Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Again, she found herself wondering briefly what Kovi’s trigger could be, apart from the blonde by his side, but Zale’s approach switched her attention again; he was carrying part of a portion. He had grabbed an even smaller piece than she had, but as they needed Herrin to see most of them eating, Zale also had to take the drug.

  Siray just hoped that, with reduced portions, they would retain more of their own selves this time. And that they would be able to match those whose strength and energy would be boosted by eating regular portions.

  Wexner had his unit apply the same strategy, with Kinna pairing up empty-handed with Annbov, who proceeded to eat part of a portion. But when Loce came back from the barrels to stand beside Wexner, he, too, was without a meal.

  ‘Loce, where’s your portion?’ Wexner asked, his back to the other side of the arena as his right hand moved between his empty left hand and his mouth.

  Loce turned away from the other end as well, also raising his empty hands to mimic Wexner. ‘I didn’t grab one,’ he responded quietly, a lock of his pale hair drifting forwards into his eyes.

  Siray twisted slightly to see Wexner frown. ‘That wasn’t the plan,’ he responded.

  She casually shifted in her position, chewing animatedly as she angled her head to view Loce’s face fully.

  He was shrugging, but his dark eyes were narrowed. ‘I didn’t agree to anything. And I won’t be drugged again.’ Loce’s voice was soft but determined.

  Wexner’s lips pressed together into a thin line, and although he was obviously annoyed at Loce, Siray felt a new level of respect for the quiet male.

  Tamot also stood close by, eating a small ration while listening.

  Walking leisurely towards Wexner, Siray looked down at her hand as she ripped the next piece of food off the shrinking chunk in her hand. ‘It won’t make any real difference—Herrin can see that most of us have a portion.’ She moved a little more in amongst the others so they could all hear her words. ‘Move around just a bit; it’ll help avoid suspicion.’ She took a few more steps before stopping, bending her head to give the impression that she was applying herself to the last of her meal. Of course, she could have finished her ration in about two serious swallows right from the start, but that wouldn’t have helped their ruse at all.

  Next to her, Baindan turned, making a show of still chewing as he pretended to wipe his hands off on his pants. Then they both milled around as their friends finished their portions, real or imagined, before they wheeled about to head towards the centre of the arena.

  This time, they all knew what was coming, yet Siray was disappointed when Herrin picked her unit to fight first. She and her friends had hoped to watch some of the other fights take place before their own. She filed out behind Genlie, her heart thumping as they grouped to one side on the expanse of sand before the other captives. Interestingly, their opponent this time was the third unit that had eaten from the set of barrels with them.

  And as Siray stood near to Baindan while they waited for the other unit to file out, a swirling annoyance began to build within her. The drug was beginning to take effect.

  Yet while Siray and her friends had been making their way back towards the other captives, they had all quickly discussed tactics. As per their hasty plan, each sober person, as they had dubbed them, would stick close to someone who had been drugged, with the third sober unit member positioning themselves centrally to aide when needed. The hope was that, while the drugged unit mate attacked in an intoxicated rage, the clear-headed person would be able to use a more considered approach, using logic and strategy to try to take out opponents blinded by anger—while still trying to appear like they, too, were fuelled by a similar rage.

  Meanwhile, the drugged members were to fight while attempting to control themselves as best as possible. Siray clenched her fists together. She didn’t know who had the harder job.

  Herrin waved his hand lazily. ‘Begin.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FOR SIRAY AND her unit, although they found their opponents to be skilled fighters—especially with their strength and aggression amplified by the drug—the skirmish itself was over much faster than the one from the previous day, owing to the fact that Siray’s unit employed better tactics this time. Siray was unsure if it was because she had eaten a smaller amount of the doped food, or because she was trying so hard to focus, but she felt like she had had at least a little more control during the bout, or at least enough to make her aware of making choices even when her blood had been hot for the fight.

  Yet having control over oneself, as Baindan and Kovi did, had its disadvantages when battling an enemy that didn’t hesitate or pause—even for an instant—to take action.

  However, it rapidly became evident to the five of them as they sweated and fought to defend themselves that Siray’s plan had been a sound one, particularly when she, Genlie, and Zale found they could match their adversaries in strength and speed but also spot the inherent flaws in their wild attacks.

  Further, Baindan stayed close to Siray every moment, fighting hard beside her and, at times, back to back with her, his nearness acting as both an additional drive for her to win and as a constant reminder to hold a greater awareness of her own self.

  At one point, the two of them paired up against one opponent together, Siray’s hunger for conflict making her whip her staff around in her hand like it weighed nothing, meeting their attacker blow for blow. Meanwhile, Baindan was also jabbing and thrusting with his own weapon, timing his moves to take advantage of where their opponent was most vulnerable. But Siray knew he was waiting.

  And there it was—a mistake, as their overzealous opponent misjudged a step and stumbled slightly.

  Fuelled by the drug, even though a part of her mind had picked up on the error, Siray never would have been able to take advantage of it—would have already been three steps and five strikes beyond registering the fact.

  But Baindan, fighting patiently at her side, reacted to the miscalculation with a speed that almost made Siray believe he had anticipated it, and in the same instant, his weapon was there, driving downwards to attack the nerves in the side of their foe’s leg, causing them to slam down into the sand.

  When it was over, Siray straightened triumphantly from her fighting crouch and gazed around at the members of the other unit who were all sprawled on the ground, battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed. Genlie spotted her and gave her a wide grin which Siray returned.

  Baindan also gave her a smile, but it appeared strained. Probably just tired, she thought to herself while revelling in the fact that she felt quite the reverse.

  When they had moved off to the side, Siray obediently resumed her place in the captives’ formation, but it was like there was an itch under her skin. She wanted to go out there again. She wanted to fight!

  A grip on her arm made her snap her head to the right, and she watched Tamot recoil at her look.

  ‘Remember, Siray,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t forget who you are.’

  Snorting at his words, her first instinct was to shake him off, and maybe to throw him to the ground just to teach a lesson him for touching her. But then Tamot’s words, or one in particular, managed to pierce the drug-fuelled fog in her mind.

  Remember.

  A chill completely at odds with the heat still sweeping through her muscles passed over Siray’s skin. She had heard that word recently. Remember them …

  Deson. Deson had said those words to her. In a dream. Siray raised her hand, examining it briefly, as two parts of her fought for domination—one that wanted to rage out upon the sand, tearing down any who would stand before her, and the other, that wanted to protect. That only fought for freedom.

  Some ray of sense entered her mind. Or enough that she was able to turn back to watch the fights a fraction more calmly.

  The rest of the units demonstrated a clear increase of skill during their clashes, no doubt owed to Herrin’s harsh training methods.

  Amazing, reall
y, what the right motivation could do for you.

  And that’s one of the other advantages to the drug, Siray realised. You still retain your technique. It was as if the drug itself clarified some parts of your mind while draping a curtain across the other parts that might make you hesitate. Make you question why.

  Siray keenly watched when Melora’s unit took to the sands, decimating their opponent, and she observed that her nemesis had clearly taken the rebuke from Herrin yesterday seriously. Even on the drug, the female’s approach was slightly more considered, her actions efficient but brutal.

  The other unit went down quickly.

  When the sand was once again clear of the victorious, the injured, and the unconscious, Herrin called out the last two units, including Wexner’s.

  The units moved onto the sand and faced each other, and Siray waited both eagerly and anxiously for the fight to begin.

  But Herrin didn’t give the command. Instead, he turned to look at Wexner, somehow identifying him as the leader. ‘Where’s your fifth member?’

  Confused, Siray made herself really look at Wexner’s unit and count. Wexner was there, obviously, Kinna on the other side of him, then there was Annbov, and Tamot on the other side of her, which left … Loce.

  Loce was missing.

  Annoyance at the delay and derision for Loce warred against concern within Siray. It was like her brain was trying to claw through mud as she fought to think rationally while still riding the effects of the drug in her system. Shifting just slightly from her position, she spotted Loce at the same time Herrin did.

  ‘You—get into position.’

  Loce had moved out from his position in the formation but had stopped just in front of the first line of captives. Siray leaned to the left in order to get a better look at him, scanning his body from head to toe. Had he been injured that morning? Or maybe he was scared?

  ‘No.’ Loce’s voice was soft, but his answer was distinct. Probably because of the shocked silence that fell as soon as he uttered the word.

  Siray felt her breath catch, fear and excitement rising equally within her. She glanced swiftly to Herrin, whose body seemed to go slack with disbelief, just for an instant. Then his stance hardened again.

  ‘No?’ A dangerously quiet question, like the silence before a clap of thunder. Yet Herrin’s face, expressionless as usual, seemed to be made out of cold stone.

  Out on the sands beyond Loce, Siray could see that Tamot’s face had gone pale, and even Wexner had turned fully around, his eyes boring hard into Loce’s, the urging on his face clear.

  Siray slowly drew her eyes back to Loce, her rational side gaining some ground as she silently begged him to move forwards, or to give some believable reason as to why he couldn’t fight.

  He did neither.

  ‘I am not a tool to be used for your designs. I will not fight.’ Loce released his grip on his staff, the thud of it hitting the ground the final note in a disastrous chord.

  Siray felt herself go cold. Refusing a direct order would mean—

  ‘You won’t fight?’ Herrin’s voice was like the slightest brush of fine cloth against Siray’s ears, his question so relaxed that you could almost believe Loce might be forgiven—that is, if Herrin hadn’t been prowling slowly towards his victim as he asked it. ‘If you won’t fight, then you are of no use to us.’

  The speed with which Herrin launched himself at Loce was stunning, his staff a blur as he swung it, and he had already hit Loce twice on either side of the head and stepped away again before Siray could even react.

  But as Loce dropped to his knees, blood welling from his temples and staining his pale hair as Herrin paused to gloat, Siray managed to get her body working enough to take a step forwards. Then another, until she had moved beyond the rows of captives, someone hissing her name from behind her while she tilted her head down in time to watch Loce fall onto his side, his face clearly visible as his dark eyes rolled up to show the whites.

  A gasp sounded from the ranks of arrayed captives, most likely Genlie, from the sound and location of it.

  Meanwhile, Siray’s heart was beating furiously, the fog in her mind pierced by fear for her friend. Wexner and the others had also moved forwards, and a warm presence behind her told her that either Baindan or Zale was standing just beyond her, peering over her shoulder.

  Herrin merely peered down at Loce’s still form for another breath before callously turning his shoulder, dismissive and contemptuous of the young life that lay fading on the ground.

  It might have been because of the drugs still in her system. It might have been because she was still worked up from her own fight. Or maybe it was just that she couldn’t handle seeing another one of her friends being treated like their life was worthless.

  Siray was moving before she even realised it. Leaping forwards over Loce as she spun her staff, the weapon parting the air before her, she made a final daring spring and swung her weapon around in a swift and deadly arc, targeting the soft spot just above Herrin’s right ear.

  ‘Siray, no!’

  Zale’s shout made the training master spin, the experienced male’s broad hands bringing up his own staff with lightning speed, thus allowing him to block what could have been a fatal blow.

  Herrin’s steely eyes narrowed as he stared past the lengths of their engaged weapons at her, the simple movement of his brows almost shocking on his usually blank face. ‘You, obviously, have no issue with fighting.’ With a strength that was startling, the training master swung the tip of his staff out and down, forcing Siray’s weapon to the side and thereby leaving her exposed as he backhanded her across the face.

  The power behind the blow made Siray’s head snap around, her body spinning to follow, and she fell to one knee, her hands automatically flying out to prevent her from falling face-first into the sand. Owing to the shock more than anything, she didn’t cry out as she fell, but her entire face went numb.

  Dizzy, she clumsily managed to roll onto her back on the sand and bring her staff up so that it was parallel to her body.

  Just in time.

  Her eyes watering from the searing pain in her face, Siray felt more than saw Herrin’s next blow, the crack of his weapon on hers thundering in her ears while the impact itself was hard enough to make her grip shift on the smooth wood.

  Yet using her flat position as leverage, Siray flicked the training master’s weapon upwards, let her staff fall to the sand, and somersaulted backwards, grabbing on to the far end of her weapon as she rose, a slight wobble in her stance as she faced Herrin once more.

  Seeing the telltale sign in Herrin’s shoulders of his impending movement, she raised her staff, intending to attempt a second blow at his head, knowing that the only way she could win was to end this quickly.

  But the training master was swift to demonstrate how he’d earned such a title as he inverted his weapon in a smooth motion, the arc of his swing telling Siray that his next blow was aimed at the side of her knee—probably to disable her.

  Her mind did the calculation unconsciously in less time than it took her to blink. She would never get her staff down in time to block the blow, already committed as she was to her own attack. Knowing what was coming, Siray braced herself for the strike as she continued the swing of her own weapon towards its intended target. She only hoped that she could endure the pain of Herrin’s blow just long enough to land her own. For Loce.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Herrin’s staff sweep lower and lower, almost in slow motion, moving with a force that made her realise that the blow was not just going to hurt but could shatter her knee. She gritted her teeth, preparing to risk it all, and—

  Another staff came streaking down past Siray’s face and blocked Herrin’s blow, forcing the training master’s staff to the side.

  And without anything to stop her, Siray’s own strike hammered home against Herrin’s right cheek and ear, the impact forcing his face and shoulders sideways.

  She wanted to glance at
whoever it was that had been brave enough to come to her rescue, but the master was resilient and recovered quickly, continuing the spin the blow had forced his body into and coming back around on the offence, a line of blood snaking its way down the side of his head from Siray’s blow.

  But Siray was ready this time, and as she swept her weapon around in an arc that met against Herrin’s staff with a mighty clash, the person beside her took advantage of the training master’s exposed midsection, the tip of their weapon spearing into his stomach with force.

  The hit caused Herrin to stumble back, leaning over as he gasped for air, and as his arms went wide, Siray shifted her weapon to the side and launched a spinning kick at his ribs, hoping to break something or at least sent him sprawling.

  We can do this, she thought. We can win. Hope began to rise within her, and she visualised the training master lying unconscious or dead on the ground as the captives all made a break for escape.

  The hope died swiftly as Herrin straightened, captured her foot in midair, and twisted it painfully.

  Siray cried out at the agony that rushed up through her ankle and knee. She was left with no choice but to allow her body to rotate around and over with Herrin’s motions in order to avoid him breaking her ankle, or worse.

  Siray crashed down onto the sand, her ribs smacking painfully on her staff as she landed on top of it. She barely had time to breathe before a massive weight dropped onto her back, pinning her solidly as her already-bruised ribs were ground agonisingly against her weapon. Then her head was forced upwards and back as Herrin’s staff slid beneath her chin, his grip causing the length of wood to eat into the skin at her throat, the pressure crushing her larynx slowly.

  ‘Drop your weapon,’ he growled out at the other person from above as he straddled Siray’s back.

  Her face upturned to the sky and struggling to breathe, Siray glanced along the line of her nose to see who it was that had been courageous, and foolish, enough to join her in her desperate stand. Not that she didn’t already know, deep in her bones, who it was. The one person whose devotion to her wouldn’t allow him to stand by, even if it meant risking his own life.