This is a beginning of a fantasy novel with a bit of YA thrown in.
The guards were whispering and Calton found it strange they still felt the need to. There were no secrets left. Not today. He found it stranger still that he was not as afraid as he thought he’d be. Somehow, knowing this was all the time he had left calmed him. He swept his eyes over the other boys in the cage, looking for the one he’d spent every day of his childhood with. Greer’s pale blue eyes looked back at him, unblinking. He wished he could talk to him again, extract that promise from him, should it come to that for the two of them.
As if he could tell what Calton was thinking, Greer shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line.
It didn’t matter. The odds of them having to fight each other were small. The selection was random, and with twenty two other boys, they’d likely be paired up with anyone but each other.
Goosebumps broke out on his arms and neck, making him shiver though the heat in the cage was stifling. He shut his eyes and took a long breath, forcing the air to move slowly into his lungs, then pushed it down into his arms and legs, feeling each drop of it touch his lifeblood, the way Master Holden had taught him. The goosebumps receded and when he looked up again, his friend’s eyes were no longer on him. Greer’s head leaned against the metal bars of the cage. He seemed asleep, his face relaxed, unmoving. Calton had always envied him the ability to fall asleep wherever he happened to be, yet now, in this moment, it hurt. He watched him sleep the way he’d watched grains of sand move through the smallest hourglass at their study hall, mounting panic turning to helplessness. He needed more time with him. Just enough to make Greer agree to the bargain.
The older of the guards approached him and nodded. He didn’t see this coming, didn’t think that he’d be first. He let the guard take him by the arm, not letting himself turn or even glance back on his way out. Not wanting to know which of these boys he’d be forced to face in the ring. He looked straight ahead, not quite focusing on the details of anything.
He had decided last night that he would not look at any of the faces on the benches. Especially hers. Acknowledging the spectators seemed akin to consenting to this barbaric show. The buzz of excitement–predatory anticipation of lifeblood–reached him from the stands, though he did his best to block it. The energy coming off the adults in the crowd was palpable. He wanted to rage, to scream at them, but he couldn’t do that now. He would do the only thing he could live with. He just hoped he was strong enough to do it right, so that Sorana and his best friend felt love, not pity for him in the end.
Gallard, the Custodian, was speaking. The man’s voice carried even when he was whispering, as if the air itself couldn’t help but obey him. He knew these words by heart and he wanted to shut them out, but he still heard the echo of them, though dimly, as if through a fog.
“As the Custodian of Algon, it is my duty to ensure that every bout is fought according to our laws. There will be no pleading for mercy, and none will be granted. The twelve of you who survive--may your matings be joyous and fruitful.” Gallard paused with his eyes on the boys trapped in the cage. Calton cringed at the spectacle of it. The sombre tone of the Custodian, the guards–large mute beasts of men with expressionless faces. The audience on edge, waiting hungrily for the first lifeblood to be spilt. His.
“To those who forfeit their lives here today--know that your sacrifice will be honored for as long as our Empire lives. It is your lifeblood that will water our harvests; it is your courage that will forge our steel; it is your youth that will make for a stronger new generation. You will not be forgotten.”
There were shouts from the crowd, though they were quickly silenced by the Whisper Masters. Thin streams of sweat snaked down his sides and lower back. He wanted to scratch at the wet trails, but he didn’t want to show any discomfort.
He focused his thoughts on the warmth and stillness of the air around him, uncommon for so late in the cycle. It should have been cool and dry. And there should have been wind whipping about the tops of the tents and the whisper trees, making noise, biting into his skin. But nothing at all moved. The whisper trees stood silent and still around him, as if frozen in time by Calysta herself. It felt oddly disconcerting that there was no wind.
When he had finally let himself slip into his dreamscape last night, this scene felt very different, and he’d never been wrong about his remembrances before. In the dreamscape, the wind had lashed the tops of the whisper trees so violently, he could hear their branches groan. The air had been cool against the bare skin of his chest and back, almost cold. He could taste the bite of impending ice flowers in the air. He inhaled deeply, ice flowers’ spores scratching his throat, their tips sharp as syrox thorns. He had stalled his dreamscape then, as ordinarily, he’d always close his breathing pathways to avoid the pain and from fear of killing the ice cycle, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. Instead, he had breathed deeply, letting himself feel the stings as each new shard pierced his nose and throat and lungs. He had let his lifeblood welcome the intrusions, reveling in the sharpness of this pain.
He shut his eyes briefly and opened them again, scanning the whisper trees for any sign of movement, afraid he simply overlooked it the first time. But the whisper trees were still silent. The air warm and wet against his bare skin.
He flinched at the grating metal on metal noise of the cage door being shut and reflexively glanced toward the noise, Greer’s long hair, wheat-colored, hung limply, damply over half his face, hiding his eyes. Calton gritted his teeth, needing to stay silent for them. For Greer and for the girl. He couldn’t let them know about the pain of it.
Greer looked at him just once, and he hoped that he’d nod, that he’d honor his wishes. Greer did not nod. Instead, he quickly and silently walked to his place in the ring, and didn’t move a muscle after that. Greer looked at the Custodian, not at him, and Calton felt it in every cell that carried his lifeblood that he wouldn’t make it easy for him....
....note: I had to break some of the chapters into smaller pieces for word limit reasons. I'll post the remainder of this chapter and link back to this shortly. Followed by the other chapters, of course :-)....
You can find Chapter 1, Part 2 HERE
Please note that a much lesser version of this appeared on Steemit when I first joined. This has been rewritten multiple times and with an abundance of help from The Writer's Block - see link below.
Here are links to the following Chapters (and Parts) in order:
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 2, Part 1
Chapter 2, Part 2
Chapter 3
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img credit:https://pixabay.com/en/sword-rings-marriage-medieval-1058402/
Mmm, this is the first time I've read this, and I know you have chapters upcoming, so I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes. Great start already!
Thanks man. Had to split some chapters into parts, unfortunately, as you know - me wordy. Steemit not so much :-) I'll post the next few bits soon.
I'm hooked.
Looking forward to the next chapter!
Aw man...I love this! And...now I need to know what happens. :)
This is a nice piece, looking forward to seeing how it progresses.
Nothing like some gladiatorial combat! Not too wordy for me and reads well!