Warrior of None

Chapter 1: The Circle

Dust and sand mixed with the tang of blood. The taste dried her mouth, and brought her back to her senses. Her head was ringing and swollen with pain. Bright light blinded her eyes as they opened and all at once panic struck her heart. She couldn’t remember anything, not even her name. Big brown eyes were staring right at her, an ugly man with no teeth. Hot sand was under her sandals and brown rags covered her body.

“What?” She croaked.

The brown eyes of the man staring at her widened, as if bulging out of his bald head. “Your name? Once again, I need your damned name!” He smacked a stick of graphite against a wooden board he was holding. She stood in rigid silence. A lot of eyes were staring at her, she realized. The circle of sand she stood in was a large arena with countless people sitting in the stands. She herself stood in a row of other people holding rods.

“Do I really have to ask again?” The man barked, scaring a tiny black beetle from his writing board.

“I don’t know my name,” She answered honestly.

As if pleading to a higher power, the bald man lifted his face to the sky and mumbled to himself. “Fine, fuck, your name is…” he followed the flying insect. “Beetle, whatever.”

Beetle opened her mouth but the man was already moving down the line. She had no idea where she was, who she was or what was going on. She looked to her left, where the most muscular man she had ever seen stood, and not just because she couldn’t remember anything beyond ten minutes ago. He was tall, nearly twice her height, swarthy with black hair and scorched by the sun.

“Hey,” Beetle said under her breath, finding her own voice sandy and tired. This was her first time really hearing it, as far as she knew. She sounded mean.

The large man glanced down at her, but said nothing.

“Where are we?”

The man stared in complete silence and returned to looking straight ahead. Beetle chewed her cheek and looked to the right instead. There, an older man was standing, also much taller than her, though not as much as the previous. Beetle’s brow furrowed, she just realized she was short. The old man’s pale blue eyes regarded her deeply. He was a man who may have been handsome long ago but since became cracked with cynicism, age and the sun. A great pink scar split his lip in such a way the glint of his tooth was visible. His eyes were still, almost lifeless as they stared, it was as if his soul was buried long ago. Still, they seemed to peer through her. A shiver ran up Beetle’s spine.

She grimaced. “What are you looking at?”

The man didn’t answer, he just pointed to his ear. Was he deaf? Something itched just under Beetle’s own ear, now that she was thinking of it. Her shoulder lifted to rub her ear and flakes of dried blood dusted her rag wrapped shoulder. Her ear was bleeding? She reached up to probe each ear, only to realize she was holding a heavy wooden rod in one hand. Ignoring the weapon, she stuck a finger in each ear, the stains of an old blood flow present in each. What happened?

A rumbling cheer broke her thought and snatched her eyes forward. The stands shook with life and hands thundered in claps. Iron shrieked and a gate was being wrenched open on the other side of the arena. It had begun, whatever it is. Beetle tightened her grip on the wooden rod in her hands and she wasn’t alone. The row of people she stood with hunched and took fighting stances, all facing forward.

A wet gurgling howl filled the air and the cheers grew louder. A mob of beasts rushed out of the black behind the gate. Their howls deepened as they spotted their prey. Their eyes were a gross yellow and their bodies were like large muscular hyenas, but patchy with needle-like fur and rashed with flaking scales. Their tongues lolled out of their oversized mouths, forked and hairy. Beetle felt her heart stop at the sight of the creatures. The creatures pounded the sand and closed the distance.

Screams cut the atmosphere and blood plumed from the impact. Necks were crushed between large teeth and hook like claws ripped through flesh. A creature snapped at Beetle and while her mind went blank with fear, her body, whoever’s it was, jumped into learned action. Her rod shot out to strike the creature in the eye. Blood popped and Beetle dodged to the blind side. Her fingers danced on the wooden weapon until her hands were at the very bottom. With the full length, she swung wide. Wood cracked and her weapon smashed into the creature’s throat with a yelp.

Beetle’s ears rattled with the delight of the roaring crowd as well as the horrid screams of the victims. Her rod beat down the creature in front of her. She didn’t know how, but her hits were strong, precise, expert. She lost herself to the battle

Slowly, Beetle’s mind frazzled back to the fore of her head. She was standing, covered in red. All around her, the black flies were already settling on the corpses of those who stood next to her as well as the fallen beasts. The tall man from earlier was dead by her left, his throat mangled beyond recognition. The old man, however, was alive. His arm was ripped open but he was alive.

Once again the crowd roared and knights clad in thick gray leather came roving into the arena with menacing whips and masked faces. Beetle raised her rod, ready for round two. A hoarse voice stopped her though.

“Don’t.” It was the old man with a split lip. “Let them be.”

For some reason or another, Beetle listened, and rough hands came down to wrestle her into chains. The next thing she knew, she was being marched across the sand in irons, the old man behind her and some other nameless fool in front of her. The heat of the arena was snuffed out as she passed one of the portcullis gates under the stands and disappeared into the darkness of the arena dungeons.

***

Water dripped. Everything was uncomfortable. Rough stone bricks colored gray and nothing else made up the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. There were no windows, there were no friendly faces. Beetle sat on a rough bench that didn’t help the soreness in her legs. Her face was downcast, staring at a puddle where some water had collected amid a depression in the bricks. A tired face was staring back at her. It was her face, though she had never seen it before.

Green eyes, dim and haunted sat on a fair face covered in purple bruises. Her hair was yellow and tangled, striped with grime that her beaten rags also wore happily. She didn’t seem like much, but she could see the definition of muscle in her arms and shoulders and the faded scars here or there spoke of a powerful past. Beetle had no idea who this was. Her hand came up to brush more of the dried blood from her ears.

“Kid.”

Iron rubbed on wood and Beetle turned to look at the old man. He was the only one not minding their own business. One of the knights hurried past, the old man completely silent until he had passed. “Do you know your name?”

“Beetle,” Beetle replied and the old man nodded along.

“Your mother gave you that name?” He said, his lip pulled over a sarcastic yellow smile. Beetle frowned, something in her chest felt agitated at the comment, but she couldn’t understand it. Her voice came out, mean and low.

“The toothless man gave it to me.”

The old man flicked his ear and nodded at hers. “I think I might know what ails you.”

A weird flutter filled Beetle for a moment, some akin to hope, but before she could ask, a woman holding a handkerchief to her nose stopped in front of her. She was tall, but then so was everyone compared to Beetle. She stared down at Beetle from behind her handkerchief, eyes the same shade of bronze as her cheeks. Riding boots protected her legs and thick yet quality linen made up the rest of her burgundy ensemble, giving her an air of cold nobility. The lady smelt of perfume, and for the first time, Beetle realized she stunk.

“Beetle,” the woman recited, “come with me.”

A loud groan echoed down the line of the chained, but Beetle remained seated, confused. The old man’s voice came along with a gentle prod to the rib.

“Get up, you’ve been chosen.”

Patience was absent in the lady’s eyes, and jealousy was ever present in everyone else’s. Beetle stood up with the face of a lost lamb and with a tug of her chains, she was towed away from the others. Their footsteps followed them as echoes down the bleak hallway. The sounds that accompanied the footfalls were anything but calming. Screaming patients, or what Beetle hoped were patients, could be heard alongside the jangle of chains and the clink and clang of metal work. There was no doubt, Beetle had found herself in a strange and dangerous place.

“Excuse me,” Beetle said, once again surprised at how rough and mean her voice sounded, what’s more is that it didn’t sound anything like anyone else's. “Where am I?”

The lady gave Beetle a pitying look and then tugged her along faster. “Yenillii Arena.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” the captive admitted.

Another look. “You’re from Farroux, no?” The lady asked, still hurrying Beetle along.

“Farroux?”

“Your accent,” the lady explained. “It sounds like a high Farrouxish accent. Flowery, hush.” Her eyes scanned Beetle with heavy scrutiny. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Beetle frowned at that. “What does suit someone being treated like this?”

A pause. “Not much.”

The pair scuffed against the stone, coming to a stop. Here, candles, though small, were lit along shelves on the wall. Some held small statues, others held crude drawings and in between them all was a door banded with iron. Fresh air seemed to push from under the frame of the portal, tickling Beetle’s shins with a cool breeze. Before Beetle could ask anything, the lady pushed the door open and white light bathed the poor creature.

When her vision came back, she was standing in a new room, her sandals on clean wooden floors and her ragged body out of place among vapors of incense and clean tapestries. Large floor to ceiling windows let in gusts of air and sunlight. A circle of lounging chairs sat in the center of the room, ringing a low table. On one of the velvet seats was a man, likely in his thirties, with a wide pearly smile. His fingers were weighed down with rings and a blue cloak was wrapped around his body. His face was like porcelain, never touched by the sun, and his chin was freshly shaved, with only the slightest hint of black stubble under his ears.

The lady who was guiding Beetle gave a flourishing bow and spoke with her nose pointed to the ground. “Lord Gallo, the fighter you requested.”

“Miss Chiara, thank you,” Lord Gallo replied. His voice was gentle, and probably the friendliest tone that Beetle had encountered all day. The lady, Miss Chiara, backed out of the room and closed the door. An instinctual fear crawled up Beetle’s spine at the sudden isolation and her eyes looked past Lord Gallo to one of the open windows.

“Come in!” Lord Gallo bellowed. “Beetle is it?”

Beetle took a single step forward, she was uneasy. Lord Gallo’s eyes were digging into her, as if he was expecting something. “Yes,” she said, “I’m Beetle.”

“That’s a peculiar name,” Lord Gallo remarked.

A strained smile, one of frustration, stretched Beetle’s face. “I only got it an hour or so ago.” Her voice became irritated. “I don’t even know where I am, or what’s going on, or who you are.” She could feel the blood rush to her face as her anger manifested. Her fingers curled into fists but before she could shout, Lord Gallo held up a diplomatic hand.

“A strange thing to say, but nonetheless, allow me to shed some light on your situation.” The man shifted, sitting up perfectly straight. “I’m your new Patron.”

“Patron?”

“Do you know where you are?”

Beetle furrowed her brow. “Yenillii Arena.”

“On Perdi.” Lord Gallo explained. “The infamous Island?” Beetle had no idea what he was talking about, and it must have shown because Lord Gallo simply continued. “Perdi operates outside of the many countries and kingdoms of the continent. As such, it attracts a lot of different types and businesses, with the most famous establishment being this arena, which has served the island since its founding.”

“And how do I fit into this?” Beetle found her voice.

“Simple.” Lord Gallo folded his hands together. “You just had your debut and I liked what I saw, so I purchased your contract. You're my fighter now.”

Beetle narrowed her eyes and took a defensive step back. “Do I get a say in any of this?”

Lord Gallo chewed his cheek and sighed. Slowly he stood up and walked over to Beetle. Her blood quickened and her muscles tensed as he stood a pace away looking down at her with studious eyes. “Most Yenillii fighters don’t get patrons, and instead just fight until they die, subsisting on scraps and sleeping in piss smelling cells. The lucky few like you, get a contract. I take over your daily needs, sending food and setting up accommodations and even promoting special bouts. In return the arena gives me a percentage of their sales and tax. You don’t have a say, I’m afraid, but I promise you, I’ll be a kind patron. If you want or need anything, you only have to ask.”

“I want to leave,” Beetle said without hesitation.

Lord Gallo closed his eyes and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. A cringe formed down Beetle’s spine and she quickly jumped out of his grasp. His eyes were open now, staring blankly at her. Every warning was firing in Beetle’s mind, and then Lord Gallo split into a grin. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Beetle was too busy calming her heart to say anything.

“I paid a good amount for you because of your performance. Once you pay it all back through bouts, I’ll end your contract and even get you off this island. Deal?” He held out his hand again, the same one that had gripped her shoulder. His smile was wide but his eyes were desperate.

Beetle hesitated, she hesitated long enough for him to drop his hand back to his side. Lord Gallo sighed. “I’ll consider your silence some sort of agreement,” he said. “Now you should rest up. You fight The Crocodile tomorrow.”

Before Beetle could even ask, Lord Gallo clapped his hands and Miss Chiara popped back into the room.

“Take her to her new room,” Lord Gallo commanded. His eyes flickered over Beetle once again. “And make sure she gets whatever she asks for.” Beetle opened her mouth, but he interrupted her, “in reason.”