Kings Game

Chapter 69 - That Which is Lost

[Trigger Warning: Descriptions of Self-Harm and Suicide]

(1)

The hand still hurt. Not a lot. The pain was minimal enough that Kell wondered if she was imagining it. But there was still pain. Still some form of dissonance that kept her from thinking of it as her hand rather than the hand.

After spending three days in a rundown training arena, Kell still wasn't satisfied with her performance. The wrist had healed and the hand performed like any other. It gripped, twisted, and released like it was supposed to. With it, Kell was able to wield her spear as she had been, but there was a hitch. There was something slowing her down, making each move harder than it should have been.

Kell's favorite exercise involved a wall with rotating targets. A simple twist of a lever would spin around random targets for her to strike, challenging both her reflexes and her aim. It was harder when she was alone, requiring her to both run the levers and the spear, but it still served as a baseline for her skill.

She had always done the exercise with a single hand, starting with her dominant then switching to her offhand, training it in case of injury or dismemberment. She found herself struggling now; even using her dominant hand she couldn't hit the targets correctly. When she'd been missing the hand, she blamed it on a lack of balance, but that proved not to be the case. She had two hands again, two fully functioning limbs that should have worked, and she was still struggling.

Kell repeated the exercise over and over again. First closing her eyes, then pulling the lever that would reveal the targets, moving to a starting point, then opening her eyes and striking each target as quickly as she could. After hours of practice, she was still missing the bullseye as often as not.

She kept going, trying again and again until her hand was raw with blisters. When her frustrations grew to be too much to bear, she abandoned the targets for simple forms, combinations of moves that were meant to improve her technique and strength. Most of the required two hands, giving her the opportunity to break in the new appendage.

Moving slowly, Kell gripped the spear with both hands. She felt a sense of nostalgia, a sense of rightness. This was how she was supposed to hold a spear, this was how she had learned to fight all those years ago. This was how she would reclaim victory in the arena.

Kell started with the basics, moves that she'd learned while watching other gladiators as a child. They were a series of three simple strikes to the head and body. Kell adjusted her stance, moving the spear through the air. Pain lanced through her arm as she twisted her wrist. She hissed through the motion, forcing herself to complete the form.

On the second movement, her new hand began to go numb, the palm and fingertips beginning to tingle. On the final movement, the clumsy hand decided to let go of the spear and Kell nearly dropped the damn thing.

Snarling, Kell spun and hurled the spear across the arena. Between her frustrations and her etchings, the spear hurtled through the air to slam into one of the walls. Kell grabbed her wrist, squeezing it in an attempt to ease some of the pain.

There was a faint scar there, a fine line that showed where she ended and the clumsy hand began. She still didn't like touching it. The skin was the wrong texture and the hairs were thicker. The calluses were too fine and the damn nails split when she tried to trim them.

Dropping to her butt, Kell rested her head against a knee and closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the waves of frustration and anxiety coursing through her. They were useless emotions, ones she'd long since learned to conquer, nothing more than an inconvenient memory until she'd been taken captive, stripped of her power, and maimed. Now the feelings were fresh and raw again, wrecking her life one tantrum at a time.