Chapter 29 -Precipice

My life turned into a quagmire of routine for the next month. Between training in preparation for the upcoming tournament and shadowing Khatvari to help him with his various responsibilities, time became more precious to me than all that the sea has to offer.

Whenever I was not in one place, I was in the other. I rose before the barest hints of dawn to begin my strength regimen, and I would follow it up with warm bread and tea fresh from the kitchens.

Only those mornings, and the short time before I fell asleep were truly my own time. For after I broke fast in the morning, people would begin to filter in through the doors of the mess hall for their own food. By that time, I would already be back outside, doing light stretches.

Normally this time would be reserved for studies of the book and not the blade, but one week prior, Hensler had taken out military tactics and studies of warfare from my curriculum. In its place he shifted my weapons practice to earlier in the day. It seemed strange remove the lessons in warfare only to add more fighting -especially when I knew for a fact that I was already among the best with weapons.

When I brought it up, a peculiar look came across his face, but he did not elaborate on his decision.

…If it was his decision at all.

Just before midday I would finish with my gladiatorial duties, and I would bolt to reach Khatvari’s side before the sun brushed the heels of Evelilas. Lunch was had together, then the stories would begin. For an hour after we ate, his voice would drone on and on about the first landings at Gler and Navitrag, about maneuvering around the sheer cliffs cut away by the supernal tide. How the ocean spray dictated what houses were built near the docks, and how the docks themselves still stood as one of the greatest feats of engineering in all of Belnar. He would talk of Chereba and its differences with other cities. He spoke of the birth of Katentin under the first architect. Of moving the capital from Gler in the north, where Katentin lies now. On a plateau further inland, within the defensible lake of Khel Mertis that serves as a natural moat.

The topic of the story would change, sometimes he would introduce a new idea, other times he would continue right where he left off the day before. Then, as though he forgot he needed to meet with someone else, abruptly he would stop. He would have me copy his drawings then, just so that he could have extras. After an hour hunched over a desk, we moved outside to ensure progress was as expected and to the standard set by Khatvari.

I stayed alongside the old man for as long as he needed me, and if he finished his work early, then I had a chance to see Teofile before my curfew.

It was between these three that my waking hours were spent. Three lives. A gladiator, an architect’s apprentice, and an inexperienced young man trying to win the affections of the orphan’s caretaker. The days quickly blurred, and I remember very little of the details that differentiated one from the next. I only remembered waking, going through the motions, and laying down exhausted. Yet now, as I write these words, I find a sense of nostalgia welling up from deep within.

Why that is, I cannot say. I only know that I look back at it fondly. Perhaps in there is a testament to my own madness. That despite, or maybe even because of, the complete devotion of my time to such pursuits, I felt fulfilled. And in this fulfillment, time became immaterial. Until one day I woke up to find the training grounds busy despite the sun not having risen. Teachers with their students, offering the last shreds of advice.

Hensler arrived a moment later, back stiff and eyes darting around. His demeanor did nothing to assuage the churning in my stomach. I waved my hand towards him, and he cut across the grounds with hurried strides.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Preparations. Tomorrow is the tournament.”

“Tomorrow?!”

He grimaced, “I know, I lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time? Aren’t you supposed to be my advisor??” I spit out.

Then I bit my tongue. This was the first time I commented on anything the man did. I had had faith in him until now, so why stop? Besides, I should have been attentive to the date as well. I should have understood why decorations were being hung in the streets. But despite the shops chiming with the noise of hammers, saws and people selling their wares, it had not dawned on me that the events would be so soon. But it mattered not, and I should have spared him the venom in my tone, for my relentless routine had prepared me for my first tournament in the Queen’s Coliseum.

The event was different from the one-on-one tournament bracket that I had gone through in Chereba. Here, team events were a part of the competition, and we would start with two teams of thirty-six, chosen by lottery. These teams competed against each other in three events. The first event was a relay race, the second was capture the flag -albeit armed and armored, and the third was a Baeran bigger than any I had played before. In Baeran, there is one round leather ball, just larger than a horseshoe, painted bright blue, and the aim of the game is simple: drop it into the opposing team’s bucket at the end of the field. From there the ball is given to the opposing team and they must score. But there are no other rules. The ball can be passed, kicked, rolled, hidden. The person holding the ball can be attacked. When the team that gets scored on receives possession of the ball, there is nothing stopping the team that scored from stealing the ball right next to the bucket and scoring again. Nothing but the fighters on either side. Often, one team would score, then simply try to maintain possession for as long as possible to prevent the other team from scoring. Because of the number of players, the game would go on for three hours.

The team that won two of the three events would move on to the next stage, where they would break apart into three teams of twelve. The first event of the next stage is Charmalis. A strange, three party take on Queen of the Castle, where there were two castles. If one team managed to secure both for the eight-hour duration, then the next event was skipped, and the two losing teams would be disqualified. But although it had been tried in the past, that tactic never succeeded. It was more regular for two teams to reign over their own individual castles and let the third team come to them for it, and often the teams that reached the castles first would win. Critics argued that it turned it into a fight for speed more than one of tactics, and their criticism was well founded. But what does it matter? Don’t they know that speed is important in warfare as well?

The winning teams of Charmalis would face each other in three rounds of tug of war next, and by the end of it there would be a final victor.

Then again that winning team would split, but this time into six teams of two, who would then face off against each other in pairs. They would fight and eliminate duos in a traditional tournament set up until one pair stood at the top.

Those two would fight against each other in a final battle to crown a single champion of that season’s games.

I grit my teeth and growled as Hensler relayed the details and structure of the games to me. No matter how much I prepared, it did not matter if my team did not know how to fight together, and for us first year gladiators, we lacked the experience of moving as units. Sure, we had practiced a few times, but for the gladiators that had been fighting for over three years? I sighed and let out a long exhale. I suppose we just needed to pray the match making favored us and that us newbies were split evenly.

Regardless, the need to rely on others was not to my liking, and Hensler’s observant eyes did not miss my displeasure.

“Don’t worry, just do your best and avoid injury. Despite the prohibition on killing, these men and women fight hard and with a ferocity that puts wolves to shame. If you suffer any breaks, it will slow you down and you won’t have a chance to fight next season.”

I nodded, meeting his eye for a split second then looking back to the field where others were receiving similar briefs.

“Stay safe.” He squeezed my shoulder and turned me away from packs of gladiators getting in their last-minute training.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

We walked the paved path until we were seated in the noisy dining hall. It buzzed like a hive despite the early hour and my shoulders shrunk inwards. For the longest time I had avoided the crowds by eating at different times -often before everyone else. The noises thrummed in my ear and each time someone passed from behind me, or near me, the muscles in my neck began to tense up.

Hensler, whose hand was still on my shoulder, felt the stiffness and squeezed in another attempt to be reassuring. I glanced towards him but did not move his hand away. In truth, I had not expected him to notice, or to care, and I felt ashamed for my earlier outburst. But what was I to do? The shame sought to add another drop on the scale of impropriety. The spectrum of confidence that had me curled up in a ball on one end, and standing tall like I had as Gelas the tyrant and conqueror of Chereba’s Arena. Where was it? Where had the self-assuredness of Khaisar -the one who did not know defeat, go? What was this unease that pattered my heart and wet my hands? This was not me…

Who am I?

It was the wrong direction for my thoughts to take, and I realized I had begun to spiral.

I swallowed hard and took a long deep breath. This was not me. I will not succumb to my own whispers.

I shelved the thoughts, putting them away as best I could. They were still lurking in the shadows of my mind like a predator with glowing eyes, but I would not be cowed.

I met Hensler’s gaze this time, and I did not look away.

“Sorry about earlier. Thank you for everything.”

He nodded, “I can understand your concern. Routine had taken us along through time like driftwood in a rushing river.”

As we walked along with our trays and filled up our plates he murmured a continuation under his breath, “routine had taken us along, but it is routine that will see us through.”

It had the sound of something from a song, but despite my interest, I did not ask, for he did not say it intending to be heard.

We ate as we had in previous days, barely passing a word across the meal. The time between breakfast and lunch normally reserved for studies or training was replaced with a briefing session where Serena repeated the rules three times. Essentially it boiled down to: do not kill or permanently maim. There was some emphasis on working with your team and not hindering progress because of personal vendettas. We were to think of it as a training exercise where we were fighting against a foreign opponent and our team was the only allies we have. Each victory earned the team a prize, meaning the gladiator crowned at the end of the festival would not only have that award, but also every prize from having gotten to that point. There was no punishment but shame for the losing teams, yet that was more than punishment enough. For most.

Keeping along with Hensler’s suggestion, I followed along with my everyday routine. Surprisingly, not much changed from how it had gone in earlier weeks. Sure, instead of my morning training with Hensler, we had a chat and breakfast, but it was still time spent with him in the same places. Then afterwards, instead of philosophy or history, rule briefings and instructions were conducted. Again, they were in the same place, yielding to a strange déjà vu. The feeling did not leave me even after I left the auditorium to attend to Khaisar.

As I ghosted through the streets with lips pressed tight and eyes that took in the surroundings for the first time in months, I saw it all: the hanging banners, the signposts detailing the dates and times of each competition, even the foods that would be available in the stands. I heard the voices murmuring, the laughs and conversations as people wanted to place their bets on favorites from past season’s festivals.

My neck bristled when I heard my name mentioned. For all the joy I used to have in being recognized, now it only hastened the beating of my heart and dampened my palms. Unwilling to smile and wave, I ducked into an alley before others took note. It was through back streets that I made my way to Khatvari’s apartment, only to find him sitting outside with pipe in hand.

I lowered myself down next to him on the stoop and silence loomed. From a small presence it grew until it towered over us. Khatvari took one long drag from his pipe and let it out in a slow final billow. I followed the rising cloud as it dissipated, and I listened to the sound of fabric swishing against fabric as he reached into his pocket. He took out a familiar small contained and opened the lid. With a clack he smacked the end of his pipe over the open container, emptying the ashes from his pipe into it before closing the lid and stowing both of them away. He wiped his hand down his face then rubbed at his shaven chin. Then, without meeting my eyes, he asked.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

I froze, and my heart went numb. My face fell slack and I opened my mouth to answer but I found no words.