by Guy Estes
"You continually demonstrate your refusal to kill, weathering my toughest punishments, but you seem to have no qualms about killing animals. Now for once, would you just explain yourself?"
"What I did today was a simple matter of self-preservation. Those dogs would have torn my throat out and stripped me to the bone and not thought twice about it. I did what any of their other prey would have done. It is natural law."
"And how is it you are so wise in the ways of nature?"
"I’m well educated,” Aleena said, her irritation at being assumed a brainless girl plain in her voice.
"But you will not kill men, and I know damn well you have killed men in the past."
"Yes, when the circumstances were identical to today's. If a man presents an unacceptable threat, I will kill him. I do not enjoy it, but I will do it. This is all quite simple, Marcus. I figured all of this out in a few hours while I wandered the back alleys of Akhbeer. If you lack the strength to figure it out in the comfort of your own office, do not take it out on me."
Marcus was quiet as he drank from a large goblet.
"Why," he finally asked, "is a gladiator about to split your skull not sufficient motivation for you?"
"That would depend on his motivation. If he is doing it because he wants to, yes, I would feel justified in slaying him. But if he is doing it because you are holding a blade to his wife's throat, that is another thing entirely."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I think I am beginning to see what you mean. It is utter madness, of course, but I believe I understand it. If I were to match you solely against proven murderers, rapists and the like, would you fight them?"
Aleena did not answer immediately. What she wanted to do was go home, and even if her actions were in self-defense, she found the idea of killing for the public’s amusement repugnant. However, she could see no escape from this place anytime soon. But if she were to get Marcus to relax his vigilance, enough to get him to stop scrutinizing her every move...
"I would, but only if they are men deserving death. That fact must be proven to me."
"You dare make demands?"
"You dare hold me captive and make a profit off of me?"
Marcus quieted, considering. Was she really asking so much? It did not seem so when he considered the enormous profits he stood to make. Once the word got out that he had a gladiatrix of Aleena's skill, and that he only matched her against his most vicious men, his stadium would not be big enough to contain the crowds.
"So be it. You’re a strange girl, but if it means as much money as I think it does, I will make this bargain with you."
Aleena came as close to feeling relief as she would allow herself. She had always had a knack for winning the trust of others without having to kiss their rings. She was not certain how she did it, but all she needed to do was pull it off one more time.
* * *
Aleena had been in Marcus' possession for three months before Anlon got word of her. In that time, Aleena had built a reputation as the last gladiator in the arena to bet against. She was reserved for the toughest, most vicious opponents, men to whom mercy was an unknown concept. Many were bigger than she, but none had anything like Aleena's intrinsic skill. Some of the things she did in combat defied belief. Several times wizards had been brought in by Marcus' rivals to examine Aleena, to make sure she did not possess some sort of magic that gave her an unfair advantage. The wizards had no difficulty in recognizing her as Chosen, and that was the end of the suspicions, but a new problem was surfacing. Marcus was running out of worthy opponents for his prized gladiatrix. Almost all of the best gladiators in the region had faced her. She was still here. They were not. But Marcus could think of one man who would make a very interesting match with Aleena.
"Anlon," he said, "I have finally found the answer to your dreams."
"This is not the first time you've told me that."
They were in the same brothel they'd been in when they'd first met. It had not changed. It was still decorated with gaudy mosaics and frescoes, heavy veils of incense smoke, and painted whores of every description lounged on divans and pillows, their languid positions suggesting that they had no bones.
"Anlon, I swear to you on all that I hold sacred that I have found a worthy opponent."
Anlon snorted. "The only thing you hold sacred is your profit. Time and again you've spun this tale, and time and again I have seen it to be false. I do not think you can find a warrior who would stand a decent chance of besting me."
"Well, if you do not wish to fight her, that is your choice. It's just as well, I suppose. She'd probably sweep your guts out and cast you aside as easily as she did the others. I understand your reluctance."
"I beg your pardon, but did you say she would sweep my guts out and I fear to enter the arena with her?"
"Well, you've been away for some time. It is only understandable that your skill would have dulled some."
"As you can see, Marcus, I have returned, and if I do not meet this woman it will be you I'll be meeting in the arena."
Marcus smiled. "It shall be done at once."
They went directly to the stadium. A storm was brewing in the sky in the west. It was a game day, and as they approached the massive structure they could feel as well as hear the crowd, like the booming of the surf. Marcus led Anlon from the stables to his personal box at the very edge of the arena, and as they shouldered their way through the spectators, Anlon was overcome with a feeling he had never known before. It was an odd combination of ponderous dread and wondrous anticipation. His stomach ached with quiet fear while his heart soared with exultation. They finally reached their destination and sat on chairs that were elevated to provide a better view. The storm had moved over the arena, blocking out the sun and swirling the dust. As soon as Anlon's gaze fell on the two contestants in the arena, he thought his heart stopped.
The bout had just started, and the man and woman circled each other, each searching for an opening. The man had the unmistakably broad shoulders of an experienced swordsman. He was over six feet tall and wore brown pants that stopped below his knees. He had a scarlet sash tied around each bicep and one on his head, and his feet were bare, but it was his opponent who held Anlon's attention. She was almost as tall as her foe, and she also wore brown pants that stopped below the knee. She wore a white sleeveless shirt, and her hair was like tresses of honey. Both gladiators were armed with longswords four feet long. The woman was the single most gorgeous creature Anlon had ever set eyes on, and yet he was curious to find that he was mildly disgusted with himself for being attracted to her. Her right arm lazily twirled her sword in a casual circle, the muscles dancing under her skin in an illustration of awesome power, and yet the arm was still that of a woman, lithe and graceful and lovely. She moved with a conspicuous economy of motion, a grace that bordered on the immortal. Her sword seemed as natural a part of her as her skin.
"Who is that?" Anlon was powerless to restrain himself from asking. Marcus chuckled.
"That is what you've dreamt of for so long."
Lightening danced and thunder rumbled in a slow avalanche of sound as Anlon leaned forward. He did not notice that he was breathing through his mouth. He knew this would be an interesting bout. For one thing, neither of the contestants wore armor. With both of them swinging those long blades, neither of them could hope to walk out of the arena unscathed. But there was something about that woman. Anlon could not be certain what the exact quality was. It was not her beauty alone which captivated him. There was a certain quality, something in her bearing, the way she held herself...
She is in her element.
Yes, that was it. To this nameless goddess, the battlefield was home. She was an apex predator in her natural habitat.
The man attacked first, giving his sword a twirl to build momentum and bringing it down to her left shoulder. She brought his blade to a halt with hers, her blade level and its tip pointed at his neck. She thrust, but he moved a
nd the tip of her blade missed his throat. Instead, it skimmed off his chin and sliced open his face along his jaw line. He twisted away, spinning around and bringing his sword with him in a powerful cut that could have easily removed her head. She blocked, her hilt high and her blade pointed down. In addition to stopping his cut, this position placed her to deliver a tremendous downward cut, which she did. Her blade did not stop until it was halfway through his chest cavity.
The crowd was roaring, and as the gladiatrix wrenched her blade out of her opponent, Anlon heard the crowd chanting her name.
"Ilyah Shkarr! Ilyah Shkarr! Ilyah Shkarr!"
The arena attendants escorted her to Marcus' box, and as she drew closer, Anlon was able to get a clear look at her face. Looking into her large cobalt eyes, Anlon knew he was looking at one of his kind. For the very first time, he gazed upon one of the Chosen.
Aleena regarded the man in the box before her. She did not spare a glance at Marcus. His handsome companion held her complete attention. He was a breathtaking specimen of a man. He particularly had nice shoulders, broad and supple without being overlarge, and his eyes were like those of a leopard. She locked her gaze on his, and she had the first-time experience of looking at one of the Chosen at the same moment that Anlon did. There was a dazzling flash of lightening, followed by a blast of thunder. And at this precise moment, far away in Aleena’s home, Madigan dropped what he was doing and looked like he’d been stabbed in the belly.
“Two of them have met,” he said to himself in a whisper of dread.
"Aleena, my dear," Marcus greeted, "A fine performance, as usual."
Aleena said nothing. She removed her gaze from Anlon's long enough to regard Marcus as one would regard a malodorous substance stuck to the sole of one's shoe. Then she returned it to Anlon.
"We have not met," she said to him in the trade language, "and yet I feel as if I know you."
"I was thinking just that," was his reply.
"Yes," Marcus interrupted, "This is all fine and good, but we must clear the arena for the next match."
He clapped his hands, and the attendants escorted Aleena away.
She was in the bath house when Anlon came to her. She had just finished washing away the sweat and blood and had put a simple tunic on when he came in.
"What brings a spectator to the bath house?" Aleena inquired.
"You do. I would like a chance to speak with you. Shall we find a private place for a meal?"
Aleena looked at him while rubbing some moisture from her hair, trying to understand why a spectator at a gladiator match would want to dine with a contestant. She could see that he was Chosen, and she knew he recognized her as the same. This was the first time Aleena had ever set eyes on another Chosen, and she supposed this was also a first for him. He probably just wanted to speak with a kindred spirit, the only person he would ever know who could sympathize with him. At least, this is what Aleena guessed as his motive, for she felt the same way, but something held her in check. Something about this man made her nervous. She had no reason to suspect him of anything, and he seemed like an honorable man, but something about him triggered Aleena's survival instincts. Finally, she agreed to go with him.
They strode the corridors in silence for several minutes until Aleena said, "You are Chosen."
He nodded and said, "As are you."
"I am the first Chosen you have ever met."
"Yes, and I suspect the same holds true with you."
"Yes, you are the first Chosen I have seen outside of a mirror."
"How is it?"
"I'm not sure. I am curious, but something tells me to tread with caution."
Anlon laughed. "I suppose that is to be expected. Were it not so, you would not have lived as long as you have. Speaking of which, how long would that be?"
"Hasn't your mother taught you better manners than to ask a lady her age?"
"Yes, but I'll make an exception for you. You have eternal youth, so what does it matter if you are older than you appear?"
"I have known seventeen summers. And yourself?"
"The same."
They reached the mess hall, got their meals, and sat at a small table. There were not many diners at this time. As they sat, Anlon told her when his birthday was. She stopped what she was doing and looked him directly in the eyes.
"That is my birthday, as well."
"Is it?"
They both paused, letting the significance of that fact sink in. Chosen were seldom born at all, and rarely did one live at the same time as another, but it was unknown for two of them to have been born at the exact same time. Aleena and Anlon were spawned from the same storm, a storm that somehow managed to reach across the mountains to occur on the eastern steppes the same time it had occurred on the western slopes of the sub-tropical Ophirees. Their bloodlines did not cross, but that did not matter. The ties binding two Chosen born at the same time went deeper than mere flesh. Aleena and Anlon were closely bound. They were, in fact, brother and sister.
"What is your major gift?" Aleena asked.
"The same as yours."
"This gets stranger by the moment."
"Indeed, but I still welcome it, and I think you do, too. Haven't you ever wanted to know someone who knew exactly what you felt, who understood the strain you were put under, the stinging rejection of some and the suffocating adoration of others? Someone who knew the burden power brings?"
Aleena was silent, her eyes focusing on something distant. She finally sighed and said, "Yes, I have sometimes known the loneliness my status brings.”
“Such as?”
“Feeling like…” Aleena groped for the words.
“Like you’re the only one of your species trapped in a world of particularly hostile monkeys?”
“Yes! Exactly like that! Other children hating me simply for breathing.”
“Prattling birds so jealous of you they spend more time tormenting you than they do living their own lives.”
“Others hurting your friends as a means of hurting you.”
“Children and elders both afraid of you when you’ve done nothing.”
“I once disagreed with our militia leader. He set up a war game to try and prove me wrong, but when I proved him wrong they gave me his job. A fifty year old man lost his position to a fifteen year old girl. How was I supposed to cope with that?”
“Much the same happened to me when I outshot archers with decades more experience than I.”
“I nearly killed my first enemy when I was only six. I was barely able to stop myself. How is a child supposed to master that kind of power in addition to all of life’s other challenges?”
“I, too, was six. Had the tribal queen not grabbed me I would have killed that boy. He made me so angry. It was like trying to control a storm.”
“And it comes as naturally as breathing.”
They stopped talking and looked each other in the eye for long moments. A smile slowly spread on Aleena’s face.
“So I’m not the only one of my kind after all,” they said in unison, then laughed. On an uncharacteristic impulse, Aleena reached out a hesitant hand, then gently brushed Anlon’s cheek, as if she wasn’t certain he was real. She felt like someone who had just inherited a fortune but feared that fortune would vanish into nothing. Anlon felt electricity in her touch and a breathless exhilaration at the discovery of a kindred spirit. Cahir was a good friend, but his duties as chieftain had carried him away from Anlon. Here was someone who knew what he knew and felt what he felt. All those times he’d felt like someone stranded in an alien world were vindicated now that he’d found another member of his species in that world. He was not alone. Someone else understood exactly what he experienced.
“How long will you be here?” Aleena asked.
“As long as I please,” Anlon said with a smile.
Aleena tried to sort out her feelings after Anlon left. Discovering another Chosen was almost like discove
ring she could fly; so wonderful yet so unexpected. The closest thing to her feelings for Anlon were her feelings for Cormac, though they weren’t exactly the same. As one of the Chosen, Anlon was undeniably handsome. He was tall and strong, his hair was blond and straight, his green eyes clear and bright. He had a fine aquiline nose and a suitably cleft chin, yet Aleena found the idea of bedding him repellant. He was Chosen, born of the same storm as she. That made him her brother. Aleena had her weaknesses, but incest wasn’t one of them.
As overjoyed as she was at finding a kindred spirit, though, Aleena was also quietly nervous. When he said what his major gift was, Aleena’s gift didn’t see a kindred spirit. It saw an exceptionally dangerous rival. Aleena lay in her bed, her fingers laced behind her head. She did not have to live in a barracks like the other gladiators. She was granted the privilege of a private cell, due to her status. Her constantly inquisitive mind would not rest. It rooted out an answer to the puzzle Anlon presented, like a bear rooting out grubs.
Anlon was Chosen, and his major gift was that of the warrior, and he was at a gladiator arena. Obviously, he was here of his own free will. Marcus did not own him, and he seemed to know his way around the place quite well, meaning he has spent much time here prior to meeting her. Why?
It made Aleena think of the ambivalent sentiments she used to have for her gift. She'd wanted to test her skills, and yet she did not want to kill anyone. She was the consummate warrior with a temper that rivaled Nevawn's, and yet she had no desire to shed a drop of anyone's blood. She had wrestled with that paradox for several years before those slave traders in Jac's tavern had aided her in that decision. As a result, she was now here.
Had Anlon felt the same conflict as she had?
Probably.
If so, what had he done about it?
His free, unrestrained presence at a gladiator stadium that he seemed very familiar with made a disturbing suggestion even as his existence thrilled her.
