The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  She brought her face awkwardly close to Cego’s again, her red eyes closely examining his golden irises. “Yes, I see the analog you are making, Grievar. I would agree; we are here for similar reasons, though certainly not the same.”

  “Either way, it’s good to know someone else is in the same boat I am,” Cego said. “My name is Cego. Thank you for your help…”

  For a moment, the girl appeared surprised at Cego’s gratitude, as if she’d never heard anything like it before. “It is my lightpath, not my choice, to help those such as you, Griev… Cego,” She said the name awkwardly. “Though your thanks is well taken,” she added.

  “And your name is?” Cego asked.

  “Xenalia,” she replied briskly as she turned away. “I hope I do not see you here at the medward again, Cego. Though I highly doubt that will be the case. Here in the Citadel, Grievar always seem to find a way to damage themselves…”

  Xenalia walked away, her little spectral trailing behind her.

  *

  Today was the day of selection.

  Murray met Cego first thing in the morning at the medward, located at the base of the Knight’s Tower. The two walked back across the yard back toward the Valkyrie, where the selection of the final twenty-four would take place. The rain had subsided momentarily and given way to a thick white fog that crept along the yard, clinging to the edges of the stone structures. Cego watched as spectrals emerged from the wells that surrounded the grounds and floated through the mists like one-eyed ghosts.

  When they arrived, the Valkyrie’s wide rotunda was not nearly as crowded as it had been before the Trials. More than half of the kids from the commencement had been trimmed out, either because they had outright failed or because they were unable to attend the selection due to sustained neurological damage within the Sim.

  There was a nervous energy within the room. Parents were boasting of their kids’ performances to each other as the Scouts in attendance were already chatting about what they’d do with the extra bit-purse they’d receive if one of their picks made it through.

  Though Cego tried to separate himself from the buzz, he couldn’t help but feel a nervous tinge in his stomach. He was worried about Dozer and Knees. Or maybe he was worried about himself. Since he’d been reunited with his two friends, he had pictured attending the Lyceum with them. Cego couldn’t imagine entering alone, along with the group of purelights that would surely make it through.

  Cego glanced around the room, looking for either of his friends. He saw the huge bulk of the boy from the outer rings, still escorted by two mercs. He caught sight of Shiar out of the corner of his eye, consorting with the same group of purelights he’d seen earlier during the Trial’s commencement. Solara Halberd was standing by herself several paces from the purelight pack. Cego couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

  He noticed a big shadow by one of the pillars across the room. Cego told Murray he’d be back and walked toward the pillar. Broad shoulders swaying back and forth, a foot nervously drumming against the floor—it had to be Dozer.

  Cego crept behind Dozer and slowly pushed his foot against the back of his friend’s knee, lowering the big Grievar to arm level, where he started to snake his wrist across Dozer’s thick neck. Dozer quickly grabbed Cego’s arm and swiveled around to face him.

  Cego smiled and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Nice choke defense!”

  A wide smile creased Dozer’s face, and he pulled Cego in for his standard bear hug.

  “Nice to see a familiar… well, familiar and friendly face round here,” Dozer said, looking wearily over at the exclusive group of purelights congregated in the center of the room.

  “Knees?” Cego asked, though he was afraid to know the answer.

  Dozer looked down at the floor, tapping his foot nervously. “I don’t know… I heard he had it pretty rough in the there. I asked about him and they said he was taken down to the medward in Central Mercuri—the Lyceum’s ward was full already.”

  Cego felt his face flush. He’d been given preference over his friends again—getting a spot at the nearby medward, while Knees had to be taken outside of the Citadel into the dregs. He was probably getting treated along with all the cleaver addicts out there.

  “He’ll make it here,” Cego said with determination. “He’s made it this far; he wouldn’t let anything stop him now.”

  “I hope so,” Dozer said.

  “How about you? Did you need any treatment afterward?” Cego asked, trying to get Dozer’s mind off of Knees.

  The big Grievar smiled, showing his crooked yellow teeth, “Nope! Just been holed up in the Lyceum for three days now..”

  “What? How’d you do it—did you know it was all a Sim beforehand?” Cego asked.

  “Didn’t know anything,” Dozer said proudly. “I mean, I got beat up pretty bad in there, but now I feel fine. Someone tried to explain it to me… but I had a hard understandin’ em.”

  Cego was astonished. Somehow, Dozer had emerged from the Trials unscathed. He couldn’t help but chuckle at his large friend’s complete lack of awareness, which in the end appeared to have saved him from any mental scarring. Dozer wasn’t thinking about what was real, his purpose here, or anything that deep. Dozer was… Dozer. Cego could learn something from him.

  The two boys returned to Murray’s side.

  Murray nodded at Dozer. “Glad to see you made it through, big guy.”

  “Thanks, Mighty… er, sir… Murray.” Dozer fumbled with his attempts at formality.

  Murray chuckled, a smile breaking across his face for the first time today. “Just Murray will do.”

  “Murray,” Dozer said affirmatively.

  The three stood quietly for several moments as the hall continued to fill up. It was almost time. Dozer stared at the entrance like a sad pup—still no Knees.

  The room suddenly hushed as Commander Aon Farstead and several other Grievar stepped onto the balcony above. Murray whispered to the boys, “Those are the Lyceum’s professors—and the judges of the Trials.”

  Commander Farstead pulled a long paper scroll from the podium and brushed his fingers across it, his milky white eyes flickering back and forth.

  Cego glanced back at the entrance and saw a solitary figure slowly walking in. Knees.

  He tapped Dozer on the shoulder to get his attention, and the big boy nearly jumped into the air in excitement. Their enthusiasm quickly waned when they saw the state Knees was in.

  Though he didn’t appear to have any physical injuries—the Venturian boy might as well have been through a war. His face was deathly pale and huge circles ringed the bottoms of his eyes. He walked toward them slowly, tenderly, as if his body was injured. Knees lacked the mischievous glint in his eyes and the crooked smile that Cego had become accustomed to.

  Dozer pulled Knees into a hefty hug that he gingerly accepted. The Venturian pulled up next to Cego. Cego grasped his wrist and nodded—silently saying that he understood what he’d been through. Knees nodded back at him blankly.

  The three companions stood together, ready for the selection.

  Aon Farstead’s whisper echoed off the tall chamber walls.

  “Greetings, Trial-takers, families, and all Citadelians in attendance,” Aon said. “This year’s Trials have completed, and we have chosen our class of twenty-four.”

  The room was deathly quiet. Even the purelights shut up in anticipation of the selection.

  Aon continued. “This year’s Trials were unique. Extraordinary, really. I truly believe this class to be the Citadel’s best over the past several decades—and that includes classes with some our most notable Knights of recent times, with the likes of Derondal Markspar, Artemis Halberd, and Murray Pearson.”

  Cego looked up at Murray, but the burly Grievar didn’t even blink.

  “The scores of our top three were unparalleled this year.” Aon spoke even softer, though Cego could hear the Commander’s voice ringing in his eardrums. “I believe it is a sign. Of time
s to come.”

  Many of the Citadelians in the room took Aon’s words as a rally cry—they responded with a chorus of osss that echoed across the chamber. Aon held his hand up to silence them.

  “Do not take my words lightly.” Aon’s blank eyes swept across the room. “In the times that approach the Citadel, we have two paths, one in the light and one in the shadows. Just as we choose our new class today, we must choose which path to take in the coming days. How we proceed and how this new class is shaped will determine the Citadel’s future—Mercuri’s future.”

  Aon handed the scroll he had examined earlier to a Grievar that stood beside him, a stocky man with thick shoulders.

  Murray whispered in Cego’s ear again. “That’s Mack Hunt, the Lyceum’s professor of striking.”

  Professor Hunt read from the scroll in a booming voice.

  “If your name is called, step forward into your designated slot at the front of the room.”

  Cego noticed twenty four circular steel platforms lined up beneath the balcony along the wall.

  “Our twentieth-fourth pick is Mateus Winterfowl, age fifteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  A purelight with a sharp plume of blond hair jutting from his scalp stepped forward and onto the platform farthest to the right. The boy raised his hands into the air as the crew of purelights cheered and clapped their hands together in unison.

  The platform Mateus stepped onto began to pulse. Cego craned his head forward for a better look—the platform was composed of some elemental alloy, just like the Circles. Answering the call of the alloy, the spectrals congregated in the hall’s domed roof slowly began to float toward the ground, like feathers on a soft wind.

  Several of the spectrals found their way to Mateus, bathing the boy in a victorious glow. As the light covered him, his image suddenly flared to life along one of the chamber walls. Beside Mateus’s image, his biometric stats came to life on the wall.

  Murray whispered to Cego again. “Class biometrics are now up for the public on SystemView, all day, every day.”

  Professor Hunt continued reading from the scroll with his booming voice. “Our twenty-third pick is Tegan Masterton, age fourteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.” A purelight girl with tightly braided black hair stepped from the center of the room onto the next platform over, her image and biometrics also getting displayed on the wall.

  Just as Cego expected, most of the picks were purelights, and the majority of those were from Mercuri’s Vega District—an exclusive area of the city where the Twelve Grievar families resided.

  A few lacklights were interspersed within the picks. Cego watched as the huge boy from the outer rings stepped onto the platform, that strange smile broad on his face. Cego had secretly been curious to see the boy’s biometrics, and he wasn’t disappointed. Joba Maglin, age nine, six-foot-four, three hundred twenty pounds. Someone from the crowd shouted, “Freak!” though the boy kept smiling.

  A smaller, dark-skinned lacklight stepped onto the steel platform. “Our eighteenth pick is Abel Mohandar, age thirteen, of Mercuri’s Karsh District.” Someone in the room yelled, “Sponge eater!” Several others laughed as the boy stared out from his platform.

  Cego recognized where Abel hailed from—Karsh—as the district Murray lived in, primarily composed of immigrants from Kiroth. Murray had told him that due to the competitive nature between Mercuri and Kiroth, there was constant discrimination toward Kirothian immigrants like Abel, even though some of them had inhabited Mercuri for several decades now. Sponge eater was a derogatory name for Kirothians, referring to the squishy bread they frequently baked.

  Cego wondered what the purelights would scream when he stood up there. If he stood up there. Perhaps Murray had too much confidence in him. Maybe his score wouldn’t stack up against all the other seasoned fighters in this room.

  “Our twelfth pick is Dozer, age fourteen, of the Underground.”

  Dozer was in. Cego quickly forgot about his worries when he saw the expression on his big friend’s face—pure elation. He thought back to his time in the Deep with Dozer, when his friend would constantly remind everyone that someday, he would be studying at the Lyceum. Shiar and most other kids had constantly dismissed Dozer’s dreams back then.

  Dozer stepped forward onto the twelfth platform, his face frozen in a huge, toothy grin even as the purelights hissed and booed at him—“Deep scum! Dark slagger!” Cego didn’t think Dozer’s smile could get any bigger, but it did, as soon as the next name was called.

  “Our eleventh pick is Knees, age thirteen, of the Underground.”

  Knees didn’t share Dozer’s elation as he stepped toward his platform. He walked toward it unsteadily, as if he didn’t know where he was. The spectrals that cast their light on Knees only served to illuminate the void look on his face.

  Cego proudly watched his two friends standing against the wall. Several months ago, they had been fighting for their lives in Thaloo’s slave Circle. Now they’d just gained admission into the world’s most prestigious combat school.

  The next several picks were more purelights from Mercuri’s long-established Grievar’s bloodlines. Each one was met with louder roars of approval.

  They were down to the final six spots and there were still over fifty kids in the room that hadn’t been picked yet, including Cego. Murray placed his hand on Cego’s shoulder reassuringly. Now that Knees and Dozer were up there, he wanted more than anything to gain entrance into this year’s class.

  “Our sixth pick is Marvin Stronglight, age fifteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  A lanky boy with a long mane of tangled black hair stepped onto the sixth platform.

  “Our fifth pick is Solara Halberd, age fourteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  Though Solara was a purelight, and the daughter of the most famed of all active Grievar, the rest of the purelights quickly quieted down as she took the fifth spot against the wall.

  “Our fourth pick is Shiar Shankspar, age thirteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  Shiar’s place of origin was not listed as the Underground. It was as if they’d erased that blotch from his past. Shiar stepped forward onto the platform, smirking as the purelights showered him with cheers.

  “Our third pick is Gryfin Thurgood, age fifteen, of Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  The chiseled Thurgood boy stepped forward onto the platform, smiling through his pearly white teeth. He looked like the epitome of a Grievar—the sort that Cego had seen in the ads up on SystemView. Several of the girls in the chamber cheered especially loudly as Gryfin waved out at the crowd.

  Cego breathed out forcefully, trying to steady his heartbeat.

  Professor Hunt took his time, waiting dramatically to read the next name from the scroll. Finally, his voice boomed.

  “Our second pick is Cego, age thirteen, of the Underground.”

  Murray clasped Cego’s shoulders and prodded him forward. “Well done, kid. You were made for this place.”

  Cego nodded to Murray in thanks and stepped forward. What did Murray mean, though—you were made for this place?

  As expected, the purelights in the room shouted various insults as Cego walked toward his spot against the wall. “Cave dweller! Deep scum!” Of course, Cego had become used to such derogatory terms, confined with Shiar for so many months in the Underground.

  Second pick. He’d made it. Just as Murray had said, he was nearly at the top of his class. Cego caught Solara Halberd’s steely stare as he approached his spot. He took his place at the front of the room with his class as several of the spectrals slowly circled him.

  Cego, age thirteen, of the Underground. Professor Hunt’s words echoed in Cego’s head as he stood on the platform, looking out into the chamber. Of the Underground. Those words were a lie. Cego wasn’t from the Underground. He was from… somewhere else.

  Everyone had an origin, even those from the Deep. Except him. Cego’s mind wandered back to the Trials, to the blue skies of the Island
and Farmer sitting in front of him in the ironwood Circle. Until recently, that is where Cego had thought he was from. Until the Trials, Farmer had been the man who had raised him. Now he didn’t know anything.

  Cego nearly forgot there was one more name to be called. The top spot. Even with his inherent knowledge of the Trial, Cego hadn’t gotten the top spot in this class. There was one ahead of him. Someone better.

  “Our first and top pick for this year’s Lyceum class is Kōri Shimo, from Mercuri’s Vega District.”

  Another purelight. Of course, Cego thought. Who else but a purelight, bred from birth for this sole purpose, would get the top spot?

  The crowd parted as a figure at the back of the room slowly stood and walked forward. Cego quickly recognized the bald head. It was the boy who had made steam rise from his scalp, the one sitting silently by the pillar during the Trial’s commencement gathering.

  Kōri Shimo didn’t have the look of a standard purelight. He wore simple clothing, white trousers and a tunic, not the expensive garments worn by so many of the purelights standing up on the platforms.

  Shimo certainly was athletic-looking—tall, with long arms and legs—though none of his features stood out in particular. He wasn’t a giant, like Joba Maglin, or a chiseled statue like Gryfin Thurgood. In fact, he was fairly plain—average, even. Cego could probably say the same about himself.

  Cego’s confusion was mirrored by the rest of the purelights in the room. They didn’t clap for Kōri as they had for the rest of their brethren. Many peered out at him in confusion, trying to recognize one of their own who had taken the top spot.

  Kōri slowly paced to the front of the room and stood next to Cego on the first platform. He didn’t appear to be happy or sad. He looked as if he had just gotten out of bed and was wondering what he’d have for breakfast.

  Aon’s whisper broke the silence. “I present the Lyceum’s new class of Level Ones.”

  *

  Within an hour, the crowd had filtered out of the Valkyrie’s rotunda and only the twenty-four new Lyceum students and Professor Mack Hunt remained.