by Archer Swift
Chapter 1
I stepped in. Under the cascading water.
I wanted to scream, but I bit my lip hard instead … and nearly drew blood. Pounded by the blistering hot stream, the throbbing pain of my bruised head was almost overwhelming. Almost. The flood of thoughts swamping my mind dulled the pain. Just enough. Did I only head butt Ruzzell this morning? Really? My mind was awhirl with the craziness of the events of the last day.
Was it really only last night that I met Miltredic?
I couldn’t believe how much had happened in one day. No sooner had I entertained this notion when my chest tightened, and I lost my breath. A woefully tragic thought throttled me, overshadowing me with grief. Scott. I swallowed hard to keep my knees from caving in. The sadness caught in my throat and instantly drained my body of energy. In the early hours of this morning, Scott was murdered.
I so hope I made you proud today.
Although Eden’s days were slightly longer than Earth’s, I felt as though I’d aged fifteen years during this one frenetic day. And it wasn’t even over yet. This thought alone made me feel utterly spent.
I angled my forehead slightly so the pressure of the pummelling water would be less severe, and shut my eyes tight. Gradually, my body became accustomed to the hot water, which had at first seemed scorching hot. Now, it was wonderful. Just wonderful. My first hot shower in over a decade. In clean, crystal-clear water.
The searing spray washed off the sweat and smut from places on my body that the still, tepid river water of our camp’s bathing pool could never cleanse. Flushed away the filth and fecula left clinging to me from the arena floor—reminding me I hadn’t died in that death-bowl. And the life-fluid. The steaming shower scoured her blood from my eyes and nose, and where it had caked in my ears—haunting me with the graphic and gory memory of the supreme sacrifice she made. For me. For us all.
More than anything, it purged away the fear, the blood-curdling dread. Through the entire ordeal, and my confrontation with Xakanic, the monstrous Ruler of Zika; I’d fought to keep consternation from creeping into my soul and terror from tightening its deathly tenure around my throat. As the water pounded my body into spotless submission, I felt the last tentacles of anxiety flee. This is a new day. My hopes soared.
Yes, there’s only upward and forward for us now. The odds were now in our favour. Next stop … halcyon times of peace.
Enthralled by them, three women dominated my mind. Okay, two women and … a female. Three females? No, that doesn’t sound right. How should I categorise Shumbalic, the Zikalic female whose courage defined this day? Yes, I decided, I would refer to her as a woman from now on. Even though it was technically incorrect and would surely require a massive mind shift from everyone else. For a decade, we referred only to the formidable and frightening Zikalic species as them. Now they were more than that. At least, Shumbalic and her father Miltredic were. To me.
But what of the other two? Gellica and Monix. How do I sort through the concoction of emotions I have swirling around my head, rousing my heart? I confessed my love for Gellica not once, but twice today. And at the time, I meant every word. But that was before finding out Monix was still alive. Monix, my first love. Can you be in love with two women at the same time? Is there enough space in one heart?
Especially a heart so battered and busted as mine?
Monix looked utterly crushed, completely unsure of herself. Beautiful, but broken. Four years in captivity. A domestic pet. As much as I didn’t want to make the connection, she reminded me of Scruffy, the stray puppy Dad found injured in the gutter when I was four or five. Terrified of every sudden sound or movement, little Scruffy became my father’s leech; displaying an almost inexplicable gratitude to the one who saved him.
What did they do to Monix?
Now free, she’d clutched on to me like brown on dirt. Wouldn’t let me go. She kept saying that I’d saved her. It seemed she still needed some saving, however. A lot actually. My heart bled for her. Only time would mend her soul and we would now have plenty of this precious commodity in the days and weeks and moons ahead. After all, we were stepping into a bright future.
This is a new day. I just thought that, didn’t I? Must be the wave of euphoria I’m still riding.
I ran my hands through my hair, and scrubbed hard. Geez! It feels good. I dug into my ears, scraping out more congealed blood. Immediately, sound amplified in my ears … all around me. Maybe I should have left them plugged. Along with the congestion in my ears, the force of the shower had created a curtain of water around me, giving me a sense of sanctuary and solitude—even though I shared the public bathhouse with nearly two hundred men.
“This is just so, awesome!” I heard someone squeal in delight. “Hot freaking water!” Maybe Shawz Grimm’s voice?
“Flushed my sinuses out!” Not sure who that was.
Mealy-mouthed Cartyr Rimfell?
“Man! I didn’t know I smelt so bad.” Definitely, Ruzzell Hunt’s voice.
“Dank! One shower’s not going help that, dude.” Shawz again, his raucous laugh gussied up for effect.
“Don’t get too comfortable, boys,” Cainn Bracken’s raspy cackle was distinct and crawled under my skin. “Don’t forget, we’re in the bowels of the enemy here. Our battle against these humanoid chimp-trolls is just warming up.”
Cartyr snickered. “Chimp-trolls. That’s just classic, man.”
“Dank dude! That Xakanic creature was an ugly bugger.”
Blocking out the rest of their crass mockery and warmongering, I wanted to remind Cainn that the Zikalic were no longer our adversaries. Together—Human and Zikalic—we would forge a brand-new future. Starting today. Now! I didn’t have the energy to waste on Cainn’s pessimism, however. Truth be told, I didn’t have time to squander on Cainn, period. On a wild, savage planet that had twisted and tainted us all, Cainn was still more feral and fierce than most.
I opened my eyes and surveyed the scene. Standing under a waterfall-like shower, a heavy stream of water cascaded from a bejewelled gutter some three strides high above my head, running nearly forty strides long—a stride being the length of a good leg stretch, just short of a metre. At least thirty of us were enjoying the shower-fall. Among those to my left were Ruzzell, Cainn, Shawz and Cartyr—men I didn’t trust. Seventeen-year-old Dixan Mantle, someone I did trust, even through the trials of late, was among those to my right.
Below us, over a hundred others wallowed in the gigantic warm pool that surrounded the shower; the water running off the raised shower-platform and into the pool itself. Still many others enjoyed the spa baths along both sides of the massive bathhouse. Having faced a decade-long, daily life-and-death struggle for survival on this brutal planet, the scene of people frolicking leisurely in the opulent pool and baths was something my weary brain struggled to fully compute.
If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me.
I was sure the women’s bathhouse was not as big or lavish given what Miltredic had said about the Zikalic’s token respect for their females. Plus, there were far fewer women than men in our number. At less than one to eight, they’d have a relatively empty bathhouse even if it was significantly smaller. Of course, now with the ‘pets’ released, and all of them women, we were in for a titanic turnaround of numbers, an interesting integration of long-lost loved ones and friends.
Still, the future is bright.
We were invited to use the communal bathhouse by Miltredic, the Zikalic’s new ruling Chief. Dragged into the city as prisoners to be fed to the beasts for amusement, the death of the cruel Xakanic meant that we not only survived extinction in the Great Arena, but we were now guests of the City of Zika. Remarkable! Our reversal of fortune was monumental, epic. And we would no longer fear nighttime. The dark hours, when the Zikalic were, until now, prone to attack, had been forever stripped of its principal threat.
No more! I wish Scott lived to see this day.
