Free Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) by Matthew S. Cox

on the concrete by the door. This room afforded her the luxury of motion far more than any other cage she had been kept in, and she spent some time running around in circles and climbing the shelves to keep herself in tune. As she exercised, her thoughts drifted to a blur that might have been her ninth year.
    His name was Reed, a soldier who rescued her from a pack of wildmen she no longer much recalled. He took her to a place with strange trees and rough, rock-laden hills. Sit-ups were one of the things he had shown her; thinking about him made her smile widen each time her chest touched her knees. Reed taught her about animals and creatures, what plants she could eat and which ones not to touch. Exercise was his favorite pastime. Out of breath, she clamped her arms around her legs and stared off at nothing. Sadness crept in as she thought about where he could be now.
    He had meant to protect her by bringing her to a remote place, but they had found her anyway after a little less than a year. There was some solace in how they ambushed her while he had gone off to hunt. Althea clung to the hope they did not kill him. In a way she was glad he had been so pragmatic with her, emotionless but dutiful. He had found a child, taken her in, protected and provided for her, but love and tenderness were not in his repertoire. That had made it possible, but far from easy, not to miss him.
    Althea pressed the agate between her thumb and finger, thinking about Den. The edge gleamed white in the sun from the jagged glass at the top of the far wall. With a sigh, she crawled to the water bowl, drank, and splashed her face. The rattle of her cell’s walls made her head snap to the opening door.
    Vakkar stood just outside, waiting, quite unlike how he had gone for Rachel, or Aya the night after, or Zhar the night after that. This seemed as much a request as a demand. Althea stood, keeping her eyes on the floor, and padded obediently to his side. He took her hand like a protector more than an owner, and led her through the huge room and out into the blinding day.
    Hundreds of raiders assembled around a square area defined by faded yellow lines painted centuries ago upon the ground. Blood stained the concrete here and there in front of a large dais composed of old crushed cars and machine parts. The women were leashed to a throne of welded scrap, two on either side. Aya basked in the gaze of the crowd, posing to accentuate her looks. Zhar knelt still, accepting her exposure with the smug thought she was a captive only because she had not yet attempted to leave. Ramani had her head away from the crowd, trembling as if one bad smell away from vomiting. Rachel looked out of her mind with shame at being paraded in front of all these men in such a helpless state.
    As he stepped up onto the platform, Vakkar gestured. “Sit where you like.”
    Althea spun with a sharp twist; the strands of scrap leather fanned out and resettled against her legs, and she sat in front of Rachel, granting her a bit of cover from the crowd. As the chief lowered with great pomp into his throne, Althea put a comforting hand on Rachel’s foot and pulled the woman’s emotion under control, before she reached a point of self-harm.
    “The men compete today.”
    Althea turned her head left, facing into a wash of warm booze-air that flew from Vakkar’s throat.
    He grinned, pointing at the arena. “Some will be hurt. You will mend them.”
    She stared with a horrified grimace at the crowd.
    “Relax, child.” Vakkar pet her like a cat, stroking his fingers over her head. “They are not to kill each other. That would only weaken us. This is practice; the wounds should be minor.”
    Some of the men scowled at Althea, making her lean into Rachel. Hateful stares were something new, and not until she peeked at their thoughts did she understand why. Her presence here had made Vakkar order them to practice fight with deadly things instead of toys, since she could stop the