Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2)

by Michael Wisehart

  “I love sandwiches.” Reevie turned to face the wall. His words began to slur as he fell back to sleep. “Ms. Orilla makes the bes … san …ches.” And just like that he was snoring.

  I laid there for a long time listening to the steady creaking of the building above, envious of Reevie and his ability to drift off to sleep. Finally, I gave up my attempt, crawled out of bed, and made my way upstairs. The best way I knew to take my mind off things was to train. I was careful not to push myself. I was going to need everything I had for this evening.

  The rest of the morning and afternoon came and went before I had time to even realize they were gone. Reevie and I were already on our way back to the Temple to meet up with our tribe when it suddenly dawned on me what we were doing. It wasn’t like the Pit hadn’t been on my thoughts every waking moment since Red had suggested it to the Guild, but the rush of nerves hadn’t caught up with me yet. It was like how a person behaved after a serious injury. Reevie called it shock. They don’t feel the pain and sometimes their mind doesn’t even register they’re in danger until it’s too late.

  The fear caught up to me now that my weeks of ‘shock’ had worn off. It took all my training to fight it, to not let it control me. If it did, I was dead.

  Our shoes made clopping sounds on the mismatched cobble as we made our way northeast toward the Temple. Instead of the light brown jerkin Ms. Orilla had helped me pick out, I wore my black vest, leaving no doubt to my position within Hurricane. The warm afternoon breeze did little to stifle the humidity in the air. I could feel perspiration running down my back.

  Reevie carried his healer’s sack slung across his body. It bounced against his hip as he limped his way down the street.

  The Temple gate was open when we arrived, and the tribe assembled. Spats and the Guard joined us at the front. Sapphire spotted me and attempted a smile, but it came out lopsided, her worry tugging one corner of her mouth downward.

  “Are you ready?” Spats asked, looking me over. He was once again wearing his blue brocade vest and white cravat.

  “Yes, sir,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster under the circumstances.

  “Right! Let’s be off.”

  I fell into step behind the rest of the Guard so I could lend support to Reevie. “How far away is the Pit?”

  “We’ll take Terrance south until we hit Mora,” Reevie said, “and then straight east until we reach the depository.” He shrugged. “A couple hours at least, I reckon.” Reevie reached inside his knapsack. “You want something to eat? I brought apples.”

  I was so nervous I didn’t think I could stomach it, but I took one, knowing I would need the energy.

  As rundown as the back of Cheapside was, it still felt almost new compared to the old stone and brick structures that made up the Warrens. It was an interesting experience walking down Mora, Cheapside on our left and the Warrens on our right. It was like walking between two different worlds.

  The street lamps of Cheapside gave dim illumination for residents on their way home after a hard day’s work. In the Warrens, there was nothing but silence. Even with my Upakan eyes, I could only see about twenty or thirty feet down each vacant lane before the thick gloom overshadowed my sight.

  The sound of boots and bare feet as they met the stone echoed down the empty street. The lack of chatter from the other members made it clear they were feeling edgy. They didn’t care to be marching a mere stone’s throw from The Warrens. I still wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. As of yet, I’d seen no reason for alarm. Other than the eeriness that naturally comes from long-abandoned buildings, I had yet to see why everyone was so worried.

  It didn’t take long, though, before the hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. It felt as though there were eyes within the darkness peering out at me, but every time I looked, there was nothing there. I shook my head at the silliness of it all.

  The march down Mora was slow and tedious. The brightest of the stars were just coming into view. It was a clear night and I could taste the salt in the air. Little details jumped out at me the closer we got to our final destination. The thought that this might be the last evening I spent in this world caused me to pay extra close attention to everything around me, no matter how trivial.

  My mind started to wander to things I’d never done, things I’d never get the chance to do if I were to fail tonight. I’d never get the chance to see my family again, not that I thought there was any great possibility of that happening. I’d never get to spend another day with Reevie, or listen as he cursed his diseases at me for doing something foolish. I’d never get to taste another one of Ms. Orilla’s mystery-meat sandwiches, or help Master Fentin organize his books while he regaled me with stories of his past. I’d never get the opportunity to kiss a girl. That wasn’t high on my list, but Sapphire had a way of making me wish it was.

  Above all else, if something were to happen to me tonight, I’d never get the opportunity to take back what had been stolen from me. That thought, more than anything, helped me push down the fear. There was no way I was going back to the dust knowing my father’s ring would be forever decorating Red’s neck.

  After what seemed like hours of walking, a noise ahead caught my attention. It grew in volume the farther down the street we marched. I tried moving Reevie over a little so I could peek around the Guard, but the way ahead was too dark, and it looked like the road curved sharply to the left.

  “We’re almost there,” Reevie said. I felt his small hand grip my arm like a vice. In front of us, Spats and the Guard followed the sharp curve until it reached its end. We appeared to be leaving the Warrens behind as we took the next street to the left. Unlike the others we had passed, this road was lit with torches on either side, directing us to our final destination—the old repository, better known as the Pit.

  There was a block wall surrounding the grounds. It was nearly as tall as the one around the Temple, but didn’t look as solid, or decorative. We passed underneath the open arches. The inside was washed in pale moonlight. Cooking fires dotted the area, casting wary shadows across the stone buildings and open yard.

  Hundreds of kids sprawled out across the grounds, grouped by tribes. Each tribe was marked by an armband: white for Avalanche, purple for Sandstorm, red for Wildfire, and green for Rockslide. Suspicious looks and distrustful glances passed from one fire to the next, each tribe keeping a close eye on the others. All chatter ceased when we stepped through the gates.

  Our procession was uncharacteristically silent as we made our way toward the large stone-encased building that stood at the center of the compound. It was at least twice the size of the others. The front was lit with torches and there was a steady stream of kids making their way in and out.

  The silence was eerie. All eyes followed us across the open yard.

  “This ain’t at all creepy,” Reevie whispered as he scanned the faces of the closest kids. There was a hunger in their eyes that sent a shiver up my back. I half-wondered if they were all planning to eat my flesh as well. Maybe that was the reason for the cooking fires.

  Once we entered the building, the conversations outside started up again, but they were quickly drowned out by the noise ahead of us. The floor shook with the sheer volume of it.

  The tiny foyer surprised me, having seen the size of the building from the outside. It was hardly larger than Master Fentin’s book shop. A stone wall separated us from whatever was on the other side.

  “It sounds like they’ve already started,” Reevie said. He had to lean in close just to be heard.

  There were two directions to choose from, a corridor on the left and one on the right. Both looked to lead around the wall and into whatever awaited us on the other side. There was a set of armed guards at each, checking the kids before they passed.

  Our tribe split in two. Half went right; the other went left. I followed Spats and the Guard as we took the left entrance.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Reevie as we approached
the guards.

  “They’re making sure that no one is carrying weapons inside the Pit.”

  The armed boys stationed at the entrance allowed those of us with black vests on to pass without being checked, including me. One of the guards took a look inside Reevie’s bag while another patted him down.

  The noise reverberating around the inside of the passageway was unnerving. Reevie clung to my arm as we headed in, the sound threatening to swallow us. In truth, I wanted to cling to his. The torches lining the stone corridor cast distorted shadows on the walls as we made our way down and around to the other side. If my heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now. I had no idea what to expect. I thought by the number of kids we had passed outside that there couldn’t have been that many more inside.

  I was wrong.

  We stepped out of the narrow corridor and my jaw dropped.

  There had to be at least a thousand street rats gathered, all screaming at the top of their lungs at a fight in the arena below. Where had they all come from? Were there that many forgotten children living within the walls of Aramoor? Sometimes I failed to remember how big the city really was.

  The Pit was nothing more than a large hole dug out in the center of the warehouse. The fights had already started. Two boys were beating each other with their fists, and not very well. They swung their arms high and wide, as if trying to maneuver a ten-pound ball-and-chain flail. With such a terrible technique, they were likely to do more damage to themselves than their opponent.

  The warehouse was stifling. The stench of so many unwashed bodies crammed into one place flooded my nostrils. Underneath it was the smell of damp soil and old pine, with a heavy dash of sweat and blood thrown in for good measure. The Pit was completely surrounded by rough wooden stands, divided into five sections. Each tribe’s seating was divided from the others by colored markers painted into the back.

  An open walkway ran directly behind the seating, allowing the tribes to get from one section to the next without having to mingle. It seemed the Guild was trying to prevent any unnecessary conflicts.

  The Pit itself was at least thirty feet in diameter. The floor was packed soil with a layer of sand thrown on top. The walls were framed in wood to keep the dirt from eroding, much like the mining tunnels on the outskirts of the Lost City.

  “This way!” Spats shouted. He had to shout or no one would have heard him over the roar of the crowd. As it was, the only reason I heard it was because I was standing directly behind the Guard. I grabbed Reevie by the arm and helped him up the wooden steps toward the outer walkway. We met the other half of our tribe as they exited the opposite stairwell further down.

  The first section of risers had been painted white for Avalanche. Before we were halfway to the next section, we were met by a group of Avalanche guards. I could see Cutter was just behind them, pushing his way through to the front. “Spats, so good of you to finally show up. We were beginning to worry you had lost your nerve and decided to stay home.”

  “You’re gonna wish I had stayed home,” Spats shot back, “by the time my champion gets through with yours.”

  Cutter laughed. His guards laughed. Embarrassingly enough, some of our own members laughed. Cutter eyeballed me, rubbing the scraggy patch of hair on his chin. “I believe we’re going to set a record tonight. This is going to be the shortest fight in the history of the Pit. You might want to have another champion lined up, just to make sure it’s worth the crowd’s time.” He laughed again and patted Spats on the shoulder, then made his way back to his seat at the front with as much show as possible.

  Spats’s face was as dark as a moonless night.

  Reevie passed me a sympathetic look as the tribe started forward once again.

  I felt Red’s presence before I saw her. It was that same empty feeling I got whenever she was around, like some part of me was missing, namely my magic. I only wished I knew what she was doing to cause it. She stood at the back of her tribe’s seating and watched us pass.

  Toothless was on her left. He looked ready to pounce on me himself. He held quite the menacing presence as long as he didn’t open his mouth. In complete contrast, the guard on her right was as short as Reevie and twice as wide. I wondered if he was in some way related since he had the same black hair. Or maybe she relied on him for advice; although, I found the idea of Red taking advice from anyone rather hard to imagine.

  My father’s ring hung from her neck for all to see. She enjoyed pouring salt on the wound whenever she had the opportunity. Her eyes were trained on me as she gently caressed the ring between her fingers. My fists balled. If I could have reached her without starting an all-out war, I would have. To add insult to injury, she winked at me.

  Sapphire snorted. She’d obviously seen Red’s gesture.

  The next section belonged to Sandstorm, and we managed to pass behind them without incident. Finally, we reached ours. Blue paint marked the back of the empty tiers. Spats waved his hand and the kids rushed to find their seats. It was a mad dash to see who could get the closest. I thought they were about to start a battle right there amongst themselves.

  Eventually, the biggest of the lot claimed the closer seating on the lower levels by throwing the smaller ones back. The rest made do with the seating further up. It was the perfect example of life on the streets—every kid for themselves.

  “Spats, a word if you don’t mind.” Noph circled his way around the back of Rockslide to get to us. His own escort of armed guards followed closely on his heels.

  “How are you feeling today?” Noph asked me after acknowledging Spats with a slight bow of his head. “Hopefully fit.”

  I nodded. “I’m ready.” I heard the words come out of my mouth and hoped they sounded sincere, because my gut was telling me something completely different.

  Noph studied my face. “Good, good.” He glanced at Spats. “We don’t want Avalanche walking away with another victory, do we? He’s won the last three in a row. I don’t intend to see a fourth.”

  This news did nothing to calm my already frayed nerves.

  “Besides, I’ve got a lot of coin riding on you.”

  “Easiest gold I’ve ever made,” Kore said as he joined the small gathering, his green vest showing off his intimidatingly muscular frame. “Like stealing coins from a blind beggar.”

  Noph simply smiled, but it was the smile of someone who appeared to be holding a few cards up their sleeve, just waiting to be thrown down on a final hand. Kore rolled his eyes and turned to Spats. “A decision has been made as to the punishment that will be levied on the tribe who loses tonight. Restitution will be given in the amount of one hundred gold pieces—”

  “One hundred gold pieces?” Spats looked like he’d choked on his own tongue. I thought he was going to faint. “We can’t possibly afford that much gold! This . . . this is outrageous! Our territories don’t produce that sort of profit. That would take nearly everything we have.”

  Kore’s grin dripped with sarcasm. “Then I guess you better win,” he said and left.

  Noph fiddled with his purple tie. “Don’t worry. I have a good feeling about tonight.” He spared one more glance my way, nodded, and left as well.

  Spats looked like he was ready to order a quick march out of there. To his credit, he didn’t. His cheeks had turned a pale green. It was an interesting contrast to his red hair. Sapphire had to help him down one of the aisles toward the front.

  Reevie leaned on me as we followed them in. The front row of our section had been left open for Spats and the Guard. We started to take seats on the end when Spats waved us over to sit with him. A few of the guards moved down to make room.

  “You see that over there?” Spats pointed down to an alcove on the opposite side of the Pit. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the shouts and cheers from the kids watching the bloody match below. “That’s where the fighters enter the ring. There’s another one just below us.”

  I hadn’t noticed the small door before. It had been bl
ocked by the stands on our way in. “Where do they lead?” I asked.

  “They go underneath the risers and come out on the other side of the walkway behind us.”

  A shriek of pain, and a sudden roar from the crowd, brought our attention back to the center as one of the boys took a nasty kick to the side of his leg. He fell backwards and started to crawl toward the door on the other side of the ring, dragging his injured leg as he went. He was wearing one of Rockslide’s green armbands. His opponent’s was red.

  The Wildfire boy kicked again, but the boy with the green band managed to get his arms up in time to keep his attacker’s foot from connecting with his face.

  “You’ll be fighting last,” Spats said, his eyes glued to the fight below. “You are the main attraction, after all.” He didn’t say anything else as he watched the Rockslide boy on the ground push himself up against the door and start banging on it with his fists.

  “Let me in! Let me in!”

  Parts of the crowd began to laugh, others shouted their displeasure at his cowardice, most cheered on the red fighter with chants of: “Fin—ish him! Fin—ish him!”

  As an Upaka, I was trained in the art of inflicting harm, but the outright hunger for blood that I saw coming from these kids was truly alarming.

  The fighter from Wildfire charged the injured boy and he dove to the side. Before he had a chance to get up, the other was on top of him. He raised his arms to protect his face, so the red fighter went for the body. There was no finesse, no calculation, no forethought or purpose, nothing but the desire to inflict as much damage as possible. As long as his fist connected with the other boy’s body, that seemed to be all that mattered.

  I glanced across the arena and caught Red staring my way. She had a smile on her face, similar to the time she had done the same to me. I looked away.

  The larger boy pulled back and slowly circled the wounded Rockslide fighter, raising his arms in the air to drive his audience into frenzy. They, of course, didn’t need much prodding. The kids in the stands were now stomping their feet to the rhythmic chant of: “Fin—ish him! Fin—ish him! Fin—ish him!”