Chapter 35: Riot

There was an uproar as the announcer declared the melee over. Michael pushed his way to the edge of the seating and leaped down, rolling forward to keep the fall from hurting him. A few moderators closed on him quickly, but he held up his hand, willing it to heal so that it would glow gold. “I’m a healer, I just wanted to treat them quickly so you can get them out of here!” he yelled. The moderators nodded, and moved to stop another jumper that had the opposite of Michael’s goal. Michael reached Pyotr first, sliding in the dirt at the last moment as he placed his healing hand on him and willed divine energy through it. He watched as the bruises faded and cuts sealed. He could also sense a number of small fractures and cracked teeth coming back together. When he was done he slapped Pyotr a couple times to get him to stir as he moved over to Davi. A few more recruits had jumped down, eager to take vengeance for their friend’s losses, but the moderators were doing a good job keeping them at bay. Their professionalism keeping them on task even though they seemed just as unhappy about the results of the melee. When Davi was healed too, Michael gave him a few pats on the shoulder, and went to help Pyotr stand. He had some difficulty, Michael's healing couldn't fix exhaustion, but he managed to steady himself enough to help with Davi. They both helped the large man to his feet and started moving toward where the other defeated contestants had been taken. At that moment a few of the crowd that had been pushing against the moderators managed to get through. Michael stepped in front of Davi and Pyotr, squaring up as he did so, but before he could take any action, the horn was blown again. All of the yelling, and jeering, ceased as everyone felt the horn rattle them to their bones. MIchael turned to look at the source of it, and instead of the announcer from earlier, it was general Achen, his face a bit purple from blowing the horn. “Hold!” he yelled, with such clarity and force that it echoed across the entirety of the field without any magical assistance. The crowd listened, and everyone looked at him. “Attention!” he yelled, and every single recruit’s training kicked in at that moment, with all of them snapping their heels together and placing a fist over their hearts with a perfect snapping motion. With everyone’s complete attention, the general spoke more softly, but still in such a way that his voice perfectly carried across the field. “The Melee has completed. The Penitent has won. We will not dishonor the Festival by going against a fair outcome. If you don’t wish to be beaten by irregulars, then you should’ve fought harder.” He was silent for a few moments, to let what he’d said sink in. “It is now time for food, and drink. The first round of jousts is after that. If you wish to regain any perceived loss of honor, earn it in your studies, or by bravery in the battlefield.” He again paused briefly, still seemingly catching his breath from blowing the horn. “Dismissed!” The crowd listened, throwing choice words at the irregulars as they turned around, but taking no action toward them. Those who’d jumped into the arena either climbed back up or sheepishly made their way toward the same exits the competitors had used, guided by the moderators. Michael moved back to help Davi and Pyotr who had taken fighting stances too, in spite of how tired they were. He guided them all the way to the infirmary, where a number of the other competitors already were. He flagged down Marta, the medic he’d first met when he started healing, who was in the midst of setting a broken bone. She looked at him, and set the bone even as she smiled and walked toward him. “Here to make my job easier?” she asked. “Well I know you need time for reading.” She chuckled, and looked over Davi and Pyotr. “Looks like they’ve been healed, but are still tired and dehydrated. I’ll make them a draught and take care of them. As long as you get to work.” Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Michael smiled and nodded, then started to work his way from bed to bed. Most of those who’d been injured accepted his healing without difficulty, it was hard to refuse healing when one was truly in pain he’d noticed, but most didn’t thank him, and one actually spat on his face rather than let him touch her to heal a broken finger. He was wiping it away when he returned to check on his friends. Davi was awake, but Pyotr’s eyes were closed, though he didn't seem to be asleep. “How do you stomach healing them?” asked Davi. “So many of them are ungrateful.” Michael shrugged. “I can’t stand to see kids in pain. Or anyone really. Besides, the medics have been overall kind to me, and even to you and the other irregulars. I don’t think that would’ve been the case if I hadn’t been making their jobs easier.” Davi looked thoughtful. “I get it. You do what you can even if people are assholes about it.” He turned his head to look out one of the nearest windows. He hadn’t spoken much about his work as a police officer in Rio, but Michael had the distinct impression it wasn’t the easiest time, particularly considering how he’d died. “That was a great fight,” said Michael leaning back in his chair and catching his breath. Davi smiled wide. “It was, wasn’t it? It felt good to really cut loose like that. Surprised we won though.” Pyotr shrugged, "I think the best students are mostly waiting to be in the team games at the end. We had the dregs that couldn't find a team to fight." Davi shook his head. "You should be saying it's because of how incredible we are." Pyotr chuckled. "Well, that too." Michael looked at both Davi and Pyotr, focusing for a few moments. “Looks like both of you earned a Deed.” “Oh?” asked Davi. “Your is Victor of the Festival of Blades Melee, and Pyotr’s is Battle Brother.” “What do they do?” asked Davi. “I can’t tell for sure, I’ve only been able to read things at a deeper level for myself and a handful of other people, but I’d guess that yours grants you greater strength and Pyotr’s benefits him when he’s watching someone’s back.” “That will basically always be working for him then.” Michael nodded. “Almost certainly.” He took a long deep breath and looked around. A few moderators had appeared in the infirmary, as had a few of the guards set to watch Penitents. “You think you’ll be okay if I leave? I don’t want to risk more trouble finding you.” Davi chuckled. “It’ll be less likely to find us without you here, given your history.” “True. I’ll make sure Marta gets you both some food, and I’ll let you know how the jousts go.” Davi shrugged. “I couldn’t give a shit about the jousts, but visit anyway.” Pyotr seemed to have fallen asleep. Michael nodded, and walked out of the infirmary with one of the guards in tow. Only taking a moment to heal and check on Lee, Iqbal, and Ogun who had all been in the melee as well. They'd done well, but got ganged up on too quickly to recover. Lee had actually been on of the Penitents that had first accosted him when he'd arrived, but as things settled the cliques had become a bit less uniform and they'd all gotten a bit friendlier. Lee wasn't a bad person necessarily, just acting out of fear in a strange new place. Michael would heal him without question, though he may go a little harder against him and the other when they sparred. He wasn't perfect. After a quick meal, Michael watched the first round of jousts with Ollie and Marcus, finding that much like Davi, he didn’t consider it very interesting. Sure the jousts themselves could provide a bit of excitement. The smashing of a lance against a shield, or sound of a body in full armor slamming onto the ground as his horse continues running in front of him, but between all that was a lot of setup. They seemed to operate on a series of traditions that Michael was not familiar with and had difficulty following. Some of the jousters would receive favors from the crowd, both from men and women, and they would announce their lineage, then make bold claims in front of the general. There was a lot of pageantry, but it just wasn’t holding his interest after the fifth or sixth time, and it took about as much, if not more, time as the jousts themselves. There were no Penitent jousters, as their horsemanship training was sorely lacking in comparison to those from this world, and even among the recruits the majority of the jousters seemed to be made up of those from noble backgrounds rather than those whose families had earned them a spot a potential knights in the academy through meritorious service. Michael had hoped the whole event would feel like a callback to “A Knight’s Tale”, but it turned out real jousts just weren’t as interesting, particularly without the amazing soundtrack propping them up. He wondered for a moment if maybe the lead in that move had wound up reincarnated too. Or any other celebrities or famous people for that matter. He toyed with that idea for the rest of the joust, and then spent the evening helping Pyotr and Davi back to their bunks and enjoying a bit of Marcus’s homemade hooch to help celebrate their victory before laying in bed himself with his head spinning a bit. After another day of jousting it would be his turn to be in that arena with a group of people that seemed to mostly tolerate him, and in one case despise him. With what had happened with the melee, he was certain that he’d be the only one among them with a target on his back.