Read Online The Warrior (The Rebellion) by Jordan Magera - Free Book Online
Authors: Jordan Magera
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outside. Some Nationalist kicked down our door and de manded to use it as a stronghold. I was paralyzed with fear, and just hid in the corner. My aunt was complacent until they began throwing around furniture in an attempt to barricade the house. She stepped forward to protest, and one of the men lashed out, killing her instantly. This whole time I was shivering in fear, trying not to draw notice to myself. I didn’t even go to my dead aunt. I was an utter coward." Frank's voice was rising and he began to accent his words by slamming a fist against the sideboards. "I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even comment when they killed the woman who had taken care of me for nine years!"
He accented his last words with one final hit against the sideboards, then hung limp, his voice becoming more of a sob. Barst scanned the room, but no one seemed to take notice.
"After they took the city, some soldiers took me away out of pity. I tried to find any work I could, but my shame haunted me. I eventually decided that if I were to die in one last act of bravery, I would no longer be a coward. So I joined the Arena with no intention of actually living. But here I stand, not a coward, but a killer. I have become like the very men who killed my aunt."
Frank straightened himself, glanced at Barst, betraying the tears that stained his eyes and walked away. Barst watched him leave and, after realizing he had been holding his breath, fully exhaled.
The similarities between Frank’s past and Barst’s own were obvious. In fact, the more Barst thought about it, the more similar they seemed. A terrible mixture of fear and hope had kept them both alive, and now only one real difference remained. Barst had true hope. He had hope that not only would he get out of this tournament alive, but that he would meet Her on the other side, and eventually, he would become Jonathan. A hope that Frank was sadly missing.
Barst lay down on top of his covers. So much for a good sleep. His thoughts were going to keep him up for hours.
C H A P T E R 15
Extravagance for the Dead
Unlike all the others Barst had been to, Lord Barkley's suiting room had a pleasant aroma. Marble floors and granite benches gave the room a luxurious and relaxing feel. There was even a huge tapestry, depicting two overly muscular warriors in mid-battle. The mage, who wasn’t Force much to Barst's relief, had guided them there, and told them that many guests toured the arena, and Lord Barkley loved to show off his wealth.
Barst swung his sword expertly, and began shifting his feet in an effort to warm-up. All around him his fellow team members were doing the same. All conversation had stopped as the team became mentally prepared for a fight that may take all their lives. Some men were kneeling, saying silent prayers to the heavens, while others were fingering luck charms. All were solemn and determined. Barst noticed Frank sitting on the bench, pensively staring off at a wall. Barst hoped he hadn't lost his will to fight after last night's one-sided conversation. Frank stood up and Barst looked away, concentrating on a cramped thigh.
Barst was in the process of stretching his thigh out when Frank's voice surprised him from behind. "Barst, can I talk to you?"
Barst nodded and headed off to a corner of the room. A bad feeling rose into Barst’s gut, and he suspected Frank had given up. Frank looked into Barst’s eyes and began, "I was thinking last night. You know, Lord Barkley has controlled every part of our lives since he made that decree. We have either two choices, obey or be punished. We can't even take our own lives. There's only one time when we can say no. That’s in the arena."
He glanced over Barst’s shoulder, checking to see if the mage was coming their way. "What if we just refused to fight? What could they do? We’re all dead anyway. We would make a statement—show them were not mindless
He accented his last words with one final hit against the sideboards, then hung limp, his voice becoming more of a sob. Barst scanned the room, but no one seemed to take notice.
"After they took the city, some soldiers took me away out of pity. I tried to find any work I could, but my shame haunted me. I eventually decided that if I were to die in one last act of bravery, I would no longer be a coward. So I joined the Arena with no intention of actually living. But here I stand, not a coward, but a killer. I have become like the very men who killed my aunt."
Frank straightened himself, glanced at Barst, betraying the tears that stained his eyes and walked away. Barst watched him leave and, after realizing he had been holding his breath, fully exhaled.
The similarities between Frank’s past and Barst’s own were obvious. In fact, the more Barst thought about it, the more similar they seemed. A terrible mixture of fear and hope had kept them both alive, and now only one real difference remained. Barst had true hope. He had hope that not only would he get out of this tournament alive, but that he would meet Her on the other side, and eventually, he would become Jonathan. A hope that Frank was sadly missing.
Barst lay down on top of his covers. So much for a good sleep. His thoughts were going to keep him up for hours.
C H A P T E R 15
Extravagance for the Dead
Unlike all the others Barst had been to, Lord Barkley's suiting room had a pleasant aroma. Marble floors and granite benches gave the room a luxurious and relaxing feel. There was even a huge tapestry, depicting two overly muscular warriors in mid-battle. The mage, who wasn’t Force much to Barst's relief, had guided them there, and told them that many guests toured the arena, and Lord Barkley loved to show off his wealth.
Barst swung his sword expertly, and began shifting his feet in an effort to warm-up. All around him his fellow team members were doing the same. All conversation had stopped as the team became mentally prepared for a fight that may take all their lives. Some men were kneeling, saying silent prayers to the heavens, while others were fingering luck charms. All were solemn and determined. Barst noticed Frank sitting on the bench, pensively staring off at a wall. Barst hoped he hadn't lost his will to fight after last night's one-sided conversation. Frank stood up and Barst looked away, concentrating on a cramped thigh.
Barst was in the process of stretching his thigh out when Frank's voice surprised him from behind. "Barst, can I talk to you?"
Barst nodded and headed off to a corner of the room. A bad feeling rose into Barst’s gut, and he suspected Frank had given up. Frank looked into Barst’s eyes and began, "I was thinking last night. You know, Lord Barkley has controlled every part of our lives since he made that decree. We have either two choices, obey or be punished. We can't even take our own lives. There's only one time when we can say no. That’s in the arena."
He glanced over Barst’s shoulder, checking to see if the mage was coming their way. "What if we just refused to fight? What could they do? We’re all dead anyway. We would make a statement—show them were not mindless
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