Chapter 13

The Scent of Blood

Back inside Hall Three, I start trying to get my hands on some medicine. Nothing so grand as the surgeries or magic you get in the tower of course. But with how often we get hurt you will often find some slave-made stichline, bandages, or even a poultice if you are lucky. I don't have much to trade at the moment. But after offering a few favors and a few more threats of violence I manage to put together enough that I can clean and patch myself a little. There isn't anything I can do about the pain from my ribs when I breathe but I'm increasingly confident they aren't broken.

Sitting on my cot with my little haul of bad-smelling goo that is supposed to help with swelling, some stitchline, and damp rags to clean myself with.

I shouldn't have tried so hard to get this stuff. In the end, all I can do is rub the poultice on myself and clean some of the blood out of my fur. I wish I could have a bath but hall three is at least a week away from that. On the upside, I'll get to go first when it happens. Assuming I'm still the top slave in this hall when bathing day comes around that is.

I do not sleep well that night. I’m not sure you could even call it sleeping at all if I’m being honest. More like laying in a haze with my eyes closed. I do drift off once but the pain in my ribs when I roll over soon puts a stop to that. So I just lay there. Doing my best not to think about anything. It’s a losing battle. One I forfeit after several turns of the hourglass.

Irritated, sore, and stiff. I’m surprised to find I’m not that tired. So I sit up. The hall is dimly lit by a single night Lantern. I can tell by the height of the flame that dawn is still a ways away but I’m not getting back to sleep. Not a chance. So instead I remove my stitches. The damn things have been in me past the point I’m willing to put up with them.

It’s an uncomfortable process sitting there on my bed in the flickering light of just one Lantern. They don’t let us keep knives or anything, but I dig a sharpened piece of bone I’d found years ago out of my bunk chest. It’s not even contraband. I could never threaten one of the guards with this. It would be laughable. I’d have more luck using my teeth. It does however cut through the stitching in my side with only a little effort.

Next is the really fun part. Pulling the stitches. It doesn’t hurt exactly but the feeling I can only describe as a sense of wrongness makes me wince every time I pull one of the pieces of line out of my flesh.

If the odds of me getting back to sleep had been bad before they were now non-existent. So I tuck my bit of bone back into my chest and stand to get some water. Each hall has a communal barrel the serviles keep filled for us. It’s cool and clean-tasting. BloodRock might be a monster but he’s not stupid. We are his product and he can’t have us getting sick from bad water. Next is stretches. Every single day no matter how they hurt, no matter how they annoy me. They’re important. Maybe the only thing that has kept me in fighting shape sometimes. They might even be part of why BloodRock pitters are consistently the best. Every few years he brings in a mountain woman from somewhere up north to teach us how to do it properly. She’s old and a little insane but I like her. She yells at the humans just as much as she does the rest of us. That done I don’t really know what to do with myself. It will be several turns of the hourglass before morning training and then breakfast. The thought of training makes my heart sink. I’ll be back with the kids again today. It means jostling for respect and competing with the boys around me. The adults are different. They have their own hierarchy and couldn’t care less about me. It meant getting to just train without worrying about some kid tripping you from behind or looking out for opportunities to do the same to them. On the upside unless there has been some huge infusion of talent while I've been away. I will be the best of the bunch again. Sparring full-grown Pit slaves had been a great learning experience. It had also been quite a painful and humbling one. It would be nice to be a dragon among griffons again.

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My stretching had revealed several areas of stiffness in my body. A lot of swelling too. Needless to say, I am more purple than skin coloured at the moment. Bruises even showing through my furred spots. “BloodRock” I mutter in disgust. The memories of my beating the previous evening rushed back to me. He had made me say his name like a little mantra. The way I feel right now If I knew which of my bones was the forspoken stone I would bite it out this very moment. No matter the consequences. No matter the injury. That isn’t an option though, is it? It could be anywhere in me. Visions of bloody self-surgery and escape quashed. I let out a frustrated yowling noise. It causes several sleeping boys to stir and I make the generous decision to take my annoyance elsewhere. Stalking out of the hall I see the glittering orbs of boys who are awake. Watching me. Always watching me. Like a dangerous animal, they fear to turn their back on.

It fires my frustration and I break into a jog. Then a run. Bursting out into the cool darkness that blankets the world for hour turns before dawn. The pair of guards who have night shift at the youth hall entrance don’t stop me. They have no reason to. I’m allowed into the main area of the compound as much as I want. I could never escape anyway. Not with my stone. So why waste their own time chasing me down?

It's due to my injuries but I've felt out of shape the last few days. There is a simple if unpleasant solution to that feeling. Work.

I can't access any weapons as those remain locked up until morning training. But I can build up a sweat. Get my chest making that buzzing sensation it does when I'm really sucking down air.

More than that. Running is a good channel for negative feelings. I don't know if anyone actually enjoys running. I do however know it has a funny knack of jumbling your thoughts about. Especially the ones where you are mean to yourself.

It doesn't solve them exactly. In fact, sometimes it makes them worse. You will work through them to some degree though. I always do.

So there I am. Running laps of the BloodRock compound. Alone. In the dark.

I probably look ridiculous but for once I just do not care.

The burning in my legs. The ache in my lungs. Even the pain that runs up my side with each footfall. It all feels good. Cleansing.

Things aren't as dire as I've been thinking. I got an invitation to the next BlackMist doubles Minor. Minor is a misleading term. The Storm Herald Invitational as it is officially known is anything but small. BlackMist is one of the bigger investors in youth fights. This series of day-long events will be held in one of the four Primary Arenas. Not a house pit. Anyone and everyone can attend. And attend they will. If I can place highly or better yet win the whole thing. BloodRock will get a larger portion of attendant sales. I think. It's something like that. Fame equals money somehow. I know that much. However, it works. BloodRock wants me to do well. Which means he will put me with someone good. Which in turn means I don't need to worry as much as I have been. Sure half the kids here aren't up to my standard. They're still BloodRock though. Which doesn't just mean they can fight. It means they are being watched by people like Muraab and the trainers.

Well not Muraab at the moment but the point still stands. The adults would be doing their best to put me with someone who complimented my skills. Or me them I suppose. That's fine. I'm a bit of a glory hound but a win is a win even if I end up playing second fiddle. Win at all costs. That is the attitude that got me to forty-three consecutive wins in only two years. Normally that thought would cheer me. As it has to be some kind of record. This morning though it stops me dead in my tracks. Hits me like a bolt of lightning. My win streak is zero. Zero. Not a single consecutive win.

I can feel the dust of the compound scrape under my little feet' claws as I skid to my depressed halt. This is my fourth circuit of the compound so I'm sweating and my breath comes quickly but I'm still pretty far from my limit. If I had been breathing harder I may have missed the quiet 'clangs' and thumps coming from the training yard. Someone has weapons out? That shouldn’t be right. The sun is still a long way off and morning training with it. Weird. Once I stop and focus I can definitely smell people nearby. It's obvious from the taste of sweat in the air. Sweat and something else. I raise my nose. Sniffing hard to catch the lesser scent. I shouldn’t have bothered. I’d known what it was the whole time. As familiar a scent as my own breath. Blood.