War-Torn Ch. 1

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

“Take your hands off me!”

“Pull yourself together.”

The prisoner was thrown to the floor and the door slammed in his face. He leapt to his feet and pounded on the door.

“Hey!”

The guards’ footsteps faded away, and the captive kicked the straw on the floor in anger. He drew a long breath and stepped to a window, the only source of light in the cell. Outside a filthy alley was the only thing to meet his view, and he sank to the floor in frustrated exhaustion.

Two hours dragged pitilessly by, and the prisoner began to wonder if he had been left to die of starvation. But after a tortuous wait the regular marching of soldiers sounded, and as a key rattled in the lock he was once again on his feet. The door swung open, and giving hardly a thought to the guards his eyes met those of the man that stood beyond them, his familiarity sparking rage in the prisoner. He lunged at the man, but the guards seized him before he ever laid a hand on him.

“Do try and calm yourself,” the man said, his voice emotionless.

The prisoner steadied his breathing and stood upright, silent.

“What is your name?” the man asked.

“Colton,” the captive answered fiercely. “You might be so good as to tell me your name.”

“I am Ealric, your head trainer.”

Colton scoffed. “I think not.”

“Would you prefer to be returned to your cell?”

Colton was silent.

“Then yes, I am your trainer.”

“What do you want with me?” Colton asked.

“That would be better demonstrated than said. Guards!” he motioned to them to follow him.

Ealric led his prisoner down a stone corridor, where a great arena stretched before them, light pouring through its arches and across the burning sand. The stands were deserted, but in its center two men dueled with a fierceness and grace that made even Colton’s rage turn to awe. Between the two one was certainly the greater, for scarcely had Colton time to admire them than one disarmed the other and threw him to the sand, sword at his throat. A short pause passed, and then the former sheathed his sword and helped his opponent up, the two bowing to each other in polite formality.

Ealric turned to Colton. “Mark this duel carefully,” he said. “Of which two should you desire to be?”

Colton paused. “The victor, of course.”

“Certainly. I can make you that. I can turn you into an unparalleled warrior, and from that you can become a great lord. But those who resist my authority will never learn. It is their fate to end their days in a prison cell or be killed, rejected by the great Spirit of War. This is your welcome to Vellatha, and no other fate is an option. Here your choice is between greatness and death, between skill and failure. The one comes by submission and willingness to learn, the other by foolishness and disobedience.”

“In my own world it is not so,” Colton said. “Upon earth men are free to choose their own lives for themselves.”

“But your earth is far gone now—too far gone for you ever to return. And you will see that the reward here is far greater.” Ealric beckoned to the victor across the arena.

The man approached Ealric and bowed, and Colton was struck with further admiration for this warrior. The man was young, perhaps only a little older than Colton, but was tall and very muscular, his gaze commanding and proud. Dark hair cast a shadow across his eyes, and his face was tanned and handsome. From his shoulders hung a dark green cloak, reaching almost to his ankles. His hand rested upon the hilt of a sword.

Ealric smiled upon him. “Tyran,” he said, “allow me to introduce you to one of our newcomers.”

Tyran nodded at Colton, but made no reply.

“I would like to assign him to you during his first weeks here. Teach him the way of things, whom to obey and whom to work alongside.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyran said, but his eyes showed plainly his annoyance.

“Take him to the barracks now. His training will begin tomorrow.”

The guards released Colton, and he hesitantly followed Tyran through a maze of corridors to the barracks. Guards stood at every door, and Colton felt unsettled as he followed the stranger through the halls. Finally Tyran stopped and swung open a door. Colton followed him in.

“These are our barracks,” Tyran said shortly.

Colton glanced around. The room was very large and just as plain, a perfect square. Against each wall were countless bunk beds, each three beds high. Clothes and the few belongings of each man were strewn across his bed, but besides that the room was empty.

“You’re in luck,” Tyran said. “You get to claim a bottom bunk. The man here died yesterday.” He motioned to an empty bed.

“I’m in luck because a man is dead?” Colton asked.

“Yes.”

“Why is he dead?”

“I believe he was beheaded.”

Colton frowned, looking worried. “What for?”

Tyran sighed and turned to Colton. “Just be thankful for the bed.”

Next door was the dining hall, a widespread room packed with tables and benches. From there Tyran led him to the lavatory, jail, library, and stable, all composed as one great building. In its center stood a single room, the door to which was ornately carved. Outside it Tyran paused, gazing at it almost reverently.

“You may never enter this room,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It is the dwelling place of Arramon, one of the seven lesser spirits of war.”

Colton laughed. “I hardly believe in such things,” he said.

To Colton’s surprise, Tyran did not seem offended. “You live in a different world now. Vellatha is nothing like your earth. If Arramon did not dwell here, our warriors could never become great. During the day he stays within this room, but at night he leaves and grants either success or failure to the warriors in training. For that reason the door is left unlocked.”

“Your god cannot unlock a door?” Colton asked.

Tyran paused. “It is the way it has always been,” he said, shrugging. “Arramon guards himself. There is no need for a lock.”

“What about the other six spirits?” Colton asked.

“Vellatha is divided into seven sectors,” Tyran explained, “each its own city and with its own ruler and training center for warriors. In each city a spirit of war dwells. But at the center of Vellatha is the great palace of the King Alastor. Beneath it, in a secret chamber, the greatest spirit of all lives, Odamir.”

“But what is the point of all these spirits, and all this battle? Could you not all live in peace?”

“Vellatha is not at war. We train to become warriors, men of great talent and skill. Once a year every man in the kingdom is given a chance to prove himself. Ten men from each city are selected to compete in the Games, the noblest and most difficult test any man can participate in. The winner is chosen by the king himself, and crowned with honor and magnificent rewards—and consequently, is never heard of again by us.”

“Why not?”

“It is simple. There are two sides of society: rich and poor. Those who are rich dwell in mansions and have slaves do their work. They are the nobility. We, of course, are poor, but not without nobility of our own. We are the lower people of society, fighters in training. Warriors and those learning to be such are under the authority of their trainers, of whom our head is Ealric.”

Colton nodded. “What about women?”

Tyran laughed. “Among women, there are also two ranks: the extravagantly rich, born into wealth, and slaves.”

“Women do not fight, then?”

“No. They may learn the art, if they wish, but they are not trained and beaten like men. Also,” Tyran added, “you may never speak to a woman.”

Colton looked surprised.

“Men such as us, who live in the dirt and vulgarity of such a harsh life, may never associate with women,” Tyran explained.

“But do you ever marry?”

“Marriage is forbidden as long as you live within the training center. Many break that law in secret, but to do so would require you to be often away from your wife, and there would be no way to raise a family.”

“Do you like your life here, then?” Colton asked.

“Of course,” Tyran said. “It may be difficult to become accustomed to, but you will grow to love it as much as I do.”

Colton lay in bed that night wide awake. About a week ago, he had been sound asleep in his own bed, in his apartment, on an entirely different planet. He had been a dreamer all his life—always imagining new experiences, always hoping for some dramatic change to grant him a new life—but never had he expected this. He had hoped for a chance to save the world, perhaps rescue some innocent girl from a kidnapper, at the very least make a couple headlines—something like “Young Man Takes Down Thief at Local Store.” And his life had changed. But instead of being accompanied by eager fans, or even a pretty girl, he was surrounded by snoring, smelly, men, sleeping in their own filth without a thought for anyone but themselves.

Colton’s life had disappeared overnight. He had awoken to men standing over his bed, and they had seized him before he could make any sense of what was happening. He lived on the ground floor, at the back of the neighborhood, making him a target achieved more for convenience than any qualities he might have. Behind the apartment building was a barren field, to which they had dragged him. It had taken him several moments to understand what he was seeing. Before him was a large vessel, something like a spaceship, but not anything like those he had grown up seeing in picture books. It was constructed of sheets of dark metal, overlapping and held with crudely-cut bolts. A heavy door was set in its side, through which Colton had been thrown. 

Inside, or so he had seen once he righted himself, were a number of men, some bound, some cowering, some sitting unmoving with angry glares. Around the edges of the room sat slaves on benches, dressed in the garb of Vellatha. Their feet sat on elevated wooden boards, which swiveled back and forth as they worked them. In their hands they grasped a metal pole which extended outside the ship, making circular motions with it. Gradually, the ship had given a great shudder, and then with a groan it rose from the ground.

It was days later that Colton at last found himself on land again. And what greeted him was drastically unlike the world he had known before. Greeting him was a prison cell, and even freedom from that made what was to follow no sweeter. This was not the life he had asked for—certainly not what he had dreamed of, even in nightmares.

The next morning, Colton was certain that he would never love this new home. He was awoken by a bell clanging somewhere in the building, and as he stumbled out of bed he began to think that Tyran had been wrong—Vellatha was at war. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than he was shoved back into bed by a crowd of tired, hungry men, and the rest of the day turned into one long fight. They dressed themselves in seconds, and then it was a race for the dining hall. Perhaps the fighting skills of these men were refined, but their manners were another matter entirely. The men were packed on benches, tearing into their food with all the refinement of wild animals. 

From the moment they had woken there was a ceaseless ruckus among them as they laughed and yelled at each other. In a matter of minutes, the men were finishing their plates and going back for more. Food was thrown across tables in chaos, men shoved from benches, and a fight with kitchen knives had already begun. Colton had no choice but to join the herd of men at the tables, and though he was disgusted by their vulgarity he was just as famished as they and ate just as quickly.

Then guards swarmed the room, pulling men up from their benches as their breakfast finished until the room was emptied, a sea of filth left behind on the floor. From there the men separated into groups and disappeared down the corridors, hurrying to begin their assignments for the day. Colton was left behind, stunned, still hungry, and without the faintest idea where to go. There had been no sign of Tyran since the night before, and Colton suddenly found himself surprised, wishing he had been given orders for what to do.

He went to the only location he could remember—the arena where Tyran had fought the day before. There relief washed over him, for it was filled with men dueling, and Ealric walked among them shouting reprimands. He glanced across the ring and saw Colton.

“Colton!” he yelled. “Bring a sword!”

Colton found a rack on the border of the arena loaded with weapons, and chose a sword.

“Where have you been?” Ealric asked as he approached.

“Finding you,” Colton said.

“Don’t take so long next time. Tyran!”

Tyran, hearing his trainer’s call, disarmed his opponent with ease and joined them.

“Duel,” Ealric ordered.

“What?” Colton said.

“Never question me,” Ealric said. “Duel!”

Colton and Tyran stepped away from each other and readied their swords. Ealric stood silent, arms folded, watching. Colton made the first move, but Tyran blocked it as if it were a fly.

“Sloppy,” Ealric said. “You must fight with grace. Again.”

Colton’s next attempt was hardly better, but Tyran continued the fight and allowed him another try. After a minute, Colton began to feel very foolish, being so outmatched as he was. Finally, at a sign from Ealric, Tyran disarmed him.

“I don’t expect you to beat him,” Ealric said. “But I do expect you to do better every try. Watch.”

Ealric motioned Colton out of the way and faced Tyran, and then they fought. It was almost a beautiful thing to watch their duel, talent unlike anything Colton had ever thought achievable. Both fought with amazing dexterity and grace, but a cruel viciousness was evident every time their swords clashed. The duel ended with Ealric’s victory.

“Now,” he said to Colton, “try again.”

Colton did try again, and repeated his efforts over and over and he began to learn what Ealric was looking for. Halfway through the day Ealric dismissed him to the training center, where he practiced basic technique for hours. When light dimmed and evening finally fell, the men separated into groups of fifty and were ordered to run one hundred laps in the arena, something that would prove to be a regular assignment every day. Colton was near collapsing already, and the very thought of running a hundred laps was enough to make him sick. And by the end, he truly believed he would fall dead from exhaustion. His legs could hardly hold his weight as he stumbled into the dining hall with the others, all equally exhausted and ravenous for food. He fell to bed that night too tired to think, asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

The next morning he didn’t even wake to the clanging of the bells, and was dragged from his bed by a guard. Then the day began all over again: duels throughout the morning, practical training in the afternoon, laps in the evening, dinner, and then bed. Only that night, he was rewarded with even less sleep. 

Colton awoke reluctantly from sleep to yelling and a general commotion in the middle of the room. Forcing his eyes open, he made out what initially appeared as one great writhing mass to be a group of men throwing blows and fighting each other with all the viciousness they could muster. Across the room, Tyran sat comfortably upright in bed, leant against the wall, watching them as if they were putting on a play for his amusement. Those not involved in the fight did the same, leaning over their beds to observe the entertainment, cheering and booing the men.

In only a few minutes, the doors burst open and guards flooded the room, yanking men away from each other and throwing them to the floor. Ealric appeared a moment later, looking at the men with angry eyes. The majority were dragged away to be thrown in cells, and though a few scrambled back to their beds in hopes to escape punishment, they too were pulled from their blankets and taken away. Ealric swept a glance across the room at those who had remained in their beds, and finally left without a word.

Colton was sufficiently awakened to lay unsleeping for quite a while, and suddenly a thought hit him. Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to escape? The men couldn’t have offered a better distraction. But perhaps it was wiser to stay, for he knew of no way to return to his home. His thoughts in tumult, Colton finally drifted to sleep, his dreams incorporating vague pieces of the events that had passed since he set foot on Vellatha.

In the morning, it was Ealric himself who stood over Colton’s bed as he awoke.

“Ealric?” he asked, half-asleep.

“I’m proud to see you here,” he said. “I half-expected you to have fled last night.”

Colton nodded slowly.

“Meet me in the next room over after breakfast,” Ealric said, and then turned and was gone.

Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 will be out next week.