CHAPTER 3

Compromised Position

Neophytes will say that strength is no advantage, that technique can conquer all. This is not so. Brute strength over an opponent provides ample advantage; however, it takes energy to feed such strength. The more strength a combatant possesses, the harder it will be to maintain for the duration of a bout. A well-practiced Grievar knows this truth.

Passage Three, Fifty-Eighth Precept of the Combat Codes

The vast Venturian desert swallowed them after they came down the mountain pass.

Murray found a path of hard-packed sand for the rocs to follow in the valley between two dunes. A pack of scrawny sand foxes trailed them for miles, hoping for some discarded scraps off the backs of their birds.

Venturi abruptly appeared on the horizon like a mirage in the rising morning heat, the mech-repair shops, bounty brokers, and red-roofed tanneries sitting on the outskirts of the desert town.

The Whelps came in bleary-eyed, dizzy from riding through the night, looking over their shoulders to see if the Enforcers had caught their trail. Murray had told the crew it was unlikely the armored beasts would follow; they’d want to return to Karstock to report their recent victory.

But Murray could still smell the burning flesh, see the mess of limbs and bones the pulse cannon had made of the rebels. He could still see Knees’s silent scream, the sheer agony the kid held in his eyes as he relived Joba’s death all over again.

Murray glanced over at Knees as he bounced up and down on his roc. Dozer rode behind him, his arms draped around his friend with his head resting on Knees’s shoulder.

Knees acted strong for his friends, but Murray could see the weight the kid carried. Seeing such things lived with you, like a bad bone break that might mend with time but always left you moving different.

The kid stared ahead and yawned as the pale dawn crept across the desert.

Dozer woke with a start from behind Knees. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Knees chuckled, wiping at his cloak. “Right, then this must not be Dozer drool all over my shoulder.”

Dozer scratched his head sheepishly. “Was tired, that’s all. Needed some rest for the upcoming fights.”

Murray hadn’t even thought about the crew’s next challenge in Venturi. Pilgrims gathered the second month of every summer in the desert region to participate in the anticipated bouts. The Venturi challenges were a proving ground for all the Pilgrims that had made it so far, and often decided who would go on to win the entire three-month-long contest.

“Wish I could’ve been the one to get some sleep, but someone had to steer the bird,” Knees muttered.

The group trotted past a pair of soot-faced kids in the dirt outside a repair shop, munching on their breakfast and watching the road disinterestedly. They were used to seeing foreigners come in on Pilgrimage every year.

“This is home, right, Knees?” Brynn asked from atop her black bird.

“Haven’t seen Venturi since the slavers took me Deep,” Knees said. “Since my uncle sold me off. Surprised to still see the place here in one piece.”

“You think you’re gonna see your family here?” Dozer asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Knees said.

“Right, but don’t you have a sister? I mean, if I knew I had family still alive, I’d be—”

“Dozer,” Murray cut the boy off. “Let it be.”

Dozer quieted as the Whelps trotted down Venturi’s main thoroughfare. Though it was still dawn, other Pilgrims had already started to trickle into the town.

Murray watched a group of lanky Desovians sparring in front of a red-shingled hostel, their coach sneering as the Whelps passed by. Two thick-shouldered Myrkonians wrestled in a small grove of kaöt trees. Murray even caught sight of the indigo second skins of another Lyceum group of Level Threes.

Dozer changed the subject as they rode past potential opponents. “Think Firebird will be here?”

Brynn piped up from her roc. “I’d like to see him in action. Heard no one’s even come close to taking any points on him so far.”

“Would rather be taking our wins here and moving on,” Knees countered. “If Firebird’s on a roll, best not to take him when he’s got momentum. Better be learning more about his style before facing off.”

“Nah,” Dozer said. “I say bring Firebird. He can’t be any better than what we’ve already faced. Plus, I’ve some new sweeps from the Tanri I’m itching to try out.”

“Let’s get to Hanrin’s for some food and rest,” Murray said.

They steered their rocs past a line of adobe homes with cacti gardens out front and a trio of squares full of dried-up fountains and crumbled statues.

“What in the dark is that?” Dozer asked as he peered down a cross street. Several blocks ahead, a building rose higher than the rest, a cast-copper cylinder clearing the tops of the trees. Both crimson spectrals and desert birds circled and nested on the frayed wires set on top of the structure.

“The Fire Can,” Knees said. “Been there since I was a little kik. That’s where we be fighting tomorrow.”

“That’s no proper arena,” Dozer said as they steered their rocs down a smaller thoroughfare, the red sun glinting against broken windows.

“No proper fights in there either,” Knees said. “Those that don’t get put down by their opponent go down by the heat or the rage.”

“The rage—” Dozer started, but Murray cut him off, a trend throughout the journey.

“We’ll talk more about fight strategy tonight and morning before,” Murray said as the rocs began to climb the only hill in town, a gradient that soon took them above the slums they’d passed through.

“Here we are, the Barrack Quarters,” Murray said as they rode beside a faded limestone building with carved-wood latticework windows. The Whelps peered into one open door to see a steamy room full of fighters trading blows in a polished ring, even more striking heavy bags and jumping rope.

“Nice training spot,” Brynn remarked as they moved farther in.

They stopped in front of a long building with graffiti plastered across the faded façade. The once-ornate window up front was blasted out and gave a view of a little courtyard within.

Murray spoke a sharp Tanri command, and to his surprise, Bird lowered his head to obey.

“Good Bird.” Murray ruffled the grey roc’s feathers as he slid to the ground. He smiled at Brynn, who nodded in approval.

Murray rapped his fist on the door lightly, not wanting to punch through the flimsy wood.

“Ah, my brother!” a voice came from the courtyard, and the door creaked open.

A man stepped outside in front of the Whelps, greeting Murray with a firm embrace. Murray hadn’t seen Hanrin Tuvlov since their service together. In fact, he hadn’t seen the man since he’d lost his legs.

Murray immediately realized he should have warned the crew about the steel prosthetics when he looked at Dozer’s wide eyes.

“Hey! You didn’t tell us Hanrin had mech legs!” The big kid pointed at the steel frames shamelessly.

“Dozer, have some darkin’ respect, you dank—”

“No, no problem at all, Murray,” Hanrin said, smiling through his blackened teeth at Dozer. “Only natural the kiks would be curious about Grievar-kin having a pair of these.”

“Sorry.” Dozer looked down. “Thought it was against Codes to have tech like that.”

“Only code out in the desert is to stay alive,” Hanrin said. He sprang agilely back and forth on the hydraulic legs. “And these gears do the trick.”

Murray could see the crew was weary from the long journey. “Hanrin, can we get out of the heat?”

“Yes, bring the birds in here for a drink.” The man waved the crew through the run-down stucco courtyard with a cracked fountain sputtering at its center and into the main structure.

The entire barracks consisted of one large room. Worn heavy bags hung from chains set above the ripped-up tile flooring. Several sections of frayed tatami were set piecemeal across the dusty ground. Two fans spun lethargically above the room’s centerpiece: a large red-wired cage.

“It’s not much but should do the trick for you Pilgrims,” Hanrin said. “Got a good rubellium exterior to that cage too. You’ll need some acclimation for the Can.”

“Thank you, Hanrin,” Murray said as he took a deep whiff of the musty training room. “Place like this is a sight for sore eyes after being on the road so many days.”

“After what you did for me those years ago, I owe you my debt and more,” Hanrin said, putting a hand on Murray’s shoulder and meeting his eye.

“Was nothing more than any fellow Knight would do.” Murray shook off the praise.

“Nothing more?” Hanrin said. “You carried my busted ass near twenty miles to get me back to the ward in Stanthas. If not for you, I’d have lost far more than my legs.”

Murray jabbed at one of the heavy bags to set it swinging. “Yeah. You got darkin’ stomped that day, huh?”

Hanrin laughed as he hopped over to one of the bags. “Wasn’t my finest, that’s for sure.”

The man planted one of his prosthetic feet and whipped his other into a wicked round kick, sending the nearby bag swinging toward the ceiling.

He turned back to Murray and winked. “Still got some juice in me, though.”

“Thought as much,” Murray said.

“Nice place.” Brynn entered the barracks after settling the birds in the courtyard. “Where do we sleep?”

“On the mats,” Murray said as he turned to the waiting crew.

Murray woke with a start, sweat pouring off his forehead.

He’d dreamed of the execution in the highlands, except in the rebel crew’s place, it was Cego standing in the cannon’s blast. The kid had cried out for him.

He took stock of the still-dark barracks, the hanging heavy bags catching moonlight and the cage pulsing crimson. The fans above creaked alongside the noisy desert locusts outside.

Dozer was sprawled out on the mats with a tattered blanket pulled over him, using his cloak as a pillow and snoring as usual. Brynn slept the traditional Jadean way, no blanket or pillow, lying flat and calm like a corpse. Murray had fallen asleep upright, wedged into the corner of the gym, as if he were waiting for an Enforcer to smash through the wall at any moment.

He slowly stood and trod toward the cage set at room’s center.

He could feel it even from several feet away. The cage was far stronger than Violet, Murray’s own Circle back in Ezo. He knew Hanrin’s cage was built of the rubellium harvested from the nearby Kivimi mine, known to possess the purest composition of the element in the empire.

The second Murray stepped into the cage, his heart beat faster, adrenaline pumping through him. Several glinting red spectrals flitted above his head.

Murray remembered the time Hanrin had caught him with a sneaky low kick to the groin back when they trained together. Murray’s temples pulsed as his anger flared. He knew the element was manipulating him. He’d fought in hundreds of rubellium Circles before, but this stuff was stronger than most.

You are not the rage.

He breathed deeply, focused on the anger. It was there, that was for sure, but what was it? Was it any different from a pang of hunger or that urge he still had for a stiff drink?

You are not the rage.

The fire began to subside, and not until then did Murray step out of the Circle. The Whelps were to be fighting in less than two days within Venturi’s famed Fire Can, full of pure rubellium rings that were even stronger than Hanrin’s. Murray had heard stories of the anger consuming fighters within the Can, not only making them brash in combat but urging them to lash out at the crowd and even their own friends.

Murray was deciding how he’d best get the Whelps acclimated using Hanrin’s cage when he noticed Knees was missing. He moved to the gym’s door and stepped outside. Knees stood straight-backed by an empty fountain, a frozen shadow in the moonlight.

“You okay?” Murray tried not to startle the kid, though he knew Knees probably had heard him already.

Knees was silent a moment, staring out at the still town below. “I remember coming up here.”

“Barrack Quarters?” Murray asked.

“Me and my sis, we used to make believe we’d gotten invited on Pilgrimage,” Knees said. “Pretended we be purelights, practicing here in these fancy barracks.”

An old shame settled in the pit of Murray’s stomach. He had been one of those purelight kids. He’d grown up destined to become a Grievar Knight, a champion. He’d come to Venturi a lifetime before, a cocky student, looking down at the slums with pity.

“’Course, we both knew they’d never be letting lacklights like us fight here,” Knees said. “We knew my uncle was going to sell both of us when the next slaver came round.”

“You’re here now,” Murray said. “You proved them wrong. You’re on your Pilgrimage, and you’re going to give them hell.”

“That be the strange thing,” Knees said. “I been thinking about heading home this entire journey. Thinking I’d be feeling that pride, coming back when no one said we be able to make it so far. But I haven’t been feeling pride. I only be feeling…”

Murray finished the boy’s words. “Fear.”

Knees nodded.

Murray knew what it was like, coming back to a place from the past. He still remembered going Deep after so long, the clamor of Markspar Row hitting him like a brother’s familiar fist, the expectations of the past weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Your sister,” Murray said. “You fear she’s dead?”

“I’m more worried she’s somewhere down there.” Knees looked out at the slums. “That she’s been having to live for all this time. Getting pitied and looked down on, beaten every day and worse. My uncle was no good. This scar, the one I’ve lived my life with, wasn’t from the slave Circles.”

Murray clenched his fists, though he stood in no rubellium this time.

“We’ve got to move forward,” Murray said. “Some days are good, some bad. Doesn’t matter; we keep moving forward. Sometimes, though, we need to take one step backward to fix what’s wrong.”

“That’s why you’re out here with us, isn’t it?” Knees looked to Murray.

“I’m here to guide you kids on Pilgrimage,” Murray replied.

“You be a shit liar, Coach,” Knees said. “Where’d you really go in Wazari Market that day?”

Murray looked into the Venturian’s eyes and he knew he’d need to be out with it. He’d kept the secret because he wanted the Whelps to focus on their training, but eventually they would need to know.

“I went into Wazari looking for information on Cego’s whereabouts,” Murray said.

“I knew it.” Knees smiled. “I knew you couldn’t let it go, not knowing where he was.”

“Would you be able to?” Murray asked.

“No,” Knees said. “And I wasn’t planning on it. But I was hoping I wouldn’t be fronting the way, searching for my friend across this entire forsaken empire.”

“You won’t have to,” Murray said. “I’ve got a good lead, but you’ll need to keep the secret a bit longer. I want the rest of the crew focusing on their fights. We’re here for Pilgrimage; don’t forget it. When the time is right to go after Cego, you’ll know.”

Knees nodded and was silent for several seconds. “Coach, I need be stepping back for a moment now before I can move forward again.”

Murray met Knees’s eyes. He knew the kid was heading back down to the slums, to his old home. He needed to take care of unfinished business.

“You need me to come?”

“Thanks, Coach, but I got this one on my own.”

Murray wasn’t sure why he did it, but he pulled Knees in close and pressed their foreheads together, like the Tanri did.

He felt the kid’s pain, witnessing the execution on the road, reliving his friend’s death. He felt his fear, having to go down there alone and see if his sister was alive. He felt Knees’s brittle anger waiting to be released on those who had caused him such pain.

Murray held Knees, probably too long for comfort, but he didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want to lose another.

But Murray knew better than to get in the way of someone trying to figure out their darked-up past.

“I’ll be close if you need me,” Murray whispered.

He released Knees and turned back to the barracks.

Knees returned to Hanrin’s barracks midday, as the Whelps were making their final preparations for the Fire Can.

Dozer stopped hitting the heavy bag, panting and staring at Knees. “You get hit by a mech?”

Knees had a large lump under one eye and a gash on top of his lip. He flashed a curved smile, breaking open the gash and leaking fresh blood onto the mats. “Just be taking care of some business.”

Dozer nodded in understanding, for once not filled with the need for any brash comment.

Brynn approached Knees with a frown on her face, though. “What’s wrong with you? Going out and fighting before our challenge?”

“As I said, taking care of business.” Knees avoided the Jadean’s stare as he started to wrap his hands for practice. “Let’s be focusing on getting ready.”

Brynn did not let up. “Maybe if you weren’t disappearing in the middle of the night, getting yourself banged up, we’d be more than ready.”

Murray watched as Knees’s face transformed, coiled in anger. “You be the weakest link here, Brynn, so why don’t you pay some attention to yourself instead of me.”

Brynn gave Knees a hard glare and held up the ice pack she had retrieved for him to hold to his face.

“Forget it,” she said as she whirled away.

Hanrin defused the tension as he stepped into the barracks with a sheet of paper in hand, Venturian characters scrawled across the parchment. He handed it to Murray. “Your crew got their placements.”

Murray nodded and looked at the indecipherable words. “Knees, you still remember how to read Venturian?”

Knees snatched the parchment and furrowed his brow. Better for the kid to have some distraction from what had happened last night.

“Well, what are they?” Dozer asked impatiently.

“Brynn, you’re matched with Avir Klober,” Knees said. “Empire stock coming directly from Karstock’s fight school.”

“Good,” Brynn said, not meeting Knees’s eyes. “Karstock students always play the same games, ones I can play better.”

“Dozer.” Knees stopped in front of his friend. “You got Kōri Shimo; he’s here.”

“Deepshit,” Dozer yelled. “Of anyone, in the entire bloody empire, I got to get the freak from our own Lyceum!”

Knees took a deep breath and put his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine; you know how he fights.”

“Right, like a darkin’ zombie,” Dozer growled, cracking his knuckles. “Well, get on with it. Who you got?”

Knees stared back at the parchment. “I got the Firebird.”

Dozer guffawed and slapped Knees on the back. “Well, in that case, guess Kōri Shimo isn’t so bad.”

“Enough with that,” Murray interrupted. “Your opponent tomorrow will be less important than how you handle the rubellium. We need to get you Whelps acclimated. You’ve practiced in the red stuff at the Lyceum before. But you’ve seen nothing like the Fire Can.”

“Is it true… this rubellium can make you see people? Faces that aren’t there?” Brynn asked.

“Yeah, it’ll make you see things. That and more,” Murray said cautiously. “Pure rubellium is simply dangerous, and if I had my way, you’d be acclimating to it much longer, over a span of many weeks. But we’ll take what we can get, and Hanrin’s cage here is good enough to dip your toes in.”

The crew set to work. They’d have two partners at a time taking turns in Hanrin’s cage. Murray was careful to not overexpose the Whelps; too much time in the rubellium would wear their minds down. But they needed to know the intensity of their anger and how to fight it.

Knees stepped into the cage first, his eyes already fiery prior to crossing into its red glow. His expression turned from annoyance to outright anger as he waited. His teeth ground together as he raised his hands.

“Well, who be coming in here to darkin’ practice with me?!”

Dozer stepped up to the task warily.

“Remember,” Murray said. “You are not the rage.”