The Belly of the Beast

Ch. 62, Sweat, Metal and Blood

He smiled and I decided, what the hell, and swung the sword. At first I tried to hold back, afraid I would hurt him, but I quickly learned that no matter how I swung the sword, or how fast I moved, I couldn't make it hit Dagger. I could, however, manage to look like a total flailing idiot. Maybe he really was a knife-fighter. Again, he gave me pointers, but it didn't seem to help. Finally he sent the sword flying from my hands. I wiped sweat from my brow and turned to look at the rest of the room.

"What else?"

We passed a couple of hours like that, Dagger showing me how to use different weapons, and me opening up my prosthetic arm and showing him the tools it held, something I'd only ever done with Xyla and Yana. Eventually my muscles ached and my shirt was drenched in sweat. Even Dagger looked tired. Anger still roiled inside me, but it had diminished into something that didn't feel like it would consume me.

There were private bathrooms attached to the training area, where I showered, both loving and hating the feeling of water running over my body. There were a dozen of the red uniforms folded neatly beside the sink, so this time I found one that fit me. I combed out my hair, taking my time, surprised when I looked in the mirror and felt somehow right in the red uniform. I shook the thought off immediately. This is the uniform of the dead. No one belongs in it... But wasn't that exactly what the Highs wanted? To make us pets here? Celebrities beloved for their ability to kill and entertain? I turned away from the mirror, nearly running back to the main area to find Dagger.
Back in the gym area, Dagger sat cross legged on the ground on one of the mats, his hair wet and hanging in curls around his head. I resisted the urge to brush it from his eyes, and, when he didn't rise, I sat opposite him. He gave me one of his rare, half-smiles. "Feel like you learned something?"

"I learned that if the next trial is physical strength and weapons based, I'm completely screwed." I paused, and then decided we may as well let the pretences fall away, "So what is it? The High Trial? Do we stand a chance?"

His eyes met mine. Then he looked away, voice soft, "The High Letter Trial is held in an Arena. It's not a trial to the death... but in order to advance to the Top, you need to win, and winning takes months. And it's almost always the strongest and most advanced with weapons training who wins."

Of course it is. I stared off into the distance, dark thoughts taking hold, when his hand reached out to mine. It was suddenly harder to concentrate for an entirely different reason.

"The structure will give you an advantage. It's enormous, and takes a lot of agility and strength to navigate. Even if the others have an advantage, it'll be hard for them to catch you—"

I cut him off. "You said almost always. So there's an exception?"

Again, he hesitated. "There are two ways to win. One, survive an entire year, or 52 weekly trials. Or, sometimes after spectacular trials, the victors are given their choice to ascend or retire."

"Spectacular? How so?"

He paused. "I heard about a man, The Eel, who did it." Dagger shook his head. "He lit the entire Arena on fire to win. It took months to clean it up. Half the people say his partner sacrificed himself so he could win."

"And the other half?"

"The other half said he murdered his partner, and used him to win."

So, a trial where one partner turns on the other, and the crowd rewards them for it. I'd thought the High Letter Trial would be easier because we didn't have to kill everyone to win. But it seemed like the cost of winning, just like the other trials, was paid in blood.

And would you pay it, and kill Dagger, to save another level from dying?

The unbidden thought made me cold. I pushed it away, breathing in scents of sweat, metal, and somewhere beneath it all, blood. 

"Then we need to find the Eel."