Gates of Hell

A Chapter by MFrano1

Chapter 2: Gates to Hell

The bells are tolling their five-minute warning chime by the time I reach the square outside the Pizarr. It grates my nerves, that constant “bing-bong” toll of bloodshed. I clasp my bow tightly and grit my teeth to prevent myself from going mad right there in the square. My fingers start up a nervous drumming on my thigh, and to get my mind off of the booming promise of death, I focus on the Pizarr.

It is magnificent in size, and beautiful. Were I a stranger in this land, I would have thought it to be a place where affairs of state are held. It has that proper yet grand appearance. It is unfortunate that I am not a visitor. I know what I look at is the most entrancing fortress ever- a glorious prison built by the rich to mock the poor who enter it, some to never leave. Miles down the road its twin rises up, and I know that there will be thousands of girls gathered there. Thousands of women and thousands of men, and yet not a single Soliv is in either of these crowds with weapons ready- ready to kill others as they go person against person, brother against brother, in a fight where it is survival of the fittest.

It’s terrifying, how bloodbaths so horrific can occur in places so serenely beautiful. The Pizarr’s are the most magnificent buildings anyone alive has ever seen. They are a work of art that is impossible to recreate; their walls rise so high, I sometimes wonder if they really do have an end, or if they stretch on to infinity instead. Just as quickly as their onyx walls rise, they turn inwards so that they are at an angle. There are towers on the four corners of both of the Pizarr’s, each with a stately looking jaguar gracing the top- the symbol for my nation. Jewels glimmer brightly, even in the dull light that is proffered by the clouds. They line the entire castle’s edge, making a spectacular showing of it. In the dull sunlight they still glisten, casting out their shades of silver, purple and emerald onto the sorry crowd beneath them.

I snap out of my reverie in time to hear the two-minute warning. Guards start to gather around the mob, forcing us to press in on each other. As they do that, I begin to prepare myself for what is about to come. I take deep breaths, unsure of when I will next need the air. I strum my bowstring, checking for possibly the tenth time this morning to be certain that it will hold. Satisfied as I will ever get, I stand patiently with the crowd, waiting until that moment when they herd us in, the helpless cows to their slaughterhouse.

As the one-minute bell sounds out the gates begin to slowly creak open. I haven’t even stepped inside yet, and already I can hear the screams of those who will fall beneath my arrows. It fills my head, the noise circling around and around until it seems like in my whole entire life, screams are the only thing that I have ever heard. Maybe this time the halls of the Pizarr will be filled with my own screams, and I can find peace.

DING. The bell finally gave off that magical noise, sending its ripple over the crowd; I watch as everybody around me shivers, effected by the bells monstrous tone. Us Provien’s have learned to respect and fear that noise, for it is the noise that has the power to make men pick up arms and murder each other in cold blood, totaling in the thousands each year. It is possibly the most terrifying thing I have ever known, that such a simple object could have such power over men. With that last fatal toll, the gate fully opens and the crowd floods in.

We all begin to file into a wide auditorium, vying to get ahead of one another. Used to the routine by now, we take our places, settling in for the long speech that we all know is about to commence. Right on cue the speaker, Frien Mulark, steps up to the podium.

“People of Provien, welcome to this years Marking. We, the Soliv’s, are delighted that you could show up to this very important event. Looking out at all these faces, I can tell that it is going to be yet another great year.

“Since the rise of our great nation, the people of Provien have gathered together to hold the Callas. It is a distinction of honor for those who survive- for those who enter and leave prove themselves strong, tactical, and loyal to the God’s.

“To hold the Marking has been the tradition every year for over a hundred years. It has gained Provien much- it has brought our land peace, prosperity and fertile fields. It assures us that there will be enough money and food for all. The Marking is the reason we can all live so comfortably, but it offers much more than posh lifestyles. It has also thinned out the weak and frail from the strong and able. This is the blessing that the Marking offers us. To all the good citizen’s of Provien here today, I would like to say one thing- thank you. Thank you for allowing another year of entertainment and sacrifice to the Gods. I am sure, looking out at all you strong men, that this year will be especially thrilling. I am certain that, just as myself, my counterpart’s and the God’s cannot wait to see what this years Marking has in store.” I listen for the first few minutes, but eventually I start to drift off. The speech is the same every year, and it is never important anyways. Why subject myself to the torture of hearing all the lies that they profess as truths yet again?

I came back to myself in time to hear the end of Frien’s well-phrased lie. “Blessings to you all, and may the God’s be with you on this historical day.” he finished.

Having said that last traditional phrase that told everyone they could stop daydreaming, he turned around and walked out, leaving us all alone to get up and stretch. We have five minutes to say goodbye to anyone we wish and form alliances. Everybody has their own routine in these few moments, though: some people will curl up and cry, thinking of what is to come, some will stare pointlessly at a wall, having already given up hope and not being sure of what else to do, and some will pace back and forth, preparing themselves for the blood they will have to spill in less than a hours time.

Already the older and more experienced players are setting to work intimidating the new meat. Knives are thrown, flashing past noses by mere centimeters, and arrows are pointed in the little ones general direction as bowstrings are threateningly plucked. While kids are not the main threat to those who have been in here for more than half their lives, they are still a force that must be eliminated. You do want as little competition as possible when the game is your life. So, while it’s barbaric to frighten the people who are most likely to die, and push them to the place beyond hope, it doesn’t matter. In the end what does matter is that if they successfully put fear into the children, it would mean less competition. The maze changes people; they can go in as pure as water, and they will leave dirtied and dark. It comes down to the desire to survive, and not many people are willing to give up their lives.

To survive in here, unorthodox methods are required. It’s yet another way the Soliv’s keep the Provien’s under their boots- we are infuriated with each other because every time we look at each other we see all the faces of our loved ones who died in here. When this happens it’s hard not to wonder if the person we’re looking at is the killer. We are a tragically divided people. This disunion just makes it easier to cut each other down, and in turn makes it easier to loathe each other. It’s a vicious cycle that only gets worse as time passes and each new Callas is held. So, in every way I would be smarter to show the younger children my ability to kill; it would mean that much less rivalry in the maze, and when it comes down to a fight they would be so nervous from having seen me in action they’d end up making mistakes that would cost them their lives. But having been in their shoes before, I would no longer be able to consider myself human. What I will die to save, what matters the most to me with the exception of my mother, is my soul.

“Eisem, Eisem!” I heard my name being called. Recognizing the voice, I turned to face the closest thing I have to a friend- Rosh. I watched him as he trotted towards me and knew instantly that something was off. The goofy smile that is his trademark is gone. I have to look him up and down just to be sure it is really him. Same dark brown hair, same blue eyes, same athletic build and as far as I could tell the same exact face, yet in every way he is strikingly different.

“Hello, Rosh.” I replied as I sized him up. I am confused by why he is talking to me. Obviously something is wrong, but what? As far as I know, the only reason he would talk to me today is if he wants to unite and form an alliance. Seeing as we both preferred to fight independently, and we’ve never fought together in all our years, an alliance doesn’t seem likely. This is all not accounting for my moods, which he knows very well. So what does he want? I wondered.

“My sister, Izerjia, is nine.” He said to me. I nodded and shifted uncomfortably. Nine is the age where kids officially became eligible to take part in the Callas. It is a sad fact of life that kids so young have to take part in these deadly trials, and usually it is something we become quickly used to. The difference is that Izerjia is the only family Rosh has left. If she dies, he might as well be dead himself. I would know- my mother is my last living relative as well, and I fear losing her more than anything.

He looked at me and saw that I was not going to reply. I should have feel guilty, I suppose, but in moments like these there isn’t a lot you can say. “I’m sorry” and “those damn Soliv’s” just don’t seem like appropriate responses to the fact that, in just three nights time, he could be the only one left in his lineage.

He continued on, having given up hope on me interjecting anything. “I was thinking that maybe… Maybe we could team up with some of the younger kids.”

I look at him in amazement and begin to open my mouth in shock.

“What good would that do!” I asked incredulously.

“I know, I know what you’re thinking,” he rushed on. “But just consider it. There are a lot of them. The only ones that are going to be able to team up with others are those that have older siblings here. That’s not even half of these kids! We would have a big group- bigger than any of the others. That could be a helpful advantage in here. Plus, they’re small. They can hide places, GO places that we can’t- they could be useful in setting up traps! Eisem, it’s a good plan.”

I glare at him, “I don’t thi-

“Please Eisem,” Rosh cut me off, “consider it. Consider it, damn you! You know they could help us. Besides, what about their families… Izerjia going to her first Callas made me realize how much it hurts to lose a person so young and loved. People who are supposed to have years of life left should be given the opportunity to experience every one of them. It’s the worst feeling ever, Eisem, to have to mourn someone so early in their life, and I don’t even know I’ve lost her yet. We can spare these kids families that despair.” he pleaded.

“I understand, but it’s too much of a risk- for both of us. If you’re so set on forming a group with a bunch of inexperienced babies who have only learned about the events that take place in here, then fine. Go ahead. Don’t ask me to jump off the mountain with you.”

“I would, but Eisem I can’t be the only one leading them. They’re young and obstinate still. I need someone to assist me with keeping them in line. You’re the only one I know who would help me with this. Just help me this once, I promise you that it will work. Choose quickly- our time is almost up.”

I shot him a glare that let him know how much I despised him. How he could ask me to make this decision and still call himself my friend, I didn’t know. He was forcing me to admit that I was okay with letting little ones die. It wasn’t exactly like I could join them, not unless I wanted to die myself. If I joined them I would be putting my head underneath a falling ax, yet by leaving them to their own devices I would be sacrificing my soul.

I came to my decision. “The answer is no.” I responded icily. I watched his face droop as he slowly turned around to shamble off. He went up to a group of about two hundred kids, and I watched as he shook his head no. I saw their faces as they heard the news- they mirrored his. It’s like I could see all the hope being ripped out of them, and for a second my heart reached out to all those young people who shouldn’t have been here. I quickly reined in my wayward feelings- I couldn’t have them right now. Sentiments like I was having got you killed in here.

The bell rang and I turned to go through the double doors that open out into the actual maze; we are given ten minutes to spread out and separate ourselves the best we can. Before I had the chance to turn, I saw the kids one last time. They were slumped over, walking through the crowd when they should have been running like everyone else. Rosh was doing his best to get them to move faster, shouting at them and even nudging a few, but they refused to listen. They carried on at the same slow drudge as before, barely flinching at his touch. They had already taken a quill and signed themselves to the executioners list, resigning themselves to an early death. In this maze that is yet another thing that will get people killed. When there is an absence of hope, there is no will to fight. I sighed to myself. If I let them go into the maze like this, they would have less than no chance. Then all of their deaths will be on me, I silently complained. I started pushing against the crowd to get through to them. By some miracle I made it through to where they were without getting trampled, and managed to squirm my way over to Rosh.

“So, I hear they’re handy when it comes to setting up traps. That means they’re going to stay out of the way but still manage to be helpful, right?” I queried.

He laughed. “They’ll do whatever we ask of them now that you’re here. I think they were about to disband completely,” he got serious after that. “Thank you,” he said gravely, looking me in the eyes.

I grunted in reply.

After that I focused on the group. “Come on, you sorry lot. We’ve lost time, which is precious here and cannot be made up. We do not want to be in the back- if we fall behind now we have no chance of getting any of the prizes. Those are key to surviving the Maze. If we get even one, we are almost guaranteed to make it out alive. So, we’re going to run- run like the Gods themselves are on our tail wielding absorbers and spurners. If anyone falls behind, YOU WILL BE left behind. Now move!” With that we all began to sprint forward, pushing our way through the crowd. As I was talking I had been urging them forward so we would not lose anymore ground. Now I simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Like this, we charged forward into our doom.

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