Don't Fear the Reaper

[Silas Hetherton]

Silas woke, feeling something nip his leg. The fleas were not quite as awful as they were when he first arrived, but he was also sleeping harder. The rat washed his face at the nearest water barrel, rubbing the crust from his tired eyes. The light filtering through the viewing slits was pale and dim, and Silas could see his breath in the chilly air. He twisted, feeling his back pop and began to bend and rotate his arms, legs, and neck to better his range of motion. It was too early to visit the training grounds, but he would practice his footwork, never-the-less.

Silas had survived the culling, albeit with difficulty. He had followed the advice of the otterwife, Minerva, forcing himself to rise again and again, beyond what he imagined he could endure. The wildcat who replaced the dead wearet had been even more fierce and brutal, as if to make up for the other gladiator?s failure. Silas took quite the beating before being rewarded a reluctant thumbs up, and bore massive bruises across the majority of his body for a week thereafter, not unlike the rest of the surviving slaves. Now, significantly fewer lumps littered the floor of the Drag, warming themselves more comfortably with the abandoned blankets of the dead.

Silas made a point to train daily at the sandy practice grounds, resting only long enough to recover. During off hours, like now, he practiced the steps without the weapons, repeating and reciting what he had learned the previous day.

?Fixed center, revolving radius, triangular stance. . .? Silas was reviewing the transition between two positions when the gate at the end of the Drag squeaked open and a new beast was shoved in. The hedgehog fell to the ground with the momentum, then eased to his feet when the guard left. Silas froze when the face came to light. He knew this creature. He lowered his arms slowly and relaxed his pose.

?Truggo??

?Silas?? the hedgehog squinted through the dimness, ?They got you too??

Silas wore a pained expression as his former employer came up to grip his paw warmly.

?Who else on the crew did those crooked bastards nab??

?I. . . I don?t know.? Silas avoided the hedgehog?s eyes.

Truggo swore again, brow knitting with a deep frown. ?Everyone warned me it was risky business, working for the Crater. Bad rumors floating around out there. But the pay was so good, and who could have predicted that gardening could be anything but harmless??

Silas continued to wag his head in denial. ?I thought citizens of Northvale would be safe.?

?Nire has his ways. If you screw up enough.? Truggo bit his quivering lip, looking past Silas down the long dark tunnel that was the Drag. ?The day before my arrest he accused me of intentionally building a ladder up to his sleeping quarters to let in an assassin. Apparently some cutthroat managed to climb one of those damnable trellises we put up.? Truggo half chuckled, half sobbed, shaking his head. ?Who knew roses would cost me my life?? He sucked in a quick breath and his eyes grew glassy.

?We?re not dead yet,? the rat put a gentle paw to the hedgehog?s shoulder.

Truggo only shook his head. ?Nire?s in charge. He?s not going to be fair to a beast he thinks tried to kill him. . .?

?But your family and friends ? ? Silas started.

?My family and friends think I?m a murderer.? Truggo?s face twitched and his lips trembled over clenched teeth.

The rat grew silent.

?Nire?s cronies set me up,? the hedgehog continued, collecting himself. ?They stuck Reginald with some gardening sheers after we?d had an argument about his slacking off. Then some lowlife swore before a judge that he saw the whole thing! I think my wife believed me, but. . .? His face contorted and his breath came in shorter gasps.

?I?m so sorry, Trug.? He let the hedgehog weep into his shoulder, though he felt stiff with guilt. ?You didn?t deserve any of this.?

Soon after, the gates of the Drag opened and the portcullis dividing the two sides lifted. Beasts began to stir as guards and workers launched into the day?s tasks. Truggo was removed to undergo his first official medical inspection, and Silas took the opportunity to head to the training grounds. The fox trainer, Kentrith Hapley, was there, peering over a list of notes with a yawn.

?Sir, I need you to show me those moves again from yesterday,? Silas spoke from behind, causing the fox to start. ?I?m doing something wrong because my feet are not facing the way they?re supposed to when I finish.?

?You know,? the fox rubbed his forehead. ?I appreciate your enthusiasm, Silas, but no beast really masters the sword ? or any weapon, for that matter ? in a single week. Just keep practicing. It will come to you.? He turned back to his notes, making a few checkmarks.

Silas frowned, looking away. ?Easy to say when your life isn?t on the line, I suppose.?

The fox seemed to snap at this, slamming his wooden clipboard hard enough against the counter to crack. ?All of our lives are on the line, Mr. Hetherton. Always. All of us. No exceptions. It?s just a matter of time.?

?I?m sorry,? Silas replied after a weighty pause. ?I didn?t realize.?

The fox heaved a sigh. ?I understand your urgency, I really do. No one knows when their name will be called, and it?s better to be at least somewhat prepared.?

?I don?t suppose Nire is going to wait until I?m ready.?

?No, probably not,? Hapley admitted. ?But no beast is ever really ready.?

Silas trained hard, as he did every day, hounding Hapley for advice and correction, and engaging any and every gladiator willing to spar. Today he fought with two short swords, trying and failing over and over to defeat a mouse wielding a simple sword and shield. In spite of the humiliation, Silas continued to rise to his feet again and again.

?What am I doing wrong?? He finally growled in exasperation.

The mouse shrugged his padded shoulders. ?You fight defensively. You?re pretty good at blocking, but eventually a blow is going to get through.?

Silas nodded thoughtfully. ?Thank you. That helps.? They continued to spar until eventually Silas looked up and saw the lynx, Nire, standing next to Kentrith, watching. The mouse jabbed his wooden sword into the distracted rat?s padded chest and Nire frowned, shaking his head. Silas?s lip twitched. Kentrith made a motion for him to continue and Silas tried to focus on the mouse before him. He nodded, signaling he was ready to try again. Block. Block. Parry. Block. He continued to fight defensively until suddenly he lunged. . . and skewered himself on the mouse?s wooden blade. He cursed quietly and looked toward the entryway, but only the back of the cat could be seen as the showbeast disappeared back through the tunnel. Silas grimaced when the fox waved him over.

?What?d he say?? Silas peered down the dark passageway.

?Not much,? Hapley said. ?He asked how you were measuring up. Told me to assign you a set of sickle swords. Apparently, you?re going to be called ?The Reaper.?

?The Reaper?? Silas cocked his head to one side.

?Yeah, sorry. Probably because I told him you used to be a farmer. He likes fighters to have themes.? Kentrith strolled up to a cage lined with wooden practice weapons and pulled out a pair of curved, hook-like swords. He handed them to the rat who turned them over in his paws with a grim expression.

?Does this mean. . . that I?m going to have to fight soon?? The rat?s voice was quiet, weighted with apprehension.

Kentrith licked his lips and rubbed at his ear. ?I?m not gonna lie to you. If Nire?s watching you, it?s for a reason.?

Silas felt a flutter of fear as his suspicions were confirmed. Then he gripped the wooden hooks and strode back out onto the sand. Kentrith followed, granting the rat his full attention the rest of the afternoon.

Once the training grounds were closed, Silas was forced to fall in step with the other slaves again. He studied the beasts around him, wondering which of them he was going to have to fight. At mess, an otter named Darby offered him his quail egg. They had helped one another earlier, after the cull, taking turns wetting cool compresses.

?I don?t feel right eatin? birds,? he explained, ?Even unhatched.?

?Thanks, but no.? Silas focused on his plate and another slave volunteered to take it.

Silas imagined facing Darby in the arena, then looked down the long mess table at the rest of the slaves, every one of them a potential enemy. He would fight them if he had to. It was rumored that the most successful gladiators earned more freedoms and privileges, and he?d heard some were even awarded a seat at Nire?s banquet table in some cases.

Silas finished his meal and walked away without meeting another beast?s eye. Whatever it took, eventually he would find a way to get at Blasio, even if he had to cut his way through others.

No one was his friend here, he reminded himself, even if they pretended to be.

*******************************************

The next day Silas had hardly been training for an hour when a cluster of arena guards came for him. Trainer Hapley squeezed his shoulder, consolingly.

?Fight hard. Remember your training. Don?t think about the other beast except as someone who is trying to kill you. That survival instinct will get you past any qualms.? Silas nodded, heart racing.

As he was marched through the tunnel, he remembered the rat named Hracken defeating The Beheader, the otterwife using clever tricks to defeat Hammerpaw, and. . . the rat losing half his face to Thrasher.

?He?s not going to be fair to a beast he thinks tried to kill him.? Truggo?s words came back to him. Silas could not fight like Hracken the Kracken, and did not have the wiles of the Monster of Mossflower. He wasn?t ready. He wasn?t ready! Silas started to panic as he neared the end of the tunnel. He could see the sands of the arena through the bars, thirsting for his blood.

But before they reached the arena, they paused in front of another gate where a tough stoat in chain mail guarded a small, padlocked armory. One of Silas?s guards spoke to the fox on the other side who brought out two sickle swords and slid them through a slotted opening. One of the handles was cracked and the blades were tarnished, but the hooks were sharp. A marten put a spear to his back as a weasel handed him the pair of weapons. Silas expected to be shoved through the gate, but instead was forced up a set of stairs to the rim of the arena. A voice echoed beyond, but Silas could not make out the words amidst the tunnel?s distortions. At the top, a platform spread out before him like a stage.

?Wait,? the beast holding the spear commanded and Silas stopped, gripping his weapons awkwardly.

??Jacks and jills! Masters and maidens! Beasts of all kinds!? The voice of Nire called, amplified by a cone-shaped device, ?I give youuuuu ? the Reaper!?

?Walk forward and hold your swords high,? the marten directed.

Silas did as he was told and stepped out onto the platform, facing a vast audience of beasts, cheering, whistling and mocking. The rat swallowed, amazed at the number of beasts that had come to watch him die. Once the noise faded, the marten directed him again.

?Now move into the basket.?

Confused, Silas looked around, then spotted a cage dangling from a lift to his right. It hung out over the arena and rocked slightly when he stepped in. He ran a paw nervously across the tough, leathery fiber, then seized it when the cage dropped suddenly beneath him, lowering him down, down into the Crater.

As the basket neared the sandy ground, Silas looked wildly around for whatever beast might be waiting there for him, but the arena appeared empty. The cage hit the sand and he froze, unwilling to abandon his only cover, but the hard, reinforced basket bore no such attachment, dumping him out as it rose back up into the air. Silas jumped to his feet, shaking the sand from his fur and gripped his sickles with white-knuckled paws.

?On the other side, his opponent,? Nire?s voice resounded clearly across the Crater, ?A vile beast, captured from the darkest, most dangerous alleys of Northvale itself, where lowlifes prey on innocent passersby. A beast caught in the very act of murder ? I give you. . . Rake Redpaw!?

Silas could barely make out the weapon the other beast lifted: a rake-like weapon with a long row of sharp, iron spikes. Rake Redpaw stepped into the other cage and Silas watched it descend, readying himself for the inevitable. He mentally repeated Hapley?s earlier advice. ?Be offensive. Don?t let the other guy control the fight or you will lose.? He gripped his blades determinedly.

Out of the basket leapt a hedgehog, roaring with rage as he charged across the sand at the stunned rat.

It was Truggo.

?You!? The hedgehog swung the rake at Silas?s head. The rat barely lifted his sickles in time, redirecting the swing to the ground. Truggo lifted it from the sand with another yell, tossing a shower of grit towards Silas along with the spiked end of the rake. Once again Silas defended, taking several steps back. ?It?s all because of you!? Truggo bellowed. ?Reginald?s death, Nire?s anger ? I lost everything because of you!?

Silas blocked and deflected, but could not bring himself to do more. Images of Truggo swinging his children up into his arms and kissing his wife goodbye clouded his mind even as he caught the shaft of the rake between his hooks, severing the head from the rod. Truggo smacked him across the head with the stick and jabbed it into his chest, pushing the rat to the ground. Silas curled up as the hedgehog beat him with the rake handle, hardly bothering to block the assault. He deserved it. He had used Truggo without considering how his actions might affect the gardener and his crew. He?d risked the life of this husband and father to further his own agenda, the same as Blasio.

The sickle swords lay in the sand.

?I?m sorry. I?m sorry.? Silas repeated. ?I know. I?m so sorry.? Though his vision was blurred, he could see Truggo had recovered the spiked rake head and was now standing over him, raising the implement for a final, killing blow.

Silas held his paws up in feeble defense, eyes wide.

The crowd cheered, then grumbled and jeered as the hedgehog?s arm slowly lowered. Truggo tossed the rake head into a pile of sand with a thud.

?I?m not a murderer. If anyone?s to blame, it?s Nire. He?s the one who framed me and took everything from me. I won?t let him take my honor too. I?m not going to kill for him.? Truggo turned, jutting his chin up at Nire.

?You hear me?? he shouted defiantly. ?I am not a murderer!? The audience booed loudly.

Silas blinked, eyes clearing. Beyond the hedgehog he saw Blasio in the stands, looking bored. The beaver gestured unhappily at the defective fighters, but the lynx beside him was bent forward intently, an eager grin on his face. Nire waved the beaver off without even turning.

Silas felt a chill and searched the arena for what he wasn?t seeing.

Then, in a flash, the ground came to life, and Truggo was snatched off his feet with a shriek. A viper that had buried itself in the sand rose up, clearly visible now as it shook its head in annoyance at the spikes of its prey. Silas seized his weapons and leapt to his feet, fear gripping him as the snake thrashed and curled around the screaming hedgehog, fangs sunk deep into his belly. The audience came alive with a roar of applause, gleefully watching as the viper flung the hedgehog aside, and turned its gaze upon the more palatable rat.

Silas watched, wide-eyed, as the pale adder slid aggressively toward him, its rough scales rasping through the sand with uncanny speed. He stood, transfixed, until a familiar, bombastic laugh reached his ears.

?No.?

The fear evaporated, but the rush of energy accompanying it remained as the rat fell into a fighting stance, holding his sickles at the ready. The viper struck and Silas blocked. The snake?s fangs clanged against the crossed blades while the momentum threw the rat violently to the ground. He grappled, snagging the dripping fangs against the hooks as he stared into the wide, pink mouth. Then he slashed the hooks across one another in a scissoring motion, tearing the venomous fangs from the gaping mouth. The snake reared back with a hiss.

Silas readied himself again, but did not see the tail that had pushed through the sand behind him. With a flick, the snake tripped the rat onto his back and lunged, seizing hold of his thigh and lifting him into the air with a twist. Silas yelled as the viper jerked and manipulated him with its lips into a better swallowing position, holding him high off the ground.

?Aaaaaaah!? Silas almost dropped his sickles as the sharp boney back teeth cut into his trapped leg. He kicked, but felt the base of his tail inching into the maw all the same, bending into a ?U? shape as the viper began the process of eating him alive. The inner teeth punctured his skin again and again as it gulped. He swung and flailed with his sickles, but the snake kept its long neck arched too far for him to reach with claws, teeth, or sickles. The crowd cheered at the spectacle, loving every minute.

Silas?s mind raced as he struggled vainly. From upside-down he looked from the goading crowd to the broken rake, and then at Truggo, sprawled awkwardly in the sand, still breathing, but paralyzed with venom. The snake gave him another shake of annoyance, and then, it dawned on him: The viper was not used to having to fight its prey all the way down. Its venomous bite was supposed to incapacitate him like Truggo.

He started to droop then, willing himself to go almost completely limp while retaining a tight grip on his sickles. After a moment, the snake appeared to relax, lowering its head and coiling closer to the rest of its long body. It swallowed again and Silas felt his tail and other foot slide into the viper?s maw before it curled tighter, drawing its helpless prey nearer its coils.

Suddenly he lurched, throwing himself toward the snake?s body, sickles first. The curved swords hooked around the scaly hide and Silas yanked with all his might. The blades cut deep into the reptilian flesh. The viper jerked reflexively, ripping the rat away. . . and severing itself in two.

Screams filled the air as the crowd responded. The viper vomited Silas out onto the sand, its two halves thrashing wildly as it hissed and curled in on itself in pain.

The rat picked himself up, half of his body slicked with slime, and watched the viper in awe. Any other beast would have died, but the creature before him continued to live, albeit with violent agitation. Silas took a tentative step toward the writhing snake.

It snapped at him, but the bite fell short. The viper was on the defense now.

Silas raised his bloodied sickles and met the next desperate strike with another cross slash, cutting through one side of the snake?s jaw so that it hung crooked. Again the viper tried, and again, knocking the rat back until it was clearly exhausted, its cold blood oozing slowly from the mortal wound. It struck once more, but clumsily, and the rat jumped out of the way, letting it crash to the sand with its once-deadly mouth gaping open and useless.

Silas put a foot on the head and curled his sickles just behind the skull of the defeated monster. Then he looked up into the crowd, directly at Blasio, and carved his blades deliberately through the massive, sinewy neck, separating head from body. The arena went wild as the beasts of Northvale roared and stomped their approval. Silas pointed a single dripping sickle at Blasio, meeting the beaver?s eyes with his fiercest glare.

Blasio rose to his feet, large yellow teeth grinning broadly, and pointed right back, laughing and clapping his approval. Beside him, Nire looked significantly less pleased, but rose to his podium all the same.

?Beasts of Northvale, once again I give you. . . The Reaperrrrrrr!?

****************************************

Trainer Hapley was the first to greet the slimy, bloody rat as he walked back through the tunnel gate. ?I don?t know what happened to you in that first round, but thank Vulpes you made up for it in the end.?

Silas looked back over his shoulder at the beasts carrying Truggo?s lifeless body off the sands.

?I can?t do it.?

?What do you mean, you can?t do it? You just did!? Kentrith gestured emphatically at the rest of the arena crew struggling to haul off the giant snake in three separate parts.

Silas looked at his bloody paws. ?I can?t. . . kill innocent beasts. The snake was different. The other gladiators though. . . they just want to live, same as I do.? He met the fox?s golden eyes. ?I don?t think I can kill them.?

Kentrith was silent for a long moment, considering the rat?s confession.

?If you think like that you may as well throw yourself on the next sword you find. We all want to live. We are all fighting for something, and we have no choice, if we want to live.?

Silas?s lips drew tight, but made no reply.

?The other fighters have determined to survive, in the only method given to us.? Kentrith continued. ?Do not dishonor their choice by giving up. Acknowledge their bravery and fortitude with your own. Fight with everything you have. Know that they will do the same. When you win, which you will, and their death is called for, then be kind. Don't drag it out or make a show of it. Give them one last moment of dignity.?

Silas stared at the trainer. ?I?m. . . glad you have that level of faith in my abilities. . .? He looked away, realizing too late that he was probably confiding in the wrong beast. He wondered how many gladiators Hapley had killed.

?Just realize that nothing stays the same forever,? Kentrith added as an afterthought. ?As we are being changed by the Crater, we also effect changes to it.? He lowered his gaze. ?Perhaps even for the better.?

Silas nodded somberly as footsteps carried toward them from another passageway.

?Reaper! Oy! Reaper!? A young, jovial ferret bounced down through the tunnel and up to the exhausted rat, grinning from ear to ear. ?I have a message for you! From your sponsor!?

?My. . . sponsor?? Silas gave the envoy a puzzled look as Kentrith excused himself.

?Blasio Timberfell!? The ferret exclaimed.

Silas looked taken aback, lip curling. The messenger might as well have vomited in his lap.

?Is something wrong?? The ferret grew concerned.

Silas composed himself with a shake of his head. ?No, just feeling a little woozy.?

?Oh yeah, you were janglin? upside-down for quite a while there, weren?t you?? He snorted a laugh, then pulled a letter from his satchel, presenting it to the rat. Silas read the message, written in a flourished scrawl:

Reaper,
I am sending a tailor your way to fit you with clothes befitting a champion snake-slayer. I?ve tasked the Crater?s best smithy to provide you with a better set of weapons as well. Feel free to stop by the tavern for a drink on me. Congratulations and many thanks for a spectacular show.

Regards,
Blasio Timberfell

Silas set his jaw, trying hard not to react, jerking a nod at the ferret.

?Thank you. For the message.? He forced a smile, silently touching the pocket where he had concealed one of the deadly fangs.

The ferret grinned at him. ?When do you want to get started??

?I beg your pardon?? Silas consciously moved his paw away from the hidden trophy.

?I?m the tailor!? The ferret laughed. ?Call me Jiblet.?

?Oh.? Silas looked down at his breeches, plastered to his legs and full of holes and blood stains, the same as his skin beneath.

?How ?bout I meet you over at the wash station?? suggested the cheerful tailor. ?It?s the perfect place to take measurements. See you in the drying room!? He hurried off.

Silas waited until the ferret was out of range, then crushed and twisted the letter between his shaking paws, tearing it into tiny pieces before breaking down into a miserable heap.

"I can't do this," he whispered, covering his face with blood-dried paws. "I can't become him."