The Combat Codes (31 page)

“Who was the other?” Murray couldn’t help but ask.

“As you said, you are here for one Grievar, and that is Cego. I don’t want your attention to be diverted.”

“You’re right. I am here for Cego,” Murray affirmed. “I wanted to see if you knew anything. About how this could happen. How could the kid be so familiar with the Island? I mean, I saw it with my own eyes, Aon. Cego knew that place. He’d
been there
before. I asked him, and he told me some things that made no darkin’ sense…”

“These are strange times, Pearson,” Aon whispered. “As I said after the Trials commenced. The Citadel is at a crossroads. There is a choice coming. A path in the light or a path in the shadows.”

“Yes. And I’m thinking whatever’s going on here stinks like the dark. Smells of Daimyo Governance pushing on the Citadel. I paid a visit to Memnon and Callen—they’re gone. It’s all about winning for them, for
the good of nation
,” Murray said with spite. “Cego isn’t a part of all that, though. He’s different. He lives by the Codes.”

“Yes, I know he does. I’ve seen so much in my class already. He is already familiar with the way of the Grievar—he yearns to follow the path of the Ancients. And yet Cego has emerged from the shadows. He does not only fight in the Circle—he is battling something within. You need to help him find his path,” Aon said.

“How?” Murray asked, hoping that the wise master could provide him with a straightforward answer.

“Unfortunately, Pearson, my age does have its limits. Whatever darkness is at work here, it is not from my time. It is the machination of the new age. An age that I’m not so certain an old Grievar like me should still be living in…” Aon said.

Murray looked down at the floor and sighed. If Aon Farstead didn’t know what to do, hope was lost.

“Do not lose hope,” Aon said, accurately reading Murray’s thoughts again. “Though I can’t tell you what to do, I believe I can point you in the right direction.”

Murray looked up. Anything would help.

“I have an old acquaintance who I believe should know more about the specifics of the situation. I should warn you, though, Pearson, he’s not of our kin,” Aon said.

“A Daimyo?” Murray asked. “Though I can’t darkin’ stand most of them, I’ve met some decent soap-eaters before.”

“As have I.” Aon nodded. “He’s not just a Daimyo, though. He’s a very special sort. One that lives and breathes these new machinations I speak of. He’ll know what’s going on here at the Citadel. In fact, I’ve been meaning to get ahold of him; it’s just… difficult for me to get out of the Citadel at this point.”

“Special sort… you mean… a bit-minder?” Murray said incredulously. “I can’t. I don’t know how I’d…”

“He follows a lightpath, just as you and I do, Pearson. Yes, his path is quite different from ours, as diverged as possible. However, all paths intersect somewhere if you open your eyes,” Aon said.

Murray shook his head wearily. He’d told himself long ago he wouldn’t go into any dealings with Daimyos, let alone one of the bit-minders. But Aon was right. There was no other way. He needed to get to the root of the source. A team of bit-minders had created the Sim. They were the only ones that could get him some real answers.

“I’ll do it for Cego.” Murray clenched his fist.

“Not just for Cego,” Aon whispered. “The path you walk now is for all Grievar.”

*

On first attending Circles and Alloys
,
Cego had expected to walk into a large classroom; after all, how would they train within the wide variety of Circles without having access to each of them?

He’d been surprised to enter a tiny room, barely the size of Murray’s barracks, with a single Circle set at the center. Almost more surprising than the classroom was his teacher—he’d nearly gasped at the sight of Professor Adrienne Larkspur. She was the size of Murray-Ku in both height and breadth, her blond topknot collecting dust from the ceiling during her lectures.

Professor Larkspur’s size wasn’t her defining feature, though.

Larkspur had a gargantuan memory for all things relating to the Circles. With terrific clarity, she could recall every mixture of alloys, every set of engraved sigils, or every sort of clasp and gear that had ever composed a Circle. She knew the minutiae of every significant fight that had occurred in the last century—the nations the Grievar hailed from, each combatant’s biometrics, strengths and weaknesses, every punch, kick, knee, or elbow that had landed during the bouts.

Though at times she could overwhelm her students with the sheer weight of data, Professor Larkspur wasn’t boring. She recounted famous fights with vigor—setting up each Grievar’s backstory, building the suspense, and finally drawing her students into the Circles as if they were actually participating in the bout.

Today, Larkspur was finishing her week’s review of emeralyis alloy by recounting a recent battle between Artemis Halberd and Yongl Floree, a Besaydian Knight.

“Artemis saw his opportunity—any Knight of his caliber would see the same. Though Floree’s limbs were intact, though his heart rate hadn’t fluctuated, though he wasn’t winded, Artemis could see something else was wrong with his opponent.” Larkspur flashed her eyes back and forth at the class.

Professor Larkspur stood at the center of the mimicry Circle, which was now glowing with the green hue of emeralyis. Cego’s question about the tiny classroom had been answered on the first day of class when he’d seen the mimicry Circle in action.

Though it wasn’t as powerful as a Circle built of a single alloy, the mimicry Circle could imitate nearly any of the other elements. Composed of a low-level mixture of the entire spectrum of alloys, a Grievar could simply speak of a fight that had taken place in a specific alloy to will the mimicry Circle to assume its properties.

“Artemis had been watching Floree’s footwork,” Larkspur continued. “The Besaydian was a southpaw. He always circled to his right, away from Artemis’s power. Floree had already tried to pepper Artemis with jabs, as southpaws tend to do, though so far, they hadn’t amounted to much. That’s when Floree started to doubt himself. He started to let the emeralyis influence him. The Circle beckoned him to do something new, something creative to break Artemis’s defenses.”

There were only five students this semester in Circles and Alloys, each taking a ringside seat for Larkspur’s lecture. Cego, Mateus Winterfowl, Wilhelm Bariston, Tegan Masterton, and Kōri Shimo. Four of the five were enraptured in Professor Larkspur’s story. Kōri Shimo was staring out the window—the strange boy couldn’t seem to care less about the lesson.

“Floree suddenly decided to change directions. The Besaydian circled to his left this time. He surely knew he was moving toward Artemis’s power side, but he did it anyways. The emeralyis had convinced him it was a good idea.” Larkspur’s words were accentuated as several green spectrals lifted from the edge of the mimicry Circle’s glowing frame.

“We all know what happened next. You just don’t circle toward Artemis Halberd’s power,” Larkspur feigned a massive right-handed roundhouse. “Yongl Floree’s lightpath ended right there.”

Cego felt the need for an
oss
after Larkspur’s rousing lecture, but he refrained. He stood up with the rest of the class to receive their assignments via lightdeck as usual.

“As always, we’ll be moving onto a new alloy next week,” Professor Larkspur said. “Onyx is one you’ve likely had little experience with, for good reason.”

Cego’s ears perked up. Murray hadn’t said much about onyx during his training in the barracks. The Grievar had always avoided Cego’s questions about the alloy.

“Onyx compresses time,” Larkspur explained. “Your past, your present, your future—a strong onyx Circle can bind them together.”

Cego gulped.

“I only fought in onyx twice during my path,” Larkspur continued. “I don’t remember much—that’s one of the effects of time compression—some Knights come out of onyx not even remembering their own names.”

As Professor Larkspur spoke, the room seemed to darken, as if the shadows were growing like vines along the close walls. The green hue of the emeralyis had diffused, giving way to a strange new light. Cego couldn’t quite describe it. It almost appeared to be the absence of light, as if the glow from the mimicry Circle was sucking away at any external sources of brightness.

“Black light. An onyx Circle’s black light can do many things to a Grievar,” Larkspur said quietly. Her voice was getting softer. “Loss of memory, heightened memory, confusion, anger, insanity—we’ve had cases of nearly every ailment over the… In some cases, onyx has even…”

Larkspur’s words faded in and out, though Cego could still see her mouth moving. Darkness crowded the edge of his vision.

Cego could see himself then, wavering at the edge of the mimicry Circle. There was a smudge of blood staining the back of his white second skin.

He was looking in from the outside, pressed up against the window, peering through the thick glass into the classroom.

He saw Professor Larkspur waving her hands, commanding the attention of the class. He saw the onyx Circle glimmering like wet coal. He saw dark spectrals rising from its frame like fleeing shadows.

The spectrals were hovering over his head then. He could see tendrils of darkness reaching from the wisps, pulling at him. Cego wanted to bang on the window. He wanted to warn himself, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Suddenly, two eyes met his, burning yellow embers staring directly back out at him through the window. Kōri Shimo.

Cego panicked; he was losing control. He was getting pulled away from the window. Why was he here? What choice did he have?

Cego breathed in deeply. He released the breath.
Rolling like a
wave.

He inhaled again, just as Farmer had showed him. He exhaled.

The darkness faded. The noise and light crept back toward him.

Cego was back in his body, standing at the edge of the Circle in Professor Larkspur’s tiny classroom.

“—so I’ll expect you to be ready for your end-of-semester test by that point, and as always, feel free to stop by for any extra help before then,” Larkspur concluded.

The others began to filter out of the room. Mateus was muttering about being late to the dining hall.

Cego turned toward Kōri Shimo. The boy was still looking out the window.

*

Cego stopped by the medward first thing in the morning before Performance Augmentation with Professor Kitaka the next day.

He craned his neck to peer over the curtains as he walked down the wide ward hallway. Why were there always so many injured Grievar in here? Cego passed by laid-out Knights, Defenders, even several Lyceum students that he vaguely recognized.

Toward the end of the hallway he stopped abruptly. He stood in front of a large glass vat, staring into it.
Marvin Stronglight.
The sixth pick in the class of Level Ones.

Marvin was suspended within the vat, floating in a red-tinged, viscous liquid. Bubbles swarmed around the boy like feeding fish, and small tubes ran from his head to a control panel outside of the glass vat.

Marvin had met Kōri Shimo in last week’s challenge. Shimo had relentlessly battered Stronglight, even after he was down, even after the light had faded from the Circle. It had taken three of Shimo’s own teammates to pull him off of his opponent—his entire body had been covered in blood as they’d dragged him from Marvin’s lifeless form.

Cego would never forget the look in Kōri Shimo’s burning yellow eyes. They’d been blank, as if the boy hadn’t even been standing there in the Circle. Shimo hadn’t savored beating on his opponent as a Jackal like Shiar did. Shimo had done it as if he’d had no other choice.

Cego stared at Marvin’s suspended form, pressing his hands against the glass vat. The boy’s eyes were closed and he appeared completely lifeless. He almost seemed peaceful to Cego, floating there, suspended in time, between life and death. What was that like?

The boy’s eyes burst open. Cego fell away from the glass in surprise. Marvin stared directly at Cego with alarmingly wide eyes as his body twitched violently. The nearby panel started to beep before it shut off within a few seconds. The boy’s eyes closed and his body relaxed again, floating peacefully as if nothing had happened.

“Neuroplasmic reaction to the solution,” a little voice chimed from behind the control panel.

Cego was holding his breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything…” Cego stuttered.

Xenalia, the little Daimyo cleric, emerged from behind the panel, straight-lipped as usual.

“As I said, what caused the patient’s reaction was a neuroplasmic reaction to the solution he is suspended in. It was not you, Cego, who caused the reaction,” Xenalia said.

“Xenalia!” Cego was glad it was her and not some senior cleric who had caught him. “I was actually just looking for you, and then I saw Marvin…”

“Curiosity is one of the hallmarks of scientific inquiry, so I do not fault yours; however, I would warn you against wandering the medward like so, as the senior clerics are very… protective of their patients and maintain a zero-interference environment here.”

“Yes, I understand,” Cego said, inadvertently keeping an eye on the floating Grievar beside him. “A neuroplastic… What did you say again happened?”

“Oh, yes. I forget from our previous conversation I need to speak in simpler terms for your kind to understand me,” Xenalia said with no hint of condescension in her voice. “A neuroplasmic reaction is the Grievar’s nervous system reacting to the chemical solution he is suspended in—aminolyte solution, to be specific.”

“Oh… What’s he doing in this vat?” Cego asked.

“Well, technically, he is not doing anything—which is exactly the point. After such a grievous injury—that
is
why they call you the Grievar, is it not—his body needs to be doing nothing at all, even without the force of gravity acting on it, to promote its full internal healing capabilities. The aminolyte solution provides the perfect in-vitro environment for this promotion of non-activity, while also containing compounds to stimulate the Grievar’s symbiot reaction.”