CHAPTER 9

The Mighty

A Grievar shall not spend undue time alongside those who work the lands. It is the Grunt’s path to trod on soil, grow crops, and provide nourishment for the society around them. Keeping such a peasant’s company will weaken a Grievar’s spirit.

Passage Three, Two Hundred Fifteenth Precept of the Combat Codes

Murray walked the nighttime dockyard, letting his mind settle to the smell of rotting fish and the hoots of reveling Grunts from the alehouses.

He had the vial of beelbub ichor in his pocket, but finally, he didn’t feel the pull. He no longer felt the gravity that dragged him toward the drink, the gut punch he’d take each day without the stuff flowing through his blood.

At first, Murray had wondered if his newfound freedom was a result of the Flux. He thought, maybe, he was a part of something again. Maybe he’d regained the common cause that he’d lost after his service with the Citadel. Maybe that was what he’d been seeking for so long. He and Dozer had completed their mission; held some little Daimyo chief hostage to provide ample distraction for the rest of the Flux team to get the job done. Murray had felt the familiar adrenaline flooding his veins during the mission, the same feeling he used to get stepping into a Circle to fight for his nation.

But breathing the humid sea air, listening to the clamor of the bars, Murray realized the Flux mission was not what had settled him. If anything, the events of the past night alongside the rebels had only served to increase Murray’s uncertainty of the path forward.

The Whelps had broken away from Pilgrimage, and now Murray had gotten them mired in this rebel cause. He could see the look in Wraith’s eyes, the way the Slayer spoke. These were zealots who claimed to fight for Grievar-kin, supposed liberators, but in truth, they were power-hungry like the Daimyo.

And Cego was an entirely different problem.

Murray had watched the kid come back from the mission at the lab. He’d seen the way Cego had dragged the little maker behind him, and it didn’t sit right. The kid was changed after what he’d been through, and Murray was helpless to show him the right path again.

Murray found himself at the end of one of the docks, the sounds of the bars faded and replaced with the Adrian Sea lapping against the barnacled posts. The low moon cast a crimson path out to the horizon, as if it were some road that Murray might walk out on.

“Why?” Murray whispered.

Why was Murray suddenly fine with it all? Why was he settled in the chaos now when it had amplified to maximum decibels?

“Try to control it all, and all control will be lost to you.”

Farmer’s white beard and wrinkled forehead peered back at Murray from the undulating waters beneath the dock.

“Blast it,” Murray said, rubbing his eyes and opening them wide again to see if the old man’s face was still there in the waters.

Murray shook his head, slapped his skull. “Get out! How are you doing this again? Why are you here?!”

“I’m here… for you, Murray,” Farmer spoke. “Because you still have a part to play.”

“Is that what it is to you?” Murray growled at the water. “A game? Bythardi pieces for you to move around on a board, just like you used to do in your Citadel study? I see the Slayer, that demon inside the warehouse, I see him speaking to himself… Is that you in his head too?”

“We must all play our part in this game, else the cost of defeat is too high, unfathomable,” Farmer said. “You have yet to play your truest part.”

“Where are you?” Murray tried to keep his voice low to not attract attention from the warehouse. “Are you still… in there? Floating in the Cradle?”

“Focus, Murray,” Farmer said, ignoring the question. The visage of the old master in the dark waters started to fade. The man repeated the same phrase he’d opened with. “Try to control it all, and all control will be lost to you.”

Farmer had said those words to Murray when he was a fresh Lyceum graduate, a bright-eyed Knight ready to take on the world. Murray’s fighting style had been aggressive, always moving forward, putting on the pressure, never giving his opponent a chance to breathe. That’s how he’d won his way to Knighthood. Control.

But once Murray entered the international circuit, when he’d encountered Grievar beyond his skills that he couldn’t control, he’d been lost.

Farmer’s words had saved him. Those words had made Murray a better fighter, one that realized that his opponent would move in ways that he could not control. It was in these moments that Murray had realized he needed to flow. He needed to adapt to what was given to him, let go and trust his instincts.

And after all these years passed, it wasn’t until now that Murray realized that Farmer’s words weren’t about Circle strategy. He’d been a stubborn blockhead, as usual.

“Try to control it all, and all control will be lost to you,” Murray whispered into the darkness as the old man’s face became waves and froth again.

Murray knew the events of this world that had been put in motion were out of his control.

Decades before, when the Daimyo and Bit-Minders had decided that they’d conspire to create a Cradle of darkness, Murray could not have stopped it. When Farmer had gone Deep to enter the Cradle, his mind set on trying to save those kids, Murray could not have stopped him. And when Cego had been put on trial, put to execution, sent to Arklight, Murray couldn’t have saved him.

Murray could control some small parts of this world, though. He could stop taking the drink. He could help his friends who were in arm’s reach. He could stand up for what he believed in.

Where that path took him, Murray didn’t know. But he was finally darkin’ all right with that.

“So, I want to lose top position?” N’auri asked. “You crazy Ezonian.”

Sol displayed the technique to N’auri while Brynn watched. She needed something to pass the time while waiting in the warehouse, something to help forget the events of the prior night. She needed some way to block out the screams of the captured maker behind the steel door.

“Yes, you’re on top,” Sol said. “You advance to high mount. But let’s say you can’t get anything going, your opponent’s defense is too strong.”

N’auri appropriately kept her elbows tight to her body, and Sol attempted to separate her arms in vain.

“You make them think they have an opportunity to post off your hip here,” Sol said.

N’auri placed her hand on Sol’s hip, pushing.

“Throw your leg over for a mounted triangle,” Sol revealed. “Then, when they reverse to top, which they certainly will, cinch the strangle.”

N’auri tapped in submission and displayed that sharp-toothed smile on her bruised face. “Always the technician you are, Solara. I think I can use some of your tricks. Though I don’t think it would’ve worked against the Sentinel we fought in the tunnels.”

“Spirits be said, nothing would have worked against that thing,” Brynn agreed.

“Besides what Wraith and N’auri did to it,” Knees said as he trotted over, eyeing N’auri. “Maybe next time, you should let us in on that flare.”

N’auri shrugged. “Wraith said to keep it secret for now.”

Sol was about to inquire further about the strange weapons she’d heard the Flux had used against the Sentinel, when a voice crept in from beside her.

“Good to see my Flux recruits honing their skills.”

Sol turned to see Silas the Slayer himself, his lip curved up on one side.

Wraith hurried over, his face still streaked red with open wounds. “Slayer.”

“Lieutenant,” Silas said. “Well done on the mission, despite the complications you encountered.”

“Yes, Slayer.” Wraith bowed his head.

Sol trained her eyes on Silas. Here he was again, the leader of the Flux rebellion. The man who’d sent them on that near-death mission to Karstock Labs. Sol found those glowing eyes and had to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine.

Cego stepped up beside Silas. She hadn’t spoken with him since their return from the lab.

They didn’t look alike, the two brothers. But why would they look the same? They didn’t share the same bloodline, only the same virtual womb within the Cradle. Silas’s features were sharp, jagged, as though brushing a hand against his face would draw blood. Cego’s face was smoother, rounded.

“I still see the rage within you, Solara Halberd,” Silas noted.

Sol did hate Silas. She’d hated him since she saw him standing over her father’s lifeless body on SystemView. But she knew that hatred wouldn’t save Cego from his brother’s clutches.

She looked back to Cego. She knew her friend was in there somewhere; she’d seen it on last night’s mission, if for only the briefest moment.

“I saw what they were doing, at the labs,” Sol said, thinking of the strange creature gasping in the broken tube. “I hate them for that.”

“That is good,” Silas said. “I wanted you to see the lengths the Daimyo go through to warp the world to their reality. They’re no longer content meddling with Grievar; they want to create abominations to fight for them. I wanted you to feel the hatred.”

“You should’ve seen the soap-eater!” Dozer yelled, awake from his nap in the corner. “Pissed himself when Murray and I strung him up from the lift shaft on the way out.”

Sol cringed, hoping the big kid’s enthusiasm wouldn’t blow their cover.

“Good,” Silas said, nodding at Dozer and turning to the rest of the crew. “Lieutenant Wraith has spoken to me about the well-executed mission last night. You have all proven yourselves, shown that you are willing to sacrifice for the cause.”

“Right, we are,” Dozer said. “What’ve you got for us next?”

Knees elbowed Dozer in the ribs.

“But our cause has only begun,” Silas continued. “There will be many more fights ahead, and far more sacrifice than what you’ve already given.”

Sol knew the Slayer’s words were true. The crew had barely survived the last mission. How many more would they last before they could pry Cego away from his brother?

Silas turned toward the steel door of the interrogation room. “Now let’s go pay a visit to Master Maker Varakas.”

Murray quietly slid open the iron gate to the rebel warehouse, hoping to let the kids get some rest after the mission. When he peered into the dimly lit space, though, the crew was awake.

Cego had returned; Murray could see the back of the kid’s shaved head. Though Cego certainly had changed, he still stood with that same posture Murray remembered when he’d first seen him in the slave Circles. Straight-backed, head on a swivel.

Beside Cego stood another figure, wrapped entirely in black leather, addressing the remaining rebel Knights, with Ulrich and Wraith standing up front.

“—we have what we need, and now we must use it to our advantage.” Silas turned as he heard Murray approach.

“Ah, there he is,” Silas said. “The bear has returned to the den.”

“My den is back in Ezo, my barracks where I like to sit by the hearth,” Murray replied, stepping up to Cego’s side. “And to be honest, I’d rather be there than here.”

“Have some respect when you speak to the Slayer,” Wraith said.

Murray met the lieutenant’s eyes. “Only the second time I’ve met the man; why should I have respect for him?”

“Because he is the—”

“Murray Pearson is right,” Silas interrupted Wraith. “He has no reason to respect me yet.”

Murray let his guard relax as Wraith backed down.

“As I was saying,” Silas continued. “You’ve done well with your team, Wraith. Karstock Labs was one of two major processing plants in Kiroth. The team in the west is hitting the Vlastor plant as we speak. With these stim supplies taken off the map, the Kirothian trade will be amputated.”

“And where does that leave us?” Murray asked. “You know as well as I the black market likely provides more than half the darkin’ stim trade anyway. You’ll still have the junkies on the streets, fiending for the stuff, while politiks turn to dealers instead.”

Silas met Murray’s eyes silently before turning his back to him and slowly walking the length of the room. “Yes, I understand. We will see.”

Murray cocked his head, turning to Ulrich beside him. “Who the dark is he talking to?”

Ulrich shrugged as Silas wheeled around to face Murray.

“You’re right again, Murray Pearson,” Silas said. “But your vision is hindered. You aren’t looking far enough ahead.”

Murray growled, “My vision’s just fine.”

“Yes, the empire’s stim depots only supply to a minority of buyers, small and large. But removing their production serves a greater purpose than simply cutting down on supply. It’s about control,” Silas said. “When the empire is forced to turn to hawkers and dealers, sinking deep into the black market to buy stims, their position will be weakened. When trading with Ezo, they’ll be forced to sell at a higher price, and meanwhile, another seller can offer to the other nations at a lower price.”

“You mean to say you’re going to darkin’ start selling stims?” Murray asked. “That’s the big plan? The Flux rebellion, the new world order—selling stims like a dealer under a bridge?”

Wraith stepped forward this time. “You’ve been here for a month, Murray Pearson. You claim to know more than we who have devoted our lives to the cause?”

“No, I don’t.” Murray turned to the pale man. “But I know about appearances too. And to me, this looks like we’re sinking to their level. Doing exactly what the Daimyo have been up to all along. Controlling trade, slinking around like hawkers. And I’ve heard about the weapons used in the tunnels yesterday. What happened to the Codes?”

Silas laughed, his head cracked back. “The Codes. I’ve heard you were still a believer. Has the veil been pulled over your eyes so far? The Codes were created by the Daimyo to control us, to manipulate our kind.”

“I know,” Murray said. “I’ve figured that out my own way. And I say dark it, I don’t care why they created the Codes. Because I live by my own, those Codes I know to be right. That’s what Farmer believed. He was your coach as well as mine.”

“We do share a common teacher, don’t we?” Silas said, gesturing to Cego beside him. “So strange that we all stand here together, Farmer’s disciples, now leading Grievar-kin to a new era. But… how well do you know your old master, Murray?”

“I know him well enough,” Murray said. “Enough to catch up with him in the Deep not long ago.”

For once, Silas appeared caught off guard, like Murray had thrown a strike the Slayer hadn’t been expecting.

Murray turned to Cego, capitalizing on the opportunity. “Kid, listen. I know it’s probably not the best time, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Cego stared up at him, a glimmer of curiosity flashing across his face.

“The reason I wasn’t there for you this past year…” Murray said. “I went Deep, like I said I would. I found your brother Sam. Farmer… he was there, sort of. He helped me. He’s still helping me. I brought Sam back home to the Citadel.”

“Sam… he’s back at home?” Cego whispered.

“He’s waiting for you there, kid,” Murray said.

“Even if you did retrieve our brother,” Silas interrupted, “it doesn’t matter. Cego’s home is now here, with the Flux.”

“You have a choice.” Murray kept his eyes on Cego. “You always have a choice. But know no matter what, we’re here for you, kid. I’ll stay by your side with the Flux, long as it darkin’ takes.”

Silas was quiet a moment, before turning and slowly walking away. “Now is the time?”

Murray watched the Slayer talk to himself again as he walked toward the steel door of the interrogation room. He knew what it was like to have such an alien voice inside his head; it wasn’t long ago that Farmer had seemed as real to Murray as anyone standing in this room. Murray wondered what phantom possessed the mind of the Slayer now; was it Farmer in there too, somehow influencing the rebel leader’s path?

Silas returned, holding a small, writhing form with one hand. Master Maker Varakas.

The man was subdued, no longer screaming obscenities like he was earlier. But Murray could see the fear in his eyes as Silas lifted him by the throat and carried him like one of the weasels Sol had captured in the desert.

“Please…” the Daimyo whimpered, the blue veins in his forehead bulging. “I’ll give you anything. My bit-purse, my properties, my slaves, they are all yours. Anything.”

Silas laughed, like a wolf howling before it ripped into its prey. He tossed the man to the floor in front of the crew.

“See?” Silas looked directly at Murray. “See how their kind thinks that they can buy anything? See how they believe that what they own is who they are?”

The Slayer looked down at the trembling Daimyo. “You will all soon learn that you’ve lived falsehoods. All the greed, accumulation, power that you thought you had will be taken from you. And then what will you have?”

The maker made a feeble attempt to scramble to his feet, like some trapped animal, wildly looking for an escape route from the warehouse. He broke for a small gap between two of the rebel Knights and managed to make it past them. One of the Grievar started to make a move, but Silas held a hand up.

“Let’s see him try to run,” Silas said.

The maker made it twenty labored paces before Silas broke into a sprint, taking long, loping strides that carried him to his prey. He leapt into the air and landed in front of the man, cutting off his only exit.

Silas howled as the man cowered. He grabbed the Daimyo by the scruff of his ripped clothes and carried him back, this time tossing him at Murray’s feet.

“He’s yours,” Silas said, staring at Murray.

Murray shook his head, looking up at Silas. “I don’t need no soap-eater for entertainment.”

“No, no,” Silas said. “I don’t mean to keep the thing as a pet. We’ve gotten what we need from him already. But the creature has spent his life breaking our laws, torturing and experimenting on our kind, creating abominations. So, he must pay the price. And I’d like you to carry out the justice.”

“What laws do you speak of?” Murray asked.

“The new law of the land, the real order of this world,” Silas said. “The law that says any who stand in the way of Grievar-kin freeing themselves from the chains of servitude will pay the ultimate price. And this maker, he is one of the worst perpetrators. A puppet of the empire, charged with building the worst of their tech and mass-producing stims that have ruined countless Grievar lives.”

“If you’re making the darkin’ laws now, you carry out your own judgment,” Murray said. “I’m here because of Cego. We believe in him, in his cause. We’re here for him as long as he stays.”

Murray stared at Cego, desperately trying to get through to him again. If only the kid would snap out of it, they could be out of this forsaken place. They could head home together.

For a moment, Murray saw the kid he used to know across from him. That curious boy with the golden eyes.

“My home is here, with the Flux,” Cego said, and Murray knew he was gone again, in a flicker, gazing to the shadows of the warehouse.

“We’ve all had to make sacrifices for the cause, Murray,” Silas said. “Cego earned his name, the Strangler, for good reason. The Flux is one. We all must carry out the judgment.”

Murray stared down at the broken Daimyo at his feet. The man looked so small, so scared.

Murray hated them, the Daimyo, for all they’d done to his kind. He hated them for all they stood for. But he’d met good ones before too. And he didn’t hate this man in front of him. He knew, no matter what, he couldn’t carry out what they asked.

“No,” Murray said flatly, staring Cego in the eyes, not even looking at Silas.

“No?” Silas asked incredulously. “You, who claim to be a part of the Flux, won’t do the most basic component of carrying out our justice?”

“No,” Murray said again, turning to Silas. He knew now what he must do. He couldn’t control everything, but he could control what was in arm’s reach.

“I believe in honor,” Murray said. “I believe in the Codes, whoever the dark created them. I believe in justice. But not like this.”

“If you cannot do this, you cannot be trusted,” Silas said with menace. Four of the rebel Knights and Wraith stepped forward.

“So, what now, you’re going to have your lackeys try and take an old man out?” Murray spat on the floor. “Too afraid to take the task yourself?”

Silas’s lip curled upward. He held his hand up to stay his men and turned to Wraith, nodding to the maker on the floor. “Put the pitiful dog down.”

Wraith moved without hesitation, his foot going head high before dropping an axe kick to the Daimyo’s head, splitting it like a ripe fruit.

The warehouse was completely silent for a moment, all looking down at Wraith’s grisly work on the floor. Murray thought he could hear the tide lapping against the docks not far away outside an open window.

“Now that his justice is served, I will serve you yours,” Silas said, breaking the silence.

Murray nodded and turned his back on the Slayer. He met the eyes of the kids he’d brought there, the Whelps who stood frozen to the floor. He stepped toward them, beckoning them to bring their heads into a huddle.

“You can’t take on the Slayer!” Dozer whispered desperately. “He’s killed everyone he’s fought! He darkin’ put down Artemis Halberd! Sorry, Sol…”

“No, Dozer is right,” Sol said with ferocity. “You don’t need to do this, Murray. Tell him you still believe… Tell him you’re with him.”

“I can’t,” Murray whispered back. He felt the warmth of the kids around him, Knees clutching at his shoulder. They were good kids. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lie about who I am.”

“But this all be for Cego,” Knees said. “Isn’t that what you said, Coach? We’re putting up this front for him.”

“I was wrong, Knees,” Murray said. “Even trying to get Cego back, you can’t darkin’ turn on who you are. And this… this isn’t who I am. This isn’t who any of us are. And if Cego can’t see through the darkness, can’t see who we are, then all is lost.”

Dozer’s shoulders trembled. “Coach, take him down for us.”

“Spirits be asked, do it for us, Ku,” Brynn said.

Sol spoke through clenched teeth. “For my father, Murray-Ku, for Cego, for us.”

Murray breathed deeply, pushed his head into the huddle, and broke from the crew.

The fight was finally the one in front of him.

He turned to face Silas the Slayer.