“I see the Prince has taken a liking to you. This makes me wonder what you two have in common.” She leaps at me and slams both her arms at my sides like large scissors. “Or is it just physical attraction?” I take the blow and jab at her throat. Our attacks create some distance between us. “And here I thought you’d be much harder to attack.” The arena alights with a raging fire. Water gushes out onto the battlefield. Within a matter of minutes, we are knee deep.
“Do you talk this much with all your opponents?”
“No, you’re just special.” She smirks and does a series of calculated attacks, pressing my pressure points with only three out of the four injuring me. Her legs gliding against the current of the water as she tries to sweep me.
Wow, this has got to be a record it has been 5 minutes going on 10, and the fight is still in motion. Tamika is everything alright down there. This looks like children’s play. It’s time the battle got a lot more heated.
I suffer a cracked rib with a few bruises on my shoulder. Tamika has acquired a few more injuries, but her left eye holds the most damage. I barely have time to breathe deeply as she changes tactics. She aims to wound me, as much as possible, so all I can do is defend, rather than attack. When this is achieved, she will slowly but efficiently break down my walls. I won’t allow it to get that far, but for now, her move will have to do.
Queen attacks bishop.
She kicks herself up onto my back like she is saddling a horse, digs her knees into my sides, and unusually wraps her arms around my neck. Her force makes a crick form in my neck. She is like dead weight. No matter how much energy I use, she doesn’t budge. I am impressed at her strength but frustrated at the same time. It is time for plan B.
I fall to my knees and jab my nails into her temple, repeatedly, until her arms start to slacken, and I hear her cry out. I heave her over my shoulder and throw her to the ground. The water makes an opening as she goes under. She gets up like it is nothing and rushes at me, trying her best to hook her arms around my flesh. My body starts to feel weak like I have suddenly become vulnerable and all my energy has dissipated.
Something changes.
My muscles scream at me, but I can’t attack nor defend, so I must run. I take off in the opposite direction from her, running with a means to escape the slow mantra that is building up in my head.
That’s right Cali, stall until you can’t stall no more. Someone whispers in my mind. For a second, I search the crowd, not knowing the voice is coming from inside my head. It is a part of me, almost as if I personally think these words.
Murder, not mercy.
“So, you’re going to run. Fine, go ahead, run like how the Kutawala told my family to just so they could bomb them from a distance. They didn’t stand a chance. Why do you think you do? Be a wuss. Be Weak. You can’t stop what’s to come anyways. Its kill or be killed. You’re going to have to kill me to finish the game.”
“Listen, I don’t want to do that,” I shout over the crowds horrendous screaming.
“They do,” she points at the crowd, “And as my duty, I must provide them with what they want. They don’t call it the fight to the death for no reason.” The hunger to take life returns.
The mantra in my head screams even louder. “How can you be a Supreme Warrior and cannot do what is necessary for your survival?”
Murder, not mercy.
“That is not what being a Supreme Warrior is all about. I will not take a life.”
Think, don’t react.
Mercy, not murder.
“We will see about that.”
The air mocks me, almost as if it knows I am not leaving here alive unless I change my tune and listen to the latter rather than the former. Her fist pounds at the skin around my heart. Her bones press against my ribs increasing with pressure. Please don’t let me do this, I beg my mind. I can barely breathe, and yet still I try to uphold my sanity and moral code.
Don’t kill. Mercy, not murder.
Sweat pools on my forehead as I feel the pressure become too much.
You’re not weak my love. You are one of the strongest people I know. When you fall you get right back up, you never give up. I remember Dakarai’s reassuring words. His touch as he consoled me after my heart tore in half when father came to know I carried the Blue Flame. I wanted to give up becoming a Supreme Warrior because I knew father would always hold something against me. If it wasn’t the Blue Flame, it was my inability to impress him in whatever form of fighting we were taught. But here in this fight with Tamika, I feel to give up for another reason. I don’t want another burden on my shoulders. She will have to kill me… but that can’t be right. Is this what I truly want? Am I really about to give my life to a cause that does not serve nor respect me? A cause that would rather see us chained up like animals and killing one another rather than being the evolved regal beings that we are.
My mind goes into overdrive. Her thoughts and pain clearly pass through my mind. I am unable to sift through it but what sticks out most of all is her passion for death. Her desire to become one with her ancestors I come to realise. From the day she met me she knew I would be the one to release her from her prison. She already knows the outcome of this fight. What I don’t want to accept is that there is no escaping what has already been put in place. I want to ease her pain, but I don’t want to lose myself in her wrath. I am not ready to die.
Murder, not mercy.
The look on her face is of pure evil. She wants me dead. Not just for her survival, but for power and greed of maintaining her position as number one. She has been doing this for so long that the bloodlust has taken its toll on her. All in all, this is just a front for her to easily manipulate me into doing what needs to be done.
This is not the same person I had entered the arena with. Her personality splits. Two faces: her past and her present self.
With my legs in somewhat of a stretched squat, she drives her hand into my chest meaning to pass through the barrier of my ribcage. Her behaviour mirrors a vampire going for the easy kill. Pull the heart out, and the host is dead. She visibly clenches her teeth, pressing harder as she pushes me back. I start to get winded, as I feel my ribcage cracking. This is not how I intend to go out. I can easily overpower her. I have fought people like her in duels and won. From all my trainings, I know how to survive, but am I supposed to for the reward of taking a life?
“Do you worse.” I choose to let her release her anger. This is the least I can do for her troubles. I may not have been old enough to remember when horror descended upon Genapa, but right now I am bearing witness to its aftermath. I did not wish to know the extent of her issues but judging from her blows, they are more profound than mine ever were with my father.
Blood gushes from my nose. Her eyes water with every jab she thrusts into my body. When her muscles relax she steps away from me, breathing heavily.
“Why does my life have to be like this?” She shouts, but I’m the only one who hears her. “I am this way because I allow myself to be like this. Why do I choose to survive?” Release me from this life.
Did I hear right? She has too much pride to lose a fight, yet her mind begs me to unchain her from her miserable life. Why me? Why should I be the one?
Then…I feel a cold sensation slither up my arm. A cramp fixates itself on my legs, and I feel myself stumble. And with that stumble my self-control does a little flip. My anger manifests itself without me calling upon it.
Murder is mercy.
It is like someone has overridden my control. I no longer have an off switch. I become a machine with only one command. Kill. Kill for my survival. Unlike my fight with Cassandra, there is no trigger. Just a realisation that I cannot worm my way out of this fight. It is either kill or be killed. I am not ready to die. Even though she readily gives me permission to end it for her, her other half still attacks me with persistence. She faces her own battle within: one half wants the kill and the other wants the release.
My hunger to survive mir
rors hers. It means more to me than my infatuation for my father’s approval. The more I think about it, it sounds so stupid that I had based my life on it. It is time for a change. Even if it is a very selfish and corrupt one. It won’t be long before her fingers latch around my heart.
Queen takes Queen.
You can do this. A voice whispers in my mind again. A cold breeze with the intent to render one powerless to stop themselves from doing the unthinkable.
Murder, not mercy.
I gulp. Can I really take a life just because I am pressured to do so? Just because I want to survive. There has to be another way. Looking into the Prince’s eyes with his slight smile I realise, maybe there isn’t. My feet come to a stop, and I look at my opponent. I feel my face become like hers, as I grind out, “murder not mercy” above the crackling flames. With both hands, I grab her wrists and twist. She cries out and kicks at my hip. I grab her leg and break her ankle.
For a second, I take back control of my mind and body. “We can find a way out.”
“There is no way out.” Release me.
With this revelation, my control crumbles. “No mercy.”
She corrects her ankles and runs at me. I await her attack closing my eyes allowing my ears to be my eyes. She jumps in the air chopping with her hands. I also jump to meet her in the centre with my arms stretched wide. I bypass her attacks and like a ninja chop at her head with all my anger imagining the worst of my childhood. She doesn’t cry out; she accepts her death, her release.
Silence.
I drop to the ground, mini tsunami’s rushing away from me. On bended knee, her body falls behind me. Slowly, I open my eyes and look at my hand as I get up. All hairs on my skin stand on end. The buzzing around me makes everything move in slow motion. I feel my fingers start to loosen. Her head falls from my hand. The sticky feeling of blood drips from my fingertips. A never-ending stream.
What have I done, I breathe. My anger is no more, and my mind is vacant of strange thoughts. A feeling of constriction in my throat has me unable to empty the contents of my stomach onto the ground. My ears pulse as words attack my mind. Murder. Evil. Monster. But one stands out most of all. Guilty.
One by one the crowd goes wild, and as I look to the Prince, he rises from his chair. He makes a point of smiling, as he claps with everyone else.
I have released her only to take her place within her prison.
A feeling in my gut, a tear through the fabric of my existence. Something ripped from my body has me falling to one knee. A blinding light passes through me. I may have won the fight, but right now I am kneeling before death.
A disgrace to my race; a champion to theirs.
The making of a beast.
“Your perspective is always limited by how much you know, expand your knowledge, and you will transform your mind.”
- Dr Bruce Lipton.
13
The Devil has many faces
{Calista}
The smell of incense creates a misty atmosphere. Its strong scent seeps into the walls and creates a soothing environment. A lot more welcoming than the cells. When I open my eyes, I find myself squinting in the darkness. Lit candles shy away in the far corners of the room. The only door in the room creeks open. A shadow steps through.
“You ready?” Like an elderly person suffering from osteoporosis, I gradually rise out of bed and allow Tamari to assist me.
“Welcome to the second round.”
“Cut the dramatics, you said you’d give me answers. What was that warning about?” I heavily plop myself into the chair opposite the Prince. “I had to make you think. Why would I discourage you from fighting Tamika? What did I know, that you needed to know too? What is this all about?” The clock behind strikes 12 and I feel terrible news is on the way.
“You have a purpose here. We didn’t kidnap you, you willingly came to us. You felt that desire to take this assignment, and here you are.”
“Empty words from an empty being.”
He laughs. “I’m very much alive.”
“There were rumours of your death along with the Sixth Dynasty.”
“Rumours that were half true,” he said barely audible. The memory of what they went through dances across his eyes. His fingers tap away at his lip like a pianist does his keys. With every tap, he relives the horrors of the past.
“How did you survive?” I was lucky enough to have not suffered through the drastic nightmare of the war. At a tender age, father shielded me from the war as it tore through the Dynasties one by one. The Prince is clearly still antagonised. A young man stuck in the past, where he lost virtually everything. His ascension to the throne, his people, his family; his understanding of who he was.
“We didn’t.” He breathes, still trapped in his memory. When his eyes travel to mine, I witness him snap back to reality. Anger replaces his pain. “Can’t you see it? We merely lingered. I know you felt our energy on the land amongst the raw stench of death.”
“What is with the brothel, cells and regular fight to the death?”
“It was bestowed upon us, by the Kutawala and soon enough we began to accept it because that was all we had come to know. The bloodbath had smeared our memory of what we as a people were trying to attain. Spiritual enlightenment- being one with the Supreme. The Civil War didn’t end with our downfall, but it would have been better if it did. Clearly, we are not the ones in control, we are just the face. Enslaved by the ones with a skin colour that is far from our own. The Kutawala holds us captive.” If this is true, how are they able to speak to me freely?
“You are our liberation. Our salvation from the likes of our corrupted nature.”
“I see you are no better than them if you intend to use me to gain one up on them…”
“I am nothing like them!” He roars banging his fists on the table. It’s clear I don’t understand the extent of his pain nor am I able to comprehend his experiences. Perhaps I misjudged his character out of fear and trusting the façade I’ve come to live with. I thought I knew more than the average; I still have much to learn. I have never seen the Prince like this. He is always one to keep his cool. Nothing bothers him. He’s a cunning little rat, who is bipolar to some degree: at one point he will have you fooled believing that he actually cares about his family and the way things are in society; then he is just plain old cold, selfish and arrogant. He wants things to follow his way only. Very stubborn. We are alike in this sense.
I lean forward and whisper. “Am I not a tool for you to take back your throne?” The veins continue to bulge in his forehead, and his eyes look at me crazed. Tamari folds his arm across his chest as he breathes in deeply. He knows what I wish to do next. As a regal Custodian, he is trained to read one’s mind just by the energy they assert and how they position their body. Besides this, he understands the way I think. His significant other and I share similar characteristics, when fear strikes, we feel to avoid the problem altogether or face it head-on. Tamari may not say much, but to him, I am an open book aside from a few complexities within my narrative which he cannot begin to understand. For example, I claim to hate this world I am trapped in, was even much disturbed by Tamika’s presence, before and after I experienced her past, yet I still actively allowed her to release her anger, to some extent, in my soul. I don’t believe in that stuff, primarily because I don’t understand it but; surely, upon her release, all that pent-up anger didn’t just disappear into the air, it would have seeped into me and amplified my own emotions. Her struggle became mine.
The Prince believes me to be their saviour. How can I save them, when I can’t even save myself from myself? I don’t even know myself as well as I should, to make such calculated and authoritative decisions about other lives I cannot begin to fathom. They are my people, and until I realise that, who is to say I’m to accept another burden on top of the one that is already weighing me down. My guilt. My insecurities. And now my survival.
I repeat my words with more force. The Prince exhales and h
is anger is gone. “You have this all wrong, we need you to bring back my sister so she can right all wrongs.” His sister, what play does she have in all of this? She’s dead.
“And for your information, it is not I, who is empty and will have a short lifespan if things don’t go to plan.” The cold man I’ve come to know returns. Does he have a point? Am I a pawn or do I have a higher purpose?
My eyes blink rapidly. The feeling I felt on the battlefield returns. What does he mean? How can I be empty? There is more than one jigsaw piece left to be found. The blinding light that had passed through my body consuming all my energy couldn’t be more than just a coincidence, could it? The complexity of my situation has nothing more than a simple answer that I refuse to accept. My switch flips off; my hands start to shake with my Blue Flame brimming at the surface of my fingers. The marks the energy carries swirl to life igniting intricate designs over my hand.
“You didn’t. How can you take my life force? You had me believing death was only coming for one of us. Why trick me into believing you needed me, only to then kill me slowly? You really are a sly fox in disguise.” He laughs, chilling my insides.
“It’s just leverage Cali, you will get it back when you start your transitioning and gain a better understanding of where I’m coming from. Walk the path of enlightenment into the darkness where all will be revealed.” A shiver hurdles over my body as he calls me by my nickname, a right reserved for family. He slowly outstretches his hand, expecting me to take it and shake on the deal of a lifetime.
The Masterpiece (The shadow I cast Book 1) Page 6
