D. MacHale - Black Water

“What’s the contest?” I asked the klee.

Everyone grew quiet and stared at me. None could believe that a gar would speak that way to a klee. I was beyond caring.

“You can win your freedom,” the klee in the circle answered.

“How?” I asked.

Something was thrown down in the dirt between me and the other gar. I looked at it, and my stomach dropped. It was a knife. But no ordinary knife. It was a three-pronged knife made from the talons of a tang. The blades were long and thin, and looked just as sharp as when they were still attached and used to attack helpless gars.

“One gar leaves the ring…free,” the klee said with an evil smile. “The other dies.”

Before I had the chance to process that sickening piece of information, the gar who a moment before had been curled up like a sick puppy, dove for the tang knife and held it up, ready for action.

“Forgive,” the gar said.

The klee jumped out of the circle and the gar jumped atme. The fight was on.

Idodged out of the way and the gar’s knife thrust missed me by inches.

If I wanted my freedom, I’d have to kill this gar. Yeah right. Like I could do that. I’d never thrown a punch in anger in my entire life, let alone stabbed somebody to death! But if I didn’t do something drastic, and fast, the gar would kill me. From the way he attacked, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t faced with the same moral dilemma I was. It was a no-win situation. For me, anyway.

The gar stumbled a few steps but kept his balance. He whipped the knife back toward me, sweeping the air, barely missing. I backed off to the far side of the ring, trying to buy some time so I could figure out what to do. The klees were cheering. This was all sorts of fun for them. “Fight! Fight!” they yelled, and pushed me back toward the gar. I was the favorite, after all. There must have been a lot of bets down on me. The gar now faced me, holding the knife low. His knees were bent, looking for an opening, ready to attack. I circled away, making sure to keep him in front of me. His eyes were wild. For him, this was about survival. I had no doubt he’d kill me.

He lunged again, knife first. I dove the other way, but the gar slashed at me as we crossed. The blades raked three slices into the front of my shirt. My adrenaline was pumping so hard I had no idea if he’d cut my skin. Some klees cheered, others booed. I’m sure I was disappointing those who bet on me. Tough.

The gar was breathing hard. That was good. It meant I was in better shape than he was. I felt sure that if the fight lasted much longer, he’d burn out. That was my best chance. I had to tire the gar out until he couldn’t attack anymore and then, and then, and thenwhat! There was no way I could kill him. The gar slashed the knife back and forth, cutting nothing but air. He wasn’t much of a fighter. The klees who bet on me saw it too. Their boos turned to cheers. The gar charged. I dodged him like a toreador dodges a bull. The gar stumbled and fell to his knees. A few klees picked him up, turned him around, and pushed him back toward me.

The gar was out of gas. Spittle flew from his nose and mouth as he gasped for air. I think he was crying, too. He made another run at me. I dodged out of the way easily, but this time I ducked down, swept my leg in front of him, and tripped the guy up. He stumbled and crashed to the ground. I jumped on him, trying to pin his arm and get the knife. But this was a wild animal. When he realized he was being attacked, he dug down deep into some primal well and found the strength to shrug me off. The move totally surprised me. I was thrown off his back and landed flat on my own. A second later I found myself staring up at a knife that was slicing the air on its way toward my neck.

But I had a little animal instinct as well. I rolled out of the way and the knife stabbed the ground right where my head had been. I scrambled to my knees and quickly moved to tackle the gar before he could pull it out of the ground. But with his free hand the gar backhanded me in the mouth with surprising strength. The punch landed me on my back again, blood dripping from my mouth. The gar was back in charge. He yanked the knife out of the ground and came in for the kill.

I stopped thinking. It wasn’t like I meant to or anything; it’s just that my reflexes took over. Good thing, because it saved my life. Up until then I had been all tactical in trying to figure out a way to beat the gar and save myself without either of us being killed. But there was something about the combination of fear, pain, and impending death that made me stop reasoning and click into survival mode. I was flat on my back and vulnerable. The gar charged, the knife held high, ready to kill. He leaped for me, and I instinctively threw up my leg. My foot caught him square in the chest, and I flipped him over my head. The surprised gar did a full end-o and landed flat on his back. When he hit the ground I heard him let out a pained”oof.”The fall knocked the wind out of him. I quickly flipped over and went for his knife hand. The gar was gasping for air and didn’t have a chance. I jammed my knee onto his outstretched arm and his hand went slack. He released the knife. I grabbed it.

The klees cheered. At least the klees who bet on me, anyway. I clutched the knife and brought it toward the neck of the gar. Another cheer went up. They sensed the kill. I held the knife there, ready to slash it across his neck and save my life. It was something I never thought I could do, but the heat of battle and the fear of my own death turned me into something else. Something primal. I was an animal whose only concern was survival. I was a gar.

That’s when I heard a familiar laugh. It cut through my insane haze, forcing me to look up. Standing among the cheering klees was Timber, the cat who was Saint Dane. All the cats around him were cheering wildly, coaxing me to cut the throat of the gar. But Saint Dane was calm. It was like everything had gone to slow motion, except for Saint Dane and me.

“This is your way out, Pendragon,” he said calmly. “Kill him and you’ll be free.”

This was the opportunity Saint Dane told me about. I had to kill this gar to save myself.

“Kill him,” Saint Dane said. “It’s not difficult.”

His words triggered something in me. Maybe it was because I had won and was no longer scared. Maybe the adrenaline was wearing off. Or maybe I realized that if I followed through, I would forever be a killer…just like Saint Dane. That truth brought me right back into my own head. I grasped the knife tighter, kept eye contact with Saint Dane…and backed away from the gar. A second later all hell broke loose as the klees charged into the ring. In the brief moment before that happened, I saw the smug smile fall from Saint Dane’s cat face. I wasn’t a killer and there was no way he was going to turn me into one.

Score one for me. I had just beaten Saint Dane in this small battle.

Then came the riot. The klees jumped into the ring, angered that I had ruined their show. There was all sorts of pushing and shoving. It was a blur of fur and fury as they argued over how the bets should be paid off. I felt the tang knife pulled out of my hand, then felt a strong, furry arm wrap around my waist and pull me out of the scrum. I was too exhausted to do anything but go along for the ride. The strong cat pulled me out of the mess while fighting off klees who were grabbing at me. Once we were clear, I finally looked to see who my savior was. It was Kasha.

“Leave him be!” a klee yelled at Kasha. “He’s ours!”

Kasha stopped and squared off against the others. “He’s not!” she snarled back. “Durgen had no right to sell him.”