chapter eight
The Arena
Ayla’s gaze met the eyes of the gate guard above the portcullis in the wall. She whispered the prayer – for power over her enemies.
“Don’t move.” The power of her Mother’s voice carried her words across the arena floor. The minotaur froze in place, hands on the winch, the gate still closed.
Ayla turned in a circle, early afternoon sun burning her upturned face. The Freemen and Deetra guarded her with stern countenances, but their hands trembled. The human crowd waited, hushed and uneasy, as the guards focused their attention on the arena floor, hands on their weapons.
Ayla had survived Goreskin’s assault in the cabin, but the memory would never fade. The thought of it happening to thunderous applause in a public spectacle spread an angry flush across her face. A high sandstone wall separated the elevated seating from the arena floor. She sneered up at the spectators.
“You’re no better than the cows.” The acoustics of the arena carried her voice to every ear.
“Open that damn gate! Guards to the arena floor!” the Arena Master shouted.
The gatekeeper did not move, held in place by the power of the Night Goddess. The Arena Master pushed one of the guards at his side. “Get down there! Jump the damn rail if you have to!"
The two horned guards posted at either of his flanks moved toward the stairs and the railing at the bottom. The tasseled gold rings on their horns and steel breastplates, signifying rank, glittered in the sun.
Ayla met every eye she could, accusing everyone in the crowd. Focusing on a mother on the second floor, Ayla let the bile of her disgust saturate her words.
“What’s wrong with you? How can you sit there and let them watch?”
The boy looked at his mother and she dropped her gaze to her feet. As Ayla moved on to another, Alex, Deetra, and Butch waited with baited breath in a half circle in front of her.
The minotaur guards stepped up to the rail. The minotaur manning the portcullis turned the wheel lifting the gate. Half a dozen more minotaurs lurked behind it, weapons in hand.
“They will come for us soon, and we will be dead,” Ayla spoke. “If I tell you the Night Goddess is returned, will you fight with us?”
The crowd murmured. The gladiators backed away from the gate. Ayla stepped from between Deetra and Alex to face the Arena Master. She bowed her head, the words of the prayer spilling forth.
The Priestess opened her eyes. The Arena Master’s four armored guards raced across the sand at her, horns lowered. Alex, Butch, and Deetra stepped between her and the advancing minotaurs.
“Mother, Goddess of the Night, your daughter is in need, and begs humbly,” Ayla’s voice and her Mother’s melded into one. With little more than a whisper, her words shook the arena like thunderous applause.
“… for a sign.”
The advancing guards on all sides stopped, horns pointing back as they lifted their chins to the sky. They each held one hand up, as if the sun might fall on them.
The crowd became unsettled. People pointed to the cloudless sky behind her, one hand guarding their eyes. The Arena Master lifted his gaze as a shadow passed over the arena, like a coffin lid closing inch by inch.
Deetra, Alex, and Butch ventured looks behind them. Their jaws dropped.
Max’s voice came from behind her. “This can't be happening.”
Ayla turned. A black circle - the moon, crept over the sun. A long moment of breathless silence passed as the shadow inched over the hundreds of faces in attendance. Ayla spoke over the din of shuffling feet and whispers and held up her hoop medallion in the waning light.
“The eclipse is The Goddess’ symbol and her promise to us!” She turned to the other side of the arena as the moon’s shadow crept over the world. “The night has come to banish the light of the God of Toil! Know the sign and fight, or be slaves forever.”
Every face turned from the sky to Ayla, etched with fear and awe. She could sense them on the cusp. They wanted to believe.
“Those who die in the Goddess’ name will find eternity with those they love, and with their enemies under their boot.”
A well-dressed man behind the Arena Master lunged. His wife screamed and reached for him, but too late. He wrapped his arms around the minotaur’s throat.
Butch charged in the direction of the Arena Master with a battle cry that echoed through the arena.
Alex fell back to Ayla. “I’ll be back,” he said, patting her on the shoulders, his eyes wild and alert to every detail around them. Ayla nodded, confused, but let him go. He ran off behind her.
The Arena Master pulled the well-dressed man’s hands apart and smashed his face with a backward head butt. He flipped the man over the railing, and the fifteen-foot wall that marked the edge of the arena floor. The man landed in a heap.
The crowd around the Arena Master came alive as the darkness of the closing eye of the eclipse touched them. They climbed over seats, swarming the minotaur.
He punched and fought, but more kept coming. They grabbed his horns, kilt, and took handfuls of fur. He bellowed in frustration, pried himself from their grasp, and took a clumsy leap over the wall. A group of men hopped the rail, chasing him down.
The guards, already halfway across the arena floor, hesitated and looked back. Butch plowed between two of them with his shoulder, sending one spinning to the ground. He raced for the Arena Master as the other men came down from the stands.
One of the guards turned back to help, and another just stood in wide-eyed disbelief, unable to decide on a direction to go. The remaining two resumed their charge toward Ayla. Deetra picked a rock out of the sand and hurled it. It clanked against one of the charging guard's breastplates. She put her arm out in front of Ayla and pushed her back.
Ayla called to the crowd once more. “The Goddess can't kill our tormentors for us! We have to fight!”
Men wrestled for the Arena Master’s weapon, a longsword still in its sheath. The minotaur gored one and punched the next to reach for it. Butch met him as the minotaur recovered. He kicked the minotaur in the face, sending the half-beast onto his back.
The fancy man got back to his feet, cursing. At the sight of the Arena Master, he ran over and stomped on the minotaurs groin, face full of blood, screaming something about his daughter. Butch mounted the creature’s chest and pummeled him in the face with bare knuckles.
The oncoming guards bellowed, horns lowered, leaning into the run.
Blabbermouth ran over the darkened sand from Ayla’s right. A spear bounced in his grip as he sprinted into range.
Max dashed in from the other flank, blonde hair swept back in the sun. He carried a spear in one hand, and a shield in the other. They must have gone back to the ready room for weapons.
Blabbermouth stopped first and threw his weapon at the advancing guards with a grunt. It sailed high and wide, stuck in the sand a few yards from Ayla’s side, at the edge of the advancing moon’s shadow.
Max threw his spear with a full follow through, one leg arcing out straight behind him. He struck one of the charging minotaurs in the ribs. The beast grabbed the spear and went face down in a gritty cloud. The second minotaur kept coming at Ayla.
Everywhere, men dropped down from the stands. A group hollered as they raced along the base of the wall, kicking up a cloud of sand. They all carried weapons and shields ransacked from the ready room.
Deetra pushed Ayla back and yanked Blabbermouth’s miss out of the sand.
Ayla raced through the prayer again, eyes open.
Deetra slid back in front as the oncoming beast closed. Ayla finished her prayer as the eclipse’s shadow consumed her. Her hands glowed red in the darkness.
Deetra shoved her. “Run!”
The minotaur ducked its horns for the gore. Deetra planted the butt of the spear deep in the sand. The half-beast lifted his head, but he’d overcommitted.
Deetra dropped.
Ayla held up her hands.
The steel-tipped spear snapped on the minotaur’s breastplate with a crack. It stood straight up with a bellow, a dent in the steel on its chest. Ayla touched the metal, and crimson light soaked through the breastplate.
The minotaur choked, hands clawing to get under his armor at whatever wound she inflicted. It turned its face to the sky, blood spraying from its mouth.
Deetra stood back up, bent spear tip in hand. She kicked him in the back of the knee. He stooped, and Deetra stabbed him in the throat.
The beast thrashed his horns and flailed. Deetra leapt away, leaving the spear tip in the beast’s neck. Blabbermouth came up behind her. He grabbed the minotaur by its horn and stabbed him in the base of the skull with a dagger, twisting the blade.
The minotaur’s arms dropped, and it flopped over into the black, evening sands.
Chaos had spread to every corner of the arena. Everywhere, humans attacked their minotaur masters with the furor of starved, abused animals. They jumped onto the minotaurs’ backs from above the arched entrances as the beasts came through the gates. Deetra approached Ayla, her face a picture of awe.
The world around Ayla devolved into a murderous rage. Hundreds of her people flooded the arena floor. Screams echoed from the ready rooms and deeper in the halls. Deetra tossed her short, sun-bleached hair to cover her wounded eye. She wiped Ayla’s cheek, and cleaned off her thumb on her torn work dress.
“A Priestess?”
Ayla kept her eyes on the people - her people. The whole scene was surreal, like her dream. Five days ago felt like another life. Ever since she left home, she’d been thrust forward into her destiny without a moment to breathe.
Deetra moved next to her and watched the crowd at the Priestess’ side. Ayla looked up at Deetra, admiring her profile and short hair against the premature evening sky.
“Remember the dream I told you about?” She put her arm around Deetra’s waist as they stood together. Deetra nodded. Ayla stood on her tip toes and kissed her on the cheek. “It was real. The Goddess healed me that night and chose me as her daughter.”
Ayla smiled at the carnage around her. Minotaur and human bodies draped over railings and fell to the arena floor as the death toll climbed. By the time the first rays of sun returned to light a section of the arena, Ayla could not find one living minotaur in the stands. The people chanted something unintelligible, drowning out all other sounds.
Alex came over to her with Butch behind him. Both of them cradled wounds and bled on the sand in front of her. She expected a smile, but instead the rogue wore an expression of worry. He had to yell for her to hear him over the raucous crowd.
“We need to calm this down. Get it organized.”
Ayla nodded. She lifted her hands into the air to get the people’s attention. They roared, and stomped their feet to the chant, “Long live the Freemen.” The entire building shook, from the vellum awnings above the second-floor seats to the vibrating sand on the arena floor. Ayla lowered her arms and the crowd hushed in unison.
Ayla cupped her hands and bowed her head. With Ayla at the epicenter, a wave of perfect silence settled over the arena.
“Thank you, Mother,” she said, awed by the complete obedience of the people.
She lifted her voice to the stands and the crowd around her. “Sons and daughters of the Goddess! Clear the arena floor! Leave only the wounded and gather the rest. Bring them to me for the healing touch of the Night Mother.”
The crowd reaction came back a mix of chatter, cheers, and dubious murmurs. Ayla turned to Butch and Alex. Ayla mimicked Alex’s raised eyebrow.
“Yes, Alex?”
“Hornstall’s garrison is probably mustering already.”
Butch folded his blood spattered arms. “There’s an armory downstairs. I can have armed men at the entrances to the main hall before they get here.”
Ayla liked the way the Orc thought. The time for fighting had just begun. “Can we hold this place?”
“I don’t know. Depends. Let me take Max and Blabbermouth. We’ll muster volunteers while they’re still hot, see how many we get.”
“How many would we need to fight our way out?”
Butch patted the air for her to slow down. “One thing at a time.”
Alex shook his head. “We’re not fighting our way out, not without help from outside.”
Ayla nodded, and Butch took off for the west gate without another word. Alex made like he planned to run off as well, but Ayla held him by the forearm.
“Stay with me?” Ayla asked.
Alex laughed, making Ayla grin. She liked the way he laughed. He didn't hold back or force it, it just happened when he felt like it. He put a hand on Deetra and Ayla’s shoulders.
Not one for the touch of anyone other than Ayla, Deetra gently shrugged his hand away. Ayla gave her a reassuring smile. She needed them to get along.
“I need you two to do something for me,” Ayla said, looking each in the eye.
Alex raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Deetra nodded her agreement and put an arm around Ayla’s waist. Ayla didn't lean in. Deetra would not like what Ayla needed to ask.
“I need you to follow Deetra back to Hillside.”
The moon finished its path along the sun, and daylight returned as Deetra let go and stepped away. She and Alex spoke at the same time.
“That’s a bad idea.”
“I just found you again!”
Ayla folded her arms and stared at Alex. “You said so yourself. We need help from outside.” She shifted her gaze to Deetra. “And Hillside knows what we did, they’ll trust you.”
“Me?” Deetra scoffed. “No one liked me at Hillside. Maybe if you came with us -”
“I have to stay here. There are wounded to heal.”
Alex kicked some sand. “Ayla’s right. She leaves, and this place will surrender in a day.’ He ran a hand through his sweaty black hair, smoothing it and his frustrations. “How do you even know if Hillside will revolt?”
Ayla put a hand on his and Deetra’s shoulders. “Because I have faith.”
Deetra shook her head. “I don't see how the Goddess is going to help us.”
Ayla cut her objections short. “She already is. I meant faith in you.”