Somewhere in the Deep by Tanvi Berwah
Somewhere in the Deep by Tanvi Berwah
Today, I have, blood streaming down my face and dripping onto the packed ground below, is not the day I die.
The monster I’m fighting— a red stygic— has annoyingly similar thoughts.
It screeches madly, swiping a claw at me, and I leap back. Just not in time. Red warmth fountains out from my shoulder, a small gap between my armor and helm. I skid across its belly, knifing the skin as I go. And swear. The belly is hardened, protected by strong, natural armor. My knife does it no harm. I’ll have to go in for the kill if I don’t want to end up with its fangs through my spine.
The spectators around the pit roar in unison, enjoying the game of blood, and urge me and the stygic both to fight fight fight!
And this monster takes them a little too seriously.
A long claw swipes at me. I roll down onto the packed ground and avoid getting skewered. But the stygic kicks me hard. I spin backward. Slam against the wall of the pit arena. A brassy ringing tears through my head at the impact, and despite the armored protection, pain surges throughout my body. If I wasn’t wearing the helm, I’d be 2 lying on the ground with my skull cracked open. What a sight that would be for these bloodthirsty leeches in the audience. I clutch my knives and push myself up, my vision unsteady. Up in the stands, deafening cheers echo across the space.
Dark Dancer! Dark Dancer!
I know what the crowd wants. They want me to kill it but not easily. That’s what this is. A playground of death. These people come here to bet on gore and ruin, and I can’t sabotage the show.
I throw my hands into the air, the blades gleaming gold from the flames in the braziers, and grin at them with bloodstained teeth. Give them a show, Krescent, Badger always says. And the moron is right; the stands explode with applause.
I grip my knives and face the stygic through the growing haze in my mind.
What a magnificently gross beast. It’s a bony amphibian, and its whole body is covered in deep red scales. Its large head accommodates four eyes, each blinking separately, and the mouth full of long, sharp teeth that are constantly grinding against a skinless jaw. A slender body is held up by six hardened-looking claws that double as limbs. And at the rear, there’s a scorpion-like tail that has a stinger.
The monster makes a horrible keening noise.
And suddenly charges to the left of the arena—away from me. I look around to see what it’s going for. The sudden spurt of venom from its tail cuts so close I hear the burning hiss of the substance as it eats away at the sand. Startled, I trip backward. From this vantage, I see the red-black venom creating a hole in the ground.
Damn it, Badger. How did you get this devil thing into the arena?
I haven’t given the creature a single scratch, and yet it has me soaked in blood. It rears its head, cries loudly, and charges at me. I take a stance. The dancer’s stance. I throw a knife. The stygic dodges cleanly and whips its tail, sweeping me off-balance. I land on my 3 back against the ground. Two of the stygic’s claws land on either side of me, and it screams in my face. The razor-sharp fangs enclose a black hole so deep I could vanish inside.
Before I can move, it lunges.
Forgetting my knives, I grab hold of its jaw. The serrated edges of the bones cut through my skin. The weight is too much. It pushes down. So close. I can see the veins running at the back of its mouth. The foul, fleshy smell is overwhelming.
The fangs crack hard against my helm. The stygic is too strong. My arms buckle under the pressure, and the fangs clamp around the helm. Panic grabs me as I stare down the stygic’s throat again.
No—I can’t be swallowed whole. It’s the worst death I can think of. Darkness.
Screaming, I start punching the sides of the creature’s face. It howls, startled as it lets go of me, and scuttles back. I cough and cough, drinking in the stale, liquor-drenched air of the pit, my heart beating madly against my rib cage. Bile rises in my throat. The inside of my head turns into molasses.
The stygic thumps the ground with its front claws. It’s only now I notice how the walls have spatters of dried blood too. Did the last fighter not yield? Did they die?
Such a brutal death…and all just for fun.
I grasp for my knives but I only have one left. The rest are scattered across the pit, helpless.
My knees tremble.
The stygic shakes its head, whips its tail side to side, and then rushes at me.
I position myself, holding the knife out in front of me. Today’s not the day I die. I promised Rivan—
The stygic brings down both its front claws. I dart out of the way.
Frustrated, the large beast turns, graceless.
And I am a dancer. A swirl to the right, a swirl to the left. The dancer’s way. The stygic rushes after me, stumbles, and I launch myself at it and land on the back of its long neck. The soft area where I punched it in the head is still red. That’s its weakness.
I cling to the stygic. It bucks, raises its claws, and hits at the walls, but I refuse to let my grip slide. Instead, I stab at the top of its soft head. I stab and I stab. Blue blood spurts out—into my face and my mouth. I’m screaming and stabbing. Every muscle in my body lusting after the death of this creature.
Finally, the stygic collapses, and I roll off it unceremoniously.
A breath of relief mixed with regret tinged in blue blood as I rise, victorious.
Today is not the day I die.
Tanvi Berwah is a South Asian writer who grew up wanting to touch the stars and reach back in time. She has a Master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Delhi. Her debut YA novel MONSTERS BORN AND MADE, a book that has something to say and isn’t afraid to say it to your face (Lightspeed Magazine), and the follow-up SOMEWHERE IN THE DEEP, which skillfully examines issues of class, colonialism, and greed (Publisher’s Weekly), are out now. Find her at tanviberwah.com.
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