A/N: This is my version of what happened to Jarred and Anna in the Shadowlands, from Anna's death up until Jarred's escape from the Shadowlands through Dread Mountain. I'll be posting the story in two parts. This first part focuses on Anna's death and how it affects Jarred, and on his fight with the Vraal.

Disclaimer: Deltora Quest belongs to Emily Rodda.

Hopeless

Her heart beat like a drum, in time to the hisses and cheers of the audience. She clutched the sword the Grey Guards had given her, and stared as the Vraal darted out into the Arena. It was a fearsome beast, to be sure, its eyes a mere slit in its face, its mouth a gaping crimson hole. But Anna did not hesitate as it came towards her. She swung, as Jarred had once taught her, aiming for its mouth. It was quick, quicker than she expected. It evaded the blade, moving to circle her at a safe distance as she swung at it again.

For a moment, they circled each other, never taking their eyes off one another. Anna tightened her grip on the sword, determined not to be surprised by its next attack.

The Vraal leapt at her, claws outstretched, gaping mouth open wide in a grin of triumph. Anna stumbled out of the way, but not fast enough. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as the Vraal's claws dug into her leg, and felt the warm trickle of blood.

oOo

Jarred's heart hammered as he watched Anna limp away from the Vraal, a serious-looking gash on her leg. He could tell she was tiring, the way her head bowed and her breath came out in a painful sob. But still she held her sword in front of her.

She spun to face the Vraal, determination blazing on her dear face. Whatever you do, do not falter, Jarred prayed silently. I beg of you, do not falter!

She faltered. Her breath caught as she gazed at the Vraal's reptilian body, protected against any weapon, and Jarred could imagine her debating how to attack.

That was all the opening the Vraal needed. It pounced, jaws gaping in triumph at its prey.

oOo

Anna screamed. She screamed like she had never screamed before, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. The pain was beyond bearing. Dimly she heard the crowds cheering, and Jarred shouting.

Then it was just her and the Vraal. It clawed at her, its stinking breath close to her cheek. As it tore at her, she knew.

She was dying.

She had never expected to die in such a way. If she were to die, she had imagined it being in her old age, with her husband, daughter and grandchildren gathered around her. But she did not regret it. She thought of Sharn, Endon and their child, safe in the forge, preparing for the day when they would take back their kingdom. She thought of Jasmine, her beautiful daughter, left behind in the Forests of Silence, not knowing whether she lived or died. Frankly, it did not matter if she died now, as long as Endon and Sharn and their child survived.

She closed her eyes and felt herself go limp, a heavy darkness clouding her vision.

I love you, Jarred, was her last thought as the darkness consumed her.

oOo

No, please no!

Jarred watched as Anna exhaled, the blood flowing freely from the many lacerations and wounds on her body she had sustained from the Vraal. Her chest did not rise again.

'Anna! No!' the shout burst from his throat. Jarred stumbled forward, head pounding. Anna could not be dead. She could not be dead. He could not imagine a life without Anna in it.

'Get back, scum!' a Grey Guard snapped, striking at Jarred with a whip, forcing him to his knees. 'It will be your turn soon enough.'

Tears blurring his vision, Jarred bowed his head, unable to bear the sight of Anna's mangled body. The Vraal was not finished with her yet, even after her death, and was tearing her into chunks, feasting with relish on her bloody corpse. The audience gave a sigh of rapture. Jarred kept his head bowed to hide the fury and disgust plain on his face. He didn't expect anything else from them, being creatures of the Shadow Lord.

As he returned to his cell—the cell he and Anna had shared with fifteen other slaves—the silence was deafening. He stumbled to a corner of the cell, feeling the gazes boring into his back, pitying him.

'I do not need your pity,' he hissed, head bowed, unable to face them.

'What is wrong with him?' a little girl asked anxiously, a frail one with long blonde hair. Anna had treated her for a fever months ago, before their entry into the Shadowlands. 'Is he ill?'

'His wife was thrown into the Arena,' the girl's mother said, pity laced in her voice as she looked at Jarred. 'Do you remember her, Enlynn? The healer. Kindest woman I'd ever known.'

His wife was thrown into the Arena… Poor woman, was so kind…a healer…will miss the happiness she brought with her…

Jarred blocked his ears to the painful chatter, closed his eyes. Could they not discuss Anna as if she were a thing to chat about and forget? It did not matter that they all saw prisoners leave their cells to die fighting in the Shadow Arena, that this was an everyday occurrence for them. This was Anna. His wife. His reason for living. Could they not show more respect?

He desperately wanted to tell them to stop, but his voice was silent, his tongue numbed by what he had witnessed. Oh, Anna, Jarred thought hopelessly. Why did you have to leave me alone?

He slumped onto the ground, and felt the world fade to darkness around him.

oOo

'Jarred!' Anna's voice rang out across the Shadow Arena, high and panicky. From his view from the back of the Arena, he could see her, exhausted and frightened, cowering before the Vraal as it prepared to pounce, her sword discarded a few feet away in the sand.

'I am coming,' Jarred muttered, heart beating wildly, frantically shoving people out of his way.

'Jarred, help me!'

'I am coming!' he repeated, pushing his way through the jostling crowds of people, who kept moving in his way, preventing him from reaching his wife. 'Damn it!' he swore as yet another person blocked his path. 'Move away! I must save her!'

The person laughed, and stepped closer, and it was a Grey Guard, and not a person at all. 'Get back, scum!' the Grey Guard mocked. 'It will be your turn soon enough.' He shoved at Jarred, and Jarred was pushed back, back to the edges of the Arena, engulfed in the throngs of people gathered there, unable to free himself as Anna screamed and screamed, blood splattering the sand as she fell to ground.

'No!' Jarred fell to his knees, hands reaching out towards her. He had to try, had to save her! 'No, please! Anna!'

She lay on the ground, motionless, breathless. Dead. The sand beneath her was soaked with blood. Her blood. But the Vraal continued to tear at her, sinking its sharp teeth into her flesh.

'No, please! Stop!' Jarred shouted. 'Stop it!' He stumbled to his feet, grabbed at someone, anyone who could help him. 'Help her, please! She's dying!'

The person turned in his grasp to gaze coldly at him. And Jarred saw that it was Endon. 'Please,' Jarred said hoarsely. 'Help her. I saved the lives of you and your family; you owe it to me to help!' He knew it was unfair of him to ask it of Endon, but he was desperate. He had to save Anna. 'Please!' he repeated.

Endon stepped away, shook his head. 'No, Jarred. I cannot; I must keep my family safe, my heir safe. You got yourself into this; you must face it alone.' And Jarred found himself clutching at thin air as Endon faded away into nothingness.

'No!' Jarred almost wept with frustration. Why would Endon not help him? Why would no one help him? Surely he deserved it more than anyone!

'You are not worthy of it,' a Grey Guard's voice sneered in the crowd. 'Ruddy tick!'

Jarred fell to his knees, clutching his skull, unable to erase Anna's ear-splitting screams in his head. 'No! Stop! Please!' he shouted, but the anguished keening continued until his heart and soul shattered as clearly as Anna had been torn apart by the Vraal and nothing was left but a deep, void-sucking emptiness.

oOo

'Anna!' Jarred found himself lying on the floor of the cell, staring up at the ceiling marked by the Shadow Lord's brand. It took a moment for him to realise that he was really awake, and not in another dream. Then a horrible awareness flooded through him. Anna was dead. His Anna, with the unruly brown hair and heart-warming smile, who could cheer an entire cell of people in a land without hope. She was dead, and Jarred was left alone.

You got yourself into this; you must face it alone. Endon's words in the dream echoed painfully in Jarred's head. The memory of Anna's anguished screams entered his mind, and Jarred bowed his head, eyes blurred with his tears. He had brought her to this end.

'I am so sorry, Anna,' he said softly, as her phantom screams resounded in his skull. 'I never meant this to happen. I am so sorry. Oh, Anna!' And he wept, shoulders shaking, hating himself with a fierce intensity he never had before.

Anna was dead.

oOo

There seemed to be no reason to live any more. There was nothing to live for, Jarred thought dimly. His wife was dead; his daughter was likely dead too. Jarred did not think much of her chances of survival in the Forests of Silence. Endon was alive, living with his family in the forge in Del, but it seemed pointless to live for him. What could Jarred do for Endon now, in the Shadowlands? He had done all he could for his childhood friend; he could do no more.

He wanted to die. It was agony, living in the cell without Anna, feeling his heart and soul break piece by painful piece as he thought of what he had done to her, to Jasmine. He had convinced Anna to leave their home in the forge, had convinced her to seek refuge in the Forests of Silence. He had caused Anna's heart to break when they were captured by the Grey Guards in First Wood, and he was the reason Jasmine was dead or growing up alone in the Forests, without friends or family to guide her. It was his fault, all his. What was left of Jarred's heart ached to think of it.

As the two Grey Guards marched inside the cell, searching for the next slave to throw into the Arena, Jarred hoarsely called out, 'Take me, please!' Surely it was better to die in the Arena than spend another moment in that damnable cell, Jarred thought. 'I will go!' he shouted, stumbling forward.

The Grey Guards laughed. 'You will have to wait, scum,' one sneered. 'Your turn will come soon enough.' They marched out dragging the frail girl Enlynn with them, her face a mask of despair and terror as she screamed for her mother who bowed her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, and did nothing. The words were an eerie echo of those spoken at Anna's death, and in his dream. Jarred could only hope his turn would come in time; it was the only thing that gave him hope, the thought that he would be free of this agonising existence soon.

oOo

He got his wish. A week later they came for him: two Grey Guards, snarling viciously as they grabbed him and forced him out of the cell. Jarred did not even try to resist; it was almost a relief to him, to know he would die in the Shadow Arena. He willingly followed the two Guards to the fitting area connected to the Arena.

The Guards had not had a slave who did not cry, scream or struggle during their journey to the Arena. They regarded Jarred with suspicion. 'Why isn't he resisting?' one asked, irritated. They loved it when a slave struggled against them; it gave them the excuse to attack them. That Jarred did not try to escape was of great disappointment to them.

At the entrance to the Arena, the Guards gave Jarred a sword; still stained with the blood of the last person to enter, Jarred noticed with a shudder. 'Good luck, tick,' one of the Grey Guards mocked. 'Try not to die quickly.' The other laughed, and shoved at Jarred.

He stumbled into the Shadow Arena.

The roar of the crowds was deafening. There were hundreds upon hundreds of them, seated on benches around the stadium, cheering and stamping their feet. Their eyes were glued upon Jarred as he walked to the center of the Arena. He was struck dumb at the hundreds of creatures in the audience. There were Ols, who were changing their shapes every second; and Grey Guards who sneered at him and hooted with excitement at the entertainment to come. Jarred felt slightly overwhelmed by the sheer noise and size of it all. He wondered briefly if Anna had felt the same way when she had been sent to die.

Then Jarred's gaze was riveted on the door at the other end of the Arena. It slid open inch by inch, while the creatures in the audience screeched loudly in impatience. Jarred almost wished it would never open, but also wished it would hurry up so that he could have it over and done with. He shook his head at the conflicting feels broiling inside himself.

And then it was open, and the Vraal leapt out, claws outstretched. Its crimson mouth gaped open; its eyes narrowed in their slits. Jarred raised his sword within sweating palms and deftly avoided the Vraal's attack. The crowds went wild. They were positively bloodthirsty, Jarred thought.

The Vraal pounced at him again. Jarred leapt out of the way too late, and winced in pain as the Vraal's sharp claws dug into his arm and thigh. Blood spurted from the gashes, creating sharp bursts of pain, and he felt his energy wane with every drop that splattered onto the sand. Dropping his sword, he pressed his hands upon his wounded thigh, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

He heard the sound of the Vraal's claws treading the sandy ground behind him. Jarred's heart sank like a stone. He could not outrun it, not now. He was exhausted; his leg was injured. What could he do?

He felt the Vraal coil to spring, to deal the killing blow. He heard the audience hold their breath in anticipation.

Still clutching at his thigh-wound, he turned to face it. He was brought into the Arena to fight. So he would die fighting. He thought of Anna, his dear wife who he had lead to her death in the Arena. He thought of Jasmine, who had been left alone in the Forests of Silence. He thought of Endon and Sharn and their child, the heir to Deltora, whom he had given his home and identity to so that they could survive for long enough to restore the gems to the Belt of Deltora and defeat the Shadow Lord. Jarred had done so much damage, but so much good, as well. It was fitting that he die here, in the Arena, fighting a monstrous beast.

The one thing Jarred regretted the most was not having a chance to see Endon once more. It seemed that they would not see each other again in this life after all.

The Vraal pounced, bellowing a screeching war cry as it flew at Jarred. Jarred just stood there, his eyes glued to the creature. Just let it be quick, Jarred prayed. That was all he could ask. Recalling Anna's screams as the Vraal tore at her body, Jarred knew that it would not be so quick- that it would be excruciatingly painful. But he hoped and prayed anyway.

It was lightning-fast. In one moment Jarred felt the heavy weight of the Vraal thrown at him, and in the next he was on the ground, dazed, staring up into the Vraal's triumphant eye-slits as it prepared to lunge again. He heard the noisy, deafening, bloodthirsty shouts of the crowds on the benches: 'Kill him!' 'Burst his brains out!' 'Tear him to pieces!'

And then…pain, a searing pain on the side of his head, and the feeling of a disgustingly warm wetness oozing thickly down his cheek. And a darkness, a terrible darkness, pressing down upon his face, forcing his eyes to close, just for a second, as a sudden exhaustion set in.

oOo

'Kill him! Kill him!' He awoke to strange bloodthirsty shouts, a heavy panting, and a stench so horrid it caused him to wretch. That's blood, a part of him thought dazedly. The stench of blood. Whose blood? he wondered. Then he felt a wetness on his head, and reality hit him. It was his blood.

Why on earth would he have blood on the side of his head? he wondered, more than a little confused now. What on earth was going on?

A bloodthirsty bellow caught his attention. His eyes flew open to see a monstrous creature, eyes for slits and mouth gaping wide, crouching before him, coiling to pounce. He gaped at it. He was sure he had never seen the like before. What was it doing there? Why was it attacking him?

It charged at him, mouth turned into a horrible grimace. He rolled out of its way, heart hammering. What was going on? The thing did not retreat but spun to charge at him again. Was it mad?

He leapt to his feet. 'What is happening here?' he shouted. The people on the benches were screeching, cheering, stamping their feet. Did they not realise what was happening, what was going on? Why would they not help him? 'Where am I?' They did not answer him, but laughed and jeered and spat at his face.

'Cowardly tick!' one sneered. 'Get back and fight!'

Fight? He stared, confused. Why should he fight? Why did they want him to fight? Surely it was better to run away!

He scanned the area, which seemed to be some sort of stadium. There! A stream of light shone through a gap in the wall at the far end. That is where I must go, he thought. He raced towards it, heart pounding, hearing the furious shouts of the people in the stadium. 'Come back here, tick!' 'Die, you foul monster!' 'Get after him, Vraal!'

So! he thought with clarity. It seemed that he had been put there to die for some reason. And that thing chasing after him was called a Vraal. A Vraal!

He had reached the light, and plunged into it, leaving behind the roaring voices and that monstrous Vraal. Ha! he thought triumphantly. Those fools may have thought they had me, may have thought that I would not escape. They wanted him dead, for reasons that were beyond him. Well, he was not going to die today.

His heart lifted even as he heard the sounds of pursuit behind him. Despite it all, he was alive and on his way to freedom; it loomed ahead, in the form of a large mountain at the border of the barren landscape he was running across. There, he would be free; there, he would be safe. There, he would be able to discover what, who and where he was. There, he would be able to get rid of the emptiness he felt deep in his heart.

He kept running, certain of one thing: beyond that green mountain lay home.