Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  In the process of stretching forwards to grab for a wooden staff, Siray was caught off-balance, and she found herself stumbling to the side and falling to one knee.

  Yet Siray’s battle instincts kicked in quickly, and even as she fell, her searching hand managed to grab on to a staff. She used the momentum of her tumble to pull the staff along with her, swinging it around to where she knew her attacker was still standing. She felt the weapon connect with a body as her knee hit the sand. Then she was leaping back up onto both feet, bracing herself to continue the fight as she turned her head to eye her attacker.

  It was Melora.

  The curly-haired female had grabbed her own weapon and was now raising it above her head, a sneer on her face.

  ‘Halt!’

  Siray froze where she was, fighting every instinct to do so, and by the look in Melora’s eyes, it seemed she, too, was debating the order. Siray didn’t take her eyes off her enemy, but she knew Herrin was approaching, as the other captives backed away sightly from them both, opening up a noticeable space around them.

  As Master Herrin’s blocky form arrived next to them, he paused for an instant, assessing them both, before he spoke. ‘As amusing as it would be for me to watch this play out between the two of you, it’s not yet time for this type of exercise. Get yourselves back in line.’

  Siray moved silently away, putting Herrin’s body between herself and Melora as they both stalked away from the weapons rack. No point in taking chances, not in this place.

  She took her place in the row amongst her unit, registering Melora’s position down at the other end of the formation, and watched the remainder of the captives jog back with their weapons, Herrin quickly striding behind them with a staff of his own, a predator herding its prey.

  ‘I want the front line to take ten steps forwards, and the second to take five. Same for the fourth and fifth lines.’

  The captives obeyed, and the space between the lines grew significantly.

  Herrin barked another gruff order, and soon they were spaced out lengthwise in their rows as well, enough so that Siray would need to walk several places before she could touch anyone else. It made her feel more exposed, somehow, more vulnerable, knowing that her friends weren’t within easy reaching distance, and she could feel herself stretching out with all her senses, listening, watching, and feeling the space around her for any threats.

  The main peril, as always, Herrin positioned himself before the group, his body clearly visible by all through the spaces in the lines.

  ‘Watch and follow exactly as I do,’ he instructed emotionlessly, ‘and you just might survive a little longer here.’

  With that brief line of introduction, Herrin began moving his staff through a sequence of techniques, calling out names and numbers for each movement.

  Startled, Siray moved her arms to copy, the others around her doing the same. As she raised her staff above her head and brought it down hard in a mimicked blow, her back protested, the edges of her injury burning as the recently scarred tissue stretched. She forcibly turned her mind from the sensation by putting all her focus into her movements, endeavouring to copy the training master’s techniques exactly.

  After some time of repeating the stationary techniques, Herrin began incorporating foot movements while continuing to swing his staff in various attack patterns.

  Concentrating hard as she followed along, Siray found that while most of Herrin’s routines were familiar to her, there were some decidedly different techniques involved. Sweating and panting as she twirled and jabbed forwards with her staff at an imaginary opponent, sixty other captives repeating the same movements, Siray perceived that the difference between what she had been taught by the Resistance and what she was being forced to learn here was aggression. The Resistance had shown her how to effectively put down an opponent—carefully demonstrated how she and the other Resistance members in her unit could disable and overwhelm an opponent and keep them out of action for a moment or longer and, if needed, how to kill if no other alternative was possible.

  In contrast, Herrin’s approach was brutal, his techniques all designed to disable an opponent quickly and lethally, and to give no quarter until you had managed to do so. To the Faction, an opponent you had merely disabled was an opponent that would have another chance of killing you later.

  In a way, it summed up everything Siray had learned here so far. Kill or be killed.

  As she twirled her staff around above her head twice before dropping to her haunches, one leg stretched out for balance and kicking herself into a low circle with her weapon also extended, Siray noted several of the captives in the formation struggling to keep up with the patterns.

  And she had no doubt that Herrin was also observing who was keeping up and who wasn’t, even if his full attention seemed to be on what he was doing.

  As they kept progressing through the weapon drills, Siray’s mind seemed to forget what had happened yesterday, what might happen tomorrow, and instead concentrated on the now. Her training had always done this for her, allowing her to think of nothing else but the movement of her hands and feet and the next technique. And if she focused hard enough, she could almost pretend she wasn’t here, a captive of the Faction, but back in one of the Resistance camps, amongst friends and allies.

  Siray’s hands were stinging and her back and legs aching when Herrin finished one set of movements and finally turned to them, his weapon shifting back to the ready position at his side. She almost wished he hadn’t, as what had been a dull sensation in her back earlier became a painful protest once her body realised she had ceased placing physical demands on it. Yet Siray knew others, including Genlie, would be hurting far worse, so she held her head up even as her chest heaved for breath, gasping as much at the effort of her exertions as at the stinging pain that jabbed at her along her spine.

  ‘Leave your weapons where they are and get food,’ barked Herrin, then he pivoted away and strode towards the arena’s exit, his powerful form giving no indication that he was tired from the morning’s exercise. Indeed, the training master wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Siray felt a new level of respect, and fear, for the master trainer as she blinked wearily. Then her mind caught up. Food. She turned her head quickly and saw some captives to her right begin to run from their place in the line, their long weapons falling forgotten onto the sand. She had just started after them, her legs protesting, when a waving movement on her left made her glance over.

  Baindan saw her look, lowered his arms, and jerked his head for her to follow.

  Siray frowned at him, but as he peeled off from the main group without another word or signal, she merely gritted her teeth as her stomach raged and altered direction to begin following after Baindan instead.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN BAINDAN INCREASED his pace, Siray became confused but pushed herself harder in order to make up ground. She reached him as they were nearing the opposite end of the arena from the other captives.

  ‘Baindan, what …?’

  The question died on her lips as she realised what it was he had seen.

  Two steaming barrels stood not far away, quietly delivered and unnoticed by all—except Baindan.

  Stunned, Siray slowed to a halt and spun.

  Most of the other captives were fighting amongst themselves down the other end of the arena over the two barrels the group had been positioned near.

  And then Siray noted that there was also another barrel standing by another side of the arena.

  More than enough food.

  Plus, a bigger-than-normal barrel stood near the entrance to the arena, its dark sides telling Siray that its contents had been sloshed over its edges by clumsy guards.

  Her instincts rose up like a cripwof’s hackles, and Siray tracked her eyes around the arena, not liking the sudden abundance of the fare that had been put out for them. Why make them fight it out for food and water yesterday only to make it amply available today? Had they passed some so
rt of test the day before, or been deemed to have a learned a lesson? It didn’t seem to fit with Genlie’s theory about how the Faction might be trying to turn them against each other.

  Siray couldn’t work it out, but as she examined the arena carefully, everything else seemed as it had been yesterday.

  Three figures running across the sand towards her and Baindan made Siray’s gaze snap to them, and she tensed until she realised she recognised the figure in the lead.

  Zale reached them first, followed by Kovi and Genlie. ‘I looked up and you’d both gone,’ he said, concern mixed with something else in his voice.

  He addressed both her and Baindan, but Siray noted how his eyes scanned her first before he actually seemed to relax. Which brought to mind the other issue she kept wondering about—if he would follow through on his promise and ask her permission to court her.

  She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to or not. Wasn’t sure if she could bear the thought of someone taking Deson’s place.

  Baindan seemed to register that some strong emotion had given Siray pause, if his step forwards to draw Zale’s attention away from her was any indication. ‘We’re fine—but I thought this was interesting.’ He twisted and waved a hand at the barrels to show the others what had drawn him over to this end of the arena.

  The three of them stared.

  ‘I don’t get it—two lots of barrels?’ Genlie’s tone was confused and suspicious.

  ‘Not just two,’ Siray corrected. ‘There’s another one over there.’ She pointed.

  Kovi shook his head. ‘Yet they’re all down there, brawling over the same barrels,’ he commented dryly, his fingers flicking towards the approximately fifty captives at the other end of the arena.

  ‘Not all,’ remarked Genlie suddenly, her fair face focused on something. ‘There goes Wexner.’

  Siray looked to where Genlie was pointing. Wexner had indeed noted the third lot of currently unattended barrels and had begun shepherding Loce, Tamot, and Kinna in that direction, leaving Annbov to follow along.

  ‘Well, no point in standing around and waiting for an invitation,’ Zale said eagerly, his strong frame spinning in the direction of the warm aroma wafting from the barrels.

  ‘Wait,’ Siray ordered sharply, earning four incredulous looks. She reminded herself that they were, like her, simply ravenous. She pressed on anyway, knowing they had better err on the side of caution. ‘Why so much food today?’

  ‘Because they nearly starved us these last few days?’ responded Kovi dryly, edging towards the closest barrel.

  Genlie nodded. ‘Herrin’s been looking far too relaxed this morning—I figure he’s going to be putting us through some really taxing drills later. And if we’re well fed, then he’ll have no excuse for berating us when we can’t keep up.’

  Siray chewed her bottom lip. It made sense. The Faction couldn’t afford them to be weak from hunger with this level of training. And she was hungry.

  She relaxed slightly as Baindan strode past Kovi and Genlie and, stepping up to one barrel, reached in and grabbed a large portion. Smiling at the others, he raised it to his mouth and took a bite.

  His grateful sigh as he chewed the mouthful had Siray and the others moving quickly up to the barrels as well.

  Eagerly grabbing her own portion and biting into it, Siray closed her eyes as the warmth and taste of the meal flooded her mouth, even as her stomach growled again. Swallowing, she felt the food slide down her throat and settle into her complaining stomach. She sighed happily. Herrin could throw whatever challenges he wanted at them that afternoon. With a full stomach of warm food, Siray knew she could handle it.

  Her friends also eating contentedly, Siray pivoted around to look down the other end of the arena. Some of the other captives had followed Wexner and were now standing around the same barrels and eating their portions. She eyed them closely, but all were calm and relaxed. Even as she watched, one of them finished off their portion and went back to the barrel for another.

  As Siray swallowed the last of her own meal, she realised that they could all have multiple portions if they wished, with so much food available this time around. Yet as she turned back to the barrels to do just that, she wrestled with herself. If yesterday afternoon was anything to go by, then eating a large amount of food at this point would not be a good idea.

  She said as much when she saw Tamot going back to the barrel for seconds. ‘I wouldn’t eat more than the one. I’m sure Herrin has something planned for this afternoon; otherwise they wouldn’t be giving out food so freely. And I don’t suppose he’ll look kindly on anyone not able to perform weapons drills just because they end up sick from being too full.’

  Tamot paused in his path back to the barrel, and Siray could see the war waging within him. Freely available food, in a place where food wasn’t always guaranteed, versus being unable to function well later.

  The need to survive won out over his stomach’s desire for further gratification.

  As he turned away from the barrels, Siray saw Tamot pause again. ‘We might need to move away from here,’ he said, his gaze fixed on something beyond her.

  She turned. Captives from the other end of the arena were walking quickly across the sand towards them. Obviously already having eaten at least one portion, they were keen to get a second.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Baindan quickly, already beginning to move.

  At the third group of barrels, Wexner’s group had also noted the advance of the other captives and were making their way across the middle of the arena, food portions in hand, to the one section without any barrels.

  Siray’s group began to do the same, moving briskly away from the still-steaming food but not so fast that the other captives thought them afraid—that would just make them look weak.

  Once they reached the spot Wexner’s group was occupying, the two units stood together and waited, watching the other captives mill around and, at times, brawl over the plentiful food.

  Curious, Siray scanned the faces she could see, pausing when she found the one she had unconsciously been seeking.

  Melora was holding position at the first group of barrels, the other four members of her unit all standing around the food, apparently acting as gatekeepers.

  Seemingly sensing someone’s eyes on her, Melora raised her gaze, and Siray watched as the female looked around the arena. Saw the moment Melora’s eyes stopped on Siray’s group. On Zale.

  Suddenly, Melora’s gaze snapped to meet Siray’s, her glare a challenge from across the sand.

  And just as suddenly, Siray felt like accepting that challenge.

  ‘Hey.’

  Baindan’s voice jolted Siray from her thoughts, and she looked at him, startled.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said a little uncertainly. Then she gave him a small smile. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  Baindan took a step closer to her, glanced back at the others quickly, then lowered his voice as he turned back to say, ‘I know this might not be the best time to ask, but I’m going to ask you anyway.’ He paused to take a breath. ‘Is there something between you and Zale?’ Baindan’s gaze was almost electric.

  Siray felt annoyance rise as she looked at him. ‘You’re right—this isn’t the best time to ask.’

  She spun away from him, intending to go talk with one of the others, but Baindan grabbed quickly, and a little roughly, at her arm. ‘Siray, tell me. Is there something between the two of you?’

  Siray’s ire was rising quickly, and she peered back over her shoulder, meaning to tell him to leave her alone, but they were interrupted.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Zale’s voice was light, but Siray could hear the tone that promised danger beneath the lightness.

  Baindan released Siray’s arm, but he barely acknowledged Zale as he said, ‘Nothing’s wrong. Siray and I were just talking. Privately.’

  Zale crossed his arms as he planted his feet, his face growing imperious. ‘Didn’t appear th
at way to me. Looks like Siray didn’t actually feel like continuing whatever discussion it was you think you were having.’

  Baindan was now wheeling around to face Zale, his back stiffening as he glared at the other male.

  Siray felt a thrill run through her as she watched the pair face-off against each other, something in her blood excited at the thought that these two impressive specimens might battle each other for her. A small part of her briefly thought the situation had escalated too quickly, but the nagging thoughts quickly faded away.

  ‘I think you need to stop involving yourself in other people’s concerns,’ Baindan growled out, just two paces away from Zale.

  From where Siray stood to the side of the pair, Zale’s eyes seemed to glow with anger.

  ‘Siray is my concern.’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ Baindan said, pronouncing each word slowly. Finally.

  This is it, Siray thought, her heart thrumming. She’d finally get to see which of them really deserved her—if either of them actually did. And if not … well, she would still enjoy watching this situation play out.

  Zale unfolded his arms and stepped closer to Baindan. ‘We’ll see about—’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  This time the interruption came from Tamot, and Siray almost laughed out loud as the ire of both Baindan and Zale turned on him. Her pulse was racing now as she eyed the tenseness lining all three males’ bodies. Her eyes darted between them, wondering who was going to make the first move.

  Tamot suddenly seemed to realise he had wandered right into the middle of a situation, and he raised his hands, fending off the glares of the other males. ‘Alright, I think we all need to just calm down.’

  Siray frowned at him, overwhelmed with an unfamiliar anger. He was weak to back down from the fight. She always knew he had been. But she could still get the others to fight, if she just—

  ‘Line up!’

  Herrin’s deep roar startled all of them, and Siray gave herself a bit of a shake. Right—she had to focus now. They could come back to this later. She turned away from the males and began jogging to where Herrin was standing, keen not to be last to join the lines. Footsteps dulled by the sand sounded from behind her, and she looked around to see Baindan and Zale close behind and running side by side, their disagreement now apparently forgotten as they, too, realised that there were bigger threats to contend with.