by J. A. Ludwig
A loud crack from behind makes her jump. She and the other slaves turn to see a woman with scars on her arms and face standing with Jaxon. Her clothes are separate pieces of leather showing off her muscular body. Two large men stand behind her, standing a full head taller than Jaxon.
She winds her whip up and ties it to her belt. She walks through the group of slaves, looking each over carefully. She grabs some by the chin and others by the arm to pull them to their feet. She pokes and prods, making occasional grunts or interested sounds.
Jaxon follows close behind her, followed in turn by the two large men. He waves away any of his men who get too close to the woman but, otherwise, doesn’t interfere with her examination of the slaves.
“You’ve brought me fewer magic users than last time, but more appeared to have survived the trip,” the woman says, her voice deep and coarse, matching her appearance. “Which one is the rare creature you want to sell me for such a fortune?”
Jaxon leads her to Aya and Aldur, waving the other man away. The woman steps in front of Aya and looks her up and down.
“She’s a Life Healer, Seera,” Jaxon explains.
“We’ll see what she is. Come closer, slave.”
Aya notes how the woman refuses to refer to her as a person. She hesitates, then walks closer. Seera grabs her and inspects her as she did with the others. At one point, she grabs Aya’s breasts, sending a shock through her. She instinctively throws her arms up, slapping the woman’s hands away. She freezes, then, fully understanding what she did.
Laughing, Seera nods to one of her men. He steps around Jaxon and in front of Aya. He grabs her arms and holds her still as Seera walks behind her. She places her hands around Aya’s waist, poking her stomach and moving to her back. She slaps Aya’s buttocks once and makes an interested grunt.
“She seems like any other magic user to me,” Seera finally says, waving her hand at the large man. He releases Aya and moves back to stand beside the other. She circles Aya and stops in front of her. “Though she still has a bit more energy in her than those you usually bring.”
Jaxon takes a step forward, his eyes filled with an irritated glow. The two men behind him mimic his movement. “I saw her bring one of the others back from near death.”
Seera grabs Aya’s chin and turns her head one way, then the other. She touches Aya’s hair with her free hand and smiles. She releases her and turns to Jaxon. “Let’s see if she can do it again.” She looks at one of the men behind Jaxon, carrying a thick blade, and nods.
The man bows and unsheathes his blade. He stabs Jaxon in the back, the tip of the weapon appearing through his chest. He screams out in shock and pain. Blood spatters Aya’s face.
Jaxon’s men all draw their weapons and move toward the scene. Except for four, the four she remembers talking about conspiring back in the oasis town. She remembers one mentioning he knew people in the Arena that could help with an accidental death. However, the look of shock filling their eyes makes her think they weren’t involved...at least, not with this.
Seera raises a hand and the man pulls his large, thick blade out of Jaxon and holds it up. Aldur holds up a hand to stop the caravan men, but they keep their weapons drawn.
Jaxon collapses to his knees. Grasping at the hole in his chest, Jaxon glares up at Seera. He tries to speak, but his eyes glaze over and he falls forward onto the ground. Blood darkens the ground beneath him.
Seera turns to Aya, arms behind her back. “Heal him.”
Aya’s wide eyes stare at Jaxon’s unmoving form. The reaction comes far too slowly. She screams and her hands go to her mouth. “How could you?”
“I said heal him.”
Aya is unable to think or move. Her legs shake, but shock and fear arrest her movements.
Sighing angrily, Seera grabs Aya by the hair and throws her to the ground next to Jaxon. “If you don’t hurry, he’ll die. I estimate, judging from the blood loss, he has less than ten seconds.”
Aya shakes her head furiously at Seera, pleading with her eyes. “But I don’t know if I can!”
“He said you were a Life Healer.”
“I don’t know what that means! I’ve never heard of Life Healers! Not until after he captured me!”
“You’re wasting time, slave. He has less than five seconds, now.”
Aya’s eyes dart around the dark underbelly of the Arena, stopping on the faces of Aldur and Archer next to him. They watch her with guarded faces, but their eyes are begging her to do something, anything.
Heart pounding in her ears, she grabs Jaxon and rolls him onto his back, blood soaking into her clothes. His face is pale and his eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing.
She tentatively places her hands on his chest, over the wound. She feels his heartbeat slowing, barely keeping him alive. Closing her eyes, she concentrates. She feels warmth gathering in her chest and moving down her arms. Jaxon generates no noticeable warmth, far less than the woman she healed weeks before. She can’t be sure her warmth will reach him.
After what seems like far too long, she feels her warmth enter him and reach into the chill in his body. She sees where the blade stabbed through. Jaxon’s heart is nearly cut in two. She focuses all of her energy on repairing it.
The ends mend together and the blood that escaped the powerful muscle, filling his chest cavity, disappears. It’s absorbed back into the body, aiding in healing. The torn skin and muscles around the heart heal, and she concentrates on finding his fading warmth. She pushes her magic beyond any point she ever has before. She finds Jaxon’s warmth and grabs hold. She slowly pulls it forward, and his heartbeat grows stronger.
She must concentrate a little longer, but something strange is happening. Her warmth is escaping too far from her core. A deadly coldness fills her more than she’s ever felt. If she doesn’t break the connection with Jaxon soon, she’ll use too much of her own life and die. She prays her magic holds on a little longer.
Relief fills her as Jaxon takes a deep breath. His breathing and heartbeat return to normal, warmth branching out through his body.
Aya tries to withdraw her magic from him, but the coldness makes her body numb. She can’t find the path to bring it back, but a small amount of Jaxon’s warmth shoots up her arms. It guides her magic back to her, and the deadly coldness fades.
Opening her eyes, Aya tears herself from Jaxon, falling back onto the ground. Her breath is shaky, and her eyes can’t focus. The tips of her fingers are cold as ice.
Jaxon jolts upright, grabbing her hand tightly in his own. His other hand touches his chest where a hole remains in his shirt, the wound completely gone. His eyes focus on Aya and he releases her hand quickly as though touching her burned him.
“Did you...?” he catches himself, stopping the question and glances around. He glares at Seera and bares his teeth, furious. Clamoring to his feet, he grabs the woman and pulls her close. He drags her to a nearby empty animal cage and throws her against the metal bars. “You tried to kill me!”
Seera, unfazed by the sudden violent behavior, leans close to his face with a wide smile. “I did. But she saved you. Your rare creature is worth my time and money now.” She eyes her two men and jerks her head.
One walks closer and pulls out a large bag of money. He holds it out to Jaxon, silently. The other man follows close behind with another bag. Jaxon’s eyes bounce from one bag to the other.
“Since you’ve not only brought me a Rare Kind, but also more than the usual selection of slaves, I’ll include a bonus,” Seera says.
Jaxon glares at Seera, not hiding the rush of thoughts crossing his mind. Cursing, he lets go of her and grabs the bags. He crosses to Aldur and whispers angrily in his ear before the two walk away. He stops in front of the four men and meets each one’s eyes. Their faces pale. Horror fills their expressions. Jaxon and Aldur leave, followed by the men of the caravan.
Jaxon leaves without a second glance at Aya. She feels a pain in her chest, though she can’t explain why. Perhaps i
t’s because he simply left without any word, no acknowledgment.
Seera appears above her and pulls Aya to her feet. “Welcome to Bloodfall Arena, Life Healer. You and the others will make for great sport.”
The Arena
Chapter 20
Seera takes the slaves further into the depths of the Arena, more darkness under the earth than Aya can fathom. The level below where they entered is filled with cages and large training grounds for animals. Brawny men lunge a variety of strange beasts on harnessed ropes. Women with bags of food lead other beasts from cage to cage. The animals try to swipe at the passing group, and when one slave ventures too close, a beast’s paw collides with her arm. She yelps in surprise, but luckily the claws missed her skin.
The next floor down, armor and weapons line the walls. Heat permeates this level, where the Arena’s blacksmiths work their forges. Burning metal wafts through the air and clanging of hammer on steel echoes, loudly. Small, cunning holes fashioned into the ceiling of this level allow for the smoke to waft upward. At the center of this level are large training grounds, where slaves train with wooden weapons, parrying and blocking strikes. Seating surrounds the fenced-off training areas, providing a place for slaves and workers to sit and watch the fights.
A large, divided room built into the wall holds rows of beds. Inside, healers attend to the injured, affixing poultices to arms and legs, cleaning blood from wounds, and using their magic to close cuts and fix broken bones. Aya peers in, wondering how similar their magic is to hers, even as the others start to go down another level. Someone prods her in the back to get moving, and she scurries to catch up.
Down yet another long ramp, Aya is greeted with long hallways. There are a number of doors, and through one a few men sit at long tables, eating platefuls of food. The slaves try to peer through the other doors, but the Arena workers hurry them along.
They’re now divided into two groups: men and women. The men go in a door to the left and the women through the one on the right. A few give long glances back at one another, but no harm seems imminent at the moment, so they separate willingly enough into their quarters.
Warm, moist air encompasses them, and Aya feels her lungs tighten at the heat. Other women whine at being forced into a steaming, humid room, but the workers order them to undress. With a little more encouragement—or rather, intimidation—they all strip down.
Aya is happy to remove her bloody clothes, reminders of Seera’s cruelty. She throws her clothes into the basket as ordered and stands with the other women. They try to cover themselves with their hands and hair, but it’s pointless. They’re ushered into the next room and surprised by a large pool of hot spring water large enough for all of the women to be in at once.
Aya carefully dips her foot into the hot water and winces. It’s not hot enough to burn her, but nonetheless reminds her of the long journey through the desert. She steps all the way into the water and allows it to fully cover her. She keeps her head above the water, watching the others enter the pool slowly. It’s calming and she’s glad to clean the muck, sweat, and sticky blood off her skin. She gently runs her hands through her hair, cleaning it, before moving to her face. Her muscles begin to unknot.
The workers order them out after a period of time and force them to line up. They enter the next room three at a time, still naked. Aya walks in to see three women dressed in the leather of Arena workers each standing in a corner of the room. She moves to the closest one and the woman places her hands on Aya’s chest.
A familiar sensation emanates from the woman’s hands and Aya realizes she’s a healer. It’s been so long since she was on the receiving end, but she can tell it’s a different magic than her own. A different healing magic than her mother and father.
The woman’s eyes widen, and she stares into Aya’s eyes. “Your healing magic is...strange.”
“How is it strange?” Aya asks, eager to finally be speaking to another healer.
The woman shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. We’re not supposed to talk to any of you.” She takes her hands off Aya’s chest.
Aya grabs the woman’s hands. “Please answer me. I haven’t met another healer since my parents died.”
The woman peers at the other healers finishing with their slaves. She lowers her voice so only Aya hears her. “Your magic feels alive. It sensed my magic and...mixed with it, explored it. Now go. They can’t catch us speaking.”
“But what do you mean? How is that different than your magic?”
“You have to move on.” The woman turns her back on Aya, ending the conversation.
Aya wants to thank her but doesn’t want to risk anyone overhearing. The woman hands her new clothes and motions her towards the door. Aya quickly dresses herself and follows the other two slaves out. The light clothing provides little protection and hangs loosely on their thinned bodies, and now marks them as slaves of the Arena. Now she cannot help the somewhat hopeful thought rising up inside her: perhaps she isn’t wanted for combat, after all. They may want her to heal the fighters.
Once every slave is clean, given a slate of good health, and dressed in new clothes, they’re taken into the room with the tables. Cheese and fruit are placed in front of them and they cautiously eat until they can’t eat anymore. Some overeat and vomit, but water soothes their stomachs.
The men Aya saw earlier sit far from the group. They look over the newcomers, the fresh flesh, but make no move to greet them or acknowledge them beyond the stares. Dirt covers their hands and feet, giving Aya the impression they’re not slaves, but workers. Why they were eating with the slaves, she couldn’t guess. Or is there a hierarchy of slaves? She wonders.
Aya and the other slaves are ushered out of the feeding area and led back up to the training grounds where Seera waits for them. More men stand behind her, wearing the clothes of the Arena workers with light armor on their chests. They wear swords on their hips and masks cover their faces, leaving only their eyes visible.
The slaves stand in disarray, facing Seera. The weakest cower behind, while those refreshed by the food face the workers with defiant looks. Aya stands close to the front, wanting to make sure she doesn’t miss a word.
Are we already to fight? So soon?
“You are all now part of Bloodfall Arena. You’ll be placed into the games and be expected to entertain those above. The only way out is death. No one leaves the life of the Arena alive,” Seera says.
A fearful intake of breath echoes in the room and several begin sobbing. Aya clenches her hands into fists. Games...why not simply call them what they were? Fights for survival.
Seera grabs her whip and cracks it at the noisy slaves. “Quiet! Let me finish before you devolve into whimpering children.” She waits until all of them are quiet before tying her whip back onto her belt. “Now then. We will feed you and clean you. If you’re popular enough or provide ample entertainment, we’ll heal you to fight again. If you aren’t popular or don’t provide enough entertainment, you’ll die from infection, or at the hands of the other slaves. Most of you will die on the floor of the Arena. Though a few of you may choose to become the master of your own fate once the sun sets tonight.” She pauses to allow her words to sink in, savoring the fear crossing the faces of the new slaves. “Time to group up. Magic users on the right, non-magic users on the left.”
The slaves cautiously move into two separate groups, one noticeably larger than the other. Aya finds it strange the larger group is the non-magic users. Especially since magic users are more valuable...does that mean Jaxon’s usual supplies were running low? Low enough that he would venture farther than ever before simply to find one more?
“Come.” Seera’s voice returns Aya from her thoughts. She leads them through the catacombs. Three men position themselves behind each group, while the others stay at Seera’s sides. The large group climbs the ramp to the floor where they entered.
Aya peeks at the men walking behind them. One man, standing behind the group o
f magic users, holds his hands in front of him, clasped together with his thumbs pointed towards his chest. None of the men behind the group of non-magic users walk with their hands in front of them. At the front, two men each stand on either side of Seera, but only the two in front of the group of magic users hold their hands in a similar position as the man behind.
Her curiosity encourages her to bring her magic out. She reaches within, but something blocks her. Neither man in front acknowledges her attempt. She angles her head to glance back at the man behind, noticing his eyes searching the crowd of slaves, and she knows he’s the one stopping her magic.
A security measure to protect the workers?
Seera turns to the groups and holds her hand up to stop them. She glances up at the ceiling. “We’re directly under the fighting arena.”
A to clarify, a loud thunderous noise shakes the Arena, and the ceiling trembles. Dust sifts downward. Several of the slaves flinch as though the ceiling were about to collapse.
“Don’t worry,” Seera says, laughing at the reactions. “The ceiling is sturdy and there are many layers of earth above us. There need to be, or else every earth mage would destroy the floor of the arena. But don’t any of you think of trying to collapse the floor. There are a few layers of magic thrown in to keep the lower levels from ever caving in.”
The roar of the crowd mixes with the sounds of the Arena workers and the beasts being transported from the lower levels.
“You saw the animals kept below? This is one of the locations from which they may enter the arena.” She points to a platform next to them. “Since no animals are being used in the games until the evening, the mechanisms that would raise them up aren’t in the loading position. Be aware of these mechanisms while you’re moving into position for your fights. The beasts will be chained sometimes, but they can still reach out and kill you with their claws if you aren’t careful. There are also entrances above where they may be released, but for the more entertaining games, we like to release them from below your feet.”
