Chapter 1
11 years laterBa-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Arabelle was acutely aware of her heartbeat.
Ba-bump, Ba-bump, Ba-bump! Adrenaline was causing it to pick up it's pace. Arabelle's gait was slow and calculated as she walked through the dark tunnel.
BabumpBabumpBabump! Not fear... excitement. Eagerness. This was what she was born for. Fighting... it was in her blood. It ran through her veins. The light at the end of the tunnel grew as she approached, blindingly bright.
BABUMPBABUMPBABUMP! It was now or never. Live or die. No, not literally. Killing was forbidden. But Arabelle would rather die than lose. Shame would kill her where it counted.
BABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMP!!!! Now! Arabelle stepped out of the tunnel, white washing over her. The deafening roar did nothing to distract Arabelle.
"Farah the Heartless versus Satar the Destroyer." The man announced. Arabelle looked to her opponent as Felix brushed against her leg. Satar was a tall, well muscled boy. He was heavier than her... though all her opponents were. The boy stared at her... and laughed.
"A girl? I am to fight a girl?" Satar laughed. He hadn't fought her yet. Satar moved forward, circling her, studying her. Arabelle didn't move an inch, her forest green eyes wide and innocent.
"This will be a peice of cake." Satar continued.
"What is your name, Gladiator? Your true name? I am Arabelle." She said, smiling at him.
"I am Peter." Satar said. Arabelle nodded, then looked up as the voice blared through the speakers once more.
"Let the Junoir Gladiators game begin!" The man yelled.
Arabelle drew her sword, a beautiful instrument with a long silver blade. It was a long sword, about as long as her arm, with a silver and ivory hilt. Embedded at the base of the hilt was a sparkling blue Sapphire.
Satar regarded Arabelle, frowning with confusion. The fiery haired girl, who had looked so sweet and innocent before, now had an undeterred confidence about her. Her grip on the hilt was firm, but it was in no way too tight or too loose. Her whole demeanor was both alert and yet loose.
Satar shrugged and moved towards Arabelle, bringing up his own sword. When he moved, a flash of brown caught Arabelle's eye. He had brought a German Shepherd to the fight. The next moment Arabelle was in motion, swinging away from the sword and striking out with her own. The sword caught Satar in the side, digging into his flesh. Arabelle saw him stumble and lunge. His dog was on her the same instant and Arabelle felt teeth close on her sword wrist. A flash of black and white charged into the German shepherd's side and the weight was removed. Felix and the dog grappled, snapping and biting though they didn't go for the kill. Arabelle pushed to her feet and lunged at her opponent, kicking low and sweeping his feet out from under him.
Arabelle touched the tip of the sword to Satar's throat and glared at him. Satar threw his weapon aside, a sign of clear defeat. A bell shattered the silence.
"And Farah the Heartless wins!" The man called over the loud speakers.
"Felix, come." Arabelle called. The red haired girl turned away but paused when Peter called to her.
"Who are you?" He asked.
Arabelle glanced back at Peter who was still on his back, eyes wide with shock. A smile curled Arabelle's lips and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm Arabelle.... and your worst nightmare." With that said, Arabelle swept out of the Arena.
"Arabelle, good job." Byron approached Arabelle as she left the tunnel leading from the main Arena. When Arabelle lifted her head, Byron was pleased to see she was relaxed and confident. When Byron had taken Arabelle under his wing so many years ago, he'd been uncertain she was the right one. But Byron was determined to show that girls could fight just as well as guys. Before Arabelle, Byron had trained a series of girls. None had shown the progress he'd wanted. But that day in the market place, Arabelle had stared death in the face with no fear. In a five year old girl, that was more than Amiable. Byron had bought her and been proud.
“Did you expect anything less?” Arabelle asked, lifting one eyebrow confidently. Byron hid his smile, amused by the question. Her intensive training had down nothing to dampen her spirit and even now, she seemed confident and sure of herself. Nodding with satisfaction, Lord Byron led her into the reel melee. The second they stepped from the room where Trainer and fighter are to wait for the start of a match, the reporters surrounded them. “Farah the Heartless! Miss Farah!” They chorused, all trying to get the young girl’s attention.
Laughing, Arabelle lifts one hand and the crowd falls silent instantly. That was the type of response she got from others. “Now, one at a time please. Raise your hand.” Every hand shot up with eagerness and Arabelle pointed to one. “You.” The stout, middle-aged man was trying to look calm, but there was an excited light in his eye nonetheless.
“Yes, Miss Farah-” He began before Arabelle interrupted.
“Farah The Heartless.” She said firmly. She liked her title, because it was true. She was heartless when she went into battle.
“Of course, Farah The Heartless. How does it feel to be the only successful female Gladiator around?” The man asked. Arabelle tilted her head thoughtfully, choosing her words as well has holding the suspense. The reporters leaned forward and seemed to be holding their breath.
“It’s something alright. It truly gives you a sense of power, to know that you’re one of a kind.” She said softly after along minute. “You.” She pointed to a slender woman with Plain Jane features and no real muscle.
“Farah, do you think you will make it to the Junior Gladiator Championship this year?” The woman asked, eyes narrowed as she studied Arabelle. The girl smiled with slow sort of confidence that made everyone around her want to shrink.
“Make it? I plan to win it.” She said. Then, she turned and left them calling her name out, desperate for more answers, a private interview. They were just like the rest. Always wanting something out of her. Byron led his star out into the blinding white sun. The two came out onto a cluttered street, a limo waiting patiently at the curb. Two large men held the crowd back as Byron and Arabelle made their way to the limo and slid in. Once the door was shut firmly, Arabelle turned to the man who had raised her. "Do you think I can do it?" She demanded.
There was no question as to what 'it' was, and Byron wouldn't play dumb with her. He studied the girl that he'd come to think of as a daughter over the long, gruelling years. She had never asked him for anything except food, shelter, and training. Everything else she had, was either a reward he or someone insisted on bestowing on her, or something she'd gotten with her own hard earned money. And yet now, for the first time in her life, she was asking for his honest opinion. She had neve had to ask before, as he wouldn't dream of filling her head with false hope. Byron thought long and hard about the years he'd known the feisty young woman, then he turned a solemn look on her. "There is no doubt in my mind."
