by T. C. Edge
Shadow watched from a shaded corner, a small smile on his face. He didn’t move, or test his own gifts. He just stood there, looking at Kira, ignoring everyone else.
She clenched her teeth at the sight, and felt foolish for showing her hand. Her eyes were torn from him, and she stamped back over to where Finn sat, also seeming happy to merely assume his gifts had returned. Kira realised then that she didn’t really know what they were.
She slumped beside him, her glee now fading.
“Not gonna test yourself out?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I feel normal again. That’s good enough for me.”
“Right. And what exactly is normal to you?” she asked. “Speed?”
He nodded.
“And? What else?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t really know what to call it,” he said. “Maybe you’ve got names for it all, but not me. I can just do things, you know.”
“Right, good explanation Finn,” mumbled Kira. “Like, what things?”
He clearly wasn’t good with words. Either that or he was trying to keep his cards close to his chest. That would be understandable.
“I can make things move,” he said. “And…change their structure. Sometimes.”
Kira’s eyes lifted.
“Wow. I don’t know anyone like that.”
That was true, she didn’t. In fact, it was only the soldiers who took her, the ones who came from the alley, who she’d seen doing any sort of matter manipulation. If Finn could do the same, then perhaps he wasn’t so vulnerable here after all.
Finn smiled, as if happy for the endorsement.
“And you? You’re quick, obviously. And, enhanced eyesight, right? You can see a long way.”
“And in the dark,” she added. “So, if they have any bouts at night, then that works for me.”
She laughed. He chuckled. Some of the tension was swept away.
“I can hear and smell well too,” she added, finding herself suddenly candid. It was as if Finn also had the power to draw the truth from someone. In fact, the manner in which he’d soothed her, twice now, was quite telling. Maybe she was onto something…
“That’s amazing,” he said, equally impressed as she was. “So, it’s all passed down through our parents, right? The genes. So, what, your mum had enhanced hearing and eyesight…and your dad had an enhanced sense of smell and speed? Something like that, anyway,” he shrugged.
“More or less,” she told him. “Actually, it was my mum with the speed and sense of smell, and my dad with the eyesight and hearing. Good guess, though.”
Really, to have such a mix of enhancements was extremely rare, at least in Kira’s experience. Most people had none, just regular people. Those that did usually had just one. Anyone with two enhancements was known back in Haven as a hybrid, and such people were outlawed, unless they were official agents like the Stalkers. That was one of the many reasons why she was part of the rebel group.
To have four enhancements, however, was something she’d only come across in a couple of other people in her lifetime. For that to happen, there would have to be a lot of mixing of enhanced bloodlines in your family tree, and even then the chances of those enhanced genes actually activating, and manifesting, was fairly low.
Kira had always believed she was one in a million. But looking around now, she realised that that wasn’t the case at all. Here in Neorome, hybrids had been gathered from all over the world.
And some had powers she’d never even heard of.
“OK, come on then, bring them up, let’s take a look.”
Dom stood on the main viewing balcony of his residence, looking down over the square. Below, in the training yard, Rufus bowed his understanding and disappeared into the white stone building that housed his contenders.
It was early. Too early, perhaps, for Dom right now. His head was aching terribly from overconsumption of wine, and his mouth felt as dry as a bone, a problem he couldn’t seem to solve no matter how much water he gulped down.
He felt ragged, hair out of place and eyes heavy. It was often the case on his first proper morning back in the city.
Around the yard, both on the ground and up on the gallery on the first floor, his guards stood primed and ready. Those up high held silver rifles to match their fine armour. Those on the ground were armed with swords, spears, and shields. Now that the contenders had had their powers unleashed, Dom wasn’t going to take any chances.
Not too long ago, when Dom was a boy, one group did succeed in escaping from a school. Led by a particularly gifted warrior, they managed to overpower the guards, storm the main residence of their ludus, and kill their master and his wife, only sparing their children. Fleeing the compound, they caused havoc in the city before they were finally surrounded and slaughtered, an event that became known throughout Neorome as ‘Bastian’s Bloodbath’, Bastian being the lanista who met such a brutal end.
It was, suffice to say, an event that Empress Vesper, and all the lanistas, wished to avoid happening again. A cautionary tale that kept them all on their toes.
Dom, of course, took all necessary precautions. Being a prince, he was rich and privileged enough to afford the finest guards around, and several of his current security cohort were previous combatants in the games themselves.
Many who came here tended to wish to stay, even those snatched from distant lands. The beauty of the city, Dom knew, was too compelling for some, and a life of service and reward under his patronage was often a far more appealing prospect than returning to the violent and desolate lands he’d taken them from.
Perhaps the best example was Rufus, his most loyal guard and instructor. He was once a slave, taken from the great, sweeping lands to the south, who fought in the Colosseum and won his honour and freedom. He was given a choice: return to whence he came, or stay and serve and be part of something much bigger. He chose the latter, and Dom was delighted for it.
He watched now as Rufus returned, a collection of long, nimble limbs and stringy but powerful muscle. He’d defy any one of his new contenders to try to get past him, let alone the rest of the highly competent guards surrounding the yard.
Yes, Dom thought, I’m perfectly safe.
The yard quickly filled as Rufus stepped to one side and ordered the contenders onto the sand. Despite the hour, the sun was already growing hot, a fact that wasn’t much helping Dom’s hangover. Unfortunately, his position on the balcony had no shade, and he was quite keen on getting this done and seeking the quiet solitude of his private chambers.
“Line up, side by side,” called out Rufus. His voice was a growl, with a croaky texture, a mixture of gravel and little shards of glass. Dom winced as he roared loud into the morning air, the prisoners stepping out in front of him.
Dom looked over them, and saw the change he expected. What had become a flock of browbeaten dogs had morphed into a pack of wolves, all salivating at the mouth and baring their fangs. It was always the case when their powers were returned. Such people felt naked without them. Dom often suspected, however, that he’d rather prefer to abandon his own.
Rufus, with his back to Dom, stood before the prisoners issuing his orders.
“Line up. Stand still. Look up to your master.”
They all did everything he said, and Dom nodded to himself with an expression of approval. There was no dissention at all. This was a good start.
Rufus spun about once they were all in place.
“Your choice, Master Domitian,” he called.
Dom winced again. Rufus appeared unaware of his sensitive state, probably because he’d never had a drink in his life.
Perish the thought.
“Hmmmmm.” Dom’s right index finger lifted and gently worked its way across the line. “How about you, Oom.”
The giant’s oversized eyebrows fell into a frown. Rufus spun back to him, his voice once more splitting the air.
“Display of power, Oom,” he shouted. “Show
Master Domitian what you can do.”
The eyebrows of the beast lifted knowingly, and so did a smile. He stepped forward from the line with a heavy stamp, grunting loudly. His thickly muscled neck twisted left and right, taking in his surroundings. Then, heaving in a breath, he began running off towards the left, fairly slowly at first, then faster and faster until he was circling the entire yard at frightening speed for such a colossus, the earth shaking under his mighty step.
Dom’s hangover took a hiatus at the sight, his aching head forgotten. He watched eagerly as Oom began to slow again, the churning trail of sand and dust he’d kicked up starting to form into a cough-inducing mist.
Dom was all set to begin clapping his hands, when the beast stepped towards a wooden figure the size of a man, usually intended for practising swordplay, and swung a huge fist right at it. The dense oak, varnished and treated to make it almost unbreakable, shattered with a loud crack, shards of it firing off around the yard and cutting into the sand and the walls around it. A couple of guards even had to make hasty getaways to avoid the shrapnel, stepping sideways or ducking low to move out of the way.
Dom’s hands, suspended in mid-air, finally began to clap.
“Bravo, Oom!” he called out. “Bravo!”
The mighty man seemed mighty pleased. Most of his yellow gladiators, however, merely appeared cowed and rather concerned.
Rufus spun again.
“Next, Master Domitian?”
Dom, slightly distracted by the swirling cloud of sand and dust, peered once more at the line. His eyes fell on Finn. It was a good opportunity to test him.
“Finn,” he said. “Get rid of this dust.”
Finn seemed to have taken on a different air, as far as Dom could see. As was often the case with his prisoners, he appeared to have come to terms with his fate and now realised his only hope of getting home, if he so wanted it, was through strength and victory. That suited Dom right down to the ground. As a project-contender, he never quite knew how such a character, not as used to war and battle as the others, would turn out.
Finn stepped forward confidently. He looked around for a moment, then slowly lifted one of his hands, shut his eyes, and stood very still. For a second, nothing appeared to happen. Then, gradually, the cloud of sand and dust seemed to gather, thickening, before dropping gently back to the ground.
Finn’s eyes opened, and he drew a long breath. The air in the yard was once more completely clear.
“Excellent, young Finn,” said Dom, beaming. “Very good indeed.”
Rufus went through the motions again, turning and –
“Yes, Rufus, my pick. I know,” said Dom. His instructor nodded and stayed silent.
Dom looked again, his vision now unimpeded. There were two others who stuck out to him, one in the deepest of blacks, the other with vivid red hair that shone bright under the blue sky and against the yellow sand.
He considered his choice a moment, then spoke.
“Shadow,” he said with a wave of the hand, deciding to settle on the Stalker for now. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Shadow didn’t move.
“Shadow, did you hear me?” asked Dom coolly.
Again, the Stalker stayed rooted to the spot.
Rufus reached to his belt and drew his whip. With a sudden strike, quick as a snake, he slashed the leather at his prey. The tip licked its way forward, guided perfectly by its bearer, but ended up hitting nothing but sand, tracing a line across the ground as it withdrew.
A brief silence fell. Dom looked at Shadow and saw that he’d shifted to the right, too fast for his eyes to see, and avoided the strike. He smiled, and as Rufus prepared to strike again, called out for him to stop.
“That’ll do, Rufus. Let him be for now.”
Rufus, muscular arm primed, stopped mid-motion and withdrew. He turned to Dom and nodded.
“Yes, Master Domitian. Whatever you say.”
Dom struggled to conceal a chuckle. He knew Rufus to be a man of considerable competitiveness and discipline. If ever anyone either refused to do as ordered, or displayed any sort of power that might rival his, he tended to lash out.
In the end, Dom suspected that was merely down to his own insecurities, and the concern that he’d have him replaced. He really ought to know that that would never happen. As with Merk and Claud, Dom was steadfastly loyal to his most faithful and dependable aids. Rufus certainly fit comfortably into that bracket.
The beating sun was becoming a little more than he could take, however. He needed shade, water, and perhaps a couple of beautiful woman to massage his temples and bring him back to proper health.
One more would do for now. He’d already seen the more interesting contenders strut their stuff.
His finger lifted a final time.
And it pointed straight at Kira.
Kira wasn’t often one to lose her poise. Yet right now, she stood flummoxed.
She’d just seen Oom display a turn of speed that was shocking for such a beast, and exhibit a show of strength that was simply staggering. She’d seen her new friend Finn dispel a cloud of sand with nothing but a thought, and send it packing back down at their feet. And just a second ago, she’d seen Rufus send his super-fast whip right at Shadow, only for the lash to greet nothing but thin air and the sand that was once beneath his feet.
The Stalker’s speed of movement was astonishing, so fast even her enhanced eyes struggled to pick it up. And now Domitian’s finger was pointing right at her.
“Kira, um, how about you then?” he called out casually from the balcony above.
She hesitated. Rufus stiffened his grip on the handle of his whip. In terms of physical display, all she really had was speed. She couldn’t match the others in this sort of contest. Watching her run around the yard, even if she was quicker than Oom, wouldn’t be overly impressive for a girl of her size and athleticism. It would be expected.
Really, it was her combination of senses and speed that made her unique, or so she thought. This wasn’t the place to show that off.
“Well?” came Dom’s voice.
Rufus moved into position. His whip was ready to strike.
Could she avoid it like Shadow? Was she capable of that? Probably, now that she knew it was coming. After all, back in Haven, she’d faced down and evaded gunfire before, though perhaps not at this range.
In the end, though, she didn’t really want to find out. If she were hit, it would be both tremendously painful and tremendously embarrassing. Best to seek another path.
“Do you have any throwing knives?” she suddenly called out, her mind clicking into gear before the instructor could send the lash.
Rufus relaxed a touch, and flashed his eyes up at Dom.
“Weapons training isn’t until later,” Dom said. “This is just a private, preliminary demonstration. You’ll be showcasing your abilities more fully in a few days time in front of Empress Vesper.”
Dom stopped and took a moment to think. Then he exhaled loudly, as if showing how disappointed he was, and nodded down to Rufus.
Kira watched the exchange with little else in her mind than a desire to perform and do a good job. It was a fundamental part of her personality to be highly thought of for her soldiering skillset, and even in this company, she wanted to impress. Plus, she was now well aware that they were being continually assessed. If there were seedings for the games, she could only assume that doing well now would make things a little easier later on.
Rufus stepped towards her, drawing a couple of throwing knives from his belt.
“Use these on any living person, especially Master Domitian, and I’ll see to it personally that you suffer a very slow and painful death,” he growled.
She recoiled and took possession of the knives.
“All right, I get it. I’m not that stupid.”
Rufus’ expression didn’t change. His eyes suggested he doubted her assertion.
As he stepped away to give her space, Kira felt all eyes on h
er. Domitian, Rufus, all the contenders and all the guards. She seemed to have gathered the attention of a flock of pigeons too, cooing lightly as they spectated from a shaded corner of the yard.
Seeing them, she had a bright idea, and her emerald eyes lit up. She moved gently away from the rest, holding one throwing knife in each hand and quickly evaluating their weight and balance. She had to get this right, otherwise she’d look a fool, and displaying her ambidexterity had always proven a decent way of showing off.
She stopped about twenty metres from where the pigeons gathered, pecking at the sand and searching for hidden flecks of food. With a sudden silence dawning, she filled her lungs, primed her muscles, and then thrust herself straight for the flock.
She was upon them before they even noticed she’d moved, her lithe frame appearing in the centre of the clucking assembly as if she’d teleported straight there. The birds took a comical moment to detect the intrusion. Then, with a sudden burst and flutter of wings, they all went flapping off into the air.
Scattering to the heavens, Kira’s keen eyesight picked up each imperceptible movement, and her ears listened for their little beating hearts to make sure she found the perfect target. She waited for a second, long enough for them to flap at least fifteen metres above her, before thrusting one knife, then the next, from each hand in a single, lighting fast motion.
The blades flew like speeding bullets, zipping towards the blue sky and hitting their targets, one after another. A moment later, two pigeons came dropping to the ground, punching the earth with little puffs of dust.
Kira stood where she was as the rest eyed her quietly. Rufus wandered over from his position, lifted the birds and retrieved his knives. Then he turned up to the balcony.
“Right through their hearts, Master Domitian,” he said. “Perfect shots.”
Kira felt a flutter of pride as Dom smiled. And for that, she hated herself.
“Good,” he said. “Now that’s more like it.”
Then, with a sudden clap that seemed to call and end to the brief demonstration, he twisted on the spot and disappeared into the shade.