Chapter 17 -Graceless

I circled around him, holding my sword in my hand. It leaned out and pointed towards him, but neither of us moved. He had fought just the day before. I was fresh. Bandages stood out on his skin, but none were red. Any injuries he had sustained must have not been substantial, else they would not have sent him out.

The crowds were quiet for once. Anticipation clawed at all of us, and I decided to make the first move. Stepping in I swung diagonally across his body. He retaliated with his own swing opposite to mine, but even as my sword descended, I hopped backwards out of his range. A counter-cut? Or was he trying to hit my blade?

This time I poised for an overhead downwards swing. Up, hold, wait for a reaction, sidestep, swing down. Pain laced my ribs and I felt my side open up as he cut horizontally. I knew it had been coming, I had expected it when I brought the sword above my head, but I was not fast enough to avoid it. Still, it was a shallow swipe. Hopefully.

Blood trickled down towards my leg, mixing with sweat and staining my shirt. The crowd shouted and relaxed with each attack and counter-attack. When they saw the redness on my garb, a hush overcame the arena again. Why are they quiet? The damn leeches crave blood, there’s no reason for them to hold their tongues now.

Spitting to the side I raised my sword in guard once more. Across from me, the brown-eyed man still hesitated. How had he won his last match? He’s taking no initiative… Come to think of it, his last attack had swung wider than I expected. Maybe if I…

Lunging forwards, a harsh cry erupted from my lungs. There! His eyes opened wide and he swung wildly, but I was nowhere near him. I had barely moved forwards yet he still “counterattacked.” The blade had flashed uncomfortably close to me regardless. So he was fast. Both his reflexes and his arm, but he was still as inexperienced as I was.

Laughter bubbled up from in my chest, and I threw my head back as I chuckled. It shifted to full blown mockery as I ignored him to laugh, sword held loosely by my side. I hardly paid attention, but I realized I had nothing to be afraid of. I was not even laughing at him, more at my own over-cautiousness. From the corner of my eye I saw him edging closer to me while the crowd fidgeted and looked at me with breath held. No doubt they were as confused as he was.

I held out an open palm to him, a request for him to stop and let me laugh some more. But as I wiped the tear away from the corner of my eye, I saw him pounce.

So easily they take the bait.

I dropped under his reaching diagonal slash and crossed under his arm. Leaping past his guard I rose and twisted. Whack! Whack! Twice I smashed my sword against his shoulder then hand. Despite using the flat of my blade, it still drew blood along the edges, but I knew the cuts were superficial and did not give him a chance to recover. He turned with another wild swing. Metal rang against metal as I blocked it, holding my sword at the handle and near the top.

I glanced at his eyes and saw what I had been looking for. Panic. It hurt your own hand when you gripped the sword so hard didn’t it? It’s hard to hold on now, isn’t it? I could empathize. With wide eyes he tried retreating, but my foot lashed upwards and kicked his hand. A sharp cry tore through the silence as he dropped his weapon. I advanced towards him, not allowing a second’s reprieve for either of us. In my follow up I continued to swing my sword at him, beating him with it. At what point is this considered a win, I pondered while he cowered underneath the rise and fall of my blade. How about…

Turning the blade so that the sharp edge threatened him, I let the point rest on his chest.

“Surrender.”

Frantically his head bobbed up and down while he managed to gasp, “I surrender! Mercy, please!”

I turned my back to him. After taking a few steps I squatted down to grab his sword from where he dropped it. Holding both of them I walked like an unconcerned cat back to the door I entered the arena from. Around me the audience exploded into a mass of whoops and howls.

“KHAISAR!!”

“KHAISAR!”

“GELAS”

“GE-LAAAS!!!”

My foot froze in its tracks, and I could not lift it to take the next step. My eyes hunted through the crowd. Who started it? Who knew my name? All of them, I realized. Everyone knew my name. Forcing myself to swallow, I stumbled, then walked towards the door. And the guards the other day… what had happened?

As gave my swords to the weapons attendant I turned away in haste, trying to hide my face -and bumped straight into Itchy and Smiley. I had not seen them since they mentioned my sister. The muscles in my jaw stood out as my face contorted into a demonic scowl. “How did you know?” I hoarsely whispered.

Gods how I wanted to grab them and pummel them to death. If I was fast enough, I could grab the swords back from the attendant and slice both their necks at once.

“Come little mouse, come Gelas, why do you fight it, come pounce.”

“Kill us like you killed those poor boys.”

“What was it again?” Itchy asked, to which Smiley replied with my own words.

“They did nothing but taunt me with threats, much like I had used to do with them, but the pain from my sister’s death was still a raw wound, and I lashed out at them… I had not meant to go so far…”

I recognized it, and it dawned on me then. When the scribe took my account of the events, I thought it had been for some form of documentation or chronicling, but no… it had been for more entertainment. Just as quickly as the rage inside me had flared, it now shrunk down to a softly flickering candle. My shoulders fell and I drew in a deep breath.

“They were not worth it.” I told the graceless pair. Heading back to my cell, I stepped past them, whispering just loud enough for them to hear, “and neither are you.”

My steps were stiff, and I was braced for consequence to lash out and bruise my back, but none came.

--

That night I had difficulty sleeping.

It’s strange, so many other things I have forgotten, like the taste of the food they served us and the names of the guards that patrolled the corridor. Even the faces of most of my opponents is naught but a blur to me.

That night is still clear to me though. The turmoil churning in the depths of my chest as long lost memories surfaced. Faced with the remembrance of childhood, with the remembrance of who I had been and what I had done, I realized that I had moved on. And that was the thought that had kept me awake.

At the time I had not been focused on remembering everything, and I accepted that forgetfulness is natural (which I still, for the most part, accept). But it was the ease at which the cell became my room, and the life-or-death nature of the coliseum became my norm which terrified me. For there used to be a time that I was far from such things. That I enjoyed the peace of Orid-narr and ate meals alongside family instead of alone. Patrons of my mother’s tavern kept an eye out for me when she was busy -even before we had moved to Orid-narr. My father’s co-workers shared stories with me about his surefootedness on fastest of currents. Then there was quiet Garent, and smiling Aryel. It had only been a year since I left, but if someone asked me to describe the details of her face, or if someone asked me to provide an illustration, I would struggle… Why had I let things change…

I became accustomed to not seeing smiling faces unless it was sneers or broken grins. I stopped thinking about life outside the walls of the coliseum. The kindness of humanity became foreign. I forgot about the help people offered me after Aryel’s death and only remembered the vicious words and people pelting me with rotted vegetables and fruits upon my arrival in Chereba. I accepted the filth of Itchy and Smiley as a given. That it was the true nature of humanity.

That night as I lay in my cot and stared into the dark remembering kindness, I recalled my own viciousness. Why had I been so relentless and angry? Perhaps the Uthians had the right idea with their pacifism. But what if I was attacked? Or someone I loved was attacked? I was too much of a fighter to accept the ideology. Besides, the teachings of Evelilas already discounts that idea. Man was created angry and full of passion. It was their test to calm themselves and fight that nature, especially in the presence of women. On top of that it was the responsibility of man to be defenders of justice and honor. Men were the arrow to women’s bows. While they could embrace any occupation they wished, when the time comes, it is up to the men to stand in ranks against enemies. Why had I never followed what my parents had taught me?

No, I had obeyed their teachings. I was defending my family’s honor that night. But it came from a previous lack of restraint, I realized. Had I never antagonized the other boys, they never would have insulted me and my family. It all came down to my own failing.

The crowds chanting my real name had been the catalyst for my recollection of more pleasant days. However, despite enjoying my trip down memory lane and my recollection of the kindness that humanity can possess, I felt no gratitude to the cheering masses. I saw their existence as the epitome of the cruelty of man. To take those who have made mistakes or committed crimes and pit them against one another for the sake of enjoyment was sickening. Especially given the false hope of potential freedom.

How was I to think otherwise? What events could have changed my perception in a positive manner? None until the very end. Now I stop and wonder what would have happened if I gave up. If I accepted life in that continuous cycle of fighting and did not bother to look back when the opportunity presented itself.

Make no mistake, you suffered, and you had thought it was hopeless. You had dedicated yourself to thriving in that temple to blood, violence, and humiliation. You laughed gleefully when you saw the city because you knew you could make it yours. But when they chanted your name, when the mask of “Khaisar” was pulled away and your background was borne to the world, you lay sleepless in the dark with tears trickling down the sides of your face and falling into your ear. And still you came to the conclusion that this world was a cruel one.

Forced to be a tool for other’s enjoyment, and not even offered anonymity. For the world to know your sin and how you failed your mother. How you left your younger brother to be the only one to help and serve your parents.

I now understand how you were suffering even when you did not know it, and I pity the poor boy that could not sleep that night, but I am proud of him for holding on to what he believed deep down. Is it right for one to see himself in such a fashion? To engage in self-pity and pride? I can’t say I know, but come what may, when I look back at those days that is how I see you…

When I finally fell asleep that night, I was carried off into fitful dreams and woke up shivering the next morning. I had the day to myself. Rest from yesterday’s fight. I rose to my feet and called for the guards. They sauntered down the dimly lit corridor and it felt like hours before they finally reached my cell near the end of the hall. When the lazily dressed pair slouched across from me I requested an opportunity to bathe and see a medic. To my surprise, they nodded and not long after I sat with on a short wooden stool while the same familiar grey-haired man studied my ribs.

He had stitched my cut just yesterday, and now he was observing his handiwork. Yes, hrm, I did a swell job he must be thinking. Not that I could guess.

“Well, what’s the problem young man. Ribs still hurt?”

“No, I had trouble sleeping, trouble thinking, and I felt a bath might help.”

The man nodded, “right, what do I have to do with that?”

“I doubt they would have let me out for just a bath, but I’m guessing they want me in good condition for tomorrows fight, so I lumped the two requests together and, here I am.”

“So you are fine?”

I did not respond immediately, and a part of me was seized by the fear that he would simply leave, taking away my chance at a bath.

“yeah, I’m fine.” I muttered.

He did not leave. Instead, he continued to stare at me quizzically. I glanced around and rubbed my thumb against palm. Was he going to say something? I peeked at him and saw him look away.

“You said a bath will help you?” He said while massaging his neck.

I slowly bobbed my head.

Forcing a too-wide smile he clapped his hands together, “Very well! Let us have them prepare a bath.”

When the tub was brought, I shied away from him but could not escape his eyes. What did he want with me? Spit it out already. I grimaced and began tapping on the side of the wooden bath. He was sitting by the side of the tub, was he afraid I was going to drown? Now he looked away again.

“Can I help you with something?” I shot at him.

He took his time replying, as though trying to figure out what he was going to say, and when he finally spoke up he said, “Your sister Aryel, had Vaadeb. One of three documented cases. Your mother is Katarina, and your father is Gintars.”

I stared at him for a moment before blurting out, “Everyone knows that now.”

He shook his head, “They might know a lot, but they don’t know this.”

My eyes rounded and it clicked. That is why his face had looked familiar.

“You were the physician” I exclaimed.

“I was the physician.”

We sat in silence as I mulled it over. I had so many questions for him, but where to start? He did not give me a chance to ask, and instead asked his own question first.

“May I see your hand?”

“Right,” he specified after a moment. I held it out for him and he turned it over. Lightly he traced over the scarring on my fingers. A white line crossed the four of them.

“You should be grateful it did not get infected.”

Shaking his head he asked, “Do you have any idea what you did to those boys?

“One dead, two unable to speak, one broken nose.”

“One dead, but the broken nose was reset, and the other two have made somewhat of a recovery.”

“Can they talk now?”

“The one whose throat you kicked still has some hoarseness, but the other one is almost fully recovered. His jaw clicks occasionally and if the weather changes he complains about aching in the bones. It’s just unfortunate that the other one died.”

I did not reply to that, or voice agreement. I no longer burned in my hatred. A part of me did regret that it was the quiet one who lost his life and not the blabbering lunatic. Noticing that he was silent, I snuck in the first of my questions.

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve always been here. Every year around this time I am in this arena, tending to one criminal or the other. Can’t say there have been many like you though. There are more than you would expect,” he said, noticing my raised eyebrow. “Many poor souls end up in a situation where they acted on rage, or drunken retaliation and try to continue fighting, doing whatever it takes to survive. But the ones that tend to stand out and thrive in this environment are the ones who know no morality or love… Which one are you?”

I had no answer for him.