69. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Z oey
I don’t know how I did it, but I fell asleep in Steele’s arms shortly after he tucked me into bed last night. I’d been aroused. How could I resist his patient, provocative fingers, and the way his eyes darkened to navy as he soaped and rinsed me, his breath fanning my damp skin.
I’m not ready, though. I don’t know what needs to change, but I think if we have one more terrible attempt at mating, it will tear something asunder so irrevocably we’ll never be able to patch it back together. Our relationship is like Humpty Dumpty. It can’t sustain another fall.
We eat a quick breakfast, then hurry to the arena. We’ve repaired enough of the stands that we’ll have a place to sit, so now everyone is working on various obstacles.
As a child, I watched very little TV that wasn’t religious. I certainly never even heard of American Gladiator. But Savannah is a wealth of information as she gives us directions to complete the obstacles we started yesterday. I don’t know what I originally imagined when I heard the words “obstacle course,” but it certainly wasn’t the challenging set-up Savannah designed.
It’s fun to see everyone laboring together in the hot suns. Melodie gave me a cream she developed that will not only protect me from further sunburn but will help heal the burn from yesterday. I’m already feeling better.
When I think for a moment of how different we all are and yet how well we all get along, a warm feeling wells up inside me. I consider how angry and judgmental my father was about the color of people’s skin, how he wanted to keep all types of people separate. It’s so ridiculous that meaningless descriptors like skin color and the slant of a person’s eyes could determine a person’s worth.
Yet here we are, not just different colors, but different species, some with four arms, some furred, yet we mesh so well. We’ve formed this loving, caring community. My heart fills with pride.
Steele laughs and talks with the other males more than usual. He’s feeling increasingly comfortable leaving my side for more than the swiftest moment. I think it’s because I’m feeling more comfortable. I love watching him in his element, not worrying about me. He deserves to be independent and not give any thought to how his mate is doing.
I’m looking around, hoping we’re finished, when Naomi calls out to all of us, her voice booming over the laughter and good-natured arguing of the group.
“You guys ready for lunch? We’ve got sandwiches and salads. Get hydrated, and if you’re going to compete, make sure your name is on my list. You’ll be competing in pairs. Even if your competitor is eliminated, you should continue. Your time is being recorded. Half of you will be eliminated today, the rest will be competing on Blessed Peace Day before our feast. It will all come down to one—the last male or female standing. The winner will receive a prize, although I don’t know what that will be. Thoughts?”
“No chores for a week,” Melodie calls.
“Just one of the trinkets we found in Khour’s secret attic storeroom,” says Thran, holding up one finger. “Just one, that’s all I’m asking.” He raises his hands like it’s no big deal. I was part of the crew that found and inventoried some of Khour’s hoard. We’re talking priceless artifacts that cost more than what most people make in a lifetime.
“That’s a great idea,” Naomi nods with a smile. “Winner gets the golden statue of the eliary bug I keep on the bookshelf behind the books. It’s hideous but expensive. It will be a traveling trophy. Whoever wins the final competition will have to bring it back next year for our Blessed Peace Day celebration. I hope to make it an annual event.”
Everyone enthusiastically agrees.
I realize this is what a healthy family feels like. Everyone is accepted. No one has to perform. No one is being judged. Our differences are celebrated rather than reviled. And there’s way more laughter than fear. I’m shocked to realize I’m happy. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
We descend on the food we set up on the stepped, hard stone bleachers, then we all contort a bit so we can chat. Is there something magical in the Fairean air? I feel so comfortable here. Maybe it’s because no one is really in their element. We’ve all been thrown into a new circumstance and we’re all scrambling to find our place.
“Okay,” says Savannah over the loudspeaker after every morsel of food has been devoured. “Let me explain the course. You’re going to compete in pairs, starting at the balance beams we’ve constructed. If you get to the end of that obstacle, you’re going to go hand over hand on the hanging rings.”
I’ve seen rings similar to this in the Olympics, but these aren’t all hanging at the same height and equally distant from each other. Some are higher, some lower, and some will require a Herculean leap to get to the next because they’re so far away from each other.
I helped weave the rings yesterday, not knowing what they were for. They’re made out of thick, pliable vines that Bayne and Willa harvested from the forest. Revikk and Thran constructed a wooden frame to suspend thick ropes twenty feet off the ground. The rings are swinging in the breeze from the ropes even as I watch.
“After the rings,” Savannah continues, “drop to the sand and run. You’ll have to leap the four hurdles without touching them. FYI, when you clear the last one, you’re going to land in a pit filled with ten inches of water. Thank you, Dax,” she tips an imaginary hat in his direction, “for digging the pit.
“At this point, you’ll be at the far side of the arena.” She points to an area where the arena has been the most severely weathered. The benches are a memory, just crumbles of rock, yet the stone wall still stands.
“You’ll scale the natural rock wall, grab one of the ropes we’ve secured to the top, and rappel down.”
I’m glad I’m not competing. I couldn’t do one of these obstacles, let alone all of them, not to mention they’ll be timed. And Savannah’s not finished.
“See the twenty vine circles in the sand?” she asks as she points again.
I worked on those yesterday, too. They’re arranged like the tires I’ve seen on TV where football players have to step inside them quickly to build endurance. Endurance? I imagine the males will be reaching the end of their reserves by this far into the competition.
“If you miss one of the circles, or step on one, you’ll be eliminated. Then, at top speed, you’ll dodge the twenty stationary rock obstacles—you can go around or over them—then head for the finish line.
“Nova and I will be the judges for today’s competition. We each have a stick with a piece of red cloth tied to it.” She waves hers. “If we raise the flag and point to you, you’ve committed a fault and are eliminated. You must leave the competition immediately.”
The males, all so used to competing in matches that have no rules, grumble loudly. Savannah just waves her flag and says, “Any disputes over our decisions will be taken to Naomi.”
Naomi shrugs at the collective groan from the Sanctuary crew. I imagine her strong-willed reputation means she’ll not take kindly to disputes.
“There will be a surprise challenge which you will all see in a few moments.”
She looks at the group, a wide smile on her face, her eyes shining. She’s so excited. It’s obvious she’s in her element as she says, “Let’s get this party started. First up, by random drawing, we’re going to start with Shadow and Beast.”
The two males mount the makeshift steps to the balance beams, which are about five feet off the ground, thirty feet long, and six inches wide.
“You think you can best me, Beast?” Shadow taunts the captain of the Devil’s Playground .
“Are you forgetting you’re talking to a Pinnacle gladiator? One of only ten in the galaxy? Mating a good female has made you delusional,” Beast jeers as he points to the five gold piercings that span the bridge of his nose. They signify his status as a Pinnacle. He fought hard to earn that jewelry and I understand why he doesn’t let anyone forget it.
The two are facing away from the crowd, so I can’t hear more of their teasing, but I can see they’re still going back and forth with their jibes.
Too much testosterone. It happens whenever two or more gladiators are left in a room without feminine supervision.
“Dawn and Star have agreed to be our timekeeper and scorekeeper.” Savannah has raised her voice to be heard over their teasing argument. “Only the best ten contestants will go to the next round. Ready, set, go!”
The males hurry across the beams effortlessly. It’s surprising. They’re big and muscular, but when you look at them, you don’t realize how agile they are. I should have known better. I’ve seen them spar and fight in matches for the last two years. They’re strong as Hercules and limber as ballerinas.
In true gladiator fashion, before they get halfway across the beam they start grabbing and pushing each other to throw their opponent off. No flag from Savannah or Nova. I guess this is allowed.
When they each get to the end of their beam, they seamlessly jump to the rings. The ropes are swinging and at different heights. Because it requires timing and concentration, they’re too engrossed in the task to try to push each other off. No, I take that back. They each get a good kick in at their opponent before they hurry forward. The males are fast as monkeys and in such great shape it’s not surprising neither of them fell.
They both hit the ground running heading toward the first hurdle within a second of each other, then come to an abrupt halt as Wardog and Beauty stand in their way. Wardog is the canine shifted form of Bayne. When Willa became Bayne’s mate, his bite eventually allowed her to find her inner beast. She can now shift to smaller but equally intimidating Beauty.
Wardog is at least half again as large as a Saint Bernard. His body is brindle, chocolate, and auburn. There is something almost leonine about him because of the way his wild auburn mane haloes his face. He spent years in his canine form fighting in gladiator arenas.
Beauty is aptly named. Her fur is a warm caramel, and her tail and mane are a mix of caramel and the same color brown as Willa’s hair. Willa’s brown eyes are identical to the luminous brown eyes gazing intently at Shadow and Beast. She never fought in arenas, but she looks like she could hold her own against any one of our males.
Their two-inch fangs are on display. Are they going to fight?
“Don’t worry. These two are in play-mode,” Savannah assures us. “The shifted-animal selves are separate but connected to Bayne and Willa. They have control over their behavior… I hope.”
That’s not the least bit reassuring.
I’ve never seen our second-in-command look nervous, but right this moment, Shadow looks uneasy as he holds up his hands and slowly backs away. WarDog and Beauty ignore Beast and set their focus on Shadow. Both leap at the same time and take the big guy to the sand.
The people in the stands erupt in laughter as Shadow struggles to break free of them, as their tongues attempt to lick every square inch of his almost-naked body. Their yipping can be heard all the way to the stands as they attempt to lick and simultaneously rub their soft fur all over him. All of a sudden, Shadow shouts as if he were speared with a sword, then giggles.
“He’s ticklish,” his mate Petra divulges, as if any of us hadn’t already come to that conclusion on our own.
“Help!” He gasps through uncontrollable laughter. Although he’s pulled himself into a tight ball, the two canines aren’t stopping.
Savannah waves her flag, unable to hide her wide smile. WarDog and Beauty back off and sit on their haunches. Their tongues are lolling and there is an unmistakable grin on both muzzles as the huge warrior with the prosthetic eye and arm surrenders.
Shadow’s comment, “… filing a formal protest,” drifts to our ears.
“Take it up with Naomi,” Savannah chokes out as she tries to regain her composure.
All eyes are now on Beast, who stopped a few feet away from the tangle of fur and flesh. He’s bent over at the waist, hands on his knees, laughing. Nova’s flag goes up.
“Fault. Failure to complete the race and unsportsmanlike conduct. Laughing at a male when he is down,” she says with contempt, although when Shadow was writhing on the ground as the pair of dogs licked him, she was laughing so hard she could barely contain herself.
“Everyone else was laughing at him,” Beast splutters as he straightens.
“Take it up with Naomi,” Nova smirks as she puts out a “talk to the hand” motion.
Beast holds out his palm to Shadow, who is still lying on the sand mumbling about being bested by a couple of canines. Beast hauls him to his feet, puts an arm around his shoulders, and says, “We live to fight another day. Let’s toast with some Mirasian ale.” The two walk back to the stands with their heads held high and wide smiles on their faces. Who says big, tough gladiators can’t have fun?
The rest of the heats progress without incident. The shifters continue to get in everyone’s way and provide obstacles of their own, but they’ve restrained themselves from licking until the males cross the finish line.
Even though gladiators are the most competitive people in the galaxy, they’re all having a blast, and as each pair crosses the finish line, Shadow hands them a mug of cool Mirasian ale.
Savannah calls the last two competitors, Steele and Dhoom. Dhoom is older than the rest of the males. He was one of the eight who were recently freed from that underground dungeon. They were all unhealthy and emaciated, but he certainly looks as though he hasn’t missed any meals lately. And of course there’s his savage countenance and red eyes hinting that Steele’s competition isn’t going to be a walk in the park.
Steele fights competitively more than any of the males on the Fool’s Errand . He’s told me he doesn’t hate it, but he doesn’t get joy out of it. He does it because of the type of male he is. He’s protective not just of me, but of every male and female in our group. We need the credits, and he has the skills to earn them in the arena. I assume he’ll win handily over the big red-haired male who spent long months underground.
Dhoom and Steele begin, as every other pair of fighters has before them, with some good-natured trash-talk.
When the competition begins, Steele launches quickly and arrives at the end of the balance beam while Dhoom is only at the halfway mark. By the time Steele works his way to the last hanging ring, Dhoom still has five rings to go.
Steele hits the sand and collapses to the ground, holding his ankle. I jump to my feet. Did he just twist his ankle? Break his leg? Then I catch a good glimpse of his face. He’s not in pain. His head is down as he watches Dhoom from the corner of his eye. He gets to his feet as Dhoom drops beside him.
Dhoom stops, breathing hard. “You good?” he asks Steele who wiggles his foot, puts weight on it, and rises up and down on his toes a few times.
“Just landed wrong. I’m fine,” Steele assures him.
I really don’t care whether my handsome male wins or loses. It fills my heart with pride that instead of trouncing Dhoom, whose muscles haven’t fully recovered from his ordeal, he’s giving the male a fighting chance.
They continue the rest of the course, with Steele making small missteps or holding back a little. When he hits the water after the fourth hurdle, he falls into it, and then his wet hands slip on the rock wall a few times. He chooses to go over the boulders, rather than taking the easy way around.
He’s being careful to keep an even playing field so as not to hurt Dhoom’s pride. Even the canines aren’t interfering.
It’s finally a true race after Steele jumps to the ground from a boulder and they both sprint the rest of the way.
They arrive at the finish line close to the same time, although Steele is about half a foot ahead of Dhoom.
“Dead heat!” Steele roars as he throws his hands up in the air, then slaps his competitor on the back. “Let’s drink to that competition with a shot of Sillerian whiskey tonight,” he says with a happy smile. Dhoom is bent over, gasping for breath, with an equally wide smile on his face.
Everyone is on their feet clapping, cheering, and stomping their feet in support of both males. This touches my heart so deeply I need a moment to catch my breath. I dip my head so Steele won’t see how brightly my eyes are shining.
My dad wasn’t a nice man. He didn’t believe in what he called “coddling” kids. Which meant he didn’t believe in treating children like children. He taught me chess, and we played often ever since I was in preschool. He never let me win. I always had to play on my own merits—no quarter given. Yeah, no quarter given was not only one of the sayings he used on his preschool child, it was how he lived his life.
He expected far more from me than I could accomplish. I wonder what it would have been like to have a dad like Steele who would have let me win now and then, just so he wouldn’t steal my self-esteem.
The answer strikes me with the force of a hammer. I would be a different person. I’d feel more worthwhile.
Then I have an even more thunderous revelation. Have I been expecting Steele to make me whole? Have I demanded his constant presence, his constant nurturing because I didn’t get what I needed as a kid?
I turn away from the group for a moment as a wave of nausea hits. Of course I have daddy issues. Duh. No one could grow up with my father and not have them. But that I’ve forced them on Steele? That’s unfair. And kind of sick.
Suddenly, I have a revelation. I don’t care what I lived through as a child. Everyone here lived through torment. At least I was never beaten or raped. I had it easy. And. I. Am. Over. It! I feel something release inside me. I feel truly free for the first time in my life.
I want to jump on top of the bench I’m sitting on and scream to the crowd that my past is behind me. But I have a better idea. And I don’t have to wait too long to make it happen. I’m going to do it tonight.