So Oskar reached down and lifted Zora’s chin with her finger, until she was looking directly into his eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay. No matter what they do to me, they can’t change one thing: in this life, I have loved and been loved. I could not ask for more.”
Then he tilted his head downward and put his lips on Zora’s, grateful that at the very least, he’d had one more chance to kiss her before going to his death.
And a kiss had never been so sweet.
Chapter Seventeen
Oskar could not sleep for the next few days. He merely picked at his food, handing most of it over to Leo for safekeeping until the next trip across the tunnel. That trip had been planned for early the next week, and Oskar could only hope that whatever plans Loki and Fitz had to execute him would not be put into action until after that trip. Oskar desperately wanted the chance to say goodbye to Whisper and Axel.
But it was not to be.
Three days after Oskar had been dragged into Fitz’s office, he was dragged out of bed early by two guards he’d never seen before.
“Come with us,” they ordered, shoving him roughly toward the door. The boss wants to see you.
A few minutes later, Oskar found himself once again standing in Fitz’s office. This time, Loki was not there. The elder Severson tapped his fingers on his desk and regarded Oskar with cold eyes for several long moments before speaking.
“I’m giving you one last chance to talk,” Fitz said. “If you don’t speak up now and tell me what you know, you’ll be heading to a death match in a few hours. A death match you’ll be sure to lose. I’ve called a special Games event, and all of Gilt Hollow will be there to witness your demise. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure that all the shifters know that you were killed because you refused to help end the resistance against Gilt Hollow.”
Oskar seethed on the inside, but on the outside he kept a calm expression on his face. “I have nothing else to say, sir. Regardless of what you do to me, I cannot tell you anything about any resistance movement, because as far as I know there isn’t one.”
“Liar!” Fitz yelled. Oskar wondered if Fitz knew for a fact that Oskar was indeed lying, or if he only suspected and was trying to call Oskar’s bluff. Either way, it didn’t matter. Oskar wasn’t going to tell him anything, and that meant Oskar was going to die today.
After about ten more minutes of yelling and threatening, Fitz gave up on Oskar.
“Take him away,” he said to the guards, his voice dripping with disgust. “Take him to the Arena to await his fate later today.”
Oskar turned toward the door before the guards could even touch him. If the end was coming today, he’d rather get it over with quickly. He’d already given Otto a message to give to Whisper, in case the death match happened before the next trip to the tunnel. Oskar’s heart ached at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye in person, but he knew Whisper would stay strong. She was a good kid, that sister of his.
A half hour later, Oskar found himself sitting in the holding area outside the door that would lead him into the Arena for his death match. The match was still hours away, but the guards had told him to put on his competition uniform and then left him here. Oskar tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. Even for a brave bear shifter, the prospect of imminent death makes the world seem like a strange, surreal place. Every noise seemed louder, every smell seemed sharper, and the little bit of light streaming in from the Arena seemed abnormally bright.
How strange, that all of this will still be here tomorrow, but I will be gone. No matter how hard Oskar tried to keep his mind off of dying, he couldn’t quite shake the chill that had settled over him.
He had hours and hours to try, though. At least three hours passed by before the Arena started to slowly come to life. Oskar could hear staff members tidying the Arena floor, and at one point the announcer tested out his bullhorn. After about another hour, the sounds of the staff were joined by the sounds of spectators arriving in the Arena. Over the next hour, the sounds slowly grew to a deafening roar. Oskar sat alone, wondering how much longer he actually had until the match began, and wishing that Zora would come see him. He knew she was allowed backstage, and he knew she would come to him if at all possible. But he had a feeling that Loki’s father had forbidden anyone from coming to see Oskar before the match. Isolating Oskar for hours to think about his own death served as an additional form of torture.
Oskar closed his eyes and waited for the beginning of the end. He wondered what kind of animal he could face that would ensure he would be killed for certain. It took a lot to bring down a big grizzly like himself, but he wasn’t invincible. Fitz must have found something that would work. There’s no way the outcome of this death match was being left to chance.
Part of Oskar wanted to just roll over and let the animal, whatever it was, kill him quickly. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well get it over with without putting on a show for the gathered crowd. All fighting would do would be to give them the sick form of “entertainment” they so inexplicably desired. And yet, Oskar already knew he would fight. He hadn’t been built for backing down, after all. Courage and ferocity were in his very DNA, and when faced with mortal danger, he knew he would react. He would fight bravely, and he would die bravely. And, unfortunately, that’s exactly what the crowd wanted to see while they laughed and talked and drank beer.
Suddenly, the announcer’s voice came breaking through the hum of the crowd. Oskar hopped nervously to his feet at the sound, and adrenaline started rushing through his veins. This was it. His moment had come to face death.
“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to a very special Games event. I’m sure you’ve all been going through Games withdrawals in the weeks since the Winter Games took place. Never fear, though, because our own Fitz Severson has agreed, along with his son Loki, to offer a very special match today to sate your appetite for a good old-fashioned fight.”
Oskar imagined Loki sitting up in the stands, seething. If anything brought Oskar comfort about today, it was knowing how angry Loki was about the loss of his prized shifter fighter. Oskar didn’t dwell on thoughts of Loki for long, however. The announcer was laying out the rules of the match, and Oskar listened with a pounding heart. This was the first that he was hearing of what, exactly, was expected of him today.
“Today’s match is a death match,” the announcer cheerily yelled into his bullhorn. “We haven’t had one of those in a while, so I’ll quickly review the format for you. Our shifter contender will be faced with the wildest of the wild animals currently held by the Arena. The shifter must kill the animal in order to end the match. If the animal kills him first, well, that’s tough luck I suppose.”
The crowd roared, as though hearing about the possibility of seeing a man die right before their eyes was the most exciting news they’d ever received in their lives. It took a few moments for the announcer to calm them down enough to be able to continue speaking.
“Now, to make things even more exciting, today’s death match contender is none other than the champion of the most recent Winter Games: Oskar of House Severson.”
The crowd roared again, and the heavy door in front of Oskar slid open. For a moment, the bright lights of the Arena blinded him. After being in near darkness for so long, he thought the sudden rush of light might literally blind him. But he recovered quickly, and blinked at the view before him: the empty Arena floor, and the packed Arena stands.
“I guess that was my cue,” Oskar muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath and then walked forward until he reached the center of the floor. The crowd kept going wild, despite feeble attempts by the announcer to quiet them down. Oskar ignored the racket and scanned the front rows, looking for Zora. It didn’t take long to find her. She sat with her family in their usual spot at the center of the Arena, right beside the Emperor’s family. Even from this distance, Oskar could see that her face had turned pale. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but Oskar would have b
et his life that her knuckles were clenched so tightly that they had become white. Not that betting his life really cost him much at this point. He had only about fifteen minutes left to live. Maybe less.
But if he had to die without speaking to Zora, at least he’d been able to lay eyes on her one last time. Even pale and frightened, she looked lovelier than any woman Oskar had ever seen. Her pale green dress shimmered slightly in the lights of the Arena, and accented the deep brown of her silky hair, which hung in one long braid over her left shoulder. A green ribbon that matched her dress was threaded through the braid, sparkling at the slightest turn of her head.
“I love you,” he whispered. His voice, of course, was completely lost in the noise. But somehow, Zora seemed to have heard him. She lifted her head suddenly, shifting her gaze from her lap up to his face. The pain in her eyes tore Oskar’s heart in two, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. She would have to bear that pain and work through it on her own. Oskar hoped that she would find solace in continuing to help the resistance, but no matter how she worked through her grief, he knew she would work through it. She was stronger than she knew.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the announcer yelled, finally managing to get his voice somewhat heard above the crowd. “Please enjoy the show!”
The announcer scurried faster than ever back to his safe little box. For a moment, Oskar fantasized about grabbing the announcer and ripping him in two. If the crowd really wanted a show, why not give them a show? After all, what were they going to do to punish him? Kill him? He already faced certain death.
But Oskar held back. He might be angry, and he might hate all of Gilt Hollow, but he was no monster. The announcer didn’t deserve to die just because his job was to work the crowd into a frenzy about the abominable Games. Besides, Oskar was still holding out hope that Whisper might be left alone. Loki’s father hadn’t mentioned her at all this morning. Could Oskar dare to hope that the Severson men didn’t care enough about Whisper to bother going after her? He couldn’t be sure, but he wasn’t going to do anything to make the Seversons hate him even more, or give them an excuse to find more ways to punish him. Oskar wanted to die with the hope that Whisper had been spared, at least. Doing something stupid like killing an announcer would mean almost certain death for Whisper.
The crowd was roaring again, and Oskar tensed up as he stood in the center of the Arena, unsure of which door to face. In his previous matches, he had known which door his animal opponents would come out of. But no one had given him any clue this time. It could have been either of the doors, so he remained in the center.
For what felt like hours, nothing happened. Oskar stood still, waiting, and the crowd kept roaring. Oskar clenched and unclenched his fists, preparing to shift the second he heard the metallic clanging of one of the doors opening. The rules of the Games stated that a shifter could not begin shifting until the door had started opening, and Oskar was doing his best to follow the rules right now, for Whisper’s sake.
When finally he heard the door opening, Oskar immediately began transforming into a bear. He could feel his fighter instincts taking over as his useless uniform stretched and tore away from his body. His skin began to thicken and sprout dark brown fur. His hands and feet morphed into the paws of a bear, complete with fearsome claws at the end. His head rounded out into a bear head, his teeth growing long and sharp. Oskar stretched his neck backward and let out a mighty roar. He felt strangely happy to be dying in bear form. At least the Gilt Hollow citizens wouldn’t be able to cut off his head and display it in public, or some other grotesquery like that. He’d heard of them doing similar horrid things, although he thankfully had never witnessed such barbarism, so he wasn’t sure whether it was rumor or fact.
Oskar’s keen bear senses, which were strong even when he was in human form, grew even stronger now that he had shifted. His sense of smell became so strong that he knew before he even saw the animal what it was.
A lion. For a moment, he felt a little calmer. He’d fought a lion before. Yes, a lion made a difficult opponent, but it wasn’t impossible to defeat. If that was the best that the Seversons could throw at him, then perhaps he was not going to die today.
But his calm disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. For when Oskar swung his head around to look, he saw that his opponent wasn’t just one lion, but four lions. Both doors for wild animals had opened into the Arena, and out of each door two lions had come. Now, a total of four lions, all giant and angry, with huge manes and bared teeth, were heading straight toward Oskar.
Yup. I’m dead.
But just because he was dead didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight. With a mighty roar, Oskar raised himself onto his hind legs and prepared to meet the lions’ charge. Everything that happened next felt like a blur. The crowd continued to roar, louder and louder, but Oskar felt like he was hearing the noise from far away, or from underwater. The only thing that sounded clear to him was the heavy breathing and sharp roars of the lions that surrounded him. They slashed into his skin drawing blood and sending shudders of pain across his body. But Oskar ignored the pain and kept fighting, slashing at the beasts with his own sharp claws, and matching each of their roars with one of his own. He felt himself growing weaker, and he knew he must have lost a ridiculous amount of blood at this point. He felt a bit surprised that he was still standing and still throwing blows, but as long as he was able to, he would continue to fight. If Gilt Hollow wanted to see how strong of a bear he was, let them see.
A few moments later, to Oskar’s shock, one of the lions fell to the ground, completely defeated. Oskar could hardly believe it. The lions had all seemed like they were still going strong, but the lion that had just dropped didn’t look like it was going to be rising again, ever. It whimpered and gave a shudder, then lay still. The crowd roared its approval, but Oskar paid no mind to the people in the stands. One singular thought consumed him: I could still win this. If I took down one lion, I could take down another. And another, and another.
With renewed strength, Oskar lashed out at the lion directly in front of him, fighting with everything he had to take down the beast. He’d decided that if he focused on one lion at a time, ignoring whatever the other lions might do to him in the meantime, he might actually be able to defeat this whole group.
A few moments later, another lion fell and the crowd roared louder again. Oskar felt a fresh rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he turned his attention to the third lion. Part of him didn’t know why he was bothering to try so hard to win this. He could tell he was losing a lot of blood, and victory was still far from certain. But even if he managed to pull off a win and save his own life, what did it matter? He wouldn’t die in the ring today, then. But he would still die soon. Loki’s father had decided that he wanted him dead, and he would make sure to find another way to make an example of him if this didn’t work.
But it didn’t matter. Oskar kept fighting. Perhaps it was sheer survival instinct that kept him going. Or perhaps it was his one last way to show the Seversons that shifters were stronger than they thought. Whatever the case, Oskar kept fighting until the third lion had fallen. The crowd roared, and the fourth lion took a step back, circling Oskar’s bear slowly as if trying to figure out how this strange beast had managed to take down three of his fellow lions.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the announcer yelled into the bullhorn, still barely audible above the crowd. “We are witnessing history here today. This single bear has taken down three lions, all on his own! Can he take down a fourth and clinch the victory in this death match?”
Oskar himself wasn’t sure of the answer to that question. Taking down three lions had been a great feat, but it had left him weak. The blood loss was catching up to him, and he could feel himself growing lightheaded. Meanwhile, the fourth lion seemed to have only suffered minor wounds. The wild animal still had much of its strength, while Oskar’s own strength was fading.
Oskar took a step forward and tri
ed to swing, but he missed and stumbled. The crowd roared, whether from delight or disappointment Oskar couldn’t say. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he realized in that moment that he had lost this fight. He had done his best, but his strength seemed to be fading out at lightning speed. He tried to stand again, but wasn’t able to get to his feet. He lifted his paw to swing at the lion from the ground, but even that took more effort than he could muster. The lion, sensing that Oskar was going to be an easy kill at this point, threw back his head and roared triumphantly.
Oskar turned his head toward Zora’s seat. If these were his last moments, then he wanted to be looking at her. He wanted her beautiful face to be the last thing he saw in this life.
But Zora was not in her seat. The seat was empty, and Oskar’s heart sank. He would not be given one last glimpse of her, but he hoped that at least meant that Zora had left the Arena, and would not have to witness his death.
Oskar closed his eyes, pulling up a mental image of Zora to focus on instead. Then he waited for the inevitable death blow from his lion opponent. In this Game, it seemed, Oskar would not prove to be the champion.
But before any blow from the lion could hit him, he heard a familiar but frantic voice yelling into the announcer’s bullhorn.
“Stop! Stop the fight this instant! I demand that the fight be stopped!” Zora’s voice rang loud and clear across the Arena, bringing a shocked hush over the crowd. Even the lion had stopped roaring and was staring to his left with dark, narrowed eyes.
Oskar opened his eyes and turned his head toward the announcer’s booth. Zora stood there with one hand on her hip and one hand holding up the bullhorn, her face looking as though she herself might kill the lion if no one intervened.
The Misfit and the Bear Page 15
