Blacklight Born, page 22
Memnon knew of the Cradle. He’d been complicit, giving the Daimyo and the Bit-Minders the nod to grow Grievar in their labs, trying to create the perfect fighters. Memnon had been a part of the entire scheme, another cog that made this darked-up world keep turning.
And so, it wasn’t a surprise to Memnon that Grievar wanted to fight for something real again, not for the cheers of adoring fans or for ranking within their nation’s scoreboards but for a real cause. Fighting for freedom.
Memnon kept his mouth shut. Even if he did speak the truth to any of his Knights, they wouldn’t believe him. The ones that had stayed were the blindest, the deepest in this quagmire of servitude created by the Daimyo.
“I’m angry too,” Memnon said. “Let us use that anger for a purpose, to fuel our team heading out to Desovi with a path to victory.”
“Yes, Commander,” Ray responded, raising his fist. “So, I got Masa and Gabault along with Yang for the border fights. I’d go myself but I fought last week and am planning to lead our team in the south week after.”
“Sounds right to me,” Memnon said. “I’ll be back this afternoon. Make sure the men don’t forget to fuel up midmorning. We need to keep up the pace.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Memnon wheeled from the room, with Sam at his heels like a pup. They started down the stairs to the command center, where he’d meet with his newly appointed boss, High Commander Callen Albright. Even the sound of it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Commander!”
Memnon looked up the stairs to see Ray looking down at him.
“Yes, Ray?”
“We’ll do it for Murray Pearson,” the lieutenant said. “He died for us, for the Citadel. Darkin’ Flux took him. So, we’ll keep fighting for him.”
“Yes,” Memnon said, though he could feel the pit in his stomach. More lies to tell. “We’ll fight for Murray.”
*
Cego made his way up the creaky wooden stairs and down the dimly lit hallway toward the Quarter D dormitory.
He breathed deeply, glad to be out of Professor Jos’s class. More so, Cego was glad to be far from Gryfin Thurgood.
It had been happening since Cego had returned to the Lyceum. When Cego looked at Gryfin, he saw the past. He saw blood on the boy’s face, welts on his forehead, his eyes swollen shut.
It was how Gryfin had looked after Cego had fought him in the level one final, when the darkness had taken over and he’d nearly beaten the boy to death. And now, the past cast a mirage over Gryfin; one second, he appeared healthy, and the next, his face transformed to a bloody mess.
Cego walked through the Quarter D entry and glanced fondly over the old room, empty between classes. Some things hadn’t changed over the years; Dozer’s section was still a scattered pile of sweat-soaked gear and food bits, while the area near Sol’s cot was neatly folded uniforms and stacks of technique textbooks dating back to year one.
Cego made the habit of looking in the little mirror on the way in and pulled down the nape of his purple second skin. But the little Whelp design was gone, along with the rest of his flux tattoos. Gone were all the entire crew’s brands since their initiation to the Flux. Their purification, Silas had called it.
Cego felt a pang of guilt every time he watched Dozer look longingly in the mirror at his unadorned skin. The big kid had pleaded with the Lyceum’s artist to etch on another design, but it was against policy.
“Maybe you should visit Sam.” Abel abruptly appeared next to Cego, his teammate always having the uncanny ability to sneak up on him.
Cego turned to Abel. The little Kirothian had changed more drastically than the rest of the team, though he’d been the only one to stay back from Pilgrimage. The boy’s dark eyes were sunken in and his lips pursed flat, as if he were afraid of smiling.
“Abel, I do mean to see him,” Cego responded. “It’s hard.”
“It’s hard for him, too,” Abel said. “But he still can use you by his side.”
“I know,” Cego said. “He’s got Memnon, though. He’s always off following the Commander around.”
Abel narrowed his eyes at Cego. “You know he’s at the ward in evening. You make excuses to see your own brother.”
Cego shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” Abel said. “I see your brother near every day since Murray-ku brought him up. When all the rest were on Pilgrimage, I stay beside him. You? You come back, saw him once and then haven’t again.”
“He’s not here, Abel!” Cego raised his voice. “When I try to talk to him… You know what I mean.”
“You come from the same home as him,” Abel said. “You should be able to talk to him better than anyone.”
“What do you know about my home, about the Cradle I was grown in?” Cego yelled. “Don’t you know this was all an experiment of the Daimyo?”
“I do know, Cego,” Abel said. “I know about the Cradle. But I also know about the Island, the one you and Sam grew up on. Because I listen to your brother. I talk to him.”
Cego felt ashamed. He was complaining about dealing with Sam for only a few weeks, while Abel had been helping care for him since he’d appeared back at the Lyceum.
“You want to give up?” Abel said. “Fine, I watch your bother. I won’t give up. Just like I never gave up on Joba.”
“What, what do you mean?” Cego stuttered. “I didn’t give up on Joba—”
“You weren’t there,” Abel said. “To bury him.”
“I couldn’t be, Abel,” Cego pleaded. “I was imprisoned at Arklight, and then I was…”
“You were with Silas.” Abel finished Cego’s sentence.
Cego wanted to explain to the Kirothian that he couldn’t have done anything else. He hadn’t had the power to leave Silas’s side, to break from the Flux. Not until Murray died.
“Don’t worry, Cego,” Abel said again. “I watch your brother.”
The boy turned and walked from the room, leaving Cego in silence.
*
Cego’s mind was far off as he took the Valkyrie’s spiral staircase upward.
He entered the familiar recesses of Professor Aon Farstead’s classroom. The tall, dusty bookshelves and soft light from the high windows didn’t calm Cego as they used to.
Sol was sitting beside Theodora Larkspur, and she quickly averted her eyes when he looked over to her. Abel was there, usually the first to the class, and nodded at Cego with those flat-lined lips.
Absent from the class was the professor: Aon Farstead, the oldest Grievar in the Lyceum. Though Cego had been absent for the past year, he’d heard that Aon’s mental decay had continued. The ancient man spent the entirety of his days confined to his quarters.
Because the Codes had been taught since the school was first erected, the administration thought it best if the class was not discontinued, despite the Professor’s state. And so, the class had taken shape as a group study; the seven students enrolled this semester would lead productive Codes discussion with each other.
So far this semester, the discussion had been anything but productive. The loudest voices in the room—Theodora Larkspur and a level-three named Bahari Tumault—had taken the air from most of the other students.
Even now, before all the students had filtered in, the two were arguing.
“One hundred sixty-third precept, of passage three. Have you even read it?” Theodora was standing to her full, considerable height, arms on her hips.
“Dreams, dreams, yes, I know it,” Tumault responded. “And what does that even have to do with the Desovian border dispute?”
“You’re blind as usual, Bahari,” Theodora said. “Reports say the Desovian captain that crossed south into Mercurian territory did so because he had a vision.”
“So, you’re saying he’d read that particular precept that evening, and come morning, the man decided to cross over the axis with a full battalion, then challenge and kill the ranking Knight in the outer rings?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds crazy,” Theodora said. “But—”
“The Desovian was Deepshit crazy!” Bahari said. “That’s all that explains it; nothing to do with Codes at all.”
Abel took the opportunity to chime in, seeing the rest of the students had arrived. “Perhaps we bring it back a step? I think Theodora has good point, as precept one hundred sixty-three does tell us to pay heed to dreams or visions.”
“Right, it does, but that doesn’t mean we should use Codes as an excuse for a foreigner to break pact, enter our lands and kill our people!” Bahari said.
“You’re right too, Tumault.” Abel spoke little lately, but when he did, the other students listened. “The Codes weren’t written to be used as justification of actions. Professor Aon taught that to me as level-one. They were written as way of life to be considered always.”
“I remember that class,” Sol said from her seated position. “Professor Aon described it like walking in the forest and using the sounds as a guide. He said you hear the birds and the wind in the trees and the pine needles underfoot. None of these sounds tell you to climb a tree in fear of entering a gar bear’s territory…”
Cego finished for Sol, also remembering that class vividly, seeing the sparkle in old Aon’s eyes as he laughed at his own words. “But if you should see a mother bear in front of her cubs, take heed and step backwards.”
Abel appeared pleased that Aon’s words had brought some resolution to the argument between Timault and Theodora. “What should we discuss next?”
A thick boy wearing a blood-red second skin shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get, Novor? Why you should avoid gar bear?” Abel asked.
“No, I get that,” the level-six said. “I’ve traveled with my family to the north, seen plenty of bears and worse. I don’t get why we’re speaking of the skirmish in outer rings when we can’t talk of the bigger stuff going on.”
“You mean the…“ Abel trailed off.
“The darkin’ Flux!” Novor raised his voice.
“Hush!” Theodora stood and looked over her shoulder warily. “You heard what High Commander Albright said in the Dome. Talk of it can mean expulsion!”
“Doesn’t make sense.” Novor was undeterred. “It’s going on right under our nose. My brother is stationed south of Kiroth, says the Grunts have been amassing near the border. The Slayer has the numbers and they already brought down much of the Empire’s infrastructure.”
“That’s in Kiroth,” Theodora whispered. “And my mother says the Kirothians can never keep their Grunts in check anyways. They’ve been having uprisings for the past century because there’s not enough food for them all.”
“Seems far away because you’re not there,” Novor said. “But when Slayer and his armies are knocking at the Citadel’s front gates, you won’t be saying that.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Novor.” Tumault for once agreed with Theodora. “If we were in any danger, the administration would let us know. My parents are one of the twelve, and they’d he the first to hear if anything was going on that we should be worried about.”
Novor laughed. “Don’t need to be one of the twelve to smell a shit when it’s sitting on your left foot.”
Tumault scrunched his nose. “Let’s get back to talking Codes so we don’t get expelled, all right?”
“I agree,” Theodora said. “I was hoping we might discuss passage one of—”
“It’s because of him we can’t be talkin’,” Novor growled. The thick boy stared directly at Cego.
Sol stood. “You best not be going down a path you can’t back down from, Novor.”
“I’ve been biting my tongue long enough, Halberd,” Novor said, standing as well. The level-sixer was at least twice Sol’s size, thick with muscle. “We all know why administration won’t let us talk of the Flux. It’s because they’re worried about spies.”
Novor took another step toward Cego, who was still seated. Sol didn’t back down. “Cego isn’t a spy.”
“He’s the Slayer’s brother!” Novor raised his voice. “He spent all of the last year working for the Flux, then he miraculously decides to return back home to the Lyceum. And no one bats an eye! All because he was Murray Pearson’s pet.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Novor,” Sol said.
“Yes, he does.” Cego finally spoke.
“See? Even the traitor himself admits it,” Novor spat.
“You’re right, Novor,” Cego said as he stood. “I did fight for my brother.”
Novor quieted, suddenly unsure of whether being right was a good thing. Cego stepped around Sol toward the large boy.
“Cego, please,” Sol said, trying to step between them again.
“He deserves to know the truth,” Cego said. “I’m back here at the Lyceum because I wanted to return. And I don’t care what you believe, whether you think I’m a spy or not. Do you want to know why?”
“Um…I guess,” Novor said.
“Because all the work I did in Kiroth, for the Flux… I didn’t forget how to do it.” The darkness spread across Cego like an incurable itch. He saw the bleak landscape of the Island, the skeletal forms of the ironwood trees jutting from the rain-soaked earth.
“I was known as the Strangler because I was sent to put away those who spoke against the rebellion.” Cego advanced on Novor. “I silenced them. And I can still quiet those who speak too loudly.”
“You heard him!” Novor said, backing away. “He threatened me, said he’s going to—”
“He didn’t do anything of the sort,” Sol interrupted. “Cego was standing up to your accusations. I think discussions have been good enough for today, don’t you, Abel?”
Abel nodded, warily watching Cego. “Yes, yes, Codes discussion over for today.”
The rest of the group made a quick exit, though not before Novor glanced over his shoulder to snarl back at Cego. “Don’t think I’ll forget this.”
“You okay?” Sol eyed Cego. She’d asked him that question quite a lot since their return.
“Yes,” Cego said. “But sometimes, I feel myself returning there…to where I was.”
Sol put her hand on his shoulder and met his eyes. “I understand… I mean I don’t understand, but I know it’s hard for you to be here, to keep control. But you’ve got to try. The Lyceum brought you back in, let you continue on track because of Murray and Commander Memnon vouching for you, but if word got to Callen that this happened…”
“I know that already,” Cego snapped.
Sol gave him a wary look and moved for the exit. “I’ve got to get to my next class early.”
Cego stayed, sat down to breathe beneath the towering bookshelves. He tried to rekindle the memory of first entering Aon’s study, the deep sense of responsibility he’d felt opening the ancient tombs full of the Codes.
“You feel anger,” Abel said. He’d almost forgotten the little Kirothian was still in the room.
“Shouldn’t I?” Cego asked. “I didn’t want all this to happen.”
“I felt anger too for a while,” Abel said. “After Joba died.”
Cego’s face flushed with shame.
“I was angry at you,” Abel admitted. “I said to myself, Joba, he was always happy. Joba never wanted to hurt anyone. Then Joba gave his life for you. Why did he deserve such fate?”
“He didn’t deserve it,” Cego said. “And I didn’t ask Joba to save me. I didn’t ask Murray to save me, either.”
“Yet they did fight for you,” Abel said. “And because of you, they are dead.”
Cego shuddered. He needed to hear those words.
“I wish I was gone instead of them,” Cego whispered. “Now I have to live with this. Now I carry this weight.”
“They knew that you would be able to carry it,” Abel said.
“How could they know?” Cego asked.
“Joba and Murray knew you would not forget them,” Abel replied. “That none of us will ever forget what they did. And they knew that we would be here to help you carry this burden. Because if we let their sacrifice bury us, then they died for nothing.”
Cego shook his head. Not only did he bear his past but now the sacrifice of others on top of it. It seemed impossible that the burden wouldn’t crush him beneath its weight.
“They believed in you,” Abel said. “They knew you are different from the rest. And so do I, Cego. So do all those who have truly seen you, including Professor Aon. Do you remember what the Professor used to say to us so often?”
“We will need to make a choice.” Cego recited Aon’s familiar words as he looked to the high windows of the study. “To walk in the shadows or to walk in the light.”
“Would you like to see him?” Abel asked.
“Aon?” Cego knew Abel had been caring for the ancient Professor, but he’d purposely avoided visiting him in his quarters right off the study.
They lifted the curtain to a small, sparse room fitted with more bookshelves, several potted plants, and a flat tatami on the floor. Atop the mat lay one of the greatest minds to grace the Lyceum, a mentor to a multitude of Knights and teachers. But now Cego looked down at a withered husk.
Abel bowed his head low as they entered the room. “Hello, Professor Aon, I’m here to give you something to drink.”
The little Kirothian brought over a bowl of ice chips and kneeled beside the ancient teacher. Cego could hardly see Aon’s chest moving and wondered for a moment whether Abel was tending to a corpse.
But, as Abel placed the ice to Aon’s thin lips, Cego noticed the man’s foot twitch slightly, a sliver of life. “There you go, Professor. Today we had good Codes discussion, just as you like.”
Abel took a small cloth from beside the tatami, wet it in the bowl and began to wipe Aon’s forehead and body. “Some students, they don’t understand yet. But soon, they will.”
Cego shook his head. All this time he’d been gone, Abel had dedicated himself to not only helping his brother Sam but also caring for Aon.
“Why’re you doing it?” Cego asked.
“Because no one else will,” Abel said. “The Clerics said they can’t do anything for him. But they’re wrong. It’s important to do this, to speak to him, to make him know he’s looked after. Though the Codes speak of fighting for the rest, there’s other ways to fight than in the Circle.”
