Gorgon’s mane became agitated, they opened their mouths wide, baring long fangs, and coiled, as if ready to strike. So the darn things could bite. Charming.

  When the train finally stopped in a squeal of grating metal, Zania braced herself as everyone skid forward. In a scraping of chains, the container soared like an elevator then swung wildly, sending several women rolling and colliding on the floor. Finally the container landed on something flat but not entirely still.

  As Morrigan had guessed, they floated on a barge, and according to the motion, the lake experienced stormy waves. Soon, the crack of thunder and the drumming of heavy rain on the metal roof became deafening.

  The humidity, and the closeness of so many people in a sealed metal cube, made it difficult to breathe. To add to the oppressive claustrophobia, the smell of vomit filled Zania’s nostrils. Several women suffered from motion sickness, and the stench made more Amazons sick as well.

  Zania didn’t want to lose her breakfast. She would need her strength and she might not eat again until after the fight. So she tried to relax and think of pleasant things. No point in rehashing a long gone past.

  Her mind returned to Svend. Despite the fact that she couldn’t stand his passive attitude, he seemed her only refreshing thought in this whole universe. When did her world become so small?

  More manipulations of the container forced Zania to watch her balance, then the ride became smooth and quiet. When the door to the metal cube finally opened, it didn’t take any prompting for the Amazons to rush out. Zania leapt down to the stone floor and took a breath of clean air with delight.

  As Zania took stock of her surroundings, she assessed the hall, the size of an airport waiting gate. Frescoes on the high ceiling portrayed fighting Amazons. So, this was their dedicated quarters. Two of the cube containers sat in the middle, on a carriage with soft tires. That explained the smooth, quiet ride.

  Dakini didn’t seem affected by the trip. "We are safe now. So you can talk, but keep it low."

  Safe! Except for the fact that only half of the fighters would come back alive.

  As she analyzed her situation, Zania’s hopes of escape vanished. This hall seemed even more secure than the bunker. The large door through which the carriage must have entered looked hermetically sealed, and Zania would bet someone controlled it remotely.

  At least a hundred gray guards lined the walls and barred the door. They carried large guns that would look right out of a video game back home. Given their level of technology, Zania could only assume these weapons to be lethal and highly accurate.

  The only open exit was a wide arch through which Zania had a view of the arena. Once out there, no way could she access the bleachers from the sunken pit. This safety feature protected the spectators and prevented escape.

  Morrigan indicated two heavily guarded tables on each side of the wide arch leading to the arena. "You get your sword only when our name is called. You are allowed one person to assist you with your gear. I’ll be glad to do it."

  "Thanks." Noticing no man around, Zania asked, "Where are the Vikings and the Centurions?"

  Morrigan pointed straight through the arch. "There is another hall on the opposite side."

  Glancing in that direction, Zania looked for Svend but couldn’t distinguish anyone in the gaping black hole across the expanse of light flooding the arena. She noticed with satisfaction that the ground was sand. Good. Zania liked to feel sand under her feet.

  The loud murmur of voices increased as the bleachers slowly filled with masked spectators all dressed in gray robes, like a crowd of ghosts. They ate finger food, careful not to displace their masks.

  High above the sand pit, large screens featured the champions and announced upcoming attractions. It reminded Zania of the sand soccer games she’d watched with her father and brothers as a child. Except that the stadium had been rectangular, not oval like this one.

  "The other stables have similar spaces around the arena. You’ll see the entrances once you are in the middle." Morrigan cleared her throat. "And the smaller arches with a closed fence... that’s where the beasts come from."

  Zania shuddered at the thought that she almost met the beasts up close. If it hadn’t been for Svend... "Do they use this stadium for any other games?"

  "Not anymore." Morrigan picked a vacant stone bench and motioned for Zania to sit next to her. "All games are prohibited. Officially, this arena is closed and condemned."

  Zania accepted the invitation to sit. "But it wasn’t destroyed..." Some high ranking citiz
en must have seen the potential in keeping it standing, and it had been well maintained ever since. No windows or opening of any kind brought in natural light. "Are we underground?"

  Morrigan shrugged. "Sure looks like it."

  The blaring voice announcing the first fight stopped all conversations in the waiting hall. One of the Amazons would fight some unknown warrior from another stable. Who knew how many slave facilities flourished in the clandestine shadows of the prude city? Zania surmised the fighting trade to be very lucrative for the owners.

  The woman responding to the call picked up a mace and a short sword, then she stood in the middle of the arch, waiting for a cue. Zania’s heart beat faster. Soon enough it would be her turn to fight.

  The Amazon won the first fight and the whole tribe cheered her victory. Somehow there was camaraderie among the women, like a family bond.

  The next Amazon wasn’t so lucky. When the guards dragged her bloody remains back into the waiting hall, they dropped the body at Morrigan’s feet and retreated quickly. By Aries, they did seem afraid of the dead.

  Zania stared in disbelief. She’d seen war up close, but this was a different kind of carnage. Anger rose in Zania’s throat. As if death wasn’t enough, the victor had taken her eyes and ears as trophies. The Amazons rushed to help carry the dead girl into one of the containers. What a waste of youth.

  Morrigan squeezed Zania’s shoulder. "Sometimes I wish the angry ghosts would take their revenge."

  More fights followed that didn’t involve the Amazons, then the sound of a name raised the hair on Zania’s nape. Svend! She ran to the arch but wasn’t sure she wanted to watch.

  Dakini rushed to her side. "Move over. He’s my man."

  Zania couldn’t step back. "There is plenty of room for everyone to watch." She had to show her support and cheer her friend, the only one who’d risked his life and sullied his reputation to save her.

  Armed with a battle axe, Svend, who stood two meters in height, seemed dwarfed by his opponent. The giant, half a meter taller than Svend, wielded a trident and a net. Much of these games reminded Zania of ancient Rome, and the decadence that followed the height of their civilization. Was depravity the logical end for every culture?