The Magical Arena: Slave to the Arena

By L. A. Atkinson Turner

The ancient scriptures tell of a child who would carry the favour of the God's. A promise forgotten by most, now lost in decaying parchment and dusty scrolls.

A child living a simple life is befriended by an old man, after which his life is thrown into chaos

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maple Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781915492814

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The Magical Arena Series (Book 1) Slave to the Arena

Author: L. A. Atkinson - Turner

Copyright © L. A. Atkinson - Turner (2022)

The right of L. A. Atkinson - Turner to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First Published in 2022

ISBN 978-1-915492-79-1 (Paperback)

978-1-915492-80-7 (Hardback)

978-1-915492-81-4 (E-book)

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Book cover design by: Katerina Danailova

Book cover layout by: Paul McCaffrey

Book Layout by: Maple Publishers

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A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated by any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Written by L. A. Atkinson - Turner

Edited by Annie Jenkinson

Dedicated to my brother

Andrew Turner

31.08.1975

10.11.2013

R.I.P

CONTENTS

The Ages 5

Prologue 11

The Priestess and the Prince 13

The Desert 33

The Battlefield 52

The Return Home 75

The Lonely Child 87

The Roundhouse 115

The Four Mercenaries 132

The Village Moves 156

A Strange Town 178

The Volk Camp 202

Lansdow 218

Old Friends 241

Flight and Rescue 262

The Collar 296

The Grey Wizard 307

The Betrayal 324

The Ages

1st Age: The Begining

In the beginning, there was nothing, only the positive and negative cohabiting the vastness of space. In time unrecorded, the positive energies, finding themselves alike, banded together to cause a great light within the void of the universe.

2nd Age: Navanna

Navanna was the light of life who, through thought, drew a great breath that lit the stars. The stars in turn brought light into the vastness of space, and warmth was thrust out to the very farthest reaches. And within the warmth of the positive light, thought was given life.

3rd Age: The Gods

Four Gods were they: Iskandor for creation, Policiday for strength, Zelentious for wisdom, and Athena for love. These were the children of the one pure light, and with the universe at their feet, they yawned and stretched. Other demigods were created by the children of the pure light, demigods in both name and image, who served the children born of the one true light.

4th Age: The World

The Gods reached out further to create the planets: Mars of desolation, Jupiter of ice, Neptune of iron, and the Earth, a world of water. Within this world, a great land was created where beast and man roamed free without fear and were pure in heart and soul. Navanna was pleased, for his children understood the principles of goodness and purity.

5th Age: The Great Library

The Gods, in turn, created the great halls of knowledge and within the great land, a library that held the secrets of life, humanity, and the Athenal dimensions. Navanna, the light, smiled and was pleased at the unselfish manner of his children.

6th Age: Darkness

The Gods were pleased with their creations but Iskandor wanted to expand his realm beyond the lands, seizing the Great Library. Through promises, greed and jealousy, a dark moon soared, bringing long shadows spewing forth sorrow and pain, and beasts became twisted in torment, hiding themselves within the timeless caverns below the earth. Protected by Iskandor, these new hideous creations bred and writhed in the shape of three legions, towards the great land. So came the age of chaos.

7th Age: Chaos

Oh, how they prayed, and oh, how they pleaded while families were mercilessly slaughtered. How they begged for the gods to hear their prayers and drive the evil from their lands. Mountains crashed and temples erupted. The seas vanished and the howling winds tore cities asunder. Humanity was battered and smashed until in the end, they lost everything as the hills, caves and deserts became their refuge. Through the chaotic darkness, the goddess heard their cries for light. So the age of chaos passed over into the age of might.

8th Age: Might

As the Gods fought with vicious ferocity, fire and ice clashed under darkening skies, and new beings, never before seen, emerged from the plains of death. Out of the shells of perished lives and dismembered beasts, the Nomads came forth, built of magic, fashioned in the eternal ways of the demigods. With Nomadic skills and Athenal power, they fought while cities smouldered, and so many atrocities were committed that man became undone. But in the depths of darkness there was fear and quaking. Two words were whispered from shapeless lips: Navanna’s legions!

9th Age: Judgement

One hundred Titan legions had Navanna so handed to Policiday, god of strength. The orbit of Mars moved aside and the rivers of the world flowed with blood; the universe shook as the mighty legions crashed with those of Iskandors’. Volcanoes erupted, quaking and cracking the earth.

The mountain ranges burst open and forests disintegrated to dust. Just as the swirling mists cleared and light dawned victorious over the torn horizons, his armies wavering, Iskandor bowed his hideous head in judgement of his terrible deeds. With poisoned eyes and malignant treachery, he waited and watched as the black, foul-smelling caverns froze and time slowed. In the darkest of shadows, he waited, like a poised beast, for the coming of Policiday.

10th Age: Deceit

Born of the stars was Policiday of strength, the champion of the one pure light. His armour shone radiantly like the stars themselves. Proud and erect, he rode over the remains of beaten lands, but Iskandorıs’ herald was untrue. The seeds of deceit had been sown and Policiday fell from the skies as a ball of flames into the timeless pits within the bowels of the earth, and was forever lost.

11th Age: Wrath

The universe shuddered as the wrath of the great Navanna bellowed forth at the loss of a son, and in anger blew out the brightest of the stars that lit the known worlds. The universe was plunged into a depth of darkness never before known.

Through the darkness, Navanna extended his wrath, banishing Iskandor for his evil ways, imprisoning all his creations in eternal pain, for infinity within the realms of darkness. Then Navanna turned his back on the torn earth, casting it aside from begotten memory, forsaking its future and its past.

12th Age: Forgiveness and Love

It was Athena, Goddess of love and beauty who heard the cries from the darkness. Only Athena heard the weeping and sorrow in men’s hearts; loud were the wailing and pleas of humanity as she turned to face the dying world.

She alone, with forgiveness and love, nursed the world in her arms, restoring the smouldering fields of battle and healing the bleeding wounds, to the point of forsaking her own existence.

13th Age: Restoration

Through the howling winds she rode, spreading a mother’s calm and tranquil peace. Through the darkening lands she tore, bringing light to the scarred and bleeding corners of the earth, and slowly, oh, so very slowly, life began to emerge, growing out of the foul slime and decay of a rabid, torn land.

As stormy seas calmed and molten volcanoes silenced, she rode on golden shores within the dreams of man. Once more, the sun rose and sank each day, and the races of humanity drew a new breath, coming forth bold and brave under a starry night sky in a new and wondrous world.

The lands grew stronger and the seasons rich, until she had no more to give, transforming into a whispering breeze in the cool night air. But before she passed over into her own realm, she gave humanity three parting gifts.

The first. A Great Library, guarded by priestesses and housing a wise bookkeeper, caretaker of the Akashic records’. The library contained a plethora of great volumes on the lives of men and the future of mankind, so that they may grow wise and strong.

The second. A warning. Three times would the trumpets sound, and three times would the forces of the anti-light crash against the shores of men. Three times should man spill his neighbour’s blood.

The third. A promise. During a planetary alignment, one would be born with virtue and hope in his heart, for he would carry the favour of the Gods and lay waste the dark ones of war.

14th Age: The Trumpets of War

Man grew strong and fearless within this bold new age.

Men were created of good heart and brave deeds and hailed as heroes. Nations were formed and kings were crowned. Cities grew into empires, and trade flourished. All were bought and sold with a new language of silver and gold, while in the great dark caverns of the earth, darkness swelled, for it sensed men’s greed.

Forgotten were the ancient evils and a promise made to them long ago. They ignored the once respected priestess and the wisdom of the Nomads, the Great Library so violated and its knowledge misused and misunderstood. Trumpets sang with great discord and reverberations of conflicts echoed through nations.

Men cursed their Gods and put their faith into the mechanics of war. Under the clash of steel, they did not notice the alignment of planets, nor did they hear the cry of a newborn child, frightened and alone.

Prologue

Slave to the Arena

My name is Matos, scribe to the city of Crackash, keeper of all its ancient writings and guardian to its Great Library. Once again, I find myself sitting in repose at a wooden table within my stone chambers. Blank parchments are laid out before me, and my ageing hands grip a faithful quill. I pray that my writings are not in vain, for I have a story to tell, a story that will make men weep with the injustices of such suffering and hardship.

Yet so shall they also fill your heart with joy and hope, and make you believe once again in what was once lost. Here I sit, alone in my solitude, the advancing shadow of darkness ebbing ever closer. So much I understand has gone before me, created by Gods and witnessed by men. Yet there is little now that Gods or men can do to stem the ravaging tides and save what little we have left. For the war of the 8th Age of Might continues in secret, fought between Gods and now handed down to man, which at its height almost annihilated all life.

For you, I present my work which I have systematically pieced together from foreign tongues, secret parchments and ancient scrolls. Over time and under constant fear, I have translated and decoded the histories of humanity leading up to these dark days. These writings I have called The Ages, written so you may understand the histories of the Gods and the beginning of mankind. It will explain why we are at war and why the Gods have sent a saviour, a boy, the one people now call The Light Bringer.

I ask you this one question before you read this extraordinary tale.

Do you believe that one pure heart can change the fate of a whole world?

Do you conceive it is possible that a child could defy an empire, or one simple slave stand against the might of legions?

The fate of the free world hangs in the balance as we stand poised here, at the edge of oblivion. Now, Tarn legions and Volk battle hordes lay waste to lands, and the whole existence of the free nations hangs precariously on a knife edge. I fear the magical factions that wage savage and unrelenting war between the traits, igniting an age-old conflict which no mortal man can comprehend. This war between the forces of light and dark is threatening to destroy the very fabric of our existence. But through this haze of gloom and despair, there is a light that shines, a solitary voice crying out, alone in the wilderness. Only he can bring hope to what is left of our beleaguered world and turn back the tide of war.

For you to understand all, I will start where all good stories must start.. at the beginning of an alignment of planets, when an innocent child was born. Yes, I shall start my tale at the very beginning when the hope of light had just been brought forth into our world!

Chapter 1

The Priestess and the Prince

A young woman picked up sticks for firewood, occasionally picking up a piece and then discarding it as too small or too big, too thick or too thin. Her long hair was blonde and tangled, and her once white full-length robe had been turned grey from countless rough washes. All the time, she kept glancing up at the fragile little hut made of roughly hewn stone blocks, set against a small cliff face some twenty feet high. Its stone structure blended well against the rock face, and her young blue eyes remained active and alert for any sign of danger. An eagle circled overhead, and she marvelled at its grace, gliding against a clear blue sky. She momentarily wondered what the view would be from so high up; in truth, she had seen the bird many times and wondered if it had a nest nearby, with a range of coloured eggs and maybe even hungry fledglings waiting there to be fed. The thought made her smile; if indeed the great bird had a nest, it would make her a mother like herself, making them kindred spirits.

In the beginning, the noise of the forest had made her nervous and fretful, but she had slowly, over time, become accustomed to her new surroundings and had learned to bask in nature’s sweet and vibrant rhythm. The vibrations of life were everywhere and it made her feel alive, connected, and gave her a new sense of peace that she had not experienced before.

Her favourite spot was underneath the giant oak tree.

It towered over her and over everything, strong and majestic, and when in solace, she could feel its enormous strength that only the growth of millennia could provide. Its enormous branches stretched high, bringing with them a cooling shade away from the sun, and she often sat beneath it, relishing the feeling of its natural knotted bark, rough against her back.

She wandered up to the stone hut, then entered its crude dwelling, its two windows either side of the entrance having long wooden shutters which lay open. It had been an old mining dwelling but was long abandoned now, and it had taken more than three months to rebuild, bringing protection from the elements. A pot of boiling vegetables and wild garlic collected that morning bubbled away merrily on an open fire at the hut’s far end, and she took a moment to smell its aroma. Putting down the wood, she stirred it, tasting it as she went.

Then she added more firewood and watched the flame grow, revelling in its warmth and how it caressed each aching limb. In the corner of her eye, she could see a little wooden box, the sight of which made her shiver.

She quickly covered the box with a fur skin so it was out of sight, breathing a sigh of relief.

At the other end of the stone room, a baby kicked in its makeshift cot as it began to wake; she listened silently for a moment until she could hear a murmur.

It would have been a difficult birth if it hadn’t been for the uncanny arrival of a midwife from the neighbouring valley’s village of Ser-Der-San. Known only as Mother, under a planetary alignment this woman had swept in like a fresh warm breeze, bringing with her a set of boiled white cloths, and a bundle of blankets and relaxing herbs, which helped with the pain. She had been a strange woman who said little about herself, and who went about the business of childbirth as if she had done it a hundred times before. And sure enough, just as she had appeared like a mirage, the strange woman disappeared right after the baby had been born, slipping away as quickly as she had come. And in all that time, she had never said a word, apart from push.

The new mother could offer no payment in the way of money to the woman, who therefore had asked to be the child’s Godmother as payment instead; this was agreed with a handshake and a slight bow from the visitor, as if it was a deal she had concluded many times, a mere formality. And now, the child’s mother had often wondered about the strange woman known only as Mother, who had turned up out of the blue, later disappearing into the darkness, and leaving not even a sliver of evidence she had ever been there.

How had she known the younger female was pregnant, and who had sent her there?

It was a mystery, but she believed in the Gods and knew they had somehow intervened, delivering to her a saviour in the form of a midwife, for whom she had been eternally grateful.

As she moved towards the child, the doorway filled with the frame of a big man. She looked up, startled at first but then smiling. His large muscular body made her feel small and insignificant, but their gaze met long and deliberate, and her heart filled with fondness and with the sudden awareness of her own good fortune.

Is he awake, my love? he asked as he stood leaning on the doorframe.

Yes, she replied in a gentle voice, almost a whisper in case she disturbed the child. I think our young son is hungry.

Walking a few steps, she picked up the child from his cot and stroked his head lovingly, her smile deep. I wonder what type of hair he will eventually have? Me being blonde and yours dark and curly… The big man walked over to her, putting his dark arm around her shoulder. His bronze chest plate was cold on her skin and she shivered against its touch.

So cold! she exclaimed and drew back as if startled.

I’m sorry, Katara, my love. I shall take it off!

You’re not in the military now, my handsome man, she said with a giggle.

Yes, you’re right. I am no longer a part of the Oobian army, nor am I a prince anymore. She looked into his brown eyes and their love danced like butterflies, yet the sorrow was obvious and she could feel the change in his vibration and mood. She relaxed, extending her own emotions, enveloping him with a different, more uplifting vibration, and with a hand caresseing his cheek until his smile returned. She had never known love before and it was intoxicating, and by using her gifts, she could always change his mood. In addition to that, she now had a child, a little bundle of joy in her arms—and together, they made a family.

She looked down at the baby and the love made her heart pound, seeing him there so small, so helpless, and so innocent. She could see the faintness of his aura and knew he would grow to be a wonderful human being. A priestess was forbidden to bear children, as a life of prayer and meditation to the goddess was their single purpose in life. What a waste, she thought; life is so precious. It was life that should be prayed for, life and peace between all the races. The baby kicked and wriggled in her arms and she opened up her robe to feed him. Out of the corner of her eye, as she busied herself with the child, she could see her man tasting the soup and she watched him and smiled at his dark skin and short black curly hair.

He had taken off his chestplate, and his hard, brown muscular body made her swoon.

She had met him almost a year ago in Oobia, on a trip to the palace of Tashooto. As a novice priestess in training, she had travelled with Ellsa, a higher priestess who had an audience with King Udo. Ellsa had been her mentor for as long as she could remember and viewed her with both awe and respect. Ellsa had personally chosen her into a higher tier of training, giving to her a great honour, enriching her with insight and ethereal knowledge with which other priestesses far older than her still grappled. Ellsa was tall and beautiful with a gentle wisdom beyond her years. Her long white robe and subtle high-backed collar were always fastened to her leather armour beneath by two gold brooches, pinned either side of her chest. She looked always immaculate and stunning, yet she also possessed the intelligence to thwart any intellectual confrontation. As such, she made the perfect ambassador to the regal courts and was instrumental in the welfare of the populace.

Her curly, long blonde hair gave her a sense of majesty that left many aghast in ways Katara could only hope to one day emulate. However, to love a man in a physical way was an emotion she had never felt, and on meeting the Prince, the feelings between them were obvious. But the only love she had been taught was the love of duty, and the conflict that burned in her had been impossible to describe. Her stay in the city of Tashooto had lasted a month, and every day she had met with Prince Tytos. They walked in the Royal Gardens and he had shown her around his city which she found exhilarating, revelling in the heady smell of spices, the noise and the astonishing differences in vibrations that people gave off.

It was almost too much, too overwhelming, with everyone shouting and selling their goods, each voice vying with the next, and all giving off auras that she had never seen before, let alone been taught. There, the many unusual sights amazed her, the variegated colours of all the exotic fruits, the many-hued garments of the vendors, and the enormous size of the elephants.

Even more astonishing, these huge creatures were so genteel with their strength and low vibrations, yet each one possessed a light aura of great fascination. The hustle and bustle of normal people going about their day’s work had all been new in comparison to the mundane life she had led in constant prayer and meditation as a priestess.

Prince Tytos was strong and handsome and so knowledgeable to the outside world, she felt so safe in his presence. This had been confirmed when he had pulled her out of harm’s way from a runaway horse, and it was then that their eyes had met. That night, the unthinkable happened and by morning, her innocence had gone forever, and she was no longer pure.

Her very essence on which the priestesses prided themselves had been willingly given up. Then, when Tytos had approached his father the King to discuss what had happened, the King had flown into a rage, stating that Tytos was already betrothed to the daughter of a tribal chief, so what business did he have with a young priestess such as this?

Tytos had argued that he had never seen his betrothed and shouldn’t he be allowed to choose his own wife? King Udo had flatly rebuffed his wish, stating it was about duty, and not love. To add to the situation, Ellsa had stated that Katara had broken her vows of chastity and on their return, would be summoned to the Council of Priestesses for a trial, in which her fate was unknown. The couple could not stand for this and decided this was not to be their fate.

That night, they packed as much as they could carry and ran away together.

Is the stew to your liking, Tys? she asked playfully.

Mmm, he replied, smelling the stew. I never knew a priestess could cook so well. Every meal you make is so tasty, I’m sure you could teach the palace cooks a thing or two.

She smiled, remonstrating, I’m no longer a priestess, Tys, nor you a prince. We are just ordinary people now, and I am just a woman like any other, cooking food for her family. Just you, me, and little Asin. She noticed a slight change in Tytos’ mood as he poked at the fire with a stick. Talk to me, Tys. My love, your heart is suddenly heavy again.

He poked at the fire a little longer, and she was about to close her eyes and reach out to him with her energies, but he spoke.

"I feel guilt, Katara. He is an Oobian prince and I feel guilt denying him his birthright. A prince should not grow up this way. It’s not right, not fair on him!"

I understand, my love, but fret not, as the Gods have something special in mind for our son, I have seen it in a vision.

He scoffed, You and your visions. Then he turned to her. Once he is old enough, I shall take him to my father, and he will welcome us back and all shall be forgiven, he said.

He continued stoking the fire, his gaze still transfixed on the flame. She exhaled deeply, as if the weight of the world were upon her shoulders.

Tys, the little one will never see his grandfather, nor shall we see him grow up to be a man, she said quietly. He stood up to face her with a face of concern.

Why do you say such things? What untruths does your tongue speak? I do not understand what drives these bitter statements. We shall stay here a year or so, and then we shall return and present the King with our son.

Tytos nodded as if he could see into the future, so certain did his voice sound.

But it was not certain enough for Katara who looked away, shaking her head. It appeared she did not even wish to look Tytos in the eyes.

She looked down at her child and gently stroked his head again.

But that is not what the Gods have in store for us or him, she said wispily. Soon, we shall be no more and Asin shall begin his own journey. The Gods shall protect him, but not us, Tys… only him. Tytos was silent for a moment, not knowing what to make of her latest odd statement, scratching the stubble on his chin. He turned back to the stew which bubbled.

Is it ready yet? I’m so hungry, he stated, shrugging and ignoring the conversation.

Yes, Tys. You can eat. It’s ready, and I’ll just finish feeding Asin and will join you. Prince Tytos ladled the stew into a wooden bowl and ate hungrily, taking a mouthful of food and then realising it was too hot. He tried to blow some cooler air onto it, but his mouth was still full which amused her.

Steam whirled into the air as half-chewed food tumbled from his lips.

You are so funny, Tys, she said smiling. I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, and then I realised what the Gods had been trying to tell me.

She stopped abruptly, craning her head slightly as if trying to listen.

Tytos stopped eating and watched her with curiosity, his mouth half open.

Well, do they talk to you even now? he asked, his head cocked on one side as if truly perplexed by the answer that he thought would come. But she did not reply and wandered consciously over to the doorway instead, peering outside.

Tytos put his stew down, his brown eyes suddenly alert.

What is it, Katara, what’s wrong?

I can feel a change in the earth’s vibrations. Someone or something is here, Tys, and we are not alone.

Tytos huffed loudly.

You and your vibrations, he said, relaxing back to further enjoy his hot stew. It’s probably an animal or something. You can’t always be thinking about auras and vibrations and such nonsense. Come and eat before it gets cold.

But she did not reply and continued looking out the door transfixed.

Katara! he went on, again. Why did you spend so long cooking this meal if you did not even wish to eat any of it? I would have made do with the things I foraged in the undergrowth… the berries, the nuts—

Shh! she chastised, listening even more intently now. He hushed.

Then out of nowhere, a bass voice sounded.

Hello, Katara, how are you getting along? This is your son, I presume?

Tytos almost spat out his stew in shock, and he flew from his seat and grabbed hold of his sword; then, he was by Katara’s side in a few bounds. But Katara was calm, and as Tytos tried to push past her to confront the stranger, she took hold of his arm, holding him back.

Tytos looked around but couldn’t see anyone, whichever way he turned.

Who is there? he shouted. Come! Show yourself! Her hand tightened on his arm, trying to calm his worries. Come out, and I’ll show you what’s what! he yelled, brandishing the sword and randomly slashing into the night air.

Its alright, Tys, it is the great Voleric, come to tell us the journey of our son has begun.

She said it quite matter-of-factly, the same way she might have said that the floor needed cleaning, or that a chilly wind was blowing in from the east.

Before he could even reply to her, a figure stepped out of nowhere, tall and thin, and sporting long white hair with a matching beard. The man was attired in a long, light brown robe with ornate embroidery, and he stood there a moment, motionless, a staff in his hand.

A few fresh green leaves were sprouting from the stem as if the staff still lived, and a crystal sat mounted on its top, faintly glistening in the low light.

Katara bowed in reverence and Voleric silently reciprocated with a humble nod.

Good afternoon, Prince Tytos, said the whiskered figure, stroking his beard with his slender fingers. Tytos eyed him with suspicion but said nothing, a little taken aback. He had seen the man before but couldn’t remember where, and the confusion written on his face must have been obvious. The last time we met, you were just a little boy if I remember correctly, said the peculiar stranger, who stood here in his home as if he was a long-lost uncle.

On that prompt, however, a far-off memory came flooding back to Tytos; he had seen this man in his father’s court many years back! He had been a friend, one who sagely advised the King on matters which he was too young to understand. Tytos’ stance loosened, his eyes intently studying the man’s features for a moment, trying to put the fragmented pieces of his memory together. Then as his childhood memories took form, he gasped slightly.

Voleric! And he hadn’t