Abbalar Tales ~ 15

 Abbalar Tales ~ 15 Arena

By Len Morgan 

During his stay in the Ark, he studied and mastered many skills.   He became proficient in logistics, mass psychology, as well as natural magic, the natural sciences, pure & applied mathematics, medicine, genetics, philosophy, the many languages of Abbalar and the Hive Matrix (HM); though he would probably never get to use many of them.   On encountering a particularly knotty problem he would frequently sleep on it.   Aided by the sedative laced atmosphere in his quarters, he was able to commune with the HM, and through its vast pool of members, living out there amongst the stars.   He was empowered, to absorb information, conceive ideas and seek out solutions; without let or hindrance.   As the days and weeks passed, he honed his skills, in seeking out answers.   Whilst his problem-solving abilities improved by leaps and bounds, he built up liaisons with like-minded beings of other races.

Towards the end of his time in the Ark, he was able to grasp and solve abstract, theoretical, and practical problems with the same relative ease.  His physical attributes and abilities were enhanced far beyond his own expectations; as a direct result of his frequent visits to the Arena where his psyche engaged, in physical and mental battles, with others.   It was far more than a virtual Arena, attested to by the many cuts, bruises, and minor injuries he sustained on his visits.

“You would be foolish to enter the Arena lightly,” Orden cautioned him early on “it is quite possible you could be killed.”

But, he enjoyed some unexpected advantages from these forays, in addition to his physique, his muscle tone, self confidence, reflexes and reactions, all improved beyond the norm.

   Aldor did not visit the Arena every night but, found it irresistible when he did, it would seem as though he were there for days.   Yet always he returned in time to greet the dawn.

.-...-.

    It was day three.  The scoreboard showed, Aldor - 18, Angxy - 20.   The HM joined beings of many races, some slight, others heavy beyond belief.   The only way the many diverse races were able to compete, in the Arena on equal terms, was by taking on a standard persona each would then have equal strength.   Each persona possessed identical physical and mental attributes.   It is then up to the intellect and willpower of the contestant to raise his or her persona above the others.   The contests always begin with thirty-two contenders.  The first to accumulate twenty-five points would be the victor.    In the event of a tie, sudden death rules apply and, the struggle continues until one has gained a clear two-point lead. 

 Aldor had tried everything but his leading opponent, a Jellonan, was powerful and as determined to win as Aldor.   In the initial stages, they competed as a group, all thirty-two took part in foot races, horsemanship, physical skills and mental tests.   This quickly reduced the field to sixteen, and they played off at a game similar to kingdoms or chess, in which Aldor expected to excel.   He won eleven games and drew four, but the Jellonan won thirteen and drew two.   When the scores were tallied, Aldor was in third place.   The eight highest scorers went through to the third round which was unarmed combat.   They were physically bruising hand to hand contests between tired, but unbowed, survivors fighting on heart and guts alone.   When the cut reduced them to four, Aldor was in second place, two points behind the Jellonan.   The events were selected randomly and this time it was the Gauntlet; the one Aldor feared the most.   Each contestant was required to negotiate a coarse, overcoming a series of obstacles designed to test strength, stamina, dexterity, instinct, and determination.   The first two contestants were good, but not good enough.   When Aldor’s name was called nobody had yet negotiated the coarse successfully.   What none of them knew was, that it was a blind coarse, none of the contestants were allowed to see it prior to, or during, their run.

   He stood at the start gate waiting for it to open.   The entrance went dark.  Something told him to crawl in on all fours.   Something flew over his head, reinforcing his instinct to keep low.   He felt to his left, there was a void, he tried to go forward, then to the right, then up and back, he was boxed in.   There were only two ways for him to proceed; to the left then either up or down.   The latter felt right to him.   He felt around and eventually discovered a rope.

   He had decided to go down so he swung out into the void.   The darkness was complete.   The sense of sight was of no use whatsoever, he yelled and clapped and his sense of hearing told him he was in a wide cavernous place.   It seemed to lead him on enticing him to go lower, and lower, until without warning he reached the end of the rope.   If he dropped, it may have been a few feet to the ground or a death leap.   At full stretch, he could not feel the ground and his instincts told him that was not the way to go.   He began to swing on the rope, back and forth, increasing the arc with each pass.   His arms were aching, from the effort, his sinews stretched until he felt sure they would snap.   He swung still further and higher, on the seventh forward swing his feet touched something solid.   On the eighth he used the balls of his feet as sensors, rubbing then across the surface in either direction.   The surface was rough but he could find no hand or footholds.   Gradually, He changed the direction of swing through 90 degrees.  Unexpectedly, he collided heavily, at speed, with a smooth hard round pole.   He grabbed for it by instinct but missed.   He hung from the rope dazed for several moments, and then started to swing slowly towards it making a grab, with his legs then one arm, then finally he let go of the rope.   The pole was not completely smooth; it seemed to cling to his hands.   Sensing it would be useless going back up he lowered himself, hand over hand, in a measured manner.   Twenty times his hands crossed before his feet touched the ground, he estimated the distance to have been forty to fifty feet.   Had he dropped from the rope he would now be dead.   He realised that he was still not at ground level, but on a platform suspended between parallel poles.   The platform was only ten feet long, but the poles continued horizontally.   He decided to walk along them, when he reached the end he hung, at full stretch, from one pole but still could not feel the ground below.   He shouted again, but could not be sure the returning echo came from below.   He climbed back up and sat on the pole as though it were a trapeze, resting his muscles and massaging the joints.   While so doing he was taking stock.   In his pocket he carried three pebbles; he'd picked up outside the arena.   He needed to know how far it was to the ground.   He dropped a pebble and counted: one-thousand, two-thou…  thunk…   He heard the pebble hit the ground and judged it to be twenty to twenty-five feet.   He did not know if the surface was rough or smooth, only that it was hard if he dropped from this height he stood a good chance of getting injured for his pains.

“Ha!”   He shouted and noted there was a slight echo, but the sound was flatter from the front. He turned through 45 degrees and repeated “Ha!”   Confirming his initial impression, one wall was definitely closer.   He lowered himself to hang from the bar again, and started to swing, stretching his legs before him.   His right leg touched something cold and yielding.   On his next swing, he probed with both feet and discovered a rope/net structure.   He returned to the bar to examine his feet, where they were cold, he found mud; the smell was unmistakable.    “No! It’s Clay,” he found he was able to mould it with his fingers.   He carefully dried his hands and feet then stood on the bar facing what he imagined to be a mound of clay.   He held onto the pole and bent at the knees; he began to topple forward out of control.   He spread his fingers like talons took a deep breath and sprang like a tiger.

   He hit like a root sack.   He breathed out sharply, as all the air was forced from his lungs, and he began to slide.   Then his fingers grasped the net covering the mound, he clung on, fighting for breath.   He lay there, for quite some time, regaining his composure then he began to climb.   At the top, it flattened suddenly, and he moved forward on all fours, anticipating the opposite edge, instead he hit his head lightly against a brick wall.   He moved slowly.   He returned to the lip and clambered down. 

  At ground level he started a detailed examination, employing hearing, touch, and smell.   There was no way out, he had missed something, but what?   Had the pole been a red herring?   He thought back over his moves, he began to retrace his steps, climbing back up the mound.   Back on the peak, he made a mental survey of its boundaries, ten steps from the back wall to the lip, seven from the front wall to the lip.   Then he traversed it again, with his hands above his head, systematically covering the ground from wall to lip checking for anything to get him back up to the roof.   He estimated he’d covered two-thirds of the space and was very close to the edge when the back of his hand brushed against a knotted rope dangling a foot above head height.   He took several deep breaths then jumped for the rope and began to climb hand over hand.   One-two-three ~~~ forteen-fiftee…   He came up against the roof.   He was again swinging from side to side hoping to locate handholds, anything that would enable him to proceed further.   He revolved in a circle and when he judged he had returned to his starting point, he lowered himself another two feet and started the process again.   He judged he was fifteen to twenty foot, below the roof when his feet made contact with the back wall.   He tucked his knees into his chest only straightening at the top of his swing, stretching his legs and running on the surface of the wall.   On the third attempt, he was able to hook one leg over the top.   There was a two-foot gap between the roof and the top of the wall.   He worked his way along the wall, conscious of a drop on both sides, and discovered a four-inch diameter, pipe travelling away at 90 degrees from the wall.   After checking it was the only option he hung by his hands raising his feet to grip it and shinned across.   He continued away from the wall until he came to the mouth of a second, two feet diameter, open pipe.   He lowered himself to its lip and immediately felt the flow of fresh air coming up from below.   Easing himself in he allowed gravity to take over and slid down.   He slowed, almost to a stop, as he saw a faint glow of light up ahead.   He eased forward, gingerly, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the light.   There was no telling if this was the end of the gauntlet or just the start of another phase.   Taking a few deep breaths he came out of the tunnel, feet first, into a circular arena.    It was muddy and wet underfoot, to way above his ankles, and the water was numbingly cold.   He was in a pit, thirty-foot deep, its sides were vertical and made of, or covered with, smoothed clay.    In the centre of the circular arena was a pole about as tall as the pit was deep.   It might be possible to climb the pole but how could he cross the divide between the top of the pole and the rim of the pit?   He paced out the distance from the pole to the wall; twenty paces from either edge.   He had to have something to span that chasm - twenty paces.   He reminded himself why he was taking part in these contests, to test his abilities and ingenuity to the full.   He believed that every problem has, at least, one solution and frequently more.   He did not doubt he might also have found other ways through the gauntlet maze but this one had been his choice, and he knew that he would be penalised if he backtracked.  There was only one way to go and that was forward.   He noted there were holes at regular intervals around the walls.   He began to walk around the perimeter in the hope of discovering something of use buried in the mud and water covering the pit floor.   He found a solid black rod about eighteen inches long and slid it into one of the holes nearby; it was a snug fit. The rod was too thick to snap, so he would need to find another before he could start to climb…

“Ah,” he was hit hard on the shoulder by a rock.   He looked up at the rim in time to see and dodge a second missile as a third landed close by.   There were half a dozen figures ranged around the rim, each throwing rocks down at regular intervals.   Any special abilities the contestants possessed had been stripped away, so they all competed on equal terms, and he had to see the rocks coming to avoid them or simply ignore them and concentrate on the task at hand.   He avoided six missiles then chose to brave the odd blow by continuing his search for a second rod.   He circled the pole in a spiral route, shuffling his feet to make contact with any submerged object.   He used the rod he had found and a batting technique to fend off missiles that looked to be on target.   He found a length of strong cord, but nothing further.   When he had covered the area completely he felt around the base of the pole with his toes and discovered a split pin, on one side, and what appeared to be a hinge on the other.   If the pin was released he figured the pole would fall, to rest against the wall, just below the rim.   He used the rod and one of the rocks that had been hurled at him, to straighten the bent ends of the pin.   But he was unable to get a finger through the ring end.   However, he was able to thread the cord through it, at the third attempt as missiles continued to rain down on him.   He tied it to the rod and pulled with all his might.   At first, nothing happened then as he resorted to sharp jerking pulls it came away, suddenly, depositing him in the mud.   He blew mud bubbles as he watched the pole topple.

“Yes!”   He yelled triumphantly, rolling to avoid another projectile aimed at his face.   He shinned up the pole like a monkey and hurled himself up to the lip, and hauled himself, over the rim. 

21 – 21 appeared on the scoreboard, now it would be the Jellonan’s turn.

 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan