Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

quiet. I can hear Chagra’s low whine above the excited whisperings of the crowd; it sounds just as anxious as I am. Father smiles at the crowd. He doesn’t have Farren’s charm, but the people won’t mind on a Match day. “Begin the games!” he shouts, throwing his arms wide like he’s welcoming the slaughter.
    The crowd roars their approval, and a small man is shoved into the arena through a gate. The man looks bewildered, and he throws his hand over his eyes, despite the overcast sky. I wince as he stumbles toward a corner, the absolute worst place to be. He’s squinting, and it’s obvious that he’s been in the dark prison for too long; he’s sun-blinded.
    The man frantically waves around his short spear, but Chagra hardly seems impressed. I can’t blame the beast. The man is short and skinny, and he’s already having a hard time keeping the spear held aloft.
    The crowd starts up their chant again, growing louder as Chagra swiftly stalks toward the man.
    It only takes about five seconds. Chagra bats away the man’s spear with a paw, sending it tumbling out of reach. The man blinks a few times and looks toward his fallen weapon, but doesn’t try to retrieve it. His face is panicked, like he’s not even sure what he is doing here.
    Chagra is on him in a second. The man screams as the beast tears its claws into him, slicing open his stomach. He gets one last chance to glance down and watch his own blood pour from the wound. Then Chagra leaps forward and takes the man’s head in his jaws. One jerk and a little twist, and it decapitates the man.
    Chagra drops the head, and it rolls a few feet in the dust of the arena. Below me, people stand from their seats, clapping their approval.
    This is the worst part of the Match, the part that makes my gut churn and a cold sweat break out on my skin. Chagra won’t eat the man; it’s not a natural cycle of hunter and prey. The beast kills simply because of the rage that raises its hackles and draws deep growls from its throat.
    It’s hunter and victim. It’s sick entertainment.
    Another prisoner is pushed out the gate. He grips a longsword and squints against the sun, taking in his surroundings. Unlike the previous man, he holds his weapon in a balanced grip, like he knows how to use it.
    The crowd quiets, waiting for Chagra to make its first move. The man blinks a couple times, his eyes now adjusted to the light, and holds his sword ready at his side. He’s the opposite of the previous prisoner: Tanned skin, broad build, tall. And he carries himself in an almost regal manner.
    I startle, recognizing that manner: Lor. He’s finally being put to death for trespassing on this continent.
    Chagra slinks around Lor, trying to herd him into a corner. But Lor moves into the open. He hefts his sword, pointing it at Chagra, the tip of the weapon following the beast as it paces back and forth.
    Murmurs rise in the crowd, growing louder as Lor shifts into a balanced stance. His posture screams of long years spent training.
    No one chants for Chagra anymore. The people always find unfair fights to be interesting, but Lor is a true challenge to Chagra, and now the crowd is silent with excited tension. Beside me, Father leans forward in his chair, his lips tightly pursed in a frown, his hands gripping at the armrests. Chagra has survived more Matches than I can count; he’s been pitted against Contenders for over two years.
    He’s the crowd’s favorite. He’s Father’s favorite. And now Lor poses a threat to the beast.
    Footsteps approach from behind. “Should I have the watch guards put an arrow through the prisoner, my Lord?” asks Jolik.
    I hold my breath as I wait for an answer. It’s not unheard of for a guard to end a prisoner’s life before Chagra does. Mostly, it’s done when Chagra doesn’t quite finish his job, and leaves the contender ripped open and screaming in agony. A quick arrow to the chest is convenient then, to keep the crowd from getting too unsettled.
    “No,” Father replies, his voice pensive. “Let the prisoner live for now. But if he gives Chagra too much trouble, then give the order. I want that beast kept alive.”
    Pride creeps into his words. I often wonder why Father is so proud of Chagra, when he didn’t do anything to help catch the beast. I once heard Father explain that because his army captured Chagra, and because he controls that army, that he should receive the credit.
    For a king, Father often says very stupid