Realistic or Modern A Fight in the Arena and a Fight for Love

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“Put the rest of them in the slaver cart.”
“We have a runner! Don’t worry, the hounds will get her.”
“Kill that man. No, not that one, the other one. Yeah him. I don’t like how he’s looking at us.”

The words were hitting Fericana like a whip. Each word slicing into her skin to expose everything underneath. Every time she looked down she thought she would see blood, but there was never any there. She felt cheated. If it was going to hurt this bad then there should be some evidence, something to show the agony she was in.

“Keep moving, savage.” The guard growled as he tightened his grip on her left elbow and jerked her forward. They had her hands shackled behind her back, only 3 links between the bands giving her no room to move. They were tight and rubbed her wrists raw with every step she was forced to take.

It’s ironic that he would call her a savage. They were not the ones partaking in such an evil act. She was not the one who went to their homes, killed their people, stole what they wanted and burned the rest. Though her name meant savage woman, she was not the savage one this day.

Fericana vowed to herself to remember these mens faces. She would remember and wait. She might not remember all them but she would remember enough. When she was free, and she would be, she would hunt them down and take her revenge for her people. The ones she killed, she would get to tell her where the others were before they left this world. When pain was involved men crumbled like walls made of sand. Weak creatures.

As the guard dragged her to the slaver cart ‘much too pretty to go to waste lopping your head off’ she fought the urge to fight back. She wouldn’t accomplish anything but to piss them off and maybe earn herself a death sentence. She can’t avenge her people if she’s dead. But every crying child, every mothers scream for her babe, every man cursing revenge and every sob made her warrior soul hard to contain. This day would haunt her nightmares until all the men here were slain.

Fericana glared at all the people who were standing in the crowd, judging, assessing and lusting. If her hands and feet were not bound she would gauge their eyes out and spit into the empty holes. She had fought one too many times against her captors that they knew better than to give her an inch.

“How much for the small one.” Yes she was a little smaller than most of her tribe people, but she wasn’t that small. It wasn’t her fault that these people were tall and shaped funny.

Fericana stared at the man who approached the slaver. He was looking to buy her. Wearing a plain white Chiton, he was relatively forgettable. There was nothing much to him that would help someone pick him out of a crowd. Rounded belly (as the wealthy typically have), brown hair and brown eyes. If this man thought that she would warm his bed, it would be a deadly mistake.
The price was agreed upon and money exchanged hands. “Have her and the rest delivered to my home before nightfall.” And with that the man left.

Guards came and manhandled her away. They threw her, one other woman and two men into a cart and took off. They were brought to a large mansion where they were roughly pulled out and thrown in to a large pool of water. The water was in an enclosed room, the tiles on the floor sparkling and the floor recessed into the ground to create the space for the water. She didn’t know what this was called but thought it convenient to have water this big in your home. Would save her and her people from the trek to the river every day.

Once they were as clean as they were going to get, their native clothes were ripped from them and tossed into the fire. They were dressed in brown Chiton and given sandals. She didn’t put the sandals on. She preferred being barefoot. One guard saw her act of rebellion, walked over, backhanded her face then forced the sandals on her feet as she lay on the ground dazed from the hit.

Their ‘master’ came out and introduced himself as some pompous name. She didn’t deign to remember it. He explained that they were now gladiators and would fight under his name. If they were to win so many games for so many years they would be released. She didn’t believe that for a second but her heart sped up all the same. She was terrified. Fight in an arena with others trying to survive like she was? How long could she last like that? She was a hunter, sure, but hunting animals or fighting off large predators was different from fighting another human for the right to survive.

They were then shoved into the carts again and dragged away from the mansion. Once at the arena, more guards came and hauled them off. The men in one direction, her and the other woman in another. None had talked in the cart and all looked hollow. She didn’t blame them. If she didn’t have the fury of a thousand suns coursing through her veins she probably would feel the same.

Down a long hallway, down a flight of stairs, down a short hallway then down another flight of stairs. Once on the lowest level the air became desperate, dank, sour and smelled of human filth. The feel of the air alone made it feel like she had hundreds of spiders crawling on her skin. Not to mention she didn’t do well behind walls. She lived her whole life in the woods with just leather hides to keep her from the wild.

One guard opened a metal door, the door screeching as he did so, then threw Fericana in. She stumbled on the dirty straw and threw her hands out in front of her to stop the fall. She winced when the rough stone cut into her skin. Growling softly, all the more angry, she sat up and looked around. Rows and rows of metal rooms. People of all sorts in them. Men, women and even children. No more than 2 to a room.

Fericana grabbed hold of the fury inside herself and held on with all she had. She feared that if she let it go, let the fury turn into a simmer, she will let the fear take hold. And she was afraid. For herself, her people and the people in this room. She didn’t know what would become of her, how she would survive or if she would ever be able to get out.

She did know that she had to fight. And fight she will until her last breath was forced from her.

Fericana sat up and moved her legs under her. She was thankful that they had taken off all the manacles, giving her a chance to move freely. Well, as freely as one can when locked up like an animal. But then again, that's all she was to these people. A feral animal. Never before seen. Amusement for the 'civilized' as they say.

Moving over to the cot, she slowly sat down on the edge and looked at her hand. One cut, a bruise and scraped skin. Though she had worse, she had never been in a place like this before. If she could get some plants, herbs or anything else nature based she could make a salve for it. Doubt that will ever happen.

Putting the wound to her mouth, she gently sucked on it, then spit. It was poison but her mouth was cleaner than the floor. Maybe if she was were able suck out the contaminates, it wouldn't be so bad. As she did so Fericana heard a voice. A mans voice. The common tongue. Her stomach clenched as she slowly lifted her eyes in the direction of the voice. She had not said a word since her home was destroyed and her people taken.

It was dark here, she couldn't see details well but she could see enough of him. He didn't seem to be a very large man but that didn't mean he wasn't just as dangerous. He asked if she was alright and then said he prayed she had not. She wasn't sure what 'nursing a wound' meant. She can assume though, since it seemed to be along the line of being hurt.

"I will survive this." She answered softly, more a growl than anything if she was honest. "I am not so weak." Her accent was thick but her words were clear. Not all her people could speak the common tongue, believing it was a disgrace and a betrayal to do so. She had learned because as the next Chief, she needed to be able to communicate with outsiders, should they arrive at their home.

Once she felt the wound was as clean as she could make it in these conditions, she stood up. He was not so far away, and even though they were separated by bars, she was not trusting. Trust no one. Trust got you killed. But she was curious. He might have answers for her. Knowledge would keep her alive.

"What is this place?" She asked the man. Her eyes ever moving. She didn't want to be caught unaware. It happened once. It's what got them here. So she walked a little closer to where he stood, holding her hand away from anything that could potentially get in to it.

Nektarios grabbed the upper armband he had made for Sostrate. The silver metal started out as a feather that slowly turned into a snakes body. Strength and freedom. Both pertaining to her. She was one of the strongest women he had ever met. It's what first drew him to her. The feather was his way of letting her know that he would never try to trap her. She would be as free as she wanted to be if she were to be with him. He didn't want to cage her, to dull the light that was uniquely hers.

Walking over to his wooden work bench, he set the armband down. He had no idea if she would like it but she was on his mind when he created it. All things he makes with his metal are unique, he didn't like making the same thing twice. Even if it were close, there was always something different than the last one.

Walking over to the kiln he grabbed the clay vase he had sculpted and moved it carefully over to the table next to the armband. While he let the vase cools he started to get his metal ready. There was an idea he had, he wanted to try, and if it worked like he hoped then Sostrate would be the only woman on this planet to have one. Would be the only person on this planet to ever have one. He wanted to give her all the good, beautiful and unique because that's who she was to him.

Nektarios worked the metal into thin delicate lines. He then twisted the metal carefully onto the ceramic. It was tedious work but he loved it. Lost himself in it. This was his time to empty his mind and let his soul take over.

Once the metal was on he stepped back to look at it and smiled. It was delicate work, the first real delicate work he'd ever done. "Wow son, I can't say I have ever seen it's equal." Looking over his left shoulder to the door of his forge. There stood his father. His father was an older man now, they had Nektarios a little later in life. Now he stood slightly bent, thin with a mass of wiry white hair on top his head and on his face.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm -leading him to smear oil on his skin- and gave a shrug. "Because this is the first and only of it's kind." His father chuckled. "Is this for the lady that refuses you every time?" Nektarios grunted as he flinched slightly. His parents, even his best friend, have been trying to convince him to find another. That Sostrate wasn't interested, might not ever be, and there were others that would love to have him. In fact, there have been a few women that have come to their house, even to his forge, trying to catch his eye. He didn't ignore them because he wanted to be mean, he honestly didn't see them because to him, Sostrate was the only one worth looking at.

"Yes, it's for her. I am not giving it to her to make my claim. I made it for her because the idea came to me with her name attached to it. I couldn't help but think of her while I did so. So I will give them to her because they belong to her. No obligation attached." To that his father shook his head.

"I hope one day, for your sake and ours, that you learn to get her out of your head. At this rate you will die a single man, no family to call his own." Nektarios took off the heavy leather work apron and placed it on the hook. This is an argument that they have had many times. Every time his father steps in to the forge.

"She is not just in my mind but in my soul. There is no just getting her out. I am also not having this conversation with you again father." He walked over to the old man and kissed the top of his head. Then he turned, grabbed the items he had made and walked out the door. "I am off to gift her these. I will be back before dinner. Let mother know so she doesn't worry." His father sighed and nodded his head.

Nektarios walked passed his house and down the road. Sostrate didn't live far, so it wouldn't take long to get there. Taking a detour he walked over to the well, set the gifts down, then pulled up water with the bucket. He was covered in sweat, ashes, oil and metal shavings. He didn't want to show up at her house like this. Though this was his work and he was proud, didn't mean he had to show up a mess to her. Grabbing the water he scrubbed it down his arms, over his face and neck then over his hair.

Feeling cleaner than before, he grabbed the gifts once more and headed to her house.

Once at her house, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She wasn't always here when he got here, so he gave it to her mother. The mother always asked if he wanted to stay or if he wanted her to tell Sostrate something but he always declined. He didn't want to put pressure on Sostrate or force himself on to her, so he would leave. He knew her mother would let her know who they were from. Though it wouldn't be hard to know since he was one of the very few to work with metal.