The Warrior (The Rebellion) Page 2

  C H A P T E R 4

  Blood Money

  "All right, next time I am going to make sure the dog goes after one of you two." Josh joked with wry smile. His body was dotted with long scratches and dark bruises, but he seemed all right. "I mean, why does the dog go after the one who's five foot three. There is plenty more meat on fat Josiah over there."

  Josiah flashed him a look, but refused to bite. Besides Nathan, the death had affected him the most. Josh took the cue and remained silent.

  The three were in the suiting room removing all their gear. All the fighters’ sweat had given the room a thick, humid air. Barst couldn’t wait to get out of it. He finished dressing, changing into his clean clothes, and then threw his equipment into his bag. Barst ran a hand over his sweaty hair and sighed heavily. He got up and silently shook hands with Josiah and then crossed the room and offered Josh his hand.

  Josh looked at it quizzically and then asked, "Are we done?"

  "Yeah, you can bet Nathan is going to leave and I want to take a few months off as well. Farewell."

  Josh took his hand, shook it firmly then quietly went on packing. Barst took a last look at the two then turned and walked out of the room. He made a few turns and then entered a large room that was filled with guards who had placed themselves around a cage. In the cage a thin, pale man sat handing out the fighters pay as they walked up to him. Barst smiled at the thought of inexperienced guards protecting money from trained killers. They were more there for show. If a riot did happen, the accountant wouldn't stand a chance.

  Barst got in line and once again let his mind rove back to the ubiquitous past. He had joined the arena as a lone weak coward, accompanied only by sorrow and an utter devastation. Too afraid to take his own life, he had joined with the frail hope of being slain on the hard floor of the stage. Instead, he had become a killer and, when the last of the fear had been driven from him, it was replaced by the hope he had learned to hate.

  "Name please." Barst shook himself into the present and walked up to the cage.

  "Barst."

  "Two fights with a team of five…… that will come out to two gold pieces and three silver."

  Barst nodded his head, accepted his money, and left without failing to notice the other bystander’s awed expressions at his pay. The pay was one of the few good things about being an Untouchable.

  Barst went into the adjacent room, which was filled with cages like the last enclosure, and collected the bets that he had placed on the first fight. After collecting his money, he made his way up to the surface where the stadium seats were. He entered the sunlight and began trying to locate his owner in the myriad of seats.

  Almost every well-known fighter had an owner who was responsible for entering his fighter into fights and providing financial support. The owner would then take a small fraction of his fighter's winnings and also collect the profit from bets placed on his fighter. Some fighters were owned by large corporations, which excelled in developing their "investments" into top trained killers.

  Barst was lucky. His owner, Aaron, was a middle class businessman who de-pended on Barst for his income. Aaron was sane, and actually appreciated what Barst did for him, as well as shared his disgust for the arena. Aaron seemed to understand Bart's laconic ways and gave the fighter space when he needed it. Over the years they had worked together, Barst had become more of a family member than an associate. He slept in the same house and ate from the same table and played with Aaron's children; who to Barst, were one of the few lights in his dismal existence.

  Aaron had inherited the fighter owning business from his father and had relished in it in his youth. Then, after years of exposure to the bloodbath that frequented the stage, Aaron had dropped most of his fighters in an attempt to distance himself from the arena. Sadly, having no other skill sets or trades, Aaron was forced to remain with a single fighter to provide his family with income.

  A spectator bumped into him, and Barst pushed the man away, eyes searching for Aaron. Finally, after shoving some admirers away, he spotted his owner. The small, frail man was sitting in the wooden bleachers scratching away at a book that contained a profile of every gladiator Aaron had ever seen in the arena. Aaron referred to the book when making bets so he could accurately guess the winner. The book was worth more money than any possession Aaron had, and he treated it as such.

  Barst smiled at Aaron's face, which was crinkled in concentration as he scratched his quill pen across the parchment. Aaron looked up at Barst with a smile as Barst's large frame cast a shadow over his work.

  "Well done with the whistle." Aaron beamed excitedly, pushing his spectacles up his nose. "You should have seen the look on the scenario—maker’s face. He was furious. You made his bright idea seem simplistic and ruined a great fight."

  The scenario maker was responsible for designing the layout of the arena and combining the combatants to best please the crowed. Some had become practical legends and were paid handsomely for their service.

  "Right. Great for him. Terrible for me. We lost one without whatever else he was going to send. Oh, by the way, here is your share." Barst flipped his owner a silver coin.

  "Thanks." Aaron said while pocketing the coin. "Hmm, he said there were three other dogs waiting for the whistle."

  "THREE MORE! That’s not a fight, that’s a slaughter!"

  Barst could feel his blood warming as his anger began to build up.

  "Aye, but so was your first fight." Aaron said grimly.

  Barst visibly recoiled, then collected himself quickly, slightly stung.

  "It was, but I would think it would be better being killed by someone who sympathizes for you than some mindless beast." Barst didn’t really believe his own answer, but he needed to rationalize his killing.

  Aaron closed his book, tucked his pen away and let out a slow sigh.

  "I think, when the moment comes, one doesn’t care who killed him. Why would he? He’s dying."

  Barst rubbed a callused hand across his grubby face, "Your probably right. Let's go. I hate this place."

  Aaron nodded and stood up, gingerly clutching the book to his chest. Then together they began walking out of the arena.

  C H A P T E R 5

  Glancing Her

  Throngs of smelly people shoved against him. Barst repeatedly pushed them away, yet they continually pressed forward. Barst tried to look bored with their antics, and suppressed the desire to lay about him with his fists.

  They disgusted him. They treated murders like gods and provided the demand for Barst's terrible job. They admire me because I can kill and nothing more. To Barst, a more shallow relationship—if one could even call it that—had never existed.

  His anger rising up, Barst threw an elbow in the face of a man who had gotten too close. The man fell back into the throng, holding his broken nose and cursing. A twinge of satisfaction caused Barst to smile. Well that’s one less fan to bother me.

  Barst and Aaron finally cleared the mob and jumped into a waiting coach. Barst kept his gaze locked in front, so as not to reward the crowd with a single glance. As soon as they had cleared the throng though, Barst turned his eyes out the window. That’s when he saw Her.

  She was standing on the outskirts of the mob arguing with some carriage driver. She flipped back her black hair and Barst froze. It was Her. Scarring memories of her body lying in the bloody snow, as her dull eyes gazed lifelessly to the heavens, filled his mind. But there she was. The carriage rolled onward, but Barst's thoughts had all but stopped. He had seen Her. No he couldn’t have seen her. But he could have sworn that was Her.

  The rest of the journey was a blur to Barst. She was alive. It was impossible. He was sure She was dead. He had seen it, hadn't he? Barst cursed himself for not jumping out of the carriage to get a better look.

  Night fell and, in a trance, he entered the room his owner had rented. Lying on a mat on the floor, Barst stared at the ceiling, mulling over the same implausible thoughts. When the sun rose th
e next morning it found Barst, still awake, baffled and yet suppressing a deep feeling of enthusiasm.

  She was alive.

  C H A P T E R 6

  Stuck Mind and Wheel

  Rain pattered gently on the top of the carriage and thunder rolled lightly in the distance. Through the open window, Barst could see the dark, menacing clouds gathering in number. They were preparing to bring their awesome power upon the small carriage. The horses knew what was coming and were now striving to reach home before the storm hit. Barst smiled slightly as the cool rain came in contact with his grimy face.

  Morning had brought what it always did—a hardened doubt and the near certainty of a misjudgment of the events the day before. A stonewallof disbelief now blocked his past hopes, and Barst now avoided all thoughts of Her, assuring himself that it was just his imagination.

  Aaron was on the opposite side of the carriage, his arms crossed and shivering. Barst looked over at him and his smile broke wide open, showing a range of slightly crooked, yet still handsome teeth.

  "I'll never understand why, in Thorton's great name, you like to be rained on. Even when you have a perfectly good roof to hide under! It’s stupid." Aaron said with a look of irritation. "The point of a roof is to keep you dry and warm, and you have to open the window." He continued looking away and shaking his head in slight bewilderment.

  "It's the air. Can't you feel it? It's cool and clean. You really learn to appreciate it after you’ve been to the suiting rooms." Barst said.

  Aaron cracked a wry smile and leaned his head back against the red cushions that lined the interior of the carriage.

  "Aye, I heard that really reeks."

  "That is a huge understatement. Hell has to smell better."

  Aaron smiled fully then closed his eyes. Barst turned his gaze back outside to where the dark clouds were commencing their charge across the sky. He rubbed the blond stubble that had formed on his jaw line and thought, despite his recent resolve, about Her.

  Barst’s mind drifted back to memories that hadn’t been recalled for years. She was wading through a brook, her eyes filled with delight as small fish swarmed about Her toes. She was running across a field, chasing the shadows of birds that flew above in the bright and warm sky.

  His eyes flew open when the carriage hit a hole, causing a strong jolt that shoved him back into his seat. Aaron, who was facing the front of the carriage, was thrown forward, cursing, into the cushions on Barst's side. Barst jumped out of the carriage to see the driver, Ned, futilely striving to drive the horses forward. Ned, an old man of about sixty by Barst's guess, twisted around the opposite way from which Barst was standing, and shouted into the carriage.

  "We’re stuck!"

  "So I noticed." Barst replied sarcastically, causing Ned to jerk around the other way in surprise. "Here I'll try to push."

  Barst looked at the back right wheel, which was stuck in six inches of mud. With a sigh, he took off his boots and rolled up his trousers. Jumping behind the wheel, he shoved in a violent rhythm against the wooden wheel. When nothing happened, Barst looked to the front of the carriage where Ned was still staring back.

  "Well drive the horses, will you?"

  Ned snapped forward and lashed the horses and, after another violent shove, the carriage was again rolling. Barst, with his boots in one hand, jumped in the carriage and glanced at an exasperated Aaron.

  "Oh, and let's not forget, rain makes mud, which causes people to get in accidents. You see this?" Aaron pointed at a newly forming bruise on his face, "This is because of your stupid rain."

  Barst lightly smiled at Aaron's mock anger and once again leaned back into his seat and futilely tried to get some rest.

  C H A P T E R 7

  Her Laugh

  Jonathan was running. Not in fear or desperation or even with purpose, but really running. The grass meadow flew beneath his feet. The clean, mountain air filled his lungs and he pushed himself faster. His feet slapped the ground and his legs screamed for more.

  Small rodents and other creatures would sporadically hop out of the grass and bound away, scuttling to their hideaways.

  Jonathan let out a laugh. Not just a laugh, but a real laugh that the soul lets loose when it is utterly content. It flowed out his throat and seemed to satisfy every fiber in his being.

  Exhaustion began to pull at his chest, so he threw himself down onto the long grass. The sky was the picture of peaceful. The few white clouds that trailed across the sky were going nowhere fast. The soft grass blades lightly tickled his ear and he closed his eyes in contentment.

  Then he heard Her laugh.

  The wonderfully melodic noise wafted across the plain causing him to sit up and open his eyes, his heart in his throat. There she was, gamboling through the grass, Her dark hair flowed back, and Her stunning smile spread across Her face. Her delicate hands held the hem of Her snow-white dress that seemed to illuminate Her captivating dark purple eyes.

  Something was trying to surface in Jonathan mind, but he couldn't just remember it. He frowned in thought as she drew near, but he couldn’t quite recollect the thought. Then it came to him.

  He was Barst.

  A cold wind swept through the valley. He shivered and looked up at Her to see Her smile transform into a malicious scowl. Dark clouds now covered the sky, and rain was beginning to pelt down. She began to ominously raise Her arms and the wind picked up speed. Her hair flew in all directions and then a large bolt of lightning struck and the scene dissolved into a bright white light.

  Barst awoke to find his knuckles also white from grabbing the side of the bed. Outside, he could hear a thunderstorm unleashing its full rage upon Aaron's house. He was home. If this is home, he thought. Barst layback down and let his thoughts drift.

  Aaron and he had gotten back yesterday and Barst, unable to sleep on the carriage, had gone straight to bed. Barst looked out the window and judged by the amount of light coming through the dark clouds that it was probably around noon. Must have really been out for a while.

  He then thought of the dream, which was already becoming distorted. He had to ruin it, hadn't he? He rarely had a good dream, and now that he had one he couldn't just enjoy it? Why hadn't he just enjoyed the moment?

  Even though he knew that it would be impossible, he lay back down and tried to make himself fall back to sleep. Why can't you continue your dreams?

  Creak.

  Barst’s eyes flew open and locked on the door as he sat up, a knife from his bedside held ready in his hand. Two small and startled eyes stared back at his through the small crack, and then quickly vanished. Barst groaned, tucked his knife beside his bed, and threw his legs over the side.

  After throwing on some clothes and washing his face, he opened the door and headed out to the dining room. Rich smells floated through the air making Barst aware of how hungry he was. He entered the dining room to see the family eating lunch.

  A pretty, middle-aged woman with red cheeks was smiling and listening to the children that crowded one side of the dining table. She was Marcie, Aaron's wife. All the children included: Jem, a shy pretty blond girl who was about nine, Rodger, a sly boy who always had a retort, Hannah, a melancholy and pensive child with jet black hair, and then Daniel, who was seven.

  Daniel had cow-licked dirty-blond hair that shot off in every direction from his head. He was missing his two front teeth, which made his crooked smile all the more bright. But what really stood out was his enormous energy.

  The kid never stopped moving. Barst remembered when the household was eating at a friend's house; Daniel hadn't stopped fidgeting for a second. This energy made it possible for Daniel to play with Barst for an hour and then, after fully exhausting the large man's energy, beg his mom to let him run outside the city walls to pick berries.

  Right now he was sitting at the table, bouncing up and down, devouring a chicken leg, head swaying about. Marcie noticed Barst, and a huge smile spread across her face accompanied with deep dimples.

/>   "Good afternoon. I'm glad you can join us for lunch."

  Barst grunted, still not awake enough to come up with a reply, and sat down across from Daniel and next to Jem. Daniel beamed up at him excitedly while rocking side-to-side, and humming no particular tune.

  "You sure were a sleep for a long time,” Daniel said between both mouthfuls and hums, “You missed breakfast." Then, after glancing at his mother he leaned in conspicuously and whispered "You didn't miss much though, just oatmeal."

  He then stuck out his tongue and scrunched up his face, making Barst smile.