Fantasy of Flight (3 page)

I blink. Why had no one told me this? “Does it happen often?”

She shrugs her dainty shoulders again. “Once or twice a revolution.”

I let out a slow breath. Odds are this won’t affect me before I leave.

As our group leaves for the pit, Alzona brings me what she calls my “uniform”. I almost refuse when I see it, despite the hard glint in her eyes. Several thoughts stop me. One is the knowledge even the Bruma are comfortable with nudity, so technically I should be, too. Only a Solati would be uncomfortable with revealing so much skin, as we tended to wear long robes. Plus, the leather garment looks like it will cover most of the important parts.

I tug the top on as we walk. It dips down in a V over my chest and stops above my navel. I make sure to fasten the laces extra tight. My trousers are nearly the same as the men’s. Their leather is stitched, though, while mine laces up the sides, a strip of skin showing all the way down. It seems a bit unfair. Their tunics are leather, too, and sleeveless, but they’re full length. I’m not sure why my stomach has to be bare when theirs is covered. But at least the black material is supple and moves easily with my body.

We take a different route than yesterday, winding further into the depths of the ring until I give up trying to memorize our route.

We eventually stop outside an inconspicuous building. If it can be called that. Crystal grins at my doubtful expression.  There’s no way all of the competitors are inside this space. And I thought there was some kind of audience, too. Do we go in one at a time? Or maybe we’re stopping for supplies.

“Just wait,” Crystal says.

Blizzard shoots me a glance and mutters under his breath, turning to glower at Alzona. He’s still against my fighting, though I’ve proven my ability several times. I’m not quite sure what the source of his anger is.

Alzona knocks five times and the door to the rundown structure cracks open. She stoops to talk in a low tone to the person on the other side.

The door swings open. “Late agen. We was this close to startin’ without yous.” The toothless man holds his thumb and what remains of his forefinger together in an indication of just how close we had been to missing out.

“Just think of it as building anticipation,” Alzona says, brushing his complaints aside.

We cram into a tight space and the hobbling man elbows through our muscled huddle after shutting the door. He slides against me as he does, eyeing the deep crease in the middle of my chest. A horrible stench reaches my nostrils and I know the revulsion shows on my face.

Blizzard’s hand clamps down on the vile man’s shoulder. “Keep walking, friend.” His tone is almost conversational. The man shoots the heavily muscled fighter a nervous, gummy smile and hurries onward to the far wall. Why is Blizzard suddenly protecting me?

I watch to see what the gnarled doorman does next, but he hides the movement of his hands. Then, with a groan, a section of the heavy stone wall slides forward. The man heaves it open and as he does, a distant cheering fills the small room.

“Quickly in, quickly!” The man frets, waving an impatient hand at us. We file in. Blizzard takes his time. We trail down the stained and stinking steps in silence. Water drips from the ceiling, making the way slippery. The roaring of the crowds grows steadily louder and I strain my ears to hear what they are saying. I’m just about to ask when we’ll get there, when the stairway opens and I get my first glimpse at the pit. Shard nudges me. I look at him and he glances down at my mouth. I snap it shut with a sheepish look.

I take care my mouth doesn’t drop open again as I look around me. It sure wants to. We’ve been walking down the stairs for so long I was sure we’d be at the bottom somehow. Actually, I’m not really sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. We’re now at the top of an enormous circular arena. And from the sound echoing off the torch-lit, curved interior, I know it must go deeper still. A thick crowd leans against a low barrier which travels the circumference of the landing we are on, keeping them from falling over the edge. People push to the front, while those already against the balustrade crane their necks to look over the side.  Avalanche rips three men back from the barrier and throws them on the ground so we can get a view. The men scurry off when they see him.

I move up to the edge making sure to keep my hands off the slimy looking support which the Bruma around me seem so eager to brush up against. I look over the side with a gasp. I’d known from the echoes the space went deeper, but not that deep.

There are levels upon levels here. I count six of them.

“How is this possible?” I say to no one in particular.

Shard answers anyway. “There were natural caves here once. The rest was made around fifty years ago.”

This must have taken a lifetime to create. I peek over the side again. At the bottom I can see the pit. It’s tiny from up here. Two men are inside. Each stripped down to their trousers. One is covered with blood. I can see their movements, but cannot tell much more from here.

I look around the landing I’m on, and my immediate curiosity is assuaged. Many of the women are bare-chested. Are they whores, or is this normal? I don’t dare stare into the shadows of the columns. I learned that lesson yesterday. The men up here are dressed like the hobbling man we met at the door. Some have a few teeth, most are unwashed and wearing tattered rags, and they all seem to have a drink in their hand. Two men move closer to me. I look around for the others and find them halfway down to the next section. Avalanche is looking over his shoulder and beckoning me. I hurry to catch up.

We wind downward. I’ve counted right. There are six levels. The people on the fifth landing, below where we just stood, are notably wealthier than those above them. It continues in this trend. On the second level, the most prosperous looking Bruma pass coin between one another from their bright cushioned seating. Two men close to the stairs smash their goblets together, spilling the contents all over a scantily clad girl. They laugh uproariously, earning a glare from Ice as he pushes past.

The bottom level is a different story. I already know what it’s called because it featured in many of Blizzard’s stories. It’s called The Cells.

The Cells are filled with leather-clad men. Some are warming up. Others are wrapping their hands. One man lies bloodied on the floor while another mops his face. I realize there are separate groups, small spaces between each of them. Each barrack must have its own area. Alzona heads toward the last empty bench. Overall, it’s not so bad.

“I thought the whore had finally given up,” a loud voice says behind us. Perhaps I spoke too soon.

This can’t be the first time Alzona’s heard this type of remark because her reaction is instant.

“And I thought the fuckwit had gotten some new insults. What a pity.” She turns around to face a seedy-looking man, who observes our group with a mocking expression on his face. His eyes glitter at Alzona’s words, but he doesn’t respond. His gaze comes to rest on me, moving down my body. My stomach lurches as I notice his leering eyes. I wouldn’t meet this man in a dark alley for anything. Even a new veil.

“And who’ve we got here? Save another whore?” He flicks his eyes to Crystal who blushes the same color as the strawberry undertones of her hair. But it’s more than that. She looks utterly terrified. Alzona steps forward, but Crystal whips out a hand and grabs her wrist.

Shard doesn’t look up from where he sits, untying his boots. “She’s our newest fighter, Hale,” he says.

“Your newest…?” The cruel man named Hale stares, apparently struck speechless. Then he throws back his head and roars with laughter. He turns to his comrades.

“You’ll be fighting a bitch today, boys,” he yells. Those who can hear him share looks of disbelief, others burst into outright laughter.

“The slut is trying to make a joke of us all!” he says. The groups around us start to pass word around the Cells. Laughter spreads throughout the entire place. I can see some of the fighters from Tricks’ compound shaking their heads, but they don’t laugh. My face flames, and I hold my head high, staring straight at the thin man. I ignore the jeering stares of the fighting males who are coming around to gawk at me.

“Look at those tits!”

“I’ll tell you what darlin’, give me a romp and I’ll let you win!”

“Look at that face boys cause it won’t be long til she’s missin’ some of ‘er teeth!” People in the levels above are craning their heads to see what all the laughter is about.

I want to sink into the floor and somehow arrive at the castle, in my bed, covered with furs.

Alzona steps up to the skinny man. “Well, if she’s such a puny female, you’ll have no problem putting her up against Crush.”

Some of the fighters hush. Most laugh even louder at her words. Crystal gulps audibly.

“She serious?” one of the men close to Hale asks.

Hale looks at her with narrowed eyes. Then at me for a long moment. My eyes start to burn with my mortified tears. His frame blurs.

He smirks at me and spits on his hand, holding it out to Alzona. Without hesitation, she spits on her own hand and grips his. It’s gross enough to shock me through my embarrassment.

“You gotta deal.  There’s a slot in three fights,” he says.

I warm up behind our bench. Avalanche and Blizzard stand on the edges of the area. I realize they’re trying to shield me from view. Surprise is a strong advantage for my first fight, so I’m thankful for their help. I move until my muscles begin to burn and then sink into my stretches. Flexibility is crucial. My humiliation has turned to anger. The feeling is familiar. The more I think about it, the more I see the parallels between my mother’s torture room and the pit I’m about to enter. Instead of her and Cassius watching from the viewing balcony, there are hundreds of people. I’m still surrounded by those who assume I’ll fail. And instead of her Elite beating me, there’s just one fighter - called Crush. I don’t want to think about how he got that name. My little snow name, as one of Tricks’ men called it, doesn’t seem so tough anymore.

I roll my head, shrugging my shoulders. I block out movement around me, focusing my thoughts. Unfortunately, in doing so, I hear Shard and Alzona’s whispered conversation.

“Did you have to put her against Crush first?”

“If she beats him, then they’ll never say another word against her,” she whispers back.

“Sometimes I think Blizzard is right about you.” He moves around Avalanche, heading toward me. I smooth my expression from my eavesdropping.

“You’ve got it, kid,” he says, crouching beside me.

“I’m not a kid. I’m nearly nineteen,” I reply. I don’t know why I tell him. Perhaps I just want someone to know
something
about me before I’m pummeled to a pulp.

Shard twirls a dagger in his hands. I wonder if he’s even aware he is doing it. “Right, well. Crush. You can probably guess a bit about him from his name.”

I nod.

“Like most large, strong men, he’s a bit slower. In brains
and
brawn in this instance.” Avalanche grunts and Shard throws a grin in his direction before continuing. “Don’t let him get a hold of you and you’ll be fine. I’ve fought him, he leaves himself open on the left when he jabs.” I nod again, not trusting myself to talk because I’ve just heard the bell signaling the end of the second match. An unconscious, bloody man is dragged from the ring.

The last of the fighters before my slot enter the ring. I look over at Hale’s bench and see most of them are smirking at me.

Shard follows my gaze to their bench. “Don’t mind them; they’re trying to get in your head.”

“Maybe I can frost him to death,” I muse.

He gives a tight smile. I appreciate him making an effort at my terrible joke. “You know why I called you Frost?” he asks.

I shake my head, still darting looks at the Hale’s group.

Shard shoves his dagger back into its holster. “Because frost has a way of taking you by surprise.”

Blizzard snorts over his shoulder. “Frost was the only snow name you could think of.”

Shard silences him with a glare and turns back to me. “Ignore the crowds. Do what you did in training all week. Oh, and don’t try to escape the ring, or your life is forfeit.”

Solis, no one told me that! His talk helps, though. My breath deepens and my shoulders relax. My nerves settle somewhat. “Thanks,” I say. He claps my shoulder and steps away.

I keep moving to stay warm. It helps to distract me from panicked thoughts. The result is something close to constructive tension, I hope. I wince as a person in the ring is choked until he blacks out. The bell sounds, the winner struts to Hale’s bench amid loud cheering. I try to still my shaking hands. Shard and Blizzard wave Alzona away as she moves toward me. I’m glad. My heads in the right place at the moment and I don’t need her business bullshit.

I’ve picked up a new word.

The warning bell sounds again. Copying what I’ve seen others do, I walk to the wooden door on the other side of the Cells. Men of all shapes and states of dress shout out lewd comments.

Tricks gives me a wink as I pass, and the beautiful man from his gym shouts, “Go get em, Princess!”

I look back at him with wide eyes, a completely different panic rising. But he’s already turning from me. I force my feet to begin walking forward again.  It was a random remark. He can’t know who I really am. My heartbeat sounds in my ears and I grasp for my former determination. It returns as I reach the pit’s entrance. The door is open and I can see Crush is already in the ring. He’s laughing with the crowd, pointing at me and jeering as they turn my way.

There are five large steps into the ring. I count every jarring one of them.

A heavy thud resounds as the wooden door crashes shut behind me.

I’m in the pit.

For a moment everyone stops drinking, brawling and fondling, to stare at the female child in the ring. The fighters watch the crowd’s reaction from the Cells. I hear gasps of shock. Peals of laughter spread in a wave through the levels above me, as it had in the Cells. The noise grows until it’s deafening. I prefer it. It’s all one big mass of sound, easier to tune out than a single voice. If anything, the other fighter is having a harder time focusing than I am. He runs around the pit, hyping the audience, shouting and encouraging their cruel laughter. I don’t think he’s particularly worried about me.

A small smile curves my lips. His mistake.

I watch the way he moves. He’s heavy footed. Shard was right. He will be slow. It’ll be like taking down Avalanche, but this time I won’t hesitate.

The bell tolls.

The man doesn’t deign to turn and face me. I can see the crowd behind him, they laugh at his antics. Apparently, I’m not worth fighting. His belittling behavior reminds me of Uncle Cassius. Any lingering fear is burned away.

I move forward. When I get within a couple of paces, Crush turns to face me, expression bored.

I keep my muscles tensed, not fooled. He’ll want to end this quickly, to send a message to the crowd.

Sure enough he lashes out with his fist. I duck under and dance away. I need to get him away from the wall so I can’t be trapped against it. His eyebrows furrow and he follows me to the center. There’s the lack of brains Shard was talking about. I smile at him, taunting him. He charges. I feint to the left and then reverse-roll to the right. I trail close behind him as I did with Avalanche, and when he turns, I’m there.

I cross my left leg behind my right to gain power and kick high. It connects underneath his chin. I dart away in case he has a harder head than I’ve assumed. He doesn’t. He staggers back to lean against the wall.

This time, I don’t wait to press my advantage. I move to his weaker side. He stumbles forward looking for me. I let him see me, waiting for his left jab. It comes, uncontrolled and slow as Shard had advised.

I dodge and jab him in the throat, not enough to bring him to his knees, but enough to distract him.

I sprint for the wall behind him.

He turns slowly, gasping for air. And the timing is perfect.

I jump high and kick off the wall with both legs. Spinning back to him, I let my left leg go wide. It connects with his still turning face. He makes a complete circle and lands face down on the floor. I land softly on my toes and stroll a short distance away, hands on my hips.

The crowd is silent. There’s no laughter.

I have to give it to Crush. He still gets up. Probably helped by the thing he has too much of. Arrogance.

I circle him and let him get to his knees. Purely because it’s easier for me. As soon as he lifts his head, I strike. He tries to bring his arms together, but I force them wide with my own so he can’t trap me and I snap my head forward into his nose. Blood spurts everywhere.

I tuck some of my hair behind my ear and step back. He sways a bit, but does not topple. Really? This is one of the few times I wish I were stronger. I snap another kick at his head.

This time he stays down.

There is a long, drawn out stillness. Even the bell takes a while to sound.

The door swings open.

As I reach the door, the crowd gets over their shock. The arena erupts. I can’t understand much, but one word is said by enough Bruma that I can hear it.

“Frost! Frost! Frost!” The chant booms through the underground space. It’s fair to say the reaction when I leave the ring is different than when I entered.

Two men squeeze past to drag Crush out, looking at me like I’ve grown two heads. I ignore them. Some in the Cells stare in shock. Others avert their gaze. There are open mouths, but there is no jeering.

“Showed them, sweetheart!” Tricks calls, cackling with glee. I grin at him.

Alzona and Crystal cheer wildly as I reach my bench. Another grin spreads across my face. Shard and Blizzard give me quick smiles, each focused on their own warm up. I forgot they were up afterward. I’d been so focused on my own fight. Avalanche surprises me by picking me up in a big hug before dropping me back down. I look into his massacred face, startled, and give him a tentative smile, which he doesn’t return.

“You did it!” Alzona approaches. I’m glad my success helped her to show up Hale after his demeaning comments.

I shrug. “You wouldn’t have put me in there if I couldn’t, right?” I already know the answer.

She doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “Of course not.” Avalanche makes a sound of disbelief. Even Crystal raises her eyebrows. I give Alzona a wry look and turn to watch the next fight, noticing the menacing glares from Hale’s barracks as I do. I tune them out. If I can ignore the stares of the castle assembly and the palace court, I can ignore the angry looks from a bunch of men.

Blizzard and Ice beat their opponents. Shard and Flurry do not.

We walk back to the barracks. It’s evening now, but there’s light enough to see where we’re going. The streets have filled once more. I like it better than when the streets are empty. The paths seem more dangerous when there’s no one around. Alzona chatters the whole way back, ecstatic over winning three fights. I gather this isn’t usual. Shard weaves as he walks. Both of his eyes are swollen shut. I pull him gently back into the middle of the path before he hits a wagon.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have pitted you against Slay, but we were on such a roll,” Alzona continues to babble. I’ve never seen her so talkative.

“Maybe?” Blizzard explodes. “Slay is the best fighter in the comp. What did you think was going to happen?”

Shard scowls at Blizzard. At least, I think he’s scowling. Blizzard doesn’t notice. “It was a stupid bet. You lost coin because you got cocky. Again.”

Ice pipes up. “Yeah, and Hale would have told Slay to do a number on our barracks because Frost kicked Crush’s butt.”

She glowers at them all for a moment, but she’s too happy with the overall result to snap at them as she usually would. I’m glad someone’s pleased. I’m exhausted. The fight was exhilarating. It was a rush, a shock, an overload of my senses. It was survival. It was seeing your life as a tiny speck in the palm of a giant. All of that could make a woman tired. I don’t know how the others live like this. Week to week. It’s one thing to fight a few times, another entirely to do it for life. And I get the feeling the others have been in this game for a long time, never knowing if they would make it out of the ring each time they walked down those five steps.

I’m…happy to see the barracks. I never thought I would say it. All I want to do is wash the thick layer of sweaty grime from my body. Even using the tiny tub in the washroom doesn’t discourage me. And bed! That sounds perfect. I start down the hall, but pull up short as an arm shoots across the doorway to the mess room.

“Where you think you’re going, girly?” I look up into the angular face of Ice and then over my shoulder at the rest of the men, who are all just as serious. Alzona and Crystal ignore them, plonking down onto seats around the table.

“To my room?” I ask, stomach sinking.

Ice clicks his tongue and remains in my way. “You think because you kicked ass in the rings today, you’re part of the crew?”

I shrug. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Well, maybe a little.

“Let me tell you something, girly. You’ll never be one of us.” He says, watching for my reaction. I scowl up at him, ignoring the stab of hurt.

“That is,” he pauses and looks down his nose at me for a long moment. “Until you drink with us!” He shouts and erupts into laughter. The men echo the sounds of his amusement behind me.

“You shoulda seen your face!” He cackles. He turns around, arms spread wide in a dramatic gesture. “Seriously, I thought she was gonna kill me.”

“You’re such a dick, Ice,” Alzona calls out, not taking her eyes off the papers in front of her. It looks like she’s counting.

Ice drags me to the table and the men surround me. Shard reaches beneath the station where Crystal prepares our meals and pulls out several bottles. I swallow my rising apprehension. I have an idea what this is.

Blizzard takes one and pulls off the stopper with his teeth. “Now, when we thought you were twelve, this didn’t cross our minds. But Shard has informed us you’re nineteen.” He mumbles around the stopper with some difficulty. I raise an eyebrow at Shard, who shrugs and grins.

“You’re nineteen?” Crystal interrupts.

I nod.

“Shh, girly. Fighters only,” Ice says. I’ve only ever heard people from the Outer Rings use the term girly. Ice must be from around here. From Blizzard’s and Shard’s speech, I guess they are more educated. If Glacium is like Osolis, the poor will not receive schooling.