Chapter 11

Bad in the Blood

I’m clutching at my chest when I come awake gasping. Panicked and sweaty I sit up. The Last thing I remember is a snake creature from the world of shadow and I were trying to eat each other. It had been winning. Weirdly I don’t seem to be dead or missing any body parts. I’m sore. But it’s the same injuries I went to Saffron with. There isn’t even a mark where the snake bit me.

It turns out I am in my own cot. Which means I wasn’t hurt enough to end up in the tower. Whatever venom had been pumped through my veins must have had some magical property to prevent it from killing me. Maybe it went back to the world of shadows when the creature did? I don’t know how this stuff works. I do know I’m not dead. Not dead and the familiar if terrible scents of my hall in the BloodRock compound are wafting through my nostrils. I think it’s early evening as I see a few covered torches burning. There are only a few of the boys around and no one is sleeping. Just as my breathing and heart calm down from the excitement of the dreamt memory I notice another smell. Just as familiar, but utterly out of place here. Rain on hot stone. I’ve heard people say they love that smell, lots of people honestly. They talk about fond memories and lazy afternoons. I don’t love it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. It’s the smell of punishment, the smell of fear, and burned flesh. The smell of Atar BloodRock up close.

“ I didn’t lose”. I hiss. Launching myself to my feet before I’ve even seen him.' where'

Spinning about, I eventually catch sight of him. Massive and muscled, red-skinned, and dripping burning rock. My breath catches and I bring my fists up protectively in front of my face. He hasn’t said anything yet. He is just standing there expression utterly neutral. It won't stay that way. Oh no, I know why he’s here. BloodRock deals with losers personally. With torturous slowness, he pulls a pipe from his belt. Packs it with dried leaf of some sort and ignites it with a little dab of his spit on a finger.

“ I didn’t”. I say again glaring at the man who owns me. He doesn’t reply right away of course. He’s dragging it out. So he takes a long inhale from the pipe. I’m reminded of Gori smoking his Karata. Though BloodRock’s pipe is a little more on the fancy side, fancier than an apple at least.

Without warning he drops the pipe and rushes me. I’m faster than him. A lot faster in a situation like this where he doesn’t have time to get some momentum going. The problem is I don’t have anywhere to go. I can only set my feet and brace for the collision. When we collide I fight him. I always fight him. Scratching, punching, even biting. None of it matters. Not only is he strong in a way that stretches credulity but his blessings make fighting him unarmed all but impossible. Every boy in the compound could attack him at once and all we would get out of it would be burned flesh and broken bones.

It’s his flesh. He does something magical and his red skin becomes that same liquid fire that drips from his hair.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the biggest, the best, the scariest around. He hurls me back against the wall with contemptuous ease. My instincts kick in and I’m staggering to my feet before I even realise what I’m doing. It’s pointless. There are real monsters in this world. It doesn’t matter how hard I work, I will never be able to join them. BloodRock wasn’t just born this way. He was designed. His parents had been the final step in a multi-generational program to create him. Mine had sold me for roughly the price of a half sack of seeds.

There is no path from where I started to where he is, and there never will be. I still ball my fists and bring them to my face. He won’t go easy on me just because I don’t fight back.

The moment he is within reach I throw a straight punch at his face. It won’t hurt him. It can’t hurt him, but It will fill his vision and I might get a chance to slip past. I’m wrong. BloodRock makes no effort to defend himself. I feel the heat of his skin just before my fist lands and the scorching pain of burning liquid a moment later. A tiny amount of the flaming fluid splatters when I connect with the blow. That doesn’t matter, neither do the burns on my hand. I’m already ducking down to dash past his left side.

A huge fist looping into an uppercut is there to greet me. The old bastard has predicted me. I manage to snap both my arms in front of my face before the blow lands, but I am moving into the punch. Meaning my momentum will add even more power to the excess BloodRock already possesses. He connects with my guard driving my own fists into my mouth with enough force to crack one of my teeth and hurl me right back into the wall. My head spins and my eyes water. But I still try to pull myself to my feet.

“ I didn’t lose” I manage groggily, hoping to buy myself a little time. “They cheated.”

“You lost” He practically spits the reply. I don’t notice the punch accompanying it until it's slamming into my midsection. Old man BloodRock has always been accurate, and he has no trouble hitting me in the liver. A half moment later I’m collapsing again. My body simply refuses to let me rise.

“You lost to a cheat so simple an infant could have avoided it.” He delivers a kick to my chest. He must have held back as it only knocks the breath from my lungs rather than breaking anything.

“Just don’t kill the other kid!” He is starting to shout now.

“ You pathetic child. How difficult is that?!” He kicks me again, and again, and again. At some point, I curl around myself with my hands over my head.

“ but that's not it. Is it?” He says leaning down to spit a gob of his burning saliva on me. The sharp pain of the sizzling spit breaks through the haze beaten into my brain.

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“ You didn’t even try to find a way to win that wouldn’t kill him did you?” It’s not really a question, and I don't reply.

“I told Muraab this when he first brought you here. I don’t want a hyena. Every one of you is bad in the blood. Too angry, too stupid, and too determined to kill everything.” He shakes his head. “He swore to me he would make a winner out of you, and I agreed since the only place for your useless kind is the pit anyway.” His tone has calmed to a simmer but the rage hasn’t gone out of him. Far from it.

“ And what do you do? You get hurt constantly, You injure my pitters and lose me bets. It would save us all time if I just let you rob me!”

He hauls me to my feet by an arm and I choose that moment to strike. Twisting in his grip I slash an elbow across his face. My skin scorches, and some of my fur burns away in a flash. But it’s worth it. Unlike a punch, this particular type of elbow strike is intended to split skin not smash into his face. It works, I open a gash above his left eye. He doesn't bleed exactly. I’m not sure he even has blood. It won’t even last more than a few heartbeats. His non-skin closing back over in mere moments. But the thick burning liquid does leak down from his brow. It won’t burn him but it does blind him in one eye. When BloodRock reaches up to wipe his face with his free hand he can’t see me at all. This is it, my chance to escape. Maybe I can get away till the old man calms down. He will still punish me with some demeaning task when he remembers, but that will happen anyway. And I would very much like to avoid the rest of my beating if I can. My arms and side already feel like I walked through a rockslide. I don’t want to endure any more of this. Putting my other hand on the one of his holding my wrist I force the last ounces of strength into my aching arms and try to jerk free. The key to escaping a grip is usually sudden explosive movement. Even against a stronger opponent a sudden burst of force at the right moment can win you freedom. Either I picked my moment poorly or there simply is no key to this lock. BloodRock’s hand is an Iron vice. One that doesn’t budge a hair despite my best efforts. I can’t escape. Fine! I move on to my all-purpose backup plan. Lunging my head forward I snap my jaws shut on his wrist. I bite down with bone-crunching force. Ignoring the horrible heat flooding my mouth and scalding my gums. My cracked tooth aches at the sudden change in temperature, but I ignore that too. Driving my teeth together as hard as they will go. I hope to break through that layer of protective burning liquid and actually rend muscle or splinter bone. BloodRock smirks and I realise my mistake. From my perspective I’m biting into his arm, forcing a struggle to see what will give out first. My mighty jaws or his elemental magic. From his perspective, I have pointlessly locked myself in place. In a panic, I try to get my mouth off his arm. But it's not up to me anymore. BloodRock drives forward, and the arm I'm biting pins my head against the wall. If I live through this I might have to find somewhere else to sleep as I have decided I hate the wall near my bed. With his free hand, he unleashes a series of fast punches to my now immobile face. They aren’t anywhere near the hardest blows the houselord can throw. But trapped against the wall as I am, the force has nowhere to go. It's like being pummelled on the ground all over again.

I stop biting down after the first bit of his not-blood burns its way down my throat. If I swallow too much of the stuff I won’t need to worry about a beating, I’ll be dead.

The barrage of punches ends, and he drops me to the ground. My face doesn't hurt too bad right now. But it will, and soon.

My lips and much of the inside of my mouth are burned. The tooth that had cracked earlier has graduated to shattered. My face is a mass of bruises and burns, my ribs aren't much better. It hurts to breathe and I pray nothing is broken.

Old man BloodRock stands over me panting. His fists are still clenched but he hasn't hit me again since dropping me like the spice sacks in his delivery yard. " Who owns you?" He hisses. I want to tell him I hate him or to kill himself. Something, anything to show that there is still fight left in me. There isn't though. All I want is for him to leave me alone, and I'll say anything right now if it means the beating will stop. "BlughdRolk" I manage to force through swollen lips. "Who do you obey?" He continues. Its like some perverse parody of the house's pre-fight ritual. "BlughdRock". After a few deep breaths, I whisper again. Eye's pressing shut as though if I clench them hard enough I won't notice the shame flowing out from my chest.

"Who is going to fucking kill you if you ever disobey him in public again?"

"Blood...Rock" I say the word with care. Getting it out slowly but properly. I want to show the old man I'm still tough. Still the best. I'm not sure why I think saying his name correctly will prove that, but I do. It might have even worked as BloodRock pauses for a moment and some sort of non-rage-based expression crosses his face. My vision is blurry with pain and tears so it's hard to tell exactly. He crouches down beside me. "You embarrassed me today, and I don't like being embarrassed North." I can't help it. I cringe back pulling myself into more of a ball. "But you might have earned yourself a chance to make it up to me."

'What is he talking about?' Hope mingles with the shame in my chest. Even now some part of me is desperate to earn this man's regard. I try to tell myself it's all practical. I just don't want my rations cut or to receive more beatings. But I know in my heart it's almost the same feelings I have towards Muraab. Though tinged with a lot more hatred. BloodRock is a legend, an icon, and my role model since I was young. I want him to be proud of me. Almost as much as I want to kill him.

“Your little tantrum somehow got attention from the BlackMists. They want you to fight in the end-of-season duos.” I blink a few times, the end of the season is always solos….OH. He means the actual seasons, the weather.

House BlackMist likes to host their events on magically significant days. They hold a series of mid-tier tournaments just before the weather changes and the storm season begins. It might not be a major but as Youth tournaments go this will be big. Attending is cheaper, so the audiences are huge. It’s also an opportunity to get attention and maybe snag an invite or two for the truly massive tournaments later in the year. Silently I am already thanking Resh. Admittedly I did live up to my end of the bargain. He wanted me to do something memorable, and I had. I'd even waved at his sisters, sort of.

I meet the old man’s gaze and nod. It hurts too much to keep talking right now, but I want him to know I understand. After a moment he smiles kindly at me. It’s an expression that has no right to look so natural on his face. “Good.” He says standing. The motion causes him to wince, and I get a tiny spark of spiteful pleasure. 'Shouldn’t be crouching down with your bad knees old man.' I make sure to keep my swollen face as neutral as possible. The last thing I want to do is antagonise him into hurting me further.

Thankfully after another silent moment, he turns to leave, stalking out of the sleeping hall. It's only after he’s gone I realise I have no idea who my partner will be or how long I have to prepare.