Change of Chaos

by Jacinta Jade

  Now four rounds in, she also had a swollen knee that had connected with one of the female’s elbow and a spectacular split lip.

  Her opponents, meanwhile, only showed a handful of bruises each.

  Siray was agonisingly aware that she was becoming more tired with each round, and when she thought about how high the odds had been stacked against her in this test, she almost felt like crying.

  Her survival instincts refused to let her, though—there wasn’t enough energy to spare for crying.

  At least her opponents looked a little tired now too, but they still started out each round fresh from a break, whereas Siray was relying more and more on her muscle memory and instincts, rather than active thought or analysis during the rounds. She hadn’t thought that she could get so tired, but although she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, she couldn’t seem to get her mind to focus like it had at the start.

  In contrast, the female and the first male liked to chat at times during their breaks on the edge of the field.

  But not the second male. He hardly seemed to break a sweat as he hit Siray again and again on the exact same point on her head during their fifth round, doing his best to negate her helmet. He was one of the toughest fighters Siray had faced in her training. He didn’t give away a thing about his own intentions but seemed able to read Siray’s movements even before she’d actually moved. He also didn’t seem to exert himself any more than he had to, stepping in or out just far enough to evade one of her kicks, ensuring a punch landed short or that he was in a position that could easily sweep aside her attacks. He blocked almost everything Siray threw at him but never lost ground or moved far enough away that she had time to rest. He remained always within striking distance and moved in a circular motion so that Siray had to move with him, or risk exposing her back, the constant motion a further drain on her.

  His use of the mud also meant that, even if Siray had wanted to grapple with him, she wouldn’t be able to get a good hold. But the male seemed unwilling to grapple with her anyway, apparently preferring to do battle on their feet.

  The fifth rounds with the other two fighters, however, actually went better than Siray had expected. Through nonstop footwork, she remained positioned close to her female opponent and managed to block the worst of the kicks that the female threw. Better yet, she even landed a few hard hits herself, using her hands, which she considered faster than leg attacks anyway.

  Her focus now was centred on conserving energy, holding her guard in tight, taking small steps, and forcing herself to breathe.

  Always breathe.

  Her fights with the first male had continued in a similar way, alternating between lunging attacks and grappling and striking on the ground. In some rounds Siray had come out on top, but now the male was pinning her more frequently and swiftly.

  As the fights progressed, Siray had to work harder and harder to maintain her focus as her energy flagged further. Her limbs grew heavy as her muscles fatigued, and her opponents used this against her, throwing more feints and more combination attacks.

  Her mind seemed to get foggier too, until she felt like she was almost wholly on the defence against the three of them.

  At the next drumbeat, Siray desperately wondered how many rounds were left. Three maybe? Or was it two?

  She had lost count, but she knew it couldn’t be more than three. The female engaged her once more, and Siray evaded her attacks as best she could, turning sideways occasionally to present a smaller target.

  At one point she felt dizzy and unconsciously closed her eyes for a breath in an attempt to try and focus. This momentary lapse resulted in her failing to block a kick that struck hard and true.

  Siray’s chin snapped sideways, her mind went blank, and she saw the world move a little around her.

  A moment later, the world spun more wildly, and she found she was looking up into the purple sky.

  The mud almost felt comfortable now, and Siray felt grateful for the rest, even if she was unsure of how she’d ended up there.

  When she saw the female’s head appear in her field of vision, Siray realised that her feet had been swept out from under her at some point after the chin strike. A dull sound began in her ears and worked itself up until a loud ringing made her frown and raise her head.

  That was when she saw the sergeant looking at her from the edge of the field, and Deson’s warning came back flooding back into her head.

  The point is to make it through …

  To lie there would be to submit. To stop fighting. To fail.

  And if she failed, she would never fight beside her friends.

  Would never fight back against the Faction.

  That thought was what gave Siray enough strength to push herself up further from the ground. She wasn’t a quitter, she thought as she straightened. She only had to last through another couple of rounds, and then the test would be over.

  She managed to raise herself onto her haunches.

  She had to pass this, this mere trial, so she could help fight their enemies.

  Siray’s determination burned hot within her, fuelling her. And it was that fire that made her push herself back up to her feet and full height.

  Her body felt like a wreck, and it probably looked even worse than it felt. But they would have to completely disable her to make her quit.

  She raised her hands and stepped towards the female once more.

  ***

  Two drumbeats later, Siray watched the second male approach in his familiar ambling fashion. Intent on her purpose, Siray did not wait for him this time but walked to the edge of the field to meet him. She was sure this was the final round.

  In the last two rounds, it had felt to her like her opponents had been putting everything they had into the fight.

  And a quick look backwards as she moved position slightly had shown her that they were paying particular attention to this fight.

  As if this one round mattered more, somehow.

  Hope rose within her. This must be the final round.

  Siray took in a deep breath and readied herself. She had to give it everything.

  As she drew closer to the male, she relaxed her shoulders and slowed her steps. In the next heartbeat, though, she had launched herself at the male in an explosive attack.

  Yet even as his hands came up in a close guard, Siray planted her good leg solidly in front of her and pivoted on it to turn her weight to the side. This caused her attack on his legs to come from an unexpected and, more importantly, undefended angle. As she positioned her own body, she struck out and down with her other leg, striking him on the outside of his forward leg just above the knee. She stepped quickly again straight after, pivoting to keep the male in her sights as she kept her hands raised to defend against his counterattack.

  Yet, this time, there was no counter. Instead, the male stumbled, his hands moving instinctively for his knee before he stopped himself and turned to face her.

  Siray breathed rapidly as she tried to ignore the waves of pain crashing through her. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Her exhaustion didn’t matter. All that mattered was passing this test.

  Moving promptly back towards her, the male shot a hand at Siray’s face.

  She blocked it. Then she blocked his next move. Yet it was the move that followed that one, so quick as to almost make Siray believe the male might actually have three hands, which came to circle around her guard and land a hit, yet again, on her head.

  This time, apart from wincing momentarily at the impact, Siray didn’t allow herself to flinch or defend but forced herself to continue with her own attack. She circled her hands around the retreating hands of the male and then sliced them both inwards for a combined throat strike.

  This move forced the male to commit both arms in order to block the strike, leaving Siray a nice gap in which she could drive her knee up and into his stomach. As Siray raised her knee, though, she saw the male draw in his stomach and tighten his grip on her wrists. Her attack fo
iled, Siray tried to draw away, even as she saw him lift up his own knee.

  At his blow, all air was driven from Siray’s lungs, and she stumbled away from the male, trying to keep her hands raised even as she bent over, gasping. When she could straighten, she kept her eyes on the male and her hands in a defensive position.

  As always, the male appeared relaxed as he circled her, and Siray bit her lip in frustration, almost crying out again as her teeth connected where her lower lip had already split.

  Swiping at her bloody lip, she eyed her casually circling adversary.

  He was so at ease, so … detached.

  She wished she felt like that.

  Well, why couldn’t she?

  Siray paused as her own voice made something click in her mind.

  She could use the male’s own tactics against him, just as he had used hers.

  Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Siray relaxed her shoulders with an effort as she exhaled and squeezed her toes in the mud.

  The male watched her for a moment before taking a step towards her.

  Siray took a measured step as well—in the opposite direction.

  The male hesitated, then began circling around to her other side.

  She also circled, and when he stepped to the side, Siray moved with him, maintaining the distance between them.

  And gaining precious moments of rest.

  She saw the moment when he realised her tactic—just the slightest of pauses.

  That was when she attacked.

  And this time, she attacked and kept attacking.

  Calling on unknown reserves of energy, Siray made her hands an offensive whirlwind, snapping out lightning-fast punches at the male’s face and body while her own body weaved and dipped.

  Yet he still appeared to meet each of her attacks with ease.

  Slowly, Siray’s hands once more began to falter as her initial burst of energy drained, and the fight switched momentum again.

  Now the male’s hands were a blur of movement, and Siray found herself again completely on the defensive.

  They had both moved in closer to one another until they stood almost toe to toe, battling with their hands, their upper bodies dodging.

  Siray worked hard to anticipate and block the attacks where she could, but most got through. She also had to dodge more carefully than the male, owing to the extra weight his body could place behind any one blow, meaning that, unlike her, he could afford to take a hit.

  At one point, Siray took a particularly large step back to gain some room and her breath. In that moment, as her eyes flicked about her quickly, she remembered the world around her, and a thought occurred to her.

  They were still fighting.

  But they had already been fighting for a long time.

  Too long to be a count of forty-five. But still no drumbeat had sounded.

  Siray risked a quick glance around and saw some of the other trainees were also still fighting hard.

  She glanced back at the male, who raised an eyebrow at her, his hands still raised. Siray’s body was exhausted, and hammers of pain battered away at her body from multiple points. Yet she had fought on until now, through the pain and exhaustion, counting down the rounds to the end.

  But now it seemed to her that there wasn’t going to be an end to this.

  The trainers could keep them fighting all day and even into the night if they wanted to.

  The male’s face was blank, but the shifting brow communicated his thoughts loud and clear. Give up or fight.

  Siray gave the male a sharp nod and stepped towards him again. She continued to step carefully as she circled him, trying to think through her options. Hard, when her mind felt like the equivalent of one of Falir’s stews.

  Whipping her head to the right and left, Siray risked a second glance around the field. In those quick glances, she saw several things.

  A couple of the trainees had backed away from their opponents in the direction of the edge of the field, although some, like her, were still desperately trying to fight off their opponents while they battled simultaneously with varying states of exhaustion.

  And she saw Deson.

  He must have seen her look, as, after shoving his opponent backwards with a powerful front kick, he spared a glance in her direction and gave her a smirk that seemed to say, giving up already, I see, before then turning back to his own fight once more.

  Baring her teeth at Deson’s now-visible back, Siray slowly turned back to face the male, her feet moving.

  What was it Deson had said?

  Forget the rules of sparring for this test. The aim is just to last until the end.

  To last …

  Siray looked again at the male. That was it, she realised. That was why the male had been happy to take his time with her earlier. Why all her opponents had thrashed her as much as possible without completely disabling her.

  This was the real test.

  Not just making it through the rounds but choosing to carry on through unknowns and in the face of sure defeat. This whole test had actually been building to the real test—this last round.

  Something of that realisation must have shown in her face, as the male narrowed his eyes right before he began stalking determinedly towards her. No ambling now, his face was set and determined, his large steps covering the ground rapidly.

  This was no feint.

  Forget the rules of sparring …

  As the male kept coming at her, Siray bent her tired body in a quick, jerky motion, scooped up a handful of mud, and threw it in the male’s face.

  Even with this unexpected attack, the male’s quick reaction was impressive. With lightning speed, he whipped up his hands to shield his face. Yet without a solid force to block, there was little he could do to stop some of the mud Siray had thrown from landing in his eyes, especially after being thrown from such close proximity.

  He grunted as the mud splattered across his face, his hands automatically flying up to try to wipe the mud away.

  Siray didn’t waste any of the precious time she had just gained and, stepping up past the male, kicked her foot out and down so that she connected with the soft spot at the back of his knee.

  Still partially blind from the mud, the male dropped to one knee, one hand shifting to the muddied ground to steady himself, and one hand flailing out to the side.

  Quickly, Siray stepped around behind the male and, placing her hands on either side of his neck, applied a slight pressure.

  The male, his eyes still closed tight against the mud, went very still.

  Then, he carefully lifted his hands up to either side of his body, and his head moved up and down in one slow and silent nod.

  She had won.

  Moments later, two drumbeats sounded.

  The test was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EXHAUSTED, SIRAY felt like she could lay down and go to sleep right there in the mud. But her three opponents were moving in her direction, and she stiffened slightly as they drew close.

  The first to reach her, the female smiled and extended her hand, palm up. ‘Hope you don’t hate us now.’

  Siray’s mouth quirked up with amusement, her lips stinging as her smile stretched out the split tissue further. She didn’t want to consider how she must look as she placed her own hand on top of the female’s, sharing a brief tight grip before the female released her hand and moved to the side.

  After Siray had shared a similar ritual hand clasp with the first male, she thanked the pair for posing such a good challenge and teaching her more about hand-to-hand combat. They both gave her a nod before they turned and began walking towards the edge of the field.

  The second male, having finally wiped his eyes clear of the mud, approached, still radiating the same calm seriousness as he had during the fight.

  ‘My name is Wexner,’ he informed her, in a polite but formal manner. While he did not extend his hand, his dark-brown eyes held hers.

  Despite the fact that s
he owed at least some of the pain in her face, and most of the pain in her back, to him, Siray gave a small but tired smile. ‘I’m Siray.’

  Wexner nodded. ‘You fought well, Siray. You should know that it has been awhile since I’ve actually had a challenge during a test fight with a trainee.’

  Siray’s eyes widened a bit as she tried to decide if that was a compliment or not. ‘Oh. Well, thanks,’ she managed to respond.

  Wexner continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his eyes looking past her now. ‘I think, however, that you could still improve. A lot.’

  Siray’s eyes widened further as her eyebrows lifted. She didn’t trust herself to say anything pleasant to that assessment in her tired state, so she just stayed silent.

  This seemed to agree with Wexner, who put forwards, ‘My division will remain here for a couple of weeks yet, so I could tutor you further in hand-to-hand combat.’

  Siray blinked in surprise at the unexpected offer. She was having trouble following this male’s thought pattern. First he complimented her, then he insulted her, and now he wanted to teach her? She swallowed, trying to wet her dry mouth before she responded.

  ‘Is tutoring allowed?’

  Wexner’s gaze came back to focus on her. ‘As long as you meet your other training demands it is.’

  Siray considered this male, who seemed so sure of himself, but not in an arrogant way. More of a matter-of-fact, official kind of way. Right now, the last thing Siray felt like doing was signing herself up for additional sessions in which this male could beat her up. But he was a good fighter.

  She groaned inwardly, but managed to politely respond, ‘Then I accept your offer.’

  Wexner nodded at her as if he had expected no other answer. ‘Meet me outside your cabin tomorrow afternoon, two spans before sundown.’

  Tomorrow? After what she had just been through? Siray opened her mouth to suggest postponing the sessions for a few days at least, but Wexner had already pivoted away and was walking off towards the other members of his division, who were laughing and talking animatedly.