II - Sigh of Smoke

Chapter 18 - Marionette

-Aleksandra Bane-

The boy had looked to her with such fear, it had made her chest tight. She could hardly breathe.

Bait was tall and lanky, but she could tell he was weak. He wouldn't last. Anyone who was new was called Bait if the gamekeeper wasn't going to give them a formal welcoming match, of that she knew very well. The spike of dirt the boy had created in his hands, which she was sure he was going to use to attack anyone that appeared, collapsed into his lap at the sight of her.

Sadly his shock was not due to her attractiveness. Not like she was attractive. She had not expected him to tackle her at all, but he did.

Aleksandra grunted as she landed on her back, Bait immediately landing a weak blow across her face with a shaking fist. Head knocked to the side, it took her a moment to speak. "What's your real name?" Her question went unheard for a moment.

"It's Kall," his voice was quiet, fist stopping in mid-air.

"I suggest you don't stop hitting me, unless you want the gamekeeper to get suspicious—or worse, mad."

When he hesitated again, she took the chance to shove him off, grabbing some dirt under her hand and whipping it into his face. He sputtered as he stumbled back against the boulder he was hiding behind, rubbing the irritating pebbles from his eyes. Aleksandra had come to know that fighting dirty, without magic, entertained the patrons in the seats more.

She strode up to him, delivering a punch to his stomach.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but only one person can win this."

"Are you going to kill me?" He opened one eye to look up to her, tears trailing down his cheeks as she punched him again.

"That's how this works."

"You don't have to," his voice was almost shrill.

She snorted. "If I don't, you'll have to kill someone else. If I don't, you'll have to kill everyone else in this fighting ring. If I don't, then you will have to return to those cells to die on your own."

Pushing down her own anxiety, she grabbed his hair and pulled him to his knees. She circled him in one stride and placed one hand on his neck as she kept the other on his forehead. She could hear the crowd's anticipation in her head.

"Pick one," she said quietly, to not arise suspicion. "Die by my hands, or theirs. At least I'll make sure it won't hurt."

For a moment, Kall thought. Aleksandra knew she'd forget his name one day, and that these Zarkarians would only know him by the name Bait, like many other fresh Wielders who were tossed into the Arena. She'd never know who he was before he arrived here with some caravan, and he would never know a life after this battle. But only one could live, that was the rule. He obviously would not. He was made to fight because he was easy prey.

It made her sick.

When Kall closed his eyes, his shoulders slacking against her stomach, she put magic into her hands so he could not feel the pain and pulled in two different directions. She felt a faint resistance, then  heard the crack and the thump as he fell to the ground, and knew that he was dead. Behind his eyelids she could see the flash of light before the darkness.

A Wielder's death.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, Aleksandra realized she could be dead by the end of this, too. She almost laughed.

None of this fascinated her anymore.

Keeping her eyes off the audience—because she was sure what she'd find would make her cough up what little she was allowed to eat—she turned back to the other Wielders in the ring. If she wanted to survive this, there were six more to go. That is, if.