Spectators, usually rowdier working men, flooded in and out The Colosseum neatly like ants. Sasha joined in line to gain entrance to the lobby where towering doors blocked by ticket keepers led to the stands overlooking the duel grounds. Instead of following the pack here, Sasha went downstairs to The Undercroft guarded by a masked seven-foot gladiator holding a mop and bucket.
His iron armor rusted from the uncleaned blood staining it. “Hello Miss’s,” he uttered lowly.
“Hey Mr. Mercer. I’m here to see Isaac.”
Mercer nodded before opening the iron door leading to The Undercroft. “Please watch your step. The duel grounds have been leaking.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Before moving on, she warmly grinned and complimented him. “You know, your muscles sure have gotten bigger. Working hard?”
“Yes, I am. You’re the first to notice.”
“I’m sure the others have too. Well, until next time.”
She entered the massive lair of warriors to sights most expected to see. Half-nude bearded macho men beat up wooden dummies with their swords or wrestled with each other. Those living there drunk mead from big wooden goblets at the tables while others slept on rough-looking barebone mattresses on the cobblestone floor in lines.
As Mercer foretold, blood leaked through the cracks above. It dripped everywhere, making the floor sanguine and filling the air with the scent of iron. Buckets scattered about to catch this rain.
Sasha met the gazes of the arena men delighted to see her, giving each a nod or little wave. One sharpened a machete at a table, remarking to another. “She’s back. Makes my day every time I see her face.”
She put her hands up dismissably with awkwardness. “I’m not that pretty, Spine Ripper.”
“Seeing you in one piece just relieves me. Nobody’s safe from being taken by the streets. Not even me.”
She shot him back a beaming smile and walked up to witness the recital of the main event’s cheesy script.
Isaac the True, the new and upcoming arena favorite, read from a small book as he gracefully parried away the noodlelike strikes of his opponent. His long blonde hair was in a ponytail, and he wore a violet headband. “Oh, you, vile Boar Bandit! You will pay for what you did to that school of blind orphans and their pregnant seeing eye dogs!”
His foe beat his bare chest with his own script, breathing heavy through a boar’s mask. “The only thing I will be paying for is my daughter’s emergency surgery, which is a revelation that will cause much of the audience to empathize with my misaligned, villainous ways. They’ll chant rabble like ‘Boar Bandit did nothing wrong’. You won’t be able to do anything about it!”
“You retched fool, you shan’t!”
“And yet I shall!”
Sasha watched them fight. She almost couldn’t tell that it was choreography. An act. To put it simple, their popularity in The Colosseum brought in too much revenue for the owners and stakeholders to allow them to genuinely risk themselves.
The false violence ended with Isaac’s victory as Boar Bandit clenched his throat, dramatically stumbling over and perishing. The coordinator, a skinny man in a flamboyant suit, yelled “Cut!” from the side.
Isaac helped the Boar Bandit up to his feet before wiping his brow of sweat. He noticed Sasha staring from the now politely clapping barbarian crowd.
When the stars aligned and both Isaac and Sasha had free time, he tutored her. He taught her how to fight. It all started a year ago when Randle brought her to The Colosseum. Sasha had never seen a man with such passion.
His sun-kissed skin, beard, and long hair made him stick out like a torch in darkness. He lived as a rare heir to the sword and grappling arts of The Westwinds. Some rumored he was the son of the sun.
With time, Sasha grew far past the blade's basics. She keenly watched and internalized Isaac’s guidance. His footwork, his stance, his weight distribution; they became hers over countless hours. What bloomed next was her focus and confidence. Sasha was a mirror her teacher saw himself in.
They sparred with wooden swords in his private quarters. Without fail, Sasha returned home sore, banged up with bruises every weekend. You should’ve seen Randle’s reaction to her first black eye and broken pinky.
Isaac faced Sasha unmoving, his sword resting calm and ready. For the first time, he recognized something in her. It was painted across her face. Sasha had lost the fear of being stricken. Choosing to fight meant accepting great adversity.
They both moved forward clashing wooden bashes. Isaac slipped her flurry with precise, waterlike head movement and slammed her in the ribcage harshly. She endured without so much a blink and whipped him back with a blow to his throat.
He gave a halting sign with his hand, harshly coughing into his fist. “You nicked my artery. You win. You’d get to limp home while I bleed out on the street. Don’t look to trade though. It’s reckless.”
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Sasha was starstruck. She stared at her hands. Calluses started to form on the palms. They weren’t pretty. “I actually won. The student becomes the master.”
He pointed at her, taken aback. “Hey now, don’t get ahead of yourself! You hit me once.”
With an apathetic face, she shrugged. “That’s right. I killed you. I’m better than you.”
When she saw his dumbfounded, speechless response, her act broke. She giggled. “Sorry, just joking. You really believed me there.”
Isaac sighed. “Girl…” His eyes sharpened. “Hey, I’ll keep asking until I get an answer. Why the obsession with training? What drives you? This country’s women don’t hold blades. Is it out of necessity? Trouble? Let me handle it then.”
Sasha avoided eye contact. “This again? Knowing how you are, if I told you, you’d stop giving me these lessons.”
“Just tell me. You’ve got me and this whole arena of brothers ready to crash into whatever issue there is.” Isaac pointed out to the main hall where his companions danced drunken.
Sasha thought a bit before speaking. Her most horrible feelings weren’t possible to verbalize. “I’m sorry, but I just won’t leave my life in the hands of anybody else. I won’t lose anymore brothers. Everyone’s so frail. We die before we know it. I just want to be able to swing a sword for myself, so nobody else will have to.”
Isaac nodded. “You know, back when my nation existed and thrived, we had women warriors. We called them spear maidens. They weren’t as plentiful as the men, but when it came down to business, I never felt anxious having one watch my back.” He let out a chuckle. “You’ve brought back old memories. Painful ones.”
“Women warriors? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Sasha slipped on her jacket with a sigh of relief. “Same time next weekend?”
“Of course.”
She offered him a palm full of bronze regalia which he ignored, suggesting to her instead. “Go spend it on something tasty. You owe me nothing.”
“You still want nothing? Nothing is free.”
A troubled look fell upon Isaac’s face. “How do I explain this? The people here see me as a local hero but that’s only because that’s how it’s meant to be. My character is written to win because he sells seats. In truth, I’ve only ever failed to save the people around me. I’m a runaway coward. As you can imagine, it’s not great living a lie.”
Sasha digested his words pensively as he continued. This was the most he’d ever spoken about his past. “I want to become the genuine thing. A real hero. Call it repentance.”
They both noticed a woman leaning against the doorway nearby. She was older and more mature than Sasha, with black hair and bangs trimmed back just enough to not get in the way. The woman had a machina on her fist; a cestus studded by alloy, its lulling eye light blue. “Wrapping up the training with your little soldier here?” she said.
Isaac got flustered. Sasha had never seen him make such a face. “Ah, Elise! I didn’t expect you to be here so early. We’re done for today. Sasha is a hard worker. She even managed to hit me.”
“You’re a great teacher. She’ll turn out to be a real killer. I’ve been excited for today. Didn’t expect you to ask me out. There’s this new fancy bakery a little way off. Let’s go.”
“Right now? I’ll need to clean myself up first.” In a hurry, he turned to Sasha. “Good work today! Until next time.”
Sasha nodded, a tad awkward. “Yea. Thank you.”
As she left, Elise gave her a slight bow of respect. “Travel safe.”
***
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Later that day, Sasha stared deadpan out the shopfront window into a relentless blizzard. Twilight fell over Low Monestate and, soon, nightfall would come with echoing screams. He never told me he was seeing someone.
She looked over at the twin guards, Xavier and Abdul. Abdul had fallen asleep and snored while his brother stayed on watch, leaning up against the wall with a hand resting on his sheathed saber’s pummel.
Xavier met eyes with Sasha and sensed her gloom. “I hope my tutoring wasn’t so boring to make you depressed. Everything alright, young madam?” he asked with concern.
She nodded silently before questioning him. “You’re a good teacher. I’m just stuck in my head. Say, what is your dream?”
“As in ambition?”
“Sure.”
“I have no ambitions. Ambition brews envy, which brews depravity, which brews sin, but…” He closed his eyes, immersing himself in warm thought. “I wish for our gods to grant this moment mercy. This shelter, this job, Sir Randle Fletcher’s kindness here alongside my brother.”
“Sounds nice.”
Sasha’s mental exhaustion weighed down on her like an anchor; one chained to her ankle and thrown into the nearest channel of The City of Rivers. In the fuzzy distance, she saw a familiar tin shed. Low, warm light broke through its many cracks. It fought off the sheer cold. When she focused on the building, the blizzard winds crumbled it into nothingness.
There would be no rebuilding. Despite being gifted with everything she’d ever wished for and needed, a vacancy within her made it feel all for nothing.
I finally get it.
None of this is what I ever wanted. There was only one thing. It is long gone.
Ley raised me. I will never get him back. I can’t even remember my own mother’s face, or anything.
He was the sole light that protected me, and the only reason I breathe. I owe him a debt that I’ll never be able to repay.
Ever since that day, I haven’t stopped hurting. Ever since that day, I toil over my final words to him, and wonder why they weren’t that I loved him.
He knew, right? He must’ve.
I finally get it.
Everything has started to make sense with frigid clarity. It scares me. I do not know what will become of me.
In bed that night, Sasha couldn’t sleep. She ended up propping up on a stool, staring out the window frosted over by coldrule once again. The screams wrung from nightfall began again as they usually did. Sometimes weekly, sometimes monthly, they rang out through the city. Bloodcurdling. “Ley is dying,” she mumbled, wrapping herself up in her own arms. “Someone’s Ley is dying, and I’m sitting here just listening.”
Sasha dressed for the blizzard and set off to embark into the horrors of the night. She crept into the shopfront where both twin guards had mistakenly fallen asleep, despite their usual diligence in staying awake in shifts. Then she slid Primus, the slumbering claymore machina, from its wall mount. Sasha snuck out through the backdoor into the snow, and then took the crazy blade from its sheath.
It snapped awake as if yanking off a bird cage’s light-blocking blanket. “Who awakens me?”
“It’s Sasha. You know me.”
“You’ve grown taller. How long did the old man have me sealed in that sock?”
“It’s been a while. I haven’t changed one bit though. I’m assuming you haven’t either, right?”
“A good observation for a human. Where are we going?”
“To kill someone or something. I’m gonna end whatever’s causing the screams.”
“Child, those screams will never end. In this world of orphans?”