Flesh Eater’s mouth was covered in blood. It dripped from his chin. He spun in a circle and launched the kid across the ring. The boy went silent as his body flailed through the air and hit the sand, coming to a stop about ten feet from the far wall.
I carefully eased my way to the door, my back pressed to the wall, making sure not to draw Flesh Eater’s attention. Reevie and Sapphire were watching through the bars.
“Lock this,” I said. “No matter what, don’t open it for anyone.”
“What about that boy over there?” Reevie asked, pointing to the bawling kid on the other side of the Pit. He’d somehow managed to make it to his hands and knees, and was dragging himself to the far door.
“He’s my distraction.”
I scanned the Pit for anything I could use as a weapon. Luck—or possibly the Creator—smiled on me. Not only had they left this kid behind in their rush to get through the door, but they had left his pole hook as well.
This wasn’t exactly the type of fight where a long wooden rod was going to be of much assistance, hook or not. If my only goal was to keep him off me, then a lengthier weapon would be exactly what I needed. However, with this being a fight where the only winner was the one left standing, I was going to have to get close enough to inflict real damage.
So far, Flesh Eater hadn’t noticed me. That was one good thing about his mask. While it was certainly effective at making him look frightening, it hindered his peripheral vision. As smoothly as possible, I skirted the walls of the Pit, making my way around to the other side where the boy’s pole hook lay half-buried in the sand.
Flesh Eater continued to growl and bark at the kids above, swatting at them as if they were a pesky sweat fly. The injured boy screamed in pain as he tried dragging himself to the other door, drawing Flesh Eater’s attention back to the ring.
I was almost to the pole when Flesh Eater finally gave up trying to get his hands on the kids in the stands and started once more for the boy. His back was turned to me, so I lengthened my stride, keeping a close eye on the mask in case it turned in my direction. I grabbed the pole and tested its weight. It balanced like a javelin or halberd, minus the sharp tip at the end. If the pole had been tipped instead of hooked, ending this fight would have been as simple as walking up behind him and thrusting at an angle through his back, making sure to either sever the spine or puncture the heart or lungs on its way out the other side.
As it was, the pole’s thickness gave me an idea.
I could feel the tension in the crowd grow as I stepped out from the wall and slowly made my way up behind Flesh Eater. Kids screamed down for the masked cannibal to turn around, to look behind him, to watch out, but their calls merely blended with the rest, a great cacophony of sounds reverberating off the thick stone walls.
The injured boy stopped scuttling for the door as soon as he saw Flesh Eater coming his way, and crawled as fast as he could back toward the nearest side of the Pit.
Flesh Eater closed the distance and the boy kicked at him with his good leg. Flesh Eater just watched and grunted whenever the boy landed a solid blow to his shin, then he grabbed him by the arm and picked him up. The boy managed to land a solid punch to one of the eye holes and was rewarded by being dropped back to the ground. He landed with a thud and quickly pushed his way back against the wall, curling into a fetal position.
Flesh Eater shook his head and rubbed at his eye. This was the distraction I needed. I gripped the pole hook about a third of the way up from the base. I bent my knees and focused. “Don’t you move,” I said, and then charged.
My bare feet padded noiselessly across the sand, kicking up debris with every step. The kids above me cheered and shouted, anxious to see some action, but I tuned them all out. Nothing existed but my target.
Everything faded away as I flew across the open pit. I could hear the beating of my heart, the breath being forced from my lips, the sound of each step drawing me closer to my opponent. His back was still turned as he tugged at his mask. If I did this right, it would all be over in a matter of moments.
Three strides: I twisted my arms to get as much swing as possible. Two strides: I took a deep breath and concentrated on the exact spot I intended to strike. One stride: I roared with everything in me and swung the pole with all my might.
There was a loud crack as the end of the rod slammed into the side of Flesh Eater’s skull. The audience, for the first time since I had stepped foot in the warehouse, went deathly quiet. I could still hear the echo of wood meeting bone on the stone walls overhead.
Flesh Eater, instead of collapsing unconscious to the ground like I had hoped, was thrown to the side three or four steps and stumbled to one knee. There was an awkward moment of silence, followed by the most hideous, disturbing wail I’d ever heard, as Flesh Eater raised his hands to his head and began to weep. I was so taken back by the unexpected reaction that instead of rushing over to finish the job, I just stood there. Apparently, those watching from the stands above were just as shocked. No one said a word.
The enormous boy in the mask stayed on his knees. His entire body shook with the force of his crying. This childlike reaction was more unnerving to me than anything else.
I didn’t have time to waste. I needed to finish this while he was down. I lifted my pole and noticed it had a long split running at an angle from one side to the other. The hook at the end of the pole wasn’t exactly sharp, but with enough force, it could do some real damage. If I could hit the large vein in the side of his neck, my opponent would bleed out in a matter of minutes.
Flesh Eater was only about ten steps away. With my weapon at the ready, I started forward. His neck was completely unprotected. If I could just—
“Watch out!” an unexpected voice cried out from the audience above, warning Flesh Eater of my approach. It was a voice I recognized immediately, a voice that had brought no small amount of annoyance to my life over the last weeks. It was one of the last voices I would have expected to hear. It was the voice of a high-pitched weasel.
I froze for an instant. But that was all Flesh Eater needed as he spun around at the warning and grabbed the other end of the pole.
The crowd went wild.
I was so fixated on the fact that my own chief had just betrayed me that I didn’t realize I was spinning in a circle until it was too late. My feet left the ground as I clung to my end of the rod. I watched the sides of the Pit’s walls come and go as I continued to spin.
How did I get to this point? Was it chance or fate? Looking back, it was hard to reconcile everything that had happened to me as being the product of chance, some random sequence of happenings that had culminated in my eventual standoff with Flesh Eater inside the Pit. The odds of it were absurd.
On the other hand, if this was designed by fate, a master plan sent down from some all-powerful Creator, then what was the point? I definitely wasn’t seeing it. To be honest, I wasn’t seeing much of anything at the moment but a blur as my body swung around and around.
If there was a Creator and He did have a purpose for all of this, it would really be nice to have been given some sort of warning first. Finding myself stuck in the middle of this arena facing a cannibalistic monster without a real weapon was bad enough, but to also be deprived of my magic, bordered on the cruel.
I was afraid to let go, but if I didn’t, I was going to be too dizzy to put up any worthwhile defense. I closed my eyes and released. It felt like I was still sailing through the air on the end of the pole hook when I finally hit the dirt. On instinct, I curled my body and rolled, coming back to my feet in a one swift movement.
I barely had time to open my eyes and stop the world from spinning when Flesh Eater slammed into me. It was like being hit by a boulder—not one that had just wiggled free from its niche in the side of a mountain, but one that had traveled the entire length of Dragon Fang, building momentum to an absolute peak before plowing me over.
I was lifted clean off my feet and sent flying backwards with a spe
ed that took my breath away. The only sounds I could hear were the roar of the crowd, and the wheeze of my own breath rushing from my lungs as I hit the wall behind me. I landed on my hands and knees and coughed blood. I couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard I tried, or how wide I opened my mouth, the air wouldn’t come. For the first time in a long time, I was truly terrified.
All the training in the world could not have prepared me for the horror of watching Flesh Eater come for me. He howled like a person possessed, his mouth painted in blood. I could feel each vibrating step as he charged. His arms were outstretched; teeth spread wide, ready to sink into my flesh. My training tried to flee like a frightened jack rabbit, but I fought back. I set my jaw. I wasn’t going to be a victim. I was Upaka.
I coughed, and my chest heaved as I sucked in breath. I scooted back against the wall, pulled myself to my feet and waited. Three. Two. One.
Flesh Eater swung his elbow straight for my head, but I ducked and spun left. His elbow slammed into the wall with a loud crack. Bits of wood flew everywhere. The masked giant stared at the wall in confusion, then down at the ground, trying to figure out what had happened to me.
I circled around behind him, trying to keep out of his sight as long as possible while I fought to regain my breath. Flesh Eater roared and ripped chunks of the timber framework from the wall as if I had somehow managed to crawl behind it.
My chest was on fire. He had cracked at least one rib. I spat blood, the taste nothing new thanks to my Upakan training.
The injured boy on the far end of the Pit was attempting to drag himself over to my door this time. I quickly searched for the pole. It was leaning ever so perfectly against the wall about fifteen feet away. Flesh Eater had apparently discarded it, concerned only with getting his hands on me. I slowly backed my way in its direction.
My strike to Flesh Eater’s head seemed to have rattled his already dubious mind. He was still ripping pieces of the wall from the Pit, not having the first idea I was behind him. That was, until once again a shrilling, high-pitched voice rose out above the others.
“Behind you! He’s behind you, you stupid ugly idiot! Turn around!” Somehow Spats’s voice managed to break through the rest of the shouts and whistles and screams, and Flesh Eater turned.
I raced for the pole, the only weapon I had available. My chest felt like someone was thrusting a dull knife into it with every stride. I didn’t need to turn around to know Flesh Eater was right behind me. I could feel his steps and hear his eerie barking growl.
I jumped and landed on the pole, feet first, hitting dead center. It split with a loud snap. I grabbed the two pieces and hefted them like a set of wooden practice swords. Digging my feet into the sand, I turned and with every ounce of strength I could muster, I struck his right leg as he put his weight on it. As big as he was, I swept the leg out from under him and he toppled, landing on top of me before I could dart out of the way.
All the air whooshed from my lungs all over again, which was a small blessing because he stunk worse than anything I’d ever smelled before. It wasn’t like Bull, who smelled of week old sweat. It was the smell of someone who had never bathed a day in his life, someone who had soiled himself repeatedly without washing.
I rammed the butt-end of one of my sticks into the boy’s lower jaw. I heard a definite pop and he rolled off me with another one of his childlike wails as he clutched his face.
I stumbled back to my feet and lifted one of my sticks to strike, but Flesh Eater recovered faster than I thought possible. He backhanded me and sent me into a cartwheel where I landed with a bone-jarring thud on my back. I rolled to my knees and used my sticks to push my way to my feet. This time, Flesh Eater didn’t charge, but circled cautiously out of reach of my sticks.
The kids overhead continued their shouting, thrilled with someone lasting this long. Some had even begun to chant, “Death’s Shadow! Death’s Shadow!” The tribes seemed to be at odds with each other as they fought to see who could shout the other down.
I had taken just about all I could stand of their bloodlust. I knew my days at Hurricane were over, especially after hearing my own chief calling for my death, though I didn’t understand why. My winning would have freed the tribe from punishment over the failed attack on Avalanche. Could he have worked out another deal of some kind? Was he the third chief who had agreed to a trial by death, and not Red?
I drove the thoughts from my head. Focus, Ayrion, focus!
Flesh Eater, finally getting tired of circling, ran straight at me and swung. I blocked the punch with my right stick and landed a hard blow to his knee with my left. He punched again and I ducked underneath and struck a blow across his ribs. He blocked my second swing with his arm, the leather straps acting as makeshift armor. He swung again and I danced aside.
The more Flesh Eater tried and failed to hit me, the more enraged he became. Swing after swing, I continued to throw him back, parry and strike, parry and strike. He soon lost all patience and barreled through my next barrage of hits. He grabbed my arm and belt and lifted me over his head. I used the stick from my free arm and struck his face. His nose snapped. He screamed and threw me straight at the wall.
I curled on impact, losing both sticks as I crashed into the wooden framework. Pain shot through my left side. I thought I’d broken my arm, but found I was still able to move it and shoved myself back to my feet. I ducked under Flesh Eater’s next swing and he smashed the plank where my head had been. He recovered quickly and grabbed me by the neck and raised me in the air.
He was just too strong, and my body too broken to move like I should have been able to. I heard Reevie and Sapphire shouting from the door, yelling at me to do something, to fight, screaming for Flesh Eater to stop.
The masked boy’s grip blocked my airway. I couldn’t breathe. His fingers pinched my neck, slowly shutting off my blood flow. I only had a few seconds before I was unconscious. When that happened, I was done for.
My vision blurred as I grabbed the smallest finger on both of Flesh Eater’s hands and snapped them backwards. Both fingers came out of their joints with a pop. The boy screamed and immediately let go. I landed on my feet and stumbled back gasping for air.
The crowd went wild. More shouts of “Death’s Shadow! Death’s Shadow!” could be heard filling the Pit.
The masked creature dropped to his knees, trying to fix his awkwardly bent fingers, but every time he touched them, he wailed even more. His back to me once more as I made my way around to where one of the broken halves of the pole was sticking out of the sand. The split end had a sharp enough point to pierce the boy’s neck.
Either Flesh Eater didn’t see me coming or didn’t care, but I managed to make it within a step or two without any reaction. Loud chants of “Kill Him! Kill Him!” filled half the room. The other half was screaming their disappointment and demanding that Flesh Eater get up and finish the job, Spats above the rest.
Flesh Eater’s neck was open for the kill. The large vein pumping on the side was waiting to be severed. I drew back my weapon, but stopped when something caught my attention. Above the din of angry shouts and desperate pleas, I heard a voice. It was subtle, but it was definitely coming from behind the thick mask over Flesh Eater’s face. Between the sobs as he tried to put his two small fingers back where they were supposed to be, I heard him speak for the first time. It was a simple question really, and he kept repeating it over and over.
“Why hurt Tubby? Why hurt Tubby? Why hurt Tubby?”
I lowered my spear. The shouts over my head grew hostile as the crowds cried out all the louder, demanding they witness a bloody end. I could hear Reevie and Sapphire screaming at me through the door to kill the monster. Kill Flesh Eater and get out of there. I stared down at the helpless creature in front of me and found I couldn’t do it.
Had all my training been for nothing? One look at this poor wretch and I realized that maybe killing wasn’t in my blood after all.
Above me, the tribes were about to come u
ndone. One spark would ignite a fire that would probably burn the entire place to the ground, and at that point, I was willing to let it happen.
“Open the door!” I yelled, leaving Flesh Eater where he was as I ran for the exit. By the time I got there, Reevie and Sapphire had unlocked the gate and were straining to get it open. The boy with the bite in his leg knocked Reevie over as he fought to squeeze through the opening. Sapphire punched him and twisted his arm around his back.
“Let him go,” I said as I reached them. “Things are about to get really bad.”
“Hurry up and get in here so I can shut the door.” Reevie grabbed at my arm.
“No. Leave it open.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Sapphire asked, pointing at Flesh Eater. “What if he gets loose?”
“That’s precisely what I’m hoping for.” I grabbed Reevie by the tunic and yanked him out the door and into the Pit.
“Have you lost your mind?” he shrieked, attempting to kick me in the shin.
“Get out here, both of you, and stay behind me.”
The tribes were out of their seats with a raging chant of: “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” I had no idea which him they were referring to. At this point, probably both of us. Sapphire cautiously stepped out into the arena and scooted back against the wall behind me. “What are we doing, Ayrion?”
“Someone suggested that I should leave the tribes. Do you still think so?” They both nodded so I continued. “Good, ‘cause after tonight, I’m not going to be welcome anywhere.”
“Why?” Reevie asked, keeping a close eye on Flesh Eater. “What are you planning to do?”
I looked at Reevie and smiled, then turned to the giant boy still sitting in the sand where I’d left him. “Flesh Eater!” He didn’t look up. “Flesh Eater!” Still, he didn’t budge. I only had one option left. I raised my hands to the sides of my mouth and shouted.
“Tubby!”
The boy’s head shot up and he looked straight at me. I pointed at the open door and the awaiting corridor, yelling just one word. “Run!”
Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2) Page 19
