Chapter 8
FIGHT CLUB
My conversation with Gerald ended when four older women entered the hut.
I remained seated before the fire as they settled items around me.
A bundle of clothing, each garment lined with fur.
Small bottles of perfumed oils that smelled faintly of vanilla pods and wood smoke.
A pitcher of water, threadbare rags, and a clay bowl containing a meager handful of bruised berries and wilted leaves.
Unmistakable hunger glinted in their eyes as they repeatedly glanced at the food.
My throat tightened. I accepted each gift as gratitude warred with guilt. They’d given me the best they had; I knew it. But more than the offerings, they’d placed their hopes in my hands, expecting me, the so-called oracle, to save their families from starvation.
How very different from my first visit, when I was chained to a bed and slathered with “spices” to sweeten my meat.
But…the water. The pitcher sat to the left of me. Droplets slid down the sides and pooled on the floor, glimmering like liquid diamonds and wafting the most sublime perfume.
“Where did you get this water?” I breathed out, collecting a droplet. It immediately absorbed into my skin, and I laughed with delight. That tickled.
“It came from our south well, Oracle,” one of the women said with a tinge of confusion.
Did she not know how special this water was? As I inhaled, its very life force filled my lungs, infused my bones, and energized my cells. Even my ears reacted, sounds suddenly sharpened. A faint drip. A continuous ripple. Almost as if the water…breathed.
Magnificent.
“They’ll bring you to the arena when you’re ready,” Gerald told me, giddy again. “Your friend will slay the monstra, and we’ll feast.”
The women cheered.
“Give her silence,” he told them, and they immediately went quiet. “Let her focus inward. She’s foreseen a great store of meat in our future and must only perceive where it hides. She told me so!”
His excitement spread until the atmosphere vibrated with anticipation. He exited then, leaving us with the faint echo of his boots crunching the frozen earth outside.
My hut mates dipped the rags in the living water and wiped the grime from my skin. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensations.
Silent as ordered, they followed the water with scented oils. It was only then that I realized the claw wounds Jasher gave me were gone. Healed as if I’d taken serpens-rosa, a medication able to mend the worst of wounds in minutes.
An ingredient in Elowen’s serum?
The women stripped away my mother’s sapphire blue dress and replaced it with the fur-lined garments—a dress and leggings softer than anything I owned.
When they finished, they pushed the bowl of berries and leaves my way, urging me to eat.
“You guys share this,” I told them. They refused at first, shaking their heads. I forced a smile, adding, “I’ll think better on an empty stomach.”
That convinced them. With gratitude and reverence etched into their features, they each took a berry and a pinch of leaves, as if they were handling rich, rare chocolate. The sight pierced me straight through the ribs.
They were almost drunk with happiness as they brushed and braided my hair.
So badly I wanted to ask about the Ember of Everlight, but after Gerald’s horrified reaction, I didn’t dare. Instead, I retreated into my head, cobbling together a plan from shards of dread and hope.
Goal: Leave the camp with Jasher uninjured…without running away from Gerald.
Impossible?
Bonus: Find food for the people before we escaped.
And what about the monstra?
Soon, Jasher would be forced to battle it. I wasn’t worried about the outcome. Not physically, at least. He’d fought one before and emerged victorious. Emotionally, however…
He considered the monstra his brothers. Had only killed one to save me and our friends.
Perhaps he would view this battle the same way?
My head ducked. No. No, he wouldn’t. Right now, he hated me. He wanted me dead. At least he couldn’t blame me for the coming battle.
Gerald had promised I could “speak with” Jasher afterward. A conversation that would hopefully occur while everyone else celebrated his victory. Their distraction, our gain. I could sneak him out then. Maybe. Hopefully. With the cuffs on his wrists, he’d have to cooperate.
If only I had access to my ring-power, allowing me to summon the golden armor and the accompanying sword of fire.
Though I’d failed before, I lifted my hand, willing my mother’s beloved ring to appear. Unlike my first visit to Hakeldama, there was no mark, shadow, or shimmer beneath my skin. My shoulders rolled in. We were on our own.
The women urged me to stand. My legs shook from nerves or hunger or both. Together, the group led me into the night. And there was Cluck Cluck, out of the crate and tethered with a rope. She perched in the dirt and opened her mouth, squawking, but the cold wind snatched the sound of her voice.
My poor, darling chicken. If I could have, I would’ve marched over and saved her from gracing the menu.
Had I ever eaten chicken? Yes. Would I again? Yes. But this was the brave, resilient Cluck Cluck. Shouldn’t she love her life before she lost it?
A young girl, maybe ten years old, strolled by as we moved forward. I did a double take. Iris, no doubt about it. She was pink from head to toe. Same face, just two decades younger.
My hands curled into fists. “Tell your mom betrayal comes with a cost,” I called.
She craned her neck, stuck out her tongue, then raced off laughing. Carefree, she twirled as she disappeared in the forest.
I worked my jaw as my escorts urged me onward.
Winter pressed close, sharp and merciless, but my new clothes kept me warm.
A thick blanket of shadows draped the village, and those, too, seemed to watch me.
Fire pits hissed and spit and painted the array of homes in flickers of gold and red.
The air smelled of smoke, pine sap, and metal.
In the distance, chants of “kill the monstra” rose and broke like waves against a shore. Had the fight already started?
I quickened my pace. By the time we reached a torchlit clearing with a makeshift coliseum, I was ready to come out of my skin.
Relief washed over me when I saw the arena.
No fight yet. Gerald perched atop a dais with Thomas, the two talking between swigs of what might be ale.
Women with pots dished the thick liquid to waiting spectators.
Spirits were high and only escalating as I made my way up the steps to join the leader and his son.
Every smile of hope dropped another hundred pounds of weight on my shoulders.
“Good. She’s here,” Gerald called, patting the empty spot on his left.
I spotted a small, clear vial hanging from his neck. Inside it, a single, crystal grain bounced with his movements. A grain I recognized. Serpens-rosa. Extremely difficult to obtain.
Excitement sparked in me. Must have it.
He noticed my noticing and hurried to tuck the vial beneath his shirt. Out of sight, but not out of my mind.
“Bring out the beasts!” he commanded as I eased down.
Cheers resounded, a wild clang of thunder echoing through the coliseum. I gripped my knees to steady myself as the stands trembled. Then, two massive doors yawned open below, one north, one south. Once again, tension swept me into its current.
From the north burst the monstra, a nightmare made flesh.
A grotesque fusion of fur and scale, its hide mottled, its crimson eyes glittering with unfiltered rage.
Too many fangs to count crowded its elongated snout, each tooth dripping with drool that hissed when it struck the sand.
Gnarled wings snapped open with a sound like tearing metal, the tips sharp enough to shred air itself.
A chain leash snapped taut, preventing it from traveling too far. It roared, then sprayed fire, drenching half of the arena in a haze of smoke and burning grit.
My palms slicked with sweat.
From the southern cubby, Jasher emerged. He didn’t run, just strolled into the inferno as though bored, his axes loose in his hands. The shackles still circled his wrists, but the connecting chain had been severed, as promised.
The cheers came again, deafening. When the monstra sighted him, it stilled. The crowd went silent. I stilled, even my heartbeat.
Jasher didn’t break stride. He stopped close enough for the monstra’s breath to stir his hair. As the creature sniffed him, Jasher dropped one axe into the dirt.
Gasps rippled through the throng.
“Kill it!” young Thomas bellowed, pumping his fist.
“Kill it!” his father echoed, and soon the chant rolled through the stands. “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”
I pressed a trembling hand to my twisting stomach. If Jasher refused to fight… if the beast refused to fight… if they chose each other…
Gerald would have his men kill Jasher. Unlike his brethren, he was only half-shifted. He wasn’t indestructible.
Jasher circled behind the beast, his shadow stretching long over the sand. The monstra allowed the action, head swinging to follow him. When he raised his remaining axe, I thought, hoped, he would finally strike.
He slammed the blade into the chain that fettered his opponent to the arena.
The clang reverberated like a death knell.
Gasps of shock quickly turned into cries of protest. Fear thickened the air.
Gerald shot to his feet. I wasn’t far behind.
Jasher didn’t care. Biceps flexing, he struck again. The chain groaned but didn’t give.
“Archers!” Gerald bellowed. The bowmen lining the perimeter rose from the shadows, lifting their weapons, arrows nocked and drawn.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, then shouted, “Jasher, stop!”
He froze, axe raised mid-air.
“As you can see,” I said to Gerald, voice breaking, “he obeys me. Tell your men to stand down, and I’ll make him kill it.” Unless there was another way. Surely I could think of something.
Think, think.
But no ideas sprouted.