by J. A. Ludwig
She leads them to a different entrance from the one they came in and heads up a long ramp. Light grows brighter and the sounds of fighting are heard. The slaves grow anxious and whisper amongst each other.
Seera nods at the men at her sides and they rush ahead of the group. They turn a corner and two large wooden doors appear. The men open the doors and Seera takes the slaves into a long tunnel. At the opposite end is a large gate. Aya sees sunlight through the gate and a shameful excitement spreads through the group.
Are we going to watch the games?
Two shadows flash across the gate. Two men swing large, heavy blades at each other. Several of the slaves cringe back, but the arena workers shove them forward. They’re level with the arena floor. This gate is one of the many entrances into the fighting area.
Aya makes her way to the front of the group and peers out into the sunlit arena. Slaves are already in the middle of fighting heavily armored men who are clearly not slaves. Blood has soaked into the sand, turning it muddy crimson.
The crowd cheers as a man in armor beheads a slave with a large double-bladed axe. Aya gasps, reminded of Elder Mircien. She fights back tears.
“Professional fighters,” one slave whispers to another. “I heard they train to fight in the Arena and receive payment based on how many slaves they kill. They earn more if they kill a magic user.”
Aya turns to the man speaking from the non-magic user group. His eyes are locked onto her. She reads his thoughts in the cruel expression crossing his face. If given the choice, he’d let them kill her. He’d even help, if it meant he could survive.
Seera grabs Aya by the back of the neck and forces her to watch the fights, slamming her body into the gate. “Take it all in, Life Healer,” she whispers into Aya’s ear. “It’s going to be you out there soon enough.”
Chapter 21
Aya grabs the metal and tries to push away, but she is unable to fight Seera’s strength with her still-exhausted limbs. Dead lie on the ground, occasionally tripping other fighters or being crushed beneath their feet. A man stabs one of the slaves with a spear, but his attention is drawn to the gate Aya is being pressed against. A smile forms on his lips and he faces her.
Seera leans back to face the slaves but keeps Aya trapped against the gate. “Starting tomorrow you, fresh flesh, will be sent out to die. Though if you’re lucky–-”
The fighter with the spear runs towards the gate, aiming directly for Aya. She fights against Seera, but the woman’s strength keeps her in place. As the spear reaches the gate, however, Seera hauls Aya clear. The tip goes through the gate between Seera and Aya. Seera grabs the wood of the spear and pulls, slamming the fighter into the gate as she thrusts her blade into the man’s throat. He gurgles and blood pours from his throat and mouth.
She shoves the man away and he falls to the ground, dead. Throwing the spear back through the gate into the arena, Seera wipes the blood from her dagger on the clothes of one of the arena workers.
Aya stares at the dead man’s body. The blood pooling around the man’s head soaks into the ground. Not even those who voluntarily fight in the Arena are safe from its cruelty. And she will be no exception. She is not here to heal, but to die.
The armored man who beheaded a slave earlier notices the small attack and grabs the spear from the ground with his free hand. He runs the tip of the spear along the metal of the gate and waves his double-bladed weapon threateningly at the fresh flesh, laughing.
The earth shakes and rises, surrounding the man. His eyes widen and he freezes in shock. The earth slams together, crushing the man. The ground returns to flatness, dragging the man’s corpse with it.
The magic user responsible appears when the ground recedes. His hair is dark brown. But his eyes are a startling light gray-silver.
He lifts his hand and the earth spits the man’s mangled body into the air. It lands with a sickening thud and the crowd’s cheers explode at the display of power. The magic user’s eyes glare up at the crowd.
Smiling, Seera moves to the side, giving the slaves a better look at the magic user. “As I started to say, if you’re lucky you’ll survive and bring this Arena something exciting. Use your skills to try and defeat those who wish to kill you.”
A man wearing similar armor to the dead man runs up behind the magic user with a sword. He swings it, and Aya moves closer to the gate, her heart blazing in fear for the man. The magic user raises his other hand and slaps both hands together. Water from a nearby trough rushes behind him and traps the man in armor, wrapping around him and forcing his arms to his sides. The magic user raises his clasped hands and the man in armor rises with it.
Aya’s never seen magic used this way, with such ease. The only other magic users she’s ever met were the other healers, the blockers, and the one bandit Jaxon killed. But this...this is completely different.
The magic user keeps one hand clenched in a fist and uses the other to pull more water from the trough. The water freezes into a spike of ice and he raises it above his head. He throws the man with his clenched fist, the water dropping to the ground once the man is free of it. The man manages to land on his feet, but the spike flies through the air and buries into his chest. Hot heart’s blood blunts the icy shard; the man lies still.
The magic user lowers his arms and turns his attention to Seera. He walks towards the gate, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Gathering wind rustles his clothing and blows through the tunnel. He stops walking when he notices the new prisoners, and the wind dies as suddenly as if it had never been.
Seera moves closer to Aya, pulling her from the gate and away from the magic user. But she can’t pull Aya’s attention from the man. Those vivid, silver eyes pause on Aya longer than the others, a hint of curiosity in them.
“If the crowd likes you, you’ll be spared. But only until the inevitable day arrives when you can no longer win. And for you magic users, I want you to play well. The people truly come for you. You’re the main event.” Seera aims the last part at the man in the arena.
“Why should we?” a slave asks.
Seera shrugs. “Do whatever you like. If you don’t want to fight, you don’t have to. But that won’t stop your competitors from killing you.”
A deep bell rings out from one side of the arena and the crowd’s cheers increase. Aya strains, but cannot see the bell unable from where she stands.
“A glorious victory to those still breathing! A fine effort by our slaves! I hope those of you chose well the winners of this battle! If not, don’t worry. The next game will begin soon!” a voice blares. It fills the Arena, likely enhanced with magic.
Silver looks up and to the far left at an unseen sight before he glares at the crowd one last time. He walks away from the tunnel and disappears through another entrance, following a small group of wounded and exhausted slaves.
Aya releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Three elements. That magic user controlled three elements! She’d heard stories of magic users who could move air or water, but never both at the same time.
Chills run over her and her eyes move quickly towards a seating box built into the exact middle of the spectators. The position allows the best view of the fighting, centered perfectly where combatants would meet for combat. Although the box appears to be empty at the moment, bearing a solitary chair, she feels as though someone has been staring at her.
She hears a small gasp and turns to the man blocking her magic. His eyes are wide and face pale. His hands shake from an unseen fear, but he manages to calm himself before his fellow workers notice.
Shaking her head, Aya turns to survey the damage done during the Arena’s game. Bodies are strewn about the ground. Some of the victors are still making their way off the arena floor, as workers rush out and collect bodies and body parts. They use rakes to clear as much of the blood as possible for the next event. An announcer speaks, but the magic used to amplify his voice is not as full, making it hard to understand from where the slaves
stand.
Not that any of them are listening. They are taking in the carnage they are soon to be a part of.
Chapter 22
Seera and her men lead the slaves back down into the catacombs.
The Arena is slowing down, the final fights of the day finishing above. A worker approaches Seera with a parchment. “We have a small issue with the payments to the fighters.”
Seera stops the slaves, waving her men forward. “Wait for me, here. Keep them out of the way and quiet.” She follows the worker away.
The men herd the slaves to the wall, clear of the workings of the Arena. Aya leans against the wall, watching the moving parts all around her.
Workers load large animals onto the rising platforms, brutes with thick, shaggy fur and paws the size of a man’s head. Long snouts skim the floor, searching for food, long ears drooping on either side.
“Get the collars on these urso, quickly. The fightin’s gettin' slow. Seera said we need to add excitement before the audience dies a’ boredom,” a worker barks.
Others secure chains connected to the platforms around the beasts’ necks. One urso chuffs, opening its mouth to show its thick teeth. Its lips droop and drool drips to the floor. The worker scratches the animal behind its long ear, and it moves its head up and down appreciatively.
Then the workers pull levers and the platforms slowly rise. Walkways above the platforms are stationed with more workers waiting to open the floor. They raise their hands, and the earth shifts, allowing the platforms with the beasts to pass through.
After a few seconds, roars erupt from above as the urso reach their destination.
A large wagon passes the slaves loaded with bodies...and body parts. Gasps and groans rise from the slaves, and Aya feels her face growing pale. The wagon passes and enters a cordoned-off area.
Peering inside, Aya watches workers pull the bodies and parts off the wagon. Parts are thrown into large baskets marked Feed. Aya realizes they’re for the beasts below. Bodies still in one piece are loaded onto long tables and workers dressed in black clean the bodies. They wear masks covering their faces and gloves as they scour the bodies.
Once clean, the workers grab parchment, scratching notes as other workers, dressed in similar black but without masks or gloves, take the bodies away. They wrap them in heavy cloth and load them on more wagons which are taken away.
Seera returns, her lips curled in a sneer. “Let’s move.” The men return to their positions around the slaves and they head off.
Many slaves break down into loud wails, finally broken by the reality of their new life. Seera’s men yell at those sobbing, clouting those who are too loud. If they don’t stop, the men beat them until they do or collapse to the floor. They’re left behind and any who try to help them are beaten as well.
“If they’re not strong enough for the underbelly of the Arena, they’re better off left to die than face what waits for them above,” Seera says, never once looking back at those who fall. “Of course, if they get in the way of the workers, they’ll be dragged to the cells...or the animal cages.”
Aya glances back at those left behind. A few manage to climb back to their feet and struggle after the group. Two remain on the ground, the fight gone from their bodies.
They return to the lowest level where they were cleaned and fed. The walls are damp, and rats scamper about, unafraid of humans, stealing food from the feeding area. Two rats fight over a strip of meat, rolling on the ground as a third runs by, grabbing the delectable morsel.
Seera leads them down one of the many hallways where the holding cells await. A large letter A is carved into the stonewall preceding a set of doors. Two men open the doors and the slaves are led in.
“Welcome to cellblock A, slaves,” Seera announces.
Cellblock A is a large block with cells lining the walls and wooden stairs leading up to a second level, doubling the number of slaves that can be housed. A second set of doors is located at the opposite end of the cellblock and Aya can see more doors leading to what she can only assume is a neighboring cellblock.
She glances at the cells they pass. Many are filled with three to four slaves, men and women sharing cells. But there are still several cells empty and Aya wonders how long they’ve been that way. The slaves ogle the fresh flesh in silence. Occasionally, a whistle or rough comment is aimed at the group, but most of those behind the bars show little interest.
Reaching the end of the hallway, Seera turns to the group. “These are your new homes. You will be given free time to venture up to the training level or the baths if you so choose. But only for a limited time, so use your freedom strategically. If you’re found out of bounds, you’ll be beaten and dragged back to your cells.”
A man with parchment and pen appears next to her. A second man stands next to him, holding red strips of cloth.
Motioning to the already filled cells, Seera continues. “Some of you will be sharing cells with others who’ve survived their fights. Others will be placed in the empty cells of those who did not. Don’t get too comfortable and don’t worry about claiming a bed. Most of you will die tomorrow. For those who believe you have a fighting chance, rest up. Gather your strength and pray to your gods. They’re the only ones who’ll show you mercy now.”
The man with the parchment distributes the slaves into different cells, beginning with the non-magic users, writing their names as he goes. The second man places the red strips around the waists of the slaves as the man with parchment finishes with them.
Aya recognizes Rava, the woman she healed long ago. She requests to stay with her sister Mava. The man with the parchment waves his hand at her. Not saying yes, but not saying no.
When he moves on to sorting the magic users, he asks for their type of magic as well as their name. Aya listens intently to the different magics. There are many element users, and one who controls shadows. Another can read minds and control emotions. Another can increase the strength of his muscles for a limited time.
Fully realizing the vast span of magic, Aya is awed by those she’s been travelling with. She regrets not speaking with them, but there wasn’t time for niceties over the hunger, pain, and exhaustion.
She waits patiently for the man with parchment to turn his attention to her. Once all of the fresh flesh, except her, are placed in cells, he merely asks her name and magic type.
“Aya Flandeen.” She hesitates before giving the title she has heard so many times in these last weeks. “Life Healer.”
The second man wraps the red strip around her waist and the hairs on her arms stand. Magic is in the cloth. She touches the fabric. She tries to pull on it, but it’s as though the cloth is permanently attached to her clothes.
Seera walks up behind her, grabbing her arm tightly. “The cloth will come off if you survive tomorrow’s game. Think of it as a rite of passage for the fresh flesh.”
“Or a target,” Aya says.
A smile grows on Seera’s face and she nods in agreement. “Or a target.” She leads Aya towards a slightly larger cell. “You’re being placed with the other Rare Kinds.”
Aya wonders what makes Life Healing rarer than controlling shadows or reading minds. There is a vast world of experience and knowledge out there she had never guessed at before, but this is how she must discover it—by being placed in exactly the sort of peril the village had sought to shelter her from.
Seera opens the cell door. Inside are two men, twin brothers. They stare up at Aya in surprise, not expecting a new cellmate. There are three beds, two on the left (which the brothers are lounging on) and one on the right against the back wall.
“Be nice to her, boys. She’s fresh flesh for the games tomorrow.” Seera shoves Aya inside and stands in the doorway.
Aya immediately recognizes a similar feeling she had when locked in the cages of the caravan. The metal bars of the cells must have been made with the same magic. Aya walks to the back corner of the cell, away from the brothers. She sits on the third bunk and
stares at Seera.
Why has she stopped calling me Life Healer? Does she want to keep it from the other slaves? Or is it too humanizing?
Loud voices sound from the end of the hallway. The bars of the holding cells are shaken or banged on with metal. The survivors of the recent game are making their way back to their cells.
Smiling, Seera peers down the hallway. “Sounds like he’s on his way back.”
“Who?”
“Your third cellmate, fresh flesh.” Seera moves away from the door to allow the man room.
The silver-eyed magic user from the arena appears in the doorway to the cell, sneering at Seera before entering. Aya’s heart jumps into her throat and she pulls her knees up to her chest. He notices Aya sitting at the back and freezes. Their eyes meet and she wants to look away, but something keeps her vision locked.
“I’ve already told the brothers, but this message is especially for you. This is your new cellmate. She’s a Rare Kind like you, so treat her kindly. She may not be here long.” Seera chuckles, closing the door and locking it.
She leaves the four alone, disappearing from view. Silence fills the cell except for the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. Slaves from other cells hiss or make rude comments. Crying erupts down the hall, but it’s muffled, seemingly unable to penetrate the dense air.
The silver-eyed magic user tears his gaze from Aya and meets the eyes of the brothers, who shrug their shoulders simultaneously, before he sits at the farthest corner from her, on the floor in front of the brothers’ beds. He crosses his arms, leans his head back against the damp wall of the cell, closes his eyes, and releases a long breath.
Aya lowers her view to the ground, unsure of what to do or say. The bunk sinks as the two brothers sit on either side of her. She tries to shrink into herself and lowers her head onto her knees. The following silence is more awkward than before.
