Dammit. I had been more tired than I thought…not to mention warm. The Mian kids surrounding me were like mini-heaters, and I had spent too long being chilled living in the sewers. I hadn’t slept this well since…Joyal.
Not allowing the memories of home to invade too deeply, I sighed quietly. I would be trapped here until they began leaving. With my hood covering my eyes, they had no clue I wasn’t Mian. My smaller stature also gave the impression that I was a child. But unless they left early, my hopes for tracking Jax might be foiled for this night. I would have to wait and see.
Moving quietly to my stomach, I tried not to bump the kids on either side of me too much. But I wasn’t stupid. During the process of rolling, I grabbed the knife I had stolen from my Vaq – what seemed like so long ago – from under my cloak, and gripped it loosely. They may just be Mian kids….but they were still Mian. A group of them could take me down easily with their added strength and speed.
I lay silently between two chattering Mian mini-heaters, watching as more Mian poured through the entrance. There was light inside the tent, but it was subdued, making me squint to see clearly to the entrance/exit. The Mian were loud and boisterous, pounding each other on the back in greeting, drowning out the kids gossiping. All sported the tattooed mark of the east near their right eye – a star. My Vaq wore the tattoo of the west near their left eye – a circle with a line through it. Seeing so many of the east all in one place kept my mouth shut tight. I doubted I would receive a warm welcome if anyone realized I was Soul to the Plumas of the west.
Through the space between the feet of the Mian who sat down on the bleacher directly above my head, I analyzed the occupants on the far bleachers as much as I could from under my hood. I couldn’t see the Plumas of the east, but that wasn’t saying much since I could only see a small section. Judging by the finer apparel the Mian were wearing tonight, it gave me a good sign that my intel had been correct. It appeared that they were dressing up just in case they had the opportunity to speak with their much loved Plumas.
I tried not to snort at the thought.
No matter what planet you lived on, some things never changed. Politics were still politics.
The ‘games’ began within fifteen minutes. I was extremely glad I had the hood to deflect all of the sand that continued to fly up from the pit. The kids next to me weren’t so lucky in their chancy entertainment. They squirmed and coughed as the bloody granules sailed in the air. It only exhilarated them, though, if their small fists pumping in the tight area was any indication.
I stayed low and quiet, watching as Mian warriors continued to maim each other.
Death…and more death. All while the crowd cheered in energized fervor.
It was disgusting…and curiously engaging. By the time the tenth pair was brought in through the entrance, I could almost tell who was going to win – live – before they even began battling one another. The way they held themselves, and their weapon of choice, from the unsettling rage their glowing eyes showed to the quiet watchfulness as they assessed their opponent, it was all there to anyone with a skilled eye. The men, and it was only men, who came in beating their chests and roaring to enliven the crowd…usually died the fastest. The opponent who prepared with seriousness to their movements almost always lived.
However, one brash Mian surprised me. The crowd shouted his name, Stiller, with great vigor, and he bellowed right back – just as loud – wearing the most amused grin on his features. He even flexed his muscles more than a few times for the ladies on the sidelines. I thought he would die within the first five minutes, but, in fact, he killed his opponent in the first two minutes…while still wearing that amused grin, and sporting new war paint of blood dripping on his bare chest.
In the end, he turned and bowed deeply, almost in hilarity, to my far left.
The crowd thoroughly enjoyed that, laughter heard all around.
I had a pretty good idea of who he would be bowing to. Not to mention, Stiller must be a close friend of the Plumas to joke around with them as he was. That bow could have easily have been taken as disrespectful, but not by the crowd’s reaction of delight…and the fact he still had his head as he climbed onto the bleachers in the direction he had bowed - instead of leaving the Crank Pit as all the other surviving competitors had done. I lost track of him the higher he climbed.
The Plumas were seemingly sitting at the top. Good to know.
While two men dragged out the newly deceased, the announcer walked onto the sand of the pit. It still amazed me that one man could continually quiet the audience with a gentle wave of his hands. Into the hush, he stated loudly, “Our final fight of the night: Bailor Nostum and Jax Waterston.”
The crowd…went wild.
I almost covered my ears, the chanting and screams were so loud. The sand and dirt I lay on vibrated under me from the Mian beating on the bleachers with their feet and fists. The children next to me went utterly quiet, and then started elbowing each other as the announcer left and the two competitors entered the pit. My own heart stopped, then beat a chaotic rhythm when I saw Jax.
He was alive, and most definitely well taken care of. He wore only an outfit much like all the Mian who had been fighting tonight. His chest was bare, along with his feet; a pair of soft black leather pants were his only protection. His skin shone with a healthy glow under the soft light, and no obvious mark of torture marred his smooth flesh. He smiled a real smile and raised his left hand to wave at the crowd, and that was when I noticed that he no longer wore his black slave’s bracelet.
My jaw bobbed. What?
He was no longer a slave?
I couldn’t…I couldn’t even wrap my mind around what would give him his freedom.
And…he appeared to like it in the Crank Pit by the way he was grinning from ear-to-ear.
I froze utterly when Jax turned to the crowd and pressed his mouth to a woman’s who was leaning over at the waist on the front row. My breath stalled in my lungs as they kissed to the crowd’s roar, Jax’s tongue definitely invading the woman’s mouth. She blushed prettily as she leaned back, but she still threw her fists in the air, as if in victory.
I didn’t know what to think. Had they brainwashed him?
This wasn’t the Jax I knew. A simmer of emotion began to burn my throat. I swallowed repeatedly as the two opponents began warming up. I may not know what to think of the situation, my plan definitely needing to change with him no longer a slave, but I knew what I felt.
Betrayed.