I would be lying if I claimed I never fantasised about myself being the star of the arena, but when I finally do get to the arena floor, it’s quite a bit different than I had dreamed of. In my fantasies, it wasn’t 6 a.m., the stands weren’t empty, and I was here as a conquering hero, not an intern reporting for training.
I shiver in the morning cold as I look around. The floor is littered with mentors and their groups of trainees. When I find Kevron, Grace is already there. Grace offers me a wave and a brief grimace at the cold, but Kevron barely glances my way before proceeding to ignore me and stare off into the distance.
“Hello? Is this thing on? Hello?”
A man stands on the bleachers above the arena floor, holding a microphone, a magic item that is literally a stick enchanted to project sound. He wears a Tournament staff uniform, but the image of the Undying Flame on his takes up most of the space. His muscular frame is visible through the cloth, and he sports dark shoulder-length hair and a goatee. He radiates authority, and I’m pretty sure I know who he is even before he confirms it.
“I’m Anton Fallion, the Director of the Tournament. I’d like to officially welcome new interns, employees, and all to the 394th Tournament of Fire and Death season!”
There is only halfhearted clapping, but I am applauding loud. Anton Fallion is a legend. Not only was he a famed adventurer back in the day, he won the Tournament himself in spectacular fashion a decade ago before taking the position as Director.
“Team leaders should already have client evaluation cards for team competition. Fountain thing after training today. This afternoon is the exhibition match between Jorus Rosewood and Helena the Arcane, so y’all should try to make it, it should be a good one. Uh…. what else…. Well, have a great Summer everyone, and please do try to stay safe!”
With those underwhelming words, Anton steps down and training commences. I’m not sure exactly what training will entail, and as I look around, it looks a lot cooler than I had anticipated. Mentors are producing weapons and showing their students how to use them. We are on the arena floor, after all, and suddenly I’m looking forward to today instead of dreading it. I’ll get to learn something awesome, and later spectate a fight between two Tournament Champions.
“Okay,” Kevron says. “Listen closely. I’m going to teach you proper posture for standing straight; you two clearly need it. Take a deep breath in–” we do– “and go up on your toes. Now, standing as tall as you can, imagine there is a string tied to the top of your head. Now, keeping that string on your head, slowly lower yourself to the ground, while keeping your head as high as possible. There, that’s it. You want your back as straight as possible.”
I hear the clash of swords – some nearby interns are practicing swordplay, their instructors guiding their sparring. Other interns learn other weapons – I see spears, bows and arrows, shields and flails, and even one group that seems to be practicing magic, judging from the sparks and colored auras they are producing.
Kevron looks at his watch: “We have a little under an hour here, so we will do two sets of 25 minutes of posture practice, with a 5 minute break in the middle.”
He is watching Grace and me, ensuring we don’t slip up in our posture, which is actually surprisingly difficult, considering it is just standing up straight.
“I know what you’re doing,” I tell Kevron. I know too many stories to be fooled.
“Hmm?”
I smile. “We’re supposed to think what you are teaching us is super lame, when everyone else gets to practice with weapons and learn to be badass. But later on it’s gonna turn out that we have been training on the fundamentals, or learning secret skills or something, and that will make us way better fighters than they are!”
Kevron makes eye contact with me for the first time: “What? No. Why would you need to learn how to fight? You are an administrative intern, not a tournament contestant. I’m teaching you how to have good posture around guests.” He uses a condescending tone I haven’t heard since I was 8 years old.
I look around: “But everyone else is learning weapons....”
“I’m not in charge of what other mentors do,” Kevron says. “To be perfectly honest, I think they are being silly. How are they supposed to get good customer reviews if all they know is how to fight….?” Kevron trails off, shaking his head.
“Anyway,” he continues, “Keep up your posture, we need to break what looks like many years of bad habits. And listen, I will explain how to properly conduct yourselves around guests and contestants. Administrative interns often wind up getting assigned a variety of tasks, so you need to listen closely, there is a lot to learn. Take these cards, they are for clients to evaluate you, and if you get good ratings our department has a chance of winning department of the month. You can get good ratings by behaving properly. Always address guests by sir or ma’am, or if they don’t appear male or female – your posture is slipping Grace! Shoulders up and back! Bend your legs slightly, so they don’t lock your blood flow. Anyway, if their gender is unclear of if they are a genderless species like an ooze or like some elementals….”
It is a decidedly unpleasant hour. While Kevron drones on, I watch the other groups spar. I try to learn through watching, although it doesn’t seem to be working at all. Kevron, too, seems to be watching elsewhere. He seems averse to looking at me and Grace, probably thinking we are beneath him or something. The few times he does glance our way, it is only to correct our posture. When the hour is finally over, he asks if there are any questions.
“Yeah. Why are you such a boring jerk?” I think but don’t say.
Grace has an actual question though: “How do we go about calling security if there is a problem? Alex and I ran into a bit of a situation yesterday….”
“Ah yes, of course,” Kevron says. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, sorry about that. Here.” He hands us each smooth riverstones. “Clutch the stone next to your ear, say ‘security’, and you will be connected. Security is a bit overworked in Summer, but they should be available to help if you really need them. In terms of personal safety, there is also the Fountain, which we are actually doing right now.”
All around us, interns and mentors are moving. We join them, and go through a little side exit under the bleachers. Instead of taking us out of the arena, it brings us down.
Down, down, deep beneath. The tunnel is silent dirt, round like it was hollowed out by a massive wyrm. I keep thinking the tunnel must bend up to the surface soon, but it winds deeper and deeper. It’s illuminated faintly by bioluminescent fungus, but it’s barely enough to see by. Grace blinks, and her hands begin to shine, lighting our way. Kevron doesn’t react, so he either knew about the whole Grace-is-a-mage thing already, or he doesn’t care.
Eventually we come to an archway etched with runes. At the top of the arch is a large torch in an ornate bracket. “The Undying Flame,” Kevron says. “It has burned as long as the Tournament has been around. On the eve of the very first Tournament, the Spirit of the Tournament herself lit this very same fire.”
The torch flickers. “This way to the Fountain,” Kevron says, leading us through the arch.
The tunnel levels off, and soon we hear running water. The tunnel opens into a cavern roughly the size and shape of the arena. The center, where the arena floor would be, is a massive pool of water. The water glows bright electric blue with a hint of purple. I gaze into it, and I feel like I’m looking into a song.
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“Drink from the Fountain,” Kevron tells us.
“What is it? What does it do?”
“The Fountain of Fortune was created by the Spirit of the Tournament. It grants fortune to those who serve the Tournament,” Kevron says. “Specifically, if you drink from the Fountain, it will protect you. When you find yourself at your darkest moment, when you are in grave danger, the Fountain’s blessing will activate. You will hear the song, and for a while you will be extremely lucky, like everything possible goes right for you. Or so I hear; it’s never yet happened for me, probably because this job isn’t particularly dangerous. Go on, drink.”
Grace and I join dozens of other interns at the rim of the pool. I bend down to scoop up water, and it is like I almost fall into the sky. I drink, and am overwhelmed. I shut my eyes. A song echoes in my head, a melody foreign and ancient that tells the tale of all paths to come. I hear the song, and I see time from outside, but then my eyes open, and I can’t quite remember what I saw, just how it felt.
As we walk back to the arena floor to be assigned our tasks for the day, I am feeling better about this internship than I have yet. I may not have the most glamorous job, but I have witnessed ancient magic, and been blessed by it myself. We make it back to the arena, and I think about how later this very day, I will be spectating a fight between two of the most legendary warriors of all time. It could even be the greatest fight in all of history. Not only that, but I am going to spend my entire Summer at the coolest event in the world.
“What are you smiling about?” Grace asks as we head to our respective tasks.
“I dunno, you could say I’m feeling lucky.”
“The Fountain of Fortune?” Serena says, “Yeah, sorry to tell you this, but it’s a hoax.”
She and I are ascending the stairs of the resort, each of us balancing large platters of food, and as a result we move pretty slowly.
“What? Are you an anti-mag-er or something?” I immediately regret my tone, because if she is an anti-mag-er, I don’t want her to think I look down at her (although I would).
She snorts, almost dropping her platter. “No. You think I can work at the tournament and think that magic doesn’t exist? Besides, I’m not an idiot. You have to be really stupid to deny that much evidence.”
A large number 3 informs us that we have reached the third floor of the stairwell. I check the slip of paper that has the room number we are delivering to written on it: “It says it’s on the 6th floor.”
“Ugh,” Serena says. “By the way, did you know your coworker Grace is a mage?”
I frown. “How does everyone know that?”
“It was on her application, of course.”
“Oh.”
We step into a recess as a massive human-elephant hybrid descends the stairs past us. It’s trunk swishes side to side angrily, and we can hear it’s huffing even when it is flights below us.
“Anyways, like I was saying, the Fountain of Fortune is a complete and utter hoax.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t an anti-mag-er.”
Serena pauses at the landing of the 3rd floor for breath, then continues walking and speaking: “Just because I know that magic is a thing, doesn’t mean that everything that claims to be magic actually is magic. Or that every magic is what they tell you it is.”
“What do you mean? Does the Fountain not work?”
“Bingo.”
“What does it do then?”
“Nothing. It just glows and plays music. That’s all.”
“Why would Kevron say it helps you then, if it’s not real? What about the Spirit of the Tournament?”
“Spirit of the Tournament? Can’t say I’ve ever met her, if she even exists. It’s just a superstition, like how people think four leaf clovers bring luck, or breaking a mirror is bad luck or whatever.”
I frown. It’s not that I like or respect Kevron as a person, but he does seem to be a veterin of the Tournament Group. “So you think Kevron is lying to us?”
“I think Kevron believes what his higher-ups tell him. It’s the higher ups who are lying.”
“Why though?”
“So interns like you don’t freak out when things inevitably go bad.”
Well that’s comforting.
It’s only the 6th floor, and already I am sweating and feel like I need more oxygen. Clearly I am in even worse shape than I thought I was. At least if the internship continues to be like this, I will get in shape pretty fast, assuming I don’t die first.
“It’s possible,” I concede, “But how do you know that the Fountain doesn’t work?”
“Because last year, when I had your job, things got quite-extremely-a lot bad and dangerous, and I never heard the music, never got the luck. It’s supposed to activate when things get to their worst point, and it never did for me.”
“That’s anecdotal though,” I point out, “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s possible that you didn’t actually get to your worst point yet.”
Serena snorts: “I’m like 99.9999% sure it was the worst point.” She doesn’t seem bothered talking about her allegedly worst experience ever. “A bunch of Kobolds kidnapped me, and they were going to eat me piece by piece. They actually cut off, roasted, and ate my arm before they were caught. Besides, I’ve never heard a reliable account of anyone being helped by the Fountain, and if you haven’t noticed yet, danger isn’t exactly uncommon here.”
“Uh, not to state the obvious, but you kind of have two arms.”
Serena stops and sets her platter on the floor. She pushes back the sleeve on her Tournament Uniform and shows me the skin on her shoulder. There is a seam there, the skin on the arm a couple shades darker than the pale shoulder and neck, although I hadn’t noticed the difference before she rolled up her sleeve.
“They grafted me a new arm.”
“Wow! Who’s they?”
“The Tournament Group paid for it, but only after I made a whole racket about suing them. See, normally they aren’t responsible for what happens to you even on the Tournament grounds, you signed a waiver when you took the internship. But the thing is, one of the Kobolds was himself a former Tournament employee, so it was a murky legal area.”
“Wait, so how did you get away?”
“Kevron rescued me, of course. He noticed that some paperwork he assigned me wasn’t done, so he came to see what was up (I have been known to slack off from time to time), but then he couldn’t find me, so he called security.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, now I can say paperwork saved my life! It’s a great conversation starter at parties.”
My face is caked with sweat when we finally arrive at the 6th floor. Serena knocks obnoxiously loud on the specified room door.
“Room service!” she shouts in a fake Northerner accent. I look at her, confused. “What?” she says defensively. “Accents are fun.”
A dwarf couple answers the door. They have no trouble taking the heavy platters from us.
“See?” Serena says as we return to the stairwell, “Easy as pie. You good to do the rest on your own?”
“Uh, I guess so?”
“Great! See you!” Serena vanishes so quickly I suspect magic may have been involved.
Going down the stairs is a lot easier than going up. When I return to the kitchen, a tall guy with a geographically vague complexion shakes my hand.
“Jordi Silver, culinary intern,” he introduces himself.
“Uh, I’m Alex. Administrative intern.” I wonder if culinary interns are considered higher status than me.
“It’s my first week here,” Jordi confides. The kitchen is bustling with employees all around us but nobody seems to be paying us any mind. “Things are crazy. They expect me to cook full meals, but –” he lowers his voice – “I’ve never cooked anything before.”
We both laugh, but it doesn’t seem like Jordi is kidding. “So then why did you choose this internship?”
“Nowhere else would hire me.”
“Same,” I say. “Job market these days is impossible.”
“Exactly.” He hands me another platter of food, with the tag saying room 2124.
“This internship is crazy too,” I say, now that I know Jordi is in the same boat as me. “They barely train me, and expect me to interact with some of the guests, who are, you know,” I think of Udrick, “quite interesting people.”
“I know what you mean,” he says understandingly. “Hey, me and some of the other interns are throwing a little get together at the end of the week,” he says. “I think we all have a lot in common, you should come.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe. If I don’t have anything going on.”
He pulls out a client evaluation card and writes on the back. “Here is the time and place. Feel free to bring a friend or two, if you know any other interns who you think are chill.”
“Um, okay, sure, nice to meet you.”
Jordi shakes my hand again, nearly causing me to drop the platter. “You too Alex, you too.”
I tuck the paper with the date of the party into my pocket as I head up the stairs. The walk to the 21st floor is horrible. I briefly stop and rest a couple times, but force myself on, worried that the food is getting cold.
Nobody answers when I knock on the door. I stand there awkwardly holding the platter for several seconds, then I remember I’m supposed to announce myself.
“Uh,” I knock again, “Room service!”
The door remains shut, but I swear I can hear whispering coming from behind it. I knock one more time, and my knuckles sting from the impact.
“Ow! Room service! Your food is getting cold, so I suggest you come get it soon.”
I set the platter on the ground. The door has a little peep hole in it, and I put my eye to it. Predictably, I am unable to see anything from this side, but I certainly do hear whispering.
Serena never told me what I’m supposed to do if no one answers the door, but I figure leaving the food on the ground outside is the best option. I’m about to leave when the door whips open and something snatches my arm.
Supernaturally quickly, I am pulled into the room, and that’s where things get really weird. The room is occupied by three people, and some of them almost look familiar, but before I can get a good look I am suddenly somewhere else, and I am falling, falling....