The path eventually became little more than a steeply descending notch in a tall cliff face. It was wide enough for a hand drawn cart, however trying to keep a full wagon from falling off the edge would have been hopeless. There were some stretches of post and rail fences erected to provide safety, but because of their age would more likely fall off themselves if one were to spit upon them. The wind continued to howl at the side of the mountain, and little wonder, for I felt the temperature rise as I neared the bottom.
Diego gave me the credit of possibly knowing some of the plant varieties in this area, and his assumption was correct. As I moved along I found some Seraphis plants, whose berries are nutritional, albeit bitter. I also found an Orc Leaf or two. At least, that’s what the plant is colloquially called in Myrtana. After pulling it up by the roots, one can eat the lower stalk, similar to an onion plant. At the bottom of the mountain I was delighted to find a couple of wild blueberry bushes, especially since they should have been in prime season. Upon tasting the berries however, I found them to lack flavor, and hadn’t developed their sweetness yet.

It was here at the base of the mountain and in a grove of trees that I met two hunters: Ratford and Drax. The two men were resting on an old log, and at first I deliberated whether I should approach them or continue on, hoping they didn’t pay me any mind. But then I realized that now would be as good a time as any to make new acquaintances, seeing as how I held nothing of real value for them to take. The two men were dressed in clothes mostly made of animal skins.
Drax let out a whistle of disbelief as I approached, and Ratford began to laugh. Looking back now I suppose it must have been a humorous sight; what with that rusty sword slid through my belt, various weeds poking out the top of a leather bag that was older than I, and in my hands a pickaxe with two pieces that couldn’t seem to agree on staying together.

“Well well well, what have we here? A new arrival in the colony?” Ratford began. “And yet the caravan passed by here hours ago. Where ‘ave you been lad?”
“As you can see the boy’s been exploring.” Came Drax. “And I do believe he’s quite a resourceful young man by the look of it. Ha ha!” Although this was said in humor, it was also said in truth, and I found myself drawn to the two men for it.
Introductions were made, and Drax casually continued stringing his bow while Ratford and I talked. He asked if I was headed to the Old Camp.
“I am.” Said I. “Is there anything I should know?”
“Oh... most of the blokes in the Old Camp are decent enough I s’pose. But if I were you I’d head over to the New Camp as soon as you get your bearings. Y’ see, Drax ‘n’ I get around to the different camps a lot; we sort of have a ‘working relationship’ wi’ each one - supplying ‘em meat and the like. It seems to me that the fellas in the New Camp are the ones who have their heads screwed on the tigh’est, if you know what I mean. That an’ you don’t look like the type that will set’le for using that pickaxe of yours to mine ore for Gomez the rest of your life.”
“Ah yes. Gomez; I hear he’s the man in charge of the Old Camp, right?” I questioned.
Before Ratford could answer however, Drax interrupted with a low “wheesht!” to get our attention - well, that is, primarily Ratford’s attention. Drax had assumed a stalking posture, and crept a little forward.
“Looky looky Ratty my friend! We have ourselves a scavenger whose ‘scavenged’ his way out from the rest of the group.” Drax said with excitement.

We looked in his direction and spied out a lone scavenger who had strayed apart from a herd of ten others. Scavengers are large, featherless, flightless birds with enormous beaks and powerful legs that carry them over the ground quickly. The one being eyed by the two hunters was less than forty feet away, and oblivious to the world as it pecked at the ground, looking for any insect or worm it could find.
“Scavengers ‘ave got to be the stupidest creatures ever put on the earth.” Ratford said quietly. “Which is good for us, ‘cause they’re also the best tasting meat we can get in the colony.”
“Really?” I asked. “There weren’t many around where I was from; they were pests and farmers trapped them as soon as they could. We never ate them though. What do they taste like?”
“Tastes like chicken.” Came Drax. “Only quite a bit tougher. An’ you gotta get used to the smell when they cook; it’s pretty rank. Don’t worry, though, the smell blends right in at the Old Camp. Heh heh.”

By now he had notched an arrow and was taking aim. Ratford had done the same. I stayed completely motionless, waiting for the shots. Drax took in a deep breath and pulled back on the string. “Now.” he whispered, and released his breath as he released the arrow. I heard the ‘thwwip!’ from Ratford’s bow as well, and watch as the two arrows plunged into the bird - one on each side at the base of its long neck. It let out a sustaining scream sounding like a deep throated crow, and staggered sideways. Then came something rather unexpected - for me anyhow. The bird ran straight on at the three of us. It charged wildly but alas, the blows it had been dealt proved too much, and it crashed forward onto its face barely five feet away from its assassins. Notice I said the assassins, not including myself. This was because (though shamed I am to admit it), I had backpedaled a considerable distance when I beheld the beast coming for us! This aggression on the part of the animal didn’t seem to surprise the hunters, however, and they held their ground rather confidently all the while.

I tried my best to get back to the men as quickly and subtly as possible, hoping they hadn’t noticed my flight. “Do they always do that?” I asked.
“As I said before - Scavengers are the stupidest animals God ever created.” Ratford answered as he pulled out a knife and slit the animal’s throat, letting the blood pour out. “They always try their hardest to run in the direction of their wounding.”
“Maybe that’s bravery.” Retorted Drax.
“No. I’m pret’y sure it’s stupidity.” Came Ratford, as he kicked at the bird’s head, and the two men laughed.
“Why don’t you just trap them instead?” I questioned. “Wouldn’t it be fairly easy?”
“Easy, yes. Worthwhile? No.” Drax answered. “You see, Scavengers are always found in packs, and they live up to their namesake. If one were to be caught in a pair of jaws and start bleeding, the rest would make short work of ‘im. By the time a person could come around to check the trap there wouldn’t be anything left for him to take.
“Makes sense.” I replied.
“Yea’. Hunting is all about patience.” Ratford explained. “We just wait until one of the buggers wanders out far enough to get a clean shot wi’out disturbin’ the rest. You don’t want a whole pack of them on your back at once; they use those anvil shaped heads of theirs like a hammer.”

“So what other creatures wander around here that I might need to avoid?” I inquired.
“With what you’re outfitted with? Everything.” Ratford smirked.
“There are wolves about - big ones.” Drax elaborated. “Used to be Wargs too, but they must have been killed out years ago. Some people surmise they can ‘see’ the barrier somehow; you know how their eyes are glowing red? Ah, regardless, none wander through the barrier that I know of. Maybe that’s why the wolves are so much tougher in here than on the outside, no other predators to compete with.”
“So that’s it then?” I asked.
“Well no; that’s just mainly it. I mean, there are also Shadowbeasts that stay to the thick forests, and are only active at night. Then there’s Lurkers and Bloodflies living near the water. Oh, and of course Lizards, but where are those cretans not hanging about, eh?”
Ratford expounded even further. “There’s some pretty nasty beasts runnin’ around up in the mountains - most people don’t go up there. They’re smart.” Kicking at the Scavenger’s head again he said “Remember: bird, stupid; new bloke, smart. Don’t run straight into trouble like he did... and you might just do alright.” Ratford gave me a wink and a sidelong grin. I felt good about their obvious approval of making my acquaintance. Looking back now I think to myself: ‘”if only I had taken their advice!’”

“So... you two most use a lot of arrows in your profession.” I resumed. Ratford cocked his head curiously. I pulled out the six arrows I had found earlier that I had riding in the back of my shirt. “Would you have any use for a few more?”
Ratford replied “Heh. We could use them a lot more easily than you considering you don’t ‘ave anything to shoot ‘em with!”
“Indeed!” Said I, agreeing with the humor. “What would you give me in exchange for them?”
Ratford thought for a moment. “I’ll give you a round loaf of bread and two apples for them. Looks like we’ll be eating meat tonight anyway.”
“Sounds fair enough.” I replied, and was glad that my foresight in gathering the arrows had ensured that I went to bed that evening on a full stomach.
“What else have you got in there?..” Drax questioned. I surmised he had spotted the corked bottle of beer poking out of my pouch. “..I’ve got a powerful thirst.”
“How about a half bottle of beer?” I said.
“It would sound better if it were a full one.”
“Ah. But a half bottle would quench at least some of your thirst, would it not?”
“True, true.” He said. “Tell you what. Give me that bottle of yours and I’ll promise you a pound of meat the next time you see me.”
“When will that be?” I asked.
“Probably tomorrow, or maybe the next day. It depends on how many of these shabby Scav’s we can take down. We’ll be bringing them to the Old Camp. Now... a deal or not?”
“A deal.” And I handed him the bottle. Drax gulped it down immediately, which made me wonder how gravely he viewed our little agreement. Feeling quite refreshed though, he tossed the bottle back to me and said that I would probably need it myself for getting water. I hadn’t thought of that, and appreciated the gesture. They bid me on my way, for I had lingered too long as it was.

The path was fairly wide now on level ground, and it led me along the edge of the forest and eventually wound around to the river that ran through the valley. Here were two men dressed in red uniform which told me they must belong to the Old Camp. They were stationed at a bridge crossing the river. It looked to have been an arched stone bridge at one time, and big enough for a large wagon to cross. The middle had collapsed however and in its place was a makeshift wooden platform spanning the river. The guards were not on alert, and were engrossed in conversation as I walked up. Somehow I could tell that these two were not worth my time, and certainly not trustworthy. As I passed I made eye contact with the guard sitting atop the crumbling bridgehead. For some while he looked at me like I was a red-headed stepchild needing to be beaten, and then suddenly bared his teeth in an exaggerated mocking smile. I showed no emotion, and continued across. From behind I heard one of them say “Make sure you get to the Old Camp. They have a pickaxe waiting for you!” At that they both laughed like two grammar school bullies.
“I already have one, you buffoon.” I thought quietly to myself. On the other side I stopped at the edge of the water to fill my beer bottle and refresh myself. I turned about to gaze at the camp I was about to enter. It stood not more than a hundred yards away. I had arrived none too soon, as the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains to the west. They cast long shadows across the valley, and as a result it darkened more quickly than the sun would usually dictate. I imagined for a moment how such a deep valley could have been formed, and although I knew better, pictured an immense giant walking across the earth and stepping into a mud puddle. His foot sinking down; the muck around it rising up and hardening that way.

The wooden wall around the camp was immense, measuring every bit of fifty feet in height if it were five. It was constructed of large vertical timbers spaced a few feet apart, with planks running horizontally on both sides of the supporting timbers. I could see this because some of the outer boards were missing, allowing a view of the inner part of the wall. It looked as though the lower section had been filled with earth inside the hollow. The last ten feet of height was made up of large hides stretched out and leaning inward, forming a canopy of sorts. Only the topmost roofs of the castle inside could be seen from this vantage point. Around the wall was a wide excavated ditch, dry at the moment, save for a few shallow puddles here and there.
I approached the entrance, which was taller still than the wall it adjoined, and had it been made of stone and not wood, must have surely rivaled the largest entry into the capitol of Myrtana. In between two watchtowers was a gate made of timbers on a pivot at half its length. It was obvious that with the release of a lever the gate could swing down into place, at which point Innos himself might have difficulty breaking through.

Two guards were patrolling the immense entryway. One of them shouted “Halt!” with such volume that I turned to see if anyone were behind me at a distance. No, indeed he was addressing me, and stepping forward, inquired as to my destination.
“I would like to enter the camp.” I said as calmly as possible.
“You haven’t come here to make trouble have you!??” The guard gruffly asked. This was a foolish question intended to provoke, and unfortunately for myself I stepped up to the challenge.
“Why yes. Of course! I’ve come here to take on the whole camp single handedly.”
“Heh heh heh.” The guard drew closer. I wasn’t sure just what he was thinking, but quickly found out. “You’re a funny guy.” With that he struck me in the face with near equal the force of the blow I received earlier from Bullit. I fell to the ground, again, but this time didn’t black out. The man would have surely broken my nose if I hadn’t turned my head at the last instant.
“I don’t like funny guys!” He said, and returned to his post. I got up, feeling dizzy. I had a cut across my left cheek that was beginning to bleed, so I walked back to the edge of the river and tried to clean myself up. I was furious; at the guard, at myself, at existence in general. I felt my emotions take hold of my throat and tie it in a knot, as tears began to well up in my eyes, one of them swelling and no doubt turning blacker by the moment. I fought the tears back however, and swallowed the knot back down to the depths of which it came from. I could not give up, and I could not stay here. I walked back to the gate, and asked the same guard if I would be allowed to enter. He hypocritically answered “Of course!" as if pretending to have never seen me before; the rotten scoundrel.

There were so many things to describe once inside the camp that I don’t know if I can do it all justice. I saw that the outer wall was not nearly so tall in here, as the earth had been built up to it considerably. The castle in the center was also built on a hill, creating a low part in the middle of the outer ring. All around the perimeter of the palisade were ramshackle huts serving as living quarters. Hovels were built up against the castle walls also, and even rows in between. All of this may sound very spacious, when in reality the whole scene was quite cramped, with men milling about everywhere. Most were dressed not much better than I, save for thicker pants and actual boots. Others were dressed in the scarlet uniforms that once belonged to the ‘real’ guards that were stationed here to look after the captives. I later heard tell that when the barrier was formed, and the purplish glow seared across the sky for the first time, everyone was momentarily distracted by the incredible phenomena. Gomez and a few other strong convicts took advantage of the opportunity, and turned their pickaxes into weapons. The whole colony erupted into chaos, with the more numerous convicts emerging victorious. Gomez and men loyal to him retreated into the castle, and thus began the circumstances in which the King found himself forced to negociate with the prisoners of the irreversible barrier.
I took a deep breath, and was sorry for it. I figured earlier that Drax was jesting when he made a comment concerning the smell of the Old Camp. He wasn’t, for the odor was intense. Men’s perspiration mixed with urine and God only knows what else permeated the air. There were men lying about near the front of the camp that looked as if they had no living quarters, or else were sickly and waiting to die. I turned to my left, and much to my relief I spied Diego, slouching on a bench in front of his hut. He smiled warmly as I approached, but then frowned as he noticed my wounds.

“Well it looks like you’ve had a rough time of it already.” Was his remark.
“I got on the wrong side of the gatekeeper apparently.” I groaned.
Diego cautioned: “Learning to hold your tongue is an invaluable asset around here. Murder isn’t looked on favorably, but if you aren’t careful you can get thrashed to the point of wishing it were for your sake.”
“I am exhausted. Is there anywhere in this place I can spend the night?” I asked.
“Yes.” he answered, pointing across the width of the entrance. “For now you can spend your nights right out there in the middle were you see the rest of those men. Of course, if you plan to stay in this camp you’ll want your own hut. You’ll learn how you can get that eventually.” I wanted to ask Diego more, but another man dressed similarly to him walked over and interrupted. I turned to leave, when Diego offered me a last piece of advice. “One more thing.” I turned to face him. “If you want to wake up in the morning with the things you’ve found, you had better sleep on them.”
I nodded a thanks, and made my way over to the section of ten or fifteen homeless men. It wasn’t a talkative group and they didn’t pay me much attention. I squatted down and pulled out my bread, apples, and bottle of water. I ate half of the bread, and one of the apples, opting to save the other for breakfast. I put the pickaxe under my legs, and tried laying on the sword. It was quite uncomfortable, but with a little adjustment was finally able to rest with the hilt under the small of my back. The pouch was the hardest pillow I had ever used, but tried to ignore all of these things as I looked up at the stars.

I listened to all of the sounds of the camp, the crackling of a near-by campfire, the low hum of men talking, while others coughed and snorted. Mixed in were the sounds of crickets chirping and bullfrogs throating up a chorus. A falling star shot across the heavens. It could have been the same sky I used to lay out under back home, but it wasn’t. I closed my eyes, and then opened them again, hoping that somehow the scene would be totally different. It wasn’t. I tried again, this time keeping them shut longer. No, still the same. The knot came back to my throat. I didn’t fight it, but just lay there, still as death. I felt little ants crawl along my arms. They reminded me of the feeling going through the barrier.
The barrier; I was really here.
Dear God what now? What now?
My eyes closed and opened again, this time involuntarily. Closing...... opening... Closing.....closed................

To be continued in "The Arena"