Arena: Part One Page 5

  “Hard to imagine,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Having to make a choice like that.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Colston said. “I never really thought about it that way before.”

  They stood there for a moment longer, watching the men that had made the choice to live this way rather than be put to death. “Come on,” Colston said. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

  “Okay.”

  Colston took her through the ludus showing her everything he thought she was ready to see. He was sure to keep her away from the infirmary as Doc would no doubt have Riley laying out on a slab. The two of them walked along the upper walkway towards a corner of the giant ludus.

  “Where are we going now,” Anna asked.

  “To my favorite place.” Colston looked at her and smiled. He had never shared this place with anyone else but he was excited to show it to Anna. When they got to the tower they reached a winding staircase. They climbed the stone staircase in silence. At the top was a large wooden door. Colston brought an old key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. A creak emanated from the hinges as they bore the weight of the giant swinging door. Inside was a large room, mostly empty except for one corner by a window. There was a bed, a desk, a chair and a bookshelf. Colston closed and locked the door behind him. Anna watched him as he carefully turned the large metal key in the lock then pocketed it when he was satisfied it was secure.

  “Why lock the door?”

  “My father thinks he lost the key to this place a long time ago,” he said. “In reality, I may have helped him misplace it. This is the only place I can come to get away from him.”

  “He’s kind of an asshole, huh?”

  He smiled at this. He had never heard anyone speak of his father that way before. “Well,” he said. “He really is.” They both laughed at this. Her laugh was even better than her smile. Warm and inviting and full of life.

  Anna walked over to the bookshelf and picked up a book and opened it. “I’ve never held a real book before.”

  “They’re getting harder to find. But my father has some pull because of his success in the arena.”

  Colston sat down on the bed and watched her thumb through the book. He was glad he had brought her. It was nice to have her there. It seemed natural as though she were supposed to be there. As if she had always been there. She turned and saw him watching her. She put the book back and came over to sit down on the bed beside him.

  “I like this place,” she said.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why are you glad?”

  “Because,” he said. “It’s nice to have someone my age that I can share this with. It’s hard to make friends when you’re tied to a place like this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because parents don’t want their kids hanging around a bunch of killers.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Want to watch something or maybe a little gaming? We have all the channels.”

  “No, I enjoy just talking with you.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had that.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get tired of hearing me talk before long.”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “I seriously doubt it.”

  10

  The next morning the house was quiet except for the sounds of Marjorie frying breakfast and humming quietly some long forgotten hymn from the past. Colston ate quickly and was on his way to the ludus before anyone else in the house had stirred. The sun was just coming over the horizon as he made his way, giving off just enough light for the boy to see by. Cole was awake when Colston got there. He was pacing in his cell like a wild animal. When he saw Colston he stopped in his tracks and stood there watching the boy. “How long am I expected to sit in this cell,” Cole said. “It’s maddening.”

  “Your living quarters are being built now,” Colston said. “None of the existing units would work for you due to your size.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How long am I to stay locked up all day with nothing to do but stare at these walls?”

  “Well, that’s up to you. If you’re ready we can start your training today. In fact, I was kind of hoping to start now.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Colston signaled for two protectors to come down to unlock the cell and escort Cole. The four of them walked down the corridor and across the pit to the locker room where Colston showed Cole to his locker. “You can change into your work out and classroom clothes here. We run first thing in the morning. Then breakfast. Then strength training. You’ll then shower. Have an hour of classroom study. Eat lunch. Then another two hours of classroom study followed by several hours in the pit. You’ll then have the opportunity to shower again if you like, then dinner. Then to your quarters for one hour of private time before lights out at nine.”

  “Busy day.”

  “Days,” Colston said. “You’ll do this every day of the week without exception.”

  “Better than sitting here rotting.”

  “I’ll leave you to change,” Colston said. “When you’re ready we’ll begin. I prefer running outside if that’s okay with you.”

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Yes. You are my fighter to train. My father has made that clear. You will spend your afternoons with the other fighters, but other than that, it’s just you and me.”

  “Fine by me,” Cole said.

  There were protectors designated for running escort. These were very fit men, used to not only running, but running in full gear. Most were former Navy SEALS or Green Berets. Their armor was exchanged for impact-absorbing skin suits. But they still carried pulse rifles as well as full packs containing everything from first-aid kits to emergency shelter and supplies. They ran behind the fighters so they could watch them. Colston could hear the two behind him as they ran on the well-worn dirt trail that cut through the fields and woods that surrounded the house, ludus and assorted out buildings that made up the Carlson estate.

  “So yesterday,” Cole asked. “Did that really happen or was I dreaming?”

  “You mean the fight with Riley?”

  “Was that his name?”

  “Yeah,” the boy said. It was starting to get harder to talk while running.

  “So I’m guessing that was your father that hit you?”

  “Yeah. He does that sometimes.”

  “Well,” Cole said. “He shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, I agree. But I’m not strong enough to fight him off.”

  “Then we’ll have to change that.”

  “How?”

  “You mentioned weight training,” Cole said. “You can do it too. I can teach you.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “I told you. You remind me of my son.”

  “Can we start today?”

  “You’re the boss,” Cole said. “We start whenever you say so.”

  Colston looked up and smiled at the man. “Today then,” he said.

  They ran on in silence for the remainder of the five-mile run with only the sound of them running to disturb the sounds of nature.

  Colston sat across from Cole at a metal table in the mess hall of the ludus. He watched the giant eat a double portion of Marjorie’s standard fare of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast with a small glass of orange juice and a tall glass of milk. When he had finished eating they went to the weight room to begin their training. It was during this time that trainer became the trainee. Colston knew the strength exercises that they taught all their fighters. He had seen Jacob train them often enough, but he had never tried any of them and could not instruct on proper form. He knew this was his one weakness as a trainer. But things had worked out well as Cole knew his way around a weight room. The two compared the standard strength exercises that Jacob taught to the ones Cole had performed on a routine basis prior to his near fatal encounter. They matched up clos
ely but Cole knew tricks that Colston had never seen Jacob teach. By the end of the session Colston’s upper body felt shaky and weak.

  “You did well,” Cole said, “for your first time.”

  “I feel like a piece of rubber.”

  They sat on a bench in the weight room drinking water and toweling sweat from their faces.

  “Give it some time,” Cole said. “You will learn to love it.”

  “If it frees me from my father’s beatings that’s reason enough to do it.”

  “You will also need to learn to fight.”

  “I know how,” Colston said. “You will see later when we train with the gladius.”

  “I don’t mean with a sword. I mean with nothing but these.” He held up two massive hands then closed them into fists.

  “And who’s going to teach me that?”

  Cole smiled. It was the first time Colston had seen the man smile. It made him somehow less ugly. Although he would have been perfectly handsome were it not for the deep scar that dominated the top half of his face.

  “You’ll forgive me,” Colston said. “If I’m not exactly excited about getting within your grasp after seeing what you did to Riley.”

  The smile left the big man’s face. “That was forced upon me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I know it was. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Well,” Cole said. “It’s possible that I’m just being sensitive.”

  “No, I should never have mentioned it. It couldn’t have been easy.”

  “The decision was easy,” Cole said. “It always is when it’s forced upon you.”

  The boy was quiet for a moment. The thought that the rest of this man’s life would consist of him having things forced upon him made him sad. For the first time he began to see things from the fighter’s perspective.

  “Don’t let it get you down Colston. I’ve accepted my fate.”

  “Well,” the boy said, “maybe I haven’t.”

  11

  Morning classroom study that day was held in the armory and consisted of an introduction to the weapons used by the fighters and their relative strengths and weaknesses and how each matched up against one another. Colston introduced each weapon then demonstrated how they were used before handing them over to Cole to get a feel for them.

  “This net seems ridiculous,” Cole said. “Is a fisherman attacking me?”

  “While the retiarii were viewed as the lowest of the gladiators, the rete and fuscina were used to kill many a secutor in the Coliseum of Rome. These weapons should not be underestimated.”

  “Now you’re just showing off.”

  “Well,” Colston said, “maybe a little.”

  Cole handed the net and trident back to the boy and watched as he put them back into the locker he had pulled them from.

  “So,” Colston said, “do you have a preference?”

  “I like the gladius. It’s not very long, but it’s a good, solid weapon.”

  “Now we just have to decide which configuration to go with. How are you with your left hand?”

  “Not bad,” Cole said. “I am somewhat ambidextrous.”

  “Perfect. Then you shall be trained as a dimachaerus.”

  Cole looked at the boy with a befuddled look. “A what?”

  “The dimachaeri were gladiators trained to fight with two swords.”

  “How do you know all this anyway?”

  “I read a lot,” the boy said. “I’m into the history of the games.”

  “Good, then you’ll be helpful in keeping me alive.”

  “How so?”

  “Because knowledge is power.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Colston said. “Because I don’t want you going anywhere anytime soon.”

  Colston grabbed two wooden gladius out of the storage locker and handed them to Cole then grabbed two for himself. He saw the protectors stiffen out of the corner of his eye as they always seemed to do during the transfer of weapons to a fighter when the owners were so near. Even the weighted practice swords could be used to stab someone given enough force. Some protectors went so far as to point their pulse rifle at the fighter receiving the weapon as a precaution against sudden attacks. Colston understood why. They were simply doing what they were paid to do.

  “Why don’t you show me what you can do against that pell there?” Colston said as he pointed to a solid wooden pole that had been planted in the ground upright.

  Cole was hesitant. Before yesterday he had never swung a sword in his life. He took a few steps forward and began chopping at the pell with the dull swords. The swords were weighted and the big man wore himself out quickly.

  “The most common mistake people make when using a gladius,” Colston said. “Is to assume it’s a chopping weapon. It’s not an axe. It is a tool meant, primarily, for thrusting. Observe.”

  The boy stepped towards the pell and performed a series of quick stabbing movements beginning in the middle then high then low on the target. He then reset and performed two thrusts with cuts on the right and left of the pell all at neck level. Once again he reset and performed the original series of stabbing movements this time adding the cutting motions to the neck area at the end. Each thrust hit the mark despite the fact that they were performed so quickly and the pell was only six inches across.

  “These are some of the drills you will learn and practice on a daily basis.”

  “Impressive,” Cole said. “That looks tough.”

  “You’ll start slowly and the speed and power will come later.”

  “I’ve got a lot to learn,” Cole said. “Don’t I?”

  “With practice this should be easy in a month.”

  “But I get the feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “You’d be right,” the boy said. “But I’ll get you there. It’ll just take time.”

  “That’s all I have anymore.”

  Colston put the swords away then man and boy walked out of the armory and into the sunlight. It was spring and there was still a chill left in the air. But the sun was enough to warm them as they stood at the edge of the pit and watched the wind stir the sand. Colston felt strangely at ease with the giant. Certainly more at ease than with his father. And it made him wonder how this stranger, this man that had been condemned by the laws that ruled them, could be more compassionate than the man that was meant to love and protect him.

  12

  By the afternoon the cool breeze had left them and only the sun’s blistering heat was left to bear down upon them and bake them like pieces of clay in a kiln. The air was stagnant and the dust did not stir except when kicked up by the feet of the men shuffling to and fro in mock combat. Colston and Cole were among them, practicing attack and defense drills with the wooden gladius at half speed. Occasionally the men would sneak a glance at the giant. It had been less than a day since he had pinned Riley to the wall and the scene was sure to still be fresh in their minds.

  “A real shame about Riley,” a voice said from behind Colston. He turned to see Marcus, his father’s champion, walking towards them. “Too bad you weren’t facing a real opponent, big man. It would be you in the ground right now.”

  “Shut up Marcus,” Colston said. “And get back to your training.”

  “The great master speaks,” Marcus said.

  “I said shut up.”

  “You do not command me little boy,” he said. “I do not belong to you.”

  Colston spun around quickly and struck Marcus in the mouth with the side of the blade. The weighted wooden sword split his lip and caused blood to run freely from his mouth. Marcus fell back as he was thrown off balance from trying to avoid the blow.

  “I said shut up.” Colston said again.

  Marcus held his hand to his mouth, blood ran out from between his fingers. He looked up at the boy from where he had fallen to the ground. There was something in his eyes that made Colston feel as though he should run. Marcus lunged at the boy, but no sooner had he lifted a kn
ee from the ground when a blue ball of energy hit him in the side and dropped him to the dirt twitching and writhing in pain. Colston looked over to where the bolt had come from and saw the protector there with his rifle shouldered, ready to squeeze the trigger again should any other man try to rise up against the boy. Colston nodded his thanks to the man then looked back down at Marcus who was still twitching from the shock of the blast.

  “All right,” Jacob yelled. “Get back to your training.” He walked over to Colston and stood close to the boy so the fighters could not hear their conversation. “What was that all about,” he said.

  “Marcus was disrespecting me,” Colston said. “He needed to be put in his place.”

  “I could have done it just as easily with a harsh word.”

  “But they need to learn to respect me.”

  “More likely they’ll just end up hating you if you go around smashing them in the mouth like that.”

  “Yeah well,” Colston said. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to Cole.”

  “I can understand that. Just realize your father ain’t going to like you smacking around his champion none.”

  “No, I don’t imagine he will.”

  They stood there in the hot sand considering this. Cole stood close by with his sword at his side showing no emotion.

  “Why don’t you let me work with Cole,” Jacob said. “You take the rest of the afternoon and go do something fun.”

  “Well,” Colston said. “There is something I need to take care of. You sure you don’t mind. You remember what my father said about you not training Cole.”

  “I’ll be fine. Your father can’t push me around. He’s already afraid he’ll lose me to another house.”

  “Thanks Jacob. You’re the best.”

  As he turned to go he looked back at Cole. “I’ll see you in the morning.” But before the big man could even reply the boy was gone.

  His father’s office in the ludus had a bathroom with a shower. Colston often used it when he worked with the fighters in the pit. The hot water rolled over his tall, thin frame, washing away the dust that had been baked into his skin. He showered quickly then dressed and brushed his teeth before heading out. He then ran to the tower and raced up the stone staircase. Anna was sitting on the steps waiting for him. “I wish I knew someone that could make keys for these kinds of locks,” he said. “It would be nice if you didn’t have to wait for me.”