by Zac Strong
I look down with uncertainty. A brownish sponge speckled with glowing, violet spots waits patiently. I poke it with my finger revealing the mushroom’s rubbery texture. The atmosphere of the beautiful radiance its spots emit causes my curious tongue to moisten. My eyes cautiously disagree. I’ve never actually eaten anything other than Lethe’s sustenance pills. And chewing them wasn’t a good idea.
Hera laughs. “It’s just a shroom, silly. They’re good for you. Eat it.”
My teeth reluctantly sink into it. Not a very strong taste, almost an earthy flavor. Forcing its slimy texture down my throat she hands me a tiny glowing ball and a cup of water I assume the cave naturally filters.
She leans over me.
My peripherals catch Jacee staring.
“Eat this for taste,” she says.
“What is it?” I ask, bringing the shining ball closer to my eye.
“It’s what we call a globerry,” she explains twirling a bit of my hair. “They grow in the lower parts of the cave, and they are pretty much the sweetest thing you’ll ever put in your mouth besides me.” She winks and majestically departs, joining her husband at the front of the table. “Don’t eat too many though,” she warns without looking back.
My cheeks flush and burn a few hues of red. Quickly looking back to see if Xander heard what his wife said in hopes to prove my innocence, I see he’s too caught up in conversation with a couple of guys who appear to be placing bets of some kind.
Wow. They are betting against me. Makes sense, but what idiot is betting against that mountain?
Xander notices me after a few seconds. He turns and shouts, “I’ve got a lot riding on your tomorrow, better not let me down.”
“Tell me the pit isn’t what I think it is,” I beg as I sink further into the bench.
“It’s not too bad,” replies Xander breaking from his other conversation, “It’s basically you. And Leon. Fighting to the death, in a dark pit, with no escape.”
“To the death!?” I ask in disbelief. “Nope. That’s going to be a big nope from me.”
Everyone around the table bursts out in laughter as Xander slaps my back nearly knocking the wind from me. After a pause in his amusement, he says to me, “You’re going to be fine. Relax. I’ve got to see if there’s some fight in you. Elysium needs warriors, not pussies.”
“Don’t you mean Elysium needs warriors, not testicles?” interjects Hera. “Pussies are tough. Just think of the beating this one takes.”
She winks and everyone at the table loses it. Laughter all around, even Jacee is smiling.
“Look I’m no pussy and I’m willing to do whatever you need me to, but isn’t a fight to the death a little drastic? I’m not doing it, especially not against that giant ogre. Nah, fuck that. I had better odds breaking into 34.”
“I’ve got you. Just trust me, Palin,” says Xander with a certainty I’ve never seen before.
He’s fucking with me. Is this his way of getting back at me for earlier with his wife? Just relax and trust you while your right hand beats the life out of me? How in the fuck am I supposed to relax?
He stands and makes a gesture to the table behind me, “Cyrus, come over here for a second, please.”
A young man walks over and stands right next to me. He brushes the blonde hair out of his eyes and listens tentatively for his next order. Young, obvious from his high cheekbones and the pale smoothness of his face. He can’t be much older than his first rebirth, but he carries a great sense of honor in his stride. His posture is as perfect as his mannerisms. He stands proud. I’m a bit impressed, to say the least.
“Show Palin to his room and ensure he has the proper tools to win tomorrow. You are his keeper until I say otherwise. Understood?” orders Xander.
“Yes, Sir,” replies Cyrus with military-like authority.
I make sure to thank Xander again for the hospitality and follow the boy. We walk for a while passing different routes and people along our way, each person casting their own questioning stares. I must be the topic of conversation tonight. Their eyes are much louder than their whispers.
The cave stretches for miles under the desert surface. It’s gigantic. Judging by how well this place runs they’ve probably been living here for ages. It’s the perfect oasis in a world better left forgotten. How many other caves are out there just like this one?
Trying to ease the awkwardness and make small talk I ask the first thing that comes to mind, “So, how far are we from the city?”
He instantly replies, “’bout a day’s walk to 34. Maybe three days to 32,” and then purposely falls silent again. I suppose no further exchange is required.
He seems tense. I’m sure he carries a lot of weight on his shoulders. Cyrus is about the same size as me both height and thickness, but something about the way he presents himself intimidates me. Maybe it’s the seriousness of his nature that intrigues my curiosity, or perhaps the mystery in his youth. He would’ve made the perfect officer back in the city. Lethe would eat him right up.
I break the short silence again and ask, “How’d you end up here?”
“I’ve always lived here ever since I was born. My mother died when I was young, and I never knew my father. Xander took me in as one of his own – made sure I didn’t get myself killed,” he replies a little more honestly than I expected.
“Wait.. so, you remember your mother?” I ask puzzlingly.
“Yeah,” he says making it obvious my question was thoughtless. His eyebrows rise shattering the former professional expression he was wearing. “Oh, that’s right, you’re from one of the cities. We don’t have to worry about the mindwipes out here. We have actual food. Watch out for the globerry wine though,” he says letting out a little chuckle, “That’s the only way to lose your memories here.”
I pay him a grin as we continue to walk through the long, bio-illuminated corridors of Elysium. Everything about this place is beautiful. There is a supernatural nuance in the air that embodies all that is missing from 34. Here everything seems so free. The people
nod and greet us as we pass. Their curious eyes stare, but everyone seems friendly, well... everyone except Leon.
One room that catches my eye shines a little brighter than the others. Instead of the enigmatic blue, this room burns white light from scrap, repurposed machinery powered by an improvised water mill. I immediately notice the walls of this room are shelved in salvaged books from the old world, likely found on their supply runs or stolen from Lethe museums. Each cover tells a story of its own. Some burnt and torn, others missing the cover entirely. We pass by it and I make a note to return when I get the chance.
We finally stop in front of a makeshift rolling gate. It’s fortified, but mostly strategically placed strips of sheet metal. There are two men in full armor guarding the gate holding Lethe blasters at their sides, obviously stolen since guns are banned everywhere for civilians, even in Olympia. They look like fat sentry droids without the red eyes in their charcoal-painted armor.
Racks of melee weapons line the walls of this circular room. Black sand is loosely sprawled over the rock floor. Through the cracks in the shanty gate, I can see the moonlit desert. This must be the entrance to the cave.
“Go on. Pick one. Anything you want,” Cyrus nods as he points to the weapon’s rack on our left and right.
I browse my selection and narrow it down between a short sword and a long metal pole with a knife fixed to the end. I pick up the sword and cumbersomely swing it around trying to maintain a warrior illusion.
“You ever fight with that before?” he asks in a tone that was both concerned, but more amused.
“Of course, I have,” I lie as I begin to swing the metal more erratically.
“Leon has never lost a fight, ever. Especially not to someone who comes from a city,” he says seeing straight through my mask. “If you want to stand a chance, you’re going to need to be creative. After all, there are no rules in the pit. Why not take both?”
I tuck
the blade of the sword into my pants and grip my hands around the improvised spear. After making a few stabbing motions, I nod to him signaling I’m satisfied.
He laughs again while taking a spear for himself and tosses it in the air a few times. “You know you’re not going to be fighting the air tomorrow, right?”
Out of nowhere, he swings his pole like a bat for my head.
I duck and stagger back startled.
It just barely misses me.
This mother fucker is trying to kill me.
I lift my weapon between us, unsure what to do next as he strikes it from my hands with his.
He points the spear at my chest.
His eyes begin to widen from excitement.
His lips purse as he stabs towards me.
My back hits the ground just barely evading his attack.
He hastily recovers as he slams the blunt side of his weapon down on top of me.
Rolling to my left I narrowly escape its blow.
Quickly, I rise to my feet drawing my sword towards him.
Is he crazy?
What’s his problem??
He lunges in the air at me from the other side of the room with his weapon cocked and raised in his arm. Mid-flight he spins completely around and hurls the spear in my direction. It cuts
through the air striking the blade of my sword before I impulsively deflect it.
Surprised, the kid halts his assault and begins to clap his hands.
“So, you do have some fight in you after all,” he laughs as he picks up and returns his borrowed weapon to the rack.
My hand continues to firmly grip the handle of my sword expecting another attack at any second.
Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I notice the guards watching me. Their faces hold the impression that they are impressed by my performance. A sense of pride moves through me as I feel my shoulders broaden a bit. Maybe I was a fighter or some great warrior in a past life.
“You think I have a chance tomorrow?” I ask smiling from ear to ear.
“Oh, hell no,” replies Cyrus before he can no longer contain his laughter. So much for professionalism. “Leon is one of the greatest warriors I have ever seen. He’s definitely going to kill you.” His laughter shifts to seriousness. “The best piece of advice I can give you is to keep your head down and your mouth shut. Maybe you’ll get lucky, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
My shoulders deflate.
Swallowing what’s left of my pride I return my weapons to the rack in front of me. I’m not going to die tomorrow.
I barely believe my own lies.
My head falls as a stray thought slams into me, shaming me. It whispers to me to make a run for it. There’s no one around. Surely the guards won’t waste ammunition.
“Look, if you don’t want to be part of the tribe then leave,” says Cyrus noticing me staring at the gate. “No one is forcing you to stay. No one would blame you if you left. But what I was taught is it’s pointless being a coward. Out there in the sun or the pit... either way, you’re probably a dead man if we’re being real. At least if you stay fate is in your hands.”
He’s right. All I need is a fighting chance. Plus, I could never leave Jacee like that.
Cyrus leads me to my chamber and wishes me a shallow good luck. I’m pretty sure he has already forgotten my name. My eyes drift around the room. It isn’t very large. The dark stone walls surrounding me are silent. It must’ve taken years to carve this place. In the corner, a few dirty sandbag pillows lie beside a synthetic pallet. The frame of a chair rests in the other corner. The cold room is only lit by the light from the mushrooms growing near the base of the wall on the floor and in the cracks of the moistened stone.
I pluck one from the wall and bring it closer. It’s different than the spotted ones on the floor. It has a different smell. Instead of a musty dirt fragrance, this one gives off the scent of fresh water. They glow a brighter blue, more radiant than the spots glowing from the ones on the ground. Slightly different shapes too.
The wall shrooms are shaped like little flat rocks. They’re all so beautiful. They have existed my entire life, and to think my eyes would have never fallen on them if not for the tragedy that I find myself in now.
I lie down on the stiff pallet thankful I’m not spending the night out there in the Outlands. This isn’t so bad, it’s pretty amazing actually. Kalli would have loved this place, this magical underworld.
My eyes grow heavy as I try to get comfortable in my new bed. Memories of her race through my mind until I fall asleep in the mystical ambiance of Elysium.
“Palin, wake up,” a whisper echoes.
My eyes cut open to find myself on the peak of a volcanic mountaintop. Ash and soot burn in the air around me. It’s impossible to breathe. A pool of lava boils just meters away. The colossal clouds of smoke streaming from the surface of the lava scar the sky a dark shade of orange.
“Wake up, Palin.”
I frantically turn around searching for her voice, drawn to it. I know it’s her.
She is sitting directly behind me, inches from me.
Her legs are crossed and her head’s down. She’s filthy, covered with ash. Her long hair is draped over her face, distorted in the heat.
“What’s happened to you?” I ask noticing her barefoot. “It’s me, Kalli. I’m here.”
Shrouded from under her hair, she repeats, “Wake up, Palin.”
“I’m awake! I’m right here.”
What’s wrong with her? What have they done?
She reaches under her curls for the skin around her neck. She claws, driving her nails into her flesh, pulling harder, deeper, until her skin rips open gushing with blood. Her skin stretches further, like melting plastic as it separates from her face.
She opens her dead eyes, parting her hair on both sides of her face. Blood pouring from her neck. Her smile is cold and emotionless.
I crawl backward, trying desperately to escape what my eye won’t stop watching.
She pulls harder.
The skin from her face is detaching.
She smiles and repeats her request. “Wake up, Palin.”
“Kalli stop! Please!!”
I grab her arms, but she pulls harder. Still wearing that same creepy smile. More skin on her face tears. Her cold eyes turn from crimson to sapphire. Bloody and torn pieces of flesh dangle from her exposed skull now crackling with electricity.
“Wake up, Palin. Wake up,” she repeats without blinking.
I can’t move. Tears stream down my face.
“Stop! Please, just make it stop!” I close my eyes, covering my head with my arms. “Stop! Stop! Please!”
Suddenly, everything is quiet.
The smell of sulfur no longer lingers. The roars of the volcano are extinguished as if some miracle occurred on the other side of my palms without me even noticing. Unwillingly, I peek from around the bunker of my fingers. All is black.
“Wake up, Palin. Get the fuck up!”
I blink, and I’m somewhere else. Teleported to a place where people are screaming like psychos on all sides of me. The thirst in their wild eyes, unquenched.
A thousand grains of black sand roll across the back of my hands as I push myself up off the ground.
The cheering intensifies.
A curved wall glows blue with bioluminescent graffiti. I use it to orientate, helplessly trying to find myself in the darkness. At least two stories tall, made from trash pieces and scrap metal, the wall circles around me in this dark dungeon.
Something is coming towards me.
In vain I look for an escape. Instead, my eyes find a double-edged sword lying half-buried in the sand next to my feet, as I attempt to take a breath that’s not there.
“Get up and fight him!” shouts Cyrus from the pit wall behind me.
Ice surges into my veins.
It must’ve happened again. Reborn dues coming to collect, and their timing couldn’t be worse.
I snatch the sword out
of the sand and face the shadow stalking me. My knuckles turn white. My legs slow.
Leon emerges from the dark of the pit. He towers over me, staring like I was the sum of all his suffering. Silently, he points his sharpened staff at me. The crowd goes wild. Like white noise, they move as the fires from the torches throw chaotic shadows against the dome ceiling.
Leon’s big, but even he has a weakness, and he’s the only thing standing in my way. Everything I’ve ever lived for comes down to this very moment. This mother fucker is going to die today. He asked for it.
Like I’ve rehearsed this moment my entire life, I swing my blade, backhanding his spear away, driving my sword straight into his heart.
He rolls to the side, effortlessly dodging my strike. The expression on his face fazes from anger to a smile before he stabs his spear inches from my skull. Close miss.
Like a machine, he retracts his weapon and strikes again with full force.
My sword meets his spear. Both weapons ricochet with sparks.
With both hands lifted over his head, he slams his spear, tip first, into the sand nearly piercing me.
Immediately, I lunge at him. My blade grazes his side, drawing blood. The crowd falls silent with shock.
He hesitates and looks down at his wound. A mixture of confusion and admiration captures his expression.
I waste no time before striking again.
He easily blocks with a one-handed swing of his sharpened metal staff.
He returns fire, swinging at me again and again; each blow with more power than the last until my final attempt to block rips the sword from my quivering hands.
I’m unarmed and cornered. He no longer looks amused.
Racing for my blade, he steps forward and puts his foot into my chest sending me crashing into the pit wall.
I hit the ground hard as shockwaves pulse through me. My breath, stolen again.
He walks closer. Activating his weapon, purple electricity flows towards the peak of the spear illuminating the hate in his eyes.
The arena falls silent. This is what they have all been waiting for.
He raises his weapon above his head, arms fully stretched.
