Chapter 110

I remember the rest of that day with a strange emotional detachment. In the midst of the upheaval in my life—the constant strain, the endless stress, the days of exertion and peril—it wouldn’t have been entirely unpleasant to be required to lie in bed under doctor’s orders. But the immobility of it was utterly galling. The idea that I was lying there, with clean linens and a soft pillow, while Father might be dying of thirst or running from the Horde somewhere in the wilds was impossible to pull my thoughts from.

I know, you want to ask what my feelings were. Haven’t I spent most of this tale describing a deeply narcissistic and emotionally withdrawn excuse for a parent? Have I not already hovered on the verge of stating that I had no love for the man? These things are true. And, have no doubt, they played on my mind as the sun crept lower in the sky. But I’ve been around long enough to appreciate the difficult feelings I experienced at that time. Father was, after all, the greatest goal in my life until I discovered the immense power of the suit. I had been programmed, controlled, and stunted into a being that existed to serve his purposes. And that is, of course, brutal.

But the narrow perspective I had of the world had still been formed by his hands, and I confused loyalty and trained devotion for love. I don’t know if I’m trying to say there was no real love there... but... he was my parent, the only one I had ever known.

Departing the hospital was an impossibility. At intervals during the day, I was brought to a room—almost an altar in the hospital—to experience further treatments from the relic. I couldn’t begin to understand the nature of the ancient machinery, but I sat in a chair, and the equipment hummed loudly. Anything metal I had on my person had to be removed before taking my seat. The humming would intensify, my thinking would grow oddly clouded and hazy, and I would find myself lying in bed again.

Dr. Martha assured me that it was necessary if I wanted to make as full and as swift a recovery as possible. The machine was a miracle, and I needed to take full advantage of that miracle. As clear as it was that I had surpassed Lance on an individual basis, I could not afford to increase his odds in any way. My family’s position depended on it. My father’s life might depend on it. And a future existing in the near-perfect euphoria of the power and senses of the suit depended on it.

Sleep itself was not so hard to grasp. After repeated treatments, my thoughts seemed to melt like butter on a warm sill, and eventually, thoughts of Griid-suits and fathers were shed for the embrace of nothingness.

***

I awoke to the confusion most of us experience in such situations. It was fleeting. The sense of disorientation as I stared at the unfamiliar room faded quickly, replaced almost instantly by one thought: tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit. There were no staff present in the room, and the beeping machine was turned off. Had Dr. Martha told me I was finished as she led me back from the relic last night? I felt like I recalled such, but the confusion triggered by the treatment left me unsure.

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I tried to take stock of myself and realized I felt normal. In fact, I felt rested—more rested than I had since the entire ordeal of the Choosing had started. A bit cautiously, I swung my legs out of bed and placed my bare feet on the floor. I was wearing a lined nightdress that I assumed had been provided for me. I stood up and found I had regained all, or almost all, of my sense of balance. My clothes and gear were stacked on a small locker near the door. I had done my resting; I had business to attend to. Tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit.

I was most of the way through dressing when the door cracked open, and Dr. Martha’s placid face peered in. She observed my state of readiness and smiled softly. "I'm impressed this is the first effort you've made to free yourself from us."

I said, "I'm... I'm finished, am I not?"

She nodded gently. "That you are. There's no more the relic can do for you. Without treatment, an injury like that could have killed you, and even if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been in any fit state for your contest tomorrow. I think you have better than good odds of finding yourself without ill effects by then. All the same, I wouldn’t recommend exertion today—and certainly not head trauma." She smiled with a touch of mirth at that last comment.

As I pulled on my boots, I said, "Doctor, I want to thank you for everything."

She moved across the room and crouched beside my chair. Reaching out, she took the straps of my boots in her hands and fastened them herself. As her hands worked, she looked up at me and said, "It was my duty, Tiberius. And more than that, it was my pleasure. Go out there tomorrow and strike a blow for the common man. Your name is on everyone’s lips today. Even with the news of The Rising in the south, it is your efforts that obsess the man and woman on the street."

I was slightly surprised. I appreciated that she knew there was no point in trying to stop me from entering the arena after my concussion, but her outright encouragement caught me off guard.

I said, "Th-thank you. I will."

She finished buckling my boot, stood up, and patted my shoulder. "I'll be able to tell my grandchildren I helped mend Tiberius, the Sword of Boston. And that I tied his shoes." She smiled again and moved toward the door. Turning her head, she added, "Stop at the desk and let the nurse know you're leaving. I have other patients to attend to who are far less responsible for their own injuries." She smiled once more with humor, then said, "Good luck tomorrow," and was gone.

I gazed after her for a moment and then rose. Tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit.

I couldn't dally here—I had one single day to prepare for the biggest fight of my life. Today was a traditional day of debauched feasting, and the city would be in chaos. Moving about would be torture for anyone, let alone me, the focus of much of the revelers' enthusiasm. But as I stood there, looking at the door that led out of this room—the door that led me on the short path to my destiny—I was pleased by the clarity I felt. My mind was crystal clear. There were three things I needed to do today, important things.

And tomorrow, I would fight Lance for the suit.