The Pit

Sleep was illusive, coming close and staying for a while only to shoot away before I could really rest. I lost count of the times I woke up, tangled in sheets, doused in sweat from nightmares I couldn't recall. Still here, I’d think. Still in this hell.

The night passed, as everything does. Light crept in through the curtains with the arrival of dawn. I couldn’t bear to lie in that bed any longer, so I got up and dressed. Vris’s instructions from the day before were to the point so there was only minor fumbling before I was presentable. I chose bright, scarlet pants and a black sleeveless tunic. The room was too hot for a robe.

I started to pace, waiting for Vris to arrive. Then I paused, recalling the gift of the bell from the night before. It’d put it in my vanity. Ringing it would bring her here right away. I glanced at the door. But first, I wanted to experiment.

In long strides, I went to the door and threw it open. The two guards, perpetual as breathing, were there. If they were startled by the sudden move, they gave no sign. With my spine straight, I left my room. The guards said nothing. My gaze bored into each of them in turn, like a termite in wood, waiting to see who broke first. In the end, they each looked away.

I spun on my heel and went down the hall, then down the tower steps. I had no destination in mind, my only plan to ride the high of being unescorted for once. The hour was early, so the air was cool. Sparrow Hall was already shaking off sleep with servants darting here and there, all wearing the same uniform as Vris. The lush scent of bread drifted up from somewhere, encouraging me to follow my nose.

The smell was, unsurprisingly, originating from the kitchen. A handful of servants were stirring pots, kneading dough, washing bowls , or refilling spice jars. No one noticed me standing in the doorway at first, and I pondered just slipping away to let them work. Then, one of the servants spotted me.

“Oh,” she said, eyes widening. Like a pebble tossed in a pond, the ripples of her attention spread out to the rest of the kitchen. Everyone froze, halting what they were doing to become statues. Everyone except one elderly woman. She kept kneading dough, punching it with her large knuckles before dusting it with a fine layer of flour. Unlike the rest, she didn’t even spare me a glance.

“Breakfast is in an hour. The gong will sound to let you know it’s ready,” the woman said, voice rusty with age and use.

“Ah, thank you,” I said. With that, I left. As I rounded the corner, whispers cropped up like mushrooms after rain. I didn’t bother hanging around to hear what they thought of me.

The guards at the base of the tower let me out as well, no need to show a token nor did they question me. I could go through the stretch of forest and see if I could get into the palace, but there were other paths leading to new places. A dirt path snaking down a hill called to me, so I set off down it.

Birdsong echoed around me as I walked. The pain in my heart eased a fraction, because for a moment it was like being home. Sports were never my thing, I stuck to walking to keep the doctor off my back and to try and live a little longer. There was a soft breeze with an edge of chill to it. Using Seeker Len’s words that the End of Days would happen next fall, that put the current moment around the end of this year’s fall. Well, provided the seasons happened in the same order here. While a robe might have been nice, it wasn’t yet cold enough for me to really regret leaving one behind.

The path wound around and down, leading deeper and deeper into the surrounding forest. The path itself was well-worn and even had recent looking footprints, so I didn’t worry that I was going to end up in some far flung corner of the property. Part of me was tempted to keep walking and see how far I could go before someone stopped me or I hit a cliff. What would they do to me? Try to tackle me to the ground and drag me back if I refused?

I was dragged from my daydreaming by the sound of metal on metal. The bursts were sharp and had a sort of rhythm. I rounded a bend and saw the source of the noise. A large swath of trees had been cut away to create a clearing. The clearing was filled with people training with weapons of all sorts. The uniform here was dark grey tunics, black pants, and everyone with long hair had it pulled up into a ponytail or bun. Each weapon had its own area. Swords were on one side, wooden staffs on another, while the archers practiced the furthest away, drawing their bows with precision. There had to be at least two dozen people, mostly young and in good shape. There was an even split between men and women with most being on the taller side.

Having nothing better to do, I approached the training ground. A shrill whistle rang out and the ordered chaos stilled.

“Her Highness promised us a good fight a while back,” a man called out. He was greying at the temples, built like an ox and wide as a barrel. Excitement quivered through the crowd. “And like a good princess, she’s come to deliver. To the Pit!”

There were howls of approval. Weapons were sheathed and the crowd surged away, going past the archery range to what looked like a large divot in the earth. Well, they’d piqued my curiosity. As I walked, I wondered at the use of the word “princess”. Surely Akiko or Kaede weren’t out here so early?

Everyone ringed around the divot which was much deeper up close and filled with sand. Given that most of the crowd was taller than me, I hunted down a nearby rock to stand on.

Already in the divot, or should I say the Pit, was a woman close to me in age. Her wavy dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and her blue eyes scanned the crowd. She gave them a winning smile, hands on her hips.

“You ready to take on the first pick, Your Highness?” the man who’d spoken before called out to the woman in the pit.

“By all means, send the lamb to slaughter,” she called back. The audience was in rapture by her audacity. I squinted at her. So this was another princess.

Another man joined her in the Pit. He was only slightly taller than her, well-built, and fell into a fighting stance right away. The princess gave the man a mocking curtsy which had the crow hooting.

“Alright, alright. This match is to three touches, hand to hand, palm strike for a point. No aiming for the face or groin,” the big man shouted. “On the count of three. One. . .”

The princess slid into a stance of her own.

“Two. . .”

She shot her opponent a wicked grin. Both the princess and the other man tensed, like tigers about to pounce.

“Three!”