We found stones, red as rose and a beauty to match. I thought they were rubies at first but these stones are different. When I picked one, it glowed like a lantern. The strange this is, the stones only glow with my touch. They were merely beautiful stones when held by my guides. I wonder if it has something to do with gifts? If so, then I am at the right place.
***
Their voices disturbed the sleeping sand. Loud more than loud, thirsty beyond quenching, Leo understood not a word yet the message was clear.
They were calling, a demand to blood the sand. Thousands of voices joined in the call, a reminder of humanity's dark side.
About a dozen slaves shared the confines of the room with him. They were stinking and fearful. Rags were their clothes and shattered were their eyes. The one beside him was praying with hands cupping sand and eyes shut, lips moving without sound. Another man to his front had been staring at him since dawn. They were a shuffle of different wretched things coping with a grim fate with different weird acts.
He wasn't better either. His sleep fleeted last night. He was awake for most of the evening, just staring at the top of his cell and wondering if everything that had happened were real. It was indeed real, he decided in the end but the sun had already risen yellow. The first day of the festival had began.
Leo went closer to the wooden door. It was bolted in the middle from the outside though the wood had holes. He knelt to peek through one of the holes.
They were at the bottom of the pit in one of the rooms below the seats. The arena was in the middle, all sandy and flat. The pit was brimming with audience, hence the loud cries. Most were raising their fists, mouths open wide. There must be several thousand.
A man in full plate was in the middle of the arena. His cape was dragging behind, too long to be fashionable. His horned helm was had its visor open. The plume on top was painted red. The man spread his arms. He was too far but Leo swore he saw the man grinning.
"Eighteen years ago." The announcer's voice was faint yet audible. "Our great leader, Chief Regrat had the wisdom to bring us this entertainment. He fought and won in the first Hammer Tournament. He smashed his opponents with his warhammer, caved their chests with his might. And now, continuing with the tradition, we are here to witness another champion. Are you prepared? Are your blood boiling? Are your guts clenching? Because I am!"
The audience roared even louder. He was a great talker, that man. He could inspire interest for such a bloody thing.
"Today's event will start mellow. Like warm sugarcane wine dripping down into our throats, we have to start slow but meaningful. Like last year, the first day has been scheduled with twenty one versus one death matches, two group battles, ten men versus beast and the main event. Oh you would like the main event! The Chief has something special! Just wait in your seats to find out."
Of course, Leo thought. I am the main event. Special my arse.
A slave in soiled clothing ran to the loud man. On his hand was a wooden box, the color stark brown with lacquer. The slave knelt and raised the box toward the loud man.
The loud man sheathed his hand on the slit of the box. He produced some paper and held it high. He unrolled it.
"Oh friends" He said. "It seems our first match is a downer. A sword battle!"
There were unhappy shouts from the crowd. Many stabbed their thumbs downward.
"Nevertheless we must continue." The man extended his hand to the right. "Hailing from the mountains in the west, this one is a warrior. He is from a family sword to defend a sacred statue of their god. Now he ventured out, disobeying his duty for a chance of fame. I give you, Oath!"
One of the doors opened and a man was dragged by a soldier into the middle of the arena. Even a halfwit could tell that this slave did not match the inflated description of him. He was a scrawny one with a narrow face. His cheeks clung tight to his skull. The soldier put a longsword on his hand but Oath's hold on it was flimsy.
"And from the north!" The man extended his other arm. "He is a fisherman who caught the legendary, monstrous, dangerous, exceptionally large and lethal Spinster Shark. He caught it with one hand and slew its young with the other. His name is akin to danger in the sea. Trident!"
Those were silly names, painful to hear. Leo wondered, or worried, on the name the announcer would give him.
Trident was given a longsword too. They were placed a couple dozen steps from one another. Neither had armor and it was apparent that neither also knew how to use swords. The announcer raised an hourglass and flipped it. Grains of sand dripped to the bottom end.
"If the sand falls without a casualty, then that means that the match was forfeited by both sides. Execution by sword shall be the punishment."
Cruel things, Leo thought. Refusing to kill each other would be punished with death? He saw what his father meant. This barbarous act must stop. The Union was trying its best defending against the Ninevans and yet these people threw lives without a purpose other than despicable entertainment.
The two slaves stood idly until Trident eyed the hourglass and rushed toward Oath. Oath ducked awkwardly to avoid Trident's blade but his shoulder was cut. Trident didn't give mercy and lunged, holding the sword straight for a stab. Oath tilted just in time, Trident's sword stabbing just inches from his side.
They crossed swords, a match with the cheers. Trident jabbed his right fist but missed. It was a fatal mistake. The fisherman stumbled and Oath saw an opening. He hacked on Trident's back, chunk of meat cut like butter. Trident ran, limping and bleeding. The wound was deep and gashing. Trident's knees soon fell on the powdery sand. Oath finished the deed with three stabs to the back.
The audience jolted to the murder. Leo felt the opposite. The slave they call Trident was dead and these people could only feel glee. They were insane.
Oath was escorted to another door while Trident's corpse was dragged like some hunted animal. The loud noises fled only when the announcer raised his palm.
"Let the Hammer Season begin!" He shouted.
Several more bouts followed, each one ending with a corpse. Or corpses. Two matches were halted for going overtime. The two participants were stabbed repeatedly until their lifeless body fell. The single matches lasted until midday when a short break was called.
The event resumed in the afternoon with a group battle of five against five. Eight of the ten pitiful slaves died. A slave fought against a wolf after that. The wolf won of course, biting deep into the nameless slave's face. The skin was shredded and the blood spurted. Leo would have vomited if he had eaten something.
But of all the matches, Leo found that each one of the fighters were slaves. The large-armed men he saw yesterday were nowhere. Perhaps the first day was reserved only for slaves. If so, then his chance of survival was not too bleak.
The sun was orange when the last match was fought between a woman and an old man. Both were introduced flowery of course. Both died. Leo was alone in the chamber now. All the slaves who shared the room with him were either dead or victorious.
When the arena was cleaned of the corpses, the announcer again strutted to the center. His smile was fresh despite the worn look on him.
"The main event!" He shouted with fist raised. "The north had long ignored our pleas. A strange land they say, a land flowing with riches. Compared to our humble land, the northern kingdoms have so much. But there is one thing we have and they don't. This! Now what better way to end the first day than seeing a northerner fight? Not just a northerner, a Castonian. Ah. Now I have your attention. Yes, friends, A Castonian. Mind of steel. Body of steel. Courage of steel. Let's all welcome, The Castonian!"
The door was pulled. Leo squinted to the downing sun. Hands pulled him, a drag. Leo looked around. It was disorienting. Thousands of eyes were focused on him, their stares sticky and piercing. He noticed a platform to the north. It was decorated with colorful curtains and roofed by a blue cloth. A man sat in the middle, his chair looking more like a throne. He was drinking and chatting with others under in the platform.
Leo heard none about the details of his opponent. He stared at Chief Regrat and wondered how could a man enjoy such brutality. How could he swallow the deaths and suffering. Not all of the slaves were innocents but people's death shouldn't be treated as entertainment.
A bamboo spear was forced on Leo's hand. It was a slippery unlike the hardwood spears he trained with but the balance was fine. The tip was sharpened bamboo instead of a fastened ironhead. And his opponent...
Leo frowned deep. His heart stopped for a moment. It was him, that scaredy youth he shared the wagon with, the one who asked curious questions about the northern kingdoms. He was the same uncertain youth and his hold on the spear was loose.
"Stop this." Leo hissed at the announcer who was about to tilt the hourglass. "I order you to stop. I will not take this person's life. You hear me? I refuse to."
"Look around boy" The announcer said, his voice hushed. "You don't have a choice. They cry for blood. Either you kill your opponent or die"
The announcer tipped the hourglass. It had begun.
"I'm sorry Prince Leo" The youth was already holding his spear. "I don't want this. But at least one of us must die. I don't want to die."
He thrust. Leo tilted just in time but the youth's spear flew again. Leo parried the spear to the side.
"Don't" Leo shouted as he avoided another thrust. He sidestepped and eased back. "We don't need to be their slaves. We don't need to follow them."
"But they will kill us both!" Beads of tears fell from the youth's large eyes. "I don't want to die Prince Leo." He thrust. "I don't want to die!"
The last thrust slammed against Leo's spear. Splinters broke. Leo tilted his body, eyeing another thrust, and glancing at the youth's soury face. There was regret in that face, pain, guilt, fear, uncertainty. The strike went past Leo's head.
Leo slid, rubbing boots against the sand, scattering every grain in a haze. He ducked, hands clinging tight to the spear. The hourglass was nearly empty, last handful of sand ticking down.
The spear cut his shoulder. The pain soured. He leapt back just as another thrust came for his stomach.
"Stop" Leo swung his spear, parrying the youth's weapon. "I don't want to kill you" He advance, a single step. "Please I don't want to kill you." He stilled his stance, feet firm on the sand. "I don't want this." He aimed his spear, tears now trickling down his cheeks. "Omniscient. I don't want this." He eyed the hourglass and then the armed guards. Decisions.
Leo slammed his spear on the youth. The tip broke the lad's chest. Blood dripped as his opponent staggered into a fall.
The people cheered. Loud. Overpowering. Vigorous. Leo felt nothing except worry for the lad. He dropped his spear and ran to his opponent. The lad was gasping his last breaths. His chest was a mangled wound.
"I'm sorry" Tears tapped the dry sand. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Leo slumped, forehead on the lad's shoulder. The lad just gurgled blood.
The cheers went on and on without stop.
"Castonian!"
"Castonian!"
"Castonian!"
It was thunder, shaking the arena. Jubilant. But Leo's focus was on the man he just killed. A murder for a entertainment. The lad closed his eyes and for a long time, Leo just stared kneeling at the corpse.