Introduction
Three hundred years from now, the world is very different. The Great War has decimated the human population and left large areas of desolated nuclear wasteland. The war destroyed most of civilisation's infrastructure leading to the Great Fuel Crisis as the world ran desperately short of stocks of fossil fuels. At the same time, global warming has turned most of the earth's surface into desert, and water has become a precious commodity. Large population centres were completely decimated and survivors have been forced out into the wilderness: most now live in areas of jungles, countryside and deserts to avoid the threat of radiation sickness.
The peoples of the world are scattered across the globe and have collected together in gangs or tribes, seeking safety in numbers. As a result, civilisation has regressed to a medieval feudal society where the strong rule over the weak and life can be brutal and short. Selen counted herself lucky to live in a desert town like Taraath which, as well as an elected town council, had its own well and a diesel generator to provide electricity at night.
The sun shone relentlessly from the cloudless blue sky, its harsh light reflecting off the red sandstone walls that seemed to rise straight up out of the baking hot sand of the arid plains. In the far distance vultures lazily circled, effortlessly hanging in the air as they rode the warm currents rising from a rocky outcrop.
The guard stood on top of one of the thick walls, leaning on his shield. He removed his thick leather helmet and mopped the sweat from his brow. It was a market day and from the city-side of the wall he could hear the sounds of the many souks: the loud chattering of the townspeople going about their daily business, traders shouting about their wares, the persistent beggars, excitable dogs barking in the distance. The smell of the town was carried on the warm, dry air: the aroma of exotic spices and roasting meat from the many food stalls made him realise how hungry he was. He shaded his eyes and looked out over the domes and minarets protruding above the dusty roofs. In the middle distance was the biggest market, the slave market, which would be at its busiest this weekend. Beneath him was an area known as "el n'makhta", which roughly translated as "the streets where everything is for sale" in the local dialect. A maze of narrow alleys filled with men in traditional white robes and women in colourful headscarves. Shop owners lurked in shady doorways and tried to lure passers-by into their shops by promising rock bottom prices for precious stones, exotic animals, illicit drugs, home-brewed alcohol, girls of whatever size or colour you wanted. Whatever you needed, you could get it there for the right price.
Outside the thick stone walls, he watched as the tribesmen erected their tents near the cool shade of the ramparts. Beneath him were the Osensi tribe, a small peaceful tribe with thirty or forty white tents that spilled out into the bright sunlight. Further down the wall, he could see the dark red tents of the larger and more hostile Na'inari tribe and beyond that the pale blue tents of the Jalengi. He could see the smoke from the campfires of another three or four tribes camped on the other side of the town walls near the north entrance.
He watched as groups of tribesmen and women gathered outside the large wooden gates of the south entrance. As their numbers swelled, they waved their arms as they shouted up at him impatiently and repeatedly rang the small bell next to the gates. He sighed, took a swig of lukewarm water from his canteen then descended the creaking wooden steps and, along with his colleague, slowly heaved open the gates. It had been like this all day; large numbers of people coming into the town for the annual festival, and the guards had been instructed that every man, woman and camel had to be searched for weapons. The town council was determined that there wasn't to be any fighting between the tribes like last year.
Near the large fountain in the town centre, the early evening sun baked the corrugated tin roof of the bar until it groaned and creaked. Selen could feel the oppressive heat radiating down from it as she served drinks to the hordes of customers. She'd been on her feet since 3 o'clock and was already looking forward to the end of her shift. Because of the extra demand, she'd agreed to work till midnight at twice her usual rate. She noticed the stranger at the end of the bar lean forward and push his empty glass towards her. A group of locals had been drinking since mid-day and they laughed and joked loudly. She had to dodge their outstretched hands as she passed them.
"Come here," laughed one of the swarthy men, "I fancy some white meat for dinner tonight!"
She sighed. It had been like that ever since she left the orphanage and started working here three years ago, her fair skin and blonde hair making her stand out from the darker-skinned locals wherever she was.
"So I hear you're fighting in the tournament tomorrow," the stranger said.
"That's right," Selen said, taking a bottle of the local spirit from under the counter and refilling his glass.
"Hey, didn't I see you fight last year?" he asked.
"Maybe. I competed last year, and the year before. Made it to the final round last year but..." Selen left the words hanging in the air still unable to accept her ultimate defeat.
"That's tough, sounds like you're desperate to get into the academy," he replied.
"Yeah, so I'm trying again this year but if I don't make it maybe I'll just have to accept it's not for me and find something else to do with my life."
Selen looked him up and down as he raised the glass to his lips and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp. It was clear from his toned, athletic build that he was here to fight too, probably one of the many fighters who made a living on the circuit. He was tall with dark eyes and olive-coloured skin. His dark, wiry hair matched his wiry but athletic frame. He looked like the kind of man who had a 'girlfriend' in every town on the fighting circuit.
"So you're a fighter too?" she asked, noting the twinkle in his eyes as he placed his empty glass on the bar.
"Yeah, I've come to town just for the fight tomorrow. I'm hoping to get into the academy too. I'm Hassan by the way," he said, offering his hand.
"Selen" she replied, taking it. He held her hand for a little longer than necessary their eyes meeting across the counter. She couldn't help noticing that despite his name and dark skin, there was something western about his blue/grey eyes and his accent and she wondered if he was mixed race, like her.
"Hey how about some service down here, white meat!" one of the regulars shouted, making Selen jump back and pull her hand free.
"A man could die of thirst around here," he grumbled to no-one in particular as she refilled his glass.
---
After the war, society had regressed and become more brutal, and primitive sports like boxing and wrestling had become increasingly popular. Especially in desert areas where outdoor sports simply weren't practical. The academy was the town school for gladiators, split into male and female halves. Once they graduated, even ordinary professional fighters could make a comfortable living. The top fighters were idolised by fans and could earn huge amounts of money. This made the schools very popular and usually students could only get in by buying a scholarship, which meant that most places went to teenagers with wealthy parents. If you were poor, the only way of getting in was to win one of the qualifying tournaments and this was Selen's last chance this year. Her only chance to get away from doing this demeaning bar work and do what she felt she was born to do. She was already twenty-two and she felt time was slipping away.
This weekend was the highlight of the annual festival of light. There had been street markets all week and the town was packed with traders from all over the country, including the elders of all the local tribes. Tomorrow, there was the big slave market and on Sunday there was a big music and dance event. But tomorrow evening was the highlight: the wrestling competition at the arena attached to the academy.
Selen had been busy all week, training hard and working extra hours as the bar owner had promised to pay her double her usual rate. He had plenty of money right now. He'd rented out all the rooms behind the bar at treble the standard rate, including hers, so she was staying with her sister at the moment.
As the evening came, the temperature dropped from very hot to just hot. As the customers thinned out Hassan pushed his empty glass across the bar shaking his head when she offered him a refill.