I found Yorin in the arena antechamber. It was only the second time I had ever seen him, and the first time that he was not speckled with another man's blood. Yorin was tall, maybe a couple of fingers taller than Isen, and thick with muscle. He shaved his head completely clear of all hair and his life's story was written all over his body in scars. He had a strange sense of peace around him. I don't think I ever saw him angry. Most of the time he was cold, distant. That was probably why the other scabs gave him such space. Well, that and his proficiency with killing people.
Yorin didn't notice me at first, or maybe he just didn't care to spare me any attention. The antechamber had a number of benches where fighters waited for their turn and Yorin was sitting on one, waiting despite the fights being hours away. There were scabs nearby as well. Some were signing themselves up to fight, while others were the audience, turning up early to debate the matches and secure themselves the best spots to watch.
After a while of being ignored, my anger got the better of me. Yorin knew I was there, and my pride and arrogance wouldn't allow him to pretend I wasn't. I was flush with the energy and anger of scaring a foreman. It made me bold. It made me a bloody idiot.
"Get up," I hissed. Looking back, I could have handled that first encounter somewhat more diplomatically.
Yorin raised his head slowly and locked eyes with me. He stood then, rising to his feet with a fluidity that belied his size, and towered over me.
Now that I had the man in front of me, I struggled to think of something to say. Yorin was as much a monster as any I had encountered in the Other World. He killed one scab a night down in the arena and all while the rest of the Pit watched. He was a murderer and a damned good one. I sometimes think back over the encounter and imagine how it might have happened had I a Source in my stomach. With only a small Kinemancy Source I could have picked Yorin up with a burst of psychokinetic force and dashed his head against the wall.
"I know who you are," Yorin said, his voice flat. Just the memory of that man's voice makes me so angry I want to burn the world to ash. "I have no wish to deal with one of Deko's pets." And like that I was dismissed.
Yorin didn't dig. He didn't abide by Deko's rules and laws. He spent his days either fighting in the arena or wandering the Pit. I think maybe Yorin could have challenged Deko for control and won, but he didn't want control over the foremen or scabs. All Yorin ever wanted was to fight and kill. He told me as much once, tried to convince me I was no different. I scoffed at the idea at the time. Now I'm not so sure he was wrong.
I treated Yorin to the full fury of my icy glare. It was arrogance to think that it might cow him like it had the foreman. I barely saw the strike coming. A flash of pain lit up my cheek along my still-healing scar and I was on my hands and knees, spitting blood onto the stone beneath me. Scabs started to gather to watch. I had a reputation, and I was even liked by many, but none were going to stand up for me against Yorin. Besides, there was little the inhabitants of the Pit liked more than to watch people fight.
After shaking the spots from my eyes, I lurched back to my feet to find Yorin still standing there, watching me. I think he was curious. I would have been, in his stead. Yorin was a pit fighter. The best I have ever seen, and there I was, a young girl with the fire of anger in my eyes, treating him with as little respect as he was giving to me. These days if someone came to me like that, I would hear them out just to see what they had to say. Then, I would probably put them where they deserved; on their knees or in the dirt. I see now just how thin the edge was on which I walked.
"You're fighting Isen Fallow tonight." My voice was an ugly hiss even to my own ears, and I've always quite liked the sound of my voice.
"One dead scab is as good as another," Yorin said with a shrug. I realised that he meant it. It was not a plot to bury my plans of escape. Neither Deko, nor the overseer, nor Josef were trying to kill Isen. It was sheer chance, bad luck, that Yorin had been picked to fight Isen so close to our attempt at escape. Some of the fire went out of me at that realisation, but it let some clarity seep in instead.
"Don't kill him," I said. I couldn't stop the fight. Neither man could change their mind and back out, the rules forbade it. But the loser didn't have to die. Yorin didn't have to kill.
"Go away." Yorin sank back onto the bench behind him, took a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh.
I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let Isen die. I couldn't let Yorin kill him. My infatuation with the younger of the two brothers had grown into something I thought I couldn't live without. In my most private moments, I dreamed of Isen, of our skin touching, hot breath tickling each other. In my defence, I was still young and naive. The closest I had come to a sexual encounter was in the pages of a book. I thought myself romantic, fighting for the life of the man I loved. I was a desperate little girl clinging to the idea of something I didn't even understand. Desperate, but also determined.
"What do you fucking want?" I asked, a note of despair in my voice. I dared a step closer so the other scabs couldn't hear. "For his life. I have food, a half loaf of bread. Snuff. Bandages, balm, dice..." Quite a fortune I had amassed, at least down in the Pit, up in the sunlight it was all as good as worthless. Trinkets and baubles for the most part.
Yorin's eyes flicked to mine then down and back up again. "You have nothing I want," he said flatly. "There is nothing I want. The only thing down in this hell is death, and digging, and I will not dig. I kill because I can. Because in the circle of stone and blood, I am free again. So. Go away."
"Freedom?" I asked, latching on to the one thing I had to offer. "You want to be free?"
Yorin didn't answer. There was a sullenness to him, like a caged animal that remembered what it was like to run wild. I knew that feeling all too well. Yorin wanted to be free, but he had given up the hope of it. In the arena he found a different freedom of sorts. I think the need to kill was something else, though. I think that was about power. The need to feel powerful by holding another's life in his hands and snuffing it out. I've always wondered what Yorin felt in those moments where he took another's life. Even more so, I've always wondered what he felt afterwards. Did he feel the disgust and regret like I do? Or was it all just nothing to him?
"I can get you out." I leaned in even closer, so close I could smell the sweat on him. "I'm getting out. I can take you with me."
There is a point in all relationships where the power shifts. Countless little points, small changes in the dynamic between two people. This was one of them. The change from me wanting something from him, to him needing something from me. He didn't believe me, not really. But he wanted to.
"How?" Yorin asked.
I shook my head. "Not here," I said. "I have a small group. We're getting out. Soon. It doesn't happen without Isen."
"How do I know this is real?" he asked.
The answer seemed obvious to me. "You don't. But you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I'm giving you a chance at getting out of here, and all you have to do is not fucking kill someone. How hard is that? I'm not asking you to lose, just don't kill him. Please."
Yorin leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. For a while we just stared at each other. Maybe he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth, or just playing for time. Maybe he was flipping a coin in his head about whether to kill me there and then. I had nothing else to offer, no other cards to play. All I had was the hope that he would see the truth; that it cost him nothing yet gained him everything he wanted. "Five days. Five fights," he said. He leaned forward and the look in his eyes convinced me of the truth behind his next words. "If I'm not out of here in five days. I'll kill your boy, and then I'll kill you."