The Combat Codes (6 page)

Shiar was the only one who still did not accept Cego. The jackal got even worse.

After one of Shiar’s fights, he returned to the bunk and stared Cego down. Shiar had blood on his hands, having just mercilessly pounded his opponent into the ground with glee. He licked the blood from his knuckles while keeping his burning eyes on Cego.

Shiar’s insults toward Weep became even more stinging, and he even turned his vehemence toward Dozer. Shiar treated Dozer like an unwanted pet, shooing him away and calling him a mound of useless muscle, a blockheaded dolt, and yet Dozer still followed his lead.

And then Shiar called Dozer
lightless
.

Before that day, Dozer had brashly repeated he would graduate from the Lyceum and become a Knight. That was his goal, his destiny, his lightpath.

The scales of destiny weren’t balanced for all, though. For some like Dozer, who wasn’t born of pure Grievar blood, whose eyes didn’t burn like morning stars, that destiny was nearly impossible to reach.

Shiar had made it perfectly clear to the rest of the crew on numerous occasions that he was the only purelight in the bunk, perhaps even at Thaloo’s. Both his mother and father were from a long line of Grievar. They “hadn’t strayed from the light,” as Shiar arrogantly repeated. Though he’d had the misfortune of ending up in this slave Circle, Shiar said it wouldn’t be long before he ended up at his rightful place at the Lyceum.

By contrast, most of the other boys at Thaloo’s were lacklights; they were some impure mixture of breeds. They didn’t have the pure Grievar line that assured them a place at the Lyceum.

After Shiar called him lightless, Dozer fell silent, no longer posturing before his fights and boasting in victory. In fact, the entire bunk was far quieter without the large boy’s constant bravado, thumping around wherever he went. Though Cego appreciated the newfound silence, he also saw the toll the insult had taken on Dozer.

The large boy sat on his cot with his shoulders slumped, he barely ate (his numerous hoarded cans overflowed from his hiding spot), and during training, Dozer went through the grueling tasks with a lifeless monotony.

Dozer’s bit-price began to fall along with his confidence—he’d lost two out of three of his last fights, one against a top specimen called Grinder. Cego had watched that fight from the sidelines.

Grinder had taken Dozer down from the onset and unleashed a flurry of ground-and-pound for nearly ten minutes as his friend tried to cover up helplessly. Cego cringed, thinking about how the crew had dragged Dozer out of the Circle lifelessly, his big body looking like a slab of raw meat.

Afterward, Ozark had given Dozer the bare minimum in meds from stock. Dozer was lying inertly in his cot, wrapped up head to toe in bandages, when Cego went to his side.

“You did good covering up, but you could’ve gone out the back door.” Cego spoke softly, taking a seat at the edge of Dozer’s cot.

Dozer looked at the flickering, dull source bulb overhead without expression. His face looked like a craterous landscape, with welts and hematomas covering the surface.

Cego continued, though Dozer stayed silent. “When Grinder postured up to throw down those heavy shots, your hips were under his. You needed to buck, put his head in the dirt and escape out the backside.

“You’d risk taking a direct hit in the process, but it was the only way. Grinder was hoping you’d concentrate on defense—he’s made to smash through your forearms, grind you down slowly. You needed to take the risk to escape. You needed to commit,” Cego said.

Dozer’s straw-colored eyes finally met Cego’s. “What’s the point in all this? Learning this stuff? Getting better? I’m not going anywhere. You heard Shiar. I’m a… I’m…” The big boy looked down at his chest as his body shuddered. “It’s not fair; lacklights like us… It’s not fair that we weren’t born purelights, when we want the same thing as them.”

Cego nodded silently, agreeing. He didn’t think any of this was fair. Thaloo imprisoning them, throwing them in the Circle, and having them fight for his own profit.

But Cego did know one thing now. He understood what Thaloo had said to him when he’d first arrived.

You don’t realize that pappy Thaloo here is helping
you.

In some twisted way, Thaloo
was
helping these kids. Though his motivations were self-serving, Cego knew that there was some truth to them.

He’d felt the spectral light in the Circle, the thrill of the fight. He knew that all Grievar had that connection, that same universal pulse of combat. They all wanted the same thing but would arrive on different paths.

“Taking the back,” Cego suddenly said. Dozer looked at him quizzically.

“Remember the technique I showed you the other day? Taking your opponent’s back.”

Dozer nodded slowly, clearly puzzled at the line of questioning.

“Well. I’ve probably learned about thirty ways to take the back so far. Drag an arm across, spin around from north-south, lure them into a throw. I could keep going and I know there are far more techniques with the same goal of taking the back that I haven’t learned yet,” Cego explained.

“Dozer. It’s like us. Every technique is different. Some are better than others depending on the situation. But each one has the same goal—taking the back. They all end up in the same place, with the same finish.”

Dozer was slowly nodding, though he didn’t appear to understand where Cego was going.

Cego continued. “We’re all different, Dozer. Lacklights, purelights, bit-rich or poor, Deep folk or Upworlders. We’re all coming from different places but are trying to get to the same spot, find the same path, take the back. You just need to find the right technique. You need to find your own path. It doesn’t need to be same path as Shiar’s or mine or anyone else’s. You need to find Dozer’s path.”

Dozer looked at Cego, now nodding. A slight smile and then a huge toothy grin broke across the big boy’s face. He bellowed and slapped Cego on the back, surprising him and nearly knocking him off the cot. “That’s right! I’m gonna find my own path!”

“Hey, Shiar!” Dozer burst out of his bed, bandages and all. “Hear that? I’ll see you at the Lyceum!”

4

A Light and a Path

When first attaining the mounted position, one would be foolish to try and attack too soon. Though any well-built roof can withstand the initial downpour of a rainstorm, it is the prolonged accumulation of water, the filling of gutters, the soaking of soils, and the pressure on the roof that finally brings it to collapse. The mount should force such a collapse. Listen to an opponent’s rhythm of breathing and apply pressure to the diaphragm during each attempted inhalation. Block their mouth and nose so that what air they do find is a struggle. Cover their eyes so that they welcome the darkness when it comes to
them.

Passage Two,
Eighteenth Technique of the Combat Codes

T
he fighting at
Thaloo’s blurred together for Murray. The Circle’s spectral light collapsed and hundreds of punches and kicks melded into one seamless whirlwind of violence. The stench of sweat and smoke, the ceaseless clamor of the crowd, the faceless figures dressed in dirt and blood—Murray was done with it.

He’d already decided to return Surface-side empty-handed this year. Better than hauling one of these broken kids back with him again. Better than building a kid up, mending their wounds, training them, giving them hope, only to see them break again during the Trials.

The Scout Commander wanted him to fail—he’d be happy when Murray returned empty-handed. He could already picture the sneer across Callen Albright’s face as he reprimanded him.

Murray had just downed his seventh ale and was about to head for the exit when he saw the blind boy again. He’d been keeping an eye out for the boy for the past few weeks but hadn’t seen him back in the Circle yet.

The boy’s head was now shaved and he wore standard crew-issued white pants. He’d been processed, designated as fit enough to assign a Tasker to.

At first, Murray thought he’d had far too much to drink when he saw the boy’s eyes—wide open and glimmering like golden nuggets. There was no mistaking him—the boy maintained the same relaxed posture, looking like he was about to sit down for tea instead of fight for his survival. The boy was as blind as Murray was sober. He shook his head and smiled as he made his way to the Circle’s edge.

This time, the boy was up against one of Thaloo’s in-house Grievar. They called him Grinder for his notorious ground-and-pound style of fighting. Murray had seen his type before: he’d hit a quick double-leg, pin his opponent to the ground, and throw powerful body and head shots. It was an extremely effective style that Murray himself had employed on many occasions during his path.

The crowd thickened for this fight, many folk even shouting Grinder’s name in recognition. All of Thaloo’s in-house crew were fairly well known, and many even ended up fighting at Lampai. Most of the crowd probably had bits riding on Grinder and hoped to continue their streak.

The Circle flared to life and biometrics flashed up on the lightboard above. The disparity could not have been more apparent. Grinder, although only fourteen, weighed nearly two hundred fifty pounds. He looked it as he stalked into the Circle like a budding silverback, his shoulders thickly muscled and his shovel-like forearms already covered with flux ink.

The golden-eyed boy once again looked calm, not even glancing up at his formidable opponent. Murray breathed as he steadied himself. He felt nervous for this fight, for this boy in particular. He could feel the spectral light from within the Circle perking him up as if he were the one about to fight.

Thaloo himself sat on one edge of the Circle in a gold-studded chair, one of his cronies fanning him with a large teva leaf. The man was huge. Rolls of fat spilled out from his chair. Murray was amazed that the chair could support him at all. The Boss appeared mildly disinterested as he tossed small dried fruits into his mouth.

Thaloo casually waved his hand as the light pulsed and the fight began.

Grinder set himself to a low crouch with his elbows tucked, moving toward the boy with deliberate aggression. The boy waited for him, unmoving, breathing as Murray had seen him do in his last fight. Unused to the lack of aggression, Grinder hesitated for a moment as he closed in on the boy. However, instinct took over and Grinder shot in for the takedown.

The boy, lightning fast, threw his legs backward in a sprawl, distributing his upper body weight to the ground to prevent Grinder from getting underneath him. Grinder surged forward, grasping for a leg as the boy rode down on his shoulders. They moved across the Circle, the boy shuffling his feet and using his full body weight to keep Grinder from getting the takedown.

The boy was too small to keep the pressure on, though. Grinder burst forward and grabbed hold of the boy’s knee, driving him down to the dirt onto his back.

Grinder smirked and launched a quick volley of short right hands at the boy’s head. The boy managed to block several of them with his hands to his face but took one square in the side of the nose, opening up a steady stream of blood. Unfazed, the boy squirmed his hips out from under Grinder, pushing against his attacker’s head as he got back to his feet. The boy’s face was covered in red once more.

Seeing blood, Grinder moved forward more haphazardly this time, abandoning the crouch and swatting at the boy with a winging right before trying to wrap his body up. The boy ducked the punch and threw a quick cross to Grinder’s midsection, which produced an
oomph
from the bigger Grievar. Again, Grinder shot in, only to be sidestepped by the boy and caught with a quick body shot, to the liver this time, followed by a heel stomp delivered to the top of the foot.

The boy was dancing on the balls of his feet now, feinting in and out as his golden eyes twinkled.

Grinder growled in pain, incensed, and charged again, this time with his head down, swatting at the boy with his outstretched arms. The boy anticipated Grinder’s overhead swings, ducking under and going for a takedown of his own.

The boy grasped behind Grinder’s knees, driving forward with his full body weight. His opponent was too strong, though. Grinder kicked one of his legs out from the boy’s grasp and brought it back sharply as a knee to the head. The knee caught the boy squarely in the temple, throwing him back to the dirt in a heap.

Grinder went in for the kill as the boy lay stunned on the ground. He threw his full weight behind an overhand right, drilling his fist through the air toward his downed opponent. The boy barely got an arm in the way, which was smashed to the side as the punch glanced across his bloody face. Now Grinder was on top of him, his full body weight squeezing the breath from the boy as he reared up for his specialty: ground-and-pound.

Murray knew this would be the end. Grinder was too large, too high in his mount, the boy too inexperienced to know how to escape. The question was, how much damage would the golden-eyed boy sustain? Murray knew Thaloo and other Circle owners were notorious for setting dangerously low biometric thresholds for their slave brood, not caring if they were badly injured or killed.

Grinder began the onslaught with glee, rearing up from his mount on top of the boy’s midsection to throw shots at his face, aiming to drive the boy’s head through the dirt with his fists. The boy did his best to defend, moving his head, grasping for Grinder’s arms, bucking left and right.

Several glancing blows caught the boy on the side of his face, streaking the blood and dirt already there. A new gash opened up just above the boy’s eyebrow. He didn’t panic—he continued to parry and move with the little room he had.

Grinder looked at the boy beneath him, puzzled. Why hadn’t he broken yet? He attempted to grab the boy’s throat with one hand to hold his head down, but he wriggled free—a tiny victory.

Murray looked to Thaloo, who now had a smirk on his face as his Grievar continued to deliver blow after blow to the downed boy.

Grinder growled, breathing hard now from his onslaught as he arced a sweeping elbow down into the boy’s defending arms. He followed up with a straight elbow, the sharp part of the bone drilling directly toward the boy’s head, who barely managed to get two cupped hands in front of his face to soften the blow. Grinder pinned one the boy’s wrists to the ground and reared up for another elbow.

Just as the elbow fell and Grinder’s balance was centered forward, the boy bucked his hips, throwing Grinder’s head toward the ground. He squeezed out from underneath Grinder’s legs. The boy somersaulted forward and nimbly sprang to his feet. Blood was now pouring from the boy’s nose and the nasty gash over his eyebrow.

Murray shook his head in amazement.

The sag in Grinder’s shoulders was noticeable now as he edged toward his opponent, heaving as he tried to catch a quick breath. The smaller boy was light on his feet despite the fact that he was covered head to toe in his own blood. He bounced and feinted in and out of Grinder’s range like a cat.

The boy connected a series of quick low kicks to Grinder’s shin, more annoying than damaging to the bigger Grievar. Just before he threw each kick, the boy looked down at the spot he was aiming for. Grinder grinned slightly as he caught the boy looking down. Catching one of those kicks would mean getting the boy back on the dirt, where he could finish the fight.

The boy looked down again, and this time, Grinder preempted the kick, dropping his hand to catch the incoming foot. To his surprise, the boy instead came in with a quick cross, connecting with Grinder’s eye socket and sending him reeling. The boy followed his opponent, hitting him with two more jabs to the face that brought Grinder’s hands high and then a winging left that thudded into Grinder’s liver.

Murray had seen and felt many well-placed liver shots before, and this was one of them; a second or two delay after the punch connected, followed by overwhelming pain and the body’s refusal to answers the brain’s commands. Grinder toppled face-first into the dirt and curled up into a ball.

The boy stood above his downed opponent, wobbling on his feet. The dirt under him was steeped in red.

Murray looked over to Thaloo, who now had a frown on his walrus-like face. He suspected Thaloo had the damage threshold of his in-house Grievar set extremely high, which was why the light hadn’t faded yet. Grinder would need to sustain more damage for the Circle to recognize a finish.

The boy seemed conflicted, standing over Grinder with a blank stare on his face. Most Grievar would have waded in without hesitation, paying no heed to the Codes. A kick to the head would do the job.
Listened to the light,
they would say afterward to excuse themselves from the dishonorable attack.

Instead, the boy fell toward Grinder, his legs giving way as he landed next to his opponent in the dirt. He grasped Grinder’s bulky body with one arm, tugging himself against the big Grievar’s shoulders and reaching for his neck.

Grinder was still conscious. He feebly attempted to defend the north-south choke, fighting off the circling hand, but the boy’s bloodied forearm slipped beneath the big Grievar’s head. The boy dropped his shoulder into Grinder’s neck and squeezed, his eyes closed, using the last of his energy to go for the finish.

Grinder went out. The light above dimmed and the mass of spectrals broke apart.

Murray breathed out. He realized he’d been holding his breath for the last minute of the fight.

The golden-eyed boy had won. He’d beaten one of Thaloo’s in-house Grievar, one ranked far above him. That kind of upset in a slave Circle was unheard-of. The strong always beat the weak here.

Murray could hear some of Tasker Ozark’s crew cheering from the sidelines. They were yelling, “Cego.” More often, the boys were rooting against members of their own crew.

The boy, Cego, attempted to stand, but his knees wobbled and his eyes rolled back into his head. He fell back to the dirt beside his unconscious opponent.

*

Murray downed his ale and headed toward the back of the large den.

Two mercs stood posted in front of an ornate door frame. “I’m here to see Thaloo,” Murray growled.

They clearly recognized him. The one on the right stared at Murray’s flux tattoo sleeve cut with Grievar Knight ink in obvious admiration. The merc quickly recovered and asked suspiciously, “Do you have an appointment with the Boss?”

“No, but he’ll see me just fine.”

“No one is allowed to see the Boss without a… .” the merc started, but Murray shouldered his way past the two, moving with a quickness that wouldn’t be suspected of a big man.

Murray entered a lavish room filled with plush pillows and thick carpets. Marble statues lined the nooks that ran along the back wall. Golden standing lamps shined dull light into the room, illuminating the pockmarked face of the fat man sitting at a polished desk.

“Thaloo,” Murray said. The man did not seem surprised to see Murray barge into his office with two guards at his tail.

“Ah, the Mighty Murray Pearson; a pleasure as always.” Thaloo’s jowls undulated as he spoke. He looked up indifferently with his dulled yellow eyes.

“Boss… he pushed past us.” One of the mercs moved toward Murray as if to grab him. Murray’s eyes latched onto the man mid-movement, stopping him in his tracks, promising him that making contact with his arm would be a very bad move.

“Leave us.” Thaloo waved his balloon-like hand and the mercs made a hasty exit.

Thaloo smacked his lips like a hungry toad as he stared up at Murray. “Come to make a bit in my Circle? I know certain influential folk that have been waiting a long time to put some bits on the back of the Mighty Murray Pearson.”

“As much as I’d like to pad your purse with my blood, that’s not why I’m here,” Murray said.

Thaloo frowned. “Ah. That’s a pity. You were a pleasure to watch, once upon a time.”

The fat man swiveled his chair to face the statues along the wall. “Perhaps you were once even good enough to stand here along with Mercuri’s other great champions.”

Murray narrowed his eyes, breathing out, reminding himself why he was visiting this man. “I’m not here to reminisce, Thaloo. I’m here for patron-rights; I want to make a purchase.”