by Joseph Bonis
Tracy glanced at Jacob uncertainly, who gave a shrug. She looked back at Ilsa and nodded. “Sure, I guess so … how long?”
“Oh, it all depends. Not too long, I'd imagine.” She picked up a phone and dialed an extension, then leaned back staring at a corner of the ceiling as she twirled the cord around her finger.
“Hey, Tyra, how you doin' girl?” She paused. “No, I'm good. Got a newb up here.” She paused, again, listening. “Yes … Yes … No, she's a girl … No, registered - not service … Well, that's why I called you!” She nodded, and made a small noise, as if to cut in on someone, then cut off, then tried to cut in again, and was cut off, then finally she said, “Tyra, just come up here, she's waiting! And I should tell you,” Ilsa turned away from Tracy, her voice getting quiet, so that Tracy could just barely hear her, “Jacob brought her in. She got it by beating him.”
Tracy didn't think she was supposed to hear that. The quiet buzzing voice from the phone didn't return for a moment, then it returned with a couple quick words, and Ilsa hung up, smiling brightly to Tracy. “Please wait! Someone will be here shortly!”
Tracy stepped back to where Jacob was sitting, looking a little confused. She couldn't know, of course, but the casual air about this made her think that this couldn't be standard operating procedure. “Who is Tyra?” she asked, also confused.
Jacob's face lit up with understanding, then he grimaced. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.”
“What's up?” asked Tracy. “What's going on?”
“It's nothing, don't worry about it. Just some club that likes to recruit all the newbies who get an earth token. Sorta like a frat or sorority or something like that. If you like it, great, if not, don't worry about it.”
“And who's Tyra?” asked Tracy, “Another person that doesn't like you?”
“No one likes me,” responded Jacob. “I did a lot of Lord Brin's dirty work for a year. Most people just think of me as Lord Brin's toady, except the Lords and the other kiss-ups who I cracked down on, who hate me because they couldn't bribe me or make a deal with me. Most people opted out of that headache.”
Tracy frowned, her brow furrowed. “Wait … you can choose how you serve him? Then why did you choose to be a hunter?”
With a sigh, Jacob admitted, “Entirely selfish, I confess. I wanted to know how to use all the tokens. See, Lord Brin's hunters get access to his own personal supply of tokens, which basically has almost every single kind of token, even the rare off-shoot types. He lends us whatever we request. Most people find something they like and stick with it, learning how to use it. For a year, I did nothing but practice in the use of every single sort of token. Learning their strengths and weaknesses. If I was going to be in this life, I wanted to survive. I wanted to do well.”
Jacob shrugged. “I screwed up, though. Pissed everyone off. You're kind of the opposite of me. I found out about this - I dove into the tokens and figured out how to use or defeat every single one, but ignored the people. You found out about all this, and you started asking about the people and the community, and ignored the tokens almost entirely.”
Tracy shrugged, feeling awkward. “You made a mistake,” she reassured him, softly. “Maybe. You have the knowledge; you have the practice. Now you can go about rebuilding burnt bridges. Just give it time. In another year, maybe people will have forgotten about it. Or at least forgiven.”
Jacob shrugged noncommittally and said nothing. Tracy let it lie at that. The quiet stretched on for several minutes, getting awkward, as they waited for Tyra to show up.
The door burst open, the pneumatic thing above the door protesting with a hiss of air. A black woman in tight blue sweats, sneakers, and a damp black sleeveless t-shirt stepped decisively into the room. Tyra, Tracy assumed. The arms and shoulders of the woman were tightly corded, and she held herself with an air of physical domination. The woman swept the empty foyer quickly, then stopped on Tracy and looked her up and down. Tracy looked down at herself, as well, the open and frank assessment making her self-conscious. The light skirts in autumn colors, the feminine appearance - obviously not something Tyra was going to take seriously. Then Tyra's eyes slid past Jacob dismissively as she turned to look inquiringly at Ilsa. Ilsa nodded her head at Tracy, and Tyra gave another, longer assessment.
Tracy stood up, tired of sitting there as this stranger judged her. “Tyra, I assume?” she asked politely.
Tyra ignored her. “You have a stone of earth?” Tracy paused for a moment – the wording didn't make sense to her right away. Ah, 'stone' was Tyra's word for the charms. She nodded and started to say something, but was cut off with a commanding, “Come with me.”
Tracy started feeling a prickling all over as the peremptory commands annoyed her. She recognized that she usually was more patient, but the stress of the last several days - no, it was just the past day - was really starting to build on her, and the woman's brusque manner was aggravating it. She followed along silently, breathing deeply, running through some mental relaxation exercises. They walked down uninspired white corridors while she inhaled air in through her nose, exhaled frustration and stress out quietly through her mouth, and tried to summon up an inner calm.
It helped a little, but not nearly enough.
They ended up in a gym with three men, all three wearing shorts and t-shirts that were marked with sweat. They stopped what they were doing to look at the two women who had just entered. Two of the men were, aside from their strong muscle tone, relatively normal looking. The third man was sitting up from a bench in the middle of the room, and his flesh was a hard gray stone, pitted and cracked. As Tracy watched, he seemed to relax a little, and his stone flesh melted away to pale skin, rocky hair from gray to dark black, though not all the gray disappeared.
Tracy looked at the men, and around at the room. Most of the gym looked relatively normal - it had normal workout machines, normal free weights, normal pads on the floor, and normal mirrors on the wall. Tracy looked into the mirrors and saw how out-of-place she looked, soft and feminine and delicate next to four people of obvious strength. It smelled stale, of sweat and air freshener, and a small CD player in the corner played tinny little musical sounds.
The only thing that she didn't immediately recognize was the bench in the middle - it held a bar across it made of a metal she didn't recognize, a bar she wouldn't have been able to stretch both hands around, but it had handholds worked into the bottom of it. The bar was connected on either side to a steel cable thicker than her wrist that dropped through holes in the floor just big enough to let the cable through. Next to the bench was a digital display that had a few controls on the screen alongside large numbers that read '750 lbs'.
“This is her?” asked the man who had been made of slate just moments ago. His voice carried obvious surprise.
“Apparently,” replied Tyra, bored already.
“Feh, what a waste of time,” said another of the men. “Just get rid of her.”
Tyra nodded and seized Tracy's wrist to pull her out of the room. Tracy resisted the urge to throw Tyra to the floor and put her in a lock, contenting herself instead with planting her feet and pulling back on the grip, her whole body leaning into drawing Tyra's hand up before her face with bent elbow. “Let go of me,” Tracy said, her voice hard, “and stop ordering me around.”
Tyra looked surprised, then gave a small grin. Her dark flesh darkened even further, until it was a pure black obsidian that shone in the light. The faint give that Tracy had taken advantage of to pull on Tyra's grip vanished, and the black woman drew Tracy's arm out straight once more, as easily as if Tracy was a rag doll. “Make me,” she challenged.
Tracy's anger and frustration flared in her, once more, and the noises of the room seemed to fade away, grow distant, as the blood rushed in her ears. She pulled on Tyra's grip, but it was as rock-solid as Tyra herself was at the moment. Tracy forced herself to take in a single breath, let it out slowly. It came out as a slight wisp of mist.
> She had practiced the move thousands of times, and while she had been holding herself back minutes earlier, Tracy finally let herself act. She pushed into the hold, twisted around, and brought a knee up towards Tyra's stomach. Man or woman, flesh or stone, no one can ignore an attack like that. Tyra flinched instinctively away, her grip and arm loosening. Tracy pressed her wrist against Tyra's thumb and broke the grip, her other hand came across to grab Tyra's wrist, and she spun around behind Tyra to press her knee into the back of Tyra's leg, knocking Tyra down to a kneeling position. Moving quickly, Tracy then pulled the obsidian arm up and back while digging her knee down into the small of Tyra's back until the trapped woman let out a sharp cry of pain. Tracy held it there, on the verge of popping her shoulder from its socket, hearing Grandmaster Lee's words about control in the back of her mind. She wasn't trembling with her anger - it was a cold and stable fury that she held in place. She didn't move the arm that extra fraction of an inch that would have pulled it from its socket.
“Pfft,” dismissed the same man who had told Tyra to get rid of her. “Water.”
“Shallow water,” corrected the man she had mentally dubbed as 'Slate'. “Didn't you see her eyes? And look at that form. Beautiful.”
Tracy could see her own hand, implacably keeping Tyra's arm in place. Her arm was a smooth, sleek, pale gray stone streaked with veins of reds and pinks. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the same about her face and hair, and her other hand. She had turned to stone without realizing it.
“Rose Marble,” admired Slate. “I've never seen anyone like that before.”
“Maybe there was fire in her eyes, but earth?” asked the third man, who hadn't spoken yet. “She was pissed.”
Tyra couldn't tug against Tracy's grasp, couldn't test the hold - she was already at her limit. Tracy had been in her position before – knew that the pain from the stressed joint prevented her from even thinking straight. Tracy heard a faint whimper come from the fierce woman, and took a deep breath before slowly letting the arm back down, and then forcing her fingers to let go of the black stone of Tyra's wrist. Tyra bent over, rubbing at her shoulder, her breath shaky. The obsidian flesh faded back to dark skin.
“No,” disagreed Slate. “She had reached her limit and would be pushed no further.”
“Still water,” insisted the second man. “That move was flowing and soft, nothing rock-like about it.”
Slate shook his head. “It's not about fighting style, it's about attitude, Dave. The surface was water, but there's a rock bed just underneath, guiding the water.”
Tracy thought about making a comment regarding writing fortune cookies, but restrained herself and just turned to leave.
“No, wait!” said Slate. “Please, let us explain.”
Tracy paused with her rose-veined hand on the door, wanting to leave, but finally let her hand fall and turned around to face them impassively. “It was a test,” she stated simply. “What more is there to explain? I didn't like it.”
Chapter 6: Challenge
The five people stood there for a short time, the only noise being the tinny instrumental music coming from the small CD player in the corner. Tyra finally got back to her feet, still rubbing at her shoulder a little ruefully. From small glances the other three were making, Tracy realized that her initial impressions weren't too far off - Slate there was the center of the group, and everyone was waiting for him to respond.
“When did you know it was a test?” asked Slate, thoughtfully, not surprised.
Tracy shrugged. “I was expecting one when I walked in,” she admitted. “And I figured I'd take the direct response. I seem to have walked into a little subculture where the only way to make your point is physically. All I want to do is live my life, not get pressed into service or attacked randomly in the street. If I have to have magic powers, or get to have magic powers, or whatever a good way to phrase it would be, then I want to be able to sit back and casually learn about them and how to use them to do what I enjoy doing, and not have to devote my time to learning how to use them for battle and combat!”
She glared at Slate. “And on top of that, I don't want to have people springing surprise, secret tests on me because they think I'll be so privileged to be in their secret tree house thanks to the random chance that I just happened to defeat someone who had an earth charm!”
Tracy knew she was venting, and she didn't care. If they considered themselves such earthy sorts, they could be a stable rock that her words could wash over. Though the men to either side of him looked upset or embarrassed, in turn, Slate didn't look chastised or angry. If anything, he looked vaguely amused. For some reason, the fact that he was just letting her words wash over him just annoyed her even more. He opened his mouth to say something.
“And I swear, Slate, if you dare to say,” she broke in quickly, cutting him off, “that I have spirit, and you like me, as if I'm not even here, then I will give you the privilege of participating in my own personal test to see if you handle your shoulder being on the brink of being yanked out of its socket any better than Tyra here! And you, too, can join the 'in pain on the floor' club along with her and Jacob!”
“Slate?” he asked, surprised. “Hrm. Slate. I like that. My name's actually Nick, but I like Slate. But no, no, I wouldn't dare say you have spirit,” he said straight-faced, only the glint in his eyes revealing that he was teasing her. “You're right, of course, that our behavior is impolite, so please accept my apologies. If you're permanently turned off to us, then by all means, feel free never to talk to any of us again.” As he talked, he walked over to a set of gym bags and pulled out a pair of pants, retrieving his wallet. “But please, take my card, and if you feel differently after you cool down from our unfortunate choice of appraisal, then please, give me a call. We can try something more conservative, like talking.”
Tracy took the card, looked down at it, then up at Slate. She felt decidedly uncertain about how to respond to his calmness. On one hand, she admired his composure, while on the other hand, she had somewhat wanted him to respond badly and show that he was a fake. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she argued with herself whether that perfect calm of his was attractive or scary. He made her feel uneasy even while she couldn't help but respect him.
Nodding mutely, she stuffed the card in her pocket and stood there feeling uncomfortable. “Well, um… I'm going, then,” she said awkwardly, stepping backwards, her brief outburst completely spent.
He nodded calmly, almost a bow in her direction, and she turned and hurried out the door. Walking down the hall, she tried to figure out what had happened there. Despite him having been in the wrong, he had made her feel like an unruly child, just by keeping his calm that way. She had to fight down her frustration and shame at having been made to feel so foolish.
She was halfway down the hall and starting to realize that she wasn't entirely sure how to get back up to the front when she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned her head to see Tyra hurrying up to her and swiftly turned away again, jaw set in annoyance.
Tyra slowed to a walk beside her and they walked down the hall in silence, ignoring each other until they walked past an intersection and Tyra cleared her throat. “Um,” she said, softly, pointing a thumb down the side hall.
Tracy nodded and turned, mumbling a reserved, “Thanks.” They walked together some more, Tracy following Tyra past the couple of twists and turns and staircases until they approached the front area.
“Tracy,” said Tyra, quietly. “Look, ah'm sorry.”
Tracy looked at Tyra curiously.
“Ah know ah was supposed to test you,” Tyra went on, “But ah was harsher than ah should have been. The way you looked, ah didn't think much of you. Y'looked like just another girly-girl type who's only interested in clothes and stuff. Y'kicked mah ass good and proper, and ah deserved it.”
Tracy gave a small little smile that was part smirk, part sad, and part thankful. “It's all right,” she replied, “It's hard to get
me to hold a grudge.”
Tyra laughed at that. “Y'all're better than me, then, cause it's hard for me to let go of one.” Then her face grew serious. “Look, think about joining, 'kay? There aren't many of us in there. Ah'm about the only girl that really takes it seriously.”
Tracy blinked and looked at Tyra, unable to help but be drawn to how the black woman just opened up to her so suddenly. “I will,” she said, meaning it. “Think about it, that is. I wasn't going to, but I will.”
Tyra gave her a quick smile, then hesitated before asking, “Did you really do that to Jacob, too?”
Tracy nodded, flushing in embarrassment, and Tyra gave an impish grin.
“Good,” Tyra crowed, “He deserves it, too.” Then she gave a wave as she hurried back down the hall towards the gym again.
Tracy took a deep breath to compose herself, noting that things were definitely progressing far too quickly for her. She seriously needed some downtime from all this strangeness and the odd people she was meeting left and right. She let out her breath in a long sigh, then turned to let Jacob know they could leave.
Jacob looked up and smiled to see her. “Ready to go?” he asked, standing up quickly. He looked a bit stressed, and his voice betrayed a certain eagerness to leave, too.
She nodded. “Anytime you are,” she agreed. She could tell him about what happened on the way back home. She was eager to leave this place, to drop Jacob off, and to get to a point where she could rapidly ignore everything that had just happened to her, at least for a little while. Suddenly she remembered Sing, and that they had a date tonight. It seemed so foreign, and she knew that she should be excited about it, and it was an extra irritation that gaining these magical powers should steal away the magic from her date with Sing. What should she wear? The problem with always dressing nice is that it's hard to dress up from it and show you're making a special effort. If she always wore nothing but jeans, then the skirts she normally wore would make his jaw drop, but he took them now as simply being part of her. Perhaps if she showed up in jeans, she thought with amusement, he'd have the same reaction.