Rat Meat had followed Kochar back through the alleys to a walled-in grouping of buildings. The cuts he’d sustained in the struggle with Scorpion had begun to throb as the adrenaline faded. He noticed there were guards here and there around the compound posted at various locations. The other male led him into the outer room of what appeared to be the compound’s communal bath.
“Drop the valuables there and strip down. Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be back.” Kochar said gruffly before moving off.
Rat Meat did as he was told, emptying his pockets of what coins and valuables he carried and then taking off his clothes. Wincing as he peeled away the garments from where they’d begun to stick to his wounds. When he’d washed himself and returned Kochar was waiting for him with clean clothes and a jar of salve. The valuables and his old clothes were gone. He didn’t ask where they went.
“Put this on your wounds and get dressed,” Kochar said, holding out the items. Rat Meat took them and did as instructed. The salve smelled strongly of herbs and stung when he put it on his wounds. When he finished and dressed he held the jar out to Kochar.
“Keep it. Won’t be the last time you’ll need it. Follow me.” Kochar said, moving to lead him to a different building. Rat Meat followed obediently, suspecting the consequences would likely be worse if he resisted. The memory of his friend’s severed head was still fresh at the back of his mind. In the next building the man who seemed to be the leader was talking and drinking with several others, looking to the teen when Kochar escorted him inside.
“Thank you, Kochar. That will do.” The leader nodded to the other man who bowed his head and retreated from the room. “Now, I believe proper introductions are in order. I am Diaco. You, for the good fortune of your survival, I am going to call Sayid. That is your new name going forward.”
The lanky teen gave a nod to the man’s words, feeling the others around Diaco watching him.
“How things go from here rests on your shoulders, Sayid. You have the spirit of a fighter, one that I think with training can be honed into something valuable. The right people will pay a lot to see a good fight to the death. Kochar will begin your training tomorrow, and once your wounds have mended you will fight for me. If you survive that and serve me well, you may be trained to other duties. Understood?” Diaco said.
“I understand.” He nodded to Diaco.
“Good, you’re a quick learner. There’s just one more thing we need to do and then you can eat and rest up. Come here, put the salve down, and lean over the table.” Diaco said, patting an empty space next to where he sat on the table and then nodding to one of the men who stood near a fireplace a bit behind Diaco. Despite his apprehension Sayid did as he was told, moving over and setting the salve down before placing his hands on the table, bending his upper body to rest against the wood.
“Very good. All those who work for me are marked, you see. A little bit of insurance to guarantee if anyone gets any ideas about running they’ll be brought back to me if caught.” Diaco said.
Sayid’s pulse amped up again as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the man by the fire pull a glowing brand from the flames. Diaco put a hand on his shoulder and another man pinned his arm from the other side, pulling up the back of his tunic to expose his back. He could feel the heat of the metal before it ever touched his skin, a ragged scream bubbling up from his throat when the brand was pressed to his right shoulder. He couldn’t stop himself from squirming but the two men held him fast to the table. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt, so blinding it pushed away any other thought. He was trembling and dry-heaving by the time the metal was pulled away from his scorched skin. Diaco gave a satisfied nod and released his hold on the teen.
“Roj will show you to where you will sleep and have food brought,” Diaco said, nodding to one of the other men. The teen righted himself and pulled his tunic down, wincing at the feel as the fabric brushed against his fresh burn. Swallowing down bile and the remnants of plum he’d eaten earlier. Gathering up the salve he would follow the man he was told to, finding himself led to a small room with a cot where he was left to his own devices. Taking his tunic off he did his best to apply a bit of the salve Kochar had given him to the burn, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at the sting. Eventually, food was brought that he forced himself to eat despite the lingering queasiness from the pain and then laid down on his stomach to sleep.
Over the next months, Sayid would spend most of his waking hours learning to fight and use various weapons from Kochar. The older man was a harsh but fair teacher, giving praise and criticism where it was due. Often reminding him one mistake could be the difference between life and death. When he’d healed up fully and Kochar was satisfied with his ability to fight, Sayid was introduced to what would become his life for the next several years. Joining the ranks of fighters Diaco kept, he was pitted in death matches against other fighters belonging to wealthy individuals who would bet on their survival. Sayid quickly became one of Diaco’s favorites to use in fights, both for his tenacity to survive and his ability to avoid damage as much as possible. When he won he would be rewarded by Diaco with wine and fine foods and comfortable garments. He often times felt as though the man viewed him as a pet, to be spoiled when it was good and otherwise ignored. When he wasn’t fighting he kept mostly to himself, while some of the other fighters Diaco owned formed friendships among their peers Sayid knew better than to get attached. He had seen more than one that had never made it out of the pit. The only one he’d formed somewhat of a bond with was Kochar, who he still trained with sometimes between fights to keep his skills sharp. Neither spoke much outside of discussing fighting techniques, but there was a sort of camaraderie there. The two sometimes sat in silence after training sessions as they drank water and caught their breath.
Several years down the line after a particularly lucrative match, Diaco had sent particularly fine embroidered silk garments and gold bangles to Sayid’s quarters with instructions to clean himself up and don the provided clothes and accessories and then report to the main building’s banquet hall. Normally whatever rewards he was provided for fighting were simply brought to his quarters, this was the first time he had been to the main building. When he arrived Diaco was there with some of the other wealthy folk who had attended and bet on the match, already drinking and chatting. Several of Diaco’s guards including Kochar posted about the entries of the room. He met Kochar’s gaze briefly when he entered, something about the older man’s expression he couldn’t place. Concern? Sadness? Sayid didn’t have time to reflect on what it meant as Diaco’s smile widened when he saw his prized fighter had arrived to join them, beckoning him over.
“There you are, my lucky gem. Sit here Sayid.” Diaco said, patting the cushion that was left empty next to him. The fighter followed the request obediently, moving to seat himself where he had been instructed. “You were excellent tonight as always. Drink and feast to your heart’s content.” Diaco praised.
“Thank you, sir.” He said, feeling self-conscious all dressed up fancy and on display for a bunch of rich people. He did his best not to think about it, and instead kept his attention to the food before him and the wine he was served. As he ate and drank the others talked around him, discussing the fights that had gone on earlier that evening, some asking Diaco about Sayid’s training regimen or diet. Sayid paid only enough attention to be sure he wasn’t being directly addressed. Whenever his wine would run low Diaco would gesture and his cup would be refilled.
Eventually, he began to feel lightheaded and dazed, the conversations jumbling together and growing hard to follow. He felt hot and his limbs sluggish, drinking more of the wine to try to relieve the cottony dryness of his mouth. He felt something touch his shoulder, following the hand touching him back to Diaco with a puzzled, “Huh?” When he realized he was being spoken to.
“When you sidestepped that lunge and then disemboweled him? Remember?” Diaco repeated, grinning.
“Oh…” Sayid said, his intoxicated brain taking a moment to process the words. “Yes, sir. I remember.” He said, though he’d disemboweled enough opponents he wasn’t sure which Diaco was talking about.
“An incredible victory. You’ve grown into a real warrior and a man to be admired.” Diaco patted his arm and then returned to speaking about rather than to Sayid, and the warrior returned to dazedly being lulled by the drone of conversation. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed later but Sayid felt a hand on him again, this time petting his hair. “You’re up for it, aren’t you?”
Sayid blinked slowly, uncertain what Diaco was referring to as his head swam and his vision was fuzzy, presuming the other man had volunteered him for another fight, “Of course, sir.”
“Always so amenable,” Diaco purred in a pleased tone, tracing his hand down Sayid’s neck and back.
“I’m first then,” The man on the other side of the warrior said, grinning with a lascivious expression as he ran a hand up Sayid’s exposed knee to his inner thigh and then higher, groping and feeling him up.
Sayid sat frozen for a moment in confusion, feeling flushed and overly warm. “Wh.. wait..” He gasped.
“Shh, you said you were up for it,” Diaco said, sliding an arm about his waist and pulling Sayid to lean back against him. “This is but another lesson for you, my lucky gem.” Diaco purred, his lips grazing the warrior’s ear as he spoke. “There are two kinds of people in this world. Those with power, and those who are used by those with power.”
“But… wh.. what? I..” He slurred in confusion, feeling more hands and some mouths on him as some of the others crowded in. Hearing the scrape of wood against the floor as tables were moved aside to make room and the sound of silk being pulled and ripped. He wanted to struggle as he was touched and groped but his movements were weak and his lucidity fading fast. Sayid looked around him, from the man who was slotting himself between his thighs to Diaco, who was still smiling wide as he stroked Sayid’s cheek. Pain flared in his lower body as he was thrust into, crying out weakly. As his vision dimmed the last thing he remembered seeing through a small gap in the mass of bodies surrounding him was Kochar at his post at a corner of the room. The older warrior keeping his eyes carefully averted from what was happening.
When he had woken in his quarters the next day his body hurt in new ways he didn’t know were possible, but more than his body he felt betrayed, most of all by Kochar. He knew Diaco only cared about profit, but he felt sick at the thought Kochar had let them use him without even a single word of protest. After that he trained alone, avoiding any unnecessary interaction with the older warrior, which wasn’t hard. Whether out of shame or disgust, Sayid wasn’t sure, but the other man avoided him in return. Diaco’s words from that night of his latest “lesson” to him played again and again in Sayid’s mind on repeat. Ingraining itself into his psyche. Lesson learned.