Changing of the Glads (4 page)

He rose, scooping her into his arms and then stood without even a grimace.

Weakness pulled at her limbs, giving her the sensation they were made of lead, heavy and unyielding. Grateful for the strength of his muscles beneath her, she let him cradle her against his massive chest. She never could have stood on her own and, even with his strong arm nestling the crook of her neck, she was barely able to turn her head to study the lines of his face.

“Don’t,” he whispered, soft and low like a gentle breeze blowing. “You’ve exhausted your mind and strength helping me. I’ll watch over you until you recover. Sleep now, my love.”

Zalphia wanted to take in more. Drink him like the cool water that awaited inside the jail for the victorious Glads, but she couldn’t fight the fatigue any longer. Her eyes slid closed, and she let his mind lead her back to the babbling brook, the green grass, and the drooping tree. There, the warmth of the sun bathed her tired body and she slipped away, floating on a cloud of this new and long forgotten emotion.

The one Maximillion called... love.

CHAPTER 4

Zalphia awoke. The western sky remained tinged with brilliant shades of pink fading to purple. Across the horizon, a slim line of gold shimmered and danced.  A fire crackled amidst the still, torrid air.  The flames danced, merry sparks popping and jumping high in the air.

She closed her eyes and let the smell of freedom seep into her before taking in more of her surroundings. The heavy skin of a bear lay over her, and another skin cradled her from below. Her stiff leather breastplates no longer bound her, and peeking beneath the skin she discovered that none of her Glad gear remained. 

A gurgling stream nearby called to her, and the dryness in her throat drove her weary body from the shelter of the skins. She rose on shaking legs and stumbled over to reach the cooling wetness. Settling across the smooth slippery rocks, Zalphia dipped her parched lips into the rushing water and sucked in the lively moisture, letting it trickle down her parched throat. It soothed as she gulped more and more.

When the desire had been quenched, she lifted her head and just watched the water as it tumbled over the bed of rocks, sand, and moss. Even the stones against her bare skin titillated her senses. She pushed up and gathered her legs beneath her, resting her naked bottom against the hard ground. She glanced about.

Sitting so, her bare skin visible to all around, ceased to cause trepidation as she so often had been paraded naked amidst armors, trainers, and even arena authorities. Being a Glad stripped all decency away.

Brisk, sweet air swirled around, and she closed her eyes, letting it penetrate every nerve and fiber of her being. Like the cold water soothed the ache in her throat, this air purged the dusty feeling that lingered in her lungs, and she noticed a different smell, spicy and sweet.  One she’d never encountered before.

It is Pine.

Zalphia leapt into a fighting stance. The voice had been so loud she was sure someone had spoken right behind her. Heart hammering, she glanced about but saw no one. 

It is just I, Zalphia.

Maximillion’s mind melded with hers. She sank to the ground, one hand over her thundering heart. He sent waves of calm that washed over her, soothing her shattered nerves. She let her soul drink in his essence like her mouth had the bubbling water beside her. His presence quenched the thirst she just earlier this day realized existed.

Closing her eyes, she sent her mind rushing back along the pathway already opened to his, hoping to return the feelings. But this was new to her, not the normal way she reached out to another, and never the way she wished to make another feel. She hoped he could sense what she wished to express, in spite of her lacking the knowledge of how to make it so.

I feel it. Not too bad for a beginner.

The corners of her mouth rose toward her cheekbones. What was this? With her fingertips, she explored the unnatural position of her lips and probed her stiff cheek muscles. Could it be? A smile? How did it look? 

A rumbling formed in her throat. She quickly covered her mouth and squelched the noise. Her lips slipped back to their normal position. She often felt pleased when winning fights or showing her strength before Clubbers and Arena Boards, but the hard line of her mouth never before changed. Smiling showed pleasure. An emotion. Something not fitting a Glad. Platy often wore a grin when Zalphia was victorious. But Zalphia never allowed any emotion to show in her outward appearance. 

Her lips curled again, and she reveled in the change to the lines of her face and the burning inside her chest. Maximillion changed not only her life, but her physical appearance. He had given her permission and a reason to let this look creep across her face. She wandered back to the bear hide and snuggled in, wondering where he was.

A short time later, he appeared with a large buck strung across his massive shoulders. “Been hunting.”

The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver up her spine, and her insides twitched. She gasped at the physical effect. Even her skin reacted, rising in small bumps.

Zalphia climbed from the bed. 

Maximillion dropped the buck beside the fire. His eyes opened wide, and his hand slipped inside a pouch which hung from the skin girded about his waist. His gaze flitted to the trees, the ground, anywhere but on her. 

She strode over and noticed a blade protruding from a log nearby. The same knife that Glads used in the arena. A double-sided blade. One side smooth and sharp enough to separate skin and muscle from bone. The other serrated and just as sharp, made to take everything in its path and devour it. She gingerly wrapped her fingers around the black and silver grip, wrenched it from the wood, and then knelt beside the deer.

“No.” Max grabbed her hand and gently pried her fingers from the hilt before sliding it away from her, his eyes finally meeting her own. “I will do this.”

She sat back and studied his face. In the Glad training center, the women were expected to clean anything brought in as food. A man would never stoop so low.

For one second, his gaze raked over her, and then he dropped his eyes to the ground and turned away.

Fear burned through her. What did he expect of her? Maybe things weren’t as they seemed. Maybe she was his prisoner.

He laughed, but didn’t turn back around. “Why would you be my prisoner? I came to deliver you from the Glad arena.  And here you are, free as the wind and the animals in this place.”

Maximillion threw the knife into the ground next to the carcass, then quickly turned and scooped her into his arms. He avoided looking directly at her. Kneeling beside the makeshift bed, he laid her inside and covered her with the bear hide. Then, his eyes again met hers. The blue deepened and pulled her into their depths. She would never feel lost, scared, or alone when he looked at her so. 

The moment passed, and he glanced back at the buck. “You offered too much of yourself this day already.”

“No more than you.”

“But what I have done, I have done for you. I never could have sent the shockwave across the arena without you. You wield a power I could never hope to achieve. I would never be able to physically change things if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Me? I have power to change things? I don’t understand. All I’ve ever been able to do was read someone’s thoughts. Explain what you mean.”

“Not now. It can wait until you’ve had time to rest.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Oh, Zalphia.” 

She pushed a mass of black hair from his face. He closed his eyes, and his hand covered hers, pressing it against his cheek.

The mere act of his simple caress set her stomach tingling like a million sand bugs danced there.

Maximillion released her hand and stroked her face for just a moment, then jerked his hand away. “Stay inside. I have not yet made a covering for you, and... well, I would regret going too far this first night.”

Her brow furrowed. Go too far? What did that mean? 

He drew away, and something in her shuddered at the loss.  But she pulled the skin up to her neck and watched as he dressed out the deer. He hung large hunks of meat on sticks over the fire and carved a few pieces into thin strips, which he sat across some stones he’d placed in the mist of the dancing flames.

The cooking meat sent tendrils of savory aroma wafting through the air. They curled and wove their way to her, then slid up her nose. Moistness burst in her mouth, and her stomach growled. Her last meal, if it could be called that, the simple gruel served at sunset the night before, had long since faded. She never ate the morning of an arena match. Food slowed her reactions and caused mistakes that she couldn’t afford to make.

Every so often, she felt Maximillion’s gaze flit to her and, as if on their own, her eyes responded by meeting his. One side of his lips would turn up, but the other side always remained the same, straight and stiff. She wondered if he’d lost a fight in training, or if it was an injury suffered some other way.

He crouched before the flickering flames, tending to the succulent fare he prepared for the two of them. She was glad of the dim light so she could study his movements, the line of his jaw, and the careful way he gazed her direction. If there had been no fire, he would have disappeared completely in the darkness, this black-skinned man.

She’d never been around anyone who resembled him. Even the texture of his hair was foreign. Her own hair still held softness beneath the matted outside crusted with dirt, but his strands resembled the hide of the bear – stiff, coarse, and poky. She’d never encountered anything like it. 

“So...?” Zalphia began.

He stopped working, and her skin warmed as he glanced in her direction.

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

One side of his lip turned up, and heat spread to her cheeks as his eyes reflected their deep blue in the dancing light. How did the simple act of his gaze resting on her affect her so?

“That you would help and not kill me?” he asked.

“Well. Yes. That.”

“I just knew.” His attention turned back to the meat.

She shuddered at the absence, but then searched her memories, considering each time she’d lured an opponent with the potential of freedom, only to rip the dream away inside the arena. 

“I know, you used it before,” he said. “You used the powers of your mind to help you kill. I never have.”

She recalled what she’d witnessed when their minds had been connected, and she curled instinctively into a ball at the residual pain that still lingered inside her skull. She witnessed his fights, and she knew he never stooped as low as she. He never used the power of his mind to take advantage, to win a fight. He’d only done the bare minimum.

Compared to this man, this person who delivered her dreams on a regal tray reserved for the most royal of the Clubbers, she was a monster. She hadn’t intended to become one. She was only doing what she had been trained to do. But still, killing did carry with it a sense of power. A sense of accomplishment. Each victory brought her one step closer to freedom. How could she have known there would be another way? He had killed, too. Were they so different?

She shook her head. Yes, of course they were. He begged forgiveness for what he had to do to ultimately end the Glads. She, on the other hand, had been selfish, self-serving and, yes, downright unethical. No one else, no one she’d met before Maximillion could reach out with their minds to use their opponent’s desires against them. But if using every weapon in her arsenal to win made her evil? Then yes, she was evil. 

Or was she? Didn’t winning mean living? It did for Maximillion. It did for her. What would have happened to him if she had died? Would he have remained trapped? She did what she must to survive, to survive and have some semblance of a life. Winning meant better food, more rest, and simple freedoms. 

Sometimes, she was even paraded amongst the Clubbers so they could see their Champion. They liked to touch her hard arms, run their hands up her thighs, and basically adore every inch of her like a fine horse or golden statue. 

No, she had done what she must. No one saw Glads as people, they were things without feelings or thought. And she had become what they made her – a killer. There had been no other way.

Maximillion cleared his throat, and she jerked back to the present. He knelt before her with several thin strips of meat. “I know it is not much, but you have not eaten this day. The mental energy you spent has taken its toll. We will remain here tonight while you regain some of your strength.”

“I feel fine.” She threw off the hide, rose, and perched on the fallen log before the fire.

Max remained crouched beside the skins. His hand slid into the pouch hanging at his waist and he stared. His eyes traveled from her head to her feet and back again before he visibly shuddered and turned his head.

Zalphia looked down. Scars from the arena littered her body. He saw them all, including the worst of them, and now in disgust he turned away. Her throat constricted, and she sucked in a labored breath. He wouldn’t want her now, not with all her faults and imperfections. Pulling her knees to her chest, she hid the worst of the scars. 

Maximillion slowly rose. Keeping his eyes from her, he joined her on the log. “You will always remain perfect in my eyes,” he said. 

Again, she felt his gaze drift to her. Hoping she wouldn’t see more disgust, she peeked as his eyes lovingly caressed every inch of her before he cupped a hand under her chin, turning her face to his. “You have a beauty that comes from within as well as without. I call it divine perfection.”

Zalphia choked on the piece of meat she’d been chewing and spat it into the fire. Divine perfection! Not hardly. She stretched her legs out and looked at the deep dent just below her belly button where her first fight inside the arena left its mark. The Glad sunk a knife clear to the hilt there. Platy said it was a miracle Zalphia survived and still managed to kill her opponent. Many weeks passed before the wound closed, and the dent left from the injury was a good two-inches deep.

“I’m far from perfect. Look at the damage the arena has done.”

Maximillion reached out and touched the dent with a trembling finger. “I know. This was the hardest one to heal. It took all my strength for three days. I was lucky I survived.”