only half Genthai. Why not accept and declare that fact to the world?
‘Do you still wish me to go ahead?’ the old man asked.
I nodded. ‘Yes, do the left side of my face.’
‘It will hurt,’ he said. ‘The pain will be severe. You must be brave.’
His warning proved correct. He gripped me firmly by the hair and tilted my head back, his thin, sharp-bladed knife approaching my left cheek. Then he quickly began to cut, and the stinging pain came in waves as heworked. My eyes filled with tears, but I tried not to flinch; not one tear leaked from my eyes.
At last he stopped, and wiped away the blood from my face with a rag. I thought he was finished for the day, but worse was to come. The cutting was nothing compared to the pain of the second part of the process. Hetook a small sharp chisel and dipped it into a basin of dark dye.
‘Now I must manoeuvre this into the cuts,’ he explained, ‘in order to force the dye deep within the skin.’
Mokson used the heel of his hand to drive the chisel into the cuts. Each blow was little more than a tap, but the resulting pain was like a burn and it seemed that he was cutting through to the bone. Every few secondshe dipped the chisel into the dye and then started again.
Afterwards he applied an ointment and sent me back to work. Yes, I was to chop down trees for the rest of the day – Garrett’s orders. It proved to be a good idea. The heavy work took my mind off the pain and Iattacked the trees with a fury.
My second appointment with the old man was scheduled for the following day, and that proved to be even more painful. This part of the tattoo was above and below my mouth. The swelling was terrible. Afterwards Icouldn’t open my mouth properly to eat. This time I had to rest, lying on my back while they fed me soft, almost liquid, food through a wooden funnel.
After that I had a week’s rest from the process, but when it continued, I started to have nightmares about my visits to the old tattooist: in my dreams he started to bite into my face with his teeth, tearing pieces of myflesh away.
Five weeks later it was over, and gradually the swelling went down. When I touched it, the tattooed side of my face was no longer smooth. It was grooved where the lines had been scored.
At last I looked into a mirror. When I turned my right cheek towards it, I was Leif, a trainee Arena 13 combatant; when I turned my left cheek, I was a stranger – a Genthai warrior.
I felt satisfaction at having endured the process and coped with the pain. Then gradually there was something else: pride.
The time when Tyron expected me back for pre-season training was approaching. What would Kwin think about my tattoos? I wondered. Maybe she would think them ugly and I’d have lost my chance to be with her.
That night, just before I headed for the corner of the communal hut where I usually slept, Garrett approached me, smiled and put a hand upon my shoulder.
What he said came as a complete surprise.
‘We need to talk, Leif,’ he said, using my name for the first time. ‘I want to tell you about your father.’
We walked into a clearing in the trees and sat on a grassy bank. The night was cold, the sky clear and filled with stars.
‘I’ll start by telling you what you’ve endured,’ he began. ‘We call the process Edos.’
‘You mean the tattooing?’
‘It’s more than that,’ Garrett replied. ‘For you that was only the final stage of the process. Few get that far. City life does not not agree with our people. Many drink too much, beg, fall into decline and forget what theyonce were. Their children continue in that same downward spiral . . . But some are curious. They want to know where their families come from and they seek us out, as you did. So we put them to that test, which we callEdos. We work them hard and shun them. You see, Leif, to become a full member of our tribe, you have to be strong, both mentally and physically. The weak give up and go home; the strong, such as you, endure andbecome one of us. They become Genthai. They become warriors.’
‘So ever since I arrived you’ve been testing me?’
‘Yes, and you passed every step – though you’re the only one who ever raised his fists against his teacher and meant to carry it through,’ Garrett said with a smile. ‘That I did not expect. And you are the only outsiderwho has ever arrived in the thirteenth year and fought and defeated a werewight. Most decline the invitation to defend an orphan child. The few who agreed fought and died. You are truly your father’s son.’
‘You said you had things to tell me about him.’
‘Your father was born here and brought up as a Genthai. He had a sister who was chosen by the lottery. As a boy, Lasar watched his sister and his father being slain by a werewight. Later he showed great promise withthe sword. He had your speed, Leif, and was destined to become a great warrior. He was even better with short blades. Thirteen years after the death of his father and sister, he defended an orphan just as you did – it’sstrange how history repeats itself,’ Garrett said, shaking his head.
‘Your father won, but he refused the facial tattoos. He declared that he was sickened by the ritual combat and left to seek his fortune in Gindeen. They say that at first he made his living fighting with sticks, but thenwas taken into the stables of a trainer called Gunter.’
‘That much I do know,’ I interrupted. ‘As an artificer, Gunter was the best of the best, and they called him “the Great”. I know something of the history of their partnership and how my father went on to defeat Hobfifteen times.’
‘And after that?’ Garrett prompted.
‘After being badly hurt in that final fight, he was forced to retire from Arena 13 combat. He married my mother and became a farmer . . .’
‘Well, there is something you probably don’t know. Between retiring and meeting your mother there was a gap of five years. During that time he worked for the Trader.’
Lacs fought alongside humans in Arena 13, and the Trader was our only source of them. He came from beyond the Barrier, and somehow managed to sail his ship through without harm to himself or his crew. Wherehe came from nobody knew.
I looked at Garrett, hardly able to believe what he’d just said. ‘What sort of work?’ I asked.
‘Of that I have no idea, but he accompanied the Trader on his voyages to and from Gindeen.’
‘He travelled beyond the Barrier into the land of the djinn?’
Garrett nodded. ‘We must assume so. But he never came back to visit the tribe so we know nothing of that time.’
‘Was my father well thought of by the tribe?’
‘He was a true warrior, and was held in great esteem. But many were disappointed when he rejected the facial tattoos. Some thought he had wasted his life fighting in the city arena; others liked the idea of a Genthairising to supremacy in combat against city dwellers, and were glad to see him defeat Hob so many times. What about you, Leif? You have proved your courage and skill and have accepted the facial tattoos. Will you notput aside your ambition in the arena and stay to fight with the tribe? It will not be long now before we take up arms against our enemies.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Garrett, but I’ve not changed my mind. Two weeks at the most and I must return. I want to complete my training and fight in Arena 13.’
I was really looking forward to returning to Tyron’s house, which I now considered my home. I was eager to begin training with Deinon. But most of all I wanted to see Kwin again.
‘It’s your decision, Leif, but let me do one thing for you before you leave us. Have you ever fought with a sword?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, the skills are very different to those required when using short blades. Tomorrow you’ll chop down fewer trees and spend a little time working with me. I can’t do much in a couple of weeks, but I can give youthe basic skills.’
Garrett was as good as his word. Soon after dawn I faced him in a forest clearing, frozen leaves crunching underfoot. I was shivering. It had been a cold night.
We held our swords in a two-handed grip. He took a step towards me.
‘Right, Leif, let’s see what you can do!’ he challenged. ‘Attack and press me hard. Don’t worry – you won’t be able to do me any damage.’
I did as he instructed, and immediately sensed the difference between this and fighting with a dagger. For a start, the sword was a far heavier weapon. I swung at Garrett and he evaded my blow with ease. After failingto make contact with anything solid, the sword continued to move, carrying me with it, and I almost overbalanced.
Garrett could have chopped me down like a tree. For a moment I was totally vulnerable.
He grinned. ‘It has