Break The Ice (20 page)

I remember that night too well. That burning smell, stuck in the night air. An intense heat making it almost too unbearable to move. The thought that if I didn’t give every fight all I had, Kaitlyn would die in a matter of minutes. That’s what I lock onto. Kaitlyn. She trusted her life in my hands, and I ran away from Tinjo. Ran away from her.

“Dial it back a notch,” Shinmar says.

I check the stage around me. A layer of frost extends from my feet in a jagged circle. In the center, I stand still, heart pounding and veins bulging. Apparently for me there’s no warm-up needed. Zero to sixty in three seconds flat.

Shinmar backs out from between us and says, “Okay. The incantation is–”

“No,” I say, a little more forcefully than I intended. Something about the Dinmow surging through me brings out an aggressive side. “Those words mean nothing to me. Show me and I’ll do it.”

Annoyed that I interrupted him, Shinmar mutters under his breath and steps forward. His hands extend together, forming a C from fingertip to fingertip.

Thoughts of my childhood flicker before me. Late nights staying awake, playing Street Fighter hours on end. I never gave up until I mastered every skill, but only one move made me enjoy the fights more than anything else. A quick flick of the thumbs…

Unlike Street Fighter, Shinmar doesn’t launch a massive fire ball in my direction. I don’t even see anything until it’s too late. Almost invisible except for the slight waving in the air, a blast strikes me in the chest, and I summersault backwards. Two complete spins before I hit the ground, sliding to the edge of the stage. I stop inches from falling off, my arm dangling over the side.

There’s an ache in my chest when I stand up. I stretch my shoulders back and the center of my rib cage pops. I rub my shoulder, ignoring a kink in my neck that will hurt for a while. I don’t want Shinmar to think he did too much damage.

Doing as Dan suggested, I follow my first instinct. There’s a twitch in my foot, so I plant it firm on the floor. A weight pushes on my shoulder and tucks it toward my stomach. That’s when the pressure builds. Not like when I discovered the icicle trick at Yellowstone. No, this is something deeper. More volatile.

Going through the motion I mimicked hundreds of times as a kid, I thrust my hands forward and almost lose my footing when a burst of power explodes from my palms.

Shinmar waves his hand and says, “Shenthi.” The second thing he taught us and it works against even these moves. He drags his hand upwards and angles it away from us. Nothing happens for a few seconds until my attack crashes into a light fixture on the other side of the room, knocking it off its hinges.

“Too slow,” he says. “Move slow and every one of your attacks can be redirected.”

I plant my foot and strike again. This time, when Shinmar blocks the blow and points it in a new direction, he sends it back my way. Instead of diving to the side and trying to dodge it, I stick both hands out and yell in my head,
shool
.

I’m not sure what to do at first when it actually works. A chunk of ice the size of a basketball crystallizes in my hands. I catch it, but the force of Shinmar’s counter-attack sends me sliding back. Without giving him time to figure out what I did, I lunge forward and, under my breath, I can’t help but say, “Hadouken.”

Propelled by the wind, or whatever Shinmar keeps throwing at me, the ice soars forward at a blinding speed. Shinmar jumps to the side a fraction of a second too slow and the ball clips his hip. He stumbles to the ground, letting out a scream.

I get two steps forward, ready to apologize and help him up, but he holds up a hand. Wincing while he puts pressure on his left side, he stands and nods in improvement. “Smart thinking, combining the two. There is hope for you yet. Now, try this.”

By the end of the day, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk back to my room. Not from exhaustion but because of how many cuts, bumps, and bruises mark my body. Even a few burns from when Dan got fed up with how many hits he had taken.

My stomach growls, like it has been for the past thirty minutes. This time, it’s loud enough for others to hear.

“Perhaps we are finished,” Shinmar says. A set of bruises keep one of his eyes swollen shut and a nasty cut slices his lip down the side.

“Not yet,” I say.

Everybody around me groans. “You’ve been at it all day,” Ti says. “I learned more than I hoped to, but don’t you think you know enough?”

Tinjen laughs, most likely because of the assumption that I can take down his father. He’s the only one today that didn’t take part in the training. For hours on end, he sat next to the stage, observing and saying nothing.

“What about the portal?” I say.

Shinmar looks at me funny. “What do you mean?”

“Striker told me that I’d never be ready if I’m unable to get myself back to Earth.”

“You mastered a few of my lessons today by seeing me do it once, and you are telling me you cannot figure out how to do something like that?”

Even though his words don’t sound demeaning, they sting. He has a point. I haven’t needed any incantations so far, and I’ve seen several Dinmani whip up portals with the snap of their fingers.

“Okay, okay,” Shinmar says, rubbing his eye. “I will show you once. But then we are finished.” He rubs his hands together and, right before pulling them apart, the doors on the other side of the training room slam against the wall.

It’s Shindrow. He runs to the stage. His small legs force him to waddle side to side. “Sam,” he says, out of breath. “Come with me. No time to explain.” He points at Dan. “You too. Hurry, hurry.”

“I’m trying,” I say, struggling to jump down from the stage. I want to hop off, but every joint in my body burns. I’m afraid I’ll break my knees.

Outside the training hall, Shindrow says, “Shu ta kin wo.” He says the words with uncertainty. Slowly, a portal opens in front of him. It’s not like the ones I’ve seen Tinjo open, clouded by smoke and pouring out cold air. It’s a clear window into an office. “No time for stairs,” he says.

The three of us step through into a small room, bigger than my bedroom back home but still small in terms of the palace. A wooden desk takes up a large portion. It’s old, that much is obvious. Dark rings circle around the legs and a small dagger sticks out of the side.

Striker sits on the other side. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost smiles. “You did it,” he says.

Shindrow tries to laugh but a high pitched squeal comes out instead. He clears his throat. “It works, like you said it would.”

“Are we missing something?” Dan says.

Shindrow wipes the smile from his face and takes a deep breath. “It’s not important. Not right now. Show them.”

Between how easily Shindrow orders Striker to do something, and how quick Striker responds, I’m surprised the role of king isn’t reversed. But looking at the two men–one tall and mighty, the other short and wise–the answer seems obvious.

Striker pushes a smaller desk away from an open wall. He bangs on the wall three times and a new portal blinks to existence. The ruins of a building take up most of the space. At the end of a long row of destruction sits one pristine office space, untouched.

“What are we looking at?” Dan says.

“Downtown Lake Shore,” Shindrow says.

Dan takes in the view, scrutinizing every detail. “Lake Shore? Florida, I’m guessing? Why do we care about that?”

“Why are we looking at the outside?” I say. “I want to see what’s going on in that building. Is that where Tinjo is hiding them? Show us inside, damn it.” My voice rises with each question until I shout the last one at Striker.

He shakes his head. “The portal does not work one way. It is a passage. If I show you inside, they will see us. That would not be a wise strategy.”

He’s right. Not only that it’s not a smart move, but that it’s not a window. I can move through it. I can get to Kaitlyn in seconds. I dart straight at the abandoned road cutting through downtown. I only need six steps and I’m there. On my last step, I crash, shoulder first, into the wall.

“Bring it back,” I say.

“You do not give me commands, human,” Striker says.

Anger boils up, burning my throat. As an act of rage, I slam my fist into the wall. A portal opens up and it startles me. Jumping backwards, I crash into Dan who holds onto my shoulder to keep me from charging again.

The portal opened up closer to the building this time. I can’t see inside, but I make out several shadows moving in the windows. I try to count them but more keep popping up. Three. Seven. Ten.

“This isn’t good,” Shindrow says.

One shadow approaches the window until his face is clear.

“Close it,” Striker says.

I refuse to listen, trying my hardest to make out any details from the Dinmani’s face. A few small features come into focus through the glass.

“I said close it,” Striker says, shouting now. He grabs my arm and throws me into his desk, breaking my concentration and closing the portal.

“He was right there.” I try to remain calm but can’t control the volume of my voice.

“That one is not your target,” he says.

“They all are!” I shake off Striker’s grasp, storming to the other side of the room. “If they’re following his lead, then they’re my enemies.”

Striker walks around his desk and sits down. He lets his head fall into his large hand, holding it there for a few seconds. “Not that one,” he says. “He is a good soldier.”

Dan falls into an empty seat and laughs. “I’m sure that’s what you thought about Tinjo last week. Look at him now.”

“No,” Striker says. “Tinjo always had a bad streak inside of him. He buried it, letting it show only when it benefited him. That made him a good leader. I kept an eye on him, though. I thought I would see the signs when he tried to revolt.”

“You knew he would?” I say.

“Everybody did,” Shindrow says.

“And yet you let him have a position of power.” Dan leans onto his knees, still smirking. Something about the way the Dinmani continue to come up short amuses him. “Smart move.”

“He led the people with conviction, spewing nonsense about a Sunjin invasion and how their threat grew. They wanted to follow him.” Shindrow says.

“The Sunjin haven’t interacted with the Dinmani since Uthra Ka stopped them from uprising. Why would they believe we had any reason to come back to this hell hole?”

Both Striker and Shindrow look uncomfortable for a moment. “What do you really know about him?” Shindrow says.

“Uthra Ka?” Dan says.

Shindrow nods.

“Nothing more than the legends,” Dan says. “He stopped the Dinmani from prolonging the ice age and disappeared.”

“We do not have time for a history lesson,” Striker says. “You heard what Silo reported. Tinjo plans to execute them at sun fall.”

Up to that point in the conversation, I stood in the corner and listened. But at the word execute, I jump halfway across the room. “Execute who?” I say. Nobody answers so I repeat myself. “Who do they plan on executing?”

“Your friends,” Striker says. Shindrow growls under his breath but Striker shakes his head. “We do not have time for half-truths.”

“What do you propose?” Shindrow says. He’s pacing back and forth in front of Striker’s desk. His little legs move faster than seems possible.

“Shinmar says he is ready,” Striker says. “Give him a few soldiers and let them wage war.”

“Who would fight for them?”

“Anyone that we instruct to do so.”

“No,” I say, interrupting their back and forth. “I don’t want any soldiers fighting under orders. If they want to risk their lives to kill Tinjo, to fight for something worthwhile of their own will, I’ll gladly take them. Otherwise, I’ll go by myself.”

“What about Fa?” Dan says to me. “He’ll technically be fighting under orders, but he would make a huge difference. The stories about what he can do…” His words trail off, lost again in some memory.

“No,” Striker says. “Fa never learned to obey anyone else, and I cannot afford to leave here again. Especially after letting Tinjo trump me once before.”

“What do you mean–”

An explosion somewhere outside shakes the room and cuts him off. Striker rushes to the nearest window looking out over the palace. His head moves side to side as he counts something outside.

“Are they attacking again?” Shindrow says.

“Slan ta me,” Striker says. “Get the men rallied. All of them.” He slams his fist on the wall, opening a portal for Shindrow. “Stop them before they reach us.”

“What’s going on?” Dan says.

“The rebels,” he says. “They made their move. Follow me.” Striker runs from the office and into the first door. Dan and I stay close to him as he glides down a spiral staircase, skipping most of the steps. He leads us through several dark hallways and we step out into the main lobby.

Screams echo from all over, making it hard to pinpoint where they originate. A group of Dinmani women crash through a door from a wing of the palace I’ve never been down. They run past Striker without even acknowledging his presence.

“Stay close,” he says, heading straight to where they came from. Striker throws one door back so hard, the top hinge rips out of the wall. He doesn’t wait for us and disappears inside.

Hurrying to catch up, I dodge the broken door on its back swing and walk right into the dining hall through a far entrance I didn’t know existed. Countless men, women, and even some children crowd in the center, surrounded by two dozen Dinmani wearing hoods.

“There they are,” one of the hooded men says.

“I have a weird feeling they’re talking about us,” Dan says.

Striker stands five feet ahead of us. He turns his head to look at me. “Your priority is back on Earth.” Facing the oncoming men, he adds, “Run.” Planting his feet shoulder width apart, breathing hard, muscles tensing, Striker looks up to the ceiling and shouts, “Fa!”

The floor trembles beneath my feet. No, not the floor. The entire building shakes. High above, the ceiling explodes inwards, raining ice and wood and metal. Hidden inside, a flaming boulder. Fa lands on all fours, already snarling.

“Let’s go,” Dan says, tugging at my arm. He drags me back through the double doors and into the lobby. “You need to get us home.”

“We need to help Striker,” I say, looking back at the doors.

“He can handle this on his own.”

“One against over twenty?”

“Would you rather risk an extra day here? That’ll be the difference between life and death.”

It’s not our lives he means. Not even Kaitlyn or mom. One more day and our time runs out. One more day and Tinjo kills the entire planet.