"Samantha! You will see to the Minister's needs now" orders Captain Ralfin. I would love to give him a piece of my mind and ideally of my sword. I've dreamed of that day for years and yet have learned that we all have a please in life. We are not born equals, and the one who told you otherwise is a liar.
As of the moment, my place is one of a loyal subordinate. I dislike him, but turning against him now or his orders would be more than foolish, as it would mean turning against the Minister and the King.
"Sir" I answer before quietly leaving the room.
The tavern we are in is the finest building in the city. The first floor is a restaurant, where the ones who have enough to feed their families and afford a drink or two come to escape their everyday lives. In the day, it looks like a fine restaurant. But at night, you can find a half-dead corpse as easily as spoons on the table. As ugly as it gets, at times it feels like there isn't more human than the first floor of the red tower on a Rest day night.
The second floor is only allowed to the employees working for the Minister. There is where you find the people governing the city. The outskirts of the second floor are distinctively different. First of all, it's not a restaurant but rather an office. A large one at that. There are desks at every corner. It could be a lot less messy, especially with all the official workers running around every time, it's a lot more of a serious environment. The people there are dressed in attire, and landing a position here is the dream of many parents for their children. The workers make a decent living, enough to afford our city Lorum but too little to hope for leaving the North side of Darka. At least not for more than one mouth.
"Hi Samantha, have you been well?" Ask Oliver, a guard officer I've known since little. " Don't trail your feet, you should not make the Minister wait." He scolds while pushing my back to walk faster, not bothering to wait for my reply to his question. He always smells of alcohol. Although the smell used to irritate me as it would remind me of my mother, I strangely also found it soothing.
" Don't push me I'm already on my way. Shouldn't you be the one working? Why are you not at the gates?"
" Don't you know? In preparation of the battle, we are..."
" Good old Oli I see you've got too much to drink as usual. Laughs Scott while jumping into the conversation. It's only noon, don't you ever get tired of it? ho if it isn't teacher Samma! Is it already time to see the Minister?" He asks while caressing my hair with a perverted smile.
" Yes, and I'm on my way, why must you always be so uncomfortable to be around." I let sleep away, as I'm disgusted by his eyes glaring at my behind.
" Ho don't be shy you could easily be my daughter" He retorts laughing loud enough to earn us the glares of the people around us actually trying to work. I like Scott Harmon, he can be unfiltered and has a hard time reading a room at times, but he's kind even if it's hard to see at first glance. He's known to have a hard time keeping his hands in his pockets, but there are worse souls to be found in this city. Especially since I'm a Contester, and a woman at that. There is more than one that has tried to lay their hands on me. Their grave can speak of the error that decision would be for them, so everyone knows not to make an enemy out of Samatha Harriss.
"I'm on my way, please try to be diligent at work," I say while staring at both of them. Their smile is telling me that they will go right back to slacking off, and so I leave them be. I have more important duties to fulfill at the moment.
Minister Oar Ghoun is an old man. Most people who rarely get to see him, create stories on his name. Children believe he's the terror of the Red tower, the bad man in the big house at the outshirkt of town. Those who've seen him say he's an eerie man, the contrast of his cold eyes and nice smile have a knack for making people feel wary. He lives on the third and highest floor of the Tower with his servants. Only esteemed visitors come by, and occasionally workers when he has meetings. His quarters are immense. His personnel reside on the left wing of the floor and are mostly women, aside from his aide Aldus, who like me is a Contestant and a childhood friend of mine. To directly work for Oar Ghoun means living in his corner, a proposition no sane person would reject in Lorum City.
"Come in " says Aldus with a smile, right before I knock at the wooden door, as he has sensed my presence. His long dark curly hair is nicely combed and tight. He's wearing a long black robe, with silver lining on the shoulders and a white belt.
" I don't have much time," Says the Minister as soon as I get in.
" Right. Please on your right." I hurry walking towards him.
As usual for the past two years now, since I've been a Contester, my ability has been of use to the dying man. Darka as a nation does not have one specific magic art. The other three nations we are surrounded by specializes in one single art. Elnyx kingdom in medicine, Sarcy in taming, and Phortom in engineering. However, our magic is called Dark Space. When used properly, one can transcend the layer of this dimension to see the one above it, where stays souls. Only a few of which I account, can interact with wandering souls or sometimes the one that exist within people. Because of this, we do not learn how to interact with the element our our dimension, as our art seeks outside of it. There is no use for a normal citizen which at best would see souls, to a Phortomien, capable of fabricating gadgets and selling them. It seems the world doesn't see the value of our art. The beauty of its mysteries and the endless potential it has is only known by those who have learned it for years like I have. It's much too hard and costly for the average villager to spend time and money for their kids to learn a potentially useless skill.
We are better known to be merchants, for the wild animals we sell, our fertile lands that produce all kinds of fruits sold through all three kingdoms, and our iron mine that's of special interest to the Nation of Phortom. Aside from selling the fruits of our land, once every year, the nation assists in what's called the Contester Battle. It's a duel with the best young art user from each country. The rule states that the winner wins a favour from each country to fulfill a wish granted by the Nation's ruler. Usually, it's during that ceremony that the rulers also hold their annual meeting in which they are said to negotiate the matters of their country with each other.It's in one of those meetings, twenty-five years ago, that the previous king of Darka agreed to a woman's wish. For the first time in recent history, the winner of that year's battle was from Darka. Marilyne Harriss, my mother.
It was never revealed what she had asked the other three nations. But the request to Darka could not be left untold. She asked the king to take the wishes more seriously and teach all children of Darka the art of Dark Space. The king agreed to her request in front of the other nations but punished her for it later on. He felt she had gravely insulted him in front of the other nations, by asking her king to better manage the education of his citizen. Stressed by a time crippled with a hard harvest and tensions with Phartom one of the neighbouring kingdoms, the king felt it was a greater offence than it was. He was humiliated.
Already with little regards for the potential of the art, focusing on selling goods to keep the citizens fed, the king made a poor decision. Instead of asking for the art to be taught to all children in schools like asked, perhaps to make a poor example out of her, he ordered that the winner could now only win a monetary sum. Be it a noble from the nation of Sarcy, a doctor from Elnyx or even another Darkien. The nation would take fifty percent of the prize while the fighter would have the rest and the opportunity to go to another country and learn their art if they wanted.
That foolish decree made the Contester Battle for young fighters of the Dark Space either a potentially winning ticket away from Darka with money in hands or a bitter betrayal from one's country. In both cases, learning the art would not be worth the trouble, one might as well learn a trade.