Epilogue

Simon's Story

~ O ~

Simon Nix was born in a small forest village of Redmill outside of the City of Iron, in Ironheart. He was the oldest of six kids, two boys and four girls. His father, Petre, was a woodsman. He was a big man; big shoulders, big hands, big laugh, big brown beard. Pappa's heartfelt laugh was enough to make them smile and giggle. His mother, Bella, was a small woman, delicate even. She was the daughter of a technocrat professor of metallurgy at the University of Iron Heart, he disowned her when she found, fell in love with, and married Petre. They didn't have much, but they were happy.

Simon loved and idolized his father, he took to helping him in his tasks as soon as he could wield an axe, or rather a small hatchet, without injuring himself. He was aged seven. Harvesting was done in three stages, deepwood work where they chopped down the trees; transport, where they hauled the trees to the village mill; and clearance; where the trees were cleared of bark and branches and cut down to size. He learned to strip trees and to cut up the lumber debris into usable/sellable bits. While they didn't have much in terms of material processions, Pappa Petre was successful in his way and they never wanted for food or warmth. By age eleven Simon was already a hefty boy, pleased to be taking after his father. Years of swinging axes had given Simon large muscles and hard hands. Hauling lumber strengthened his legs and endurance. His father was the village boxing champion, and taught all his children - Simon, the girls; Mira, Tona, Bella, Celeste, and the youngest a bright haired boy named Gilly - how to defend themselves.

Each night, no matter how tired or exhausted Petre was, with his kids he did push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping-jacks, which more often than not it turned into an impromptu family dance party. The children thought it was a fun family game, but Petre knew better. The world has a hard, deadly place – and took the weak quickly. Only the strong had a chance at life.

And sometimes not even then.

One afternoon Petre and half other men of the village didn't return from the woods. The local enforcers were called, they investigated. No bodies were ever found – only empty vehicles and broken bits of tools. When word of the tragedy reached the neighboring villages, condolences and sympathy were sent. Then those same neighbors sent round the hard-men. Those men brought beatings, vandalization and finally murder. In a matter of weeks, nearly every family was driven out of the village with only what they could carry on their backs.

Belle and her brood took to the 'burbs of the City of Iron. A grim, dirty, violent place where life was cheap, everything else wasn't. Above them towering more than a thousand feet into the smug filled sky was the fortress-city, the true beating heart of Iron Heart. Her father lived near the top of the gigantic trapezoid, level thirty-four, with all the wealth and respect he was due. She took her family to the great fortress-city, somehow managed to beg entry and eventually navigate her way to her father's home. Simon's grandfather was as cold and hard as the metal he studied. He beat his mother and him when he stepped up to defend her. The grandfather had them thrown out the city, and band from ever entering again.

Bella was beaten but far from broken. She took her brood and found a shack to inhabit. She did what she could to raise money. She sewed through the night and during the day worked in a tuck-shop, selling near worthless trinkets and near rotten vegetables. However, she was one of a tiny minority of people who could read and write, a gift from the man who just disowned her. She had taught all her children, even though Pappa Petre frowned and warned it'd cause trouble. She sold her skills as a teacher to bring in food and clothing and a few credits. She had to be careful. While literacy was not illegal, per say, it was seriously frowned upon by the government, and many literate people simply disappeared during the night.

They had survived their first winter in the 'burbs. It was a hard time. Cold and fear and death were all around them. The children hadn't ever known cold as they did that first winter. All seven of them slept in one bed, more of a nest on the floor, to stay warm. It was the first warm spring evening and it was Simon's twelve birthday. His mother had somehow found the ingredients to make him a chocolate cake. He had never had chocolate before.

As the family sat on the floor of the shack, surrounding the gloriously brown circle, the room lit with candles, a large red candle stuck in the middle of the cake. Smiles and giggles filled the room. The family sang Simon the tradition birthday song. Before they had finished the happy tune a harsh rumbling sound came from outside. Moments later the door was smashed in and dark-armored figures stormed in, kicking and shoving the children out of the way. The darkmen stomped on the chocolate birthday cake, unknowingly, uncaringly, obliterating it.

Belle was dragged out into the night, never to be seen from again.

Simon ran hard after the truck, only to be left in a cloud of dust. He roared. Then he cried. Then he wondered.

~ O ~

The night was dark and thick when he found himself in a disused loading bay. Dozens of people clapped and called out. Simon saw two nearly naked young boys, not much other then himself, fighting. Then were covered in scratches and pulled at each other faces and sweaty arms. The crowd was older teenagers or adults, grim men, with gaunt faces and dull, hopeless eyes. Desperate folk.

One of the boys pushed the other to ground and kicked him in the groin. The downed boy wailed and rolled into a ball. The other boy kicked the prone boy for more than a minute.

A man walked up to the kicking boy, shoving him back and fussed over the downed boy. He helped the boy to his knees then carried him away in his arms. Another man, wearing a dark red leather coat walked up to the standing boy, grabbed his wrist and held his arm in the air. Half the crowd roared, half moaned. Money and threats exchanged hands.

The red coated man asked if there were any other takers, would anyone fight one of Duke's Boys? Without knowing why Simon said he'd fight the boy. Duke, the man in the red coat, asked him who his handler was, Simon said he didn't have one. Duke laughed. Said he'd be his handler, for which Simon would have to give him half his winnings … if he won. Simon agreed, not knowing any better. Duke asked the crowd if they wanted to make it interesting, he asked if they wanted a death-match. The crowd cheered their answer.

Simon was ordered to strip to his unders, then Duke asked if he understood he had to kill the other kid to win. The other kid was stick-thin with dead eyes. Simon nodded. Duke clapped his hand and shouted at them. It all happened so quickly. In a flurry of fists and blinding punches Simon knuckled the skinny boy to the ground, climbed onto his chest, and beat his face until there was nothing left to indentify the child.

That was the first time he killed someone.

Duke paid Simon his share of the money, slapped him on his back, told him he did a good job and to come back here if wanted to fight again. Simon didn't bother to collect his clothes, he just ran away crying.

When he got home, he gave the credits to Mira and washed his busted lip and torn knuckles, and slept for two days.

Mira made the money last a week, than the food ran out. Simon had told Mira want he had done. She never asked him to go back and try to win more money, she didn't need to. Simon went on his own accord.

He found Duke again a few nights later. He asked to fight. Duke said no. Fighting in a one-off was fine, but if Simon wanted to fight for real, he needed a handler. Simon asked Duke if he'd be his handler. Duke smiled slyly, he had seen Simon fight. The kid was a born brawler.

That night, Duke pitted Simon against two large, starving dogs. Killing the two dogs won him even more money. Simon made to limp home, his arms and legs riddled with bite marks, when Duke placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. He was one of the Duke's boys now. Simon had to return to his fighters stable. Simon begged Duke, telling him of his family, asking if they could come too. Duke smiled evilly, and told him they would join him tomorrow. Simon was unsure, he had never spent a night away from his family before, but he had little choice now – he was in a world bigger than his whole understanding.

Much to Simon's surprise, his sibling did arrive the next morning at Duke's Home for Wayward Children, part orphanage, part sweat-shop, part brothel, part underground fighting club. They were terrified, and seeing Simon wrapped in bandages did nothing to make them feel better. It took the best part of the day to convince them. He showed them the apartment Mr. Duke had given him, large enough for all of them, two bedrooms even! Simon had to have one to himself, the smaller one, he explained, he was the adult of the family now. He had to look after them. It was a real privilege he claimed, living outwith the Home. He would pay rent to Mr. Duke, out of the money he earned from fighting. The thought of lose or death never entered his young mind.

~ O ~

Duke was right about Simon. The young boy was a gifted fighter and fearless. Three years went by, with Simon becoming bigger and stronger and deadlier and more merciless. By the time he was fifteen he had killed thirty-seven other kids and dozens of animals. He was Duke's second most prized fighter. The number one boy, two years older than himself, was a tattooed killer named Shem Vimmer, a teenager nearing the end of his days as a child-fighter. They were friends of a sorts. The fighting and pressure and horrible acts he committed forced a distance between him and his siblings; his odd friendship with Shem meant much to him as a result.

After one particularly successful night; Simon's unexpected victory over Grittown's underage champion, won Duke a great sum of money and favors. His handler gave Simon rewards. A bottle of clear synth-liquor and a reward-girl for the night – a girl named Borra. He didn't know what to do with either.

Borra showed him what to do. They got blind drunk and Simon had his first experience with the opposite sex.

During the night Simon staggered to the toilet, vomited horribly, and passed out on the cold floor. He woke, only semi-aware, and walked out into the lounge, there he saw shadows moving. His drink fogged mind struggled to make sense of the scene before him … a man … was raping his sister. He took two steps, grabbed the man by the neck, twisted him round and smashed his head on the floor. The body went instantly limp in his hands, he continued to smash and smash and smash. He felt someone grab his arm, pulling at him. Someone was shouting, he whipped his hand backwards and a figure flow across the room.

A lamp was suddenly lit, young Gilly stood in the doorway of the second bedroom. Mira naked and bleeding from the face lay crumpled in the corner of the room. Shem lay on the ground, his skull leaking brain fluid and blood.

Simon rose, his knees buckled and he collapsed on to the floor.

Mira crawled to Shem, whispering, begging him to be alright. When she touched his motionless body she roared at Simon. He was her boyfriend, they were going to get out here, they were going to have a life together.

Simon rose again, seemingly not hearing a word Mira had say or recalling what he had just done, and stumbled his way to his room.

The following morning Mira and Shem were gone. Gilly explained what had happened. Simon was terrified. They all were. Borra, the reward-girl, having slept through the night, woke late and wondered why everyone was in such a dire mood.

Simon went to see Mr. Duke late that afternoon. Duke already knew what had happened and he could have come round to Simon's little apartment, but instead, he made Simon come to him. To beg. Duke liked to dictate terms from a position of power. From that point onwards Simon had lost all stock with Duke.

Duke nodded thoughtfully as Simon explained what had happened. Then he invited Mira in. Her hands were still red with Shem's blood. She wouldn't meet her brother's eyes. Duke told them both the cost of killing one of his boys was death – Simon's death. But, as Shem had been Mira's lover at the time of his death, Duke would allow her to choose the appropriate punishment.

Death was too much for her to handle. She asked for the next most severe punishment, Barking the Tree, they called it, she agreed to it without even asking that it be explained to her.

It was a horrific punishment. Simon would be stripped naked, his hands tied above his head and his feet shackled to floor, making a vulnerable X with his arms and legs. Then every boy in Duke's fighting stable would be given a stiff lash and allowed to strike him ten times. That amounted to over three-hundred lashes. To most adults it was tantamount to a death sentence, to a fifteen year old, it was cruel beyond measure.

In her petty adolescent spite she didn't realize what she had done until everyone had gathered; Duke, the trainers, the child-fighters, the hangers-on, and Simon's siblings. The children-fighters jockeyed for position. Shem had been popular and a mentor to most of them, and they wanted some vengeance. The lash was given to a boy and he skipped excitedly over to Simon.

At the first lash Simon laughed.

At the fifth lash he grunted.

At seventeen lashes Simon cried out, swearing profanely.

At twenty-nine he began to rant.

At thirty-two he begged Mira to forgive him. She screamed her forgiveness.

At forty-four he cried out for his father to give him strength.

At sixty-two he begged for his mother, crying freely now.

At seventy-seven he passed out. Duke had his doctor wake him with smelling salts.

At eighty-five he passed out again. Duke had the doctor inject him with adrenaline and a cocktail of pharmaceuticals to keep him conscience.

At ninety-nine he lost control of his bowels and pissed and shat himself. They laughed at him. Someone scooped up a pile and rubbed it all over his face and forced it into his mouth. He vomited.

At one-hundred-and-one through to one-hundred-and-ten, a particularly nasty boy whipped his genitals with a crazed viciousness.

At one-hundred-and-eighty Simon began to sing the birthday song, dozens and dozens of time.

At two-hundred-and-four his body when into seizure and thrashed violently. The doctor gave him a powerful sedative. His body went limp. After a few minutes he gave Simon another dose of a drug to keep him awake against the self-preservation will of his mind.

At two-hundred-and-five Simon took to singing the birthday song again, this time his family sang it with him.

At two-hundred-and-sixty-one he fell silent, hung his head low.

At three-hundred-and-ten he was lashed for the final time.

~ O ~

They undid the ties and shackles and much to everyone's surprise, hunched over like a crippled old man, he remained standing. He shook and shivered and bled. His entire body had been beaten raw. He looked like bloody groundmeat given the shape of man. The bleeding child-mass shuffled slowly to Duke, taking mere inches per step and stood in front of him. The child-fighters muttered to themselves, stepping back, awed by his seemingly indestructible nature.

Duke stared at him for a long time, confused, than waved his hand dismissing him home. He shuffled off. His siblings tried to help him, but he howled horribly if they touched him. It took him hours to walk the few hundred feet to his apartment.

Mira didn't know what to do, so she ran the bath with warm water. Simon climbed in, hissing like an angry snake as he lowered himself into the water. Once he was in, he slipped into unconsciousness and the water quickly turning red.

He would have died if it hadn't been for the love of his mournful sister. He took care of him for two weeks. She found a discredited medic who patched up the worst of his wounds and would look in on him from him to time. She found drugs to ease his pain, sang him sounds when the drugs ran out and he began cry from the pain. She found balms and creams to wash his wounds. She nursed him back to health.

A month after the whipping Duke came to his apartment. Simon was in the bath, though his wounds were healed and freshly pink, he was still a broken child. He walked with a stoop, a crane, and a pained expression. Duke told him he had to fight tomorrow. None of his fighters got to take a month off. They all had to fight. He'd fight or he'd kick them all out onto the street.

When Duke left he talked it over with Mira, he couldn't fight, he'd be killed. They would be kicked out without him, regardless. Duke's cruelty seemed to know no bounds. Mira kissed him on the forehead and told him to trust her. Later that day she left with eleven year old Celeste in tow.

Waking the following morning Simon struggled to get his clothes on, even with Gilly's help. As he made to leave the house, Mira press a small bottle into his hand and told him to drink it. She told him it would help, it was Juice. Juice was the street name for an expensive designer drug, a powerful stimulant cocktail that made the user powerful beyond belief and without pain or fear. It was considered illegal in child-fighting circuit.

He said he wouldn't take it unless she told him where he she got it. She hesitated, then told him. Dr. Fellows, a truly villainous cyber-doc in the local 'burb had a liking for young girls. When Mira told the other siblings what Duke had said, the trouble they were in, and told them she needed to get juicer drugs for Simon, Celeste volunteered herself to go to Fellows place.

Simon hugged and kissed his sisters, little Celeste held herself with no shame and a great dignity; their willingness to survive at all costs was overwhelming.

He drank the bottle empty.

~ O ~

Simon returned from the fight hours later, his arms red to the elbows, madness raced behind his eyes. He was covered in wounds. He never spoke of that fight; the only one wouldn't ever speak about. He closed himself into his bedroom and rampaged, destroying everything. When the drug wore off he collapsed.

~ O ~

Two years went by, and Simon never regained the good grace of Duke, though he continued to earn his handler great sums of money and favors. His fights became more violent as Duke tried everything he could think of to kill the boy. At seventeen, he was already bigger then man-size, towering over Duke. He had an aura menace and violence. Over the years several of the Duke's boys had died under mysterious circumstance, and many whispered it was Simon getting his revenge.

One afternoon he walked into Duke's office and told the old man that he was done fighting. He wanted to return to his village and following his father's footsteps, he wanted some money for his troubles. Duke frowned, but paid him a small sum. He told Simon he didn't like him anyways and besides, he was coming to the end of his child-fighting days. In Duke's mind the boy had a curse, the killing curse, he was glad to be rid of him.

~ O ~

They returned to Redmill. Mira and the girls opened a sewing shop. Gilly took up work as an apprentice woodsman. Simon did the same for a while, but he was restless and angry. He got into fights. After talking it over with his sister, telling her he was going to kill someone, or himself, if he didn't leave Redmill. Though it saddened her more deeply the Simon would ever knew, she agreed with his suggestion of joining the Coalition Army. Less than a week later he walked out of Redmill and it would be nearly two decade before he returned there.