The contestants bowed.
“Commander Nagavi, are the candidates ready for testing?” The Heir’s level tone gave no indication that this was a life-changing event for the aspiring young men and women.
“Yes, Your Highness, if not, they’ll be going home sooner than expected.”
Smiles and snorts of laughter came from the Chenjerai.
“Let the trials begin,” the Heir announced, as he and his guards spread themselves along the gallery while Nagavi ordered simulation screens set up.
The opening test assessed their speed and accuracy with firearms. Ten contestants stepped forward and took three shots before moving aside for the second group of nine. The challenge started with handguns, before progressing to a variety of larger weapons that included crossbows, knives of different lengths and even primitive spears—to be a Chenjerai meant expertise with whatever was to hand.
Kia refused to allow herself to be distracted. The task in front of her was what mattered. Nothing else.
When the assessment finished, Kia was elated. She hadn’t missed once—every single shot had hit the center of the target—a perfect score. Without the nanobots your result wouldn’t be anywhere near that good, a little voice in her head whispered. Without the nanobots I wouldn’t be here at all, she responded, shutting the conversation down. The skills from her former life, combined with the new training, confirmed what she felt deep down in her bones, making it to the ranks of the elite guards would give her the chance for revenge.
On Emankora, modern weapons of warfare had replaced srilao, its status falling to a sport practiced by those who needed the physical outlet that hand-to-hand contests offered, but its original purpose was combat.
After surviving Jahanamu, developing the skills srilao had given her and learning new ones gave her days a purpose. During the past weeks she’d controlled herself, resisting the urge to advertise her abilities, but this week there’d be no holding back, not when achieving the next step in her plan was so close.
At the end of the morning, the contenders waited in a jittery line as Nagavi named Chatar, a quiet blonde girl and Keji as disqualified. The latter was a surprise as his ratings as a pilot were up with the best, All the eliminated candidates would remain until the end of the trials.
On the second day, the remaining seventeen traveled to a nearby forest on a team assessment known as kill or capture. Nagavi named Tamaiko and Jalux as leaders. Chatar and Keji sat with the Heir and the Chenjerai watching the exercise on a large vidscreen in the gymnasium.
Kia acknowledged that as much as she disliked Tamaiko’s superior smug attitude, she was happier to be on his team rather than Jalux’s. Despite Jalux’s team having an extra person, the rejected candidates were from his team. She didn’t feel sorry for them. They were from privileged backgrounds and would return to their privileged lives. She was glad she hadn’t made many friends.
Day three, thirteen contenders, flight simulation tests.
As on the first day, a simulation screen was erected, and the Heir, his elite guards, and those out of the competition watched from above.
Kia was in the opening set sitting the piloting test. She’d done her best to overcome the emotions that arose when she was in a cockpit. Knowing this was to be today’s challenge, yesterday afternoon she’d gone to the simulator booths at the rear of the barrack’s gym for a practice session, but choked up when she kept seeing Red’s face, the line of blood running across her cheek. Her gut knotted and she ran out, barely making it to the bathroom before she vomited up the first-rate lunch the Heir had provided. She hadn’t returned. Today’s task would be difficult.
She sat in the simulator seat, aware of the Heir staring down at them, watching and judging. She blew out a breath of frustration at having two obstacles to disturb her focus.
“Check,” Nagavi directed them.
Kia’s instant response, to her relief, calmed her skittish nerves. Her piloting results reached the level of competence she’d attained in recent practices and saved her from plummeting to the bottom of the ratings. By the time it was her turn for the gunner’s trial she was in control again, her mind fixed on the task. When the results were announced, she was surprised to receive a standing ovation from the balcony for her perfect score, and when Nagavi insisted, she gave an embarrassed bow. Although Kia remained in the top four, her pilot’s result dropped her from joint first to fourth.
More contestants were eliminated, and it was no surprise to anyone that Tamaiko was still top of the overall rankings.
Day four, ten contestants, free-form martial arts.
Nagavi gave the remaining candidates small cards and told them to write their names and place the cards in a silver bowl. He passed the bowl to a waiting guard who took it up to Lord Rial.
With a glance at the Chenjerai, whose eyes lit up, and a smile at the remaining contestants that would melt the snow off a mountain, Lord Rial mixed the cards and called the names in pairs. This test would eliminate the weaker fighters until the two strongest remained.
None of the disqualified combatants would have offered Kia any trouble, and she wasn’t concerned with those left in the competition. She realized, as did Nagavi and most likely the Heir, too, that the ultimate contest would be between her and Tamaiko, although every recent bout with Tamaiko ended in a draw, and she hadn’t defeated him. On the positive side, apart from their original fight, he’d never yet beaten her, either.
Five bouts later, as she’d expected, Kia faced Tamaiko inside the fighting circle and blocked out everything but her opponent.
Chapter Twelve: Pyrrhic Victory
Kia didn’t feel tired, in fact, she felt intoxicated as the humming in her blood grew stronger. She focused on Tamaiko’s relaxed stance, the same one that had fooled her on their first fight, but which she’d learned was one of his standard deceptions, cross-feints being another. In addition to being an exceptional fighter, he had what Nagavi called a cerebral style, always thinking ahead, planning the next move, and using taunts and jibes to unbalance his opponent. He’d won the first bout they’d fought and never failed to throw his favorite provocation of ‘little pet’ at her. He had stopped using the Heir’s name, but they were both aware that if it wasn’t for Nagavi’s threat to sew his mouth up and make him walk home, he’d have used it liberally.
“Check,” ordered Nagavi. “This bout is timed and points will be awarded. Lord Rial has declared this a no-holds-barred bout.”
This was a surprise. Kia’s srilao training had been directed toward sports competitions, and she wondered how much of a street fighter Tamaiko was. She breathed in, sensing and calming the sudden nervy pitter-patter of her heartbeat. Extending her perception throughout her body, she tensed and relaxed each anxious muscle, and the panicky sensation faded as a cold icy calm descended. She opened her eyes and met Tamaiko’s gaze. With a slight lift of an eyebrow, she smiled. She would enjoy this.
If her attitude bothered him, he didn’t show it, and at Nagavi’s signal, they turned and bowed to Lord Rial.
“Begin.”
Kia leaped halfway across the circle before Nagavi finished speaking. Her right leg struck Tamaiko in the chest and she landed in a crouch.
He staggered, falling flat on his back half out of the circle, his mouth open in shocked surprise.
She sprung toward him, intending to grab his ankle, but he’d flipped over, rolled inside the circle, and regained his feet. “Is the little pet looking to impress her master?” he sneered, his voice low as they circled, each searching for an opening.
In Emankora, srilao was an honorable sport, where reading an opponent’s body language to anticipate and counter their next move was part of the skill set. Fights were performed in silence as insults were regarded as a less intelligent aid to winning. Kia had, for the most part, resisted the urge to retort, except when she was off balance or anxious. Recently she’d begun insulting him back, and on one occasion he’d completely lost his temper, and Nagavi had d
ragged him out of the fight, refusing to let him continue.
She did want to impress the Heir, her master as Tamaiko bluntly put it. Nothing mattered more than getting close to him, but not for the reasons Tamaiko thought. His left side was his weakest, so she danced toward him, feinted right, and jabbed him fast in his ribs on the opposite side, sliding away. “Oh, is mummy’s boy upset she didn’t come to see her little darling?” She watched his eyes narrow and his lips thin. Good. She didn’t care why, but mocking his mother was his weak spot. They circled again, arms out groping, hands splayed, fingers bent ready to grab, breathing a little quicker, hearts beating faster.
He bounced toward her, fists clenched, threw a kick to the side of her head, missed as she dodged low and punched him hard in the same spot as her previous strike. Taking the hit, he made a quick grab for her wrists before she could slide out of reach. He hooked his leg behind hers and she was falling, but before he could drop on top of her, she’d twisted her hands around, gripped his wrists, pulled on his arms, and her legs were up and locked around his waist. As he fell forward, still aiming to pin her down, she whipped her right leg through his opened legs and rammed it upward, slamming it into his chin. His head jerked up, his grip loosened, and she slipped out of the hold.
Leaping to her feet, she didn’t waste her opportunity and came in fast on his left side, jumped with her right leg cocked and stomped the side of his left knee. He fell, his face twisted in pain and anger as he realized she was scoring more points. She dropped on his chest, breathing hard, her knee pressing on his throat. But she’d known he wouldn’t give in easily. He had height and weight on his side, and when he shoved himself upward, she couldn’t keep him down. His arms came up, and he grabbed her tight, pinning her arms and rolling her over and underneath him.
A red mist rose at the edge of her vision. She would not let him beat her this time. Bucking upward and thrusting with her right hip, she rolled him onto his back, this time ramming her elbow into his neck, and punching quick and fast, ignoring the harsh rattling in his throat as he worked to suck in air. One, two, three, she kept pounding a savage knuckle-bruising rhythm on his face, neck, anywhere she could strike, taking no notice of the snapping crunch of bone cracking under her brutal punches. Thirteen, fourteen—
A pair of iron bars trapped her arms, yanking her up and away from Tamaiko who rolled over, mewling small animal noises.
She kicked backward, her heel connecting with a shin bone.
A hissed “ow” and Nagavi’s voice in her ear. “Stop, Kia, you’ve won.” He let her go.
She stood with her head bowed, gasping in lungfuls of air as Nagavi raised her right arm.
Turning her toward the balcony he announced, “Kia O’Afon is the winner.”
“Well done, Kia.” The Heir’s voice cut through the clapping.
Kia stared at the floor.
“Look at him and bow or I’ll break your neck myself,” Nagavi hissed.
She did as he ordered, fixing her gaze on the small gold insignia glinting on the Heir’s uniform. She couldn’t look him in the eye because she didn’t want him to see how ashamed she was.
There was fādāi, the trancelike state achieved by srilao masters, where it was said they could anticipate every move their opponent would make; there was also fènnù. Fènnù was a loss of control to the fighter’s rage.
Yes, she’d won against Tamaiko, and wasn’t that what mattered? But shame flushed through her as she acknowledged the humiliation of losing a greater battle against herself.
Day five, six candidates, sword fighting.
After yesterday morning’s trial had ended, she’d gone straight to the dormitory. Everyone else was at lunch, laying bets on who would make the ranks of the Chenjerai. Jalux brought her supper, and when she didn’t answer his inquiries, he put the tray on the floor. After his footsteps had faded, she ate the food and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
Kia stood with the remaining four men and two women, waiting for the Heir’s arrival. She’d fought and defeated them all during their training. She was more familiar with Jalux and Tamaiko, but the other four, like her, had kept their distance from everyone else. After all, what was the point in making relationships until they found out their situation was permanent? This morning she was calm, too calm. Everything was distanced as if a layer of glass separated her from her surroundings. She had no feelings because if she had feelings, she would hurt. She’d experienced this disconnectedness from the world in the mines when the brutality of life became too difficult to bear.
Up on the balcony, the thirteen rejected candidates stood to attention as Lord Rial and his escort entered, then settled down to view the concluding contest. Whoever won today would have the greatest chance of being chosen by the Heir to fight with him. Like yesterday, names were placed in the silver bowl and randomly selected by Lord Rial.
Today, unlike yesterday, Kia fought her duels with controlled precision. Her senses, heightened by the days of competition, alerted her to each twitch of her opponents’ muscles, and she was there, advancing, fading, blocking, parrying, retreating, and hardly breaking a sweat.
Tamaiko, fresh from an overnight stay in a cell rejuvenation unit at the hospital, seemed wary of her. As did the others. It was as if the quiet foreigner they’d known had revealed herself to be a feral beast.
Kia didn’t care. She was too close to being picked, and whatever happened, she’d never see most of them again. Jalux had improved the most since he’d arrived, but she still defeated him with ease, and when the duels ended and Nagavi declared her the winner, it was no surprise to anyone.
Lord Rial thanked those eliminated and those who still had a chance for their efforts. He, Nagavi, and the Chenjerai would discuss and make their choices. They were to assemble in the palace arena tomorrow morning for his decision.
Kia walked into the recreation room. She’d slept all afternoon, joined the others for the evening meal and was finally unwinding and feeling her body was her own again. A small group sat around a table playing cards, while Tamaiko lounged in a corner playing an archaic looking stringed wooden instrument with surprising expertise. Despite her earlier sentiments about the group, she thought of them with affection. Tomorrow all their fates would change. She had little in common with them, yet they’d shared hardships and victories, worked with and against each other, and had struggled together toward the same goal.
She strolled over to where Jalux relaxed in a large easy chair and plopped down in the chair opposite. They sat silent for a while watching the evening sun lengthen the deep gold shadows across the room.
“I would bet my right arm you’ll be one of those chosen,” Jalux said.
“You’re left handed, it wouldn’t stop you killing anyone,” she pointed out.
“You are coming out to celebrate tomorrow night, aren’t you? It’s Djem’s Festival of Masks.”
“Celebration?”
“Oh, come on. You must have heard of the famous party at the end of the Finals?”
“No, and I’m not sure I want to either.”
“The Chenjerai take everyone into Djem for a night of grand entertainment. The finest restaurants, clubs, dancing, you name it, they’ll provide it.”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You sound like every woman in the universe. Speak to Hanen, she’s about your size, though she’s shorter.” He paused, his eyes looking her up and down. “And she might have a dress that’ll show off your great legs.”
“Jalux! Who are you? If you don’t shut up, I’ll cut your legs off, and then we’ll discover who looks good dancing.”
Jalux threw his head back and laughed. The card playing group looked up and smiled. There was nothing more anyone could do except relax and wait as their fates were decided. Even those who didn’t join the Chenjerai would return home, and their communities would honor them. Irrespective of the outcome, making it as far as the trials bestowed its own glamor.
“Perhaps,” she
told him. Yes, she’d gone to dances in Sestris, but they were community and family celebrations. She didn't think night life at the center of the empire was quite the same.
“Celebrate for Red. She’d have dragged you out.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“But it’s true.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
Kia yawned. “Take it how you want, I’m off to bed.”
“Alone?”
“What is wrong with you?” She kicked him in the shins as she stood up. “What have you done with the real Jalux?”
“The trials are over, and those rules no longer apply. This is the real me, the dark curly-haired handsome brown-eyed young man your mother told you to watch out for, and I’d like to get to…” There must have been something in her face because he stopped. “I’m sorry, Kia.”
The young man her mother told her to watch out for? Keyon was the sole admirer who’d put up with her passion for srilao and desire to become an Elector. Was he even alive? She snorted. That life was gone. “Well, for your information, the Kia that beat you at everything—”
“’Cept piloting.”
“Okay, the Kia who beat you at everything except piloting—that is the real Kia.” She kicked him again, harder this time. “See you in the morning.”
Chapter Thirteen: Results
Kia was remarkably composed seeing as how her life for the foreseeable future was about to be decided. The problem of whether she could continue with her current scheme or would have to take a different tack to achieve her aims had receded from her thoughts, and she was relaxed. Of course, when the doors banged open and the Chenjerai entered, followed by Lord Rial, her serenity fled faster than a spacecraft into a wormhole.
Despite the lack of an audience, the ceremony was imbued with a solemn grimness. The new guards, along with their comrades would, in all likelihood, die in the service of the Heir.
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