Murray caught Cego’s eyes for a moment, the kid looking back at him with that strange blank stare, as if he were occupying a completely different world. Cego closed his eyes and dove back beneath the water.
*
Cego was thrashing through the waves again.
The night sky blanketed the world as the two brothers swam the Path. Cego and Sam followed the green trail of plankton toward the distant horizon, the same Path that Silas had taken over one thousand days ago.
They’d left the Island behind. They’d left the old master behind.
Something was wrong, though.
Silas had completed his training before he’d taken the Path. He’d fought Farmer.
Watching Silas fight Farmer had been like watching a boulder falling from the top of a cliff. Though Silas had been the strongest of the three brothers, it had been viscerally apparent that the old master would reach his destination as certainly as the falling boulder rides gravity to the ground. That wry smile had been missing from Silas’s face that day.
That fight with Farmer had been Silas’s last training exercise—a ritual that signified he was ready to leave the Island and follow the Path.
Sam was far from ready, though. The youngest brother had left without Farmer’s approval. Sam had always been too curious; he didn’t have the patience to wait his turn. He’d recklessly leapt into the waves and Cego had followed him.
Cego told himself he followed Sam because he wanted to save him. Sam was weaker than him; he needed to protect him. In truth, though, Cego knew he was curious just like his little brother. He didn’t want to stay on the Island with the old master any longer. He wanted to follow the Path and see what awaited him on the distant horizon. He wanted to see where Silas had gone.
Cego tried to pick up his pace to catch up with Sam, but his brother maintained the distance between them. Against the green luminescence of the Path, Sam’s figure was a dark silhouette.
The two swam endlessly until the Island disappeared from view behind them. For a moment, the world was in balance; the darkness of the sky above an equal to the murky depths below, the horizon suddenly seeming as close as the shore they’d left from, the green glimmering Path connecting their past and future.
Maybe they’d make it. Maybe they were ready.
Sam disappeared from the surface of the water. Cego could only see the crest and fall of the waves where his little brother had last been swimming.
Cego threw himself forward with all of his strength. His swim out had been a calculated effort, trading speed for efficiency. Now Cego forgot about efficiency. He used every fiber of his coiled body to propel himself through the water.
Cego approximated where he’d last seen Sam on the surface and exhaled deeply before letting air fill his lungs to capacity. He dove under the glassy sheen.
Cego launched himself toward Sam’s sinking body but the water hardened. The viscous liquid held Cego in place.
He couldn’t move as he watched Sam’s little body sink in front of him. He tried in vain to reach toward Sam, but the water was too thick for him to even extend his hand. The liquid wrapped around his body like a serpent, immobilizing his muscles, slowly choking him.
As the world faded, Cego looked toward the surface for a glimmer of light. There was nothing but darkness above.
*
Cego stayed quiet on the walk back down the steppe with Murray. The duskshift was subsiding and hordes of harvesters were packing up their day’s work among the crops.
As he trudged downward, Cego tried to forget about what had happened the previous day in the yard, but he couldn’t. Weep’s lifeless eyes kept coming back to him.
The day’s trip into the markets, the run up Daeomons Hill, the tour of the steppe and the swim in Lake Dagmar had all served to distract Cego from remembering the incident. Now, though, as the two started down Daeomons Hill in silence, the fresh memories began to haunt Cego.
Cego had been helpless, frozen on the floor as he watched his friend viciously beaten. Weep, who had come so far, was dead because Cego had been unable to do anything.
The moment played over and over in Cego’s head. The sulfurous smell of the red dirt in the yard. Ozark’s spiteful eyes surveying his handiwork. Shiar’s cackle as he threw kick after kick into the little boy’s body. The pleading look in Weep’s eyes as the light faded from them.
Cego had stayed on the ground even after the paralyzing effect of the neurogen had worn off. Knees had tried to rouse him, telling Cego he needed to get up and carry on. But Cego hadn’t moved.
He had watched from the floor as Dozer carried Weep from the yard, the big boy wracked with sobs as he delicately draped the little body over his shoulder. Cego had slept on the yard’s dirt that night, not moving until the next crew physically removed him in the morning.
A tear streaked Cego’s cheek. He turned to his side and wiped it discreetly with his sleeve. He couldn’t let Murray see any weakness.
Cego could tell Murray was trying to help him out. He still didn’t know why the burly Grievar was doing it, but he could see something different in Murray. The man wasn’t in it for the bits—after all, he was fighting for Cego’s freedom, putting his own head on the line.
We fight so the rest shall not have to.
The familiar mantra was a reminder that this man was the closest thing to home or family that Cego had down here.
The two reached level ground and turned onto a cobbled path that wrapped around the other side of Daeomons Hill. Homes were elegantly built into the slope here, carved and constructed as if they grew naturally from the landscape.
Cego sighed deeply as they passed under the soft glow of the lichens, tendrils growing plentifully along the cave ceiling and casting green currents along the cobbled road they walked along. A curious sort of tree lined the path, with luminous buds sprouting from the ends of each wiry branch.
Murray pulled to a stop in front of a grey home with an oaken door, rapping on it with his fist. A silver-haired woman with a strong jaw and thin lips opened up.
The woman and Murray greeted each other by digging their arms under one another, as if they were fighting for underhooks in a grappling match. Murray looked down to Cego, who was standing silently in the doorframe.
“Leyna, I’d like you to meet Cego.”
*
Cego’s week with Leyna and Anderson was confusing. After his grueling experience at Thaloo’s, he wasn’t used to the many comforts that he experienced in the cozy home.
Like a doting mother, Leyna made sure Cego had every comfort available—delicious foods at all hours of the day, a warm bath at night, and fluffed pillows in his bed.
Leyna constantly fed Cego, telling him he was far too skinny for a growing Grievar boy. After a steady diet of green slop for months at Thaloo’s, his stomach took a day or two to get used to the rich foods that Leyna laid out in front of him. He didn’t let that slow him down, though.
Cego wolfed down every crumb of her delicious cooking, dishes like minced mushroom pies encrusted with beelbub nuts, spiral-root sautés over beds of moss, and fluffy Deep cakes frosted in lichen butter.
Cego didn’t see much of Anderson or Murray that week. The men spent most of the days training in the basement, and when mealtime came, they talked fight strategy. Murray only ate special training-approved dishes that Leyna cooked for him (which looked far less appetizing than Cego’s feasts).
Anderson gave Cego warm smiles and even a pat on top of the head, but the tall, dark Grievar was quiet around him. Once, Cego caught Anderson staring at him, examining him, but he quickly looked away when Cego caught his gaze.
Cego spent several days working with Leyna in her garden behind the house. There, the Grievar lady cultivated a variety of Deep roots, mosses, and lichens that she used in her cooking. She even had a beelbub tree in the center of the garden.
Cego watched as Leyna harvested the luminous nuts from the beelbub tree. She hummed a wistful tune as she worked
. As soon she plucked each beelbub nut from the branch of the tree, its glow slowly faded.
“Why does the light fade like that?” Cego asked Leyna. He felt comfortable asking the Grievar lady questions, almost as if he were talking to the lone spectral in his cell again, except with Leyna he got real responses.
“Good question.” Leyna placed another nut into the basket Cego was holding up for her. “Our beelbub tree gets nutrients from the ground—water and minerals that it pulls up in its roots. The nutrients travel to each of the tree’s branches and eventually out to the very ends of each branch to feed the nuts.”
Leyna brushed her silver hair over one ear, which was cauliflowered and studded with several earrings. She continued, “The tree uses some of those nutrients to generate luminescence in the nuts. Out in the Deep caverns, the tree uses this light to attract a bat that feeds on the nuts. The bat then deposits the beelbub seed in another cavern where a new tree can grow.”
“But when the nut gets pulled off the tree, the light goes out. Doesn’t that mean it dies?” Cego asked.
Leyna looked at him with earnest eyes, sensing the sadness in Cego’s voice. “Well, yes and no.”
She explained, “In a sense, it is dead because it is cut off from the tree’s roots, from the ground. But when the nut is plucked from the tree and deposited somewhere else, it grows into a whole new tree. In a sense, it is reborn.”
Cego wanted to ask her if Weep would be reborn, but he held his tongue.
Leyna stopped plucking at the tree and set the basket on the floor. “The worms that eat away at bodies in the earth are the same worms that fertilize the soils for mosses to grow.”
Cego crinkled his face and Leyna laughed. “Something the Ancients said, supposedly.”
“The Ancients?”
“Yes. The Grievar who came before. Before all of this Underground you see today. Before the roads and buildings and stadiums and slave dens and arrays.”
“What was there before all of this?” Cego asked.
“They say there was a time long past when you could still hear the Deep wind, the soft swish of cave bats flying overhead—not just the whirring of mechs eating away at the earth. A time before the great array above when only the gentle glow of lichen illuminated the cavern floors. A time when our Circles were simple formations of rock, wood, or moss spread on the ground, not the overcrowded dens, amphitheaters, and arenas they’ve since become.”
“What happened to all that?”
“Daimyos happened,” Murray said gruffly from the entrance to the garden. “Their historians still brag about everything they gave us when they came Deep. Tech, slaves, language, culture, light. They fixed us; that’s what they say.”
Murray walked over to the beelbub tree, running his hand along one of its smooth branches.
“Truth is, they gave us nothing,” Murray said. “They only took from us. They took our quiet caverns, our peaceful darkness, our language, our culture. Same thing happened everywhere else they went—to the Kirothian peaks, to the broken isles of Myrkos—the Daimyos took everything from the Grievar.”
Murray grasped one of the beelbub nuts in his fist and plucked it from the tree.
“Worst of all, now they’re taking the Codes from us,” he growled.
Cego watched carefully as the light faded from another of the nuts.
6
Return to Lampai
Certain attacks may seem potent to the untrained eye. Groin strikes, eye gouges, clawing the skin, ripping the hair: though painful, these acts will only serve to bolster the spirit of the more experienced Grievar. The wild cat scratching at the hide of the great bear will soon find its home in the dirt. When faced with such cowardly attacks, a Grievar should return suit with the force of real technique.
Thirty-Second Precept of the Combat Codes
Amidst the newfound comforts and Leyna’s care, Cego nearly forgot that his time in Farmoss was only temporary. The morning of Murray’s fight came as a harsh reminder to Cego that he was still on the precipice of ending up back at Thaloo’s, living his days out in the tiny bunk and fighting for his survival.
Cego swallowed a dose of guilt as he thought about Dozer and Knees sweating in the yard while he’d had his head buried in a plush pillow, thinking about what he’d have for breakfast every day. He’d asked Murray if there was anything he could do to get his friends out of Thaloo’s, perhaps add them to the deal if he won at Lampai, but the burly Grievar had looked doubtful.
Leyna and Cego arrived at Lampai Stadium as the spectral light crested toward the height of its strength. Crowds streamed through the open gates, filtering up the ramped causeways to find their seats.
Cego stared up at Lampai’s towering stone rafters. Carved statues of Grievar champions sat on top of the walls, the light filling their empty eye sockets as they stared out at the city. Cego thought about the old master again. Had he ever fought at Lampai? Looking at the old statues, he almost expected to see Farmer’s venerated face staring down at him.
Leyna led Cego through the gates and into the outer causeway of the stadium. He could already hear the crowd from within, low murmurs giving way to roars of applause.
“Preliminary fights kicked off already,” Leyna said.
Murray’s fight with the Dragoon would be the main event today, scheduled to start just as the Underground’s spectral light reached its height. As they made their way around the causeway, Leyna explained the many sights of Lampai to Cego.
The stadium was sectioned off according to bit-price, which meant the best seats went to the Daimyo nobles. The most elaborate seats at Lampai were set along the edge of the arena at the highest viewpoints. Some of the raised boxes were owned by prominent individuals and elaborately crafted to their tastes.
Of course, the Underground’s most prominent Circle owner, slaver, and overall jack of all trades, Thaloo, had his place up on the rafters as well. It was well known Thaloo was the only Grievar with a box at Lampai. His was designed to look like a tented palace, filled with plush couches, rugs, and servants carrying platters of heartbeat grapes. Cego wondered whether Thaloo was sitting up in his box now, looking down at the Circle with his crafty yellow eyes.
“Don’t worry; nothing worth seeing in there. It’s a plush waste of space.” Leyna dismissed it as they passed by the strongly perfumed entrance to the Daimyo section, which was marked by a series of ornate golden doorframes.
They passed by the entry-way to the cheapest seats, where Grunt laborers bought tickets. Cego noticed that many of the Grunts were packed into the bar outside the entryway. They watched the preliminary fights on boards above the bar, clanking their bottles together and yelling at the screens.
Some of the lightboards plastered across the walls displayed the odds of each fight. Cego’s heart sank as he saw that Murray was listed as a huge underdog, the Dragoon nearly a six-to-one favorite over the older Grievar.
Leyna led Cego to the Grievar section, which was spartan. Beyond the bare basics of vat-jerky and Deep-ale stands, the Grievar had designed their interior as a simple hallway to funnel folk toward Lampai’s true purpose—the fights. The two walked through the Grievar section out to the open air arena.
Cego looked down at the mass of folk slowly gathering for the main event. The crowd looked like a whirlpool, swirling around the circumference of the stadium and getting thicker toward the center of gravity, the Circle. Though it seemed small from this height, the Circle was luminous, attracting a massive beam of light from the overhead elemental arrays. Spectrals sporadically broke from the beam, swirling around it and then jumping back into the concentrated light like salmon spawning upstream.
Cego and Leyna made their way up another aisle. Though Murray had done his best bargaining to get them good tickets, they were fairly far out from the Circle, in the outposts of the Grievar section.
Even though the seats they took were some distance from the Circle, Cego could feel the prickle of spectral light on his skin. He l
ooked around him at the Grievar crowd in attendance. They were quieter than Cego expected, their eyes zoned in on the preliminary fight down below, occasionally glancing up at the massive lightboard in the center of the stadium that displayed the biometrics of each combatant.
The Grievar around Cego joined together in a sudden chorus—‘Osssss!’ Their deep voices cut through the clamor of the stadium.
Cego was surprised to hear Leyna beside him echoing the call. She smiled at him and motioned for him to join along. The Grievar gave the acknowledgment whenever one of the fighters below showed strength or skill, no matter how subtle or small the action was. They were joining in the fight, letting the light fill them and focus them on the rhythm of combat.
In comparison, the other sections of the stadium were far less controlled. Spectators hooted and hollered as their favorites gained control, or booed and spat on the ground when a fighter they had bits riding on lost. Folk constantly ran to and from their seats to make last-minute changes on their bets or to refill their tankards of ale.
Cego could feel the tension building in the crowd as the final preliminary fight ended. The main event was nearly underway.
He wondered what Murray and Anderson were doing right now. Maybe waiting in some tiny locker room in the bowels of the stadium. Was Murray warming up, hitting pads as Anderson called out combinations as they did in the basement? Or maybe Murray was sitting calmly with his eyes closed, breathing deeply as Cego had watched him do earlier that week?
Farmer had always told Cego to steady his heartbeat prior to fighting. The old master would say, “Your opponent will know if your heart is racing, your palms sweaty, your muscles tightened, your eyes fearful. You must quiet your heart and all else will follow.”
During Cego’s fights at Thaloo’s, that advice had been instrumental not only for staying calm but also for keeping his biometric data in check so that his opponent couldn’t capitalize on any perceived weakness up on the lightboard.
The Combat Codes Page 11