Chapter 4

The blood-waters closed over his head, in spite of his best efforts. He slipped beneath the waves and disappeared.

To his astonishment, the liquid that filled his lungs didn't kill him. It dragged him under, separated him forever from his family, and snuffed out that tiny spark of hope. It numbed him to the pain and the grief and the fear, and finally, to the astonishment, too.

Then it cradled him, surrounded him, insulated him from the terrible light of the implacable sun.

It made him part of itself.

He went deeper into the red-black tides.

He ricocheted around the tiny cell for an interminable time, crazed with the fury that ran in his veins. Outside his view, but too close to his hearing, the crowds roared. He keened, deep in his throat, craving either silence or the validation that the crowd made that noise for him – he didn't know which. Perhaps it was both. In the mind-melt caused by the drug, it made sense that it was both. The rough walls scraped him, scuffed the surface of his shell…anchored him by pain, one fragmentary piece at a time, back in a world where he had some kind of command over his senses. He slapped at the walls, hungry for feeling that wasn't the soul-twisting rage, and kicked at the barred door.

He shivered almost constantly as he circled the room.

Impossible to know how long it lasted. His only time-keeper was the sounds made by the crowds as they filled the stands, thinned during the rare off-times, and filled the stands again. Other beings looked through the barred doors, and he snarled at them as he stalked around the perimeter of the room.

Time slowed. He slowed with it. The walls began to look less like foes to be beaten.

He was so very tired, quite suddenly. He sat, heavily, in one corner where he could watch the door, and rested his heavy head on his folded arms. So heavy 'cause the brain is turning to lead, he thought briefly, and then winced. Even thinking was painful.

So he stopped thinking.

The world began to settle into familiar shapes and circumstances. He could have put words to them, if he wanted more pain, but he didn't. Fog filled his mind. He let it.

He hurt all over.

He fell into a doze that further scrambled his sense of time, only to jerk himself awake when the door to his cell creaked open. A large being – Triceraton, his mind supplied, non-combatant, non-hostile – stepped through the door. His heart raced anyway, adrenalin spiking through him. He slid up the wall, heavy with exhaustion and after-effects.

"Damn fool," the Triceraton rumbled. "He'll ruin a sure-fire moneymaker, trying to grab some glory." It carried bowls of food and water, which it set down on the shelf. "You need to eat something – it'll help with the shakes."

He was still shaking, wasn't he? It had been going on for so long that he'd almost forgotten it.

The Triceraton coughed, a deep and hollow sound that made him jump. "Damned tunnels," it swore without any heat as it left. The door locked again.

After a long while, he felt safe to creep over to the bench and seize the bowls. Then he crept back to his corner with them. There had once been a reason to not want to eat, hadn't there? He couldn't remember it. He had to eat.

He emptied both bowls, then collapsed.

"Perfect!"

Tedha preened before his mother's praise. "It did go well, didn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes in approval. "The timing was excellent. And the merchandise was exactly what we needed – we can't keep anything in stock, and we've already made enough to make up for expenses. Everything from here on out is pure profit."

"I already have some ideas for the next rounds –"

"No," she held up a hand. "Don't vary the plan. This narrative, this story we're telling with him, will secure our finances for the next decade. Our family will be one of the most prestigious in the business. This is the chance we've been wanting for generations."

Tedha fell silent. His mother's word was law.

"Go make sure he's ready." She dismissed him, her mind obviously on other things.

He tried not to get his hopes up as he made his way back to the Arena. There were still so many things that could go wrong! But if things worked out the way his mother intended, then the future looked very bright indeed. He might even secure mating privileges with a matriarch – a thought that made him laugh out loud. He, the father of another generation! Perhaps he'd even be able to sire a daughter or two, to firmly cement his role in the genetic future.

Yes, things were suddenly looking very good for his household.

Things weren't looking so good for Trell, he noticed when he arrived back in the tunnels. His cousin looked ill. Well, more ill than usual; Trell had never been a particularly robust example of Triceraton. Tedha made a mental note to ask his mother to speak to her sister about it; perhaps it was time for another one of his cousins to step into the role.

"He's asleep," Trell said hollowly. "Took almost half a day to wear off – perhaps a smaller dose would be better, next time?"

Tedha shook his head. "Did you see the way the crowd reacted? It couldn't have been better! No, the dosage stays the same. Next time, the opponents will be more of a challenge, to make up for it."

"Occe thinks he'll burn out too soon, that way."

"I don't care what Occe says – Mother knows what she's doing," Tedha drew himself up to his full height. "Let me see him."

Occe seethed as they inspected the unconscious fighter. Tedha's arrogance and greed were only going to ruin the best solo act in the Arena in the last year, and there wasn't a thing the Arena Master could do about it.

"He needs to be ready for a fight tomorrow," Tedha frowned as they sealed the door on the sleeper.

"Shoulda thought of that before you drugged him," Occe said sourly – on top of everything else, the drugs meant that he'd lost one of his most reliable workers, and combined to increase his irritation about the handling of one of the few professional warriors to enter his sphere. His position was secure enough that he didn't worry about incurring Tedha's wrath – his own mother and sister outranked even Tedha's, and had ties to the Prime Leader's family; he had no need to be obsequious. "Nothing good ever comes of drugging the fighters, even if the crowds don't ever find out."

Tedha ignored him. There was still too much to do to get ready for the fight. "He's going in the evening rounds tomorrow," he said firmly. "Prime-time. No more second-string fights. Tomorrow, he goes up against one of the best."

He woke up with a massive headache. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. Then a faint memory came to the surface: 'All right, you sorry Saurians – we're short on cells, so you all get to cram into this one!' 'Look at this jerk, brothers – big, slow, and clumsy!'

"No, Mike – they've got guns!" he said aloud from, and to, the memory. Then he shook his head – how had that come up? He'd worked so hard to suppress all memories from his life before the Arena!

"This is my life now," he told himself through gritted teeth. "This is all there is, and all there will ever be."

He shook with the realization.

I will die here.

It hurt so much to realize that it was all over. Everything he'd ever known, or loved, or wanted, or hoped – it was all forever out of his reach. And even worse: even the memory of all he'd lost would only serve to weaken him, if he let it.

He stared blankly at the far wall, concentrating on his breathing. Time to cut it all loose, he thought. It was a weak resolution, but as he slipped deeper into a meditative state, it grew stronger.

A memory, then, of a yellow-haired child: Shadow giggled as she ran from Mike, who chased her around the living room. Shadow ran for shelter behind the legs of her mommy… "April," he remembered out loud. The females of his family, the two people who would suffer and die terribly if he failed…he couldn't be allowed to forget them.

He couldn't protect them if he remembered too much about them. "This is all there is, and all there will ever be," he said again. And again, and again, as a whispered chant, until he grew tired of hearing his own graveled voice and left off speaking, again. He allowed himself to remember their faces, faintly, but pushed aside all memory of their names, burying his past and his memories of home – of family – as deep inside himself as he could. He drew a deep breath, then another, and another, sinking deep into his own mind. He did not let himself think about the person who had taught him to do so. There was too much riding on his ability to stop thinking about his loved ones…to stop feeling like there was any hope that he would ever see any of them again.

His meditations took him to a boat, far out to sea. The waves were green, and this was a great relief to him, for reasons he couldn't pause to examine. He imagined a vault, on the deck of this boat, where he locked away all of the memories and hopes and dreams he'd ever held, before he was stolen for the Arena. All of the most important parts of himself – everything that made him who he was, from his scientific curiosity to his liking for hot chocolate; from his memories of growing up under New York through the lazy summer days in Northampton – locked away for safekeeping…and then he threw the safe overboard in his mind.

To seal the deal, he threw even his name overboard with it. The name is part of a set, the name has meaning…there is no meaning outside of this place, this is all there is and all there ever will be. His name ripped free with actual, physical pain, then dropped out of sight below the waves. He concentrated on the waves until it stopped trying to come back to the surface.

It took him the rest of a day and night, but when he opened his eyes again, he'd taught himself to forget even his own name.