Chapter 17 - And now?

"How do you feel?" the tall man asked, breaking Putt's anxious thoughts. How did he feel? "Shall I carry some of that for you?" The man motioned towards the two backpacks Putt was struggling with. The weight was considerable, and Putt reluctantly handed one over. The man took both with ease.
"Thank you, sir," Putt mumbled, trying to mask his nervousness.
"Don't mention it," the man replied as they continued walking. "Is Avia your master?"
"No. Grandmother," Putt corrected, his voice small. The man's arms and face were covered with scars, and despite his intimidating appearance, Putt felt a strange sense of safety. Maybe it was because the battle marks reminded him of his granny. His mind was a whirlwind, and he longed for a sense of normalcy.
"I'm an orphan. She tried to have me as her apprentice. But it didn't work out," Putt added, feeling the need to explain more about himself.
"Why?" the man asked, his tone curious but kind.
"I... I did everything wrong, I guess," Putt hesitated. He wasn't sure if it was wise to confide in a stranger, but the burden of his thoughts was too heavy to bear alone. He didn't understand the world he lived in anymore, and it was exhausting.
"So what plans does she have for you now?" the man inquired, his question loaded with unspoken implications.
Putt's heart sank. "She lost today, didn't she?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"Yes," the man confirmed softly.
Putt's heart pounded. He didn't dare ask the next question. Hope clung to the idea that this man wouldn't have fetched him if Avia were dead. "Well... Then she doesn't have a plan, I guess. If she had won, she would have used the money to put me in the wizard's school."
The man walked beside him in silence. Putt hoped his granny wouldn't mind him sharing these details with a stranger. She probably would, but he needed to talk to someone. And what did it matter? They would move on soon, and he wouldn't see this man again. If she was alive. He dared not think otherwise. Besides, she blamed him for so much it was hard to remember what he was allowed to do.
"Do wizards exist for real?" he asked, the question spilling out in his uncertainty. He had never heard of any wizards, and as a farmer, what use did he have for magic?
"A few," the man answered.
"And they really do magic? And not just tricks?"
"Tricks are useful too, but yes, they can do real magic," the man replied confidently, as if he had seen it firsthand.
"Does the school exist?" Putt's voice wavered, filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."
"What can a wizard do?" Putt murmured, more to himself than to the man towering over him.
"Relax. You'll soon be by your grandmother's side. She is hard to kill, you know," the man reassured him.
Putt clung to those words. The man’s confidence in Avia’s survival was a small but significant comfort. As they walked, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease, but he tried to trust in the stranger's words.



When Avia woke up, she found herself in the room where she had waited before the fight. The bed was soft and comfortable, and Putt was by her side, gently pressing a cold, wet rag against her forehead and cheeks. Confusion washed over her. What had happened? She remembered the fight, the adrenaline, and the certainty of victory.   "Granny? Are you feeling better?" Putt asked, his voice filled with concern.
Avia blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind. In her last memory, she had felt triumphant, success coursing through her veins. "You lost a lot of blood," Putt continued. "They said you fainted in the arena."
Of course. Loss of blood. She was no longer young; her body couldn't handle the damage like it used to. A wave of frustration and sadness washed over her. "I hate being old," she whispered.
"What did you say, Granny?"
"I lost the fight," she repeated, her voice tinged with bitterness. But she was alive and being cared for. "What happened? Why am I here?"
"You were already here when I came. You've been out for two days. Are you hungry?"
Despite everything, Avia couldn't help but smile at his sweet concern. "No, dear, not yet."
"I was asked to get the man who brought me here when you woke up. Shall I get him now?"
Raborast, no doubt. She might as well sort things out now. She nodded, and Putt left.
As he left, she gingerly examined her wounds. They were bandaged well and didn't cause much pain unless she pressed on them. Her left shoulder was the worst, with her upper arm fixed tightly to her torso. She sighed, feeling the limitations of her body keenly.
She realized she was thirsty and wished she had asked Putt for water before he left. However, he wasn't gone for long. When he returned, it wasn't with Raborast as she had expected but with Bahadur, her opponent. She stared at him, surprised.
"Good to see you’ve got some color back in your cheeks," he grinned.
"Did you arrange this for me?" she asked, shocked. Bahadur nodded. "Why?"
He shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You had me. I owe my life to your loss of blood. Besides, you saved one of your opponents the day before our fight. I didn't feel it was a fair death for a great warrior like you to be fed to the beasts."
Avia was deeply moved by his gesture, an unusual feeling for her. "Thank you. And congratulations on the win."
"My pleasure."
"And mine too!" Putt stepped forward, holding out his hand to Bahadur. "You saved my grandmother's life. I owe you my gratitude for the rest of my life."
Avia couldn't help but smile at Putt's earnestness. Bahadur smiled warmly and shook the boy's hand. "Guess we're all winners then, in a way," Bahadur beamed. "The deal is that you stay until you feel you can continue wherever you want to go. You and the boy get what you need to survive. If you need me, Raborast knows where to find me. Otherwise, you'll likely not see me again. You're the greatest warrior I have ever faced, and I wish we had met in another place." He bowed to her. "I wish you good luck in your life, Avia."
"Thank you. You fought well, Bahadur. I'm glad your child still has a father. Keep it that way."
"I intend to," he replied, his voice filled with determination.



Raborast leaned back in his large, leather-bound chair, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he counted the evening's earnings. The fights had been more lucrative than he could have anticipated. Avia and Bahadur had drawn a massive crowd, their names now whispered with awe and excitement throughout Posita. The bets had flowed in like a river, and he had made a small fortune.
He took a deep swig from his goblet, savoring the rich, heady taste of victory. Fighters who lived through their battles were a rare commodity, and they always drew larger crowds. People came for the blood, but they stayed for the legends. He knew the value of a fighter who could walk away from the arena; it built anticipation for the next fight, kept the spectators hungry for more.
Yet, despite the wealth he now held in his hands, a nagging sense of disappointment gnawed at him. Avia's display of compassion towards her young opponent in the first fight had left a sour taste in his mouth. She had spared the boy, a move that might have endeared her to some, but it had also deprived the audience of a complete spectacle. There had been something for the beasts to chew on, sure, but it wasn't enough. The crowd craved the finality of death, the raw end that left nothing to the imagination.
Then came Bahadur's mercy. When he had carried Avia away after she collapsed from blood loss, it robbed the spectators of the epilogue they so eagerly awaited. No final, brutal blow, no last-minute twist of fate. Just an unfinished battle, a legend saved by an act of compassion. It was good for the fighters, but bad for business.
He respected Avia's skill and admired her prowess, but her refusal to push herself to the limit, to embrace the brutality of the arena, was a flaw he couldn't overlook. He had watched her performance with critical eyes. She had fought well, no doubt about that. But when she saved the young opponent and later fainted from blood loss, it had left the audience divided. Some saw her as a hero; others, like Raborast, saw weakness.
Her actions might have saved a life, but they had cost him potential drama, the kind of spectacle that kept people coming back, craving more violence and suffering. Fighters helping each other, showing mercy, was bad for business. It undermined the brutal nature of the sport, made the audience question the authenticity of the violence. He couldn't afford to have his fighters seen as anything less than ruthless warriors.
Raborast had not visited Avia and her grandson since the fights. He had no interest in their well-being, beyond how it might affect his business. The boy, Putt, was a nonentity to him, just another piece on the chessboard of his arena. His focus was on maintaining the allure of the arena, ensuring that fighters knew their place. Compassion had no place in his world; it was a liability, a threat to the very essence of what made the fights profitable.
As he sat there, pondering the delicate balance of life and death that kept his arena thriving, Raborast resolved to keep a closer eye on his fighters. Mercy was a weakness, one he could not allow to spread. The arena was a place of suffering and survival, and he intended to keep it that way, no matter the cost. That Bahadur would never work for him again, that was for certain.



"All these efforts, and we're still just where we started," Avia complained. She hated how whiny she sounded, but she honestly didn't know what to do. They were still in the room by the arena, though she knew it was time for them to leave soon. Her injuries were healing, and she could use her right arm without much effort now.
But where should they go? What should she do with her grandson? If she just kept him along, he would become an adult without a proper profession and unable to support himself.
They took a walk in the city, partly to see if she could manage to return to her vagabond life soon and partly to search for a specific kind of shop. She guessed it would be near one of the main streets, around the corner from the bustling center. Eventually, she spotted the door to a shop for magic potions. No matter the city, they were always so predictable.
Inside, the shop's walls were dressed in light wood, and the floor was solid gray stone. A bell announced their entrance. Avia turned and saw a little brass bell hanging over the door, which rang again when she closed it. Not bad, she thought.
A woman appeared a moment later, looking every bit the part of a magic potion shop owner with beads in her hair, odd and worn clothes in many layers, and long fingernails. Avia couldn't help but wonder if those nails were real; they seemed impractical.
"Good evening. How can I be of service to you?" the woman asked.
"With information," Avia replied, getting straight to the point. "What does it take for this boy to become a student at the wizard's school? You went there, I presume."
"Certainly, I did." The woman scanned Putt. "Does he even have any talent for magic?"
"How do I know if he has?" Avia asked.
The shop owner turned and went to the back of the store, returning with two bottles. She uncorked one and held it out to Putt.
"What does this smell like to you?"
Putt stepped forward, grabbed the bottle, and sniffed suspiciously. "Fresh grass. Wood." His face lit up with a smile. "A field of ripe wheat in the wind."
The woman took the bottle back and gave him the other. "And this?"
He smelled it but jerked back. "Rotten. Like a bad egg."
The shop owner corked both bottles. "Don't bother to take him there. He's a farmer all the way to his bones."
"If I do anyway, how much money do they want?" Avia insisted.
"They won't accept him. Not without talent. Will you pay me for this?"
Avia left a coin on the counter and left. They returned to their room at the arena and ate dinner, though neither had much appetite. Finally, Avia said, "We pack and leave tomorrow morning."
"To go where?" Putt asked.
"The wizard's school."
"But..." Putt started.
Avia held up her hand. "It's a long way there. We’ll think of something. We need to get moving anyway. We might as well head in that direction as anywhere else."