Sweat beads onto her brow and I just wait for them to fall. Once the salt gets into the wound under her eye, she will wince and that is when I’ll make my move. Like clockwork it only takes seconds and just as I suspected she hasn’t yet become use to the pain of a fight. I coil my arm back and strike, a sick thud ringing up through my arm and into my stomach. It wants me to recoil in horror but I push forward. There’s no time for remorse. She wavers, her tall frame unsure of what to do. I can’t wait for her to recover and know that I have to end this while I can. I force my leg up, the cut in my thigh burning from when her boot strap had torn through it. I put as much force as I can muster and aim directly for her stomach. An exasperated release of air can be heard as she folds in on herself and falls.
The loud cheers and banging of cans announces that I have won. I don’t feel victorious but when my Lanista yells my name to the crowd, I raise my hands and smile. That’s what they’re looking for and my group of supporters goes crazy with glee. Many of them have won heavy bets and will be lining their pockets with denarius. I need to convince them to share a small portion of their wealth with me and encouraging their joy tonight will help me persuade them.
The girl I have just beaten has finally come to, her Lanista pouring water onto her face and adding pressure to the cut beneath her eye. She finds me and I can see her good eye well with tears. She’s angry at us both but there’s nothing to be done about it now and she knows it. She nods just barely so no one else catches it but me. I blink and then a towel is thrown over my face and I am guided away before the mob of villagers can engulf me. I can hear the mumbling of my Lanista beside me but I cannot make out a single word. She had given me a few good hits and my ears have yet to adjust. I will need a few days to recover from the damage. The darkness of the towel and the chill of it’s water feel like bliss against my already swollen skin. Being a Gladiatrix may not be the best life, but I did luck out with a very wise trainer.
Alexander Aelius was a legend amongst Kardia. He had trained under the first and the best Lanistas and it was said his entire family had been raised to be warriors. His family name entitled him to choose whatever Gladiator or Gladiatrix he wanted to train before all others, and just as he had chosen my father before me, I was his first pick the year I turned seven. Even though we were not allowed to fight until we were twelve, we were picked much younger. As soon as one fighter passed another had to be chosen. The Lanistas would raise us until we were of age to stand in the arena. Alexander had raised me from the time my father died. He had been strict and regimented in my training, but as long as I performed under his rules he would treat me in kind when the fight was over. That was more than most had and I knew that despite his impenetrable demeanor he cared for his fighters. I was lucky.
He sits me down onto the cot in my quarters. We have already walked halfway through the center and into Alexander’s training grounds. The building stands three stories, the tallest next to the palace and is home to three Lanista’s. All of which are under the care of Alexander himself. They will grow up to become his prodigies and one day will take his place at the top. I don’t live here most of the time any more. Since my sixteenth birthday I have been allowed to leave Kardia and stay with my family in the Dust Bowl, my village on the outskirts of the habitable land. I sleep most nights in the cot with my sister, her growing form becoming more unbearable as she kicks me in her sleep. Tonight, I will stay here and probably for several days after. When I am beat up as badly as I am now, my body will not be able to heal if I have to spend my nights being punched and kicked. The warmth of my boots are being pulled from my feet, as servants begin to remove my clothes. One finally pulls the towel from my head and I see the bright blue eyes of my Lanista.
“You did well, young warrior.” His voice hits my ears like gravel and is one of the few things that has been able to break through the swollen cartilage. “Now, sleep. We’ll train again in three days time.”
He moves away from me and I don’t even bother turning to see him go. I know his moves and footsteps by heart. I know that he will go train himself, deep into the night, until his body is almost as beaten as mine. Then for the next several days we will both be holed in our rooms, healing together. He has always believed a trainer cannot know good strategy unless he feels the pain of his men. Or women in my case. I am the first Gladiatrix Alexander has picked and many of his quotes are not tailored to include females. This, for whatever reason, made me like him more. Knowing he spared no exceptions for me made me proud. We were equals.
The servants continue to dress my wounds, the few cuts that were obtained from loose buckles, jewelry or any other adornments my opponent had, but mostly they focus on icing my swelling skin. The smells of herbs assault my nose as they rub medicines I know all too well, onto my body. A young girl, younger than my sister, lightly grazes my faces with her tiny hands, aloe and boswellia filling my breathing. She has long brown hair and big doe eyes. She is trying to hide her sympathy for me by bowing her head, but I know she can feel me watching her. She’s so gentle and still I can feel her tremble. I am almost certain I am the first fighter she has helped after a fight and I wish that I could hide my physical pain so she didn’t have to feel so frightened. Before she can step away from me, I grab her hand and squeeze. She looks at me and I smile. She tries not to cringe and I’m sure that my face is too swollen to show any happiness. I let her go and she scurries out of the room.
The others, done with their duties, also make their way out of my quarters, only one staying behind. She grabs my legs and shifts me into the bed, tucking the thick cotton tightly against my body. I know this one, she has been my lady for many years and I’m thankful to know she’s here tonight. She sweeps her hand across my forehead, moving my hair from my face. She looks at me square and I see pride in her smile.
“Sleep, dear. You’re safe once again.”
She scurries from the room, dimming all but one of the candles. I try to fight the darkness but it pulls at my eyelids. Finally after only moments, I have lost and it’s thick tendrils pull me under.
The glaring light made of fire burned its way through my skin. I groan in pain as I try to pull the blankets over me. It can’t already be day when only minutes ago I had fallen asleep. The sound of feet prove me wrong, as if the sun itself wasn’t enough. I roll to my side, losing my breath when the bruises on my ribs are jostled. I had forgotten I had taken a kick to my side. I moved back to my backside, unable to take the pressure of my body. My groans are heard and I feel hands grabbing the blanket and pulling it away from my face. I slam my eyes shut, a pounding headache already beginning at the bridge of my nose.
“I’ve brought you breakfast, miss. And water. I was told that you needed to eat and drink and that I wasn’t to let you bully me out of waking you.” A cool towel is placed over my eyes and I relax, beginning to forgive the servant. “There, that must be better. Now, if you nod your head to let me know you’re awake I can leave you to it.”
I nod my head once, careful not to jostle the brain that must lay inside and I can hear the padding of feet fading. I sit up, careful to hold the towel where it sits. She was kind to leave me, but stupid. If my Lanista knew, she would be cast out for her inability to listen. I can’t let that poor girl’s livelihood be left on me. Besides, we’ve lost enough staff since I’ve been here, I’m not sure we could spare another. I remove the cloth slowly and squint my eyes open. I see the cheese and bread sitting on my bedside, just as she’d promised and a pint of water sweating beside it. I reach for it, the glass nearly slipping from my hand before I can get the other around it. My throat is barren like the wasteland outside and the water is my rain. I can feel my headache running to the depths of my skull as the dehydration is quenched.
Drops spill to my bedding, running down the front of my sleep clothes and making my skin slick. The glass drops as I try to replace it and I am too tired to clean it up. One of my girls will see it soon enough. I skip the dry bread and reach instead for the cheese. It is rich and gooey, easily sliding into the pit of my stomach. It rolls, just once, at the strain it must use to process the fuel. If it wasn’t so exhausted, I’m sure I would be sick. But thankfully my body is worn. I am barely able to finish the piece before I am tossed back into a dreamless sleep.
The next time I wake, it is dark. Few lights flicker in the corners, candles well worn almost down to the nub. I hear whispers of conversation just outside my door and know them both immediately. My nursemaid, Gemma, is trying to calm Nile. He sounds concerned, practically pleading.
“Sir, she needs her rest. I know you are worried, but there is nothing that you can do. I’ve seen to her myself, she’s just bruised. I would tell you if it were serious.”
She’s right, but I still hate the way she sounds offended. As if my best friend since birth shouldn’t be worried after he watched me get pummeled. Even though both Nile and I know that he isn’t allowed in my rooms, the trick was not to get caught by our Lanista’s. I shift trying to hear them better and my voice betrays a groan.
“She doesn’t sound well!” Nile raises his voice from his whisper and storms into the door.
His broad shape is outlined in gold and from the angle I’m at, I cannot see his face. He rushes toward my side and helps me to shift back where I had been laying before I was stupid enough to move.
“Libby, what’re you doing? You stupid, stupid little girl.”
His smile is rich and I try to smile back. I wince and he starts laughing, the rich tones of a musician.
“I must apologize, Gemma. She is just fine. I can see she has enough sense to know she’s in pain. It isn’t as bad as I had assumed.”
I try to punch him and wince again in pain. He laughs, bolder this time and wipes the hair from my face.
“You took quite a beating last night. It’s been awhile since I’ve been that nervous you would lose. I actually considered betting against you. I’m glad I didn’t. Although, Crystal isn’t still in her chambers. Good thing the judge only cares what happens in his ring.”
I try to sit up. I’m glad to hear I didn’t do much damage to the girl, but I hate others knowing how much damage she did to me. I get my elbows underneath me and I push my chest up. Nile helps steady my movements and is ready to catch me if needed. Only tiny memories of dizziness assault me. All that is left is the soreness of my body and the cosmetic look of being beaten. Those are easily remedied and at times can even be a blessing. Pity is one of humanity's biggest weaknesses in a fight. That and arrogance.
“Did you…” I cough, my throat dry from under use and sleep. “Did you win big?”
He smiles. Of course he did. I know that he always bets big when I’m fighting. I’ve told him to. Our village cannot be hit with any more starvation and I know I won’t lose knowing what the consequences will be. Before I can say another word, Nile pulls an all too familiar book from his vest. I try to roll my eyes but get only half way before a sharp pain hits me. I close my eyes and fall back on the bed unable to hold myself up any longer under the pressure. Strong hands help guide me.
“I know how much you love this book, but you mustn’t strain yourself Librarea (Lie-b-rare-e-a; sounds like Library).” He tries sounding sarcastic but I can hear the concern lacing his voice.
“Don’t you dare call me that. I may be down, but I’m far from being incapable of beating you.”
I slanted my eyes open just slightly to see his smile. He knew I didn’t like to be called by my full name. My mother, a historic reader of sorts, had loved the idea of a library so much that she named me in kind. The ironic part was I had never learned to read. I settled in, my head starting to pound from the effort of movement. Nile’s voice became a soft background hum. I hardly needed to hear his words, since I had known this story since my very birth. It was the only book my father had ever read to me. It was the only book I knew. The bass of his words put me back into a deep sleep.
