by Moira Young
That’s why they started chainin me to my cot all the time I’m in my cell. That’s why they keep me in a locked transport cage on my way to an from the Colosseum to fight. An that’s why they search me before they lock me back in my cell.
But they don’t ever hurt me. Don’t ever lay even a finger on me. I don’t fight more’n twice a week. The Angel of Death’s a big draw fer the crowds. I’m the best thing that’s happened to Hopetown in a long time. They wanna make sure it lasts.
I dunno what kinda deal the Pinches made with the Cage Master, but whatever it is, they must be doin fine by it. Sometimes I see her, Miz Pinch, on the Cage Master’s balcony, watchin me fight, but other’n that, I ain’t had no more to do with any of ’em.
I also ain’t seen Emmi. I hate not knowin if she’s okay or not, but I ain’t got no way of sendin a message to her. All I can do is hope that she’ll find a way of sendin one to me. An that she’s somehow keepin outta the way of Miz Pinch’s fist.
I’m well fed. I got my own cell an a cot with a blanket. Th’other girl fighters is all kept in one big cell together an have to bunk down on the cold ground at night. They don’t git no special treatment.
Even the watch captain, Mad Dog, keeps his distance from me. He’s called Mad Dog on account of the times when he’s so hopped up on chaal there’s no tellin what he might do. An he does plenty. To the guards, to th’other fighters. But not to me. He don’t dare touch me.
So I eat what they give me, fight when they make me, an look fer my chance to git away. I’ll take any chance at all. A guard lookin th’other way. A door left open at the right time. Anythin. They can slam me in the Cooler all they like. I only gotta git lucky once.
In the still of night, I sit or pace my cell. I don’t sleep more’n a hour or two at a time. An that’s because the moment I shut my eyes, the darkness comes fer me. It slithers outta its hidin place to wrap me in its cold cold arms. It slides into my blood, my bones, my soul. It squeezes out all hope.
If I let it in, I’ll never git outta here. I’ll stay an fight in the Cage till I start to lose. I’ll stay till I die in the gauntlet.
I’m afeared that, in the end, the darkness will turn out to be stronger’n the red hot.
The moment I shut my eyes, it comes.
The darkness comes.
The darkness an the dreams.
I’m in the Colosseum.
It’s silent. Empty. Dark. The dead time of night.
I’m in the Cage, my feet bare, my clothes in rags. I rattle at the door, but it’s locked. I’m trapped inside.
I feel a pricklin at the back of my neck. Slowly I turn.
They all stand there. Every girl I ever fought. Every girl I beat an sent to the gauntlet. Locked into the Cage with me. They ain’t nuthin but shadows, their faces in darkness, but I know them. Each an every one. The color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, how the fear smells on her skin.
They start movin, glidin towards me on silent feet.
Fergive me. I whisper it, say it, scream it—fergive me fergive me fergive me—but no sound comes outta my throat.
They’re on top of me now. They surround me. They pull me down.
Thick darkness, like a blanket.
Voices. Whisperin. Mutterin. Sighin. But far away, so’s I cain’t make out the words. Then, Saba! Saba, help me!
Lugh’s voice. But when he was small. Emmi’s age.
Lugh! I call. I’m here! I’m tryin to find you! Where are you?
I dunno! Hurry, Saba! It’s so dark. I … I’m frightened. He starts to cry.
It’s okay, Lugh! I call. I’m gonna find you! Keep talkin so I can find you!
I cain’t! I cain’t! Saba! They’re comin!
He screams.
Lugh! I yell. Lugh!
Silence.
Then the voices agin. Closer now so I can hear what they’re sayin.
Too late … too late … too late…
No, I whimper. No! Please! Lugh! I’m here! I’m comin!
I drag myself outta the dream. I’m soaked with sweat. I sit up, my heart poundin.
I wait. It always takes a couple of minutes fer me to come to, to git my breath back. My blanket’s all twisted an tangled with the chain on my right ankle.
Every night I dream of Lugh. I never see him. Only hear him. Sometimes he’s frightened an callin fer me, like tonight. Other times he’s angry, shoutin.
Gawdam you, Saba, where are you? What’s takin you so long?
But the worst dream is the one where he says my own words back to me.
I’ll find you. Wherever they take you, I swear I’ll find you.
Over an over, never endin until I wake up an it stops.
Some nights I fall back to sleep after the dreams, other nights I lie awake an wait fer the dawn to creep into the cellblock. I roll my blanket unner my head, lie back an wait to see what it’s gonna be tonight.
Was it a bad ’un this time? A whisper from the cell next to mine. The one where they keep all th’other female fighters locked up together.
I don’t say nuthin. I don’t like to talk to them I fight or them I’m gonna hafta fight. An none of ’em talk to the Angel of Death. They’re afraid of me. I reckon it’s better that way. I know most of their voices though an I don’t recognize this one, so she must be new. A low, soft voice. Nice.
I heard you last night too, she says. An the night before. Ever since I came.
Now I know. They brought in a girl three nights ago. Tall an thin. A bit sickly lookin. A few years older’n me, maybe twenny. She lost her first fight today.
If she hears me, that means the rest of ’em can hear me too. It’s dangerous to let yer enemy see weakness. Weakness can git you killed. Then, it’s like she sees inside my head. She says, It’s okay. Nobody else knows. Jest me. I don’t sleep much.
I hear her shuffle closer to the bars. I cain’t see her, not even her shape in the dark. The cellblock ain’t got no windows. It’s lit by torches durin the day an when night comes, it’s black as black.
You lost today, I says. I heard ’em talkin. They say you didn’t even try.
I ain’t no fighter, she says, not like you. The sooner I lose, the sooner it’s all over.
You wanna die? I says.
I wanna be free, she says. I ain’t never bin free. Not my whole life. She’s quiet fer a moment or two. Then she says, D’you mind that they call you the Angel of Death?
No.
The other girls’re afeared of you. They know that if they fight you, it’s the end.
I don’t say nuthin.
My name’s Helen, she says.
I’m Saba, I says.
Saba. That’s a nice name.
I pull my blanket around me an lie down.
G’night, Saba, she says. Sweet dreams.
G’night, Helen, I says.
An I sleep.
Emmi’s figgered out how to git herself into the cellblock to see me. She’s started to come in with the water carriers. They’re the grubby kids who turn up first thing every mornin jest before dawn. They come with their buckets of fresh water an empty ’em into the troughs that run along the edge of the cells. Emmi slips out to see me an is back at work with her morning chores before the Pinches wake up.
It’s Emmi who whispers to me what’s goin on in Hopetown, who tells me how the place works an where everythin is.
She’s tougher’n she used to be, that’s fer sure. You wouldn’t know her to be the same girl as left Silverlake that day. A couple of times she’s come in with a cut lip or bruise on her arm that made my fists clench, but fer the most part she manages to stay outta Miz Pinch’s way.
Emmi. On her own in a hellhole like this. Somehow managin to fend fer herself. Who’d of thought it?
It’s bin four nights since Helen first spoke to me. Her an me talk a little bit every night now. I ain’t never bin much of a talker essept with Lugh, an since I bin in this place I’m outta the habit of it even more.
But I l
ike Helen. She’s about th’only person I met fer a long time who ain’t crazy. An she ain’t afeared of me. Says she won’t live long enough to meet me in the Cage, so what’s the point, we might as well be friends.
We always wait till th’other girls fall to sleep an the cellblock guards do their last check. They sit outside till their relief comes on at daybreak, so we’re safe once we hear the door slam shut an the bar slot into place.
Then I slide offa my cot. My leg chain’s long enough fer me to sit next to her on the cold floor, with the cage bars between us. The warmth of her body puts me in mind of how Lugh an me used to sit, back to back, an how I could feel his heartbeat in my body, feel his breathin.
Helen lost her second fight today. She ain’t told me herself but I heard th’others talkin. We both know she ain’t got much time left.
Now she says to me, tell me what happened to yer brother.
So I do. I tell her what happened the day the Tonton came an killed Pa an took Lugh away. It’s such a relief to talk about him, after him jest bein inside my head fer so long. When I git to the bit where they asked about Lugh bein born at midwinter, I feel her go still.
Wait a minute, she says. Midwinter. D’you remember what they said? Their ezzack words, I mean.
I don’t even hafta think before I answer her. The words is burned into my brain. I says, The guy says to Procter John, is this him? Golden Boy here? Is he the one born at midwinter? An Procter John says yes an then the Tonton, he asks Lugh how old he is. Lugh says eighteen an then he asks him agin, was you born at midwinter. Lugh says yes, an that’s when they took him.
It’s like they came lookin fer him, says Helen. Like they knew they’d find him at Silverlake.
I’m surprised she says it, jest like that. That’s it, I says. That’s it ezzackly.
Was there anythin else? she says.
No, that’s about it. Oh, of course. Mercy says there was a stranger there when Lugh got born, a man.
A man. Who was he? D’you know his name?
Yeah. Trask. Mercy said he called hisself Trask. Said he got all excited when Lugh came, said how he went on an on about how a boy born at midwinter was a wonderful thing. He kept sayin it over an over an nobody knew why an then he jest … disappeared. They never seen him agin.
No, says Helen. I don’t s’pose they did.
My heart slams aginst my ribs. I grab at her through the cage bars. Find her hand an hold it tight in both of mine.
Helen, what is it? You know somethin. Tell me.
I don’t want to, she says.
Just say it, I says. Say it quick.
All right, she says. Saba, John Trask was my father.
I wish I could see her face. Look in her eyes an know if she’s tellin the truth. I squeeze her hand hard.
Don’t lie to me, I says.
I wouldn’t, she says, I swear it’s the truth. Saba, yer brother is in great danger. It was the Tonton who took him all right.
Is he here in Hopetown?
I don’t think so, she says. No. I think they took him to a place called Freedom Fields.
Where is it? I says.
North of here, she says. Deep in the Black Mountains. It’s hard to git to. Hidden away.
Freedom Fields, I says. Lugh’s at Freedom Fields. What else d’you know?
Listen, Saba, she says, if he’s at Freedom Fields, that means the King’s got him.
The King? I says. I ain’t never heard of him.
Hopetown belongs to him, she says. Hopetown an all the land around, as far as you care to go. DeMalo’s his man. His second in command.
What about the Cage Master?
He does what they tell him, she says. There’s the King, there’s DeMalo an there’s the Tonton who’re like his … his personal army. That’s who you gotta be afraid of.
What else? I says. I need to know everythin.
The King ain’t right in the head. None of ’em are. They believe strange things. Mad things. My father believed ’em too.
Yer father, I says. John Trask.
Yes. He was one of ’em. A Tonton, a spy fer the King. He’s dead now, but he was definitely the one at Silverlake that day. I was only little but I remember him comin back to Freedom Fields an how excited they all got when he said he’d found the one, he’d found the boy.
Found what boy? I says.
She’s silent.
Helen! I says.
I don’t wanna tell you, she whispers.
You’ve got to, I says. Please, Helen. Go on.
He said he’d found the boy, she says. The boy born to be killed at midsummer. Killed so the King will live.
My stummick twists. My breath tightens. I … I don’t … unnerstand, I says. What d’you mean … kill him so the King will live? What’re you talkin about?
She starts to talk fast. Low, so’s we don’t disturb nobody. It’s all about chaal, Saba. You seen this place. Everyone here’s chewin it or smokin it. Mad Dog, the cellblock guards, everybody who comes to see us fight. An one person controls the chaal. He grows it, harvests it, an supplies it.
The King, I says.
That’s because there’s only one place with the right conditions to grow it. You need the right kinda earth, the right light, the right amount of rain.
Freedom Fields, I says. In the Black Mountains.
The Tonton round people up, take ’em to Freedom Fields as slaves an force ’em to work in the fields.
An they control ’em with chaal, I says.
Now yer gittin the idea, she says.
So the man who controls the chaal, controls everythin an everybody. He’s all powerful, I says.
That’s the King, she says.
But … I still don’t unnerstand, I says. What’s all this gotta do with Lugh?
Every six years, on midsummer’s eve, they sacrifice a boy. They kill him. An that boy cain’t jest be any boy. He’s gotta be eighteen year old an born at midwinter.
The little hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Lugh, I says.
The King believes that when the boy dies, that boy’s spirit, his strength moves into him, it moves into the King. An his power’s renewed fer another six years.
But that’s … crazy, I says.
I told you, she says, the King’s wrong in the head. But he believes it. An because he believes it, the rest of ’em do. It’s the chaal, Saba. Jest enough of it makes people dull-witted an slow an easy to control. Too much of it an they’re outta control, like the crowds in the Colosseum when a fighter runs the gauntlet. Like Mad Dog. Once they start on it, they cain’t stop. They don’t wanna stop.
But sacrifice, I says. I don’t believe it.
I know how it sounds, but it’s true. I seen it myself. This midsummer’s eve it’s six years since the last sacrifice. Yer brother’s eighteen. He was born at midwinter. It’s his turn.
An they knew about Lugh because of yer father, I says.
Yes. Like I said, he told ’em about Lugh. After that, they kept watch on him over the years to make sure he didn’t come to no harm.
Our neighbor, I says. Procter John. That’s what he meant when he said, I bin keepin a eye on him all this time.
Don’t blame him, Saba, they would of forced him to do it.
But why didn’t they take Lugh when he was born? I says. Or later on? Why wait till now?
Because they need the boy to have a strong spirit. An lettin him live with his family, livin in freedom, keeps his spirit strong.
Lugh’s strong as they come, I whisper.
The stronger he is when he dies, the stronger the King will be. Listen Saba, she says, it’s less’n a month to midsummer’s eve. If you wanna save yer brother, you gotta find a way of gittin outta here soon. You gotta—
The cellblock door flies open an Mad Dog, the watch captain, comes in. He’s twirlin a long thick stick in his hands. He’s outta his head on chaal, all jittery an bright-eyed, laughin to hisself. The guards light his way with torches.
How’s m
y girls tonight? says Mad Dog.
The fighters in the main cell wake up right away. They’re on their feet, scuttlin into the shadows so’s he cain’t see ’em to pick on. I was back on my cot the moment the door flew open.
He runs the stick along the cell bars.
Wake up, he says. Daddy wants to play.
Helen, I says, move!
She’s froze with fear, still crouched down by the cell bars where we was talkin.
Mad Dog spots her.
What’re you doin there? He pushes his stick through the bars an pokes at her. Come on out, you rat! She shrinks away.
Leave her alone, I says.
Oooh, he says. He moves along to my cell an leers at me. If it ain’t the Angel of Death.
I stare at him. Let him see how much I hate him.
You think yer somethin, don’t you? he says. I tell you, if it was up to Mad Dog, you’d be outside right now gittin a beatin you’d never ferget. That day will come. An when it does, you’ll be beggin me fer mercy. But not now. Yer the star attraction in Hopetown these days an Mad Dog don’t wanna git into trouble. But I’m bored. I wanna bit of fun.
He points at Helen. Bring out the rat, he says.
He jerks his head an the guards unlock the main cage, push their way in through the girls. They twist Helen’s arm behind her back an haul her out.
Helen! I says. Wait! Leave her alone!
Mad Dog drags one of the guard’s chairs into the middle of the cellblock an sits on it backwards. His eyes spark with excitement an he’s startin to twitch. His fingers, his shoulders, his feet. That means trouble.
Let’s see, he says. How about you sing me a song?
I dunno no songs, says Helen in a low voice.
She don’t know no songs. Mad Dog looks all around, like he’s surprised. Well, can you dance? Do me a little dance … rat. Go on, what’re you waitin fer? Dance.
Helen don’t move.
I said, dance!
Leave her alone! I says.
Shut up, jest shut up! Gawdammit, he yells, do I hafta do everythin myself?
He throws his chair aginst the wall an it smashes into bits. Then Mad Dog starts dancin. He twirls his stick, throws it in the air, dances around it.
