Changing of the Glads (12 page)

CHAPTER 13

About seven months later

The sparkling blue water parted and slid by the bow of the ship.  A salty breeze traveled through the air and filled Zalphia’s nostrils, stinging slightly, but stealing the queasiness from deep inside.  This discomfort became a constant difficulty.  Almost seven months had passed since the painful surgery in the infirmary.  Zalphia could still see Max’s face when she closed her eyes.  Platy lied about what happened that fateful day, and no amount of torture would convince Zalphia otherwise.

Once again, the obedient, tough Zalphia had returned.  Or so they thought.  But a deep-seated anger rolled inside and surfaced every time she faced another in the arena.  Grinding her fists into her opponents, she imagined Platy’s face, and it gave her an odd sense of satisfaction.  The anger made Zalphia a better Glad than she ever had been.  However, finding women opponents to fight had become more difficult.  Zalphia now faced mostly men inside the arena, but it didn’t seem to matter.  The matches lasted longer now, almost an hour, and each moment showed that a true No Mercy Zalph is what Platy succeeded in producing... again. 

The doctor and Platy tried to convince Zalphia that Max had been a dream, an apparition.  But one slip of the doctor’s words during those first hours and she knew differently.  The warmth deep inside testified Max was real, as did the increased speed of her heart each time she closed her eyes and his face appeared. 

Memories of their time together washed over her and soothed her troubled mind.  He had been real, and the truth of the past he described while they had been together still remained.  No way could these intense feelings have been brought on by a severe electrical shock.  No way could she have imagined the way it felt when they became one.  Even now, she could smell him and feel his fingers tracing the lines of her face.  No, that would never leave.

Standing there watching the water as blue as his eyes spread before her, she sighed.  She had done this all before, crossed this same ocean and stood on the bow of a ship just like this one headed to Afri.  She swallowed at the lump forming in her throat and willed the tears brimming behind her eyelids not to fall.  In spite of her efforts, one slid down her cheek just as a voice interrupted her solitude.

“Well, Zalph.  What brings you out here so early in the morning?”

The hair on Zalphia’s arms stood on end, and all the good things inside her head vanished at the sound of Platy’s voice. 

With her shoulder, she brushed the tear away before turning to face her trainer.  “Just trying to keep down last night’s meal.”

“Still having the queasy stomach?”  Platy looked perplexed.

“Yeah.  I’m wondering if it will ever go away.”

“How long has it been?”

Zalphia turned back to face the water and imagined Max’s face.  “Going on seven months now.  Please, don’t schedule any morning matches.  I can’t fight until my stomach settles.  You know how it is, by noon or so it goes away, at least if I have a little something to eat.  Then, I’ll be good to go.”

“Okay, no morning matches, but you’re having a full physical after this round.  I won’t be having you lose because of...”

Zalphia glanced back at Platy with one eyebrow raised.   “Because of what?” 

Did she know something?

Platy shook her head.  “You worry about winning.  I’ll worry about your sickness.”  She quickly left, and Zalphia watched as the trainer disappeared through the doorway leading below deck.

“Ass,” Zalphia muttered under her breath.  “If there was something wrong, you probably caused it with your torture and barbaric surgery.”

As soon as Zalphia figured out how Platy had found her and where Max was, the witch would be sorry she’d ever dragged her Glad back.

The breeze whipped strands of hair across Zalphia’s face, and she closed her eyes.  Max’s face appeared – the dark skin, curly hair, and blue eyes – eyes she would never forget.  What she wouldn’t have given at that moment to reach out to him with her mind.  To have him whisk her away to their spot with the bubbling water and the tree with the feathery branches that touched the ground. 

But Platy had changed her.  Now everything was different.  She couldn’t reach out to anyone, not Max and not her opponents.  The one advantage she always had in the arena had been taken from her.  But that didn’t seem to matter.  Raging fury for Platy took its place.  Like an angry tiger, Zalphia devoured her prey, and no competitor, female or male, stood a chance. 

Zalphia had gained a few pounds, but in spite of that, she was faster, nimbler, and outright mean.  If she couldn’t have Max, living or dying no longer mattered.  But she would stay alive long enough to get even with her trainer.  Somehow, she was determined to find out what had happened that day.  And then Platy would pay for taking everything she cared about from her.  By this time tomorrow, she would be fighting again.  Heaven help her opponents.

***

Platy had arranged for all Zalphia’s fights to begin after the lunch break.  Sitting in her cage, Zalphia ran her fingers over the familiar gray stone.  Dust billowed in from the arena and clung to the sweat on her arms.  The oppressive heat burned her lungs, but she closed her eyes and let it seep into her.  This is where she met Max.  Loneliness settled over her, a blanket that overwhelmed her heart and clouded her mind. 

How could Platy bring her back here?  Did she really think that Zalphia wouldn’t recognize it?  The stone.  The orange clay.  The dark people.

She stared through the bars as the ebony-skinned Armors handed out weapons.  She longed for the months to melt away.  For this to be her first time here.  For Max to be waiting to face her.  If only it could be so, she wouldn’t feel alone.  Secluded.  Forlorn. 

An Armor, darker than the rest, strode toward her and her heart skipped a beat.  Breathing became difficult as he stopped a stone’s throw away.  His massive chest rippled, reminding her of the first time she’d set eyes on Max.  A silver helmet limited the view of his face, but curly, dark hair peaked from beneath the back plate.  Her gaze traveled to his jaw, the same chiseled jaw she remembered.  Could it be?   The rest of his face remained hidden behind the shiny metal.  Zalphia gasped as he wandered closer.  Her skin warmed from the inside, and her gaze traveled to the slits in the helmet.

How could he be here?  Would he free her again?

The Armor turned just short of the bars, but in that moment she saw his eyes.  Dark. Brown. The same as everyone else from this country.

She trembled, her breath coming in strangled sobs.  How could she think he’d be here, in the arena?  Absurd.  Wasn’t it?  Why had she reacted that way to someone who simply resembled Max?

She collapsed against the stone wall and closed her eyes as the moisture rose.  Even her skin anticipated his touch.  How stupid was that?  What did she expect?  That he would charge in and save her because she was in the same land? How ludicrous to assume Max would still be here.

What happened that night?  Why did Max allow Platy to take her?  Look at her now, back in the arena and fighting.  She was sure she’d suffer the stones if she and Max had been caught.  But she had to admit, Platy had come up with a viable way to get her undefeated Glad back without having to divulge that Zalphia was a part of the disaster. 

She let her chin fall to her chest, Max’s face looming in her mind.  She would continue to fight until he came for her.  And he would.  She could feel it.  He talked about stopping all this and not quitting until it was accomplished.  But where was he now?  Her chest constricted as she remembered the ceremony and their bliss beneath the stars.  Tears fell in spite of her fighting the urge to let emotions rip through her.  She wiped furiously at her eyes, then held them wide and willed the moisture away.  No, she couldn’t do this.  Zalphia had to keep it together and not let her grief at being back here be seen by Platy. 

A bumping inside took Zalphia off guard.  Was she going to be sick again?  She hoped not.  Fighting while puking her guts out would be impossible.  She prepared for the retching which usually accompanied the feeling.  But this was different, a flutter like a dozen butterflies inside.  Then it stopped.  Something tickled at the back of her mind about the feeling of butterflies, but she couldn’t quite bring it forward.

The cage door rattled.  “Ready, Zalph?”

She nodded.  Platy no longer came inside with her.  The trainer seemed to feel the anger although Zalphia was pretty confident it remained hidden.  In the training room, Platy was always flanked by two armed guards.  Maybe she suspected Zalphia’s urge to wring her neck.  Even Zalphia had to admit she changed.  And if she were in Platy’s place, she’d do the same.

“You’ve got three in a row.”

Zalphia rolled her eyes.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  No breather in between?”

Platy shrugged.  “Price you pay for laying off all morning.”

“Fine.” Zalphia’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ll handle it.  You always do.”

Platy was right.  Back-to-back matches were almost commonplace now in order to spend the morning puking.  Hardly a good trade-off, but at least Zalphia’s wits were about her by then.

“First, you’ve got one male from Lisban.  Then another from Eron.  And then, a big girl from right here.”

“Do they stand a chance?”

Platy smiled.  “The males are no match for my Glad.  But the girl, well, that’s another story.”

“Is she an Afri?”

“Yep.  She’s tall and more muscled than you, so keep out of her hands.  I’m sure she could squash you if she got a hold of you.”

“What’s our weapon?”

“No weapons.  Hand to hand.”  Platy’s grin widened.

Zalphia’s nostrils flared in aggravation. More and more of her matches were fought hand to hand. She suspected Platy wanted it that way.  Continued punishment for her original betrayal with Max.  It seemed her trainer was trying to get her killed.  The hatred had to have been painted across her face for a mere instant before Zalphia squelched it. 

“Great.  I like a challenge.”

Fighting the urge to ram her fist into Platy’s face, Zalphia watched the trainer turn and walk away.  Facing men who were just starting out had become her norm.  Usually their first match.  But, unfortunately, it also became their last.  Zalphia didn’t mind because they posed somewhat more of a challenge than the women. 

She wondered about the girl, the Afri.  Zalphia would have to be quick and slippery to best her.  Working it out in her mind, Zalphia studied all the possible moves and made a plan to evade and turn each one to her advantage.

The Armor outside the cage nodded to Zalphia, and she nodded in return.  The bars slid open.  She stepped out, holding her left hand out for the wicked claws.  A weird sense of déjà vu swept over her.  The same crowd seemed to fill every seat.  She shook her head to clear the thoughts.  Had to concentrate on fighting.  The Lisban was half her size.

The Armors handed them each a double-sided, six-inch blade, one of Zalphia’s favorite weapons.  She was terror with a blade, fast and dangerous. 

The two Glads circled each other.  The man lunged, sweeping his arm across Zalphia’s abdomen, but she sucked it in, avoiding the serrated edge of the knife.  At the same time, her own blade flashed in the sunlight as she drove it down, taking a chunk from the upper arm of her opponent.  The Lisban’s weapon clattered to the ground.

Zalphia’s elbow followed the line of her weapon, catching the chin of her opponent and sending his head careening sideways.  In one continuous motion, she spun around, sending a heavy calf into the man’s knees and sweeping his feet from under him.  The Lisban hit the ground like a sack of stones.

Zalphia could have tortured this Glad for much longer, but the fluttering inside returned and convinced her to end it quickly.  In one swift move, she sprang like a cat onto a mouse, pinning the Lisban to the ground.  The evil claws atop her fingers caught the sun and sent a shimmer of light across the front row of clubbers as they sliced into his chest and ended the match.

The strange rippling inside occurred again. Zalphia didn’t stand with the heart like the Clubbers expected.  She threw it down and marched back to her Armor.  The crowd roared. 

This time he handed her a six-foot stick of hardwood for her next match.  While they cleared the arena floor, she glanced at the crowd.  Nothing seemed different from when she met Max here, but a feeling of closeness to him washed through her.  Zalphia scanned the faces around her.  No Max. 

The next opponent’s gate shuddered up, and Zalphia strode forward.

This guy was at least Zalphia’s size and definitely more seasoned than the last opponent.  They circled.  The Glad swung his stick, and Zalphia jumped it, cracking her own on his back as he passed.  The Glad brought up an elbow, catching Zalphia in the jaw, and caused her to stagger backward.  The loss of balance didn’t stop the backswing of Zalphia’s stick to the rear of her opponent’s head.  The man fell to one knee. 

Twirling around, Zalphia hoped to take him out with a sideswipe, but he wasn’t there.  Instead, his stick whacked against Zalphia’s back.  Her turn to drop to one knee.  She immediately rolled to the side, bringing her stick up between her opponent’s legs.  He flipped over, landing on his feet.