by Coral Walker
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There was a yell. Dodging to the right, Jack let go of his grip. Weighed down unexpectedly by the heavy neckband, he missed his footing and fell sideways towards the ground. A knife flew past him and struck the wall behind him.
The boy, lanky, glassy-eyed, more than a head taller than him, yelled again, trying to pull out the knife that was stuck in a tight crevice in the wall.
In the corner of his eye, Jack glimpsed the approaching shadow. Forgetting his slumbering tongue, he shrieked, uttering a strangled cry.
In half a wink, it was all over.
Blood gushed out from where the knife had entered and streamed down onto the dusty floor. A small but growing puddle of blood formed almost instantly. The glassy-eyed boy looked stunned as he turned, shivering with the knife he had retrieved in his hands. A knife had pierced through his body from the back, and its sharp blade was protruding from the front of the blood-soaked tunic. He lurched forward a couple of steps, hands shaking violently.
The attacker, a big, stocky youth with fluffy hair and the face of a young adult, groaned and backed up a step or two.
The knife dropped, and the glassy-eyed boy slumped onto the ground with a dull sound, his outstretched arm inches away from Jack’s feet. Jack trembled, and his chest shrank with sudden pain.
The fluffy-haired boy looked up. Still groaning and sobbing, he shot Jack a cold glance full of hatred as if Jack was the cause of all this. With a resolute expression, he rushed forward to where the body was and where the fallen knife still lay.
Alarmed, Jack scrambled to his feet, swaying under the weight of the band.
There was only the body between them.
If only the bokwas had killed him in the first round, Teilo would have won, and there wouldn’t have been this second contest. Then the glassy-eyed boy would be still alive.
The youth snivelled a bit more, and rubbed his face with his hand, smearing it with blood and dust. His face twisted as he picked up the knife. In an abrupt move, he sprung over the body and thrust the knife at Jack’s face.
Jack stood swooning with helplessness, his eyes unseeing, his fists unclenched, and his mind was full of the floating jars of babies. How peaceful their little faces were.
A violent push shoved him to one side. Sparks flashed as the knives clanged against each other.
“Move! Move!” a voice urged him.
Teilo deflected the deadly strike. The next instant, he and the fluffy-haired youth were tangled in a whirlwind of thrusts and parries. It didn’t take long for the youth, the taller and older of the two, with brawny arms, to get the upper hand. Edging forward, he made large swinging strokes with his knife, while Teilo, small but agile, retreated backwards, dodging and ducking like a monkey.
“Pick up the damned knife,” Teilo shouted.
Looking down, Jack caught sight again of the knife, standing upright triumphantly with its blade poking through the lifeless body. A fit of anger welled up in him. The boy hadn’t wanted to die.
Sticking out from under the boy’s arm, the hilt of another knife was visible. It was his knife, the one that had been placed near him and which he hadn’t taken.
The tall youth was thrusting forward again for another strike, with his back towards him.
Pick up the knife and stab him! A voice sounded in Jack’s head.
“Pick up the knife, idiot!” shouted the spectators. A shower of objects was thrown at him, stones and rotten eggs. A shoe narrowly missed his face. It struck the wall, glanced off and fell onto the sprawling body of the boy.
The audiences broke into hoots of laughter before sinking into sudden silence.
The hands were twitching, and then the legs. The upper body started quaking as the ‘dead’ boy heaved himself up with his arms.
A chill went down Jack’s spine. He was alive! He was STILL alive!
Still caught up in their ferocious battle, Teilo and the youth were unaware of the boy’s resuscitation. The tide seemed to be turning. Inching backwards, the big youth was now defending, while Teilo edged forward with each strike. At any moment, they would stumble over the poor boy, still struggling on the floor.
Without a thought, Jack stepped forward, meaning to give him a hand. But the glassy-eyed boy was so startled at his abrupt approach that he jerked up at once, thrusting him away.
With a yell, Teilo made a mighty strike. Stepping backwards awkwardly to dodge the attack, the youth bumped into the injured boy, who had just managed to get to his feet. Without warning, the boy clung on to the youth and wrapped his arms like ropes around the youth’s waist. Together they dropped backwards.
There was an ominous sound of a knife piercing through flesh. As they slumped to the ground, the same knife that the youth had stabbed the boy with pierced his own body.
Jack was aware that the youth’s last gaze, still fully charged with life, was fastened on him as he fell. Arms stretched and mouth agape, he looked as if he were begging for his help. The horror in his eyes was so intense and so raw, and then in a breath, they were blank and lifeless.
The audience was briefly silent before waves of shrieks, whistles and applause swelled up.
“Pick up the knife,” whispered Teilo, as calm as when Jack had met him the first time.
Both of them dead, after living only a handful of years, so young and so alive, just like him. Jack quivered. His mind’s eye again stared helplessly at the final horror-stricken gaze of the youth.
“Pick up the knife,” Teilo repeated.
The knife was now lying loose between him and Teilo.
Jack dived for it, and in no time scooped it up into his hand. With all his might, he threw it. The knife sped over Teilo’s head, the lofty wall, and the countless heads of the audience. It narrowly missed the important guests in the royal seats and slashed through a large drum with a thundering twang.
For a while, the whole arena gasped in utter shock, and then a loud tumult of disbelief rent the silence —crying, shrieking and shouting. Many spectators scrambled to their feet and started scurrying away.
He saw that Cici, who somehow had reached her seat, sat strikingly still in her red garment, as all around her fell into chaos.
The gate slid open. Keepers armed with wooden staves swarmed in. In a short while, Jack was thrown roughly to the ground and his hands bound to his feet.
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The door creaked shut. Blindfolded, he couldn’t see a thing.
He wriggled but stopped short. The keeper’s story about the rebellious boy who had killed his owner and been thrown to the bokwas was fresh in his mind.
He strained his ears. NO SOUND.
To reassure himself, he wriggled his fingers to feel the floor. It was cold and stony, thinly covered with straw. No trace of bokwas. Perhaps they were lounging somewhere, waiting for their chance.
Wriggling harder, he managed to slide a few inches with his feet, hands and shoulders. Deciding it was too slow, he rolled. Instantly, he knew it was a mistake.
He was falling at breath-taking speed.
One second he was bracing for a head-cracking crash and the next he stopped suddenly. The heavy neckband crashed into his jaw, and he moaned. He was hanging upside down, spinning. A few inches below, the hissing sound of the bokwas was unmistakable.
He burst into a spasm of nervous giggling. So that’s the plan. Blindfolded, hog-tied, and you just roll yourself to your death. A slow and painful one. Guaranteed. How shrewd!
Something slimy and cold lashed him on his face. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to flash through images of the people he had loved. A reasonable way of preparing for death, wasn’t it? But the only thing that floated up was the dying face of the fluffy-haired youth, staring bleakly at him as he slumped backwards in the boy’s arms.
A slow death. Plus, he wasn’t so easily killed by just a few bites. So he should have plenty of time for proper reflection.
But there was a pull at his feet and the next instant he was moving up.
>
He went a long way up before he stopped. A pair of hands grasped each side of his head to stop him from spinning, and the blindfold was partially lifted. The sudden brightness dazzled him. When he was able to see again, he was looking upside down at the face of Cici.
“That was fun, wasn’t it? Shall we do it again?” she said, looking sharply into his eyes. “This time make sure you take more care.”
The blindfold was pulled down again, and she let go of him. The next instant, he was falling once more, and he didn’t stop until his face plunged into a heap of slimy and slithering bokwas. The bokwas stirred, sprung and leapt, lashing him with their sharp claws and jagged tails. There were sharp stings to his cheeks and chin.
Panicking, he gave a sudden jerk of his head, lifting it out of the heap.
Dangling, muscles straining to keep his head lifted, he listened and counted. A few more lashes and jumps and the bokwas settled down again.
The rope was revolving, and there was no sign of it being pulled up.
The neckband was so heavy that his neck muscles were on the verge of giving up. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his shoulders. As soon as his head dipped, he gave it another jerk, heaving it up before a rekindled assault from the bokwas below.
The jerk sent the rope into a vicious spin, sickening him.
When the rope was pulled up, lifting him with it, he loosened his taunt muscles and sighed.
The blindfold was stripped off, and there was Cici’s face again staring at him. She looked strangely pretty with her cold, delicate face.
“What do you think about this?” she said.
She grasped the rope coiled round his shoulder and turned him round.
There was Brianna trussed up like roast meat, hanging upside down two yards away from him.
Underneath them, a wide crack in the floor revealed a deep drop to a large cavern below teeming with bokwas.
They were both spinning, making it difficult to exchange even a glance. The hollow expression that deadened Brianna’s face shocked him. When their eyes finally met, he grinned, trying hard to make a face. Hanging upside down, it wasn’t as easy as he thought.
But her gaze was blank, passing through him as if he were invisible. He felt a sudden stab of sadness.
Cici’s voice echoed in the large chamber. “She is mine. I bought her. I can do whatever I like to her. Kill her or let her live,”
“Money isn’t an issue,” she paused to wait for him to revolve in her direction. “I can just let go of the rope, and that’s it. She’ll suffer for a day or two. The bokwas are full after their feast on the dead boys.”
“Or you’ll be down there, and I’ll sell her to Gridilo for a handsome price. But I should remind you, girl slaves never live more than a dozen days in Gridilo’s hands.”
That’s Brianna, whom he had spent most of his life squabbling with, and the last person he thought he would care about. He thought gloomily, watching her again spinning away from him. How he wanted a glance from her.
Cici grasped him by the rope and turned him to face her.
“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to win, and you must win. If you win, I’ll let her go. But if you lose, you know where she’ll go.”
She said this through gritted teeth with her lips hardly moving. Each word bore such energy that they crackled in the air just like fireworks. After this she gave him a hard spin, turned, and left the room.
He was left alone with Brianna. He was spinning so fast his stomach churned. The keepers went in to take him away, giving him no chance for a farewell glance.
In the arena the audience was chanting, “Teilo, Teilo!”
17
Teilo, Teilo
Jack’s gaze followed him attentively. Teilo winked, baring his two large, protruding front teeth, as he circled Jack.
Without warning, Jack charged forward. Once, twice … he attacked. Swinging his body quickly, Teilo dodged the first feints and parried the rest with his knife. Steel clanked on steel.
Leaping back from the onslaught, Teilo flashed him a quick grin. “Not bad. Finally changed your mind?”
Jack lowered his eyes, uneasy with Teilo’s ready smile.
To his amazment, Teilo started a strange dance. Legs striding apart, arms waving above his head, he rocked his body from side to side following a slow soundless rhythm.
“Bo … Ha … Bo … Ha …” Some enthusiastic fans of Teilo’s chorused, taking up the rhythm and making it resonant and upbeat.
A pre-attack ritual? Jack was half stunned and half amused. If it hadn’t been for the dire situation, he would have yielded to a small laugh, as might occur in a normal sparring session, when a couple of kids suddenly changed their polished steps into hilarious and clownish ones.
Mr Bram, Jack’s fencing coach, had trained him scrupulously with a certain earnestness, as if he were training him for a life or death contest.
Life or death contest? Jack pondered the words, his heart hardening within him. He had never understood Mr Bram’s earnestness but had jeered at him together with his peers. Life and death were after all far too distant and far too serious to consider for youths of his age.
Teilo’s rhythmical movements continued, and there was no sign that he would stop. It was right there, face-to-face, life and death.
How long was he going to do this for?
Teilo’s body was now swaying to his right, and his knife was far away in his extended right hand, leaving his left side unguarded. Jack lunged forward as if Mr Bram were shouting in his ears, “Attack! Attack! Take the chance.” In front of him there was no longer a red-skinned being of flesh and blood, but a shadow, a shadow of death.
The shadow ducked away just as he thought he was about to hit it. The momentum of Jack’s strike, increased by the weight band, unbalanced him and toppled him forward. As he struggled to keep his balance he dropped the knife to the ground. When he regained his footing, the sudden feel of a cold metal tip prodding his back froze him to the spot. Teilo’s knife was pressed firmly against him.
He stood, shocked but poised — at least the bewildering dance had stopped.
He waited for a split second for the knife to advance, curious about the delay. Hesitantly he rolled forwards. By the time he stumbled awkwardly to his feet, he was yards away from Teilo.
The cold tip of the blade was fresh in his mind, bringing him out in a cold sweat. He could have killed him.
The audience whistled and taunted the fighters, rebuking them for narrowly missing the chance to spill blood.
A large, bearded man stood up from his seat. With a swish of his arm, he hurled a red fruit towards Teilo. Almost unmoving, with a twitch of his arm, Teilo met it with the blade of his knife. The fruit glanced off the blade with a clunk. The deflection took the fruit up to the top of the tall wall, where it smashed into Bagi’s face as he leaned too far forward over the edge of the wall.
The audience roared with laughter as Bagi, cursing and stamping, furiously rubbed the juicy pink flesh of the fruit off his face and garments. “I’ll thrash you for that!” he threatened, beating the air with both his fists.
Jack’s attention returned to Teilo, who winked back with a silly grin. Jack smiled back, but then, over Teilo’s shoulder, he saw Cici. She was staring down at him, unmoving, unaffected, reminding him of what was at stake.
He must kill Teilo to save Brianna.
The smile froze on his face, and his heart throbbed painfully. When he turned his eyes back to Teilo, the sight of his distinctively protruding chest that rose and then fell so vigorously, nauseated him.
How could he compare Teilo’s life with Brianna’s? Could he weigh them, to see which one was more worthy of living?
But what about Bo who was barely five years old?
The very thought of Bo, his angelic chubby face, seemed to have a magic power to put things into perspective.
Brianna must be there for Bo as she always was. Brianna must be saved for the sake of Bo.
Blood rushed to his head, and his heart pounded rapidly with the resolution.
“Watch out,” Teilo’s voice sounded. Together with the words a weapon came speeding towards him.
He blocked it in time, but the knife still hit him, its sharp edge cutting through the thin cloth over his shoulder. A red stain appeared.
For Bo, for Brianna! With a yell, he shoved the knife away.
“Good,” Teilo looked impressed. “Clear your mind, focus and breathe,” he added.
It sounded almost insulting. Was he mad? Who was he, and what did he think he was doing? Coaching him to get himself killed? Agitated, he pushed forward and wielded his knife with renewed vigour, throwing himself headlong into a whirl of stabbing and slashing.
Despite his rough, wild and untrained ways, Jack had to admit that Teilo was a natural fighter. Although short and sturdy, he was as agile as a monkey. One moment he thought he’d got him, but Teilo ducked away; the next moment he thought he was safe, and then Teilo’s knife was swishing past his eyebrows. There were times when Jack lost control, leaving himself at the mercy of Teilo’s knife. Then the blade came at him as expected, but curiously it lost its impetus on the way as if the hand that was wielding it was playing tricks.
The prolonged drama of an intense but blood-free sparring match bored the audience, who responded again with showers of fruit, eggs and stones. The barrage of missiles briefly broke them apart.
Teilo’s face seemed full of shadows as he whispered, “Last round, Jack, last round.” With that, he set off another attack.
Focus, focus …
Twisting his shoulders to one side, Jack dodged. Quick as a flash, Teilo crouched down. With a sweep of his arm, his knife sped towards Jack’s leg. Jack leapt, flipped in mid-air and turned in time to plunge his knife towards the approaching shadow.
There was the dull sound of steel penetrating flesh. Instinctively he slackened his grip on the knife, his heart lurching to a stop.
Teilo, losing balance, tilted forward.
Jack, alarmed by the prospect of him crashing to the floor with a knife stuck in his stomach, jumped forward, meaning to catch him by the shoulders.
