A Chance Meeting

Even beneath the surface of the stadium, the noise of the crowd was near deafening. Even before the Battle of the day had started, before most had even taken their seats. It was like listening to the show beasts in their cages after the handlers had riled them up. Roars and grunts and wild calls. Sometimes screeching or screaming, depending on the mood of the city that week. There’d been a few times where the show had to be canceled because the crowd had devolved into a frenzy of their own. Genova didn’t think that would happen this time, though he wished it would.

Around him, other fighters and performers got ready in show-night frenzy. Most were from the same Battle company that owned him, fellow show monkeys under Berat’s thumb. Others were staff of the stadium there to ensure that everything was running smoothly and a few were from the other company they were working with this time, no doubt sent to scope out their competition. All were easily recognizable by the tattoos on their necks—or lack thereof. The staff didn’t have any, of course—free folk were very rarely required to be branded with their company’s logo—but all the fighters and performers did. The other company had the black outline of a scorpion, two tails and four pinchers done with heavier lines to highlight the danger, and a red ribbon that was held by one of the pinchers. It was certainly showier than Berat’s design which was a stark white stag skull with deep blue sapphires set in the eye sockets.

Genova knew they’d never worked with the scorpions before, and he couldn’t help giving them a wide berth as he found his armor on the rack and put it on. They were owned by a man named Kyle out of some desert city to the west, past the Mislip Sea but somewhere before the mountains. Apparently, they were the most popular Battle company over that way. Popular enough to be on Berat’s level, their track record for pleasing crowds nearly identical. This joint-performance had been long in the making and by the end of it both owners would be swimming in coin. Or at least, that was what Berat had said. He liked to talk at Genova, tell him the plans for the company and how much he, Berat, would benefit from them. It was one of the many downsides of being the owner’s favorite.

“Oi, Pet, they tell you who you’re fighting against?” Polly, one of Berat’s half-and-halfs, meaning they did performing and fighting, asked when Genova came over to the painting area.

Genova didn’t flinch anymore at the nickname the others had given him. It was more or less his name to them now, even the newbies called him it. Genova bit the inside of his cheek and stepped up next to Polly, giving the waiting staff member his name so she knew which design to give him. “Gave me his stage name and weapon preference. Said he had a backstory but didn’t bother telling me it. Told me not to lose but be respectful since the guy’s a big favorite.” Genova answered. He winced at the first touch of the woman’s hand on his side. “You’re not fighting?” He asked Polly to distract himself. The staff member wasn’t gentle in slathering the paint on, digging into his flesh like she wanted to leave bruises.

Polly shook her head. She was getting nearly a full body paint which wasn’t typically done for fighters. The fighters usually got simple things, just enough to distinguish them for the people in the far seats, since they’d typically be ruined immediately and had to be reapplied quickly. Performers got to have the fancy things, like Polly was getting. Her design was a skeleton imitation, a very bright white set against her dark skin, that went everywhere but underneath the wrap around her hips.

“I’m doing Death Versus Life again. It’s a favorite around here.” Polly said. Genova gave her a half smile in sympathy. She’d done that play probably half a million times. “The performer from the other company better be as good as the trainers say, I’m not losing my sponsorship over some half-radiated shit performer who can't even do a proper high kick.” Polly added. She was one of the lucky ones, only half-owned. She had rights to her sponsorships, got to keep some of the money when it came in.

The staff member encircled one of Genova’s thighs with both her hands and he jerked in her grip. She smacked his leg with the back of her hand and he forced himself to go still again. “Berat says they’re good. You’ll be fine.” Genova gritted out, eyes locked on the ceiling above. There were long cracks in the concrete. He wondered if it was from poor upkeep or an uprising.

“I better be. Now come on, tell me about your opponent.” Polly pressed.

“The Seeking Bloody Jackal.” Genova said, his voice taking on the dull measured tone of repetition. “Prefers to use daggers and bare hands. Nimble, an acrobatic fighter. When I’m ready to win, I need to take him to the ground.” He had been forced to go over takedown tactics for weeks because of this fight. He’d been warned that the Jackal would still put up a fight on the ground so he’d also had to work on pinning, which wasn’t his specialty. Genova was a spear fighter most of the time, he usually knocked someone down and stuck the spear point against their throat to declare a win. He did bare handed too from time to time but even then his wins were usually knock-outs.

Polly made some comment about the Jackal’s name being ridiculous (rich coming from Lady Death) before moving away, finally done with her paint job. Genova had to endure a few more minutes of being touched before finally he was allowed to move away. The staff member slapped the back of his thigh to get him to go and he bolted off as quickly as he could, heading for the mirrors to make sure everything was in place before he got his helmet on. The deep green lines that had been painted on him were more organically shaped, like vines curling around his limbs. They were mostly on his right side but some branched across to his left, with one long line wrapped completely around his mid-section, above his skirt, and another curved slightly down his left leg. They highlighted his more toned areas and drew attention to his dominant arm, the one he’d be wielding his spear with. They matched the details on his helmet, the lines that highlighted where his eyes showed and the fake vine crown around his brow. None of it made him look fearsome but that wasn’t the point, Genova was never meant to be one of the scary ones. He was supposed to be one of the pretty ones, the heroic type.

There was one more piece to his look that Genova always included, though it was technically an unofficial piece and therefore not allowed. But it was the only thing Genova had ever asked of Berat so the man always arranged for him to wear it. The piece was simple, a thick leather bracelet that he wrapped around his right wrist. It had no decorations besides a few poorly burned on Xs. Genova’s sworn brother, Torrent, had given it to him when they were children, before they’d been sold to separate companies. He never went anywhere without it. Genova tapped it against his heart three times, his simple but long held tradition before a fight.

He wasn’t allowed to sit once he was fully made-up but standing for hours doing nothing was better than practicing until his fight. He entertained himself watching the others until, finally, one of the staff members called for him. Genova followed after them through the barely lit tunnels until, finally, he was standing just outside the entrance to the stadium, waiting to be called out. From beneath the entrance arch he could see a decent part of the stadium, the largest he’d ever been in. It was made from the scraps of an older stadium, one of the ancient abandoned ones that had been horrifically warped by the bombs of days long since past, only leaving the lower half reasonably intact. The old stadium had been split down to the sturdiest parts and brought in, made smaller. Genova could see where the sections had been forced together and melted to stay in place. No one ever liked to sit there, even when the crowd was as densely packed as this one. From Genova’s point of view, they were a pulsing mass of color emitting violent noises. Baying for blood. Demanding sacrifice from those who already had nothing.

The previous fight ended, one of his fellow fighters limped past him, and the announcer stepped out into the center of the field. The ground was worn down to dirt but the center still had a patch of what Genova assumed was the original ground, a horrifically bright green patch of artificial grass. The announcer stood in its center and addressed the crowd. “Everyone, please put your hands together for our next fighters! On this side, Earth’s Son!”

Genova came striding out as soon as his stage name was shouted, spear raised high and eyes focused forward on the announcer. Berat said a lot of his charm was in his honesty, in his lack of boasting, so Genova never did anything showy. He was still met with enthusiastic cheering and the typical cacophony of noise making devices.

“And on this side, the Seeking Bloody Jackal!”

From the other side of the stadium, the Jackal came running out of the second entrance. His weapons weren’t drawn which made it easier for him to do the flips he executed flawlessly halfway to the center. He only stopped when he actually reached the announcer and then he turned his attention to the crowd, throwing his hand into the air and urging them for louder cheers. He was dressed nearly identical to Genova, a skirt and helmet in a tan brown, but his paint was done to mimic splattered blood. He was shorter than Genova but with clearly more manic energy, an actual fighter’s spirit. Genova half expected the Jackal to snap his teeth at him when they met eyes. But instead the Jackal just nodded to him, respectful and calm to his opponent. The Jackal had dark eyes so it was hard to tell but Genova thought they looked calm.

The announcer took a few steps back, letting them look at each other unobstructed. With a better view, Genova could now tell that the Jackal was a bit shorter than him and not as lean, though with denser packed muscles. The Jackal looked Genova up and down, quickly but calculating like he was searching for something specific. The announcer let them stare a moment before waving a red cloth between them and shouting “Fight!” With a cheer, their fight started.

The Jackal, it turned out, was even trickier than Genova had been lead to believe. He wondered, as the other fighter danced around him and he was left on the defensive, if the Jackal had been given different orders than him. If they’d both been told to win. Even when Genova finally managed to get a hit in, sweeping out with his sword and catching the Jackal around the middle, he couldn’t tell if it was genuine or good acting that unsteady the Jackal enough to put distance between them. Genova looked down at the thin scratches the Jackal’s daggers had made while the Jackal pressed a hand to his midsection, obviously breathing hard. Genova took advantage and threw his spear.

Thankfully, the Jackal dodged and didn’t receive the pain of the blunted tip digging into his shoulder. Genova ran past him to retrieve his spear as the Jackal recovered from his dodge. The Jackal didn’t mind hitting the dirt, rolling over it to get out of the way. Anything to keep the fight going, Genova supposed. He threw his spear again once he retrieved it, forcing the Jackal once again to hit the ground.

That routine ended there with the Jackal scrambling out of the dirt just in time to tackle Genova before he could reach his spear again. It definitely caught Genova off guard and he found himself pinned in a matter of seconds, his heart hammering against his chest. He thrashed, trying to throw the Jackal off of him, panicked at the thought of what Berat would do if he lost. But the Jackal stayed on, thighs squeezing Genova’s sides as he rearranged them so he could grab Genova’s helmet. Genova calmed slightly as he realized this was probably apart of the Jackal’s act and he let his helmet be jerked off, feeling the Jackal loosen his grip. Enough, this time, for Genova to believably get away. He pushed forward, somersaulted through the dirt until he could get to his feet again, and ran to his spear. He turned with it, ready to stab out, but the Jackal wasn’t behind him. He was standing where Genova had left him. At first, the Jackal seemed disinterested. Then he saw the Jackal’s eyes widen.

“Genova?”

Genova’s body froze but his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled into a thin frown. “Have we met?” He briefly let his eyes flick around to the crowd. If they talked too long without it looking like taunts he’d get in trouble. And this generally wasn’t the practice. You didn’t have conversations in the midst of a fight.

The Jackal laughed like it’d been startled out of him. Then he pulled his own helmet off, long hair falling out and around his shoulders. He had a boyish face, free of even stubble. He probably wasn’t any older than Genova himself. Alongside his left eye was a thin but jagged scar. It was a familiar scar, as familiar as the birthmark Genova had in the exact same place. “Gen! It’s me! It’s Torrent!” The Jackal laughed.

It felt like the air had been knocked out of Genova’s chest. He dropped his spear without realizing it, freeing his hand to press his bracelet to his heart. The Jackal, Torrent, was still laughing. It sounded mad. Hysterical. So filled with joy that it hurt to hear. Genova wasn’t sure which of them moved first but they collided into one another with the same force, arms wrapping tightly like snakes winding around their prey. A force none could hope to break apart. Genova was almost certain he was the one who started crying first but he couldn’t be sure of that either as he realized how choked and wet Torrent’s laughter sounded. They nearly fell to the ground twice as they tried to stabilize themselves without letting go. All around them there was noise but Genova didn’t try to understand any of it. Torrent was there. Thirteen years he hadn’t been and now Genova was holding him, being held by him. Comforting as Genova’s body shook and Torrent’s laughter shifted to sobbing.

The announcer came up, got close to them. Torrent was the one who said they were brothers. Genova found himself laughing as he finally heard the Jackal’s backstory, given by the announcer as explanation for this turn in the fight. How the Jackal fought in every Battle he could to find his long-lost brother among the fighters and how, today, it had finally happened.

Trainers encircled them, forced them off the field. But they didn’t separate them. Genova walked off with his arm around Torrent’s waist and Torrent’s arm around his shoulders. Whatever came next, whatever punishment their owners tried to give them, it didn’t matter. He had his brother back and, with the gods as his witness, he was never losing him again.