CHAPTER 2

Our most common guest

I wake only moments later, as I'm being carried off. The training yard has several woven stretchers for situations like this, and I'm on one.

Suspended between two domestic slaves

"I was winning" I manage to rasp out before pain and exhaustion drag me back under.

The next time I come to, I'm in new pants, chained to a bare cot. The room around me is cool with night air, a single lantern burns on a chain in the centre of the room. The ceiling above me is the dark stone of the tower, and I can smell the cleanliness of the room around me.

I smile a little. I like the tower. It's the only place in the whole BloodRock compound where a slave gets their own room, with a clean bed, and food that comes close to filling you all the way.

While you are in the tower you can almost imagine someone cares about you.

There is a little window near the bed as well barred and too small to climb through anyway, but up high like this you can see the sprawling labyrinthine streets of Far Mantys, the homes, and businesses built up on top of each other, even at night the streets are lit and busy and I can see teeming people made tiny by distance.

My view goes all the way to the dark mass of the Mantyian Ocean. In the day it will shimmer the vibrant turquoise it's famous for. It's only a few miles away, but it may as well be on the world of fire. I've lived in this city my whole life, but I've never been even close to the ocean. What reason would BloodRock have for sending a pit slave to the water?

But one day when I'm free I'm going to walk those beaches. Maybe even find someone to teach me to swim. I imagine the scene, the sand underfoot wouldn't be like sand in the pit. It would be cool and damp, not packed down near hard as stone.

A cool breeze scented with the salt of the ocean would duel with the heat of the sun. Families and lovers playing carefree in the surf whilst ships glided past into dock.

It is a wave of an entirely different sort that brings me back to the present. Hunger now aware that I'm awake has come crashing into my stomach like a furious ettin shrieking to be sated.

At first, I wonder how long I've been asleep to be so excruciatingly hungry, but then I realise I'm not as sore as I should be. In pain, yes, and if I move I can feel the pull of stitches in my arm, and my side, but I can breathe mostly without pain, and my shoulder moves. My arm is a dark mass of purple bruising, and it sends spikes of pain down my arm to flex my fingers. But I can Flex them.

There is only one explanation. I've been magically healed, at least to a point. That's why I'm so hungry. I let out a swear, Magical healing is expensive, and BloodRock isn’t going to be happy. For a second I think I've somehow summoned the old man when the heavy wooden door opens, but no it's Muraab. I suppose that's a blessing, but he looks ready to rip my head off.

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like a long time before he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well?” he says sternly “Why do you keep doing this?”. I frown, taken aback. Before my outrage springs to life. “ME!?” I yell at him, pulling against my chains. “YOU THINK I WANTED TO FIGHT FOUR SLAVES AT ONCE!?”

He raises his wrinkled eyebrows, the scars across his face pulling taught.

"The way Morean tells it, Kalon was trying to issue you a challenge, and before anyone could figure out rules, or weapons, or anything you were all over him" he gives me a hard look, but his eyes don't go dead the way they do when he is preparing for violence." that boy is lucky to be alive by the way"

My mouth moves a little but it takes me a moment to get anything out. Yes, that's technically what happened, but there were four of them. They had come to kill me, or at least remove me from the top spot for a while.

Understanding dawns on me. I know what this is, it's humans helping humans over one of the cursed. Even Muraab who is fairer than most is doing it. Of course, he is. With bitter resignation, I realise I should have known better.

I try to respond anyway "That's not-" he cuts me off.

"You then proceeded to run the other boys down. "

All I want to do is scream at him, but it's not a smart move to keep pushing my luck with Muraab. He will hurt me if I disrespect him too much, injuries or not.

"I didn't run them down" I manage through gritted teeth. " they had me surrounded"

“Surrounded? And you never thought to just surrender?”

The urge to scream intensifies. They had come to attack me as a group, if I had stopped fighting they would have hurt me even worse. Besides this way, it wasn’t free. If Kalon wants to build his reputation in the compound he will think twice before doing it off my back again.

Muraab looks at me like he expects a response, but I am too busy choking down my anger and incredulity to give him one.

After an awkward moment, he sighs and sits down on the end of the bed.

"All four of those boys have fights in two days." Those words throw a cold bucket of water on the bonfire of my rage and I wince.

"Who's hosting the fights?" I ask, my heart already sinking.

"Saffron". He replies coldly, causing me to wince again.

The spice lord of house Saffron is the richest man in Far Mantys, which may make him the richest man in the world. Any event thrown by him no matter how small has the prestige and attention of a major tournament.

Again magical healing costs money. A lot more money than a few stitches put in by a surgeon who is a slave as well.

BloodRock will already be angry that we hurt each other so badly. But if he has to cancel fights for House Saffron heads will roll. My head most likely.

I don't know how long I was unconscious but it probably wasn't more than a few hours. With only two days left no amount of magical healing is going to get Kalon fight-ready on time. Not after I left a sword buried almost to the hilt inside him. The memory of his flesh parting beneath my blade is gratifying but I know I'm in trouble.

"I'll fight for Kalon," I say quickly. To which Muraab nods.

" Oh you've got that right, you will be teamed up with Tota, and if you win there is a very very small chance you won't get sent back to train with the youth pitters.

I can feel a lump form in the back of my throat as fear washes over me. I had fought so hard to win my place training with the adults, and I couldn't imagine I would get another opportunity.

If Muraab sends me back to train with the other kids I will be stuck drilling the same techniques I've been practicing since I was four for another two years.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Two more years surrounded by people who hate me, who would sabotage, lie, and fight me four-on-one if it meant taking the spot of best youth pitter in all of BloodRock.

"Of course I'll win" I snap back before I can think better of it. " I always win" the words are tumbling out of me now. Pent-up frustration and bewilderment overwhelming any control of my tongue.

" I beat Casta and Vixus, I beat Torrigen and Sorfo, I beat Daring HighSail so bad he ran back to Daddy’s merchant fleet. I killed Loritus and Andra Phoenixheart! " I take a breath, but go on quickly before he can reply.

" And those are just the good ones. I have a better win streak than you did when you were king on the sands!" He raises his eyebrows at that, and I can see him working the math out as I go on. I'm right. Mine is better. Granted he wasn't fighting children but I'm not planning on mentioning that part.

"What's the point of making me train with kids? They hate me, and I'm better than all of them anyway. What can I possibly learn from boys who have been here for three years or less?"

Muraab waits for me, his face impassive. I know He doesn't like getting yelled at by slaves. I can't blame him I guess. He won his freedom before I was even born."Enough" he says eventually, his tone is authoritative. My mouth snaps shut almost on its own. After eleven years of slavery, some things are just automatic.

"Maybe I want you to help improve the other kids, maybe it's not just about you" With that he pulls out a heavy iron key and approaches. The scent of stale alcohol and pipe smoke that always follows the old fighter fills my nostrils as he draws near.

"Don't bite me" he commands as the key slips into the single lock where each of my chains meet.

I'm annoyed by the demand. The frequency with which I bite people is massively exaggerated. But I've already pushed my luck with Muraab enough for one day.

Instead of complaining I let out a little sigh of relief. I’m still in trouble. But at least I can stop my muscles from cramping now. Well most of them. Moving my left arm while possible isn’t really an option at the moment.

For a second I think he is going to tell me I have to go back to the slave dorms but he just lectures me some more and leaves.

It's mostly the same old crap about getting along with the other slaves and how the rest of the cursed don't get into so many fights.

But one part of it stays with me all night. Ringing in my stupid fluffy ears with a finality that turns my blood to ice.

" you might be the best. But you don't have the crowd on your side. You're starting to cost more than you make"

It seems like an eternity later a pair of domestic slaves bring me my dinner. Let me repeat. They brought the food to me. I love this place. If the price of admission wasn't most of my blood. I'd spend every night up here.

The fifteen or so tower rooms are bare except for a single cot in each, and a chamber pot under the cot. I'd dug mine out the moment Muraab had left, needing to piss almost as desperately as I needed to eat something.

Once that was done though all I had to do to pass the time was look out the window, if I focussed hard I could catch the occasional bit of music from the city streets, or someone shouting from within the BloodRock compound.

Normally I wouldn't mind a bit of idleness, but hungry as I am each minute seems unreasonably long. Eventually, I start walking laps of the room. My arms held protectively against my body. They hurt, My whole upper body hurts, walking probably isn't helping, but I don't know what else to do.

I'm on my twelfth circuit of the square room when I hear the sound of the door unlocking. I freeze, feeling oddly self-conscious like I'm about to be caught doing something I'm not supposed to. Internally calling myself an idiot I turn about fast enough that the stitches in my side feel like they pull a little. It's not painful exactly. But it's still unpleasant in the extreme.

Standing in the doorway is Coil, one of four surgeon slaves BloodRock keeps. I've often wondered how a surgeon ends up a slave. But I suppose everyone makes bad decisions.

He's old, I'm not sure how old. But he's been here my whole life and seemed ancient the entire time. His hair is Grey and perpetually dishevelled jutting in various directions. He wears a large charm around his neck, displaying a fancy cup and a scythe. Doesn't mean anything to me, but you see Easterners wearing them sometimes.

"North!" he says, eyes going wide and voice unsteady. I roll my eyes. Not this again.

"You were supposed to be chained up."

I had a little tantrum six years ago and bit off two of his fingers. But honestly, I was nine you'd think he would have gotten over it. Even if I did swallow them meaning they couldn't be regrown with magic.

…..Well I also broke some of his ribs in an escape attempt when I was twelve. But those healed up fine. Nothing to resent or fear me over.

He's holding a bowl of bloody stew in his good hand, and my stomach howls at the smell.

I grin at the old surgeon, walking towards him "Muraab came by and let me out" I say with a casual shrug. That was a mistake. Pain shoots down my back. Hiding the wince I gesture with my head at the bowl. " Is that for me?" He takes a half step back. I have to admit I get a little thrill of pleasure seeing a human afraid of me. Even if he is an old man.

He takes a deep breath and seems to steady himself. Before fixing me with an annoyed glare " Yes" the old surgeon holds the bowl towards me. It doesn't have a spoon. I don't care.

"Why Thank you, " I say. Tone all false cheerfulness and take the bowl. It's only then that I notice Coil isn't alone.

The palest girl I have ever seen in my life is a few feet behind him on the landing outside the door. She looks older than me, but not by much. Her hair is a dark brown, stopping just short of black. I can’t tell if it’s long or short as it is tied up under a bonnet. Freckles lightly dust fine features above a pointy chin. She's wearing a multi-layered… dress? Weird. Plenty of women in Far Mantys wear dresses but not like this one. Hers is a heavy chaste-looking thing. Her neck is about the only skin on display. Not at all like a normal Far Mantyian dress. Is she not overheating?

I'm equal parts suspicious and intrigued. If that girl is a slave then I'm an Itti'Ati fire witch. But if she isn’t a slave what is she doing here? Is she here to buy some of us? Surely not. She's a teenager no one is going to send a teenager to haggle for slaves. A BloodRock distant relative maybe?

I'm staring. It's not like I've never seen a pretty girl before. I'm from Far Mantys, the greatest city in the world. Some of the house lords have slave girls men would spend a dozen fortunes for a night with. The thing is though. Seeing a gorgeous woman on a rich guy's arm in a viewing box, or dancing on the arena floor doesn't really prepare you to talk to a girl in front of you.

Especially when I have no idea what she's doing in front of me.

Yes, there are female pit slaves but BloodRock doesn't keep any of them. He's old-fashioned like that I guess.

She must realise I'm staring because she meets my gaze. I quickly look at my stew.

I need something to do. Anything to distract me from how aware I suddenly am of my own near nakedness. Of how ugly my injuries are….how ugly I am.

Snatching the bowl from Coil I put it to my lips. Warmth floods me as I guzzle the steaming bowl. It's mostly blood and water but there is some salt meat and root vegetables. I can feel little chips of bone from the broth brush the inside of my mouth. Rice clumped at the bottom. They give you the good stuff when you're hurt.

"And this one?" She asks Coil in an accent I've never heard before, thick and oddly listless.

"North here " replies the old surgeon moving to leave but never actually turning his back on me" Is our most common guest in the tower. He is the one that injured the boys downstairs"

"Ahh yes I remember the boy with the stupid name " she replies, sounding uninterested. " My brother has mentioned him."

As a slave, you get used to people talking about you like you aren't there. I can put up with casual insults….. Wait, Mentioned me? Who's her brother that he knows who I am?

"Apparently he is very promising, one of the best youth pitters BloodRock owns."

One of?!

The stew slides down the wrong side of my throat and I feel a spike of annoyance as I begin to cough and splutter uncontrollably. I swear this happens to me more than other people.

Soup chunks fly from my mouth and from the bowl spattering on my face, chest, and the floor.

There it is North. The stupidest you will ever look. And in front of a cute foreign girl too.

Between the coughing and my injury, catching my breath seems to take an epoch.

By the time I'm able to speak. Coil and the strange girl are gone, and the door is locked. Still. I feel a need to justify myself. So much for being used to people talking about you. " I'm not one of the best!” I call at the door ”I...am...the best "

The door unsurprisingly does not reply. And yet I repeat myself to the empty room. " I am the best " This time it's not quite the same declaration. It feels hollow, desperate. I sigh and finish my stew before routing around to lick up any remains I had spilled or spat out.