The Lost Colony

Chapter 11

The very next day, Sparr caught a break with his escape plan.

He, Ast, and Stef were helping deliver bolts of cloth to one of the more opulent shops. Sparr had a hunch that the Governor used his authority to purchase goods at discount rates, then later sell them to the merchants. It was consistent with the way Sparr himself had been sold. The Governor had made a bid, then practically dared anyone else to top it. That would also explain why Efreem had never appeared. No doubt he had been traded or sold a second time.

The merchant, a man of middle years and no hair, fluttered around the shop, hovering nervously as the three gladiators unloaded fabric. He would dart forward, obsessively smoothing the exposed top of the most recently unloaded bolt, then jump back before the next bundle arrived. He kept a tally using an elaborate quill with red, grey, and yellow bands. Something about the man reminded Sparr of a bird watching to see if its mate was building a satisfactory nest.

When finished, the merchant surprised the gladiators by offering them tea from a delicate urn. As Sparr sipped the bitter, but not unpleasant concoction, he had time to admire the shop. Most of the wall space was taken up with display racks and rotating spindles draped with samples, but one wall was dominated by a sprawling, rich tapestry. The merchant noticed Sparr admiring it.

"All of Kaybe," the man said proudly. "The workmanship is exquisite. The stitching..." He looked about the room as if checking for spies. "It's worth thousands, but I purchased it for only five-hundred!" This last bit he practically whispered.

It was, in fact, beautiful. Finely-worked blue stitching signified an ocean, sprinkled with a constellation of tiny islands in one corner. To the west lay a sprawling continent, mountainous to the north, settling slowly to gentler lands of green and brown. Both the far north and the south were trimmed in white, obviously signifying icy regions. Across the ocean was another continent, smaller than the first, but more varied. Sparr made out narrow lakes, running north to south, stitched from an even finer blue thread. If the map was to be trusted, there must have been glacial activity on Kaybe millenia ago.

"Where are we?"

The man shot Sparr a quizzical look, before catching himself. He drew back perceptibly. "Of course," he said softly, "gladiators." He gathered himself. "We are... here," he said, indicating one of the tiniest dots on the tapestry.

The north of the western continent was first ice, then mountain. Just north of what must be the equator, the mountains broke apart into ranges that plunged deep, scarring the plains and forests like claws. These, surely, were what Sparr had seen during his landing. With a ring-laden finger, the merchant indicated the point where two such ranges split apart.

"Vonde," he said with a strained smile. "Not exactly where I had pictured myself, but..."

"And where is Shong?"

"Oooooh," the man spoke as if Sparr had said something faintly naughty. "The dead city," he said. "Well, one of them." His finger slid south, parting the raised green and brown threads, then turned east. On the map, Shong was noted with an embroidered star. To reach it, Sparr would have to travel south beyond the tips of the ridges, then east for considerably longer. That portion of the journey paralleled a thinly-stitched line which could only represent a road.

"Five days travel?" Sparr guessed.

"Are you a pilgrim? Ah, ignore my question." The merchant stepped back, smoothing his robes. "If they had gladiator fights there? Ten days at least, two weeks if you travel with the Origin. They stop everywhere!"

They shopkeeper, seeming to tire of the conversation, withdrew. Sparr concentrated on the map, doing his best to commit it to memory. In addition to Shong, he spotted one other star farther south and east, near the ocean and the sprinkling of islands. Two more were visible on the opposite continent. If there were more, they were hidden.

***

That evening, Sparr practiced the language with his implant, and once again mulled his escape. His prospects had hardly improved, but the outlines of a plan began to emerge. After his next bout in the gladiator pit, Syreet presumably would summon him to her bed. Following their encounter he would excuse himself, sneak past the dozing rickshaw driver, and climb into the hills. From there he would loop around to the outskirts of the town. Having no love for the Urst, Sparr would feel little remorse robbing one of their huts or wagons. With luck, he could locate a weapon, and food enough for a few days.

The plan was horrifyingly flimsy. He might be unable to slip away from Syreet, or be spotted trying. If he failed to pilfer what he needed from the Urst, he could either be caught, or forced to flee without even a knife to defend himself. Finally, even if he succeeded in his escape, Sparr had no idea what trials the rest of his journey would bring. Ten days on foot in a wild, unforgiving land was far from a welcoming prospect. Reclaiming his possessions would help, but Sparr faced at best a dangerous and long road. He groaned in frustration.

"Give your problem to Omm." This remark came from Stef. The blond-maned gladiator's arms had been wrapped in bandages after the previous day's fight. He had been idly marking them with a blue chalk, but now addressed Sparr.

"What?" Happy for the distraction, Sparr joined him at a table.

"You are troubled," Stef said. "Omm will take your problem." Omm was the name of the god the Origin worshipped.

"Okay, how does that work? How do I give him my problem?"

"Turn the wheel," Stef said. He bowed slightly, as if conveying some unassailable truth. "Make a sacrifice."

"The wheel is at the temple?"

Stef looked at him blankly. "Of course."

"And a sacrifice is tokens?"

"Yes, or flesh."

"What?" Sparr thought perhaps he had misheard.

"Flesh," repeated Stef. "Sons and daughters."

"So... if I don't have tokens I can give them a child?" Nausea rose in his throat.

"Yes," Stef said.

Something occurred to Sparr. Stef was a handsome man, even with the tracing of scars he carried. "You were in the temple."

"Was," Stef said. "Said I could go last year."

"How old were you when your family sacrificed you?"

"Eighteen."

It was a story as old as humankind itself. The Origin offered advantages for the wealthy. Sparr had yet to witness their ceremonies, but based on the parade of beautiful young men and women who had escorted Liette the first day, Sparr guessed that s****l favors were on offer for the wealthiest donors. Poorer families who sought blessings had to 'sacrifice' their adult children. Incredibly, despite having been himself abused and discarded, Stef seemed to bear the church no malice.

Sparr excused himself.

***

The night before the fights, Sparr dreamed of Earth. In it, he walked down a familiar but unnamed street. Shops welcomed him, but each as he approached turned rotten, their wares transforming to squirming, deformed creatures. Acquaintances as he greeted them became fiends, tearing out his flesh without pain. All was hollow and lonely.

The gladiator pit, in contrast, was becoming familiar. Wine merchants sent their boys out into the crowd, returning quickly with handfuls of tokens and empty cups. Fighters familiar and new stretched and eyed each other, or sparred with comrades. Auburn and Blonde weren't present. Apparently they were part of a caravan that took their act to a different town each week. In their place, as an opener, an elderly man goaded a pair of odd, upright fowl into combat. Their wings affixed with tiny blades, the unfortunate birds flapped and squawked, crashing together until one dripped blood. Sparr had enjoyed the choreographed battle between the two women considerably more.

The Governor and Liette presided over the crowd with cautious smiles. To Sparr's surprise, Kess was seated at Liette's side. The Olm woman was almost unrecognizable at first. She was dressed in one of the revealing blue robes of the Origin. The single, long braid she had worn when Sparr first had seen her had been undone. Her lustrous, dark hair now spilled down her back, gathered together in spots with glittering clasps. A touch of blush highlighted her cheekbones and flawless, dusky skin. Kess noticed him, apparently as surprised as he was. She tore her eyes away before Liette took note.

There was a rhythm to the matches. Less skilled or untested combatants were called out early for 'down' matches. In these contests the winner had merely to knock his or her opponent to the ground, although in practice most took numerous, painful blows in the process.

Next, and forming the bulk of the program, were the blood matches. As before, Syreet fought her match to the thunderous applause of the crowd. The sss, armed with a long knife, twirled and leapt about her opponent, an incredibly muscular fighter who wielded a long club. The woman swung massively powerful blows which, if they had connected, would have broken bones. She never stood a chance against Syreet's whirlwind attack. By the time the judge called the match, she was dripping blood from a score of cuts.

When done, Syreet once again helped Sparr apply his tiger stripes. The crowd, aroused and energized from her match, called out her name alongside Sparr's nickname of Animal. As she finished, Syreet pressed herself close against him. She whispered in his ear.

"Tonight, I will conquer your cock." The woman seemed to enjoy sending Sparr into battle with an erection.

What happened next softened him immediately.

The judge unfurled a banner with a garishly painted red X at its center, the symbol for a death match. Sparr startled, then looked up. The Governor was smiling at him through narrow, predatory eyes. Kess looked horrified.

Sparr steeled himself. Blood battles were dangerous enough. An opponent might deliver a death blow either by accident, as had transpired with Jinn, or by design. Even a non-lethal blow could still leave one seriously injured. Sparr comforted himself with the grim thought that at least he wouldn't leave the pit a cripple.

A guard handed Sparr a sword, a long blade more suitable for a skilled hand than for hacking. He hefted it, admiring the blade's responsiveness and balance. The roar of the crowd swelled around him, their blood lust called up for the death match. He stepped into the pit.

Efreem and Sparr spotted each other at the same moment. The Olm man, the first person on Kaybe to give him a kind look, stared in confused dismay from across the pit. Stripped to the waist, he carried the twin of Sparr's blade. His brown skin was oiled and gleaming.