by Keith Walsh
Atheles’ mind raced. He didn’t have the strength to break the champion’s grip and as he gurgled, the sound of the crowd around him began to dull, and with it his vision. He knew unconsciousness to be but a moment away. Where he found the will or the composure to do what he did next, he would never know but bringing his knees up to touch the outstretched arms of Haggard he then powered them into the unprotected chest of the champion. They crashed home, ripping Atheles from his assailant’s grip and launching him through the air to land heavily on his back.
He hit the ground hard and felt as if the air had been expelled from his lungs, but luckily he was not winded and managed to scramble to his feet. A huge roar sounded from the crowd as he stood up. The fans were obviously delighted the fight would continue when just moments ago it looked to be all over. Haggard too had recovered although sweat glistened on his body and dripped from his brow, and his chest was heaving from his heavy breathing.
Atheles considered for the briefest of moments going for his downed axe but realising Haggard closer to his and the fact the champion could recover and throw it before Atheles could respond, he decided against it. His pause for thought gave Haggard enough time to charge forwards and throw a right cross but the younger man managed to slip it and thundered home a right hook to his opponent’s body. Many a man would have been bowled over by such a blow but Haggard’s immense frame meant he took it well, barely flinching.
Atheles stepped further to his left and lashed a left hook to the head and this time Haggard did stumble as the punch caught him cleanly on the chin. Atheles followed up with a kick to the side of the champion’s left knee but the man mountain managed to turn his leg in time so that the blow landed on the front instead and so it failed to have the desired result of downing him. Frustration grew within Haggard as his energy began to fade and with a screaming battle cry he swung a hammer-fisted blow onto Atheles’ crown. The younger man stumbled and blinked as he fell back from the force of the impact.
Haggard reached out to try to grab his foe by the throat again but Atheles recovered just in time to swing his arms in a circling motion, bringing them in close together and then exploding them outward, catching the wrists of the champion and halting any chance of him completing the choke. No sooner had the move been accomplished than Atheles bent his knees and sprang upwards, angling and driving his head towards Haggard’s chin. There was a sickening crack as skull connected with jaw and the champion fell back.
Atheles didn’t hesitate to seize the moment and stepped forward to land a powerful right cross on his dazed opponent. Then he threw a left and another right before ducking a clumsy grab attempt and choosing to land a right hook to the ribs as he did so. Several more blows landed but Haggard took them all. Finally, breathing heavily and with his arms feeling like lead, Atheles was forced to cease his assault. He bent over, hands on knees trying to catch his breath and noting how Haggard did the same. The champion smiled at him, revealing his newly missing teeth before spitting some blood onto the dusty floor of the arena.
“You are a worthy contender to be sure,” said Haggard, fighting for breath. “And you are impossible to put down,” replied Atheles, also trying to gain some air. Booing sounded from the crowd as the two men spoke.
“The vultures want their dead,” said Haggard, eyeing the fans. Atheles nodded in agreement. “I’d like to see how long they would last down here,” he added. Haggard chuckled, “Don’t let them get to you, they are idiots.” And with that both men smiled and nodded to each other. “Perhaps it best if we recover our axes. I don’t see us ending this fight with our bare hands,” said Haggard, his breathing somewhat recovered. Atheles eyed the champion with a raised eyebrow, remembering how he had almost been choked to death moments earlier.
“You almost did,” he said before straightening. “But I agree. Let us recover our weapons,” he added, hands on hips, clearly the more revived by the brief respite. “Yours is the further,” said Haggard, nodding his head toward Atheles’ axe. “But I would not suggest turning your back on me. I am human after all,” added the champion with a sly grin. “I had not intended to,” replied Atheles, quickly spotting his weapon and backing away to it.
He reached it without incident and as he bent down to pick it up Haggard followed suit. The booing ceased under the shushing of some within the crowd and the arena fell into an eerie silence as the two combatants stood, rearmed and staring each other down. Atheles took a moment to glance around the parapets. He had never witnessed anything like this before. It was as though the Gods themselves had appeared, stunning the crowd into such silence. The tension built and something within both men told them their next clash would mean the end for one of them.
Haggard’s body showed signs of bruising and his face looked a complete mess. He stood with an eye half-closed, his body slightly hunched, the axe in his hands no longer looking effortless to grasp but instead seeming to weigh heavy, causing his arms to droop. Atheles’ body was racked with pain. The deep wound on his back caused him considerable discomfort, his neck felt swollen and between that and his smashed nose he could barely take a proper breath. A cloud moved across the sun and the arena became plunged in shadow.
Atheles looked to the sky. He would charge when next the sun shone clear. Haggard shivered. I know you are there reaper, your scythe waits to slake its thirst upon my soul. But I am not yours yet, he thought. And with that, the cloud moved on and the sun once again bathed its golden light upon the Earth and with it came the bellowing war cry of Atheles as he charged. The crowd erupted as axe clashed against axe.
Atheles didn’t make the same mistake as before in allowing the blades to become locked and with renewed vigour, as though the sun itself powered him, he brought strike upon strike against the failing champion. Haggard managed to stay alive with skilful blocks and parries but the sheer volume of attacks eventually overcame him and an axe blade bit deeply into his right thigh. With a scream of pain he stumbled and his arms slumped by only the slightest of margins, but it proved enough.
Atheles recovered the swing that had cut into Haggard’s leg and launched a spinning whirlwind attack that caught the champion’s unprotected neck. Haggard did his best to move his head back but the winged axe blade sliced through skin and the champion immediately fell back, dropping his own weapon and desperately trying to stem the flow of blood now streaming through his fingers.
Atheles, his breathing out of control, watched as the great champion fell, first to his backside, his eyes staring accusingly and in disbelief, his fingers still clutching at his neck, before finally falling backwards to lay staring at the sky. A shadow fell across the gurgling and helpless Haggard and as he looked he could see that it was the towering figure of Atheles that caused it.
The younger man looked deep into the eyes of the man below him. “Your… word,” Haggard managed to splutter out, his eyes blinking as his body convulsed. “I will see you again before I break it,” said Atheles, raising his axe overhead. He paused, waiting for the dying champion to move his hands so he could cut the neck cleanly. Although to onlookers it seemed an act of brutality to sever the head of a dying man, the true warriors of the arena knew that a clean, quick kill was the most respectful last honour you could bestow. And only those who truly earned the respect of their opponents granted it.
Haggard, in shock as he was, recognised the gesture and although it took all of his will to move his hands from stemming the flow of blood, he did just that. He gurgled again before giving the briefest of nods and without further hesitation Atheles brought his axe down with tremendous power and expert precision. In darkness now, Haggard heard his words come back to him: I know you are there reaper, your scythe waits to slake its thirst upon my soul. But I am not yours yet… It was followed by a mocking whisper that said, “You are now…”
Atheles expected rapturous applause as he recovered from the killing blow but instead found the crowd watched in stunned silence.
He looked around, confused,
until finally he heard one plucky fan call out, “Atheles, New Champion of the Arena!” And with that he raised his axe high and suddenly the entire place erupted, the people chanting his name again and again, louder and louder. Atheles stood proudly, soaking up the acclaim, knowing his victory to be bitter-sweet. Not because of any love for Haggard but because he had given his word. Due to that, he would not have the chance to defend his newly-acquired title. He would enjoy the night, drink lots of wine and maybe even partake of a whore or two but on the morn he would set out to see his oath fulfilled.
If only I’d known how costly that oath would truly be, he thought, pulling himself back to the present and already regretting the decision as the cold rain pelted down. He could barely make out the figure of Kalen ahead, the rain falling so hard and heavy. They had set out early that morning when the sun shone bright. The storm took Atheles by surprise, having grown up in the forest he normally had a feeling for such things, a sense of it in the air, but this morning he had missed any such signs, if indeed there had been any.
The fact such torrential rain would wash away any tracks didn’t help matters. With that thought in mind Atheles urged his mount to pull alongside Kalen’s. “This rain will make tracking impossible Kalen,” he said. One of Kalen’s hands was clasped around his cloak, the knuckles white, the other loosely griped the reins of his horse. Atheles knew by his master’s demeanour any response would not be a pleasant one. “And what would you have me do about that?” came Kalen’s muffled response from somewhere within his hooded cloak.
“I don’t expect you to do anything about it but I am curious as to where we are going if we do not know which way we should be headed?” Kalen peered out at him. “The last thing we found before this infernal shitstorm was a campsite with a blanket and what you tell me was the hair of wolves. And with that you informed me the horse tracks led in this direction and so we are going to continue in this direction until we either find something or accept that we have lost those that we seek.”
“Fine,” said Atheles, easing his horse back from his sulking master. Kalen paid no heed. The previous night had left him very confused and angry. He hadn’t cried like that in years and his confession to Atheles about his earlier life surprised him. Where had all that emotion come from and why did it suddenly resurface now? Perhaps his giant companion was on to something in suggesting the fight with that strange creature had unnerved him. Ha, even so it died just like everything else that you choose to end.
A sly grin appeared across Kalen’s face as he revelled in that last thought before he decided, unbeknown to Atheles, that they would press on until dark.
Chapter 23
Gallant sat with Matias attempting to learn what he could about the gifted from not only the old man’s words but also some of the books he possessed. Amber played in the glasshouse – she said she loved the sound the rain made as it landed on the panes and all the lovely plants warm inside. Matias had argued that she should stay and learn with them but Gallant had decided earlier that he wanted to learn himself before including Amber, and he was happy because he could see her through the glass.
He still did not like her to be in the same room as the old man. Although his animosity towards him had subsided considerably it was the revelation of the fact that power drew him to Amber that now brought Gallant’s hesitation. His eyes hurt and his mind felt stressed to the point he could feel a headache coming on, but he continued to do his best to stay focussed on what Matias said and showed him, until now. Despite asking for Callis to hurry back, the young man still had not returned and Gallant guessed he might have run into Sarah, the girl he had expressed feelings for, and decided to tell her how he felt. Perhaps they are rutting right now, he thought with a cheeky smile.
“Are you listening?” said Matias, noticing the giant’s demeanour and sensing his attention was elsewhere. Gallant blinked and took pause for a moment while his brain searched for the last thing it remembered hearing. “Yes, yes, you were saying something about the wolves,” he said. “Indeed,” replied Matias, looking sceptical. Gallant had guessed right but that didn’t mean he was truly paying attention. “I believe Amber’s subconscious controlled the wolves. Her dream of the bear trying to eat her caused her distress. The same emotion she felt when you were dying.”
“But she was conscious when she healed my wounds?” said Gallant, refocussing. “Good, you’re thinking now. That’s good,” replied Matias, noting how his words obviously stung but caring little for it. “She was conscious, yes, but she did not consciously heal you.” Gallant rubbed his eyes and took a breath. “Perhaps we could take a break?” he asked.
Matias leaned back in his chair, his hands dragging nonchalantly from the table to his knees as he did so. It frustrated him that what he considered to be such a simple discussion obviously taxed the mind of the giant so much. They hadn’t even started on the more complex studies of the gifted. He remembered that when his concentration started to wane some vegetables and water could help restore his tired mind, or the occasional elixir, but he doubted his current company would accept such a thing from him. “Very well,” he said at last and he could see the relief on the giant’s face. “I will prepare some food and drink for us.”
“Thank you,” said Gallant with a nod, grateful to have some respite from his education. As the old man moved off the thought stuck Gallant that perhaps he could not trust what would be prepared. He decided to follow Matias, but then realised that by doing so he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Amber. He cursed quietly to himself. Where is Callis? he thought. The young man should have been back a long time ago, even if he had met Sarah, confessed his love and received his reward. Hell, he could have received a reward several times by now and still should be here. Did the words ‘hurry back’ mean nothing to him? Gallant decided he would have to disturb Amber and moving to the door of the glasshouse she played in he opened it to call her but took pause at what he saw.
She stood with her hair and shoulders dotted in butterflies, talking to a plant whose bud had yet to flower. He strained his ears to hear her words but he could not. But what he saw warmed his heart almost as much as it scared him. The bud, whether by her voice or presence, began to open, slowly at first but then springing to life and revealing a beautiful flower. No sooner did it happen than a butterfly flew from her hair to land on it. Amber smiled then and tilted her head, seemingly very pleased with herself. Gallant could resist no longer and said, “Did that flower speak to you Princess?”
She startled and all the butterflies flew from her, but once she saw Gallant she smiled and skipped over to him. “No, don’t be silly Mr Giant. Flowers can’t talk, but I like to talk to them,” she said, wrapping her little arms around him to give him a hug. He embraced her, angling his frame to encompass her small body, while very gently placing one of his huge hands on her head. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said during their embrace. She smiled up at him. “That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to.”
He wanted to ask another question but she beat him too it, pulling back from him to ask, “Did you see all the butterflies?”
“I did. And they are very beautiful.
“They like me,” she said in an excitable tone of voice. Gallant couldn’t help a big smile appearing on his face and a warm feeling came over him. “And why wouldn’t they? Such a beautiful Princess that you are.” Amber blushed and twisted the tip of one of her shoes against the ground, her hands clasped behind her back. Gallant realised her embarrassed and decided to help put her at ease with another question. “What did you say to the plant?”
“Oh,” she replied, suddenly changing to a serious voice. “I just told it not to be afraid, that the sound was just the rain hitting the glass and that I wanted to see its beauty.”
“And then it opened?”
“Well no, not at first, but then I said the sun would come back and its rays would warm the plant and help it to grow strong and that the butterflies would tickle it as they lande
d gently to drink its nectar.” Gallant was taken aback. “Where did you learn all that?” he asked gently. “Sister told me about it. I love butterflies and always wanted to know why they landed on some flowers but not others. Flapping about until they found the right one and only then landing.”
“Fluttering,” said Gallant. Amber looked at him quizzically for a moment. “It is a more suitable word for a butterfly’s motion then flapping,” he said. “Birds flap, butterflies flutter.” She still looked less than convinced but decided to try the word, “Flutt…?”
“Flut-ter-ring,” said Gallant breaking it down for her. “Flut-ter-ing,” she copied. “Fluttering.”
“Very good,” replied Gallant followed by a big smile. “Fluttering,” she said again, beaming and obviously delighted by Gallant’s approval. The thought that the time he spent with her meant that Matias was unsupervised did cross his mind but he felt this bonding opportunity too good to pass up and decided to ask another question. One he wanted to ask earlier that day. “I saw you with a little bird this morning,” he said. “Oh yes, wasn’t he so lovely?” Gallant nodded. “Very. But I wanted to ask, how did you get him to come to you? Do animals talk to you?”
His question wasn’t just fuelled by her interaction with the bird. He remembered her talking to the horses too and then there were the wolves in the forest. Although he didn’t see her speaking to them, their behaviour had been most unusual. But more than that, all life seemed to respond to her. Amber shook her head playfully, like Gallant had continued to ask the most stupid questions. “I wish all things could talk to me,” she said. “But even though they don’t it doesn’t mean I can’t talk to them, right?”
