by Chase Erwin
I looked forward at the girl, Belladonna. She was shaking, but it didn’t seem to be from fear. Her eyes began to glow red. She locked her eyes at me.
The tingling intensified in my hands. I looked down at my hand. It was enough of a distraction for Belladonna to make her first strike. With a burst of flame, a long, bright orange bolt shot from the open palm of her hand and landed in my left leg.
I remember the first time I ever burned myself while cooking; I was foolish enough to reach for a cast iron pot while it was bubbling over a fire. The skin blistered and swelled immediately, and it was an intense scalding pain that lasted for ages.
This pain was about 100 times worse. The skin split, charred and blistered instantly, and the shock of the blow made me fall over onto my backside. There was an uproar of cheering from the section closest to her.
“Fire back, you damn fool,” Logan hissed at me.
I raised my hand in her direction, and without a moment’s hesitation, a beam of blue light emanated from my skin and shot Belladonna directly in her right eye.
She let out a shriek as ice began to build rapidly around the eye, glazing over part of her cheek. She growled and examined her face with her hand.
As she checked her wound, I pointed at my own burn wound, thinking that maybe this could be used to numb the pain.
A softer bolt of blue light fired from the tip of my pointer finger. It stung at first, but then a cooling sensation washed over my leg, and I was able to hop up to a standing position.
There were boos from Belladonna’s side of the ring, cheers from mine.
Belladonna raised both her hands towards the center of the ring, above both our heads. As I saw the flames begin to build from her fingertips, I quickly raised both my hands in the same direction. I thought to myself, I should block whatever that is with whatever it is I have.
An arc of curling red flame shot skyward while a thick shot of blue, frosty light came from me.
The frost began to build in mid-air, creating a sort of box of ice, and the flame entered into it just as the ice enclosed. There was a split second before the mixture of intense temperatures resulted in a cloudburst effect, showering the arena floor in a harmless moment of rainfall.
The little girl looked confused as the water landed. Beads of water trickled down her greasy, knotted hair. This was her moment of distraction, I noticed.
I clasped both my hands together, and willed myself to create the most powerful bolt of cold energy I could imagine. My eyes glowed blue, and a bone-chilling sensation radiated down my shoulders, through my arms. A ball of light enveloped my wrists and my clasped hands. The ball grew rapidly before exploding with a wall-echoing bang, and all the expended energy fired directly at the girl.
Had it been any other situation other than my survival, I would have been appalled to see such a tiny, innocent-looking child scream as she was picked up by the force of the blast and slammed against the arena wall. There was enough water in her hair and on her clothes to bond with the bolt of Frost and pin her to the wall.
She made a hissing sound, almost as if she were a cat being provoked by a passing tom.
“What are you doing?” Castafiore screamed. “Send him to hell!”
The little girl struggled, and as she did, her body began to change colors, from a pale and sickly white to a healthy pink, then an inhuman shade of purple, and finally to a red as hot as coals.
The frost evaporated, dropping her to the floor. She landed with precision on her feet, as flame began to burst from her soles. She scooted her feet back, the friction causing more fire — she was preparing a running start.
I thought with as much logic as I could muster in this otherworldly situation. I tried firing a ray towards her feet. There was steam, but not enough to extinguish the intense fire she was creating.
“Don’t you dare give up now,” Logan shouted at me. “It’s your head if you fail!”
I had to live, I thought to myself, regardless of why I am here or why I have been made to participate in this cockfight, but I have to win so I can survive long enough to figure out a way out from all this!
I looked upward. There was a giant iron chandelier above me, and another one directly above Belladonna. They were both suspended about 20 feet above us by a length of iron chains. They appeared ages old and very rusty.
I held my fingers up, aiming them at the chains above Belladonna’s light fixture. I saw myself firing bolts of icicles at the chains, hoping to wear them down.
There were confused looks by everyone around me, as most of all the eyes in the arena watched the chain.
Belladonna was not looking. She was staring at me, preparing to run at me with all her force and flame.
I intensified my power, squinting and focusing on one particular link in the chain.
Dozens of tiny razor-sharp iciclessawed at the edges of the link. It wasn’t going to take much more force.
“Belladonna, look out!” shouted her guard.
The girl snapped her head upwards and finally saw what I was doing. She tried to fire an intense bolt of flame at me.
I readied another massive bolt of frost at the chandelier chain then ducked as the flame sailed past me.
The chain snapped.
It crushed the girl before she had a chance to take evasive action.
Everyone stood in stunned silence for several moments.
“The winner… once again, is Abel!”
There were groans from a large number of Ravens, and a lot more money changed hands.
I sank to my knees, trying not to cry at the sight of a small child, for all I could assume innocent before she was brought into this hellhole, broken and bloodied underneath a 500-pound light fixture.
“Well done,” said Logan matter-of-factly. “Time for sleep again.” He dangled a vial of that very familiar blue sleeping potion.
“Give it to me,” I grumbled. “Anything to escape you people, one way or another.”
He grinned as my vision blurred and I fell asleep.
5. The Baker’s Man
Later that night, I dreamt of the open-air market in Galek, one of my favorite places to be during my apprenticeship.
I would always make many more baked goods than the tavern I worked at could possibly sell, so after my shift I would take the remainder into the market to sell on my own.
On this particular day, I had nearly a gross of oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies ready to go in a large wicker hand basket.
I was always too shy to shout about my wares. But with my Bracelet of Flame Control, that was never an issue. I could keep everything inside the basket warm enough to let the scents waft naturally through the market. And then, the customers would flock to me.
There was a mother and her child turning the corner from the church district and towards the market. The mother stopped to speak with a fabric vendor. While she examined a bolt of blue material, the child tugged at the mother’s dress, pointing to me.
I smiled at her while I continued to sell to the throngs of people smelling those delicious cookies.
The child tugged and tugged at her mother until the woman paid her attention. The child pointed at me, said something I couldn’t hear. The mother looked at me, sighed, then dug around in her purse and gave her a single coin.
The girl nearly tripped over herself running towards me. I stifled a laugh as I handed a cookie over to one more customer.
“Are you the baker’s man?” The girl asked, panting excitedly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You know,” the girl said. She reached at her dirty-blond curls and twirled one around her finger. “'Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man?’”
“Oh,” I laughed. She couldn’t have been more than six years old. “Well, I suppose, yes, I am.”
She smiled.
“Although I’m actually not selling cakes today. Today, I have cookies!” I knelt down on one knee and let her look into the basket.
“Oatmeal chocky?�
�� she said excitedly.
“Right you are!”
“How many can I get for this many?” She held up the one coin her mother had given her.
“For that many I can let you have three whole cookies.”
“Three!”
“Yep, three. But you have to make me a promise.”
“What?”
“You must give your mother the third cookie, and say you bought it just for her.”
“Oh. Alright.” She blinked, as if weighing the offer. Then she nodded emphatically. “‘Kay. I promise.”
She handed me the coin. I put it in my pocket and let her pick out the three cookies from my basket.
“Thank you, Baker’s Man,” she said happily.
“You are very welcome,” I replied. I watched as she skipped back over to her mother. She tugged at her mother’s dress again, then when her mother looked down, she held up the biggest of the three cookies. I couldn’t see what she said, but I smiled warmly when I saw the mother’s face. She looked so touched. She knelt down, hugged and kissed the little girl, then took the cookie and savored a bite.
They then walked, hand in hand, across the square, passing me by.
“Mommy?” I could hear the little girl say.
“Yes?”
“I just dripped some chocky on my dress.”
“What? Oh, honestly, Belladonna…”
Belladonna… Belladonna.
I awoke from my dream in a cold sweat, cold as the stone against which I was slumped.
Belladonna? The girl… In the arena?
Great Mother in heaven, no!
I screamed, all alone in my cell, the sound echoing off every corner.
6. Between Heaven and Hell
The city of Galek is divided into five districts, each built around a tower known as the Great Sentinels. Each sentinel represents the pillars on which the kingdom was founded: Knowledge, Expression, Commerce, Family, and Forgiveness.
The colleges and schools were the base of the Knowledge district, and I spent a lot of my formative years there, especially when I began my centralized study for the Culinarian’s Guild.
Although I never considered myself artistic as far as song, poetry or art, the arts district was a wonderful place to escape whatever was troubling you. Expression could be found on every corner; art galleries, museums, concert halls.
The Commerce district included the open-air market and the bulk of Galek’s artisan shops and stores. It was there, of course, I began my apprenticeship at the tavern, and sold my baked goods to the citizens… and that poor girl.
Until recently, I thought I knew all there was to know about the Family district. I thought I knew all there was to know about my family. But, the more I looked back, and the more I re-examined my life while chained up at the Ravens’, the more I realized I knew very little at all. The Family district was the residential section of Galek. But even then, we actually lived just outside the city’s official borders, and not really within the district.
There were no neighbors, to speak of, and we didn’t know many of the people who lived in the district. We were more outsiders than I once thought.
And then, within my own family… all I remember about Mother and Father are the brief memories I have of them. There was one family album in our home, but no other records, nothing to really tell the story of the Mondragons.
Then there was my brother. I was learning all too painfully that I didn’t know him as well as I thought.
We were not a religious family. I think you could consider us as spiritual, in that we believed there were mystic forces that helped us along in life. But we didn’t worship at a church and we didn’t regularly pray.
As such, I spent the least amount of time in the church district, the area representing the Sentinel of Forgiveness. The only time I even set foot inside a church was when I was donating excess food that I hadn’t been able to sell off.
I was always invited to stay, to meet parishioners or to even serve the food myself, but I always refused. Why? I never had a good reason for it.
There are so many religions represented in our fair city, so many gods or deities. I felt myself in particular need of spiritual guidance during my ordeal, but I was at a loss as to whom to ask for, or what to ask for.
What little I did know was that the Great Mother is the goddess of life and healing. My life was in constant jeopardy, and I was witnessing the end of so many lives, so I figured if there would be any god to speak with, it would be her.
I prayed, as best as I could, many times in those dark times. Whether I was heard or not is anyone’s guess.
But I asked for all the poor souls I encountered to be at rest. And I asked for forgiveness — for my actions, for my past inaction, and for anything I may have done that resulted in this punishment I seemed to be taking.
I never wondered before then if I would ever go to Heaven, if there was indeed one. But ever since I was taken that cold winter’s night, and every night since, I go to bed wondering if that will be the case when I finally do pass on.
Do I deserve a place in Heaven?
Or am I only deserving of a continued Hell?
7. Something Special Inside
I was “introduced” to Professor Routledge over a dozen times during my stay. Each time, he had to reintroduce himself because I would have little to no memory of my previous encounters.
Part of the blame on this lapse is because of the sleeping potions I was being fed on a more frequent schedule than rat-soup. The other reason my mind was always blocking him out was because my visits with him were always crueler and more painful than anything else I would experience within those wretched walls.
There was one occasion where I awoke from the soupy, foggy haze I was getting so accustomed to find I was strapped to a cold steel table, elevated at a steep angle.
“‘Ello there, Abel,” the professor said in his thick accent. “Perhaps you do not remember me, but I am Professor Routledge and it is time for your next experiment.”
My head throbbed; I think I had a very natural headache, and I groaned more out of that than my more serious situation.
When the professor moved to his right, he revealed another man seated behind him in a wheelchair. He was also strapped into place. He seemed to be elvish, based on the shape of his ears; he had purple skin and soft violet eyes that were dull and fairly lifeless. It seemed as if he had been without sleep for quite some time.
The professor opened the door to the room and stuck his head outside. “It’s all right; we are ready to begin,” he said.
“Yes, Professor,” said a pair of voices I knew I had heard before. As the “clomp-clomp” sound of two pairs of feet came closer to the door, I writhed when I saw the twins, the women who had been serving me “food,” enter the room.
Their hair had been colored black with a streak of blue down each woman’s left side. They were wearing crisp white lab coats, and each one held an identical note pad in her left hand.
One of the women stood to my left while the other took a similar position at the side of the elf.
“You have your instructions,” the Professor said, and each woman replied with a monotone, “Yes, Professor.”
“Then let’s begin.”
I stared in front of me as the elf turned his gaze to the twin over him. She pulled out a round vial filled with a fizzy, orange liquid, opened it, and made him drink the contents.
He seemed far too exhausted to refuse. Within a few moments, his muscles relaxed, and his face changed from a look of tension and fear to one of calm, focus and attention.
The professor strode over to him, leaned in close, and whispered something into his ear.
The only sound I could hear was my own breath as I waited for something to happen.
The elf turned his gaze back towards me and squinted. He was mumbling something, but it was not a language I could understand.
Suddenly I felt a strange, snaking sensation run across my back. B
ecause I was strapped down, I couldn’t look or contort myself to see what was going on. But there was an examination light above my head. It wasn’t on and was pointed away from me, exposing its broad metallic casing.
In its reflection, I watched as a thick green vine-like growth sprouted out from under me and began to wrap its leathery tendrils around my middle. One, two, three, and finally four times around my stomach.
I held my breath in fear, which was the absolute worst thing to do.
Slowly, the vines began to contract, squeezing my torso like I was caught in a vice. Tighter, tighter it pulled.
I uttered a raspy breath as my eyes bulged. This thing was like a boa constrictor, slowly and painfully crushing me. Tears welled in my eyes as each rib broke, one at a time.
The twin examining me showed no emotion to my plight. She picked up a pen out of her pocket and began writing in her notebook.
My tongue curled in my mouth and I began to gag. My eyes darted around in a panic.
“Give him the elixir now,” the professor commanded the twin nearest me.
“Yes, professor,” she said in the same monotone as her sister. She produced a vial filled with a thick, slimy, purple liquid. She held my head in place, taking the top of the bottle off with her thumb, and poured the syrupy concoction in my mouth.
As soon as I gulped it down, a purple glow surrounded the vine around my middle. The vine began to change color to deepening shades of brown. When it turned black, it began to decompose and flake away from my body, slowly releasing the pressure against my insides.
I took several raspy gasps of air, coughing and squirming in pain as the force of the cough caused my shattered ribs to shift around.
I looked at the elf again, and it appeared he had passed out into slumber. The twin observing him was furiously scribbling notes on her pad.
“Very good; very interesting,” said the professor. “Go take your notes back to my office, please. And one of you wheel the elf back to his cell.”
“Yes, professor,” said the twins. Robotically, they turned towards the door. The one who had been examining the elf took the brakes off his wheelchair and pushed him out into the corridor. She turned left; her sister went right, their footsteps clomping on the stones in unison as always.
