The Forbidden Compass Trilogy: Book One- Caged

Irelle glares after the guards, hating them and their hooded faces. She sits on the wooden cot that is covered with a threadbare blanket. The floor is wooden, but she doesn’t need a hole to know that underneath is a layer of blood iron. They had removed her collar, but she’s too scared to use her voice, in case they decide to put it back on. The arena keeper’s low, sickly-sweet voice still echoes in her ears. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want too, but you should know we have ways of removing someone’s voice. You wouldn’t be much good in a fight then, would you?”

Mahna sits in the cage next to her, playing with her hair, spinning it around her finger. Fenn is in the cage across, staring off into space, lost in his own thoughts. Krade is next to Fenn, watching the fire in his hands dance and shudder.

The corridor is dimly lit with torches, and guards patrol the halls. Her neighbor is a moskey, she mostly ignores him as he gnashes his teeth at the guards walking by. The sounds of fighting and crowds cheering above leaks through the roof. Eventually, the noise dies down, and they are served cups of water and a porridge mixed with chunks of meat. Their dishes are taken, and Irelle tries to sleep. All she can think of is how she will have to fight, and to survive she will have to kill someone. The thought makes her sick. Despite her bravado, she’s never killed anyone and doesn’t want to. Especially if that person did her no wrong, and she is forced to do it for some rich nobles to enjoy. She falls asleep eventually, her dreams filled with images of fighting and blood.

The next morning, they are served the same thing as the night before. After breakfast, Irelle picks underneath her nails anxiously, a habit she turns to when she’s nervous or bored. She wants to leave the cage, but she knows that as soon as she leaves it will be a fight to the death. And the thought of killing someone for others’ entertainment makes her stomach turn. She hates this place already, it smells like blood and dirt. And Krade is making the air smell like smoke again.

She wants to sing, but the constant patrol of the guards and the arena keeper’s warning hold her back. So she sings in her mind, surprised when a small cyclone spins into the cage bars. She makes an ice knife, feeling the cold blade, and imagines plunging it into the guard walking past. She tries throwing it through the bars, but it just disintegrates. She continues making figures, practicing her new found skill.

She notices Mahna making dust tornadoes. Irelle watches in fascination as Mahna adds two more tornadoes to the ground, hovering them just above the wood. There must be dust in the air just like there is water.

She is interrupted by a rap on her cage. She stands up as two guards open her cage. They place shackles on her wrists and a collar around her neck. She thinks about escaping right then, but the collar seems to shut off any music, even in her mind. She sees Mahna’s worried face. Krade just looks down at his burning hands, not meeting her gaze. Fenn gives her a slight nod, and she nods back as they lead her past the rows of cells. They bring her to a wall of weapons; all types of axes, knives, swords, bows, and maces hanging on the wall.

“Pick a weapon.” One guard says. She shakes her head; she can make her own weapons. “Suit yourself,” the guard says. They lead her to a hole in the wall made of blood iron. They remove her chains and collar and shut a door on the entrance. She stumbles as the compartment jolts up. She waits as it rises, stumbling again when it stops. The door swings open, and she steps out into the arena. A large, blood iron, chain-linked dome separates her from the audience. The compartment disappears into the ground, a trapdoor latching over it. She studies the arena, a blood iron walled circle. Across another figure stands on a pedestal much like hers, holding a sword. A crowd of people sits watching, waiting for the action to unfold. She sees money changing hands as bets are placed. A voice echoes across the arena from a horn set on a pedestal high above the audience.

“The first fight of the day, the draci, Heno, versus our newest arrival, the mer, Irelle!” The crowd explodes into cheers. Irelle’s heart sinks, even though she is expecting it, as the voice announces, “This is a fight to the death! Ready...Set...Fight!”

The figure, Heno, jumps off his pedestal and races towards her, his sword held high. Irelle forms a water ball above her head, freezing it hard. She sends it hurtling towards him. He raises his sword, and the ice ball hits the steel and dissolves into steam with a hiss. She grits her teeth as the crowd burst into cheers. Of course he has firesteel! I’m starting to wish I picked a weapon.

She runs it towards him, ice swords growing from her hands. As his attention is held by the sparkling swords, she wraps him in tendrel of water, dousing out his heat. He struggles, and she wraps it around him tighter, her voice vibrating around the arena. She feels the water choking the life out of him, and she falters. She can’t kill out of cold blood. He falls to the ground, choking. He looks at her with fire in his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. He grabs his sword and races towards her, catching her by surprise. He grabs from the back, holding her against him and the sword against her middle. She feels the heat crawl across her skin, burning away her top as she tries to shrink away.

“I let you live!” She exclaims, thrashing against him.

“Don’t you understand?” He whispers in her ear. “Only one of us is getting out of here alive, and it’s going to be me!”

Desperate to place some distance between herself and the scorching heat, she flares her back fin. She feels Heno’s grip loosen and watches as the sword hits the dirt of the arena. She turns around to see him on the ground, holes in a line down his chest pulsing blood onto the arena floor. The shock on his face is equal to her own. She watches as he struggles to breathe, blood flooding from his wounds. I made those. Then his breathing stops, and his eyes go blank. She steps back, appalled at the sight and what she has done. She feels like a monster, like the Hunters.

I’m a monster.

The crowd’s cheers are a dull roar in her ears, like a beast that feasts off the work of others. She hears the announcer, “Our winner, the mer, Irelle!” She doesn’t feel like a winner; she feels like a monster. These people are making her into a monster.

I’m a monster.

She wants to hurt them, show them they can’t own her, change her, make her into their monster. She starts singing a mer dirge, letting the notes echo around the arena. The crowd falls silent and listens. Irelle knows they can hear her song, but she can’t move water past the arena’s dome. She lets the water surround Heno, caress him, clean him of the blood that she spilled, cleansing him of death.

She sees her song is doing nothing to affect them. They still think she’s a creature, a monster, created for their entertainment. She stops singing. She walks back to her pedestal, where the compartment waits. She enters, watching the door close and stares at it as she is lowered back underground. She feels more anger and hate blossoming in her chest, taking root in her already large garden. The guards replace her chains and collar. They lead her back to her cell. She ignores the others’ looks of relief and questioning. She lies down on the cot and closes her eyes, tears leaking out until they become a flood.

I’m a monster.