Several days passed at the Wagon Wheel before anything new or remarkable happened to change up the doldrums of Victor’s days. He’d just finished with a particularly infuriating bout of cultivating, managing to level his Core again when the door to the main exercise room slammed open, and Ponda came striding in, holding the end of the chain they used to bind the prisoners for travel. However, this time, he wasn’t there to chain up Victor and the other fighters; he was delivering a line of new “talent.” He strode down the aisle until the train of people following him had cleared the door, then he went back, counting them off as he passed, to slam the door shut. Victor saw twelve new fighters, ranging in age from kids to senior citizens and in size from tiny to massive.

Ponda unchained their belts, told them to take them off, then started ushering them into cages, introducing them to their new roommates. Victor felt his stomach make a little nervous loop when Ponda approached his cage with a small, red-skinned Shadeni girl. She was shorter than Yrella had been and lacked her lean hard muscles. She seemed like a kid. “Victor, this is, uh, what’s your name again?”

“Belsa,” she said in a quiet voice, looking down.

“Right, Belsa. I need you to show her how things work.”

“C’mon, Ponda. Don’t do this to me.”

“What, killer?”

“I can’t show her what’s up without learning what she’s like, and then I’m going to get depressed when she dies in a week or so.” Victor tried to say it quietly, but he knew the girl heard him. She didn’t say anything, though, just looked at the ground, quietly shuffling her feet.

“Sorry, kid, but your cage has plenty of room, and I need you to step up. If you don’t want her to die, teach her a thing or two.” Apparently, that was the end of Ponda’s desire to talk because he opened the cage, gave Belsa a nudge through it, and slammed it behind her. Victor looked at Belsa standing awkwardly in the middle of the cage, and he pointed to the corner where Vullu used to sit.

“That’s your corner. Sleep over there.” She wore dark brown leather pants, no shoes, and a matching leather vest with blue and green beads sewn onto the front panels, making little zig-zagging designs. She didn’t look at Victor, but she walked over to her corner, sat down on her knees, and seemed to meditate or pray or something, still facing into the corner. “Hey, if you didn’t hear, my name’s Victor, and I’m sorry if I came off as an asshole. I just can’t deal really well with this place, so I’m fucked as to why they’d put you in here with me.”

“It’s alright,” she said softly but didn’t move or speak beyond that. Victor sat down and looked at his status sheet. Just as he’d hoped, leveling his Core had given him another hundred Energy points.

“Hey, um, if you need to go to the bathroom, there’s a bucket there. It’s gross, I know, but people are cool about not watching each other when we use it.”

“Thank you.” Again, she spoke softly and didn’t look up. Victor was starting to feel really shitty about how he’d acted when she first got there. She seemed younger than him, and he began to wonder how the hell she ended up in this place.

“Um, you’re Shadeni, right?” Suddenly she turned, glaring at Victor with bright green eyes that reminded him very much of Yrella. She lifted her lips in a snarl and inhaled sharply.

“Why do you talk to me, boy? I thought you wanted to avoid getting to know me before I die?” Her voice was cutting and sharp, and Victor knew it carried around to the other cages because it got quiet as others tuned in to hear the drama.

“Whatever. I said I was sorry for that, but if you don’t wanna talk, that’s cool.” He refused to yell or get upset. She was hurting, and he knew what it felt like, so he just sat down and went back to cultivating. She didn’t say anything more, and when he couldn’t take any more processing of his rage and stopped for the night, he saw her curled into a ball, sleeping in her corner. He stood, stretched, and then lay down in his corner, staring at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep.

“Hey, wake up.” The voice intruded on his dreams, and he groggily opened his eyes. Belsa was kneeling near his head, and when she saw his eyes open, she leaned close, “Someone’s fighting in the big cage over there. It sounds like they’re killing someone!” Victor’s heart started to hammer, and he jumped to his feet, looking out through the cage's bars, trying to see what Belsa was talking about. He heard a gurgling sound and a wet “thwap.”

“Hey, what the fuck’s going on there?” he called.

“Mind your business, kid,” a dark shadow leaning against the other cell said.

“That you, Zan? C’mon, man, you know we’ll all catch hell if we’re caught fighting.”

“Quiet down, and no one will get caught; he’s dying in his sleep, is all.”

“Fucking hell, pendejo! You guys killing one of the newbies?”

“He had it coming, trust me; now shut up before Ponda hears your whimpering.”

Victor slumped against the bars and turned to Belsa. “I can’t do anything about it. Do you know who it is they’re attacking?” She shook her head. “Well, unless we wanna be targets to the old monsters in here, we need to shut up.” Her eyes blinked slowly, then she nodded and moved back to her corner. Victor did the same and was glad that he didn’t hear any more sounds from the other cell. Apparently, they’d finished their business, and he could rationalize that it would've been too late for him to get the victim any help, even if he’d wanted to risk enraging the other fighters. He closed his eyes, and it felt like he’d only just started to drift into sleep when he heard the main door slam open. He sat up, saw daylight streaming into the cages through the gaps in the warehouse boards, and looked to see who had come in. Ponda was striding down the aisle, and he shouted, “Mealtime, line up!”

Victor stood and moved to nudge Belsa with his toe. When she stirred, pushing her black hair out of her face, he said, “Hey, time for us to get some breakfast, line up behind me by the door.” He and Belsa were waiting their turn as Ponda let the closer cages go first when one of the guys from the pen across the way ran up to the bars and yelled.

“Ponda! Something’s wrong with this guy. He’s not getting up!”

“Shut up! It’s too early for yelling. I’ll check it out in a minute.” A moment later, Ponda opened Victor’s cage, and he led Belsa out and showed her the mess hall, glad that he wouldn’t be in the pens when Ponda discovered the dead guy.

“This place is fucking savage, Belsa,” he said as they sat down with their food. She didn’t reply, just took a bite of her congealed pork fat and beans. “How’d you end up in here?”

“So, now you want to get to know me?”

“Am I going to pay for that comment for the rest of my life? I’m sorry, alright? For the third fucking time.” She stared at him for a moment, then took another bite.

“Well, I got captured. My tribe was raiding a town in Spinecut Gorge. Most of my family got killed; a few of us lived, some court sentenced us to prison, and they sold our sentences at auction.”

“Madre! Any of your people here with you?” He gestured around, indicating the Wagon Wheel.

“No, most of us got split up at the auction.”

“Well, you got a shitty deal. Sorry. I’ve been here a couple of weeks, and more than half the people I’ve met here are dead. I hope things go better for you, though. Do you know how to fight at all?” She snorted and nodded.

“I’m Shadeni. I was born with a spear in my hand.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. I, uh, well, the first person I met here who was really kind to me was a Shadeni. Her name was Yrella.” Something about saying her name aloud made water well up in Victor’s eyes, and he looked down, busying himself with eating his breakfast.

“Where are you from, Vic-tor?” She said his name slowly, like she was feeling how it came out of her mouth.

“Well, some assholes summoned me for some reason from my world. I think it was a mistake because they didn’t seem happy to see me, then they sold me to this guy who runs these pit fights.” Victor shrugged, polishing off his flatbread. “Shall we go get some exercise in? It’s the best part of the day unless you like laying around in the hay and feeling bored.” She nodded, and they walked out into the exercise hall. Since she’d said she was ‘born with a spear,’ Victor checked out a spear, and they practiced with that weapon for a while. Belsa wasn’t slow or weak, but she was no Yrella or Vullu, and Victor didn’t find himself learning anything from her. Still, it was good to have a partner to go through the spear forms with, and they had a good workout going when Yund’s office door slammed open, and the big Shadeni man hollered for Victor to come over. Victor handed Belsa his practice spear and jogged over to Yund.

“Kid!”

“Yeah?” he panted, slightly out of breath.

“I got you a special fight tonight. Private exhibition. Some rich bitch has a thief she wants punished. She hired the Wagon Wheel to put a fighter in the pit with him.”

“Why me?”

“Cause you’re the right tier, and I said so. Wait for me here a minute, and we’ll get going. Gotta take a coach; her estate is outside the city.” Victor nodded and stood there, in his blood-stained clothes, sweat dripping down from his hair, and wondering at the strange, impossible turn his life had taken. Belsa walked over toward him, still holding the practice spears and raising her eyebrows in a questioning look.

“Uh, I have to go to some fight with the Boss. Just turn those in, and then it’ll be almost time to go back to the cages. See you later. Well, I hope.” Victor grinned at his dark humor. Belsa waved, choosing not to reply. He’d found she was a girl with a decided penchant for speaking as little as possible.

“Let’s go, kid!” Yund said, loudly banging his door open. Victor waited for him to lead the way and then followed him out of the Wagon Wheel, down the narrow, trash-filled alley to a busier, wider street, where Yund started looking around for a coach for hire. As always, Victor was kept fascinated watching the people and the strange animals they used for transportation. The coach Yund ended up hiring was a small shiny black box pulled by two bird-lizard things, with the driver sitting up high on a springy seat.

The inside of the coach had once been plush, Victor could tell, but the red upholstered seats were threadbare, and the carpeted floor was mudstained and patchy. He sat back in the deep cushion and caught the distinct scent of weed clinging to the fabric. “Boss, people smoke weed here?”

“Weed?”

“You know, pot. Marijuana? I can smell it in the cushions.”

“Oh, sure, that’s ban blossom. Banban.”

“Huh, sure smells like weed. Does it make you high?”

“Sure, kid, but I’m not getting you any, so quit bugging me about it.” He produced a clipboard from some secret container and started flipping through papers while Victor sat back and let the rumbling of the coach lull him into a nap. “Get up, Victor.” Yund’s voice cut through his dreams, and Victor sat up, blinking his eyes rapidly. “We’re here; get your fight face on.” Victor almost laughed at the idiom, but he snorted, stretched, and waited for the coach to come to a halt. After a moment, its wheels came to a stop, and Yund popped open the door, squeezing his bulk through the narrow opening. Victor followed and was immediately grabbed by the fresh, cool air. No more stink of garbage or excrement, just fresh, clean air. Victor had never been out of Arizona, and he’d never breathed such cool, fresh air. Even up in the Santa Rita’s, there was the ever-present taste of dust in the air.

He saw he was standing on some cobbles, and they’d been dropped in front of a large, white manor or estate. It was constructed of stone blocks and sprawled out into lots of different buildings with tall, peaked roofs. An Ardeni man in a red and black uniform waited for them near the door, and when they approached, he looked at Yund briefly but then stared at Victor for a long while before finally announcing, “He won’t do.”

“Oh, think again, lad,” Yund said, not phased in the least.

“Excuse me, sir Yund, but he’s only tier one, and he looks like he’s been dragged through a charnel pit.”

“Well, you guys can put something fresh on him, and as for his tier, you needn’t worry; he’s up for the task.”

“Sir, the criminal is tier two.”

“Exactly. Not a problem. Now go ahead and take my fighter where you need him. I’ll find the festivities.” Yund didn’t wait for a response, striding straight to the door and into the manor. The uniformed man looked at Victor with an air of defeat and then beckoned for him to follow.

“This way. We’ll have to give you some clean clothes. You realize you are representing the Lady’s Justice tonight. I hope you don’t let her down.”

“Justice? What do you mean?” The inside of the manor was fancy, like the rich people’s houses on VR. The floors were smooth white stone, the walls were smooth white plaster, and art, furniture, and plants were everywhere. Where did rich people get so much shit to put around their houses? They had to be constantly shopping or something.

“I mean just that. Rather than send this man to trial and then prison, she offered him a trial of combat. The fact that you are under-ranked is not going to make her happy. If you lose, your master will have a very unhappy customer.”

“Well, I don’t want to lose either, bud. Also, he’s not my master.” They’d come into a long narrow room with several beds lined up along each side. Each bed had a chest at its foot. Were these servants' quarters or maybe soldiers’ barracks?

“Wait here.” He moved to a large chest at the end of the room, opened it, and started rummaging inside. “White, black or red clothes? The only boots I have are black leather.” He threw a pair of black shoes that looked like a cross between cowboy boots and hiking boots at Victor’s feet.

“Uh, just black, I guess.”

“Yes, it should hide stains the best. Though they have minor cleaning enchantments.” He straightened up and held out some heavy garments to Victor. They felt almost like denim, but they were black and looked more like cotton. Victor held up the shirt and saw that it had tiny letters or figures stitched around the cuffs in a shiny black thread.

“Yo, these look way too big. Same for the boots.”

“Yes, fool, do you think we size all of our servants and custom tailor their garments? These will fit you perfectly after you bond with them.”

“Bond with them?”

“Ancestors! Where did they find you? Put on the clothes, and channel some of your Energy into them. They’ll bond with you.” He stood there, watching Victor expectantly. Victor shrugged and stripped out of his crusty, stained t-shirt and jeans, kicking his tennies off and noticing the new holes in the soles. He stood there in stained boxers and hole-filled socks.

“Man, you got any clean underwear and socks by any chance?”

“If the Lady hears of this….” the man grumbled, but he walked back to the chest and came back with some soft, white underwear and thick woolen socks. Victor wasted no time, slipping out of his filthy undergarments and trying on the new ones. They were too big, but he did like the guy said and tried to push a little bit of Energy out his pathway into them. To his astonishment, they immediately shrank to fit him snuggly. Excited by the prospect of magical clothes, he pulled on the pants and shirt, then slipped on the big boots. He performed the same trick, channeling some Energy into the clothes and boots, and soon he was standing with clothes that fit him perfectly for the first time in his life. The shirt had a low collar and flatteringly clung to his chest and arms. The pants were about as similar to black jeans as he could imagine, even having pockets like he was used to. The boots were the most kickass thing, though. They felt more comfortable than any tennies he’d ever owned, snugly hugging his feet. The sole seemed like rugged leather or wood, but it somehow cushioned his feet perfectly, and he wondered if they had some sort of comfort enchantment. The thing he liked the most about them, though, was that they were tough, with a metal-plated heel that clicked on the marble floors when he walked.

“That certainly made a world of difference,” the uniformed servant said. “Now, you look like someone who could represent Justice. Please drop your old clothes in that chute.”

“Is that the laundry?”

“No, the incinerator.” Victor opened his mouth to argue, but then he realized that if they burned his old clothes, they would have to let him keep these, so he dumped his old belongings into the chute, belatedly realizing that he had nothing left of his life on Earth. “Good, follow me.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Victor turned away from the chute and followed the servant. They passed through several hallways, across a breezeway, into another building, then out into a garden and along another path that opened onto a lawn lit by glowing yellow orbs and a large bonfire. People stood around drinking from glasses and talking, and a tall Ghelli with glorious wings that shed sparkles of light was singing and playing a stringed instrument.

Her voice was ethereal, and the music was unlike anything Victor had ever heard, seeming to push right into his mind, triggering emotions and memories from distant corners of his life. On a primal level, he recognized that he was being influenced by Energy, and he tried to focus his will to push the music out. The music didn’t resist him, and he soon heard it normally, without its unnatural influence. “Is that singer trying to cast spells on me, man?”

“Energy enhances her song - it’s a skill of hers. You should easily be able to avoid the effect if you don't like it. Come, I’ll introduce you to the Lady.” Victor followed the man across the lawn to a group of Ardeni women standing around wearing slinky dresses and sizing each other up. The guy who’d been showing Victor around stopped a few feet away, so Victor did too. They stood there for a while, then one of the ladies, the tallest one with bright yellow hair and eyes, looked their way. The servant seemed to recognize some sort of signal and stepped forward to say, “Lady ap’Brellin, may I present your representative of Justice.” He gestured, and Victor moved up to stand at his side. He had no idea what to say, so he just cleared his throat and nodded.

“What a tall and striking Justice we have tonight. Is that my household livery I recognize?” She stepped forward and reached up to rest a hand on Victor’s chest, tracing a finger over the fabric of his shirt.

“Ahem, yes, my Lady; I felt he would more appropriately represent you wearing these garments.”

“Hmm, yes. Very good, Pel. Well, you’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Are you ready to deliver Justice?” She turned from the servant to stare into Victor’s face, her hand still on his chest. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like her warm hand resting there, but he was also a little flustered with all the other people around and the ladies visibly snickering behind their napkins or drinks.

“Yes. Uh, yes, I’m ready.” His voice had cracked at first, and he couldn’t help the embarrassed grin that parted his lips. The lady also smiled, and, allowing her fingers to drum upon his chest one last time, she pulled her hand away and called out to the people milling about the lawn.

“It’s time for the trial; our Justice is here and ready to perform!”