Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2)

by Michael Wisehart

  Kore was leaning out over the edge of the Pit, shouting down threats at his injured fighter, trying to force the kid to get back to his feet and keep fighting.

  The boy on the ground tried crawling back toward the wall while the other one played to the fans. It was plain to see the green fighter was through. He winced with every breath. Tears streamed down his face as he scuttled for the wall.

  He had barely made it a few feet when the Wildfire boy kicked him in the head and sent him flailing on his back. This fight was over. The kick had muddled the boy’s senses. I wondered why they weren’t calling the match. The kid from Rockslide had clearly lost.

  The boy with the red band walked over to where the other one was writhing in the sand and stood over him. The injured kid was too busy crying to see what was happening. My stomach churned as I watched the fighter lift the other boy by the front of his tunic and then turn and raise his fist to the audience. The kids in the stands leapt to their feet. Reevie and I were the only ones still sitting as the fans shouted once more. “Fin—ish him! Fin—ish him!”

  The red fighter smiled and punched the kid in the face. He punched him again, and kept punching him until the boy was completely unconscious, his broken body limp and his face covered in blood.

  The crowd cheered. Those with wagers on the one still standing cheered the loudest.

  I turned my head and shared a look with Reevie. No words were needed.

  As soon as the loser’s unconscious body was dragged from the Pit, a tall kid with short brown hair and a rather distinguished yellow tie walked out to the center of the ring and proclaimed the winner. I wondered what the significance of the yellow tie was, possibly part of his official uniform. The announcer’s voice carried quite the distance for someone so skinny. Once the crowd’s excitement died down, he declared the next fight and it all started over.

  The rest of the evening followed the same pattern of events: another fight, another winner, another loser, all the while the audience eating up every bloody strike. The fighters from Avalanche and Rockslide seemed to take the greatest pleasure in the ways they finished their opponents, each one trying to come up with some new, more creative way to shed blood.

  The fights that brought about the most amusement from the crowd, however, were the bouts between the girls. There was something about watching two girls ripping each other’s hair out that brought a smile to those watching from the seats above. I thought it probably had more to do with the fact that occasionally one or both of the fighters would lose part of their tops in the struggle than it did with the impressiveness of their fights.

  Most of the girls’ bouts ended in one of the girls surrendering as opposed to being left unconscious and bleeding in the dirt. Although, those with longer nails tended to do some pretty nasty damage to the open skin of their rival’s faces, forearms, and chests. More often than not, the girls walked away in worse looking shape than the boys. There was one exception. A dark-skinned fighter from Sandstorm who used a back spinning kick to knock the front teeth out of her opponent’s face. She sent the girl flying at least four feet. They had to carry her out on a stretcher. I had to admit, it was a pretty impressive move. After that, no one else wanted to challenge the dark fighter.

  It made me wonder if Sapphire had ever gotten in the ring. I remembered Reevie talking about the Soren Challenge and how it took place in the Pit. I wondered if this was how the tribes recruited their guards. I didn’t like the thought of her having been forced to fight in a place like this.

  After the last kid’s body was removed from the arena, the skinny announcer made his way to the center of the Pit and raised his hands to quiet the audience. “It’s finally here! The fight you’ve all been waiting for. The winner-take-all battle between Avalanche—” The lanky boy pointed toward the white seating and the Avalanche kids stomped their feet in acknowledgment. “And Hurricane,” he said, turning to point our way. My seat began to vibrate as our tribe did the same.

  The announcer waited for the feet thumping to fade before continuing. My pulse was racing. I still had no use of my magic. I could sense its presence, but not control it. I looked across the ring and Red winked at me again. I wondered how far away I needed to be for it to return. Clearly, whatever was going on, I couldn’t count on the use of my gift.

  “It’s time to go,” Reevie said, his voice causing me to jump. “I’ll walk you down.”

  I broke off my staring contest with Red and followed Reevie to the end of the row. The announcer continued working the crowd as we passed between the Hurricane risers. Those on the outer edges stared down at us as we passed underneath, some with encouraging smiles, others with looks of mourning and regret.

  “Wait just a moment,” the announcer said. “I believe we have some news.”

  The stands quieted down as they waited to see what was happening. I stopped near the end of the row and turned around. I couldn’t see the Pit or the announcer from where we stood. What’s going on? Were they going to call it off? I doubted I was that lucky.

  “There has been a last-minute change to tonight’s fight,” the announcer finally said. “And it is sure to make the wait worthwhile. I’ve just been informed, and this is coming directly from the Guild, that tonight’s final round will be . . .” He paused in order to build the tension.

  “A fight to the death!”

  The stands erupted into mad chaos, the kids jumping up and down, shouting at the top of the lungs at the unexpected turn of events. Their hunger for death was sickening.

  Reevie tripped over his own feet and went down. I was too stunned to do more than watch. By the time I had gathered my thoughts, he was nearly back to his feet, pulling himself up on one of the support posts at the back of one of the stands.

  “They haven’t had a fight to the death since Skull Crusher.”

  “Skull Crusher?”

  “They banned them years ago because of the effect it had on the tribes. Once they got a taste for death, it only grew from there. Pretty soon, they expected to see someone die with every fight.”

  “How was this a Guild decision? I was at the meeting. No one said anything about a fight to the death.”

  “It requires a majority vote to make a decision like that, which means three chiefs had to have agreed. I guarantee that this was Cutter’s doing, and I don’t see Kore turning his nose up to the notion. He’s always enjoyed a good fight, which leaves—”

  “Red!” I hissed. “I know it was her.” The way she had been staring at me the entire evening made sense now. She knew what was coming. This was her way to be rid of me once and for all.

  Over my dead body. I stiffened my back, turned, and marched straight for the entrance leading down to the ring. I wasn’t about to let Cutter and Red win. If they wanted a fight, they were going to get a fight. By the time this was over, everyone was going to know my name, and fear it. They didn’t know who they were messing with.

  I started down the steps and into the dark passageway below. The smell of moist soil, blood, and retch assaulted my nose. Light from the arena poured through a set of bars ahead.

  “Ayrion, wait,” Reevie called out, dragging himself after me. “Let’s just get out of here. We can make it on our own. We don’t need the tribes.”

  “He’s right.” Sapphire’s voice was soft but firm as she ran to catch up. “You need to get out of here, Ayrion.”

  “If I leave, every tribe up there would brand me a coward and hunt me down.”

  “Then we hide,” Reevie said.

  “For how long?” I asked. “The rest of our lives? That’s no way to live.”

  “Then . . . then we leave Aramoor.” I could hear the desperation in Reevie’s voice at the very mention of leaving his home. Aramoor was all he had ever known.

  From the arena behind me, the announcer was continuing to drive his audience into total madness. The stadium overhead thundered with stomping feet as they demanded the fight begin. Tiny clods of dirt rained down and I shook them
from my hair. “I’m Upaka. I was born to fight. This is who I am.”

  “You were also born with some common sense,” Reevie said. “Now let’s get out of here while we still can.” He grabbed my arm and started to pull, but I jerked away.

  “I’m not about to go sneaking out of here like a coward and let Cutter and Red and the rest of them up there get away with this.”

  “Better to live a coward than to die a hero,” Sapphire said.

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  I thought she was going to say something, but instead, she stepped forward and kissed me on the lips. I could taste the salt of her tears in my mouth, and for a moment, I almost gave in to their pleas, but then I pictured Red’s smug satisfaction, and the way Cutter had dismissed me as trivial, not to mention the Guild and their decision to see me fight to the death. Anger flared and I pulled away from Sapphire’s embrace and turned to face the Pit door. I knew I couldn’t look in her eyes again or I’d never be able to go through with it. “I have to do this.”

  “No, you don’t.” Reevie sounded like he was on the verge of tears as well. “You’re talking about . . . killing someone—”

  “What do you think I’ve been training for all my life?”

  “All your life? In case it’s escaped your attention . . . you’re thirteen. What could you have possibly done at thirteen?”

  I stared through the bars. “You’d be surprised.”

  Reevie huffed. “I’m more worried about him killing you. Please, Ayrion, let’s just get out of here.” He grabbed my arm and spun me around.

  “If I were to leave in disgrace, how do you think that would affect the rest of Hurricane? You think Cutter won’t see that as a clear sign of weakness? How long do you think he’ll go before he attacks the Temple?” I turned back toward the door as the announcer wound his spiel to its climax. “I don’t want the blood of Hurricane on my conscience.”

  “You don’t owe them anything,” Reevie mumbled under his breath.

  I didn’t reply. My own pride wouldn’t let me leave now. It was time I lived up to my heritage. I was Upaka and we didn’t back down from anyone.

  “. . . challenger, our mysterious newcomer and first-time fighter in the Pit . . .” The beansprout of a boy in the ring quickly walked over to the door. “What’s your name?”

  “What?”

  “What’s your name? I’ve got to give them your name.”

  “Ayr …” I started to say and then shook my head. That wasn’t going to work. I needed something . . . more. I couldn’t very well face someone named Flesh Eater with a pretty name like Ayrion.

  “Death’s Shadow,” Reevie called out behind me. “His name is Death’s Shadow.”

  Death’s Shadow. Interesting. I liked it. I could have spent all day thinking up a name and wouldn’t have come up with something half as good.

  The skinny announcer stepped back out into the arena. “Death’s Shadoooooow!”

  There were a few claps and a couple whistles as I opened the door and stepped into the amber light of the torches that lined the upper railing. The lackluster applause came from some of the Hurricane members behind me, and most of it was probably just to encourage me to walk out there in the first place.

  I didn’t pay much attention. My eyes were focused on the closed gate across the Pit. From the other side, I could hear people yelling and what sounded like the crack of a whip. Was Flesh Eater a person or an animal?

  The tall, lanky kid, having finished with my brief introduction, was busy conversing with someone at the far door. I glanced at my shoes, which had already seen some rough wear since I’d purchased them. They might have been comfortable enough to walk around town in, but they weren’t exactly made for a fight. Not only were they extra weight, they were a little loose. Ms. Orilla had told me to purchase them a size or two larger so I wouldn’t grow out of them too fast. I had stuffed the insides with paper to compensate. I didn’t want risk them getting in my way, so I knelt and started untying the laces. I listened to the snickers and taunts as I stripped down to my bare feet.

  “Look at those lily-white toes!”

  “You plan on stinking us to death?”

  “He just wants to make sure Flesh Eater has something to chew on!”

  The jeers and laughter continued, growing louder, up until the point that I took off my shirt. One look at my back and chest and the catcalls ceased. I, of course, was used to it, but most kids don’t have scars covering three-quarters of their body. I tried not to worry what Sapphire might think.

  The earlier laughter faded to hushed whispers by the time the announcer made his way back out to the center of the ring. I walked over to the door and handed my clothes to Reevie.

  “Your back, Ayrion.” Sapphire’s eyes glistened in the torchlight. “What happened to your back?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  I motioned for Reevie to pull the door shut. I took a few steps to the right and started to stretch. The last thing needed was to rip a tight muscle in the middle of the fight and end up getting chewed on by Flesh Eater. I ran through my warm-up routine like I did every morning, building the blood flow first, and then stretching down from there. My muscles were fairly limber this evening, having had the entire day to warm.

  I was very thankful for the one piece of clothing I had kept on: my pants. They were loose and lightweight, perfect for allowing me the use of my legs for kicking or running. I continued to focus on what was coming. I didn’t even bother to turn around when the announcer gave his opening introduction to my opponent. I knelt and thrust my hands deep into the layered sand until I hit the soil beneath. It was tacky, and exactly what I was looking for. My hands needed traction for grip, so I made sure to cover them both.

  “. . . known for his voracious appetite! The Pit’s reigning champion! Break out your applause for . . . Flesh Eaterrrrr!”

  Unlike my entrance into the Pit, my opponent’s was met with a standing ovation and a roar of, “Flesh Eater! Flesh Eater! Flesh Eater!” The crowd’s feet stomped in time. Some of the kids were so riled up I thought they were going to jump into the Pit and start fighting themselves. No such luck.

  I stopped my stretching and turned around when the gate on the opposite side of the ring finally opened. Like all the others, I waited to catch a first glimpse of my opponent.

  From the shadows of the unlit corridor beyond, two large boys stepped out, their backs to the ring. In their hands were long wooden poles that were attached to something still inside the tunnel. Whatever it was, they were having a bloody flux of a time, as Reevie would have said, fighting to drag it out.

  I heard a deep growl from somewhere in the blackness that sounded anything but human. What have I gotten myself into?

  The two older boys gave a final tug on the poles as a crack of a whip drove my opponent out the door.

  As soon as the torchlight hit him, my heart skipped a beat.

  Flesh Eater wasn’t just big for a boy. He was big for a man. I’d never seen anyone that tall, at least seven feet. He was the closest thing to a true giant that I could imagine. He was covered in leather straps. I couldn’t tell if they were being used as some sort of makeshift armor, or just another way to add a bit of eeriness to his persona.

  Bull was right. Flesh Eaters’ face was completely hidden underneath a hideous mask. Two holes had been cut for his eyes, and a larger one started at the bottom of his nose and ran down under his chin. The monstrous fangs I had seen in my dream might not have been present, but he was terrifying nonetheless.

  I barely had time to catch my breath when the skinny announcer nearly ran me over trying to get to the door on my side. He offered a hasty “good luck” on his way by. He clearly had no intention of getting caught out in the open when they released whatever it was they were dragging out toward the center of the Pit.

  A third boy followed the other two through the door on the far side. He cracked a short whip across Flesh Eater’s back to kee
p him moving in the right direction. Each of the long rods the boys held had a hook on one end that connected to a harness around Flesh Eater’s waist. They used the poles the same way a sailor used a boat hook to maneuver the mooring lines.

  As soon as they had managed to get him far enough out, the boys unhooked their poles and all three made a fast dash for the door, but Flesh Eater was too quick for them. He released a deep barking growl and charged. The first two made it through, but the third tripped on his pole and skidded to a stop just shy of the entrance. Before he could get back to his feet, the other boys slammed the door shut.

  “No! Let me in! Let me in!” he screamed, banging on the metal bars with both fists. Before the boy had a chance to turn around, Flesh Eater was on him. The kid shrieked as the masked behemoth grabbed his legs and dragged him out into the center of the arena. The boy kicked and screamed, crying out for help.

  The crowd roared with excitement.

  Flesh Eater looked up at the kids surrounding him and cocked his head to the side. He swiped at them with his free hand, the way an alley cat would a stray dog it didn’t like. He looked back down at the boy whose leg he was holding and raised him up off the ground. The boy punched and kicked, but Flesh Eater seemed oblivious.

  The boy’s trousers on the leg that Flesh Eater was holding slid down to his knee. Flesh Eater lifted him higher and sniffed. They crowd started chanting: “Eat His Flesh! Eat His Flesh!” The giant looked down at the white leg and then back up at the crowd, who were now pumping their fists in the air and stomping their feet. “Eat His Flesh! Eat His Flesh! Eat His Flesh!”

  The boy was weeping uncontrollably, pleading for someone to help him as Flesh Eater raised the leg to his mouth. The stands were going wild. Flesh Eater growled and bit down. The kid screamed as teeth sank into muscle. The arena shook as the audience continued to chant at the top of their lungs: “Eat His Flesh! Eat His Flesh!”