by Garry Ocean
Archy the Wise stopped this practice, believing this way the City was digging its own grave. He issued a law banning the killing of infants. It also specified that those who possess the Gift could be executed only through decapitation and only upon proving beyond any doubt that they had committed a crime using their abilities.
Of course, even after the Law was issued, no celebration took place without a public execution, but their number reduced drastically. And the mothers had the right to decide if they wanted to take care of the defective newborn or send it away into an exile. However, the old barbaric traditions were so strong that even at present day in most cases the new mothers rejected their children with physical deviations. Those who were lucky to stay alive, if that can be called luck, were sent to the settlements of the Rejecteds.
And now, thinking about it for a millionth time, Whisperer closed his eyes and tried to feel out the invisible traces of interference. So far, he did not notice anything unusual. Perhaps it will be easier to do as the number of contestants shrinks. Or when the Ritual will come to its decisive stage. He smiled in his mind, imagining all those Gifted trying in vain to influence Nick. And then he straightened himself, “Not something to be joyful about! I need to somehow tell Nick again that he must not attract attention before his time.” But how could he do it? He, of course, was listed as someone who accompanies the contestant and could be near him at all times. But who would guarantee that they wouldn’t be found out? No, if they have to blow their cover, they will do it at the very last moment. Here Whisperer regretted that Nick was not an ordinary person because in that case he’d be able to give him instructions and tips from right here, without even leaving his seat. On the other hand, Nick’s immunity made him safe from his enemies as well. “A stick with two ends,” Whisperer sighed again and realized that he was very nervous for Nick.
Meanwhile in the Arena they started the javelin throwing competition. The first stage was how far it can be thrown, and the second – how accurately it would strike the target. Nick should have no problems here. Whisperer remembered how easily Nick had thrown Sith’s spear to the fields of the gatherers. The boy had to look for it for a long time and finally found it, as he said, about three hundred steps away from the road. In the contest, the requirement was to throw the javelin over the wooden fence two feet high from a distance of about 150 steps. This was, according to the legend, the width of the Rapid Waters in its narrowest place, when the first people who had abandoned the Old City crossed it. They were then ambushed by the steppe dwellers, who quickly erected a short fence on the other side of the river and were cutting off all attempts to cross the river. Then the people decided to select the best javelin throwers. These heroes threw the javelins across the river at the steppe dwellers, thus giving an opportunity for the advance combat troops to cross the river with little losses.
Now, a vociferous roar of the crowd accompanied every throw by a contestant. The spectators were already making their bets. The power of emotions was increasing with every minute. Finally, it was Nick’s turn. He quickly and shortly accelerated and, as it seemed, drove the javelin with no effort. It flew high up into the air, and, hanging there just for a second, flew far over the fence. The throw was beautiful, and the crowd gave it an ovation.
“A thousand yellowbellies!” Whisperer couldn’t hold himself from yelling, and then he collected himself and added in whisper, “I’ve asked you not to stand out, haven’t I?”
“What’s wrong, old man, you’ve betted on a wrong guy?” a fat man behind him burst into laughter. “Your old lady doesn’t even know what you spent her secret stash on, right?”
Whisperer simply shrugged his shoulders in response, as if feeling guilty, and looked away, which made the fat man laugh even more.
The contest continued. The participants threw their javelins with various levels of success into the targets that had been dug into the ground a hundred steps away. More than a third of the contestants have already been eliminated. By all indicators, there would be more of them in the next attempts. The drooping losers were dragging their feet to the East Gate, accompanied by whistles and boos from the crowd that was already warmed up by free wine. In honor of the celebration, the City allocated from its basements so many barrels of wine that it seemed it could fill up the entire Arena to the edges. The cupbearers who were specifically assigned to the barrels hardly managed to fill up the flasks and wineskins for anyone who wanted to try the best wines from the basements of the Guardians themselves.
It was impossible to count the number of city residents and people from other lands who came to see the Celebration of the Exodus. Tens of thousands of people were sitting on the stone and wood benches, running in concentric circles upward from the arena. Those who did not get the seats were standing in the isles, loudly and lively discussing the competition. Some shady types were running around collecting the bets on contestants. In this multi-color crowd were men, women, and children. Many came to the celebration with their entire families. The people couldn’t wait to see the next trials.
Whisperer sighed with relief again, when Nick hit the target three times in a row. The old man was visibly nervous. He understood this, but the more he tried to calm himself down, the less he succeeded. There were still two more contests ahead. The masters were already marking the stop lines and the guards were getting ready to draw the turns. In the middle of the field, they installed a big vat. With the approving cheers from the crowd, the guards threw into it identical wooden plates with the names of contestants still remaining in the competition. When the contest starts, the guards will draw the plates randomly from the vat, thus determining the pairs for the new competition.
It had a beautiful name: Appeasement. This contest became a part of the Ritual from the very beginning and remained unchanged. Both laymen and noblemen enjoyed the Appeasement. When he was young, Whisperer thought that in the old times the noblemen often resolved their disputes by challenging them to a one-on-one fight. The right to choose the weapons was with the one who was challenged. Most often, it was a sword fight. It was allowed to fight with or without the protective gear, with a shield or without. There were so many ways to kill each other.
However, there was a certain code of rules and behavior. Specially trusted people – guardians – were making sure it was observed. They set the rules of the fight in advance, agreed on the type of weapons as well as on what will be the moment of satisfaction, or, in other words, appeasement. The Appeasement did not always end up with the death of one of the adversaries. If the honor court declared the insult light or moderate, the fight was going on only to the first serious injury or the first blood.
The tradition to resolve disputes this way was liked by the laymen as well and soon became a mass phenomenon. While the Highborn resorted to Appeasement only in the cases involving damaged honor, for laymen a sufficient reason could be rotten meat sold by a tradesman at the market. Since in most cases laymen did not know how to fight with a sword and open carry of arms was banned for them anyway, the usual way to do it was throwing javelins at each other. Carrying a javelin was punishable only by a small fine, while a sword carry could send anyone to hard labor at quarries for several years. And javelins were much cheaper. Among laymen, there were also several ways to fight, the most widely spread one being where the adversaries faced each other at 50 steps and started to move on command toward the barriers that had no more than 10 steps between them. Whoever throws his javelin first, was to stay in the same spot waiting for the throw in response. If both throws did not hit the target, the adversaries stepped back and everything began again. So it repeated until one of the adversaries was either wounded or dead or until the Appeasement was declared on mutual agreement of both parties.
The challenges for Appeasement were a common practice at that time. These fights were so frequent that a lot of city residents were either crippled or killed during them. This is probably why one of the first decrees by Archy the Wise was a ban on this
barbaric tradition. The city folks who dared to break this new law were sentenced to death. These strict measures reduced the Appeasements to a minimum and the mortality rate in the City sharply decreased.
Understanding that his deсree was not met with approval by many layers of the population, Archy the Wise incorporated Appeasement into one of the Ritual stages. This made it more interesting for spectators and gave an opportunity to the enemies to resolve their disputes. However, that happened only once in ten years, during the Exodus Celebration.
What would Nick do? Whisperer tried not to think about it. He already knew the Foundling, as he kept calling him, pretty well… Despite his large size and impressive physique, he did not condone violence, in any shape or form. This was weird and even wild, but it was so. What would happen when he has to fight experienced warriors to death? At this point, however, it was too late to change anything.
Whisperer decided to feel out carefully the participants who were now taking a break after the first contests. There were still many of them, more than a hundred. Some were sitting on the ground, some squatting, and eating the food the guards offered them. Others were lying down, stretching the tired legs. Nick refused the food and took only several gulps of water. He was standing away from the others and had an indifferent look about him. “I hope they didn’t mix something into his water,” Whisperer was worried for a second, but then reassured himself, “If that were to happen, it would probably happen later. Now there’s still a lot of contestants, they cannot be all poisoned. But when the pool is narrow, I’ll have to watch for it.”
And still, something bothered Whisperer. He was looking at each participant carefully but could not tell what made him worry. There, to the side of everyone, stood in a circle seven alvar warriors. They stand away from everyone else, but they always do that anyway. Closer to the parapet, steppe dwellers were sitting. How many? – Eight. People were saying there would be a lot more of them. They may have been eliminated already from the first contest, of course. Among them, a large and fierce warrior stood out. He was wearing only a short kilt, and the iron shin guards protected his legs. His wide chest was crossed over by wide leather belts with iron rivets. His powerful arms were protected up to the elbows by leather arm guards with sharp metal spikes. His head was shaven clean, with only one thin braid falling on his back. This steppe dweller had animal-like power and spirit about him. “Where have I, old and droopy yellowbelly, sent Nick?” Whisperer shivered reflectively. “What kind of a spell was I under?”
********
The horn blowed loudly again, marking the beginning of the second contest. Nick stretched his body, working all his muscles. To an observer, he seemed absolutely calm. But at the back of his mind, something was going on. He looked inside himself. He was nervous but it was normal. It was natural to be a little nervous before any competition. Nick knew that he could always make his body relax just by shere will power. But right now this wouldn’t be right. His body reacted the way the circumstanced dictated. However, he did produce a little more adrenalin than the situation required. The reason most probably was that the current situation was completely different from the sports competitions he participated in before. And the shouts and chants of a hundred-thousand crowd reminded him of not the shouts of the cheering fans but moans of a huge wounded animal. And the gloomy unfriendly warriors around him only reinforced this impression.
He felt uncomfortable again. The Great City, with its weird laws and medieval rules, did not meet his expectations. Now he seemed to understand why the residents of near-Forest did not like anything coming from the City. He remembered the village, Whisperer’s home, and a sweet face of his poison-spitter. He even felt embarrassed that at the beginning he thought of them as rough unfriendly barbarians. While they were simply people living in harsh conditions, fighting every day for their existence. And despite the hostile environment they were honest, kind-hearted people always ready to help each other. In the City everything was reversed. Despite great numbers of people, the city residents were in fact isolated and everyone worried only about oneself.
Meanwhile the crowd’s roar was increasing. Nick looked at the center of the Arena. There, two guards were drawing something out of a big vessel, and a third one loudly shouted out the names. The criers at the tribunes carried his words and transferred them further up to the crowded rows. In doing so, they were also using devices that looked like copper funnels. Seemed like they were amplifying the sound. The participants, when they heard their names, stepped to the edge of the Arena. And from there other guards led them to form the pairs.
“Nick of the Westgeyer clan!” the guard stretched his yell, and not for the first time. It took Nick a second to realize that it was him they were calling.
“And his adversary,” the guard stumbled on the name a little, “Tyn-Tyn from the Karatyn camp. These two warriors will face each other in a fight to determine who is worthy of the Highest Request!”
Someone pushed Nick and he rushed toward the guard waiting for him. The participant with a weird name was already there. He was wearing a leather kilt to his knees, and his bare chest was glistening as if covered with a tanning cream. And then Nick’s nose was shocked by an unpleasant sharp odor of a long-unwashed body mixed with something even more disgusting. “This was not a cream,” Nick thought. “It’s more like rancid lard.”
Nick tried not to show his disgust, and when he saw his adversary’s eyes, he felt the chill running up his spine. The warrior was looking at Nick with such obvious hate that Nick quickly looked away. “Why does he look at me like that? What have I done to him? We have never met before,” Nick thought.
Meanwhile the guard, also wrinkling his nose from the disgusting odor of the warrior, showed at the javelins on the table. They were about one meter in length, with seemingly heavy metal tips. Nick noticed that some of them were sharp while others had a blunt, rounded shape.
“What type of a fight are you choosing?” the guard asked in a good loud voice. “No blood or to death?”
Instead of an answer, Nick’s adversary grabbed from the table a javelin with a sharp tip and raised it above his head with a loud cry. The spectators roared approvingly in response.
After the weapons were selected, the guard briefly read the rules.
“Start moving toward each other on my command. The first one to have thrown stops. You can only start moving again after the throw in response. No stepping over the barrier,” and after a short pause, yelled, “Everything’s clear? Let’s go!”
Nick stood silently, waiting for the command. Just like his adversary standing a hundred steps away from him, he was holding two javelins in his arms. Their rough handles were burning his palms. Nick, as if thinking about something known only to him, shook his head and decisively threw one javelin to the side. The spectator rows roared first with confusion, and then broke into loud applause. The adversary shouted something in response to Nick, and by pointing to his stomach and chest, clearly showed where he was going to strike him.
Right that moment a gong thundered giving the signal to start moving. Nick still had not decided what he’d be doing next. So he started slowly, not hiding, straightened to his full height. An outside observer could have thought that he was going for a stroll. In his right rand, Nick was holding his only javelin with a spear down, lightly tapping it on his leg. His adversary, on the contrary, ran toward him in short charges, bent and slightly leaning to the right, resembling a spider crawling to its victim. At the same time, he was making some weird passages with his arms. He was holding one javelin in a stretched, almost straight, arm, while hiding the other one behind his back and making elaborate circles with it.
When the distance between them reduced to about thirty steps, Tyn-Tyn made a move as if he was going to throw the javelin from his right hand, unexpectedly sent to the air the other one, from his left hand. The throw was impeccable. Nick saw the black dot approaching his chest and swiftly stepped to the side. “He was throwing to
kill, he was not going to only wound me, he wanted to kill me,” Nick’s brain registered, but refused to accept.
Nick missed the second throw in a most embarrassing way. His adversary, after he noticed that Nick stepped to the right, sent the second javelin to follow the first one immediately. He did it so skillfully and quickly that the javelins seemed to have flown almost at the same time. Nick, mesmerized by the black death missing his chest by just one centimeter, felt the second movement at the last moment. It was too late to step away, so he sharply slapped the flying javelin of his adversary with his own. With a quick and sharp moan, the javelin flew to the side, just missing one of the guardians observing the fight.
Blood rushed into Nick’s head and without even thinking, he threw in a circular motion, like a stick, his javelin into his adversary’s feet. The latter guessed his plan and tried to jump the javelin over, but failed. It was too late. With his legs broken, he thumped on the sand.
At the background of loud universal applause by the public and moans of the defeated adversary mixed with curses, Nick dragged his feet to the edge of the arena. Blood was thumping in his veins, and it took him an enormous effort to make his heart beat evenly. “Why are they all so excited?” he was asking himself. “What is this all madness about?” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the two guards dragging another Ritual participant across the sand. Judging by the blood on his chest and loosely hanging head, he was already dead. Nick clenched his teeth and went to the side to join other warriors who already finished this challenge.
********
“He got what he deserved!” the fat man behind Whisperer’s back was going crazy. He managed to eat, shout, and comment on what was going on at the Arena at the same time. “Old man, why aren’t you happy? Did you see how ours broke the steppe dweller’s legs? He will forget for a long time now how to walk on his own two paws. Of course, he should have just made a hole in his chest, but this is not bad either. I first decided that ours would be done in, but did you see him? What clan is he from, I didn’t hear it?” he asked Whisperer, slapping him on the shoulder.
