by O. J. Lowe
Still he said nothing. He hadn’t since they’d gotten to the Verdant Café for breakfast, quality brother-sister time she’d called it and she got the impression he’d been moping since the end of the bout yesterday.
At least that’s all he needs to worry about. Least he’s not having dreams of his own death…
And she wasn’t either. Not really. She wasn’t letting that dream get to her. She couldn’t. After all she’d long since learned not to take dreams at face value. Sure, there might be instances where they were mildly prophetic. It wasn’t uncommon. There was a ton of lore on it, she’d spent an hour the previous day going through some of what she could remember and a great deal of time it wasn’t so much about what was on the surface about the whole subtext of the thing. Just because she’d suffered and been told she was going to die didn’t mean it was going to happen. It might just have been nerves telling her that her life was going to change. Death was a pretty over-the-top way of emphasising the point but it worked. It did the job. To move on and become a new person, the old you would have to die. Bleak but there you go.
Either way, it wasn’t important despite the way she was dwelling on it. It didn’t change what she was going to do. It just meant she’d take a little more care with things.
“That’s a spooky ability you got, sis,” Pete said grumpily. “You see me grinding my teeth here, bit quiet and you can tell I’m upset.”
“There’s always next time,” Sharon said. “There’s no shame in losing to someone better. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve lost at this tournament, is it?”
“No but I’ve gone out now,” Pete said. “And I didn’t just lose, I bombed.”
“I think that’s a bit harsh. I thought you did well,” Sharon said. “Different people
develop their abilities at different ages. Some are better younger…”
“Like you?!” It came out as a challenge and she blew out a breath, hard.
“I was well trained. See you never had that. I had a lot of experience on you by the time I was your age.”
“Yeah, we can’t all get trained by Ruud Baxter,” Pete said dryly. She raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by the sudden comment. That, she hadn’t been expecting.
“I wasn’t aware I’d ever told you about that.” Baxter had showed her some spirit calling techniques, sure, but most of what she’d learned from him had been about as far away from the sport as you could get.
“It’s in the public domain, Sharon. There’s pictures of you two looking all cosy at tournaments.”
“Either way, it’s irrelevant,” she said, her voice coming out a little stern. She hadn’t meant it to but she liked the effect. He sat up a little, like he was at least taking notice which was good. Maybe she could shock him out of his funk “I’ve not seen him for ages. I’ve become my own woman since then. I’ve built on the foundations and become someone new. It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish. Pete, you’re still young and there’s no limit to the number of these things you can enter while you’re alive. If you can keep on qualifying, you keep giving yourself a chance to win.”
She paused to take a sip of her steaming drink, the bitter taste flooding her mouth. It tasted good, although the way her brother was going on, perhaps there was enough bitterness already. “My point was, before you interrupted me, some are better younger but it’s very hard to keep up that youthful potential. Look at what happened to me. There’s always someone out there who’ll want to knock you off your perch. When you get to the top, you never quite stay there for as long as you think you will. That’s when the hard work really begins. It’s better to start off slow and get better with age. Learn from your defeats and your mistakes.”
She sighed, leaning down to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know why I thought of him but in a way, Luke Maddley did it the right way. Took some beatings, won some, got to the top, lost it all, died.” It came off a bit callous but she didn’t care. “That’s the natural order of things.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about him before,” Pete said. His funk looked to have faded now, what with her mention of Maddley. It was good to see she was getting through. Maddley was always a good example for making people realise things could be worse. Her brother was no different in that regard. “Thought it was a touchy subject. Do you ever think about him?”
“Sometimes.”
“You ever regret that he killed himself?”
“No.”
“Why?” He sounded surprised, if anything that annoyed her a little. They might share blood but it didn’t mean he knew her. Far from it. Maybe if their ages had been closer together then they’d be closer as siblings. If they’d shared the same parents… Then he might be dead. If Canderous Arventino had been his father… She didn’t want to think about that.
“I didn’t make him kill himself,” she said. “I didn’t hand him the pills or the rope or the knife. He was an adult and he did it of his own accord. He did not kill himself because I beat him in a bout. That might have been the start of it all but a lot of time passed between then and the end. He was a sick man and he took the only way out of it he thought he had. I’m not saying he was right but that was his choice and I had nothing to do with it. If I felt guilt for what he did, it’d be like feeling guilty that people died in that hospital shooting because they came to the island to watch a tournament I was competing in. It’s sad but sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Huh.” He genuinely looked like he’d never considered it that way before and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“What, you thought your sister was a killer all this time?” she said, mock-hurt. “Thanks, bro. I appreciate that.”
“Nah, nah, I didn’t,” Pete said. He was quiet for a moment. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
Silence for a few moments and then he grinned at her. “Being fair though, Sommer was pretty good, wasn’t she?”
“Outstanding,” Sharon admitted. “She’s a talented girl. I wouldn’t like to face her the form she’s in. I mean I would but I’d be worried.”
“Hey, you got beat by some no-mark,” Pete scoffed. “At least I went out to someone decent.”
“You going to the bout today?” Sharon asked. “Scott’s?”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go support him for the rest of the tournament. He’s done it for me. Even if he is getting a bit obsessive lately.”
Sharon gave him a quizzical look. “Obsessive? With the tournament? Well some people do chase winning like it’s a drug.”
“Strangely enough no,” Pete said. “It’s not the tournament. It’s a ghost.”
“What?”
“He’s chasing a ghost. He even got Alvin Noorland to build him a particle barrier. Says it appeared to him, spoke to him, kicked the crap out of him and now…”
“Spoke to him?!” Sharon exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
“Well I didn’t see it,” Pete admitted. “Or hear it. I’m going solely on his word of mouth. But he claims he had a fight with this ghost, it spoke to him and ran off. He says he can feel it on the island. Seriously!”
Sharon said nothing for a moment, not quite able to believe it. “He does know that’s impossible, right?”
“I should hope he does.”
“Does he have a history of delusion?”
“Unless you count most of his relationships? Not that I know of.” Pete smirked as he said it, she noticed that and felt a little relieved. If he got out of his funk, that’d be good for all of them. Nobody said defeat should be easy. But there was a way to deal with it, a right way and a wrong way.
“Maybe he imagined it.”
“He did look pretty messed up after the whole thing,” Pete said. “I mean it was after he beat Steven Silver.”
That caught Sharon’s attention. She’d seen that bout after all. Who hadn’t? She’d seen it more than once, bemused by it all. Down to the wire and apparently against insurmountable o
dds, Scott Taylor should not have been able to win that from that position. But he had. And he’d done it in such a way that suggested there was something strange about it. It wasn’t normal the way he’d reacted like that, bordering on supernatural. If he fought like that every time he took to the field, he’d win ninety-eight percent of his bouts.
So, why didn’t he? She had a strange suspicion, she had no way of proving it or not. In conjunction with being able to sense this apparent ghost from far away… It all became apparent that Scott Taylor was not a normal man by any stretch of the imagination. That! That was interesting.
“You know what,” she said. “I think I might come to his bout later. Should be worth seeing, I think.”
And I want to see if he does it again, she added silently. It was entirely possible his previous round bout had been a fluke in which case she would have nothing to worry about. If it was, he’d be found out sooner or later.
Weronika Saarth was a slender girl with flaming red hair tied back against her head in a series of knots, a shade of colour not unlike Jesseka Blake’s but perhaps more pronouncedly ginger, a pretty face beneath that hair. Her eyes were covered by a pair of heart shaped glasses and she smiled at Scott from across the field as the two stared each other down. When she moved her head, the afternoon sun caught a glint against the series of piercings hung from her ears.
There were no unnecessary additions to the battlefield this time, just flat duraturf between them, he’d tested it with his foot to find it slightly spongy. Her stare felt uncomfortable, but he didn’t tear his eyes away. This was part of the psychological process. If he looked away now, he’d be less effective come the actual bout.
Across from them, the video referee was going through the rules of the bout, three spirits each and no time limit… He didn’t know why they stated that. He’d never seen a bout yet at this tournament that involved a time limit… and the victor would be declared when one caller had three spirits unable to keep on fighting. In the event of a tie, sudden death will be enabled. He’d heard it all before. It lost its effect after a while. Instead he thought about his choices of spirits. He’d do this, be onto the quarter final before long. Ha, see you in my dust, Pete.
He didn’t know why he sounded so jubilant at that thought. He doubted he’d do much better against Katherine Sommer should it fall to it. She’d just swept Pete aside the previous day and he’d felt gutted for his friend. Still what were the chances he’d have to face her next round?
Getting smaller every time, he won. That was the answer.
“Good luck, Scott.” He looked up, jerked out of his thoughts by the soft musical voice of his opponent.
“You too,” he said, before grinning. “But obviously not too much of it, yeah?”
She laughed at that. “Of course.”
That was when she unleashed her first spirit, it took him a moment to realise what exactly it was before the answer struck him. Four feet tall on four legs with a thick bushy crimson mane distinctive against its glossy caramel coloured pelt and a heavy tail that dragged across the ground behind it, the face had a distinctly fox-like feel to it. The eyes were a piercing black and surrounded by patches of cream coloured fur shaped like flames.
“Kirofax!” he couldn’t help but exclaim. The realisation hit him, he hadn’t seen one for a while. Few people knew where to find them these days, they’d been hunted almost to extinction and while he wasn’t one of those who did know where to find them, Saarth obviously did.
“You got it baby,” Saarth chuckled. Her laugh was just as lilting as her voice. He ignored the possible insult and made his own choice, throwing out Seasel who landed on the duraturf with a sound that probably passed as a roar for the sea weasel. To anyone else, it sounded like a constipated squeak.
“Rare doesn’t mean tough,” Scott said, still aware Seasel was baring his fangs at the kirofax, claws digging into the turf as if ready to get going. He wasn’t the only one, the crowd’s buzz of anticipation had lowered but he could feel the tensions rippling through them as they awaited the signal to get the bout underway.
He gave Seasel the mental command spliced in with the order to wait, silently urging the weasel not to go just yet… Wait for it, wait for it… Now!
With the roar of the buzzer signalling the start, Seasel opened his mouth and the gout of water erupted out from within him, tearing through towards the kirofax who nimbly leapt up out of the way. Scott wasn’t fooled for a moment, he’d been expecting some sort of dodge, they were supposed to be considerably nimble after all and he urged Seasel to keep trying to trace it out with the blast, water striking empty air as the rake followed it up into the air. He saw Saarth’s look of surprise as it caught the kirofax square in the face and threw it back several feet, almost bouncing it off the shields that protected the crowd. It hit the ground, Scott grinned. Maybe that’d be it.
He doubted it, but maybe. He was proved right as it jumped up to its feet and shook water and dust out of its fur, a mad look in its eyes as it lunged forward towards Seasel, fangs bared and glowing shiny white.
Again?!
It came out half as a question, half as an order as Seasel forced another burst of water towards the onrushing kirofax. Once again, the creature dodged it, this time careening to the side to avoid it and before Seasel could adjust his aim, it sprang over the moving blast of water and was suddenly in close. And now Seasel was on the defensive, suddenly trying to evade the fangs on Scott’s command, the weasel ducking and diving out of the way as the kirofax tried to get a grip on his slippery fur. He could hear the clack of fangs biting down on empty air, could see the frustration on the kirofax’s face as it tried to bite down again and succeeded only in grazing Seasel’s back, drawing a silver of crimson blood.
He felt a backlash of discomfort ripple through him from Seasel, gave a command and the weasel swung around and smashed his skull straight into the kirofax’s side. The fox-like creature let out a woofing sound of pain, he thought he heard snapping bone, maybe he’d hit a rib and suddenly they were fighting in close, tooth and claw going at each other.
If there was any thought of using their special attacks, neither of them were going for it. The other wouldn’t give them the chance. No space, no time, if Seasel stopped to unleash a water blast, Scott could honestly foresee the kirofax ripping his head off. No, this was something more primal, like a scene from the wild as both bled from a dozen open cuts, movement slowly becoming more laboured and heavy. The kirofax let out a squeal as one of Seasel’s paws swiped at its face, grabbed a leg and swung around, suddenly sending the sea weasel airborne for a moment and that was when Scott seized his chance, giving the order for another aquatic attack.
This’d be it, he felt a surge of confidence rush through him. The blast of water struck down, homed in on the kirofax and Scott rubbed his forehead, his hand coming away with a fine sheen of sweat. He hadn’t been aware how hot it had gotten.
Before it could land, he heard a hiss, saw the steam and the attack never landed. His eyes widened. Sweat ran down his face. Saarth looked unperturbed. He was closer to the action though, everything had exclusively been in his half of the field so far. Seasel came to a land, shrieked in discomfort as he already saw blisters forming across the furred skin, visible even beneath the glossy coat.
So many pieces fell together at the same time and he could have kicked himself. The little flames around the kirofax’s eyes… Fire abilities… The sudden rise in temperature… The way the attack had fizzled out around the kirofax before landing… Evaporation…
Fuck!
Little bastard was superheating the air around it as protection. If Seasel went in close, he’d get badly burned by the searing temperature. If he attacked from distance, it’d just evaporate out before it even got close to doing critical damage.
Clever, very clever, Ms Saarth. But I’m smarter. I might not know how to get around this right at this moment but I will work it out.
Next the kirofax opened i
ts mouth and spat out a barrage of supersized embers towards Seasel, the weasel only just barely dodging at his command. Powerful legs tensed and he rose up into the air, evading neatly.
Stutter hits!
He wouldn’t win by doing the same thing repeatedly and hoping for different results. That way lay insanity. He had to try different things. Seasel spat his own barrage of water blasts out, three, four, five, six narrow streams lancing out towards the kirofax in rapid succession, each of them sizzling out as they hit the invisible orb of heat wrapped around the furred body.
“Good, Scorch, good,” Saarth cooed, her voice filled with pride. Okay, so that hadn’t worked. Scott idly wondered how long Scorch could hold up the barrier of heat and how effective it would remain over the long term. An attack was only as useful as the ability to maintain it. Looking at it logically, he couldn’t see that working. It was already a hot day and intensifying that heat would use up less energy than if it was created from scratch.
He might have to just go for it, send Seasel straight into the fray and hope that his spirit could down the opponent before succumbing to the horrific heat. It was starting to make him feel uncomfortable so who knew how Seasel was feeling out there on the field right now.
More attacks came in from Scorch and Seasel had to lunge out the way, Scott not even giving the order to counter attack. It was useless now, he needed an opening…
… And somehow, he doubted he was going to get one. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices. It was with a heavy heart he gave the command and Seasel shot in close to the kirofax as if fired from a blaster, claws outstretched and raking across the body. Scorch hadn’t expected it, let out a howl as keratin bit down through flesh, blood sizzling as it met the oppressive heat outside.
He saw Scorch rise onto its hind legs and he gave the command. Seasel lunged up and with his mouthful of razor sharp teeth, had the throat out in one slick violent twist. It plopped down onto the ground as the weasel spat it out and let out a shrieking sound of triumph. The heat faded but it had done its damage. The blisters were even more pronounced, the fur was blackening in places and he could see faint burns affecting Seasel’s movement. He wasn’t moving freely.