The Hunter on Arena

by Rose Estes

  The mists swirled and parted a second time and the sight that was revealed to him was so terrible that at first he could scarcely comprehend what he was seeing. It was Cam, as he was when last he saw him, horribly scarred and disfigured. Their torturous path, the one that had ultimately brought him here to this place, had taken them inside a mountain which housed an active volcano trapped in its depths. The unstable ground had fractured, grievously wounding Batta Flor and scalding and burning Cam.

  The exposure to the volcano and his close brush with death had evidently shaken Cam deeply, altering his life in some radical way, for he had become crazed and had attempted to kill Braldt, but had only succeeded in plunging him into the void that had delivered him to this place.

  But now, here was Cam again, inside the mountain at the heart of the volcano once more, spewing religious madness. Only this time he was not alone, he was wearing the robes of a priest, and behind him, their faces shining with fear or religious fervor, were a multitude of Braldt’s clan.

  He was so stunned at the sight of this revelation that his mind refused to function and he stared at the awful scene until it was shrouded by mists and disappeared. Only then did he come back to himself with a jerk and think to ask about Keri and Batta Flor, the two who occupied his thoughts the most. But it was too late. The world swam into focus around him, his companions staring at him with concern, Randi leaning forward and saying something he could not hear, and Allo shaking his shoulder gently. The men on the dais were watching him intently.

  He closed his eyes, desperate to bring back the swirling clouds, to learn about Keri and Batta Flor. But it was no good, the present came flooding in on all fronts, the heat of the suns beating down on his head, the stink of fresh blood smeared on his chest, Randi’s voice in his ears. He sagged, overcome with sorrow. At once he understood how his companions had felt. The gift of knowledge was a bitter gift, one that brought no comfort, only pain. Perhaps that was why it was granted.

  17

  Keri ran her fingers through her hair, tugging on the tight, dark curls, trying to work the knots out but scarcely aware of her own actions as she contemplated her companion. Beast whined as though sensing the darkness of her mood and lay his head across her lap, an unusual bit of familiarity from the wild creature who normally kept his distance. Keri reached down and stroked his coarse fur, feeling him tremble beneath her touch, realizing that this strange captivity was hard on him as well.

  But Batta Flor occupied most of her thoughts, for without the red berries that supplied the complex chemicals that were necessary to maintain his genetically altered brain, her companion, that noble and gentle being, was visibly sinking further and further into a primitive animalistic state. Without the berry in his diet, all signs of a civilized nature had vanished. He walked on all fours far more often than upright. He no longer spoke at all, only grunted, growled, and made other animal sounds. The damage to his ear, the center of pain for those of his species, had eliminated pain as a deterrent; now there was little or nothing that could sway him from a decided course of action. Further, the glint of intelligence that used to come into his eyes whenever he saw her was gone as well. Now he would look at her in puzzlement as though unable to figure out who or what she was.

  But even more upsetting than the fact that he no longer recognized her was the attraction he now seemed to feel for her—that of an active, adult male for an available female. So far, he had done nothing more than sniff her from head to toe, but once he had seized her and held her tight, refusing to release her even when she struggled. He had carried her around beneath his arm like a package, finally losing interest and abandoning her. This had frightened her badly and she did her best to keep as much distance between them as possible, although it was difficult to do in such small quarters.

  Beast sensed that something was wrong and once when Batta Flor approached Keri, the lupebeast pup bared his considerable double rows of fangs and growled at his former friend. Batta Flor stopped short and stared at the pup, then ambled off and began to feed. Keri hugged the pup to her chest, afraid for him as well as for herself, for it would take no more than a casual backhand from Batta Flor’s immense fist to break the pup’s spine or neck.

  Batta Flor’s lapse into animality had one good side effect—he had become an even more powerful fighter. Now he seemed to sense a coming battle as soon as he wakened, and paced the cell, eager for the coming fight. He entered the arena, shoulders hunched, his long eyeteeth bared in a fierce grimace, pounding on his broad, powerful chest with his fists, producing a hollow booming sound that could be heard across the ring. His roars of rage and defiance spoke of death and dying and struck terror into the hearts of their opponents. Even Keri was terrified and at such times she was glad that Batta Flor was not her enemy.

  He had ceased to use any of his weapons other than the cudgel which he used as an extension of his arm, cracking heads, crushing flesh, and pulverizing bones. His reputation preceded him and often their opponents fled in fear only to be hunted down and ruthlessly slaughtered one by one around the perimeters of the ring. Often times it was not even necessary for Keri and Beast to fight.

  The trio of men with Braldt’s face still waited for them on the dais after each contest, but as always, Batta Flor had no interest in them and exited from the arena as soon as the last opponent was slain.

  Their entrance into the ring was always met with a mighty roar, chanting their names over and over and over. They had clearly captured the hearts of the audience and become ring favorites. Keri wondered if they would cheer their deaths as well.

  With every victory, their physical circumstances improved for it seemed that victors were rewarded for their performance. The quality of their food improved as did their physical comforts. Softer blankets were provided as well as thick cushions to sleep upon. Batta Flor took no notice of the amenities, and seemed more concerned with the quantity of the food rather than the quality.

  Keri could not stop worrying and wondering about Braldt, but in this, too, as with everything else, there was no answer.

  * * *

  Her heart thudding within her chest, Lomi approached the bars of the cell, wondering if it would contain Bracca. She had greeted the reptilian crone who crouched before the fire burning in the low hearth, seeing the recognition come to the single, rheumy eye. The old one had patted her hand with a scaly paw and murmured a low question. Lomi had long known that this one was the custodian of the cells and had gone out of her way to show the crone kindness simply because she was the last to have come into contact with Bracca before he was sent offworld. The old one now regarded her with an affection that went far beyond gratitude for the simple kindnesses Lomi had extended to her over the years.

  The woman’s tongue was difficult to master, for her mouth had been disfigured by an injury at some point in her long distant youth. But with the passage of time, Lomi had learned her story and their mutual sorrow had drawn them closer than would normally have been possible.

  The crone was a native of the planet. Her brethren had resisted the invasion of men who descended out of the skies, but they had fallen before the superior weapons and technology. Theirs had been a fledgling civilization and they had been easily subjugated. Those who dared to oppose them were killed outright or sent to labor in the mines which the invaders quickly established.

  The Rototarans, as they called themselves, were the cause of the origin of the games. A rudimentary ring existed at the time of the conquest, used for a stylized, ritualistic form of courtship. But the invaders were quick to turn it into something completely different for their own amusement. At first they used it as a means of getting rid of Rototarans who proved difficult.

  The crone, known as Saviq, who was young and courting at the time, saw her betrothed dispatched in this manner. She had gone berserk with grief and rage and had attacked the Thanes. Her life was spared, for her actions had amused the Scandis, but she had been grievously wounded and ever after had spoken in a
garbled manner. The two women had been drawn together by the magnitude of their losses which was a far greater bond than the sum of their differences.

  Now it took but a murmured request which Saviq honored without hesitation, pointing out a large cell at the far end of the corridor.

  Lomi could not understand how such a thing could have happened. What could Bracca have done to have brought himself back to face the ring? And what of his mate and his child? All of these questions and more hammered in her head as she gripped the bars and peered into the dark enclosure. “Bracca,” she whispered tremulously. “Bracca, it is I, Lomi.”

  At first there was no response, but she called out a second time, and before the words were out of her mouth, a horrid little man who stood barely waist high, pressed up against the bars leering at her, his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. She jerked away out of his reach and crossed her arms across her chest, waves of revulsion coursing through her body. She could feel her cheeks burning red under the dwarf’s salacious gaze.

  And then he was there, Bracca Jocobe Brandtson, tall and handsome and miraculously untouched by the passage of time. He gripped the dwarf by the shoulders and lifted him away, ignoring the sputtering of colorful curses that spewed from the little man’s mouth. Then there was nothing between them but the bars and the deep welling emotion of her memories. Lomi’s eyes filled with tears as her hand reached for his. He spoke.

  “Is there something wrong, Lady? Are you in some distress?” His voice was kind, but something was wrong. Even the long years of separation could not rob her of the memory of Bracca’s voice, strong and deep and resonant. This voice was all of those things, but different. It was not the voice she had held in her heart.

  She grasped the hand that reached for hers and knew without a doubt that the fates had not seen fit to smile upon her but were merely playing out some cosmic joke for their own amusement. Lomi was an intelligent, intuitive, and discerning woman, and the hand that held hers did so out of good manners and gentle concern. There was no hint of love or the memory of such. This was not Bracca. At that moment, she sagged and would have collapsed had Braldt not wrapped his arms around her slender body and called out in alarm. To his amazement, the old woman who tended the water cart was there in an instant, reaching for the woman and cradling her in her scaly arms, crooning to her and uttering words of comfort. Braldt and his companions gathered at the bars and watched the strange scene in total confusion, unsure of what was happening.

  The old crone attempted to revive the woman, but her skin was a curious ashen-blue shade and her breathing was ragged and steterous. It was obvious that she was in great distress. The old one’s cries grew frantic and she looked about in terror, clearly divided about going for help or remaining with the woman.

  Braldt felt responsible in some way, even though he could not have said how. The woman had reached for him and he had failed her in some way as was apparent from her reaction. “Let me out!” he cried to the crone. “Let me help.”

  The old reptile looked up and tried to focus on Braldt with her single eye which dripped with tears. She wrung her scaled hands and rocked back and forth, moaning. She was clearly terrified, although whether for herself or for the fallen woman was impossible to say. Randi added her voice to Braldt’s and Allo spoke up as well. The crone stumbled to her feet and unlocked the door to the cell, urging them toward the woman whose eyes had rolled back into her skull.

  Braldt laid his hands upon the woman’s chest and felt the thready tremble of the uncertain heart within. He spoke to Randi who immediately pushed him aside and began a complex routine of breathing and manual expression of the woman’s chest. After a long, uncomfortable period, Lomi gave a long sigh, choked, and began to breath more evenly.

  It was a long time before she was strong enough to sit up, leaning against and supported by Allo’s shaggy body. The water carrier had hobbled off and returned as fast as her legs could carry her, bringing a gourd of hot, herbal brew which the woman sipped in shallow draughts.

  “Did he send you?” Septua asked, without waiting for the woman to speak.

  “Who?” she replied, obviously confused by the dwarf’s question.

  “’Im. Jorund, that’s who. ’Im what got me in ’ere. ’Im what Braldt thinks is gonna save us. That’s who.”

  “Braldt? Is that your name? Yes, now that I see you close… I can see the difference. But you are so much like him. I thought… I wanted to think…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Hey, lady! Don’t die, huh! We got enough trouble now without you croakin’!” cried the dwarf.

  “I would not think to cause you further difficulty,” the woman said with a wry smile as she struggled upright. “Nor would I wish to misrepresent my intentions. As to Jorund’s intentions I cannot say, I can but speak for my own. I did not come here to save you for I did not even know you existed. I came here to see this man whom I mistook for one I once knew and cared for long ago. I thought it was he, and while they are much alike, they are not the same. I thought… we all thought… but it seems we were wrong.”

  “’Ow can you tell?” argued Septua, unwilling to relinquish even this one small thread of hope. “’Ow can you tell? It might be ’im, whoever ’e was. You all look the same!”

  “No.” The woman smiled gently at the dwarf. “There are differences among us, slight though they might be. This is not the one called Bracca Jocobe. I fear that he is long dead on another world.”

  “What world?” Braldt asked sharply, and Lomi looked at him in surprise, considering once again the shape of his head and the sound of his voice. “A world without a name, K7 as the star charts call it. A distant world rich in precious minerals.”

  “Rhodium,” said Braldt.

  “Yes, rhodium! How did you know?” asked Lomi, her voice filled with amazement.

  “Because this uninhabited world, this K7 as you call it, is my home. I think that we have much to talk about.”

  Before the leading edge of the primary sun advanced over the edge of the horizon, Lomi and Braldt had talked and explored the mystery of the past. Much had been revealed and sorrow had accompanied enlightenment.

  They had pieced together their bits of information and come to the unavoidable conclusion that Braldt was the son of Bracca Jocobe and the woman Mirim. Braldt had learned that his father had been the high-born son of a powerful Thane. Always an outspoken youth, Bracca had involved himself in dissident issues as he grew older and eventually incurred the wrath of the rest of the high council by arguing against the colonization of K7, a populated world, which was in direct contravention of the Whole World Federation’s directives.

  Bracca’s charismatic personality had earned him the respect and loyalty of many of the younger Thanesons as well as Lomi’s quiet, unspoken love. The High Thanes had seen the light of a dangerous rebellion in the young Bracca, a threat to all their carefully laid plans. In vain did they try to convince the young Thaneson that the colonization of K7 was necessary for their own planet’s existence.

  What possible harm, they argued, could come from the taking of a mineral from a world whose inhabitants were thousands of years away from its possible use. Inhabitants who had barely progressed beyond the age of bronze, who placed their belief in animistic spirits and dieties of the earth.

  But the young idealist would not be convinced and threatened to report the Thanes to the World Federation. If Bracca had not been the son of a reigning Thane, he might have been dispatched without conscience, but his father had been a member of the ruling council for a score of years and still had many powerful friends. These friends dissuaded other, angrier voices from killing Bracca outright, but everyone knew that something had to be done.

  Bracca and his young wife and newborn son had been imprisoned in these same cells for safekeeping, to prevent either side from taking hasty, improper action before a rational compromise had been agreed upon.

  Unfortunately, irrational behavior existed on both sides, and one dar
k night, Bracca’s friends set a number of explosives at the mine’s processing plants, hoping to frighten the Thanes into releasing their leader. Their plan backfired.

  Worried that the young Thanesons were indeed a serious threat, another group of the Thanes spirited Bracca and his wife and child out of the prison and into the transmission chamber. In one swift, irreversible move, they sent the defenseless trio hurtling through time and space to the planet K7 to live or die as fate and their wits would have it, depriving the young rebellion of its heart and soul and themselves of their worst enemy.

  This action caused serious uprisings on the small way station called Rototara as well as their home planet, Valhalla. The young militants, as well as the thinkers and dreamers, united over the cause which had brought about the banishment of their young leader.

  Lomi’s quiet voice held them all in thrall as she explained how the Thane tried desperately to calm the unexpected rebellion. Although it was not their habit to explain their actions, those who were defying them were their own sons and others of their blood.

  They explained to all who would listen that they had believed K7 to be uninhabited, only discovering the primitive population after they had already established a mine for the extraction of rhodium. Rhodium was a rare mineral essential for space travel and its discovery was the answer to their own barren planet’s problems, for while Valhalla was indeed a magnificent planet, it possessed absolutely no resources which would make it economically viable or able to support its burgeoning population.

  Literally everything needed for life had to be brought in from other worlds, and to do so cost a great deal of money. The Thanes were desperate to find a means to support their world. It was impossible to return to the old, dying earth and before the discovery of rhodium, they had been forced to return to their ancient heritage and become pirates.