Dawn Beyond the Arena

Written by Jasmine Jiayi Xue from St. James School, Maryland, USA

The first pale grey light of dawn seeped through the cracks in the barrack’s stones when Max woke.

His back still clung to the dampness of the straw pile—for six months, this was how he’d opened his eyes each day: surrounded by the heavy, rumbling breaths of thirty-odd gladiators and the sharp click-clack of guards’ boot heels on flagstones beyond the iron bars. An air thick with the stench of sweat, rust, and watery ale hovered.

Max propped an arm behind his head, staring at a cobweb strung across the ceiling. He’d been captured six months prior; now his life hung from the fingers of Crassus—the nobleman in the crimson cloak, whose lips always curled into a sneer when he watched the games.

“Got a ‘treat’ for you this afternoon.” The guard changing shifts paused by his cot, voice oozing malicious glee. “Crassus picked you. You’re fighting Rex.”

The name hit Max on the back of his neck like a block of ice. The undefeated champion of the arena; it was said that his sword was stained with the blood of more than thirty people. Max curled his fingers and pinched his nails into his palm. He had secretly thought of escaping, had counted the seven and a half minutes between the changing of the guard, and knew that the gutter in the kitchen would lead to the west side of the arena. Now, the “opportunity” made itself known: either die under Rex's sword or gamble.

Two slices of radish floated in the soup at noon. Max didn't have the heart to eat. He curled up in the corner and heard two guards leaning against the fence, their voices low: “After sunset, the supply cart will leave from the south gate - pulling tomorrow's forage.”

Max's heartbeat accelerated. He touched his arms: the silver spoon he stole from the back kitchen yesterday had been sharpened. During afternoon training, while no one paid attention, he stuffed the spoon into the kitchen maid’s apron. She had secretly given him extra pieces of bread since he arrived.

She looked at him just as he stepped back. “Help me sharpen it.” Max lowered his voice. “Before tonight.”

The maid held the spoon, her fingertips turning white, and finally she bit her lip, nodding.

At dusk, Max was pushed into the arena's preparation room. Crassus happened to pass by, stopped, and lifted his chin with his cane: “Beat Rex, and I will make you the captain of the guards.” He paused, his smile as gentle as a poisonous snake. “If you lose, I’ll let Rex slowly torment you.”

When the iron door clattered shut, the maid stuffed something through the vent: polished bone spikes, wrapped in rags. Max grabbed the spike, his jaw tightening until the muscle in his cheek twitched.

The horn of the gladiatorial battle sounded, the audience's cheers undulating like waves. Rex stood in the center of the arena gripping his swords, his muscles and scars shining under the torches. The moment the flag was waved, Rex's sword had already slashed at him. Max dodged sideways and heard the blade graze the armor with a screech.

The audience's shouts grew frenzied. Max knew Rex was playing: he deliberately slowed down and slashed his arms and thighs with the blade of his sword. The cheers of the audience reached a crescendo as blood seeped. Crassus sat in the stands, laughing with a glass in his hand.

Max's breathing became heavier, and blood flowed down his trouser legs. He stared at his opponent’s feet. When Rex's sword stabbed at his chest, he slipped out, and the beast bone spikes on his fingertips pierced Rex's knee.

Rex let out a muffled roar and fell to one knee.

Max didn't hesitate, pouncing on Rex's wrist, and snatched his sword with momentum. The crowd's cries suddenly changed in tune - no one expected the undefeated champion to be restrained.

Max clutched his sword and didn't stab; instead, he turned and rushed to the fence at the edge of the arena, swinging his sword at the guards guarding the supply cart's exit.

The guards' screams mixed with the noise. The crowd had also folded in on itself so that the guards had lost sight of their escapee.

Max crashed through the fence, jumped into the hay, and buried himself inside. Moments later, the owner of that cart, unaware of the bounty he now carried, gave the signal to his horse to move on from this place.

He heard Crassus' roar moving progressively above the crowd, and could even hear the footsteps and shouts of the guards frantically looking for him.

“Close the city gates! Fugitive on the run!” But the cacophony in the arena took root, and the guards who should have heard those instructions simply did not. And the man and his cart made their way out of the gates, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

When the sound of the wheels running over the stone slabs grew farther away, Max dared to lift his head above the haystack. It was the first clean breath he had taken in half a year.

Later, when the cart stopped next to farmland, darkness had settled on the countryside. The farmer had gone ahead, leaving Max a precious moment to come out from his hiding spot. When he rolled out, he fell into the mud; his blood mixed with the wet dirt - but the wind was cool and smelled of grass.

Just so, in the distance, he could make out the lights in the distant city, and imagined Crassus slapping the table and cursing at his spoiled entertainment and lost puppy. The guards probably still searched every street - leaving no home unturned. The futility made Max smile. The city would not sleep tonight, but he would. 

Max stood, wiped the mud from his face and laughed, even as the wound on the corner of his mouth bloomed painfully.

As he walked into the future, the wind passed through the woods, carrying the scent of spring.