by Guy Estes
“...as man under pressure tends to give in to physical and intellectual weakness, only great strength of will can lead to the objective.” – Carl von Clausewitz
“A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep.” – Vernon Howard
Aleena and Anlon were retiring from the arena after fighting together for the second time. They were the only ones in the echoing corridor.
"A fine day this has been," exclaimed Anlon with a gusty sigh.
"Fine? We slaughtered twenty men for an audience's amusement."
"I detest the killing as much as you do, Sister.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. Do I detect some doubt?” he asked with a smile.
“I could see the pain and remorse in your eyes when you told me of the first time you’d killed. And I notice the pain and remorse are no longer there.”
“I could say the same about you,” he quietly retorted.
“I know,” she replied, equally quiet.
“Aleena, it’s not the killing I like, it’s the competition.”
“As do I.” She stared at nothing as she continued. “But aren’t there times when your desire for competition cloaks your desire for blood? Aren’t there times when your gift thirsts for it? Haven’t you ever looked at another gladiator and something – what it is you don’t know – but something about him annoys the holy essence out of you? And you chastise yourself for judging someone you don’t know, but then you see his behavior, and it’s everything you despise, and the more you get to know him the more you want to take an axe to him, vigorously and repeatedly.” Her gaze came back from where it had been and focused on Anlon, her eyes large and frightened. “Have you ever felt that?”
“Yes,” he whispered after looking at her for several moments. “I have. Obviously you have, too.”
“What is wrong with us?”
He gazed at her for a while, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Nothing,” he said, opening his eyes. “The gods made us this way. They fashioned our natures. If they did not want us to prey on our enemies they should not have made us predators.”
Aleena liked the sound of that, and she desperately wanted to believe him. She tried to embrace his idea, but it was like embracing a bouquet of fragrant but poisonous flowers. Still, the fragrance was heady, and her spirit responded to it.
“We are Chosen,” Aleena said, Anlon’s words suddenly flooding her heart with a pride in her status that fanned her rage at being held captive. “We are rare and wonderful creatures, and our gifts are being twisted, perverted for public amusement!”
Anlon looked at her the way a man looks at a cat hissing at a blank wall.
"Has anyone ever told you you think too much?"
"Yes, and those same people always fail to notice how I avoid the pitfalls they continually blunder into. Anlon, we are being used. Can you not see that?"
"I would say that we are being loved. Are you deaf to not hear the roars of approval we received?"
"They do not cheer for us. They cheer for the blood we spill. It could just as well be ours as someone else's. If we were slain tomorrow, none of them would mourn us. "
"Aleena, it is not as if our opponents are innocent shepherd boys."
"I'm aware of that. There was a time when Marcus had to locate men who were indisputably evil before I would fight them. That is no longer the case. The other gladiators are so insane with jealousy, they are lining up for a chance to take my head. Now I see it as a simple case of self-preservation."
"I agree. I used to fight only those who challenged the Charidian. Now they all want to challenge me."
"Is that not what you sought?"
He stiffened. "Yes, I suppose it is. What I did not seek was the judgment of a pampered schoolgirl."
"Anlon, I am only trying to get you to see the truth. These people approve of the blood you spill, not of you yourself. They care nothing for Anlon. They only wish to see him at work."
"Judging from their reaction, I would say they feel more than that. My name roared above the rim of the stadium. They must love me, for who else could provide the spectacle they desire as well as I can? You?"
He laughed at this, and Aleena sighed, taking rein of her irritation.
"Anlon, I care not what these people think of me. The moment you lose a bout you will become the butt of their jokes, and those are two things you do not seem to be able to grasp – the prospect of defeat and the ability to function without public praise."
Anlon stopped and turned to look her in the eye. The expression on his face was not pleasant. Clearly he was not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner.
"Those people," he said, pointing in the direction from which they'd come, "adore me. They love me and they worship me. The boys in that audience all want to be me. I have stolen their love from you, and you cannot cope with it. People who speak to me like you did generally do live out the week, so have a care, Sister. My temper may overcome my love for you."
Aleena looked at him as if he’d slapped her.
“What kind of talk is this? I try to warn you of what you’re dealing with and you threaten me with death?”
“What I’m dealing with is some self-righteous schoolgirl who cannot cope with the fact that she is no longer the most adored fighter.”
“Truly? After all the bonding and sharing we’ve had, one little bit of caution from me is enough for you to throw it all away? If this is how you respond to people you purport to love, I shudder to think how you respond to people you hate.”
“I told you,” he said quietly, his eyes gleaming and his face like stone. “They generally do not live out the week.”
“Interesting statement from someone who says he hates killing.”
Anlon whirled on her and grabbed her throat with one hand.
“And you continue to prove my point,” she said. Anlon looked at her and was silent for several long moments.
“Don’t speak to me, you jealous whore,” he hissed as he shoved her away. He turned and walked away. Thunder rattled the building, and wind blew.
That night, Aleena lay on her cot, drenched in sorrow, with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, trying to secure herself in a ball of comfort. Never had she felt so forsaken. First she’d lost her friends, then Cormac. Next she was taken from her parents, Madigan, Rita, Jac, everything she’d ever known and loved. She’d been adopted by the Solvah Shkarr, then been taken from them, as well. Now she’d found the only other one of her kind, her very brother, and she was losing him, too. She tried so hard to disbelieve it, but her damnedably persistent mind with its insatiable hunger for the truth wouldn’t let her. It drove the truth home in her as relentlessly and dispassionately as a carpenter driving a nail. She burrowed her head in between her arms and wept.
Aleena and Anlon fought together two more times in the arena, though the relationship between them was considerably chilled. Aleena would not back down if she was right, and Anlon could not contemplate that there may have been some truth to what she'd said. At the conclusion of their latest bout, they both noticed that the cheers had faded in volume and fervor. Aleena took it in stride, for she had anticipated it. Anlon, however, was quite troubled. The gambling bosses also noticed it, and they brought it before Marcus.
"What are we to do, Marcus? Wagers are half of what they were a few days ago."
"Have they fallen so quickly?"
"Indeed they have. The bettors know that it is madness to wager against those two
champions."
"So why do they not place all their money on the champions winning?"
"Because it is no longer the grand spectacle it once was. The audience is growing accustomed to these two taking the field and slaughtering all opponents. Very soon, they will start to be bored by it."
"Yes, I believe you're right. There were not
nearly as many people attending this fight as there were the last three. But I think I see a solution to our problem."
In the depths of the stadium building, Aleena and Anlon were having a similar discussion.
"The audience is getting bored. I know you saw that, Anlon."
"I have no idea of what you’re babbling about."
"Then why did you have such a pained expression on your face as we left the arena? You noticed the applause had dimmed as well as I. There can be only one reason for that. They are getting bored with us. There is no longer any question as to who will win the bouts. They know we will. If you know who the victor shall be, why bother to watch the games?"
Marcus had been approaching them, unaware that they were there, but he stopped when he heard their voices.
"That is preposterous," Anlon said. "Without us, the games are mere brawls among half-witted savages."
"They are not interested in the finer intricacies of combat, Anlon. I have told you before, the only thing that interests them is blood, and the only thing that interests Marcus is profit. Attendance will be down. He will start losing money. There is only one thing left for him to do."
"And what, pray tell, might that be?" Anlon was clearly out of patience with this snobby, all-knowing sister of his.
Good, Marcus thought. That will make it much easier for me to implement my plan.
Aleena said, "They must pit us against each other. After that, the winner will probably be matched against greater and greater odds, until he or she is inevitably beaten."
Anlon was silent for a while. Then he said, "Your confinement has driven you mad."
"You insult me, but you do not dispute the truth of what I've said."
"If you are so clever to have figured this out, how will we solve it?"
"We each have to make our own decision. I never know who my opponent will be until I step into the arena, which makes planning ahead somewhat problematic, yet I know what I will do, Brother. The only question is, what will you do? All you have to do is tell Marcus you won’t fight."
Anlon looked at her as if she’d suggested he make love to a pig.
“Are you totally deranged? You would have me run from a fight?”
“From a fight we can’t possibly win. Think about it, Anlon. If we face each other in the arena, one of us dies. You will either be publicly defeated or you will murder the only other one of your kind. There is no victory possible.”
“And how is running away any better?”
“Come now, Anlon. Your exalted position gives you the luxury of deciding who you will fight. If Marcus wanted you to fight the town drunkard you’d have no problem turning him down. It is inevitable that Marcus pit us against each other. How can you not see that?”
"Your senses have fled. How could you have seen this coming?”
"I know Marcus, Anlon. He will do whatever brings him the biggest profits."
"How could you know Marcus so well?"
Aleena laughed. "Marcus is not terribly complicated. He wears his greed as plainly as he wears his clothes."
"You're mad," Anlon said, and he walked away. Marcus waited until he heard Aleena leave, and then he pursued Anlon.
* * *
Aleena stood before the gates that would open to let her into the arena. She was alone. After fighting the last four games beside Anlon, this break in the pattern could signify only one thing. The inevitable had finally happened. She’d seen it in Anlon’s eyes when she last spoke to him. She’d seen the realization that she was the only one who could truly challenge him, and that was something he could not walk away from. She understood because she felt some of that sentiment, too. Her gift produced that feeling in her just as surely as Anlon’s produced it in him. Still, while Aleena felt it, it did not overwhelm her. She’d much rather be friends with the only other one of her kind.
She sighed, feeling the bulk of her armor and the heft of her weapon. She wore segmented armor that protected her torso and shoulders quite well, but that was all it did. The only other armor she wore were the greaves that protected her shins and the small helmet that sat upon her head, its leather strap an uncomfortable presence under her jaw. Her weapon was a small pole arm. Most pole arms were long affairs that were designed to extend a warrior’s reach. The one Aleena held was different. It was only about three feet in length, and nearly a third of that was a single-edged blade with a squared-off tip. It could slash and block as well as deliver a powerful chop. Like all of the weapons she carried into the arena, Aleena had not chosen it. She was simply handed a weapon and expected to do the best she could with it. Thanks to her major gift, she could always perform flawlessly with any weapon she was given.
She had time for one more sigh before the gates swung open and she was blasted with the crowd's thunderous voice and a gust of wind. Her sandaled feet carried her out into the arena, where she stopped and stood, glancing slowly around. She ignored the reverberating applause the spectators showered her with. The sky was overcast, and thunder voices its displeasure. The wind blew her hair.
Another set of gates opened, and Anlon strode into the arena like a lion striding amongst his lionesses. He seemed to almost float above the ground as he fed off the praises of the audience. His armor was similar to Aleena's, and he carried his favorite weapon; a longsword. After gracing the crowd with his smile and salute, he strode towards Aleena, his stride eloquent in its statement of purpose, his face a stranger to mercy. His stare, hostile and relentless, seemed to lance down at her from a great height, though Aleena was as tall as he was. She sighed a third time as she saw just how difficult it would be for her to put her plan into effect. Anlon stopped a few feet away to commence the customary baiting between contestants.
"I called you sister," he said. "I opened myself to you, and in return you have brought us to destruction."
"It doesn't have to be. We fought together, Anlon, side by side. You and I. Brother and sister. Chosen and Chosen. Is this the way you want to end it?"
"You leave me little choice."
"I have given you every choice, Anlon! I told you how these games work so that you would be able to choose. Which do you value more? My love, or theirs?" She finished by gesturing to the crowd with her head.
"No! You're trying to muddy the waters! You were jealous! You were jealous when they praised me over you and you started spewing your venom. Marcus told me. He was honest enough to tell me about my own sister. He told me how they turned you into some sort of beast. He told me how my own sister planned to kill me in the arena and use that victory to bargain for her freedom."
Aleena’s mouth dropped open. "What in the seven hells are you talking about? I told Marcus no such thing. No such thought ever entered my head.”
“Liar!”
“Anlon, why would I be so foolish as to tell my captor my escape plan?”
"Do you see how you twist things around to serve you? Finally, after all these years, I have my chance at achieving greatness, while you are chained to this stadium and your cell and your twisted philosophies. You could not bear to watch me win my deserved fame and your mind cracked. You are so desperate for escape you are willing to kill your own brother to achieve it, for once you kill me who will be left to fight? Once you’ve slain the best you think Marcus will have no choice but to release you. You destroy your rival and achieve fame and freedom all at once."
“Rival?”
“Don’t deny it, Sister.” He spoke the word in a scornful hiss. “I know damn well you saw me as a rival because I saw you as the same.”
“Part of me did,” she acknowledged, “but most of me saw you as a brother.”
“No,” Anlon insisted, shaking his head. “Marcus explained everything. He told me how those sorcerers brought out your bestial nature. You are nothing but a scheming hussy who will do anything, use anyone to get what you want.”
"You’re going to take Marcus’s word over mine? The word of a man in the flesh
trade means more to you than the word of your sister?”
"Enough of your babbling! I know damn well what I believe and deserve, and I'll have it even if -"
"Even if you have to slay your sister? What prize could possibly be worth that?"
Anlon looked at her, his mouth agape. Then he closed it and moved towards her, his sword starting to whirl.
"Then you've made your decision, Brother? Marcus’s word is more valuable than mine? The crowd's adoration is worth more than the love of your only sister, the only one capable of understanding you? You wish to be alone with the hostile monkeys?"
Her words made him pause, and his eyes left her face as he absorbed what she'd said. Lightning flashed, followed by the slow roll of thunder.
"Enough dallying," a ringside spectator shouted. Others joined him.
"Are you going to talk each other to death?"
"Has Anlon's nerve left him?"
"He cannot do it! He is going to suffer defeat at the hands of a woman!"
It was this last statement that made Anlon's decision. His sword came whistling down at Aleena's skull. She sidestepped and swung her own weapon, but she was slow, and Anlon avoided the chop. She directed the blade's path from a horizontal sweep to an upturning circle, and it descended just in time to knock Anlon's incoming blade down. She then shot a kick into his face, but she pulled it to keep from crushing his face, though she still broke his nose. He fell to the ground, and Aleena waited for him to get up.
"Let us cease this battle, Anlon. We are two of a kind. There are no others like us. We are two halves of the same whole. We are siblings of the same storm."
Anlon was up and swinging his blade. Aleena braced to intercept it with her sturdier weapon when his foot kicked her in the side of her right knee, and she fell on her back. Anlon's blade was sweeping down to cleave her in two. Aleena caught his blade on the haft of her weapon and slashed him across his forearm, compelling him to drop his sword. He grabbed the haft of her pole-axe and wrenched it away, then he fell on her to strangle her. Aleena was unable to stop him from locking his hands on her throat. Fingers of steel began to crush her airway. Her vision was filled with spots dancing before her brother's murderous visage. She rolled to one side and swept her arm across his, toppling him off her. She got up and made no effort to retrieve her weapon.
