The Collective (5 page)

Warden patted Abel on the shoulder. Abel loosened his grip
and fell back sprawled out on the floor. He hoped this was the last test. Goll
got up quickly itching for payback.

“Have Isabel look at your arm.” Warden commanded.

Goll’s eyes seared with vengeance as he left the room.
Abel’s search was for water not more enemies. He would have to watch Goll.

“Should have let them finish.” One of Warden’s men shouted
from the table with his glass raised.

“We’ll save some for the arena.” Warden grinned. “Good
show. He caught you off guard and you turned the tables. I love it!”

Abel held his jaw. “Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“No hard feelings, huh? We had to know if you were any
good.” The host exclaimed.

“Are you satisfied now?” Isnor said as he gulped down
another drink.

“Competition is always a good thing as it forces us to do
our best. Only the complacent are satisfied.” Warden stared at the merchant.
“The tournament is tomorrow. There are only a few rules. No weapons. You win by
disqualification or by knocking a man unconscious or out of the ring.” He
walked back to the head of the table and gestured to Abel. “You and your group
will stay here tonight as my guests.”

A different woman entered the room dressed very similar to
Isabel. Her red curly hair fell untamed beneath the head covering. “Naomi show
them their rooms.” Warden instructed.

“Make sure you have my water ready tomorrow.” Abel said as
he followed Naomi. “I’m not waiting around.”

“Sure.” Warden chuckled. “Love the cockiness Abel. But you
will be tested tomorrow. Sleep well.” Leaving the room, they could hear the
group laughing and betting in the background.  They were expecting a solid turn
out and a good outcome.

 The rooms consisted of four walls, a door and a salvaged
bed. Isnor was given his own room. Abel and Keera were told to share a room
with a single bed. Upon seeing the arrangements Keera protested. “Oh, no. This
will not do.”

“Sorry.” Naomi confessed. “There is no separate room for
you. Being alone here has its dangers.”

Keera understood, but it did not subdue her anger. “It’s
still an outrage. You can’t just assume...”

“Relax, I’ll grab the floor.” Abel said attempting to end
Keera’s rant. “Let’s not cause a scene.”

Keera paused for a moment. This was not the time to argue.
She wanted to come along and supporting Abel was her first priority. “You’re
right. Except I’ll take the floor. You have a tournament to win.”

Keera covered the light from the crude lamp. The room was
dark except for the light seeping under the offset door. She grabbed the
tattered sheet and stretched out on the floor. Abel settled into the mattress
hearing the springs shifting to support his weight. When was the last time he
was in anything resembling a bed? Laying in the darkness Abel thought of his
deceased parents. They were gone, but somehow he had found a new family. Where
had Isnor come from? Dragging him from the streets similar to an elder
watchman. Keera never explained what became of her father and why she was
trading alone. It appeared she did not want to go back home. She complained,
but stayed fervently by Abel’s side. This ragtag group was his aid and under
his protection. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew he would not let them down.

CHAPTER 6

THE TOURNAMENT

“Hey! Get up. It’s time. Leave your weapons.” Abel was
awoken by the guard’s voice in the doorway. The morning light outlined his body
and illuminated the room. Keera lay still asleep on the floor. The guard looked
at Abel then Keera. Abel knew what he was thinking. He jumped up and wiped his
face with a towel and adjusted his clothes while attempting to wake Keera. She
stretched herself and stood up. Abel offered her the bread left by the guard.
He handed Keera his weapons, more for her safety than a fear of them being
stolen. She wiped off her clothes as she stole a kiss on his cheek. “Good
luck.”

Abel held her by the shoulders looking in her eyes. “I’m
gonna need it.”

Abruptly Isnor burst into the room. “Let’s go!  No time for
dallying. You left your weapons right? Ok. Did you eat?” Abel was unable to get
a word in. He could sense Isnor’s excitement and trepidation. “Here.” Isnor
shoved the bread in his hand and ushered him out of the room. Abel looked over
his shoulder and shrugged at Keera.

The tournament was held monthly depending on the interest
Warden received. It was exactly a month since the last gathering. He had
finally gotten the pool of talent he strived for. The young and old, came from
all around seeking their fortune. Winning the prize was only part of the
appeal.  Many past winners were brought into Warden’s family if they showed
loyalty. Combatants would compete numerous times before he trusted their skills.
It was a training ground and the water was a small price to pay. Many traded
the water before they left the building. Others pledged their winnings back to
Warden as an oath of fidelity. It would be interesting to see how Abel would
react if he won, Warden thought. Could he be persuaded to join the cause?
Warden needed more good men who hated Xonox if his plans were going to reach
fruition.

Brutal was the word to describe the experience. Abel sat
holding the gash under his eye.  It was one of the many wounds he received in
the arena. The first bout consisted of his opponent attempting to kick him out
of the ring. He caught Abel across the face almost knocking him out of the
circle. Luckily Abel recovered and delivered a vicious blow to the man’s temple
ending the fight abruptly. His next opponent was cut from a piece of stone.
Screaming words of a violent death he charged Abel. Using his momentum against
him Abel literally threw the man to the outer sand. He lay motionless until his
handlers gathered him up. It was the last scrap that really tested him. Abel
squared off against a tough, young grunt that would rather die than submit. The
pair grappled until Abel got the upper hand and choked him unconscious. Now the
final match loomed. There was no advance warning of his expected opponent, nor
did he care. This was his tournament to win, it was always his destiny. All
that time toiling and training in Gravope. His father spoke frequently about
the people rising up from the slums. The death of his parents would not be in
vain. Revenge was at his fingertips. One man would not stop him from attaining
his goal.

Hearing the cheers Abel knew it was time. He grabbed the
torn vest on his body and threw it to the ground. Underneath lay his sweat
soaked, blood-stained shirt. Removing the shirt, he could feel the tank top
stuck to his body. Cargo pants clung to him in a shrunken manner. As he
stripped down to his shorts he wiped the sweat from his eyes and hair. He could
hear the crowd growing louder outside. 

“Champions come forward!” The ring announcer called to the
last contestants.

Abel walked from behind the concealed wall and the cheers
erupted from the crowd. Earlier the area he waited in housed seven other
fighters. As the day progressed he was the last one standing. On the other side
was a similar holding area. Spectators stared from side to side as the two
warriors approached. Betting and drinking was at its height. It was clear how
Warden prospered. These matches were open to the townspeople and generated far
more revenue than the cost of the prize.  The common man was given a chance
here. Be they fighter or gambler, all had something to gain. A welcome
distraction from a hard life.

The fans were frenzied but orderly. Warden’s guards kept
the crowd in line, but there was also an air of respect. Something Abel had not
seen from a group of this size. There was always fear of Xonox and his minions,
but Warden had captured a different vibe. With the resources at his disposal,
riots and uprisings seemed imminent. But beyond the gangs Warden was rarely
challenged. His unique power was something to behold. 

Abel spotted Isnor and Keera among the masses. Nodding
fiercely, Isnor pumped his fist in support. Keera beamed at Abel’s success. Her
hands were together as if in prayer. She lifted one hand up and mouthed ‘Go’.
Abel winked confidently at the duo. Disappointment would be on his opposition’s
face in a few minutes. He did not come this far for second place. Stopping at
the edge of the arena, Abel saw his challenger for the first time. To win the
water, to continue on his journey to placate Xonox, all he had to do was defeat
one man. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and shoes, Goll smiled as he
saw Abel.

His aggressive style and high tolerance for pain had earned
Goll another shot. This was his third tournament and he planned to capitalize
on the opportunity. Like Abel he was in pursuit of a better life. When Goll
heard about the tournament he decided to compete and try to win favor.  He was
motivated by a chance to prove his skills and his desire to be a part of
Warden’s family. With Warden backing him there would be no limit to what he
could accomplish or simply take.  When Goll fought previously, small mistakes
kept him from being the final Champion.  Disqualified for using brass knuckles
he had tucked in his shorts. It was not a gun, no one was killed, and how was
he to know his actions would be frowned upon? He was knocked from the ring in
his second stint for underestimating his opponent. This time would be different.
He had something to prove and he could see Warden watching intently.

At the head of the ring, with his chair backed against the
wall, Warden surveyed the contestants. Flanked by guards and servants on either
side, his presence emanated royalty. He sat on a wooden high backed chair. His
white robes hanging over the sides. A subtle movement brought him bread, drink
and towels to wipe his face. Guards were at attention ready to quell any
disruption. All of Warden’s surroundings were sovereign. Yet there was no
regality to his home.  Besides the cleanliness it was a warehouse. The night
sky peeked through the weathered skylights penetrating the roof. Sitting away
from the commoners, he was a king among his subjects.

All eyes were focused on the referee in the center of the
ring, Luchi. He was quick for his age; able to step in to break up dirty
fighting and get out of the way of impending trouble. Luchi was in attendance
at Abel and Goll’s previous skirmish. He was excited to see who would be the
victor with much higher stakes. He waved the brawlers to the ring. “This will
be the championship match! The final contestants are Abel of Gravope and Goll
from parts unknown!”

The applause reverberated up through the steel trusses,
vibrating off the metal textured roof. Luchi gestured for the men to step to
the center of the circle. The warriors sized each other up as the referee stood
between them. Goll growled and sneered in an attempt to intimidate. Abel was
unflinching; he stood statuesque knowing that he was near his goal. There could
be only one victor. Goll did not stand a chance, Abel thought.

Luchi
turned toward Warden as the crowd hushed to a low murmur. Warden stood and his
guards flexed to attention. He raised his hands in the direction of the two
combatants. The crowd vacillated as the words fell from his mouth. “Fight!”

Luchi stepped out of the way as they circled one another.
Abel was in a defensive boxer’s stance, while Goll stood broad chest with his
hands to his side. He scanned Abel’s defenses for a weakness.  Letting out a
primal scream, the man from parts unknown lunged at Abel in an attempt to
tackle him. His style was unchanged from the previous encounter. Abel coolly
shifted his weight to his back foot, caught Goll under the arms and flung him
to the ground. The spectators erupted as Goll jumped up to wipe the sand from
his face and mouth. Goll possessed a brutish technique, which normally wore his
enemies down. Staying true to form he launched another straight forward attack.
Abel was ready as he landed a right hook to the side of Goll’s face. Shrugging
off the blow, the unfazed two-time contender crashed body to body with Abel and
used his leverage to wrestle him to the ground. Goll’s ferocity had overtaken
Abel’s poise and he had little time to recover. A head-butt fell on Abel’s
right eye, followed quickly by two right hands to the side of his head. Leaning
into the third punch, Abel absorbed the blow while maneuvering his right arm
over Goll’s head. Pulling his competitor down, he kneed Goll in the ribs to
gain the upper hand. His adversary broke free as Abel prepared to deliver more
damage.  Determined to finish Goll off, Abel wiped the blood trickling from his
eye as he gained his footing.  Without warning Goll sprinted toward Abel. His tactics
were getting old and predictable.  How many times would he rush him? Abel
thought. He needed to put this man down for good. Goll was so close it seemed
he was going to run over Abel. In an instant, Abel slid under Goll and
literally threw him across the ring. The crowd gasped as Goll floated through
the air near the edge of the arena. With a thud Goll fell to the ground, his
head and torso hung outside the ring.  Abel turned his back, pointed to the
ceiling and closed his eyes in thanks for the victory. The crowd was eerily
silent. Was his victory so astonishing? He looked in Warden’s direction and
smiled. Warden did not move. His expression was stoic as he lifted a finger to
point behind Abel.  Turning around, Abel sensed something was wrong. The referee
was close to Goll, with his palms flat and hands pointing into the ring. It
appeared his opponent was not completely out of the circle. The match was not
over. Goll staggered to his feet. Abel’s face contorted, a quiet fury rushed
over him. Running full speed at Goll he jumped in the air and extended his
foot.  Surprisingly, the kick was blocked. Abel felt the hard sand beneath him
as he crashed to the ring. Goll was over him quickly grasping his ankles and
yanking with all the power he could muster, attempting to throw Abel out of the
boundary. Kicking free, Abel started to roll away. Goll let go of his leg and
kicked him in the chest. Abel winced in pain, he braced as the next blow fell.
The brute was behind him, choking him to his feet. There was no doubting the
man’s strength. The match had shifted to Goll’s favor. Abel could see wide-eyed
fans screaming feverishly. Sound was fading in and out. He struggled to remain
conscious. Suddenly he spotted Isnor and Keera in the crowd. Keera had her hand
on Isnor’s shoulder. Her head was down for fear of the outcome.  Isnor held her
in a comforting manner, but he was still shouting. Abel read his lips in slow
motion. “Come on boy”.

At that moment Abel recalled why he was fighting in this
tournament. Not for glory, fame or to prove his ability. He fought for his
family’s memory. If he fell here, how would he avenge them? Summoning all his
strength he forced Goll backwards. Even Goll was amazed at his sheer
determination. Anyone else would have gone limp, let alone summon the energy to
fight back. As Goll began to give ground he could feel the power welling in his
foe. Goll’s arms were growing weaker and his hold was beginning to slip from
Abel’s neck. With one final thrust, Abel was free. The crowd was raucous. In one
smooth motion, Abel landed a right hand squarely on Goll’s nose. The big man
lumbered and fell out of the ring. Abel, exhausted from the bout, grabbed his
feet and pushed his whole body out of the circle for good measure. Luchi ran
over to Abel, grabbed his arm and extended it in the air. “Winner. Abel from
Gravope!”

People were uncontrollable. This was one of the best
matches witnessed in ages. Luchi led Abel around the circle stopping in front
of Warden. He was impressed by Abel as he clapped slowly.

Abel glared at the would be king. “I’ll take that water to
go.”

“Congratulations Abel, fine performance.” Warden said as he
continued clapping. “But you haven’t won the water just yet.”

Abel was outraged. His words shot fire. “WHAT? Are you not
a man of your word? I defeated everyone before me!”

A hush fell over the people. No one addressed the Warden in
that manner and lived. The clapping ceased. “Not everyone.” Standing to his
feet, Warden pulled off his robe to reveal an impressively sculptured physique for
a man of his age. The pointed red ‘W’ was tattooed over his chest. ‘Kill or
Die’ was tattooed on his right arm. Abel thought back to the room were he was
first introduced to Warden. Two men bore an identical credo on the same arm.
This was not a ragtag bunch of wanderers that pooled together for protection.
This was a collection of men who formed a fierce brotherhood. This tournament
was the initiation.

Warden stalked towards Abel. “Rarely are there first time
winners of my tournament. Those who achieve initial success must fight me for
the water.”