Two more days passed in similar manner to those previous, till the number of contestants was lessened to no more than twenty. Colton rose from his bed on the third day only to wince and fall back to his cot, pain shooting through his ankle. Throughout the last few days it had grown steadily more irritated, but it was nothing he could not bear. His only choice now was to grit his teeth through the pain and go on as if there was nothing wrong. Any sign of discomfort would allow his opponent to use that to his advantage, and at that point Colton may just as well have been guaranteed a trip straight back to the training center for another year.
It was now the fifth day of the Games, and though the competition had decreased as far as the number of competitors, those remaining were all the more determined to take their place as victor. They were not called to the arena till midday, arriving to an eager, impatient audience. A restless anticipation hung in the air, and for the contestants in the stadium’s center, with their fates on display for the entertainment of the audience, it was not without its share of unease.
All eyes were turned to the edge of the arena, where caged behind heavy iron bars growled wild beasts, pacing their prisons in restless anger, heads hung low and snarling. They were massive creatures, and bore with them a frightening ferocity and power to kill.
Entering the arena came several soldiers, approaching the cages with large hunks of red meat fastened to the end of wooden poles. These they suspended just outside the iron doors, tantalizing the creatures till they went nearly mad. The beasts threw themselves at the doors, claws wrapping around the iron, lips curled back in a furious growl, saliva pouring from their jaws.
Then the soldiers turned and tossed the slabs of meat at the feet of the warriors. Colton stepped away as a chunk landed directly before him, drawing his sword from its sheath. As his gaze turned again to the cages, the guards unlatched their locks and threw the gates open. The beasts shot from their prisons and leapt upon the meat, tearing it from each other till, in an instant, it had been devoured, and their hungry eyes turned to the band of men gathered close before them.
Then the first of the creatures leapt upon them, and the rest followed in savage hunger. For a moment all the men stood together, battling side by side against the murderous beasts, but they were quickly torn apart and what had begun as a skilled, if unfair, combat turned swiftly to a cruel struggle for life. On both sides the enemies strove only for their own survival, their allies soon forgotten, till it was only them against their adversary, victim against killer. For every man and creature in the arena, it had come down to kill or be killed.
Against animals, Colton had no hesitation to defend his life. They bore down on him without pause, teeth already red with blood as they leapt upon him. With every sword slash he beat them back, but the creatures far outweighed him in size and strength, and as more joined the others he fell to the ground. One was upon him immediately, and though Colton held onto his sword, they crashed at an awkward angle and the blade cracked a little above the hilt. At the next blow the blade shattered, leaving him with only the hilt. He struck the beast in the face with it and rolled away, his eye falling on a sword lying beside a fallen man, motionless in the dust and blood of the arena. His blow had stunned the beast, but only a death blow would make it back down.
The animal rose from the ground several feet away from Colton, blood trickling from its face, lips curled. It took only a few steps before crouching and leaping the distance between them, but in one motion Colton drew the sword from the corpse and let it sink into the beast as it fell upon him. The animal nearly crushed him, but that was no matter compared to what might have followed. Colton rolled the animal off of him and rose to his feet, ready to fight the next beast that attacked him.
Across the arena Tyran battled, a powerful match for the beasts. He became as deadly a threat to them as they posed to the rest of the warriors, bearing in his sword arm a viciousness that struck down even the fiercest of their number. Though the beasts held brutality, Tyran had learned also poise and expertise in his skill, and he carried more than violence and artless force.
Above the arena watched the spectators, though whether they were an audience to be entertained or witnesses at some brutal crime scene was not entirely clear. They sat forward on the edge of their seats, some with the horror one might expect, but most watching in admiration and enthusiasm, excited by the savagery of the fight. There were a few—Ealric included—who sat back in their seats calmly, unmoved by the clamor and yells about them—interested, but pleased by the talent more so than the blood of the spectacle below.
The clamor finally subsided as the dust settled on a bloody scene. Six men stood still upon the spattered stones, men and beasts lying around them. It was a victory with little heart, so awful was the cost. They were happy to leave still with breath in their lungs, but Colton’s heart was heavy and it brought him more happiness to collapse aching into bed that night, finally able to rest. That evening each of the survivors was escorted to his own cell, and they were given all that night and the next day to themselves.
Colton had pushed himself past any limit he thought possible, but the pain in his ankle stole all restfulness from his sleep. He drifted in and out of troubled dreams, unable to escape the pain even in his sleep. When he finally gave up his attempts to return to sleep it was still the early hours of the morning. Colton passed the day in bed, moving little to spare himself the pain it caused. By evening the aching had subsided, and for little more than an hour he finally found peaceful sleep. But quickly after darkness fell the final contestants were awoken and escorted from their cells.
Each man was taken through a different passage, so that when Colton reached the entrance through which he would make his final stand he was all alone, excepting the single guard that waited shadowed behind him. Standing just within the dark corridor, Colton gazed at the scene before him.
The arena was lit with tremendous torches, so that the entire stadium burned with flickering orange light. The torches were mounted all around the border of the arena, and its center six more were erected to form a blazing ring. Buckets of oil stood foreboding at the edges of the stadium. The first thing Colton was aware of was the immense heat, burning his throat and searing his eyes.
As for Tyran, he stood across the arena with little reaction to the fire. His eyes searched the crowd, finally resting on the face of a young woman, head held high and proud, black hair combed into an elaborate braid, dressed in garments of gold and red. Her eyes met his across the fiery arena, and a smile touched her lips. Not far from her, the king himself rose from his throne, spreading his arms wide.
“Warriors of Vellatha,” he announced, “your time has come. By morning the victor among you shall be made known, as the Spirit of Odamir has chosen. Until then, your fate is in your own hands. You shall battle until the torches have burnt out.”
As the king took his place each of the contestants stepped forward into view. Tyran dipped his sword into the oil beside him, swinging it through the flames to meet the first man that turned against him. The man cowered beneath his first blow, but straightened to meet the next.
The men battled the fire as much as they did each other. It was everywhere at once—blazing in their faces, threatening at every moment to seize their cloaks in flames. But for Colton, the fire was not the only cause for pain. Every step was a knife stabbing through his ankle, until the arena around him began to feel very distant, and the fire suddenly began to burn rather in his mind. Then a dark figure appeared before him, and though Colton fought with all his might, he was struck down and fell to the ground, his head aching. Everything in his vision turned to an orange blur, and the world before him drifted away, till the only thing remaining was the pain. He lay upon the scorched sand, wishing only to fade from that world to a place of peace and quiet, where he might at last be free to rest.
But though the roar of the crowd and the burning of the fire could not bring him back to the world, it was the memory of Fianna that pulled him back from his illusions, for he could imagine no perfect world apart from her. Grasping for his sword, Colton struggled to his feet and, his gaze sweeping across the fire-flooded arena, swung his blade to meet his next opponent.
On the night stretched, filled endlessly with smoke and flames. Colton had imagined the arena to be a place of glory and heroism—he was wrong. This was a place of death. Of pain. Of fire. It was meant to tear you down, not build you up. A place whose only aim was to strip you of all humanity and tenderness, of your very heart, and leave a suit of armor in place of a man. For indeed, when the fire died away and the smoke cleared, the men who stood remaining there were not the same—not nearly the same—as those who had entered. Throughout the course of the night, in the darkness, they had suffered a torment that they had been taught to desire and strive after.
But standing there, bloodied and beaten by the heat of the fire, victory lost part of the shine that had glittered so appealingly to them. One man would receive the crown of glory—a great title, riches—but what did that bring? Certainly not satisfaction, for that left you only with a cape of gold to hide a man who had lost all character but an iron harshness, which itself would fade only to despair. And for the rest, they had only to return to their bunks and training halls and endure a year more of the monotony that had already seized their entire lives—and for what? To repeat the cycle from the start all over again? To find themselves in the same place a year hence, having achieved nothing? No, for they had begun to lose their spirit already, and pierces of doubt that would soon turn agonizing already began to creep into their minds.
For perhaps, despite all they had been taught, all they had been trained to believe with their very soul, perhaps they had all been deceived. Was it not possible there was a deeper scheme at work? Did this facade of life not seem suddenly very shallow, upon a closer glance? Then again, perhaps the doubt was only the foolishness of a tired mind. For certainly, these great values of strength and the talent to wield a sword, surely, they were not meaningless.
This is so great! I love your descriptions of the arena! I also really like the difference between Colton's vision of how the arena was to be and how it actually was.
An intense chapter!