46 - Show the white!

I found myself clinging to the open edge of the window, Idiesas’s iron-hard hand holding the back of my kilt as I screamed at Riji. It was terribly improper but I had tears in my eyes as Riji stood over Shefenkas as he twisted and twitched, fighting to claw his way back to consciousness.

Riji, taking his time, turned to Raikas’s gate where Skorsas hung sagging on the gate, eyes full of horror. I only caught a word or two in the hideous noise. “… for your loose tongue…” Twitting the boy for having been proud of his fighter. I’d read those words, and my despair that I was losing Shefenkas wedded tight to anger at Riji’s cruelty. But then, that was how he’d made his name – cruelty.

Shefenkas stirred and Riji stooped to scoop up a handful of sand. “NO! Raikas!” Even in my terror I didn't call him by his true name.

Riji flung the sand in Shefenka’s face just as he opened his eyes, knelt down next to him and grabbed him by the black forelock to grind it in with the heel of his hand. Idiesas pulled hard as I almost overbalanced, almost fell into the trench below the box, set me down on the floor. “Control yourself, Minis.” Father’s voice was cool. “You are distressing your betrothed with your wild antics.” He turned to the slave. “Crank the glass closed. This stench fatigues me.” I barely spared a glance at Kyriala, who held her gloves pressed tight over her mouth, watching – not the struggle on the sand, but Father and I.

On the sand, Riji had backed off to give Shefenkas time to recover, time to roll onto his elbows and vomit into the sand. “Father! Spare him! Show Riji the White! Ummm… think of the ransom!” I was desperate to beg for his life, but I couldn’t. No more than I had.

“Hmmm.” His thumb worried the birthmark, Imperial ring and its chains winking on the thumb on that side. He waved away the slave with the red and white kerchiefs. “I think not. He’s still fighting… see?” Riji had kicked Shefenkas over on his back again and cut his kilt off. The crowd roared at the sight of a naked Shefenkas. Some for despair that he’d lost, that they’d never get a chance at having him. Some for pity. For those souls, for their compassion, I didn’t instantly condemn all of Arko.

Shefenkas rolled over again… getting up. Riji knew he couldn’t see. The Mangler just waited, jigging in place, taunting him, hissing through his teeth, whistling… giggling… pirouetting away to play to the crowd, drinking in their howls, head thrown back, sucking their approval like a sex-boy or girl sucking in semen.

The glass of the Imperial box cranked closed in front of me, cutting me off from the sand, from the outside… the world Father had created and flung Shefenkas into… cool air wafted in from the stone behind, chilling the closed box, clearing the stink of the Mezem.

On the other side of the glass, with my two hands framing the two men, Shefenkas, spinning his fighting chain around his head, blundered here and there, head swinging back and forth as Riji danced around him, luring him with whistles and calls. No. No. Shefenkas. No. I said it out loud. The next was the most desperate prayer I had yet prayed and I dared not say it, but could only think it… Muunas. Father God. Help.

“Look at that, my son. Look at that. He’s lost but the brute will not give up.” Father waved a hand, another sweet-bread in his fingers, dropping crumbs over my head. A slave knelt next to me, washing the Imperial body. Riji finally decided to get to the blood and obviously went quiet, creeping up behind Shefenkas, aiming for the tendons behind his knees. Muunas.

Shefenkas moved like the lightning flash I’d named him for. His wrist snapped down, blocking the sword, grabbed Riji’s chain and pulled him onto a full-stretch kick, smashing his guts. Without letting go the chain he took Riji down on his back and before he could even try to draw breath, reached out… still blind… picked up Riji's mad and sane-faced sword from where it had fallen. He raised the sword into the air, blindly, as the Immortal did. I panted as I realized he was, unlike usual, requesting the red.

The crowd was almost evenly split, white and red both... but that kick... it had looked lethal to me but perhaps a Haian could save him... to come back afterward and try to kill Shefenkas again. Riji was quivering on the sand, his motion looking injured, eyes open but he was no longer locked on Shefenkas but on someone in the stands, near the Imperial box.

Father finally raised the red. "My son. One must occasionally be good to one's pets and give them little requests." He dropped the cloth on the floor. Behind the closed glass I couldn't hear Skorsas but Shefenkas could.

He reached down, felt through the rags on the Mangler's chest, and drove his own sword into his heart.

My fisted hands were up over my head and I found the air somewhere to scream “YES!” Behind me I heard a gasp and a tiny double clap… and Father stopped in the act of putting the food in his mouth. “Well. it was interesting,” he said. He smashed the remnants of the sweetbread between his palms, crushing the soft meat, holding them out to be cleaned. He stared out at the ring where the mob had just rushed the gates, pouring out onto the sand. “I truly thought the beast was finished. Hm. I suppose I shall get that ransom, yet.” He got up abruptly so both Kyriala and I had to scramble to our feet. He waved me back, and thus by extension her, and without another word, left us.

I turned back to the glass, pressed against it, letting it hold me up. I was both full of energy and joy and completely exhausted at the same time. One of the slaves moved my chair so I could sink into it without moving away from the glass.

Riji’s body had vanished under a swarm of souvenir hunters and Shefenkas stood with Skorsas under one arm, supporting him, forced to keep his fighting chain whirling overhead to give him clear space, or the crowd would have not let him go in their frenzy.

I understood… They were cheering and screaming for him, pelting him with flowers and drenching him with wine, even forced to not lay hands on him. They wanted to lay hands on him, to make sure he was real… to reassure themselves they hadn’t lost him.

He held his sword arm flung over his eyes and I prayed hard that he was not blind… but he was alive. “I think I could stomach a glass of water, now," I said to the slave, who gave it to me. “Thank you.”

Even if I should not -- even if it was dangerous, I would see him one more time. I had to touch him again, get hugged by him again. To reassure myself I hadn’t lost him. I felt this enormous peace inside me, as the two, gladiator and boy, slowly made their way through the singing, dancing, drinking mob, as if I were in the Temple. The Gods had heard me. I was grinning like a fool when I finally found my strength to stand up and properly offer Kyriala my arm. “Thank you, for your prayers, Sera.”

She nodded slightly and laid her glove on my sleeve, the two layers of fabric sliding, insulating us one from another. For a second I resented the barriers between me and everyone else, the barriers flung around me, ostensibly to keep me safe. Everything from glass windows to Mahid hands, then shrugged the thought off. It was just an odd fancy stirred by the easing in my belly and around my heart.

I suddenly longed for my skates and felt wild. I wanted to DO something wild. I just didn’t know what yet. I grinned all the way down the steps to the carry chairs, stopping at the oddsman for him to pay my winnings. I took them on myself rather than merely hand to my Mahid, and we joined the partying crowd on the street outside. Then I thought of something I could do. I leaned forward and called the slave to pass on the word to my fiancées bearers. We would stop at the Puckered Fig to celebrate.