The Heroes of Armagh

2: Chrim’s story

Chrim was standing completely still, his hands and forehead resting on the wooden wall. Even though his last fight had been rough, he didn't have a single scratch on him.

The arena smelled of blood, sweat and the pine wood from which it had been build. It was a nauseating smell and even though he should be used to it by now, it made his stomach churn. He wondered what people would say if he threw up ?

He concentrated on the coming fight and tried to filter out the sounds from the audience. People talking, shopkeepers yelling their prices, a sheep was baaing and in a corner two drunken men were fighting.

He was tired and his muscles were sore. He was grateful that he only had this one fight left, then he would be done for the day. Then a mug of ale and some food would do him good and after that a long night's sleep.

The owner of the arena Abram hit the big gong an yelled in his best ringmaster voice. "And now the final battle tonight, Chrim the invincible barbarian against the swamp witch".

A small woman with a bend back shuffles through the door to the arena. When he was younger he would have laughed and thought that there was no way he was fighting an old woman, but he had now learned to never underestimate an opponent.

When Chrim slowly walked closer to the witch he felt nude and vulnerable. He was naked except for a loin cloth made from animal hide and his only weapon was a long wooden spear.

Suddenly the witch attacked him with a squeal that went through to the marrow and her claws left 4 deep scratches across his chest before he get her thrown off.

"Vile witch". He mumbled to himself. The scratches burned for a moment, then they seemed to fade and slowly they disappeared. It was like time was running backwards.

When she attacked again he was ready and held her off with his spear. The witch was shrieking, flailing her claws like a mad woman. Apparently angry not to be able to reach him.

Suddenly she pulled back and a moment later a swarm of magical icicles flew around him. They sounded a lot like angry bees. The air was suddenly cold and damp.

The sweat was running down his face despite the cold. As he fought too hit all the icicles with his spear. As he hit them they shattered into small clouds of silver sparkling ice particles sprinkling down on the ground like fairy dust.

He felt a sharp pain in his right thigh. A big icicle had found it's way past his defences, penetrating his leg. He cursed but couldn't be bothered with it right now.

Finally there were no more icicles and he grabbed the one in his thigh pulling it out slowly as his fingers kept slipping. The audience was whooping, they loved blood and pain.

Enough was enough, he walked toward the witch to end this fight. As he closed in, his head and feet started getting heavy. He felt really tired all of a sudden.

He looked up and saw she was holding a small lamp like object. It was dangling on a chain from her hand and there was smoke coming from it. He knew right away that it was the smoke that made him drowsy.

His eyes closed and the dreams invaded his mind. He just wanted to lay down and give in. To fall asleep. Glide away into nothing and stay in the sweet and alluring dreams.

But he fought it, he had to finish this last fight, then he could go to sleep and escape this hell at least for the night.

Chrim slowly slid to the floor, his eyes fought to stay open, but at last they gave up and closed. His big body going limp.

The people betting on him to win yelled in anger at him. It looked like they were losing their money.

The witch slowly shuffled nearer. When she was standing right in front of him, he hit the lamp thing with a fast move, making it fly to the other end of the arena.

He jumped to his feet and before the witch realised she had been tricked, he used the spear to sweep away her feet, placing his right foot on her scrawny chest. As hoped she surrendered right away, he had won again.

Abram announced him the winner. The ones betting on him whooped and the people betting on the witch screamed profanities. Some even throwing their gnawed of chicken bones after her.

"Good fight Chrim. For a moment I thought she had you, now go get some food". Abram clapped his shoulder. He was happy about the amount of money the fight had earned him.

Chrim found an empty table in a corner, sliding down on the chair. Then he asked the bar wench to bring him a mug of ale and some food.

He enjoyed sitting alone, watching the weird assembly of people present, while eating his food.

Even though quite a lot of people commented on his fights and a couple of w****s offered their talents, he felt lonely in midst the crowd. None of them knew him or saw him as more than today's entertainment.

He didn't enjoy fighting to entertain these simple people, but he had no choice. Abram owned him, like someone had owned him since he was an orphan boy. He was nothing but a slave to be bought and sold.

When he had finished his food he went to his small chamber alone, crawling into his bed and falling fast asleep, dreaming about being free and calling his own shoots.