Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2)

by Michael Wisehart

  Bull thumbed his chin. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  I cast a sidelong look his way. “You lived with the kid. How do you not know anything about him? There’s got to be something you can tell me. How big is he? Does he favor his right or left side? How does he fight?” I took a small gulp and hoped Bull didn’t notice. “Does he really eat people?”

  “I’ve only seen him fight twice, and I didn’t really get a chance to see what type of fighting he prefers, or if he favors a side.”

  “Why not?” I was starting to get frustrated by the lack of information from someone who lived under the same roof as this monster.

  “The fights didn’t last long enough. As soon as Flesh Eater gets his hands on them, the fight is over.”

  My heart sank. Not only was Bull’s information unhelpful, but I was starting to really fear my opponent from what little he’d told me.

  “I’m not sure if he actually eats people, but I have definitely seen him chomp down on more than one of his opponents. Whatever you do, don’t get anywhere near his mouth.”

  That was advice I hoped I wouldn’t have trouble following. “At least tell me what he looks like.”

  “I can’t tell you much except he’s big.” Bull waved his hand high over his head. “Really big.”

  I let out a sigh of exasperation. “Was this boy in your tribe or not?”

  “He was, but he was never allowed out.”

  We stopped at one of the main streets leading into the Merchant District and waited for a couple of carriages to pass. “What do you mean not allowed out? Out of what? The compound?”

  “No. Out of his cage.”

  “His cage?” If I wasn’t worried before, I was now. After glancing both ways to make sure we weren’t going to get run over by some reckless aristocrat, we followed the crowd across the street.

  “Yeah, Cutter keeps him locked in a cage in one of the buildings out back. Whenever he’s in public, he wears a mask that covers his whole head.” Bull pursed his lips. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen his face.”

  I decided to drop the topic altogether. I doubted I was going to get anything more helpful out of Bull, and I didn’t see any point in spending another moment thinking about my strange masked opponent.

  “I’d forgotten how nice it was over here,” Bull said as we headed into the lower Merchant District. We followed the flow of the Tanisian River northeast, slowly dodging and weaving the current of people as they passed from one shop to the next. “It’s been at least five years since I’ve been over here. Cutter doesn’t let us get out except to work. Only certain members were allowed to move about the city, and that was only with his direct permission. We were assigned routes that we worked with half a dozen other pickers. If the pickings are good, everything’s fine. But when the pickings are down, which they usually are a couple months of the year, things aren’t so good.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about what ‘not so good’ meant.

  “I was assigned the wheat and barley quarters.” Bull rolled his eyes and grunted. “That’s all well and good during the harvest seasons, but what were we supposed to do during the rest? The only thing we could do was try picking outside of our area. We didn’t have a choice. There’s nothing worse than making Cutter mad, and measly pickings was about the fastest way to do that.”

  “It sounds to me like Cutter did you a favor by kicking you out.” I tried to sound upbeat.

  Bull grunted. “At the time, we didn’t think so.” He limped off the walkway and over to a knee-high stone wall that ran along the front of the river. He winced as he sat down. “Getting labeled as a reject, especially an Avalanche reject, is pretty much a death sentence.” He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

  I did the same. The strong smell coming from the tannery across the way overpowered everything else, causing me to wrinkle my nose.

  “I liked what you said about us all being important; that we’re all worth more than just what we can contribute to our tribe.” Bull took a moment to stare at the throngs of people rushing by, coming and going, no one really stopping to notice each other. “Your granary’s like a sanctuary. I’m sure if you looked hard enough, you’d find there’s a lot more like us all across Aramoor, street rats looking for a place to belong.”

  “Whoa, let’s not get carried away,” I said with a nervous chuckle. “If I were to go gathering up any more lost strays, Reevie would probably throw me out.”

  Bull offered a half-smile. I could tell that whatever ideas he had dancing around in his head were far from squashed. He was still deep in thought when we finally left our perch and moved on. We made it to the book shop by the time the sun had reached its pinnacle. Master Fentin was helping a couple of customers at the front when we stepped inside. As soon as he spotted me, he waved us on to the back. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said with a bright smile.

  Bull began to wander around the back part of the shop, scanning each row as he went. “I’ve never seen so many books. I wonder what they’re all about.”

  “A great many things, my young friend,” Master Fentin said as he poked his head around the aisle.

  “Makes me wish I knew how to read.” He ran his finger across the gold-embossed titling on a thick volume about three rows up. “What does this one talk about?”

  Master Fentin hobbled over with his cane and adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Ah, that book discusses the various temperatures used for tempering iron-based alloys, and the effect it has on durability. It also tells how to determine a metal’s processing temperature—steel, for instance, can be identified by its color.”

  Bull whistled and looked back at the book.

  “Yes, well.” Master Fentin cleared his throat. “I suppose you didn’t come all this way to discuss metallurgy.” He stood there a moment studying Bull before turning to me. “Would you mind introducing me to your large friend?”

  “Oh, sorry, Master Fentin. I don’t know where my manners have run off to.” I was still pondering the idea of all those rejects wandering the streets of Aramoor and had only been half-listening. “Master Fentin, this is Bull, gatherer and protector of street rejects. Bull, this is Master Fentin, collector of rare books and purveyor of even rarer stories.”

  Master Fentin performed a sweeping bow, at least as far as his back would allow. “Ah, Master . . . Bull. Indeed a strong name. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Bull turned a tad red in the cheeks at all the show, and attempted a bow himself. It was a bit clumsy, but we got the point. Just then, the bell over the front door rang out as an older gentleman and what looked to be his grandson stepped into the shop.

  “Be right with you,” Master Fentin called out. The gentleman smiled and went about his perusing.

  “Reevie sent us to get his herb stash. We have a number of injured kids we’re treating at the granary.”

  “Ah, well, they’d be upstairs. Just go on in. The missus is just doing a spot of cleaning at the moment. Tell her what you’re looking for and she’ll get it for you. And tell her that I said to make sure you didn’t leave without something to eat. It’s a long walk back.”

  My eyes widened. I could feel the saliva building at the corner of my mouth. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

  It didn’t take Ms. Orilla long to gather up the supplies, nor for us to gobble down a couple of her famous mystery-meat sandwiches. I thanked her with a firm hug and a small peck on the cheek, while Bull offered another one of his awkward bows.

  Master Fentin was busy with some more customers, so we merely waved our good-byes before heading on our way. By the time we made it back to the granary, the sun was just reaching the top of the Sandrethin Mountains, leaving the sky a very beautiful shade of purple, pink, and peach.

  Reevie was sitting outside the front door when we arrived.

  “Took you long enough,” he said.

  “Sorry. You know how
Ms. Orilla is, wouldn’t let us leave without making us a plate of something to eat.” I handed Reevie the satchel of herbs and we headed back inside.

  “A pigeon just flew in not an hour ago,” he said. Reevie glanced my way and I could see it in his eyes. “They’ve set a date.”

  Three days.

  The tiny rolled-up note the pigeon had brought said that the Guild had finally set a date. I had exactly three days before the tribes were to assemble for a night of violent diversion. Three days would have normally seemed like a long time, but knowing what awaited me in the Pit, three weeks wouldn’t have been long enough.

  I continued running through my routines and exercises while Reevie continued to nurse the injured kids back to health. My audience grew. Reevie believed it was a great motivator for many of them to leave their beds and start walking around. I pushed them from my thoughts and focused on my training. Up and down the ropes I went, building the strength in my arms and stomach. Over, under, around, and through the various obstacles of my course I plunged—spinning, punching, kicking, rolling. I pushed myself further than I’d gone before. I was in the best shape I’d been in since leaving the Lost City.

  I didn’t train with weapons, since I was told that the match was to be openhand. That news not only put a damper on my spirit, but forced me to rethink my entire strategy as well. I had been counting on the advantage I would have with a weapon. At the very least, it would have helped me keep Flesh Eater at a distance. Now, I was being forced to meet this barbarian with nothing between us but the clothes on our backs. Taking Bull’s advice to stay away from his mouth was going to be more of a challenge.

  Each night after a hot soak in the tub, Reevie would rub me down with liniment and the soreness in my muscles would vanish. By morning, I was ready to go again. The night before the big fight, Reevie was uncharacteristically quiet as he poured the lotion in his hands and began to massage my shoulders, arms, and back.

  Normally, Reevie had plenty to say. There was never a shortage of reprimands to dish out about things I’d done, things I hadn’t done, things he was sure I was going to do in order to land us in “another fine mess” as he would put it. I think it made him feel needed. As many times as I had told him that his crippled leg made no difference to me, he still overcompensated for it. I wished I could convince him that I wasn’t going to just leave him behind one day and move on to bigger and better things.

  “I’m worried too,” I said between groans as Reevie’s fingers found new clusters of sore muscle to press down on. I could feel his hands quivering as he applied the cool balm. Hearing what I thought was a sniff, I turned around. “What’s wrong?”

  Reevie tried to wipe his tears before I saw them. “Nothing,” he said with another hasty sniff. He grabbed the sides of my head and forced me back around.

  “I’m going to be okay,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”

  “Who’s worried?” Reevie pinched the back of my neck a little harder than normal and I winced. “Now hold still, you lazy lump of lard, or I’ll never get this done.”

  There was another moment of silence.

  “You can beat him though, can’t you?” His words sounded unsure.

  “Of course. I’m Upakan, after all. It’ll take more than some big ugly cannibal to stop me.”

  Reevie’s hands paused in their work. “What if you can’t, though? What if you make a mistake? What if Flesh Eater—”

  I turned to look him in the eyes. They were red. “Don’t worry, he won’t. I’m coming back, if for no other reason than to make sure you have enough grief in your life. I would hate to deprive you of your favorite reason to complain.” I attempted a weak grin.

  I half-expected a witty comeback, but instead he let his hands fall to his lap, face serious. “You’re the only friend I’ve ever had.”

  What could I possibly say to something like that? I sat up, grabbed my shirt, and slid it over my head. I had never been someone who felt comfortable with letting others see my emotions, but this little crippled healer was about to rip the tears right out of my eyes. I was Upakan. We didn’t cry. Crying was for the weak. We were bred to be fearless in the face of danger. Unfortunately, we were never taught what to do in the face of someone admitting how much they cared about you. That was a battle I was clearly unequipped for.

  If I were honest myself, I’d have to admit that Reevie was the first real friend I’d ever had. But how was I going to tell him that without saying something stupid? I wasn’t very good at this stuff. Maybe that was why I didn’t have many friends. Give me a mission and let me go. Give me a need for justice and I can present a moving speech. I’m also a fair wit and could supply sarcasm in spades, but ask me to share my feelings and I turn into a bumbling fool.

  Reevie’s eyes were moistening as he sat there waiting for a response that hadn’t come. I had to say something, so I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, hoping that what came out would be the right thing. “I was always taught that having relationships was dangerous. Relationships can hinder an Upaka’s ability to do their job. Not only can they make us second guess our choices, they can also be used against us.”

  Reevie cocked his head. He didn’t look like he understood what I was trying to say, so I tried to put it another way. “Upakans are mercenaries. We’re fighters. The goal of our training is to turn us into killers for hire. What do you think would happen if an enemy were to discover I had someone I cared about? That person could be used to stop me from accomplishing my mission. Because of this, we were always told never to let anyone get close.

  “The thing is, ever since leaving the Lost City over half a year ago and making my way across Aldor, I have come to know a great many people who have helped me realize that having those we care about isn’t just a sign of weakness. I’ve stayed in communities that wouldn’t have survived without those relationships to get them through the tough times, neighbors helping neighbors instead of shunning them.

  “Even though there are advantages to not letting other people get close, I think that I would rather face the unexpected twists of life with someone by my side than to go through life completely alone.”

  “So, are you saying that you consider me your friend?” Reevie asked.

  I scratched my head. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “Not really. What I heard was that you used to think relationships were bad, and now you think they’re good, but I don’t think my name was mentioned anywhere in that very long, very vague bit of rambling.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Reevie, you’re my friend.”

  “Your bestest friend?” he added with a smile.

  His attitude was infectious. “My bestest friend.”

  Sleep that night was slow in coming, and when it did, I was plagued with dreams.

  Red and Sapphire bound me with my climbing rope while Spats stood off to the side with a butcher knife, ordering them to “cut my feet.” Master Fentin and Miss Orilla were there as well, but instead of offering me one of their delicious sandwiches, they tried stuffing me inside two large pieces of dark rye. I couldn’t figure out where they had found an oven large enough to bake a loaf that size. Cutter stood behind the others, waving his large brimmed hat over his head; the top half of it was ablaze. He kept demanding to know why I’d set it on fire.

  The ground started to shake and Spats fell to his knees and cried out in his high-pitched voice for Flesh Eater to take me as a sacrifice. A giant figure that looked closer to a mountain troll than a human stepped out of the darkness. Its head was covered, except for a single hole at the mouth. Fangs, like the enormous stalactites found in the lower regions of the Lost City, jutted from the mask’s opening.

  I begged Sapphire to let me go, but all she said was Egla the Beautiful desired my life in payment for her freedom. I couldn’t figure out what sort of freedom Egla desired since she was nothing more than a naked statue standing in the middle of an empty fountain.

  The giant re
ached down and grabbed the enormous pieces of bread with me in the middle and lifted me into the air. There was no mystery to this meat. My stomach reeled from the upward rush. I screamed at myself to break free. I was Upakan. We don’t give up. We fight to the end. And we certainly aren’t eaten by giants, masked or otherwise.

  I could feel the creature’s hot breath as he lifted the sandwich up to the hole in the leather mask and spread his jaws. The smell of his breath was enough to make me wish I was already dead. I could hear Reevie’s voice screaming out below me. “He’s my friend! You can’t eat my friend! He’s the only one I’ve got!”

  My bottom half went in first. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. I could hear the giant’s garbled laugh as he bit down.

  I flung myself out of bed, dragging my blanket to the floor with me as I fought to catch my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest. I must have cried out because Reevie nearly fell out of his bed grabbing for the bludgeon under his pillow. He hopped off his mattress and took a swing at the air.

  “What’s going on? Who’s attacking?”

  I was careful to respond in case he decided to try swinging his piece of wood in my direction. “No one’s attacking,” I said, taking another deep breath as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “I had a bad dream. Sorry I woke you.”

  It took a moment for the cobwebs to clear. Reevie plopped down on the end of his bed. “Bad dream? I thought maybe Avalanche was attacking.” He dropped his beater on the bed and rubbed his hands down his face. “Not exactly a good omen, is it?” Leaving the bludgeon where it was, he yawned and crawled back under his covers.

  I flipped the wet side of my pillow over before lying back down.

  “Let’s have it then.”

  “What?”

  “Your dream, what was your dream?”

  “It was nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Something about a giant and a sandwich.”