Then, to my dismay and horror, another child was tied to the stake, the seventh that night. My victory had changed nothing. The contests would go on.
I felt like standing up and crying out that it should stop. But I did nothing; simply endured in dumb misery as another father and daughter died.
I felt numb. I wished I was back in Gindeen.
SOME UNKNOWN SCRIBE
From face to foot he was a thing of blood.
The Compendium of Ancient Tales and Ballads
Late the following afternoon I was summoned by Konnit. Once more I had to wait my turn outside the hall. The snow had changed to drizzle, and I sat there on the grass getting soaked to the skin. I noticed that the otherGenthai waiting beside me kept glancing in my direction. One actually nodded and smiled at me.
When bidden, I sat down cross-legged to face Konnit, water dripping from the end of my nose.
‘You did well, Leif. I knew you had the speed to be successful, and in taking the life of the werewight you showed the true heart of a Genthai warrior. All present in the meeting house were witness to what youaccomplished. You have earned their respect.’
‘Thank you, lord, but I only did what needed to be done. But how can this go on? All those deaths . . .’
Konnit frowned and sighed heavily. When he replied, he sounded exasperated. ‘It will go on for ten more nights, Leif, and I expect you to be there to witness it. We cannot put an end to it yet lest those beyond theBarrier recognize our intent before we are ready. But we are almost ready. There will be no more years such as this, I do promise you that. Our submission to the djinn is almost over, but we must give them no earlywarning of that. We need to take them by surprise.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I agreed, dipping my head. But inside I considered the enormity of what the Genthai intended. How could they hope to win? What would happen to the remaining inhabitants of Midgard when they weredefeated? Surely there would be terrible reprisals.
Or was there something I didn’t know? Was there some secret reason for their confidence?
‘Do you know what a Genthai warrior should be – how he should fight?’ demanded Konnit.
‘He needs to be brave, fast and skilful,’ I answered.
He nodded. ‘There is a line from The Compendium of Ancient Tales and Ballads which for me sums up the idea.’ He closed his eyes, then recited slowly and with passion:
‘From face to foot he was a thing of blood whose every move was timed with dying cries!’
I saw the image of the warrior in my mind’s eye. It was terrible yet powerful.
‘Those lines were written centuries ago by some unknown scribe. We have forgotten so much. The history of humans is in fragments; but the words are still inspirational. That is what we Genthai must become in orderto defeat our powerful enemies.’ With a sigh, Konnit dismissed me from his presence.
So it was that I endured ten more nights of slaughter.
The only compensation was that now I seemed to have been partially accepted by the tribe. Nobody engaged me in conversation, but at least they no longer kept their distance. Children came close and stared at myface, and some women even smiled at me as I passed. The men too nodded in greeting, and Garrett stopped swearing at me.
At the end of that period of bloody combat, only four more human warriors had been victorious. Each one of us was offered an honour which we were free to accept or reject.
It was to receive the Genthai facial tattoo.
From Mokson, the man who was to carry out this work, I learned what the tattoos represented and why not all Genthai warriors displayed them.
‘We have many brave warriors, but displays of courage are not enough to earn facial tattoos,’ he explained as I knelt cross-legged on the floor of his hut. He was old and wizened, but he circled me with slow, delicatesteps, like a bird preparing to peck at a worm. The weather had turned cold again and the door was wide open. Our breath steamed.
‘Only a warrior who slays a werewight and saves a child may receive that honour,’ he continued.
It explained a lot. That was why Konnit had the tattoos but not Garrett.
‘The tattoo I will create on your face is called a moko,’ he told me. ‘The process will take many weeks because time must be allowed for healing. But we have a problem. Your ancestry will be inscribed upon yourface. The left side will show the ancestry of your father, whose true Genthai name was Lasar. The right side should represent your mother’s lineage. But you had no mother . . .’
I felt myself flush with anger as I remembered my mother and the terrible way she had died at the hands of Hob. I remembered seeing her body lying in the grass, drained of blood.
Mokson patted me on the shoulder. ‘I mean no disrespect. I merely mean that you had no Genthai mother. The woman who gave birth to you had no Genthai lineage, so I must leave the right side of your face blank.’
I felt bitter. How could this be an honour? My status would be clear for all to see. I would only be half a Genthai warrior. But then I took a deep breath and allowed that feeling to pass. Why should I deny what wasclearly true? I was only half Genthai. Why not accept and declare that fact to the world?
‘Do you still wish me to go ahead?’ the old man asked.
I nodded. ‘Yes, do the left side of my face.’
‘It will hurt,’ he said. ‘The pain will be severe. You must be brave.’
His warning proved correct. He gripped me firmly by the hair and tilted my head back, his thin, sharp-bladed knife approaching my left cheek. Then he quickly began to cut, and the stinging pain came in waves as heworked. My eyes filled with tears, but I tried not to flinch; not one tear leaked from my eyes.
At last he stopped, and wiped away the blood from my face with a rag. I thought he was finished for the day, but worse was to come. The cutting was nothing compared to the pain of the second part of the process. Hetook a small sharp chisel and dipped it into a basin of dark dye.
‘Now I must manoeuvre this into the cuts,’ he explained, ‘in order to force the dye deep within the skin.’
Mokson used the heel of his hand to drive the chisel into the cuts. Each blow was little more than a tap, but the resulting pain was like a burn and it seemed that he was cutting through to the bone. Every few secondshe dipped the chisel into the dye and then started again.
Afterwards he applied an ointment and sent me back to work. Yes, I was to chop down trees for the rest of the day – Garrett’s orders. It proved to be a good idea. The heavy work took my mind off the pain and Iattacked the trees with a fury.
My second appointment with the old man was scheduled for the following day, and that proved to be even more painful. This part of the tattoo was above and below my mouth. The swelling was terrible. Afterwards Icouldn’t open my mouth properly to eat. This time I had to rest, lying on my back while they fed me soft, almost liquid, food through a wooden funnel.
After that I had a week’s rest from the process, but when it continued, I started to have nightmares about my visits to the old tattooist: in my dreams he started to bite into my face with his teeth, tearing pieces of myflesh away.
Five weeks later it was over, and gradually the swelling went down. When I touched it, the tattooed side of my face was no longer smooth. It was grooved where the lines had been scored.
At last I looked into a mirror. When I turned my right cheek towards it, I was Leif, a trainee Arena 13 combatant; when I turned my left cheek, I was a stranger – a Genthai warrior.
I felt satisfaction at having endured the process and coped with the pain. Then gradually there was something else: pride.
The time when Tyron expected me back for pre-season training was approaching. What would Kwin think about my tattoos? I wondered. Maybe she would think them ugly and I’d have lost my chance to be with her.
That night, just before I headed for the corner of the communal hut where I usually slept, Garrett approached me, smiled and put a hand upon my shoulder.
What he said came a
s a complete surprise.
‘We need to talk, Leif,’ he said, using my name for the first time. ‘I want to tell you about your father.’
We walked into a clearing in the trees and sat on a grassy bank. The night was cold, the sky clear and filled with stars.
‘I’ll start by telling you what you’ve endured,’ he began. ‘We call the process Edos.’
‘You mean the tattooing?’
‘It’s more than that,’ Garrett replied. ‘For you that was only the final stage of the process. Few get that far. City life does not not agree with our people. Many drink too much, beg, fall into decline and forget what theyonce were. Their children continue in that same downward spiral . . . But some are curious. They want to know where their families come from and they seek us out, as you did. So we put them to that test, which we callEdos. We work them hard and shun them. You see, Leif, to become a full member of our tribe, you have to be strong, both mentally and physically. The weak give up and go home; the strong, such as you, endure andbecome one of us. They become Genthai. They become warriors.’
‘So ever since I arrived you’ve been testing me?’
‘Yes, and you passed every step – though you’re the only one who ever raised his fists against his teacher and meant to carry it through,’ Garrett said with a smile. ‘That I did not expect. And you are the only outsiderwho has ever arrived in the thirteenth year and fought and defeated a werewight. Most decline the invitation to defend an orphan child. The few who agreed fought and died. You are truly your father’s son.’
‘You said you had things to tell me about him.’
‘Your father was born here and brought up as a Genthai. He had a sister who was chosen by the lottery. As a boy, Lasar watched his sister and his father being slain by a werewight. Later he showed great promise withthe sword. He had your speed, Leif, and was destined to become a great warrior. He was even better with short blades. Thirteen years after the death of his father and sister, he defended an orphan just as you did – it’sstrange how history repeats itself,’ Garrett said, shaking his head.
‘Your father won, but he refused the facial tattoos. He declared that he was sickened by the ritual combat and left to seek his fortune in Gindeen. They say that at first he made his living fighting with sticks, but thenwas taken into the stables of a trainer called Gunter.’
‘That much I do know,’ I interrupted. ‘As an artificer, Gunter was the best of the best, and they called him “the Great”. I know something of the history of their partnership and how my father went on to defeat Hobfifteen times.’
‘And after that?’ Garrett prompted.
‘After being badly hurt in that final fight, he was forced to retire from Arena 13 combat. He married my mother and became a farmer . . .’
‘Well, there is something you probably don’t know. Between retiring and meeting your mother there was a gap of five years. During that time he worked for the Trader.’
Lacs fought alongside humans in Arena 13, and the Trader was our only source of them. He came from beyond the Barrier, and somehow managed to sail his ship through without harm to himself or his crew. Wherehe came from nobody knew.
I looked at Garrett, hardly able to believe what he’d just said. ‘What sort of work?’ I asked.
‘Of that I have no idea, but he accompanied the Trader on his voyages to and from Gindeen.’
‘He travelled beyond the Barrier into the land of the djinn?’
Garrett nodded. ‘We must assume so. But he never came back to visit the tribe so we know nothing of that time.’
‘Was my father well thought of by the tribe?’
‘He was a true warrior, and was held in great esteem. But many were disappointed when he rejected the facial tattoos. Some thought he had wasted his life fighting in the city arena; others liked the idea of a Genthairising to supremacy in combat against city dwellers, and were glad to see him defeat Hob so many times. What about you, Leif? You have proved your courage and skill and have accepted the facial tattoos. Will you notput aside your ambition in the arena and stay to fight with the tribe? It will not be long now before we take up arms against our enemies.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Garrett, but I’ve not changed my mind. Two weeks at the most and I must return. I want to complete my training and fight in Arena 13.’
I was really looking forward to returning to Tyron’s house, which I now considered my home. I was eager to begin training with Deinon. But most of all I wanted to see Kwin again.
‘It’s your decision, Leif, but let me do one thing for you before you leave us. Have you ever fought with a sword?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, the skills are very different to those required when using short blades. Tomorrow you’ll chop down fewer trees and spend a little time working with me. I can’t do much in a couple of weeks, but I can give youthe basic skills.’
Garrett was as good as his word. Soon after dawn I faced him in a forest clearing, frozen leaves crunching underfoot. I was shivering. It had been a cold night.
We held our swords in a two-handed grip. He took a step towards me.
‘Right, Leif, let’s see what you can do!’ he challenged. ‘Attack and press me hard. Don’t worry – you won’t be able to do me any damage.’
I did as he instructed, and immediately sensed the difference between this and fighting with a dagger. For a start, the sword was a far heavier weapon. I swung at Garrett and he evaded my blow with ease. After failingto make contact with anything solid, the sword continued to move, carrying me with it, and I almost overbalanced.
Garrett could have chopped me down like a tree. For a moment I was totally vulnerable.
He grinned. ‘It has some things in common with swinging an axe, Leif. You need to use the weight of the sword. Go with it. You will miss opponents, so you need to swing it upwards, then reverse, allowing theweight of the weapon to add strength to your blow.’
It was easier said than done, and after five minutes I was exhausted. My breath rasped in my throat and my shoulders and arms felt like lead.
I rested for a while, and then Garrett adjusted my stance and grip. The second bout I found a little easier. But when I finally managed to land a blow, Garrett blocked it with his own sword, and the clash of blades wasso hard that it jarred both my shoulders and I almost dropped my weapon.
At the end of the two weeks I was much improved, but it was just a start. I probably wouldn’t have lasted more than a minute against any of the Genthai warriors. However, I had the basics, and I thanked Garrett forhis help. I was really starting to like him now. A few more months and I might have felt that I belonged with the Genthai.
But now it was time to go home.
A WORRYING DEVELOPMENT
He that depends upon your favours
Swims with fins of lead.
The Compendium of Ancient Tales and Ballads
Tyron had asked me to return three months before the Arena 13 season began so that I could start to train early. That meant leaving the Genthai lands before the winter was properly over. This time I had no lift on awagon to make the journey easier. I would have to walk all the way back to Gindeen.
Before leaving, I had one final meeting with Konnit. He led me into the forest until at last we reached a long hut the like of which I’d never seen before. A deep stream ran close by, and in the water was a hugewooden wheel set within a stone base. The wheel was being turned by the fierce flow of the current.
There were dozens of armed Genthai surrounding it. Did the hut contain something valuable? I wondered. I could hear a strange hum coming from inside the building.
Konnit unlocked and opened the door, and we stepped into darkness. The humming grew louder.
Then there was a sudden click, and the interior was flooded with light. I looked up at the source in amazement: a glass sphere hanging from a cord. The light radiating from within it was almost too bright to look at.
‘The source of that light is
called electricity,’ Konnit explained. ‘The ancients lit whole cities in this way. The stream outside turns the waterwheel, which creates electricity from a machine called a generator.’
I was astonished. City people looked down on the Genthai, considering them to be primitive. Yet they relied on torches and candles, while the Genthai employed the technology that had been used by humans beforethe victory of the djinn and our imprisonment behind the Barrier.
‘But this is not what I have brought you to see, Leif. Electricity provides light but can do much more. Follow me!’
Konnit turned and lifted a trap door in the floor, flinging it open to reveal steps leading downwards. He stepped back and clicked something on the wall, and the steps were flooded with light. He led the way downuntil we reached a small cellar. Here the hum was louder than ever.
On a bench by the far wall lay thirteen long fat metal cylinders, each connected to the wall by a thin tube.
‘Electricity charges them with energy, but they use a far more advanced technology to deal out death. These are weapons, Leif. They are called the gramagandar, which means the Breath of the Wolf. We havethousands of warriors, many of them on horseback, which might be able to overthrow the Protector – but against the djinn beyond the Barrier, well . . .’ Konnit shrugged. ‘These weapons will make our victory possible.They destroy false flesh. The bodies of the djinn will melt before their withering fire. Yet they present no danger to normal human flesh.’
‘Lord, could they be used to destroy Hob?’ I asked, the thought making my heart lurch with excitement.
Konnit stared at me hard. ‘They could, but that would betray our secret. When we fight the djinn for the first time, we need the element of surprise. We would both like to see Hob destroyed, but we must find anotherway. So you must not speak of this to anyone else. Speak neither of the gramagandar nor the ritual combat against the werewights. Do you understand? These are Genthai secrets – not for outsiders.’
When it was finally time to leave, Garrett walked me to the edge of the Genthai lands.