The Combat Codes (15 page)

“Yes,” Callen said.

As Murray walked away, Callen called after him, “Oh, one more thing, Scout. Your pay is docked for the cycle. You obviously don’t have any commission, but you won’t be getting your standard stipend, either.”

Callen clearly wanted Murray to argue, to barter, to plea like a common market hawker.

Murray kept walking.

*

Cego leapt across the Circle into a front roll, springing from the dirt and shooting for a low single-leg, nearly flattening onto his belly as he dove for Masa’s ankle. Masa easily yanked his foot away and pushed Cego’s head into the dirt as he swiveled to the side and threw a light punch to Cego’s temple.

Cego rolled and leapt back to his feet. He bobbed toward Masa, switching his stance to southpaw and then back to traditional, checking for his opponent’s reaction.

Though Masa had the yellow eyes of a Grievar, his were strangely dark, an olive hue that Cego couldn’t read like a normal opponent’s. Cego knew Masa was at least thirty, but he looked like a young Grievar, his long mane of dark hair whipping around his shoulders as he moved. Masa calmly waited for Cego’s next action, his hands up at eye level.

Cego threw a series of feint jabs, clearly outside of striking range. Normally, he’d follow up with an inside leg kick, something to get him within range and throw his opponent off balance. With Masa, though, he knew he’d need something different. Something less traditional.

Cego spun around, twirling his body in a full circle, using the momentum to whip his leg at Masa’s head. Masa easily ducked the wheel kick, following up with a deft foot sweep that took Cego’s remaining leg out from under him. Cego hit the floor hard.

Masa was already on top of him, knee on belly, pressuring into his sternum. The olive-eyed Grievar looked down at him.

“Too much, Cego-ko,” Masa said quietly in his halting Jadean accent. “Normal combination. Two jab, low kick, cross. Stay regular. Not spinning like that.”

Cego took Masa’s hand and stood up. He shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t think I could get through with my standard combos. I wanted to catch you off guard with something.”

Masa nodded, pointing out at the Circle around them. “Circle. You follow its light. Need to follow
your
light.” The Circle glowed with a faint red hue, illuminating the shadowed corners of the barracks they trained in.

Rubellium alloy.
He needed to compensate, as Murray had instructed.

Since his arrival at Murray’s barracks in central Mercuri, Cego had been preparing for the Trials at the Lyceum, which were now only one week away. He had assumed the Trials would be similar to his experience in the Underground—pure tests of combat prowess in the Circle, the best Grievar emerging victorious. It didn’t turn out to be as simple as that.

The Trials would mirror the schools of study at the Lyceum, concentrated on different phases of combat. Cego was very familiar with some of these phases already, such as striking or grappling.

One phase that he had struggled to learn over the past month was Circles. Grievar Knights around the world fought in different types of Circles, each forged with varying consistencies of the base elemental alloys. The composition of these alloys determined how a Circle would interact with the spectral light, and in turn affected a Grievar’s actions within the Circle.

Murray’s Circle, which Cego currently stood in with Masa, was a rubellium alloy. Murray had said it was near a fifty-percent mixture of rubellium and auralite, the other fifty standard steel. Interacting with the modest spectral array above, the rubellium made Cego think differently. He felt confident, too confident. He felt like he could throw flashy techniques, move at lightning speed, play with his opponent if he wanted to.

Though confidence was one important part of fighting, too much confidence left Cego vulnerable. He’d strayed away from his standard techniques to try and surprise Masa, unsuccessfully. The Circle had influenced him.

Murray had explained that a Grievar Knight needed to discern how their mind was being influenced by the Circle around them. With the proper training, a Knight could use a Circle’s influence to their advantage, gaining confidence just when it was needed.

Cego understood the theory, but when he actually stood in the Circle, it was hard for him to distinguish his own thoughts from those that were being influenced.

One problem was that he had access to train only in the Circle in Murray’s barracks—rubellium alloy. The purelight kids Cego would be going up against had access to far superior resources. Some of their parents owned Circles of every element.

If he couldn’t even compensate in this Circle, one that he’d been practicing in for the past month, how would he ever succeed under the influence of unknown Circles that he’d never felt before? Cego breathed out steadily, trying to calm his nerves as Masa squared up with him again.

Despite Cego’s frustrations, Masa had been a great aid to his training so far. Though Murray was his head coach, the old Grievar had constant Scout duties to fulfill within the Citadel. Most often, Murray would provide Masa with instructions to lead Cego’s morning and afternoon sessions, and would return in the evening to review progress.

Masa waited for Cego to attack again, slowly circling him with his hands raised. Cego breathed out, attempting to feel the pull of the Circle. Was the rubellium affecting him? He did still feel confident, though Masa had bested him several times in a row now. If anything, that was a good indicator that he was being influenced.

Though he wanted to dive in with a leaping cross, Cego instead concentrated on Masa’s footwork. He was circling to Cego’s right, in a traditional stance with his left leg leading. Cego matched his stance, shuffling his feet across from Masa.

As Masa lifted his leg to shuffle, Cego shot out a quick inside leg kick, catching Masa beneath the knee and throwing him off balance. Masa smiled and began to circle in the other direction, switching to a southpaw stance, with his right leg leading this time. He threw his own leg kick, which Cego checked with his shin.

Cego wanted to be done with this slow, strategic game. Matching leg kicks, constantly analyzing his opponent’s stance and the direction he was moving. Cego wanted to go for a finish; he felt like he could easily do so.

Clear your mind; free yourself of influence.
Cego heard Farmer’s voice, as he so often did, even nearly a year since he’d blindly stumbled onto the Underground’s streets.

Cego exhaled again. He needed to stick with his strategy. He shifted along with Masa, waiting for him to lift his right leg this time, timing it with a perfectly executed inside leg kick. This time, as Masa was thrown off balance, Cego added two quick jabs to the attack, one grazing his partner’s forehead.

The dance continued, the two combatants circling each other wearily.

Cego feigned the inside leg kick, this time swiveling his hips but not throwing his leg out. Just as he expected, Masa reacted, ready for the kick, throwing his hips back and his head forward. Cego was already moving, though, throwing a cross that he attempted to pull at the last moment to avoid serious contact with his partner. He still connected solidly, catching Masa just under the eye and knocking him to the ground.

“Sorry!” Cego reached down to help Masa up, who accepted his hand.

“No apologize,” Masa said, rubbing the bruise that was already swelling under his eye. “You did good, Cego-Ko. No follow Circle light this time.”

“Impressive,” Murray said from the entrance to the barracks. “Masa is hard to catch.”

Murray was standing beside a near-identical replica to Masa, minus the long hair. This Grievar’s head was completely bald.

“Mune, what do you think? Is Cego ready?” Murray asked the young man beside him.

“Cego-ko… not ready,” Mune replied without thinking.

Murray chuckled, looking at Cego’s frustrated expression.

Mune was the near polar opposite of his twin brother. Instead of taking it slow to let Cego learn, testing his responses to various attacks, Mune went at him full force every time. Though Cego could sometimes get the better of him, he often ended up battered and limping after his sparring sessions with Mune.

“Well, I think you’re ready. Just do what you just did in there. Stick to your plan,” Murray said.

“What about the other types of Circles? What… what if I’m fighting in byzantite during the Trials? How will I know how to react?” Cego asked.

“Every Circle is different, but for each, you need to listen just the same.” Murray walked over to the Circle. He knelt down and placed his hands on its steel frame. “Just like with Ruby here. Different Circles will speak to you in different voices. Some whisper, some shout, some sing to you. Circles are no different than folk; you just need to know which ones you can trust. Though I’d say I’d rather trust any Circle than most of the folk is this town.…”

Cego was still getting used to Murray’s strange affinity with his Circle, whom he’d very formally introduced to Cego as
Ruby
when he’d first arrived at the barracks.

“Speaking of…” Murray said as he produced a glinting coil of red metal from the cloth bag he was carrying, handing it to Mune. “Let’s get her catalytic panel cleaned up, Mune.”

Cego watched as Mune knelt beside the Circle and began to unscrew one of the thick steel plates at its base.

Murray had told Cego he’d first seen Ruby when he was traveling in Besayd on assignment as a Knight. He’d taken a boat into the famed aquatic markets. Rowing by ramshackle stilted huts, Besaydian hawkers cawing in a language he didn’t understand, Murray had caught a red-hued glimpse of steel from the corner of his eye. Deep in the recesses of a hut, under the fading island light, he’d seen Ruby.

After his fight at Besayd’s Shell Dome, Murray had made a point to row back out to that hut and strike a deal with the hawker. Though Ruby was broken down and rusted, Murray had spent several fight paydays for her, having the hawker break the Circle down for shipping back to Mercuri via ArkTech transnational.

Even over three decades old now, Ruby was in great condition. Murray made a point to polish her every morning he was Surface-side, meticulously ensuring her rubellium-steel frame was gleaming. He spent hours per week detailing the engraved sigils laid across Ruby’s face, fighting back the rust.

Aside from keeping Ruby’s exterior shining, Murray continually updated her inner mechanisms as well, bringing updated clasps, coils, and gears back with him from the Deep. Cego hadn’t even been aware that a Circle was more than a solid hunk of metal until he saw Mune, Murray’s resident engineer, open Ruby up.

Cego watched in amazement as Mune’s dexterous fingers performed surgery on Ruby, removing and replacing a broken-down coil. Murray hovered over the whole operation in nervous anticipation—Cego couldn’t remember ever seeing the burly Grievar so worried.

“What’s it all do?” Cego asked, peering into Ruby’s mechanical innards.

“Most of the stuff in there is for timekeeping. She’s gotta be synced up to the other Circles; otherwise, spectrals won’t recognize her,” Murray replied, his eyes never leaving Ruby.

“All other Circles?” Cego asked.

“Yes. Every proper Circle needs to be synced up—Underground, Upworld—doesn’t matter. Arrays all get stronger toward the height of the day and power down as night falls. If she’s out of sync by even a second, it can mess with her array. I’ve seen some broken Circles cause havoc, mess with Grievar, even drive ’em crazy.”

Murray breathed out a sigh of relief as Mune nodded at him and began to close up the hole in Ruby’s exterior.

“Aren’t Circles like Ruby… Daimyo tech?” Cego asked. He’d become accustomed to Murray’s distrust of any of the Daimyo tools, weapons, mechs, or meds. However, the old Grievar’s obsession with Ruby seemed to counter those beliefs.

Murray shot a steely glare at Cego.

“A Grievar takes pride in the Circle they train in, maintains it, treats it with respect—like it’s a part of their own body.” Murray knelt down and ran his hand along Ruby’s polished surface again. “We may fight for the Daimyos, but the Circles are ours.”

Cego thought back to his memories of the Island, training in Farmer’s Circle. He could remember the old master instilling the three brothers with a similar respect for the ironwood frame.

This Circle is your home; treat it
so.

Murray waved for Cego to follow him into the living quarters. “All right, kid, let’s get going inside. Mealtime, then we need to wrap up your Codes lessons.”

*

Murray’s barracks were spartan, as was fitting for a Grievar. Just the essentials for living. A bare-bones kitchen with a heavy oaken table at the center, with two small rooms off of it. Masa and Mune, the twin brothers, occupied one room, and Murray the other. Cego had opted to stay out in the training shed—the dusty interior reminded him of the lofted room on the Island.

Cego, Masa, Mune, and Murray sat down at the oak table in the kitchen. They ate Grievar’s fare. Though far more nutritional than the fighting greens Cego had subsisted on in the Deep, the food wasn’t much tastier. Tonight, chewy vat-grown bison strips with rehydrated teva fern. Murray wasn’t the creative cook that Leyna was either; he dragged in the bulk storage container and threw something onto the heat pad.

Almost all of Mercuri subsisted on stored and processed foods, vat-meats and rehydrated plant fare that tasted like bark. Murray told Cego that fresh meats were a supreme luxury that only the richest Daimyos could afford. Most animals did not live in the wild but were kept in private farms and tanks for hawkers to sell to the highest bidder.

Living on the Surface was a sharp contrast to the fragments of life Cego could now remember from the Island. Though the memories were difficult to grasp—slipping from his mind like fine grains of sand through the fingers—some vivid images stuck with him.

Silas’s long, lean body thrashing through the waves, swimming back to the beach after hunting sarpin miles offshore. Silas had always been the fisher. He’d been by far the strongest swimmer of the three brothers. He’d return to the black-sand beach with a line of sarpin strung across his back, his toothy smile flashing with the setting sun.