The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  Thaloo grabbed a small wad of gummy material from a vat on his desk, shoving it into his mouth and chewing voraciously. “Your part is to take the batch of kids we’ve set aside for you, like every year. And yet, like you did during your Knight days, you are trying to deviate from that path.”

  “Those kids you send up with me every year aren’t Citadel material. You know that. They can barely walk, let alone fight. We both know the deal you have here. You send the Citadel your scraps and keep the meat to yourself, and for that luxury, you have the honor of lining their war chest with every sale you make.”

  “Very perceptive, Pearson.” Thaloo slurped. “What would you have me do? Send my finest Grievar with you? Why not take my top ten? What you ask does not make sense. However, with the Citadel’s purse behind you, you could take my very best.”

  “I only want one, though. A boy called Cego—he arrived recently.”

  Thaloo raised an eyebrow. “Ah. The blind boy who suddenly opened his eyes. He certainly surprised many of our patrons, defeating Grinder like that.”

  Murray knew he had to downplay the potential he saw in Cego. “He’s fast and quick-witted. I think I can make something of him.”

  Thaloo was silent for several moments, his dull eyes shifting side to side. “Clearly, you see something more than is apparent in this Cego. Why else would you force your way into my office and cause such a stir? Why deviate from your path again, Pearson? Perhaps you have an eye for things like this. Perhaps you have foreseen this boy to be next Artemis Halberd himself.”

  “I’ll give you the standard purse for just Cego,” Murray said. “Usually I bring up a dozen kids for that price.”

  “Clearly, you aren’t authorized to expand the Citadel’s purse beyond these meager sums; otherwise, you would have just bought him outright. So, why should I just give him to you? What will you give me for this favor, Pearson?”

  Murray breathed out. He knew it would come to this. “I’ll fight for him.”

  Thaloo stopped chewing. A wide, toothy grin spread across the fat man’s face.

  *

  Cego listened to the lapping of the tide against the shore. He dug his hands into the black sand beneath him, feeling the tiny granules slip between his fingers and fall back to the beach.

  He sat cross-legged in the surf, the breeze flattening his hair across his forehead. The sky was a crisp, unwavering blue and the sea lay before him like a treasure trove of sparkling emeralds.

  Cego tried to match his breath to the tide, exhaling as a wave crashed onto the shore, the water flicking at his toes and caressing his calves, and inhaling as the tide receded, rolling back out into deep.

  Over and over, the tide rolled in and receded again, and Cego attempted to match the water’s rhythm with his own breathing, just as the old master had taught them. Without beginning or end, rolling like a wave, he’d say.

  Cego couldn’t do it as well as Silas always had. His eldest brother had been better at most of the master’s teachings—ki breath included. Silas could sit on the shore for hours without moving an inch, looking like an immovable statue swept with sand by the end of the exercise.

  The three brothers used to practice ki breath together every morning. They were instructed to never shut their eyes, to always keep their gaze to the sea even when the breeze kicked up stinging sand.

  Little Sam would always be the first to break, his wild beach-grass eyes darting to some distraction, a scuttling crab or silvery fish in the surf he would give chase to. Cego would try to concentrate and keep pace with Silas, but he never lasted long. He would feel a restlessness build within him, urging him to leap up and sprint across the beach after Sam.

  Silas had always been the strongest of the three brothers. He was always one step ahead in the Circle. He’d flash that wry, mocking grin at Cego, standing above him after knocking him down repeatedly.

  Cego placed his hand to his lip, rubbing the jagged scar he’d received from his last bout with his brother.

  And now Silas was gone.

  Cego trained his golden eyes across the sea, toward the horizon. During daylight, he could only make out a faint glimmer, but when night fell on the Island, the crest of every wave glowed with a vibrant green luminescence.

  When he was younger, Silas had told him that the glowing trail was a great serpent slithering toward the horizon. Though he’d believed his elder brother then, Cego had discovered diving beneath the waves that the luminescence came from a much smaller creature—tiny wisps of plankton blooming along the ocean’s surface.

  The old master called the glowing trail the Path.

  Cego and Sam had watched from the black-sand beach as their eldest brother swam the Path a thousand nights ago, following the trail of luminescence until he disappeared from view. Cego could remember Silas appearing small, just another shadow rolling atop the breakers. That was the only time he could remember Silas seeming small like that.

  Since then, the old master had kept the remaining two brothers on their same rigorous training routine. Cego had expected something to change—a shifting of schedule or even a mere mention of Silas’s departure. Instead, the master acted as if nothing had changed at all. He ignored the fact that there were only two boys remaining on the Island.

  Today would no different from every other day.

  Morning ki breath, followed by techniques with the master. Then endurance training on the black-sand beach, including sprints and boulder-carries beneath the waves. Hard sparring throughout the afternoon. More technique refinement as the daylight faded.

  Today wasn’t the same, though. It hadn’t been the same since Silas had left.

  Cego stood up in the sand, his ki breath exercise clearly finished because of his wandering mind.

  Where had Sam run off to this time?

  Cego dusted the sand off his tanned legs and briskly jogged down the beach toward the cliffs on the western edge of the Island. Sam liked to explore the tide pools at the base of the cliffs, where the water was calmer and a plethora of strange creatures made their homes in the stony nooks.

  The Island only had one expanse of black-sand beach, on the northern edge, the old master’s compound perched atop. The smaller outlets on the southern side of the Island were mostly made of jagged rock.

  Though the black-sand beach was certainly beautiful, it mostly made Cego think of training. Racing full speed along the shore until his breath became ragged, swimming out into the strong current until he needed to float on his back to regain his strength, carrying heavy boulders beneath the waves until his lungs were on fire. The beach was not a place of relaxation for the brothers.

  A sharp series of barks broke Cego from his jogging reverie. Arry would always give away Sam’s location.

  Just as Cego suspected, his little brother was crouched in one of the tide pools beneath the cliffs, peering into the murky water. The little grey pup, Arry, was at the edge of the pool, barking at Sam but too timid to join him in the cold water.

  “Sam, it’s time to head back,” Cego said as his brother tried his hardest to ignore him. “Come on!”

  “I’ve almost got one of the big blue crabs, though! He’s pinned down inside his lair,” the small flaxen haired boy pleaded as he jabbed a piece of driftwood into the water.

  “Farmer’s gonna pin you down worse than that crab if you don’t come quick,” Cego said flatly.

  Sam’s eyes darted to Cego as he stood up straight. “Silas never would have made me come back so early…”

  Sam had been using Silas as an excuse lately. Though Silas had been hard on Cego, he’d always had a soft spot for Sam, letting the littlest brother get away with small delinquencies.

  Cego sharpened his voice. “Silas is gone. It’s just us and Farmer now. And he wouldn’t be happy to hear you’re stalling on your training.”

  A familiar wrinkle curled up on Sam’s forehead as he held his ground stubbornly in the water. “Why are we even training? Why do we have to keep fighting?”<
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  Cego hardened his gaze and replied with the same answer the old master had given him so many times. “We fight so that the rest shall not have to.”

  It wasn’t even a real answer, Cego knew that. He didn’t even really know what it meant. The mantra had become the master’s all-encompassing response to their many questions. Why were they training? Why did Silas have to leave? Where did the Path end? The old master would always return the same answer, flicking out each syllable like a well-honed jab.

  We fight so that the rest shall not have to.

  Who were the rest the old master spoke of and why were they fighting for them? Beyond the two brothers and their old master, the Island was only ever visited by nearby Hlai fisherman looking to trade their wares. Cego couldn’t believe the Hlai fishers, on their rickety boats and with their stinky sacks of sarpin, were the reason that he and his brother were constantly honing their combat skills.

  Sam huffed and made his way through the tide pool to Cego’s side. The answer had been sufficient, as usual.

  The two brothers jogged back toward the compound, Arry in tow, the ocean wind blowing against them and whipping sand into their faces. Several times during the run, Cego caught his brother glancing uneasily out toward the sea. The little boy was uncharacteristically quiet, not full of the incessant questions he’d usually pester Cego with.

  The brothers ran up the tall sand dune and passed through the old master’s rock garden set at the periphery of the compound. The garden was filled with tiny potted trees and makeshift trickling streams where the man would often sit and stare for hours at the sea while the boys were training.

  The various sections of the home were connected via an outdoor gravel path. The rooms were built of sturdy clay on the exterior and ironwood planks for the interiors.

  The two boys cut between the living quarters toward the large courtyard at the center of the compound.

  As usual, they found the old master sitting at the center of the ironwood Circle, waiting for them with his eyes closed. Farmer.

  The old master’s grey hair fell to his shoulders from a tall topknot. He breathed quietly and forcefully all at once, his entire body heaving and cresting like the ocean’s current. His eyes fluttered open, brilliant glowing orbs that locked on to Cego.

  *

  Cego awoke in a cold sweat.

  He tried to hold on to the dream, mark it in his memory like a new technique, but it faded rapidly as the fight rushed back to him.

  Grinder on top of him for what seemed like hours, raining down punches and elbows. Blood on his face, barely able to see. Trying to win little victories, concentrating on every fist that came his way.

  Cego wiggled his fingers and toes. Surprisingly, he didn’t hurt badly when he knew he should be in considerable pain. He brought a hand up to his face, gingerly touching his nose. It was there for sure and only ached a bit.

  He slowly turned his neck to see a mountain of a man sitting by the bed, staring at him with tiger-yellow eyes.

  The bearded man barely fit in the small chair by the cot. He looked uncomfortable. Flux tattoos flowed from the tops of his forearms to his hands. The man was grinding his knuckles together, staring forward like he expected Cego to say something.

  Cego pushed himself up off his back, looking around the small room. It was primarily red and white, with a metallic counter against the wall.

  “Clerics had you all neuro’d up, if you’re wondering why everything is a bit hazy.” The bearded man spoke in a baritone.

  Cego figured he was talking to him, since no one else was in the room. “Clerics?”

  The man nodded to the door. “They finished workin’ on you an hour ago.”

  Cego nodded. Why was this man here? Where was here?

  The bearded man spoke again. “They said you had a few broken ribs, orbital bone fracture, broken nose, lot of lost blood—nothing they couldn’t fix up, though. They’re Daimyos, so don’t get to trusting them… but the clerics do a good job of fixing folk.”

  Cego sat up in his little cot. Besides his back being a bit stiff, he felt all right.

  “That was a darkin’ stupid move.” The bearded man looked at him seriously.

  Cego nodded again, though he had no idea what this man was talking about.

  “You risked getting pounded senseless with Grinder mounted on you for so long. Trying to wear him down? Too risky. How could you know that he didn’t have the gas tank to finish the job? Sure, it paid off and he got tired, but I’d say you’re lucky you didn’t get finished under him.”

  The man continued, as if he’d been waiting to lecture Cego.

  “You should’ve given him your back right off. He had a solid mount, but I doubt he’d be able to get his hooks in if you turned on him. Thick types like him, they don’t often get the hooks in. I should know. You could’ve walked out of that Circle instead of getting carried out.”

  Cego thought about it seriously, reviewing the fight in his mind. Would that have worked?

  The man seemed to sense his questions. “I’ll show it to you; you’ll see.”

  They sat in the room for several minutes in silence, neither boy nor man thrilled to engage the other in conversation. Cego could hear whispering voices from outside the door.

  Cego finally broke the silence. “Where are we?” After he’d choked Grinder, he couldn’t remember leaving the Circle or anything beyond that.

  “Cleric’s medward, south of the steppe. I paid for your fixin’,” the man stated.

  “Why?”

  “I figure I didn’t want my new Grievar kid to be all busted up.”

  “You… you bought me?” Cego asked, his golden eyes wide.

  “Far as Underground Circles are concerned, yeah,” the man sighed. “But no, I’m not your patron. Dark all this patron talk. Thaloo and his whole operation—doing all this for the bits. It’s a disgrace to the Grievar. No honor in it. I didn’t buy you to make bits off you like that Deep scum.”

  Cego had seen some other kids get bought, but their prospective patrons had visited first and haggled with a Tasker over the course of several days before finally agreeing on a price.

  “Why did you buy me, then?” Cego asked.

  The man scratched his grey beard. “I’ve been watching you, kid. I’ve seen you fight. You move well. Your hips, your head—you know how to use them.”

  “There’s a lot of kids that move well down here,” Cego responded.

  “True,” the man said. “You could use fixin’ in places. But that’s fine; you’ve got the right framework. Like a new rig before some two-bit maker messes with it too much, you can be fixed.”

  Cego looked at the big man quizzically. His head felt even hazier than when he’d first woken.

  “Speaking of rigs,” the man said. “That was impressive what you did out there. Blocked the auralite effect altogether. Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “Auralite effect?” Cego asked.

  “You know… the crowd push—” the man started, but paused. He shook his head and sighed. “I forget scum like Thaloo don’t bother to teach their kids about the Circles they fight in, let alone any decent technique. I can’t explain it well as some Circle engineer, but I’ll give you an old Grievar’s version.”

  Cego nodded.

  “Thaloo’s Circle is built mostly of auralite compound steel. It’s one of the elements that interacts with the spectrals—which is why you see them swarming around it during your fights,” the man said.

  Cego thought back to his fights—seeing the spectrals buzzing around the Circle. He’d never even considered why they were there.

  “Depending on the element they’re interacting with, the spectrals emit different types of light. Varying wavelengths is what Mune would say,” the man muttered. “Each type of light influences a Grievar fighting in the Circle differently.”

  Thinking back to his fights, it made sense to Cego. He’d felt the light seeping into him, communicating with his body.
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  “Circle like Thaloo’s—built of auralite, makes a Grievar… convincible. The crowd around you gets louder. Makes you want to do what they say, to please ’em whether they’re cheering or hissing at you. Auralite effect is a hard one to overcome—which is why I say I’m impressed you resisted the urge twice now to kick some kid when he was down even though the crowd was pushing for it,” the man said.

  “There are other types of Circles out there?” Cego asked. Though he was more than familiar with combat, it was starting to seem more complicated than simply beating his opponent.

  “Yeah. Rubellium, auralite, onyx… just to name a few. Each one does somethin’ different to you. My team will train you for all that when we get back Surface-side, though,” the man said.

  “We’re going… to the Surface?” Cego asked, his eyes wide.

  “Well, that’s the plan. If I can work this rusty rig into combat shape real soon.” The man slapped at his protruding stomach. “I’m not buying you—I’m fighting for you. In three weeks’ time under the lights of Lampai.”

  Cego knew he shouldn’t trust this man. Why would he fight for him? Ever since he ended up in the Underground, folk had only used Cego. They had locked him away in the darkness. They had tossed him in the Circle and made him fight for their own greed.

  How could he know this man was any different? He was surely using him in some way, no different from anyone else in the Underground.

  “I’m bringing you Upworld, kid. Surface-side to the Citadel. To the Lyceum,” Murray said.

  The Lyceum. Since he’d first arrived at Thaloo’s, Cego had heard other kids often whispering of the Lyceum. It was Mercuri’s combat school—a prestigious place of learning where the greatest Grievar passed techniques down only to the best students. It was said that many of Mercrui’s famed Knights were now professors at the Lyceum.

  Cego didn’t understand this man’s motives. What could he possibly gain from his release from Thaloo’s? Why would the man risk his own life and fight for Cego?

  The man again sensed Cego’s hesitation, watching his golden eyes flickering.