Fantasy of Flight (7 page)

The men nod and murmur their agreement. Before I can fully process what’s going on, Alzona has ended the discussion and everyone is leaving for their rooms. I haven’t even agreed to this, but my gut tells me a refusal would fall on deaf ears anyway.

It looks like I’m the new trainer.

I escort Alzona and Shard to Tricks’ the next morning for Alzona’s routine “before the pit chat” and then leave to meet up with the whore. I don’t even know her name. It seems wrong to call her the whore.

Four goldies sit in the top of my boot. Three was the deal, but if she gives me decent information, I’ll give her four. She must get a lot of intel from those who…hire her. She may be of use in the future.

I stand opposite the whorehouse and wait. It doesn’t take long until I see her swaying form approaching.

“Greetings, Frost,” she chimes. Her voice tinkles like a wind charm. I wonder how long she practiced that for.

“Greetings…sorry, I don’t know your name,” I say.

She plays with the folds of her dress. “Not many people do,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate.

I scan the rooftops and the people around us for eavesdroppers. It’s no point really. Alzona clued me into the fact there are hundreds of hiding places on the streets here. I wonder how many people are listening to our conversation right now. “The information?” I ask. She folds her arms.

“Yes. That was harder than I thought,” she says. Inspecting her nails. It strikes me she might be drawing this out. For entertainment?

“I paid you for information, not a show,” I say. I expect her to be insulted, but she laughs. It’s a breathy sound. Men whip their heads around when they hear it. Their eyes drink her in.

“You never react how I expect. I enjoy it,” she claps her hands, moving closer until our bodies are against each other. “I couldn’t find out anything about Seedyr arrows.” I can tell by her tone she’s annoyed by this. She doesn’t hear the word “no” often. “I found out about Seedyr spears, darts, but not arrows.”

“Ven-, Uh, fuck,” I pull my head back so I can watch her face.

“I love a good one,” she says with a laugh. She sighs at my confused look.

“I have the name of the weaponry joint which sells the other Seedyr weapons. I believe this is your best bet. It’s called Jazyrs. It’s located where the First Sector meets the Sixth.” It isn’t exactly what I hoped for, but it isn’t another dead end like I’ve grown used to.

“Thank you,” I say and extract the four coins.

“You’re
most
welcome. I’ll even tell you if I pick anything else up,” she says. The coins disappear into her fist. She doesn’t walk away as I expect, but stays by my side. I let my eyes wander over the building in front of me. “What does a whorehouse look like inside?” I ask.

She laughs again. “You mean a brothel?” She looks at me for a long moment. “Y’know what? Come with me. I’ll show you, if only to see your virgin expression.”

“Uh…is it safe?” I ask.

“Pretty much. Though I don’t know why
you’re
worried.”

Curiosity wins over caution. I follow her through the crowd who part for her. Or rather, she stops men in their tracks, making it easier to walk around them. It’s faster to walk when I stay next to her. Lust ranks higher than fear out here.

We walk through the entrance to the building and I feel my eyes trying to leave their sockets. There are naked women everywhere. Five of them stand in a line as a man walks back and forth in front of them. I avert my eyes and focus on the stairs, but there are some there, too.

“Your cheeks are bright red,” she whispers in my ear with a giggle. “I’ll show you my room.”

Anything to get away from all the nakedness. She pulls me up several flights of stairs to the top room where I’ve seen her dancing.

“Are you the top, uh, whore?” I ask. She dips her head and moves to her wardrobe.

“I enjoy what I do. You’ve probably seen the ones who don’t?” She turns to make sure I understand before turning back. “They’re normally down the bottom.” My shock from downstairs has worn off enough that I realize what I’m looking at.

I stand up and approach her wardrobe.

“You have so many clothes,” I say. I reach to touch the fabric, but then remember what she’s been doing in them and snatch my hand back.

She looks at me. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? And some are extraordinarily expensive.” She draws the last word out and giggles. “Just like me.”

“Have you decided what you’ll be spending the seven goldies on?”

She laughs. “Four goldies now. I already spent the others.” She doesn’t thank me for the extra coin.

“With all the money you’ve spent on these clothes, you could’ve left the brothel.” I say, hinting once more.

She shrugs. “I told you. I love it. The others though,” she grows serious. “I don’t agree people should be forced into this life. Or into any life. There are girls down there who would kill to have what you have. Your fighting ability.”

Her words interrupt my examination of her clothing. “Why don’t they learn?” I ask. I survey the rest of her wardrobe. There’s no black cloth, the rest is either too thick or too thin. I deny the lightness which fills me with the discovery. Surely, it’s not relief.

She snorts. “Where would they learn to do that? And how would they pay for it? Those girls don’t earn coin because they don’t like what they do. And only those who
want to bed someone against that person’s wish will hire them. It’s a short life span for many.”

I look at her in horror. “That’s…terrible.” She blinks a few times to clear her misty eyes, turning to swing the wardrobe doors shut.

“You don’t have anything black in there,” I say. I hold my breath waiting for her answer. She shakes her head.

“No. I don’t suit black. You though, would look great in black. It would bring out the blue tinge of your hair a bit more.”

Damn my guilty conscience. I can’t get away from it. “I was thinking of getting a dress.” I walk to her wardrobe and open it again. “I want a material about half as thick as this. And, if you say black would suit me, then I suppose it would have to be black,” I say. There’s no doubt about it. I definitely feel relief and even happiness when she shakes her head.

“I don’t know where you expect to find that. If it existed, I would have it. I’d recommend going for the thinner material instead. Men like it because it is flimsy and rips easily,” she confides with a wolfish smile. I clear my throat.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for showing me your…home.” I say, backing to the door.

“Oh, I should probably thank you, Frost. You’ve just done wonders for my reputation.” She smirks at me. I puzzle at her words, but cannot make sense of them.

“And it’s Willow by the way,” she says just before I close the door.

I escape the stream of naked woman and leering men, and make it outside. The top of Alzona’s black head is in sight and I shove my way towards her.

“What happened to you? You’re pale,” Shard asks. I shake my head. No one is going to hear about my visit to the brothel.

A fist slams into the stone next to my head. I roll beneath the arm and slam the heel of my palm into the person’s side. A rib breaks and I know I’ll win. Sure enough the man falters soon after. I keep him in a chokehold until he loses consciousness.

I walk out, swatting away Sin’s hand as he tries to touch my backside.

“Don’t touch what you can’t afford,” I say without breaking my stride. I’d heard Willow say this the other day.

Shard chucks me a cloth to wipe the beads of sweat from my body.

“Good fight,” he says. I high five the team, then move into my cool down while I watch the next fight. I don’t know the two men. They’re from barracks in another sector. The men are only decent fighters and evenly matched. I look up at the crowd to judge the reaction. A massive frame sticks out from the rest. Is that Rhone? I squint and edge a little closer.

The sound of screaming stops me from finding out. It comes from above. The fifth or sixth level. What’s happening? Several bells start ringing at once. I stand on the spot as chaos erupts, dumbfounded by the sudden scramble around me.

“Watchmen!” Shard shouts and grabs my hand. “We have to get out of the Cells. Quick.” I grab Crystal’s hand and see the others ahead. Avalanche carves a pathway through the panicking crowd. Shard whistles to him when we reach the third level and throws an arm in front of me and pushes me into the shadows of the columns. I pull Crystal with me.

All eight of us crouch in the dark. Avalanche barely fits behind his. We’re the only ones who try and hide. The others from the Cells are running, eyes wild.

I hold my breath as Watchmen pour down to the bottom level. Too many to count. How long do we sit here for? I squeeze Shard’s hand and he squeezes it back.

“Wait,” he breathes in my ear.

The sounds of fighting reach us in the darkness. Not the kind of fighting we do. This sounds frenzied, brutal, squelching. My legs begin to tingle from my cramped position. I hold my breath as the Watch come back past us, certain they’ll hear it. Crystal gasps at the line of chained fighters trailing after them.

Not everyone got out.

The two competitors who were in the pit during the raid are there. They’re followed by what I assume is most of their barracks who must have tried to free them. The captives are bloodied and beaten, but worse than this, their eyes are empty. They’ve lost all hope.

We wait ten more minutes before leaving our spot. And then each of us takes a turn creeping to the next level to check the coast is clear. The underground arena is deserted, with only a few leftover signs of the anarchy which swept through not long ago. Smeared blood on the wall and abandoned goblets. I trip over something soft. Ice catches my arm before I fall.

“Don’t look down,” he hisses. His warning comes too late.

I only recognize her as female because of her clothing.

There is no more talk until we’re safely away from the pits. I think each of us expected the Watchmen to be waiting at the top.

“What happens to the prisoners?” I ask Shard, pushed by some kind of morbid curiosity. I know it’s against the rules to ask a question. And I think I already know the answer, too.

“You don’t want to know.”

Alzona announces at breakfast that Tricks’ group is all accounted for. It’s the last time the raid of the Cells is talked about, though I notice a subtle change in the Outer Rings for a few days afterward, a heaviness in the normally bustling atmosphere. A new weariness in the people’s faces.

I run my first training session. It’s almost easy, natural even. Certainly easier than my sleepless night led me to expect. I work on specific issues I saw in the others’ performances yesterday. The men train with me for half of the day and fill the remaining time with self-led training. Most of them spend the time practicing techniques I taught them that morning. Ice, predictably, does very little in the latter half of his day. Instead distracting each of us in turn, with non-stop chatter. He reminds me of one of my twin brothers, Oberon. But older, ruder and harder to shut up.

With no other guide, and no experience, I’ve copied many of Aquin’s techniques. The yearning it creates to see my old trainer is unbearable. Though I sometimes go days without thinking about him, there is always sadness in my heart which stops me from feeling quite right. I haven’t seen the closest person to a father I have in the better part of a year and his advancing age worries me. He’d been a little strange when we’d last spoken, too. If I stay here I’ll never see him again.

We sit around the table waiting for Avalanche’s first meal. The room is tense. Not because it’s awkward or someone’s angry, but because we’re trying not to laugh at the sight of the hulking man cooking. He’s obviously nervous.

I elbow Ice as a strangled noise escapes him.

“What have you cooked?” Crystal asks the massive man. She’s the most composed of us all.

“Beef,” he grunts. Cooking has made him talkative.

He’s such a contradiction. The first time I met the looming man, every survival instinct told me to run away. Quickly. Then he hugged me after my first fight, and now he’s confessed a secret yearning to cook. I find it almost as funny as Bruma loving birthday parties. I hope this means Avalanche has been the recipient of someone’s love during his lifetime. Judging by the scars crisscrossing his face, it hasn’t always been so. He doesn’t talk much, but his actions outside of the pit are gentle. And he’s Shard’s best friend. I’ve learned Shard always displays exceptionally good judgement.

Avalanche places a massive platter in the middle of the table and hovers behind it anxiously. Everyone looks at each other. Sighing, I make the first move. The chunk of meat hardly needs any encouragement from my knife to fall off the main haunch. I put it on my plate and cut off a smaller piece. Ice holds his breath as I place one of the portions in my mouth.

I look up at Avalanche with wide eyes.

“It’s delicious!” It’s difficult to shout around my mouthful of food, but I manage it.

His great shoulders sag as the tension leaves him. A smile spreads across his face. Not just his usual one either. He’s beaming. I grin back at him.

Everyone wants a piece then. Murmurs and groans sound around the table as each person gets their first taste of the rich, tender meal. Avalanche settles down at the end of the bench next to Shard and prepares his usual dog bowl. The smile doesn’t leave his face.

I wait until the meal is over.

“So,” I start. “We’re going to need some new equipment to train for the tournament.” My first comment earns a few cursory glances from those around the table.

“We have two months to train and I believe we can win if we work hard enough.” I want to start integrating the new elements for this competition straightaway.

This time I achieve complete silence. A momentous occurrence. Flurry stops halfway through chewing.

“Really?” Alzona sounds doubtful. It’s a poor start.

“Yes. I watched the top three compounds fight yesterday. There’s no reason why we can’t win. But I need two things.” Ice gestures impatiently for me to continue.

“I need a vow everyone here will give tournament training their best.” I look around the table. Everyone nods. Ice grudgingly does the same after a few seconds.

“And I’ll need that equipment.” I look at Alzona.

“Of course. If you really think we can win. Discuss it with Blizzard,” she says, “As long as you don’t go overboard with the coin.” I stare at her for a moment wondering if I’ve missed something. That was too easy.

“I’ve heard Jazyrs is good,” I say to Blizzard. Two birds, one stone. I’ll investigate the arrow while I’m there.

He nods. “I think Tricks uses him.”

“There’s one other thing,” Shard says. He looks at me for a moment before turning to Alzona. She looks at him and waits. He taps a finger on the table.

“We can’t fight in the few weeks before the tournament,” he declares. Alzona opens her mouth. She’s going to say no, I can already tell. And I have to say I agree with her. We need all the practice we can get.

Shard holds up a hand. “Every year Hale’s compound takes out their biggest competitors during that time. Last revolution it was me and Blizzard. We couldn’t compete because of our injuries. My ribs took two months to heal. If you want to win the tournament, you’ll have to keep us out of the pits in the few weeks before. Even Tricks only puts in his bottom fighters.”

I rethink my position. When he puts it like that, it makes sense.

Alzona is silent for a long time. She looks at Crystal who arches an eyebrow. Their wordless communication makes me think of Olandon. We do that, too.

She narrows her eyes. “Alright,” she says. The word draws out like it’s dragged from her. She won’t be happy missing the lost coin. I’m surprised she’s agreeing at all. The prize for Overall Barracks must be huge.

“Also, Frost needs to fight Slay before we go in. Sometime in the next couple of weeks,” he adds.

“What!” I explode. I thought Shard wanted us fit for the tournament.

“Without winning against Slay, our chance at coming in as top barracks is slim. You have the ability to take him down, but his speed has a way of taking people by surprise. You need to experience it firsthand and train with it in mind. And we need to do it soon so he doesn’t think about killing you to take you out of the tournament.”

I blink at him. He speaks so casually about my death. Slay is the best fighter for a reason. It would be an extremely difficult fight. The men contemplate it, expressions serious.

“It’s a good idea,” Blizzard says. Avalanche nods.

“Wha─” I sputter.

“If we do it soon, he won’t kill her,” Ice says.

“He’s really quick.” At least Flurry is semi-apologetic.

Blizzard, Ice and I make our way through the tangled paths of the Outer Ring. I’ve made sense of the lanes in the First Sector, learning by memorizing the twists and turns, but this new territory makes my head spin.  Glacium is set up with its two castles in the center with the assembly residences immediately outside the gates. The assembly is like my mother’s court on Osolis. The richest civilians live in the Inner Ring surrounding the assembly, and then the Middle Ring surrounds them. Finally, the poorest Bruma live in the Outer Ring which extends nearly all the way to the edges of their world. As to the organization of the Outer Rings, I honestly don’t think there is one. Where the Inner and Middle Rings are built in consistent layers, like an onion, with large roads between them, the lanes here are a jumbled mess.

“Why are most of the fights in the First Sector?” I ask.

“Best weather,” Blizzard says. “Gives the other barracks a break.” He tosses a bit of bread to an elderly homeless woman sleeping on the side of the road. One of the hundreds in this area. The woman grabs at the morsel, tearing large chunks from the loaf. I don’t know how. She doesn’t appear to have any teeth. I glimpse Blizzard’s expression as he watches her and I know he’s been this hungry before. He’s more like Alzona, in that he’s striking, rather than handsome. The opinionated fighter argues with everyone in the barracks, usually several times per week. It’d be easy to dislike him if you didn’t witness acts like this which explained why he did things like yell at Flurry over wasting water. You couldn’t help respecting him when you saw him feeding the hungry or handing out his old clothes. He remains the only Bruma I’ve seen helping another in the Outer Rings, just because he can.

“Here we are,” Ice calls out. I tilt my head back and see a faded sign above a low, sprawling building. Jazyrs. I take a swig of water, my mouth dry. At least the name isn’t Jazyrs’ Slime.

We enter the building and I scan the room with forced disinterest as Blizzard talks to an overweight man. Weapons of all sorts are chained to the walls and four men sit in the corners of the room. No doubt they’re armed against thieves. I immediately want to see how skilled they are, but I shove the urge away. Blizzard motions to me and I take over the discussion with the owner, quickly describing what I’m after. It’s not a long list; lengths of rope, a few new weapons, and weights. I glance over my shoulder. Blizzard and Ice are examining a massive sword. I turn back to the heavy man.

“I’d also like to buy some Seedyr wood arrows,” I say casually.

“Seedyr wood arrows? What you want those for? Useless,” he says and barks a laugh. It pushes the smell of his breath to me. I mask my revulsion.

“Why I want it is my business.” I slip a coin into his hand. “What can you tell me of the arrows?”

He turns the coin over in his hand, lips pursed. He darts a look at Blizzard and Ice. “I can tell you I don’t know of anyone who uses them. I only source Seedyr spears to sell to the poor for hunting.” He strokes his moustache. “Don’t sell many bows and arrows at all. Not so good in the wind around here.” He leans in closer. I hold myself still, but narrow my eyes at him in warning. “About Seedyr itself? An easy grain to straighten. Wouldn’t be hard to make arrows, I s’pose. Don’t know why you’d bother. They’d just snap.” His words ring true with what I already know from Tomi and Jovan.

I don’t speak a word on the trip home, warring between fury and devastation. Blizzard pushes the barrow near overflowing with the new equipment. Ice and I walk on either side of the cart to guide it over the more uneven parts of the pathway. The others must sense my mood, because they don’t attempt to draw me into their conversation.