Wrath and Ruin

by Ripley Proserpina

  “You are a princess,” Pytor whispered to Polya. “Use that if anyone should treat you with disrespect.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  The soldiers’ replacements arrived quickly. These were obviously warned and were careful to be respectful and distant.

  “We will bring Polya to her dressing room,” the man said. “Then you will be led to your seat.”

  The soldiers closed in around them, shielding them from prying eyes. Pytor could see a great deal of money had been spent to hastily construct the accommodations for the Hunt. There were whitewashed buildings and large tents with outdoor kitchens. Servants bustled around, carrying food, clothes, boots, anything that might be needed. Pytor could see streaks on the houses. The paint had not yet dried.

  A huge wooden arena loomed ahead of them. Pytor was struck by the sheer size of it. It smelled like newly split lumber. There were sticky places where pitch and sap had run, the timber not having been aged. They must have cleared acres of forest in order to make the arena.

  From within came the indistinct din of voices. The building was high enough that it cast a huge shadow over the rest of the clearing, over tents and buildings.

  “It was finished yesterday,” the man said, and Pytor glanced away, embarrassed he’d been caught gawking. “There are stacked seats for over a hundred people and a huge canvas tarp that can be pulled over the top of the arena if it should rain. The first challenge, as you know, will be in the open with an audience. The king’s beast is already inside, having been prepared earlier. Your daughter will join him momentarily. She will be given the equipment she needs to make it to the next challenge, which is roughly fifty meters away from the base of the Stovnya Mountains.”

  The man led them around the circumference of the building until they reached a small door. He opened it and gestured them inside.

  The smell of pine was almost overwhelming.

  Polya’s trunk had been unpacked, and her newly made dress hung over a chair. On the floor nearby, was a pair of heavy boots, woolen underclothes, and a leather satchel that could be carried on her back.

  “There will be supplies when you reach your next post,” the man said. “Food and clothing. Bandages if they are needed. After that, you will be on your own to find food. So carry what first aid and food you can. It will not be given to you.”

  Pytor was surprised. This had not been part of the agreement. He had only participated in designing the final challenge in the Hunt. He realized, belatedly, that he didn’t know what Polya would face.

  “What is the first challenge?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Prince,” the man said. “I am not at liberty to say.”

  Pytor stood up straight and stepped closer to the man. “What is the challenge?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Forgive me, Prince,” he said nervously. “But to tell you would mean my death.”

  Pytor stepped away. “Are my brothers here?”

  “Yes, they are seated.”

  “Good. And their children?”

  “No. Most were sent abroad before the Hunt began.”

  That was very smart of his brothers, but it didn’t matter. Their sons and daughters would not be returning to Konstantin after the Hunt.

  The man took a watch from his pocket and examined it. “We must go. Your daughter needs to change, or the Hunt will not begin on time. The Beast will have been secured by now.”

  Pytor faced Polya. She stared at the dress, at the satchel, and at the golden hilted knife lying on the dressing table.

  “I will see you after the Hunt, Polya.”

  “Goodbye, Father,” she said, her voice quiet and her gaze still locked on the knife.

  He gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him.

  “I love you,” he said, bending at the knees to see into her eyes.

  She stared at him, disbelief clear.

  “I do, Polya. You are the best of me. The best of your mother. You will make everything possible.”

  He kissed her forehead, breathing in the smell of her skin and hair. With a flash of memory, he recalled her baby scent and had to close his eyes against the pain in his chest. It took all of his control to turn from her, but as soon as he did, the door opened and he stepped out.

  He was sure not to look back.

  Anatoliy Meets Polya

  Polya held her tail, wrapping and unwrapping it around her wrist as she stared at the heavy wooden door separating her from the Hunt. She lifted her tail, raising it to her chest. Her heart thumped, the blood drumming in her ears so loudly she almost couldn’t hear the voices of the crowd.

  They seemed enthusiastic. It reminded Polya of going to a ballet or theatre where people entertained themselves with conversation until the real event began. The door behind her opened, and the heavy cologne she smelled signaled the approach of the man from earlier.

  Polya grasped the leather straps on her shoulders, tightening the pack she wore, and she let go of her tail to smooth her skirt.

  “Are you ready?”

  No. “Yes.”

  The man opened the door and waited for Polya to pass through. He led her down a dark hall. Above her head, she heard the steady tread of footsteps. The ceiling was graduated, such that she realized the people were seated directly over her.

  “If and when this challenge is completed,” he said, “there will be a door directly across from this one. You and the Beast, if you both survive, are to exit through it.”

  Polya stumbled, her tail countering her balance so no one, except the keenest observer, would have seen her catch herself.

  “And then?” Polya asked.

  “Then you continue through the forest. The trail is marked to the place where you may spend the night. This is the only night food and shelter will be provided. Once the second challenge begins, you will be on your own, as I stated earlier.”

  “When does the second challenge begin?”

  “Tomorrow,” the man answered. “There is no set time. You will know when it begins.”

  He stopped by another door, this one with two knobs. Two footmen waited, hands on the knobs, ready to open the door to whatever awaited her.

  A growl and snarl filtered from the interior, low and rumbling. Dogs barking wildly followed, as if the animals had been worked into a frenzy.

  “Good luck,” the man said, turning to Polya and placing his hand lightly on her arm. “I wish—” He paused, and the footmen glanced at him. “We wish that this hadn’t happened to you.”

  Polya’s tail swung in agitation, quivering with anxiety. “Just open the door, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  The man removed his hand and nodded to the footmen, who pulled the doors open.

  The gray dim light, so muted earlier, was blinding after the darkness of the tunnel. Polya squinted, trying to adjust her sight as she entered the arena. For that was what it was. An arena. Much like the one in which the gladiators she’d seen in her history books had fought.

  The noise reached a fevered pitch. The people cried and cheered, and called her name over and over.

  It was insanity.

  Polya stared at the amorphous blobs, blinking rapidly. Her vision cleared, and her breath caught. There were hundreds of people surrounding her, all dressed in their finery. They waved at her, talked at one another, and clapped.

  Slightly away and above the others was another set of seats. That must be where her father and the king sat.

  But that wasn’t what caught and held her attention.

  First, it was the sound of whistling and snapping. Then the growl, low and pained. And then a snap, followed by a snarl.

  She cried out.

  There, in the center of the arena, stood a massive bear.

  He was fastened securely to a wooden post, a chain around his neck. His legs were cuffed in iron that was secured to the ground with iron spikes. Behind him, a huge man, his chest glistening with sweat, lifted his arm and lowered it in a graceful arc
. The black leather whip in his hand sailed almost musically through the air, like the final note in a symphony, before it landed on the bear with a snap.

  The bear tossed his head, trying desperately to escape the whip, but his movement only caused the whip to land on his head, his chin, his paws. Blood sprayed in the same arc the whip made, landing in patterns across the sandy ground.

  The man saw Polya and stopped, then slowly wound his whip along his arm and elbow. He clicked his heels together and bowed to Polya before he dropped the whip.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the man called out, facing the crowd. His voice loud and calm, as if he hadn’t spent however long torturing the sad eyed creature in front of Polya. “The first challenge in the Hunt. An ancient, and noble Konstantinean tradition, nositi ubiti!”

  The crowd screamed in excitement. Out of the corner of her eye, Polya saw one woman grasp a man’s arm and jump up and down.

  These people didn’t deserve to be rescued.

  Polya met the blue-eyed gaze of the bear. He watched her. His sides heaved with exertion. His eyes met hers straight on, as if he was trying to communicate with her. His head moved to the side, his snout pointing toward something. Polya looked in the same direction, and saw a cage of dogs.

  They were not the dogs she was used to seeing. They were not droopy-eared and soft eyed. These dogs were only a hairsbreadth away from illustrations of hell hounds. They barked and frothed. They bit at the wire of the cage. Their teeth were red with blood, and she realized they were injuring themselves trying to get into the arena.

  To her.

  To the bear.

  Her brain translated the phrase the man had uttered, nositi ubiti: bear baiting.

  The man spoke again, “Let us count down…”

  The crowd roared, “Three, two…”

  The man turned and jogged out of the arena.

  Polya turned to look at the bear, who seemed to be trying to communicate with her.

  “One!”

  Polya made her decision, ran to the whip, and picked it up. The cage opened, and the dogs scrabbled across the sand, their claws digging as they tripped over themselves and each other.

  The bear roared, swinging its head to Polya. She saw three things all at once: a dog launched itself at the bear, keys nailed high into the post to which the bear was leashed, and the locks on his paws and neck.

  This was the challenge: survive the dogs, unleash the bear.

  The bear had no escape. The dog on its back locked its jaws into its neck. It roared even louder, its blue eyes wide and pained. All of the dogs went right for it, ignoring Polya. Soon there were half a dozen crazed animals ripping, biting, and tearing into the bear.

  “Run, Polya!” She could hear her father’s voice, as if it was directed precisely into her ear.

  She turned to the exit. They had never expected the bear to leave. She looked back at it. It was fighting valiantly, but she could hear it wheezing. It had no range of motion, no way to escape the pain of this end.

  The thought that it could easily be her end in the next challenge made her raise the whip and snap it down.

  It stung her cheek, she had no idea how to wield it, but it smacked into the ground.

  “Hey!” she screamed at the dogs. “HEY!”

  They couldn’t hear her over the roar of the bear and the crowd.

  Polya held the whip above her head, snapping it down as hard as she could. The barbed tail slashed against her hand, but it tagged one of the dogs, who focused its attention on her.

  It leapt off the bear at her, muzzle red, canines bared. It approached her slowly, and Polya was surprised. She was obviously much less of a threat than the bear, yet it approached her so much more warily.

  “Sit!” she yelled.

  Its ears perked up, but it continued to growl, stalking her, its belly low to the ground.

  Her vision narrowed, the noise of the arena dying away, as her entire focus went to the animal in front of her. She took a step back, and her tail snapped from side to side as her agitation grew. She curled her lip, and a snarl built from low in her chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another dog, this one mirroring the posture and movement of the first. They both took slow steps toward her, growling low.

  Her muscles contracted and bunched. Run or leap, run or leap. Her body was ready to do both as she fought to stay in control of her actions.

  She wanted to leave the bear to its fate, but something in its eyes—its awareness—kept her in the arena.

  Polya got her bearings. The bear was in front of her, the pole behind it but close enough to her she could reach it in three long strides. It was thick, built so it could withstand the gigantic bear who pulled and wrenched at it.

  As her eyes left the dogs, one of them pounced at her. She brought the whip forward so it bit the heavy leather handle, and not her. A snarl ripped from her body, louder and angrier than she’d ever made before. The dog’s ears flattened against its head, and it released the handle, trying to get flesh instead of leather.

  Polya sprang. One moment she stood in front of the dog, and the next she was perched on the top of the post, her tail quivering. The arena seemed to surge in a wave of sound.

  She was suddenly aware of her panting breaths and pounding heart, and that the bear was faltering. It made a sound as if it was sucking in air through a too-small opening. It was choking to death.

  Polya grabbed the keys and fell forward, knocked off a dog, and fumbled around for the lock resting on the side of the bear’s neck. Its movement seemed lifeless, its body swaying from side to side. A dog bit her calf, and she roared, causing the bear to jerk beneath her. She turned around and embraced the dog, tearing into its throat and pushed it aside before moving forward and inserting the key.

  It didn’t fit.

  Her fingers trembled and she found another, inserting that one.

  “It's all right,” she said, both to herself and the bear. “I’ve almost got it.”

  She twisted the key, and the lock snapped open.

  She heard a roar of appreciation and excitement from the crowd, and she yanked off the lock. She pulled at the chain, unlinking one side from the other so it fell from around the bear’s neck.

  The bear pulled in a great breath, and its movement knocked her to the ground. She crawled toward the lock which still housed the keys.

  Claws sunk deep into her back. The satchel she’d forgotten was there was shaken from side to side, and Polya flopped against the ground like a fish. The dog lifted her up and dropped her. Her stomach slammed into the ground, the air leaving her lungs. She tried to suck in a breath, but her chest was paralyzed. She heard a snarl, and then the weight was gone, and a dead-eyed dog landed next to her. A blue eye lowered to her, and a snout pushed her.

  She moved her hand listlessly at it, give me a minute.

  She heard a growl, and then the head swung away from her. There was another whine and a quick snap, and silence.

  Polya’s chest finally expanded, and she grabbed the keys from the lock. The dogs lay dead around them. Sick rose from her stomach, but she swallowed hard.

  Shaking, she scooted forward, right up to the bear’s paw, and inserted a key into the lock there.

  It caught and released the lock. She pulled the iron cuff away from its leg. The fur had been rubbed off, and an angry sore oozed blood. The bear lifted its paw, and she swore she heard it hiss in pain.

  She felt a bump, and the warm exhalation of air against her neck. Forcing herself to move, she pushed forward, and inserted another key into the lock on the other paw before peeling it away.

  “Ready!” a voice boomed.

  The bear above her snarled.

  Polya peeked around the bear’s leg and saw a trio of soldiers raising their rifles.

  She ducked back, grasped the lock on his hind legs, shoved in the key and wiggled it. She did the same to the final lock, and the bear kicked the cuffs away from him.

  He sto
od and roared.

  Polya thought her roar was loud, but the bear made it sound like a kitten’s mew. Terrified, she scuttled backward on her hands, heels pushing into the sand.

  “Aim!” a soldier commanded.

  The bear turned, and Polya could hear, as clearly as if it spoke to her, his message: run.

  She did. She grabbed her skirts and ran to the door. She could hear the bear’s paws landing softly behind her. She wrestled with the door. This one had smooth knobs, and it didn’t turn in her hand.

  “No!” she yelled out and, without thinking, ran back to the cuff. She yanked the keys, pulling desperately to release it from the lock. It finally did, just as she heard the snick of a hammer being drawn back.

  She was too late.

  She heard another roar, and then the bear was there, launching himself at the soldiers. Not to kill, but to disarm. His giant body smacked into them, and they scattered. She ran to the doors, found a key and shoved it inside. She turned the knob, felt it give, and pushed open the door.

  “Come on!” she yelled at the bear.

  He sprinted toward her. Once she saw he was following, she ran. Just as her body twisted, her eyes lifted and met her father’s. His eyes were wide and shocked.

  Polya didn’t waste a moment more.

  She ran.

  Polya and Anatoliy Run

  The girl threw open the door, and Anatoliy hurried after her. His body strained. He ached, each step shooting pain up his legs.

  The girl was fast, faster than his soldiers, almost faster than him.

  He followed her. She didn’t hesitate as she ran. She turned abruptly, her legs and arms pumping, the breath bursting from her as she put her head down to charge up a hill.

  Her legs were a blur of gray wool. Her orange and black striped tail hovered just above the ground, the orange like a swath of sunset in the warm summer sky. She stopped at the top, and Anatoliy, who had been focused on her, finally saw what had guided her: the blue and gold crest of the king.

  Hand to her side, she clutched the skin while she panted. “Do you see it?”