The Black Sentry Read Online Free PDF Page A

people? Was it some sort of weapon? A tool? If it were an enemy to men, why did it have a seat for one?
    He knew these were vile questions. He had been taught all his life that people were better off knowing as little as possible about the Ancients. All they needed to know was that it was a time of horror and that the Sentinel had saved them from it. His curiosity should end there.
    But it did not.
    What’s wrong with me? he wondered, as he gazed at the enraptured faces around him. Do I have some sort of deviant, twisted personality? Why don’t I worship and adore the Sentinel like the others do?
    Or was it simply the fear of the Winnowing that perverted his thoughts?
    “Enough,” the Acolyte pronounced. “This is a Celebration. So let us celebrate. Bring forth the Combatants.”
    T he attendants parted to make way for two young men from the village. He knew them both. One was called Victor. His father had a small mill near the river. The other was Evan, whose father kept sheep and other feedstock. He had known Evan all his life. He, Mykah, and Evan had often spent summer nights swapping stories about the Creepers.
    The Acolyte stepped between the boys and laid a hand on each shoulder . “It is the right and duty of these two boys, the two oldest in the village who have not yet achieved the age of Winnowing, to enter into combat on this day. In this manner, the Sentinel’s will shall be done.”
    T he Acolyte guided the two boys to the large octagonal grid with intersecting areas of red and yellow.
    “Victor, you shall fight upon the red. ” He placed Victor in the appropriate starting area. “And you, Evan, shall play on the yellow.” He moved Evan to the opposite side of the grid. “Bring forth the winnowers.”
    The Acolyte weighed each winnower in his hand, ensuring that they were of equal heft and strength. Then he handed one to each boy. He stepped out of the grid and once again raised his hands into the air.
    “ Just as the Sentinel once fought for you, so you now shall fight for the right to carry on his great plan, to ensure that his work is never forgotten. You are our future. Let no man forget the importance of what is done in this blessed Arena.
    “When I give the si gnal,” he continued, “the Winnowing shall begin. When I drop my hands, the gong will sound and you will fight—to the finish.”   

 
     
     
     
    5
     
    Daman he ard the gong sound  and the Winnowing commenced. The people in the gallery shouted and cheered, some for a particular champion, some simply caught up in anticipation of the bloodshed that would follow.
    Victor and Evan circled each other within the octagonal grid, each keeping a careful watch on hi s feet, making sure he did not blunder into his opponent’s territory. This was the Patience Gambit, where the combatant played a cautious opening, biding his time, hoping the mounting pressure would impel his enemy to make an unwise attack.
    Victor and Evan were both strong fighters. The Patience Gambit went on for almost five minutes, the tension mounting with each cycle around the multi-colored grid.
    Victor made a sudden change of direction, from clockwise to countercl ockwise, catching Evan off-guard. He lost his balance and nearly stepped onto the red. The crowd drew in its breath, gasping at the near miss.
    Evan appeared to tire. He held his stick lower.
    Come on , Evan. Daman knew his friend could stand watch over the flocks for hours. But a day in the fields was probably the equivalent of ten seconds in this Arena.
    Victor rushed toward Evan, swinging hard with the bulb end of his winnower. Evan faltered. The winnower clubbed him on the back of his head. He hooked Victor’s winnower with the blade end of his own. The two sticks were interlocked, one wrapped around the other. The boys engaged in a fearsome tug-of-war, each pulling with all his might to yank his opponent onto the other color.
    The crowd roared . Victor appeared to have the advantage. Evan staggered,