It Rained Red Upon the Arena (7 page)

Nick was making way at his pile of mush as Phillip gave him that speech. Nick finally looked up and said, “Yes, I’m fighting tomorrow.”

“Well, who are you fighting?” asked Phillip.

“Grimey,” Nick replied.

Phillip face skewed as Nick said the name. Phillip leaned in towards Nick and carefully and stealthily pointed at a Reza man a few tables over. He looked tall and skinny and his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

“That’s Grimey over there. He got here three months after I did and has had a good number of fights. He is a quick Reza. He can send fire and ice at you in the blink of an eye. He is the best Reza I’ve seen yet. He will not be easy, but I can give you tips on how to beat him.”

Nick looked over at Grimey once more. His hands were covered by leather gloves and a metal bracelet attached tightly at the top of the gloves so he could not conjure his destruction magic. His looked to be a few years older than Nick. He looked young and fit.

Nick looked back at Phillip and said, “You have seen him fight? How could you see him fight? I thought we stay in the cells as fights go on.”

“I fought before him. I killed my opponent and when that happens you get to stand behind the barred door that leads to the arena. Front row seats.”

Inmates started to get up from their tables and make their way to a side door.

Phillip smiled at Nick and said, “It’s now the best time of the day. It’s time to get to work in the dungeon. This is when you release your pain and anger. This is the time for meditation and focus. Yes, I love it indeed. Finish up the last couple of bites and stick with me. I’ll show you around in there.”

Nick took the last couple bites of his meal and proceeded to get up and follow Phillip. He walked with Phillip into the dungeon. As soon as he arrived, Nick saw the armory of sorts. There were plenty of weapons to choose from: swords, axes, mallets, daggers, and bows and arrows. All the weapons were made of wood with blunt edges. Paplons were lined up, taking turns practicing their skills on dummies made of cloth and hay. Archers practiced on hay bundles with dots to perfect their aim. Moving bundles of hay were attached to the ceiling and fitted in a net so that Paplons could practice on moving targets. The Rezas were not found in this room of the dungeon. There was another hall further down where Rezas lined up to get into a room by themselves. The Reza inmates would walk inside a room where the door would shut behind them, and they would stick their hands out of a hole where the Refect would take off the gloves. In that room and various others like it, Rezas could practice their magic freely without harm to others.

Phillip took Nick over to the armory and said, “Yes, I know it’s disappointing; all we get for practice is wood. The handles are made heavy with metal, though, to give the proper feel of a real weapon. Have you swung a sword before?”

“Yes, I trained for years with practice swords such as these. I was training to become a Refect,” replied Nick.

Phillip bent over towards the floor and burst out laughing. He regained his composure and said, “Why would anyone want to be a Refect? Those power hungry imbeciles do nothing but sit around and talk of how grand their sword is. They think they protect the realm but in reality they do nothing to protect it. Many murders go unaccounted for because they are slow and fat. If they did their jobs properly, each arena would house tens of thousands of inmates. But, anyways, pick your weapon and let’s get to a dummy. Let me see what fight you’ve got in you.”

Nick did not find the belittling of his dreams amusing, but he would rather not argue with the man who was willing to give him tips on his fight. Nick picked up two wooden short swords and Philip picked up a wooden long sword.

They walked up to a dummy that no one was using. “Let me show you first how it is done,” said Phillip.

He picked up his wooden long sword and got into a fighting stance. Phillip drove the tip of his sword into the dummy. He then slashed it five times, spun once and landed the blade right where the neck would be on a person.

“Precision is important,” said Philip. “Let me see what you’ve got in you, brother. Go on. Have at it.”

Nick took stance. Dual wielding two short swords, his arms moved at an incredible pace. He slashed the target with both swords twenty times over in the same amount of time Phillip landed his seven.

“You are fast, very fast. Agility is key out in that arena; you will need that on your side. But you also need to be smart. Do you plan on dual wielding short swords tomorrow?”

“I plan to, yes. I’ll be able to finish him faster that way,” replied Nick.

Phillip shook his head and looked at the floor, “No,” said Phillip. “No, you will not be dual wielding short swords. You save that for when you’re in the arena with a Paplon. When you fight a Reza you need to have a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. A Reza’s strong suit is long distance. Sure, they carry a sword with them but they will always prefer to blast fire and ice from their hands at you from a safe distance. You might be fast enough to dodge some attacks, but not all. A shield can save your face from burning off. Walking in there without a shield will result in you dying a painful death tomorrow.”

“Alright, then, I’ll use a shield tomorrow. Let me go grab a shield,” said Nick.

The two took turns practicing on the dummy for the next hour. Nick was back in his rhythm. His blazing fast blade made a few heads turn. Nick felt good hitting the dummy over and over. He felt a release of anger and tension as his wooden blade met with the bundle of hay.

The Refect came in to end the practice session. It was time to go back to their cells. Single file and orderly, the inmates marched back to their cells. Hours went by and it was time for dinner.

Same routine. The Refects came to open the cells and the inmates marched back to the kitchen. Nick got in line and got his hot mush of a meal and spotted Phillip at a table.

“Can I ask why you’ve been helping me?” asked Nick.

Phillip looked up to see Nick standing over the table, “Please sit,” replied Phillip. “I have seen too many new inmates come in and die within their first few matches. I am in here for six years. I was found guilty for three counts of murder. Two years for each. I don’t expect to ever get out of here. What I did I do not regret. The people I killed deserved it more than anyone I had ever encountered. I know I will not survive forever. One day in that arena someone better than me will take my life. But until that day, I want to kill as many bad souls as I possibly can. Fate put us all in here; we all deserve to die. But some of us, like myself and you, Nick, can, in fact, help rid Hentrio of despicable beings.”

Phillip took a sip of his water and continued, “See, I want to help you because you are young, and there is something that shines in you that no one else possesses in here. What I see is hope in you. You do not plan on dying on the sand out there, do you?”

“No,” replied Nick. “There are things in Hentrio that need my attention. I will not die in the arena.”

“That’s good to hear. It seems as though I’m not wasting my time. Then good,” said Phillip. “Tomorrow you will step foot in the arena. You will walk out and see the crowd. They will cheer and some will mock you. Before your fight, though, we will have a chance to train once again. Now, let me ask you again because you did not tell me this morning. What is your name?”

Nick was just finishing a bite of his mush and said, “We are not friends, remember, but my name is Nick Bint.”

The two finished up their dinner and did not speak of much else. They sat and Nick observed other tables. He saw the cliques that normally sat and trained with one another. So many inmates, so many crimes done collectively, and they all sat in the same room. He did not understand how the inmates were not ripping at each other’s throats, how could they all sit there and converse over a meal, he wondered. Chaos is what Nick anticipated when he first arrived, but perhaps the chaos was left for the arena. That’s when the true beast came out.

Nick went back to his cell and slept. He knew he needed the rest for his first fight.

He was awakened by the steps of the Refect. They started opening the cells, same routine. Breakfast was ready in the kitchen. Nick did not talk to anyone else, and no one else attempted to talk to him. He thought it made sense for the veterans to not even attempt to mingle with someone who had just arrived, someone who statistically would be dead soon.

Nick made his way over to a table where Phillip was sitting. Nick said, “Okay, so tell me about how Grimey fights. What do I need to look out for?”

“He is fast, just like you. Only he is fast with conjuring his magic; he has nearly perfected it. Have you ever seen a Reza fight?”

“No, not fight. But I have seen a few use their destruction magic a few times,” replied Nick.

“That’s good,” said Phillip. “At least you know what they can do. The Reza are an interesting race. They are trained with books at a young age of the magic that flows through them while we Paplon were trained with a sword. The point being that combat is part of all of us, every living person has it in them, whether they believe it or not. A Reza has the ability to conjure a fire or ice attack from their hands. They can do one at a time or do both simultaneously. The difference between all of them is their speed to produce the magic and the power behind the attack. Grimey possesses both power and speed unlike any I have seen. He fights at a distance. If someone tries to run up on him, he simply moves backwards or to the side while still attacking. The easiest way to defeat him would be to get close enough to use your sword. But you cannot do that if he moves around too much. You need to hinder his movements. If you can slice his leg, then you will be able to catch up to him. If not, you will have to rely on your running speed and blocking skills, which I myself would personally not want to rely on. How are you with a bow and arrow?”

“I can hit a stationary target most of the time. If he is moving it will be of no use,” said Nick.

Phillip thought for a second while scratching his chin. “Well, that’s not an option. What about throwing daggers? Some Paplon prefer one over the other, and some have no use of either.”

“I am better at throwing daggers than using a bow and arrow,” said Nick. “But I would need to get close enough to throw it. If I get close enough, hitting a leg is a hard target still. Hitting him in general would be tough, but I will have to try. The chances should be much higher for me using daggers over a bow and arrow.”

Nick knew a plan such as this did not have a huge success rate. Throwing daggers is very risky. So many things could go wrong; there were too many variables. He did not want to stake his life on whether he could throw a dagger well enough but it was his only choice. He had never really practiced any sort of long distance attacks when he was training to become a Refect. He always assumed he would learn at the academy where they had state of the art bow and arrows, spears, and throwing daggers.

***

Nick threw hundreds of wooden daggers over the span of the few hours they had to train. Some missed the target, but most of them he hit. But this was not a moving target; it was stationary. When the daggers hit the target they were not necessarily hitting the bundle of hay where the blade was on the dagger. It would land on its side or on the handle. Phillip helped his throw by telling him to let his fingers guide the dagger, and the momentum of his arm to put power behind the throw. If needed, the snap of his wrist could also help to guide his attack to the target. Nick was learning, but it was hard trying to master a skill in under a few hours.

Time was up. Nick was not confident in his new craft of throwing daggers. His thoughts began to consume him. Doubt filled his mind, doubt mixed with fear and anxiety. He had to put his life at risk in the arena within a few hours. Chances were that he would not survive.

Nick was looking down at the gravel beneath his feet in the dark dungeon with flickering lighting as candles and torches burned by the rocky walls. He looked towards Phillip and couldn’t help but say what was on his mind. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die out there today,” said Nick. “Just last week I was training to be a Refect, and now I’m here today about to face death in the arena. Life does not make sense if this is to be the result. I have to kill a man which I know nothing of in order to save my own life. It’s like we are savages. I don’t want to die out there in front of the spectacle of the arena crowd and be looked down upon as a savage. Nobody knows who I am.”

“Are you done, lad?” said Phillip. “My God, you sound like all of them. All of the new and hopeless recruits of the arena. You want to go out there and piss your pants while you cry for help, then be my guest. I understand you’re scared; everyone is at some point. But you have to understand one thing. You are a true warrior. I see it in you like I see in a few others amongst us. If throwing daggers fails, then you will have to cope with that out there and use your brain to kill him another way. Yes, you have to kill. That is the deal if you want to live. When you’re out there, just know the man you face is a terrible scum of Hentrio, while you are not. Stick your blade in him where it counts. Do not stop until you see the life drain from him, alright?

Nick nodded his head in agreement. He needed that pep talk, but he knew talk could only get him so far. In his mind he kept doubting himself. The Reza he would face was a proven warrior of the arena. He had killed numerous times. Nick had killed once, and that one time had had such purpose behind it. Nick had never been in a combat fight with real weapons. The doubts within his head were consuming him.

A Refect came into the dungeon.

“Alright, it’s match day, said the Refect, ”Today we will have four matches, which means...yes, four of you will die. Good riddance, I say. Right, so you, you, you, you, you scumbag, you, you, and you follow me,” he said as he pointed out the fighters of the match in the dungeon.

Everyone in the room had their eyes on the combatants, knowing very well that half of them would die. Nick looked over at Phillip and gave him a slight nod which was his way of saying thank you for the advice and training. Phillip reciprocated the action with confidence and gave him a half smile.