Changing of the Glads

by Joy Spraycar

  Compared to this man, this person who delivered her dreams on a regal tray reserved for the most royal of the Clubbers, she was a monster. She hadn’t intended to become one. She was only doing what she had been trained to do. But still, killing did carry with it a sense of power. A sense of accomplishment. Each victory brought her one step closer to freedom. How could she have known there would be another way? He had killed, too. Were they so different?

  She shook her head. Yes, of course they were. He begged forgiveness for what he had to do to ultimately end the Glads. She, on the other hand, had been selfish, self-serving and, yes, downright unethical. No one else, no one she’d met before Maximillion could reach out with their minds to use their opponent’s desires against them. But if using every weapon in her arsenal to win made her evil? Then yes, she was evil.

  Or was she? Didn’t winning mean living? It did for Maximillion. It did for her. What would have happened to him if she had died? Would he have remained trapped? She did what she must to survive, to survive and have some semblance of a life. Winning meant better food, more rest, and simple freedoms.

  Sometimes, she was even paraded amongst the Clubbers so they could see their Champion. They liked to touch her hard arms, run their hands up her thighs, and basically adore every inch of her like a fine horse or golden statue.

  No, she had done what she must. No one saw Glads as people, they were things without feelings or thought. And she had become what they made her – a killer. There had been no other way.

  Maximillion cleared his throat, and she jerked back to the present. He knelt before her with several thin strips of meat. “I know it is not much, but you have not eaten this day. The mental energy you spent has taken its toll. We will remain here tonight while you regain some of your strength.”

  “I feel fine.” She threw off the hide, rose, and perched on the fallen log before the fire.

  Max remained crouched beside the skins. His hand slid into the pouch hanging at his waist and he stared. His eyes traveled from her head to her feet and back again before he visibly shuddered and turned his head.

  Zalphia looked down. Scars from the arena littered her body. He saw them all, including the worst of them, and now in disgust he turned away. Her throat constricted, and she sucked in a labored breath. He wouldn’t want her now, not with all her faults and imperfections. Pulling her knees to her chest, she hid the worst of the scars.

  Maximillion slowly rose. Keeping his eyes from her, he joined her on the log. “You will always remain perfect in my eyes,” he said.

  Again, she felt his gaze drift to her. Hoping she wouldn’t see more disgust, she peeked as his eyes lovingly caressed every inch of her before he cupped a hand under her chin, turning her face to his. “You have a beauty that comes from within as well as without. I call it divine perfection.”

  Zalphia choked on the piece of meat she’d been chewing and spat it into the fire. Divine perfection! Not hardly. She stretched her legs out and looked at the deep dent just below her belly button where her first fight inside the arena left its mark. The Glad sunk a knife clear to the hilt there. Platy said it was a miracle Zalphia survived and still managed to kill her opponent. Many weeks passed before the wound closed, and the dent left from the injury was a good two-inches deep.

  “I’m far from perfect. Look at the damage the arena has done.”

  Maximillion reached out and touched the dent with a trembling finger. “I know. This was the hardest one to heal. It took all my strength for three days. I was lucky I survived.”

  How did her injury have anything to do with him?

  “What?” She tilted her head to one side so she could better see his face. “What do you mean, you’re lucky you survived?”

  “We are one. Have you never felt me before?”

  She slouched.

  Felt him? No. Today was the first time she’d ever encountered another who could enter her mind. At what other time was she supposed to have felt him?

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Zalphia watched his eyes flick back and forth as he met her gaze.

  His brow furrowed. “I see.”

  “See what?”

  “I have been with you, but you never felt it.” He withdrew his fingers and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he gazed into the trees for a moment before focusing again on her face. “I did. Heal you, I mean. Simeon taught me how our connection works. He taught me how to seek you out despite the distance that separated us.”

  “Who?”

  “Simeon. He is one of the Elders.”

  “The Elders?” The things he was saying made no sense. Who were the Elders? And what did this Simeon know about her? Did they have anything to do with the Glads?

  “Later I will explain. For now, all you need know is that I felt you since we were very young. Together we will change things. You are the other half of me. We were mated since birth. You and I, we are a Selestial pair.”

  Maximillion said so many strange things. What was a Selestial pair? How could he feel her? Taking another bite of meat, she rummaged through her memories, trying to remember a time when someone else might have reached out for her, but she couldn’t locate a single instance where that might be the case.

  Maximillion tipped his head into her line of vision. “You had to remain unaware of me and our mission until the time was right. You see, if you had known, you might have reacted differently to what I showed you this day. You would have prepared yourself against me, and our cause would have been lost. This way, you did exactly what was expected at the apex of our meeting. Now, we may lead the revolution.”

  “Revolution? I know nothing about revolution or anything else you’ve said.” She would decide where her life went from here. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” she snapped.

  A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. The hand holding the strip of meat fell to her side, and she chanced a glance at the shattered look on his face. She hadn’t meant to sound cruel and heartless. He had to know how she really felt, didn’t he? She could never knowingly walk away from him. He must know that.

  He shook his head. “I am not telling you what to do. You may decide for yourself.”

  The pain in her chest at the mere thought of not being with him caused moisture to brim in her eyes, but the stubbornness which made her formidable inside the arena reared its ugly head.

  “What makes you think that I’ll continue on with you?” she asked.

  The lopsided grin lightened his countenance. “You will. And you feel it in here.” He tapped her chest. “Your heart is pure and clean.”

  She huffed. Pure and clean. Ha! He’d seen the way she used her mind to best others in each and every match to stay alive. Yeah, right! Clean and pure as the dirt-packed arenas.

  He looked deep into her eyes. “You might not believe it, but I know. I know what is in your heart. It is what I cherish about you. And you have been waiting for me, have you not?”

  “What?” She shook her hand in front of him. “Until today, I didn’t even know you existed. How could I wait for someone I’ve never seen?”

  “You have seen me. Seen us together, although, you may not remember. You dream. I know this because I share those with you. In your dreams, you hold me close.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. Her dreams did include a man and a family, but wouldn’t she recognize him? Did she truly remember the dreams or just the feelings and the idea of freedom? Purposely, she turned away and continued to chew on the meat in her hand while she considered what he’d said.

  In her dreams, a man held her close. Feelings of belonging rushed through her. Would he feel familiar if she lay against him? She wanted to know, so she turned and nestled against his massive chest.

  A protective arm drew her closer. His heavy muscles felt smooth and warm against her bare skin. A shiver ran up her spine, and she grasped a quick breath.

  Had she been here before?

  His other arm circled arou
nd her, and he pulled her onto his lap like she was a small child. She laid her cheek against a massive pectoral muscle, and he rested his chin on her matted mop.

  “I love you,” he muttered then pressed his lips into her hair.

  The whole scene reeked of familiarity. She had been here before, wrapped in his strong arms, resting her head against his chest. Warmth and security trickled from her head to her toes, heating her insides. This is what she’d dreamt of. This is what she fought so long and hard for. This was what she wanted. Truth and rightness strummed the strings of her heart and struck a chord deep within.

  Their meeting in the arena hadn’t been an accident. It was meant to be. She could feel it now. They were truly one. Being in his arms was where she was meant to be. Her dreams were coming to life. They had shared before many moments just like this. Were they dreams? They seemed too real to be that. Memories? How could that be? She’d only met him hours before. They couldn’t have been cuddled together like this, but she could see it. They laughed together, loved each other, and been in each other’s arms. Her heart testified these were real.

  Something stronger than anything she’d ever experienced brought moisture to her eyes. She wiped at them with one finger and marveled that, for a Glad, she’d shown more emotion in this last hour or so than in the last fifteen years.

  “I...” She wanted to say the words, the same words he’d said, but they felt foreign, stilted.

  “It is all right. I feel it. No need to say what your mind is not ready to acknowledge.”

  “But –”

  “Hush now. Eat and save your strength. We have only a bit of time here before we must run. They have discovered our treachery and will soon be after us.”

  That’s right! They weren’t really free yet. No one got away with damaging a Clubber without suffering the crushing stones. They not only damaged one, they’d done away with a whole arena of them – an entire arena of Clubbers, plus all the guards, Armors, and trainers in the facility. The punishment would be merciless. They would be hunted and brought back, tortured, and crushed, and then laid out for everyone to see. Zalphia saw it happen once, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Do not worry, my love. I will never let them have you.”

  His essence spilled into her mind, driving away the pain and fear with the soft emotion he called peace.

  Sighing, she let the meat drop from her hand and wrapped her arms around him. They didn’t even meet behind his back.

  He sat between her and the rest of the world. A solid fortress of a man – hard and unforgiving on the outside but kind and loving deep inside.

  Safety and security rolled over her and settled deep inside. Even in her dreams she’d never felt so loved and protected, and they couldn’t compare to what he now offered. No, leaving would never be an option. He had become the thing she would fight for. The feeling she wanted to feel. With him, the thought of another day carried excitement and joy. Freedom meant being by his side and sharing his life.

  She didn’t remember him laying her back down, but when she awoke, she again lay in the makeshift bed. Maximillion’s chest warmed her back. Her head rested on one bicep, and his other arm curled around her, holding her protectively against him. Air tickled the top of her head as he gently exhaled each slow breath. She snuggled closer.

  Maximillion tightened his grip. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes. You’ve saved me.”

  “No, it is you that rescued me.”

  “How can that be? You could’ve killed me in the arena, no contest. I already knew that if you wanted, you would be the victor.”

  “You still do not understand. If you are gone, there would be nothing left for me. I would be an empty shell, and the warmth would flow out. You are my all.”

  Her lips rose at the corners. She truly didn’t understand what he was saying, but it no longer mattered. What he offered was safety and freedom, and she would enjoy every moment of that with him. She turned and placed her ear against his chest, and his arms encircled her. The slow plodding of his heart sang a rhythmic lullaby. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  She marveled when she realized hers was keeping perfect time. Maybe there was something to what he said about being one, but she was too tired to think about it anymore. Closing her eyes, she slipped back into that perfect place he’d created for the two of them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Morning dawned cool and crisp. One foot lay against the moist ground, sending a chill creeping up Zalphia’s leg and waking her with a shiver. Gone was the sumptuous heat of Maximillion’s chest against her back. Gone were the protective arms that promised protection and safety.

  Zalphia bolted into a sitting position. The dancing flames had long since faded, leaving only blackened rocks and ash where the comfort of the fire had been. She scanned the banks of the stream and trampled grass around the bed then peered into the shadows of the trees. Max was nowhere to be seen. Another shiver rocked her, but this one had nothing to do with the air or dewy ground. His absence sent fear clawing at her gut and shook her confidence. Had they been discovered?

  The solitary log they’d sat on earlier drew her attention. Something lay spread across rounded wood. For a moment, curiosity drove her from the protection of the bearskins. What was this?

  She crawled over, careful to remain as quiet as possible. Now she saw the knife sitting against the far side of the felled trunk and let out a sigh. Max wouldn’t have left without his weapon. If there had been a fight, she was sure the knife wouldn’t be lying exactly where he so carefully placed it last night.

  She stood, her head cocked to one side as she studied two pieces of hide. Where had these come from? Picking one of the strange garments up, she held it out, turned it over in her hands, and took it in from every angle. One end was large and open, and opposite was a smaller opening. Just under the small hole and off to each side sat two even smaller openings. This reminded her of the clothing Platy called dresses. But this was too short to be a dress, and Zalphia had never worn anything like this.

  She tossed the hide back onto the log and picked up the other piece. Now this, this she had no clue about. It also boasted one end completely open, but the sides were closed. A split ran up the middle on the bottom, forming two pieces that were about ten-inches long. She laid the garment next to its partner and scanned the area for her familiar Glad garb. She knew how to wear that and was comfortable in it.

  A deep rumbling chuckle sounded from behind her. She leapt over the log, grabbed the knife, and whirled around.

  “Whoa, there.” Maximillion held his hands in front of him. “No need for that.”

  Zalphia rolled her eyes. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Could not help myself.”

  She threw the knife’s blade into the ground. “What’s so funny?”

  “You and your cluelessness at how to don simple clothing.”

  “Simple?” Zalphia waved a hand over the hides spread before her. “How you consider these simple is beyond me. Where’s my gear?”

  Maximillion shook his head. “Long gone. You will never wear the Glad gear again. Fighting is man’s work. Women are to be cherished and protected.”

  “But I thought we were to lead a rebellion?”

  He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “All in good time. But for now, we must get you cleaned up.”

  In the light of day, he looked so different. Or did she see him differently? The arena dust that still clung to her skin no longer lightened his. She thought yesterday that he was dark, but now his skin rivaled what remained in the fire pit. His eyes stood out like the midday sky, lighter blue than she remembered from last night. She even misjudged his height. She fit neatly between his pecks and didn’t reach the top of his shoulder.

  “Cleaned up?” She studied the mirth dancing deep in his eyes.

  “You know, take a bath?”

  Zalphia’s brow furrowed. “A bath?” She’d used pails of water to wash what she could from her expo
sed skin, but a bath?

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head, his chest again vibrating in a soft chuckle. “Yes, you know, washed with water and untangling that mop you call hair.”

  She was still pondering what he meant when he scooped her up, took her to the stream, and dumped her in. Sputtering, she stood in the icy water and glared at him.

  “The cold is easier to take all at once than if you go little by little,” he said as he waded in beside her.

  “I see you don’t mind taking it easy.”

  “I already bathed this morning.”

  Standing perfectly still, she watched as he took a small hard stone and rubbed it across her forearms. The stone left a film that bubbled like water being poured into a bucket. This simple act sent shivers up her spine, and every inch of skin longed to feel his gentle touch.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he stopped, took a step back, handed her the stone, and again his right hand reached into the pouch at his waist.

  “What is this?”

  “Soapstone. It is not very comfortable, but it cleans well. Rub it on your skin until it forms a lather.”

  “Lather?”

  “The bubbles and the film.”

  Zalphia nodded. “Oh, I see.”

  Maximillion remained a few feet away, but refused to watch as she rubbed the strange stone over every inch of her. Then she crouched in the water and rinsed off the film. As she rose, she could tell that he was looking. Heat burned up her chest and spread to her cheeks. How was it that her skin reacted the moment his gaze rested on her? She turned and held the stone out to him.

  Stepping closer, his fingertips brushed against her palm as he whisked the soapstone from her hand. Her skin prickled at the sensation. What she wouldn’t give to have that hand wrap around her waist, lift her back into his arms, and hold her close.

  A lopsided grin spread to his eyes. “Now, your hair.”

  He massaged the stone into her wet strands, gently working through the knots with his fingers until they no longer caught, then helped her rinse the bubbles away. By this time, the cold water had numbed everything below her waist.