The Guardian
by Tracey Vaughan (Tgirl)


Kaylan descended the steep, winding staircase of grimy, slick stone. A crumpled wad of paper - smashed and slick with sweat - lay nestled in his hands, which were shackled tightly behind his back. The guards swirled in darkness both in front of him and behind. He could feel the icy chill of their movement all around him. His world was dark, with only the torches revealing the steps in a dim ghost light. He tried to focus on the guard directly below him, but all he could make out was a churning shape of gray, smoky death.

Blood and flesh and earth: the scents from the Underground reached him before his feet made contact with the murky flooring. Kaylan’s heart thudded heavily, and bile crept up his throat. A jolt of anxiety shocked through his spine when he realized where he was: the Vomitorium.

Kaylan panicked and froze where he stood. A scream stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and made himself speak. “There’s been a mistake. I’m not…I didn’t…”

He was cut short by the whirling shape in front of him. The guard whipped around, and Kaylan tried hard not to focus on the gruesome outline of a face drifting in the misty black form. A terrible stench of death came out of the phantom as it spoke, as if the thing were made of rotting souls. “This is your sentence. Do not fight the Order.” The thing spun and moved forward, all in one motion.

Kaylan felt cold wind at his back and dared not turn around to face another of those monstrosities. The phantoms lead him into a large holding space; then they swept out menacingly behind him in a semi-circle. This movement put him on high alert; he looked around quickly with dread rising in his blood. An ornately-wrought iron door at the far end of the enclosure swung open, and a slim figure in black marched forward to meet him. The man in black had sharp angular features and never made eye contact with Kaylan; he was instead intent on reading aloud from a document, his small eyes devouring the words greedily.

“Kaylan Dunn, you have been sentenced to the Arena for high crimes against the Order. For the crimes of Treason and Sedition involving Free Thought against the Order, you will engage with the Arena Guardian, who will execute the terms of your death.” With quick precision, the man rolled up the form, turned sharply, and marched back toward the gate.

“Wait!” Kaylan called out as he stepped forward. The phantoms immediately swarmed around him. He strained past the wispy chill of their forms to reach out for the man in black. “Please, there has been a mistake! I intended no treason; you must tell the Order! Please, I am only seventeen…” His voice broke on the last word, his mind faltering through the haze of sheer panic.

The man continued impassively through the doorway, leaving the gate open. For the first time, Kaylan could hear a distant murmur of many voices from beyond the iron door.

Suddenly, the shackles dropped from his hands. One of the phantoms drifted over and laid a red tunic at his feet. Kaylan took this as his cue and donned the garment, which smelled oddly clean and fresh in comparison to his surroundings.

The guards urged him on toward the open doorway. Once he was in the Arena, the iron door shut behind him; his ghostly guard had disappeared. Kaylan looked around at the enormous, shadowy space. Dim lighting was focused only on the center area, making it difficult to see the crowd. Though the murmuring stopped when the door closed behind him, he could sense the presence of a multitude of people. The stillness was deceptive, and their vicious eagerness was barely contained. Waves of hostility washed over him; they were ready for his blood.

A door opened opposite of where he stood, and a line of performers gracefully held their heads high as they walked to the edge of the Arena to face the crowd. As one the actors lifted their right arms and dipped in a low, elegant bow. Gentle applause rippled through the audience. The performers turned together and crossed to the center of the Arena. Simultaneously, the staging area lit up with brilliant hues of warm amber, sheer reds, and bright violets washing over the columns and platforms of various heights. The sudden, excessive warmth caused Kaylan to back up, startled. A young, blonde actress close to where he stood looked at him briefly and smiled, then quickly faced front again. He found her human gesture to be a calming gift in the midst of chaos.

Suddenly, a giant pool of light shone on the enormous archway in the center of the stage area. The audience could no longer maintain its subdued façade; a horrendous cacophony of cheering erupted and flooded Kaylan’s senses. He could finally see the figures in the stands: they were more concrete versions of the phantoms who had brought him here, all of them gray-black forms hidden behind hooded cowls. His fear returned. He followed the crowd’s frenzied focus to the center archway to see the muscular champion, his barely-covered skin glistening in the limelight. The Arena Guardian, dressed in Romanesque armor, posed in glorious perfection. He glowed with pride for the audience as they chanted for him furiously: “Guardian! Guardian!”

The Guardian pointed at his crowd, which sent them into further ecstasies and louder cheering, then he shifted the gesture to point directly at Kaylan. The spotlight went black, and the performers began enacting their drama. Kaylan tried to focus on the words, which he seemed to remember as if from some ancient dream, but he could only think of the way the Guardian’s eyes had pierced through him.

It seemed an eternity while Kaylan waited to discover his fate, but then the young blonde was there, taking him by the hand, speaking to him in a language he did not know, and leading him up the steps to the highest platform. It was there the Guardian awaited him. A smoky haze filled the theatre, and a soft green light revealed a marble table. Hands reached for him everywhere it seemed, and Kaylan found himself being laid out on the sacrificial altar. The performers stood all around the table. Kaylan could feel his heart hammering through his entire body.

The actors had begun to chant in unison with the audience following suit in fervor. The Guardian slowly lifted his arms high to reveal a diamond-encrusted dagger enclosed in the grasp of both hands. The metal and jewels gave off an unearthly green reflection. The Guardian leaned down to whisper into Kaylan’s ear softly, almost like a lover, “The words now; say your words.”

Kaylan’s mind felt black. What words was he supposed to say? Then he remembered the wrinkled paper that was by now melded to his hand. He turned slightly to his side and opened the crushed paper to find that his sweat had made the words all but vanish.

“Say it! Say ‘I give my life to you, Arena Guardian, so that the Order may become stronger.’ Say it now!” The Guardian was hovering near him, spitting the words out in an angry whisper, holding the dagger menacingly above Kaylan’s heart.

For one terrifying moment, Kaylan’s mind was pushed to the brink; he envisioned the dagger sinking into his flesh and felt the icy taste of death filling his mouth. Then a flashing in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up and saw a light fixture blink rapidly then fizzle out. No sound reached his ears for a moment. He watched as their champion, the Guardian, gave the audience a smile that was too bright, too wide, and he knew fear no longer.

Kaylan sat up and grabbed the dagger in a motion so swift he was dazed. He watched outside of himself as he clutched the Guardian’s shoulder and drew him in closer to fatally twist the dagger deep into his chest. The eyes of the Guardian were fully focused on Kaylan for a moment, a shock of disbelief crossing the distance between them. In seconds, it was over. Kaylan yanked the dagger from the Guardian’s fallen body and addressed the crowd in a thunderous burst of adrenalin.

“I give you the life of the Arena Guardian, so that the Order may fall!”

Kaylan did not stop to see what reaction his words had caused. He missed the gasps of outrage, the shouts for help, and the tumultuous upset of bodies in motion all over the stands. Kaylan did not stop when the players rushed toward him, or even when the pretty blonde reached for him with hope lighting up her features. He stopped for nothing, and he stopped for no one. He ran through the Guardian’s archway and through the passageway, and he never looked back.