The Claimed: A Clash of Copper and Gold

Chapter 8: Someone New to Worship

"That one is a woman, Toom! Look, look, it's a woman! And she's winning!"

"Yes, Finny, I can see that. Now please sit back down."

Velvet ropes separated our private balcony from the rest of the colosseum's noble stands. Our vantage allowed us a close view of the fighting arena covered in shimmering bleached sand. The competitions began with hand-to-hand combat, and a woman from Kalasiki with hair shaved to the sides and a bouncing black ponytail pummeled a bulky Rakim man. Eachjab of her fists forced him to retreat a step further.

Around the oval of white, layered platforms rose like stairs. Beyond the six Royals Guards surrounding me and Finny, nobles of every age from Rakim and Kalasiki perched in seats similar to our own. Past them, ordinary citizens packed the stands, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the ground.

The man from Rakim stumbled to the arena floor, and the crowd erupted into raucous cheers. The judge, an aging man in a black robe, swept out a hand to declare the woman the victor. She pumped her fist high in the air, triceps rippling, and swooped into a dramatic bow before sauntering off the field.

Finny dropped back onto her seat, flung out her hands palm-up in front of her, and tipped her face to the sky. "Dear Goddess Rashika, I'm sorry, but I just found someone new to worship."

I shook my head and chuckled. "Don't say that, Finny. The Challenge Day competitions are all about honoring Goddess Rashika."

The whistle blew, and a fresh pair of combatants began the dance anew; a heavy-set older warrior and a wiry waif of a man. They exchanged blows with equal force, neither losing ground.

Finny tilted her head. "But Goddess Rashika didn't beat the Fallen Gods until the Day of Truth. That's two whole days. This woman took—what? Three minutes?"

I rolled my eyes even as my lips twitched in a smile. "This woman defeated one decidedly mortal man in a meaningless spar. Goddess Rashika defeated a dozen immortal gods who challenged her supremacy."

"But did she do a bow like that afterward? Because I'm just saying..." She pressed both hands over her heart and melted into her chair.

"You're a menace," I told her.

"Thank you," she said.

The older man knocked down the younger, and a new pair was called to the field. I recognized one immediately.

Makash's hair was almost completely gone now—a scraggle of curls clung to the back of his head—but his muscles had grown even larger over the years. He wore only a pair of tight black shorts, and even at a distance his abdominals bulged like six bread rolls. Veins jutted from his forearms and thighs. 

"He's ugly," said Finny.

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. By the time I had removed my hand, Makash had pounded the man to the ground. After that, I didn't laugh anymore.

We watched several more rounds, some fast and some slow. Men and a few women of all ages and colors from both Rakim and Kalasiki fought. But no Niako.

Not that I was looking for him.

The ponytail warrior won her next fights, much to Finny's delight. Unfortunately, so did Makash. The Champion's Round pitted the two against each other.

Punches rained on flesh in a blinding blur, landing with such force that the impacts were audible from our seats. She attacked like a rabid badger, but he plowed forward like an angry rhinoceros.

She forced him back a step.

Finny cheered.

He recovered and retaliated.