by Anna Webb
“Run!” Jason yelled without looking at her.
Allyra ran.
She dodged past Don toward the exit and saw Jason turn to follow her. She was only strides away from the doorway when she was suddenly jerked backward again. The whip was still wound around her ankle.
Jason grabbed her arm, holding her up while reaching down to slice her free. He shoved her through the doorway and tumbled out behind her.
They’d won.
Chapter 10 – Allyra
Restlessness raged beneath her skin. They had come so close to failing. A single bad decision, one misstep, and perhaps just one second slower—any one of which might have resulted in Don and Clara winning.
The very idea of it left her ill at ease, and sleep was proving elusive. She glanced across the room, and by all appearances, Jason wasn’t troubled by the same anxieties. Their recent brush with failure did nothing to disturb his sleep, and in the stillness of the night, she could hear his low, even breathing.
Her mind circled back once more to the challenge. Why had the Tigers failed her?
She had avoided calling on the Tiger Swords since the Second Trial. It had been a conscious and deliberate decision. She had come close to killing Rosalie that day. Too close. The Tigers’ bloodlust had been pumping in her veins, their voices screaming for her to kill, to make Rosalie suffer, to make her pay for Pierre’s death. Allyra had nearly given in; the truth was, she had wanted vengeance. Worse still, she didn’t know how much of the desire to kill had come from the Tigers and how much of it was hers alone.
It scared her more than Allyra cared to admit. And so, she’d avoided calling on the Tiger Swords—until today.
Today, they failed her. Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Just another question to add to her already massive list.
Allyra ground her teeth in frustration. She needed to get out of here. She needed to move, to burn off some of this excess energy. She took another glance in Jason’s direction to reassure herself that he was truly asleep. No sign of movement. She made her decision.
Silently, she slipped from the bed, pulling on a light jacket. One last check on Jason before she crept from the room.
The sparring room wasn’t far, and there were no rules confining her to her room. Yet, in the eerie silence of the empty corridors, Allyra felt out of place, the force of unseen eyes heavy on her shoulders. She moved quickly and silently, like a wraith through the halls, the marbled floor cool beneath her bare feet. A left turn and then another, past two doors, and she was at the sparring room.
Closing the door behind her, she let out a small breath of relief. Reassuring herself that the room was empty, she wasted no time. Concentrating on the delicate, silvery tattoo winding its way around her wrist, she called on the Tigers. Even though she was expecting it, the wave of weakness hit her like a sucker punch directly to the gut. She doubled over, falling to her knees, panting as she tried to overcome the sudden wave of nausea. A few long minutes passed before the faintness receded.
Unsettled, but determined, Allyra tried again. This time, she built barriers around her mind, isolating herself until all could see was the tattoo of the two silver tigers on her wrist. She gathered her will and shoved as much energy as she could muster into the Tigers. This time, the wave of weakness rose and crested, breaking against the barrier she’d constructed. She could still feel it, but the strength of it was muted and distant.
Droplets of sweat gathered at her brow, and more trickled down her back. She took deep, haggard breaths and turned the dagger she’d formed in her hand. It was perfect—light and balanced, built to fit her hand. No other dagger in the world would fit better. The Tigers were still the best, and most powerful, weapons for her, but if calling on them left her shaking and on her knees—how much use would they be if she was fighting for her life?
She closed her eyes and tried to swallow down her confusion and disappointment.
The sound of a footstep startled her, and the tigers snaked back up her arm and settled around her wrist. Allyra lifted her eyes—and met Alex’s crisp blue ones.
Allyra’s heart thudded in her chest. He was standing in front of her. Alex was standing there—whole and solid, so much more real than most of her visions of the past. So real she could almost reach out and touch him. He looked at her in consternation, apparently at a loss on how to react, and stumbled forward as Mandla bumped into him.
“What are you doing just standing there?” Mandla asked good-humoredly. When Alex didn’t reply, his eyes still fixed on Allyra, Mandla frowned. “What is it?” he asked, his voice suddenly gentle and filled with concern. “What do you see?”
Alex shook himself free from the reverie. “Nothing,” he replied with a smile that held only a hint of being forced. “Nothing at all.”
Allyra’s hold on the memory wavered, and Alex became fuzzy and indistinct, while Mandla disappeared altogether. Alex was trying to shove her away, deliberately releasing his hold over his Gift. Instantly, she understood that it was only the combination of her Gift for the past and his for the future that allowed them to see each other so clearly. With her Gift alone, she struggled to stay in the moment.
But, she was tired, she was frustrated, and more than anything, she wanted to stay with Alex, even if it was just an echo of him. She was being selfish; it was obvious that he didn’t want here there. But damn it, she needed him now.
She held on tighter, forcing the memory back into focus. Alex watched her, his fathomless blue eyes widened in disbelief, and he turned away, stubbornly trying to ignore her.
“Want to get started?” Mandla asked.
Alex nodded. As a warm-up, Alex and Mandla settled into the Sequence, their bodies relaxed, slipping from one form into the next with practiced ease. Allyra watched for a moment, took up a position next to Alex, and fell into their rhythm. It felt familiar and comforting, and Allyra allowed her worries to drain away. She mirrored the motion of Alex’s body perfectly, because how many times had they done this side by side within the Between? She knew the beat of his movements, the cadence of his body. Her forms were his—everything she’d learned about the Sequence had come from him.
Still refusing to acknowledge her, Alex kept his eyes steadfastly forward, never even glancing at her. They shifted from the strong, deliberate forms of the Terra Sequence into the light, effortless ones of the Atmospheric Sequence. Next came the impossibly quick changes of the Infernos, moving through the graceful reaches of the Oceanics, before finally arriving at the Elemental Sequence. The most taxing of them all, the Elemental Sequence tested every Gifted physical attribute—it required strength and agility, speed and stealth.
Allyra felt her muscles start to tire, but she pushed herself to keep going, to mold her body into each form. If Alex felt any strain, he didn’t show it. Upon finishing the last form of the Elemental Sequence, he slipped back into the first of the Terra Sequence.
Mandla stopped. “I think that’s enough for one day,” he declared.
Alex ignored him.
Mandla shook his head and sighed. “Alex,” he said softly. “Repeating the Sequence over and over isn’t going to chase away whatever you’re seeing. All you’re doing is exhausting yourself, and we both know that whatever it is will only follow you into your dreams.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you, that your Gift is less a gift than a burden, but remember that I’m your friend. I will always be by your side. Please—just talk to me.”
At Mandla’s words, Alex stumbled uncharacteristically over the transition between two forms, but he recovered himself and continued, never pausing and studiously avoiding meeting Mandla in the eye.
Mandla waited, a minute passed, then five, then ten. He smiled grimly, disappointed, but refusing to show it. “Well, I’m feeling a little tired, so…”
And when Alex still refused to speak, Mandla nodded and turned, walking from the room, the small, grim smile never leaving his face.
As the do
or swung closed behind Mandla, Alex’s jaw tightened. It was barely noticeable and was gone between one second and the next. But she knew him well enough to understand that the silence and expressionless mask were just tools he was using to disguise his fear. He was terrified, but he refused to show it even to his closest friend. This Alex, or the one he would become later, the one she knew so well—they were one and the same. He would always try to hide his fear and anxiety in some misguided attempt to protect the ones he loved. And in doing so, he took an untold burden upon his shoulders.
Allyra stilled and turned to Alex. “You should talk to him,” she said gently. “Mandla loves you, he just wants to help you.”
Still, Alex refused to acknowledge her presence. One form to the next, he retreated into the Sequence. And as much as Allyra wanted to persist, she understood his fear. She knew what it felt like to see things that weren’t really there, to wonder if she was losing her mind. Alex had helped her when she had been lost and afraid. He had been gentle and understanding. Now, it was her turn to return the favor.
She stepped back into her spot beside Alex and silently followed him back into the Sequence. Minutes turned to hours, and still they moved, form after form, never hesitating, never faltering.
By the time Alex finally spoke, Allyra had long lost track of the number of hours that had passed.
“You’re over-extending between forms six and seven in the Inferno Sequence,” he said abruptly, not looking at her and not pausing in his movement.
Also without breaking the flow of the Sequence, she raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re talking to me,” she said, her voice a little breathless with exertion.
“If you insist on being here, you might as well do it correctly,” he snapped.
Finally, she stopped and turned to him. “I do insist,” she said with a grin. “And if I’m doing it wrong, then show me how to do it correctly.”
Slowly, he drew to a stop, but still his gaze remained fixed on some point in front of him. For a second, Allyra wondered if he might go back to ignoring her. But then he took a deep breath and took up the sixth form of the Inferno Sequence.
“The Inferno Sequence is about speed. It demands small, accurate, and economical movements,” he said, his voice deliberately calm and level.
He switched to the seventh form. “You are over-reaching on the sixth form, putting your upper body out of position. It means you are unbalanced and slow getting into the seventh form, and it takes you at least five forms before you’ve regained the correct rhythm.”
His explanation was precise and to the point—apparently always a natural at teaching. Allyra smiled and nodded, picking up the sixth form and transitioned into the seventh, taking care not to over-extend her arms. Immediately, she felt an improvement, and the transition was more effortless and her rhythm more graceful.
“Better,” he said, “but not perfect.”
So, he had always been a demanding teacher.
Dropping back into the first form of the Inferno Sequence, he said, “Again.”
Much later, after putting her through the Inferno Sequence at least eight more times, Alex turned to her. She was gratified to see that he too had broken a sweat, showing he was human after all.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Allyra.”
“Just Allyra?”
“Someone warned me once that it’s better not to know too much about the future,” she replied carefully.
“Sound advice—I wish I could know less about it,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Well, Allyra, it’s good to meet you, my name is Alex, or more specifically, Alexander Patrick Cairns, but somehow, I think you knew that already.”
She met his eyes frankly and gave him a brief nod. There was really no point in lying. “The past does not hold the same dangers as the future.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said cryptically, turning away and walking out the room, leaving her feeling more than a little confused.
By the time Allyra found her way back to her room, her muscles ached with exhaustion, but her transition between the sixth and seventh forms could not be faulted.
* * *
Allyra started making her way to the sparring room every night. Luckily, Jason was a heavy sleeper and she managed to steal in and out the room each night without his knowledge.
Some nights, she wouldn’t find Alex there, and those she spent training and practicing by herself. But more often than not, Alex, or a memory of him, would be waiting for her. Sometimes, Mandla would be with Alex, and then, she would remain silent, quietly training alongside them, making sure not to disturb them. Even when Alex was alone, they never spoke much, and when they did speak, it was always focused on whatever they were working on. He would point out a flaw or offer some advice, but they never asked personal questions. Since that first night in the sparring room, there was an unspoken understanding between them that while both their Gifts lay in the manipulation of time, it was best not to know too much about their own pasts or futures.
Allyra hadn’t realized it at first, but this past version of Alex was the perfect training partner. While they could clearly see each other, they were not really together. Separated by the vast expanse of time, they couldn’t touch each other, and therefore, their weapons did nothing to harm the other. It gave them the freedom to attack furiously without fear of doing any permanent damage.
Alex’s sword stabbed right through her, where her liver would be. They both looked down at the offending weapon.
“You’re dead,” he stated.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
She shook her head. “Forget it.”
He studied her curiously for a minute and then shrugged. “You’re swinging too hard, leaving yourself exposed. Power does not always mean strength.”
Allyra huffed out an exasperated breath. Alex had a tendency to spout impossible to comprehend and vaguely philosophical musings at her.
He seemed to realize it. “You need to know your weapon,” he clarified.
“Still not helpful,” she retorted.
“I’m. Not. Finished,” he said deliberately, drawing out each word.
She waved for him to continue.
“You need to understand your weapon—the distribution of its weight, how it cuts through the air. Every weapon has the perfect swing, the precise balance between strength and speed, you just need to find it.”
Alex nodded at the wall of weapons. “Go get an axe,” he told her.
Following his instruction, she hefted a massive axe from the wall. It was as tall as she was, and its mirrored blades were as wide as her shoulders.
“Swing it. Its weight is centered at one end. Do you feel how it wants to pull you forward?”
She nodded.
“If you give the same swing to this axe and to your sword, you will end up with two very different outcomes. The sword has a natural recovery, but the axe will probably swing you forward and topple you over.”
“So, I should pick my weapons carefully,” she asked.
“Yes, but that’s not the lesson. You need to be proficient in every weapon because you never know when you might need it to save your life. My point is that you should learn to adapt. That axe may be too large for you, it might be poorly balanced, but if you adapt, you can still use that to your advantage. Swing the axe, prepare for it to pull you forward, and use its weight to propel you into your next move.”
“I should adapt my fighting style according to the weapon I’m wielding?”
Alex nodded and rewarded her with a rare smile. “Exactly. The more adaptable and fluid you are, the more difficult it becomes for your opponent to anticipate your next move, and the more deadly you become.”
* * *
Allyra watched Jason carefully. They circled each other like two lions defending their territory. She was drenched in sweat, making the metal batons in her hand slippery and difficult to hold on t
o. She tightened her grip.
Thanks to her extra lessons with Alex, her sparring sessions with Jason had turned into more evenly matched affairs. However, they were both as stubborn as old donkeys, which meant, as a rule, neither one ever emerged from a sparring session unscathed. They had kept the nurse busy treating an endless procession of cuts, bruises, and sprains. Sometimes, Allyra thought it might prove to be a miracle if the two of them even made it to the First Final without killing each other first.
Darting forward, Allyra feinted to the right before delivering a sharp blow to Jason’s ribs. He responded with a furious series of swings. She managed to parry each one away. Seeing an opening, she drove her elbow deep into Jason’s gut, sending him stumbling backward, gasping for breath.
She prowled after him but hesitated before delivering another blow. With his arms clutched around his waist, Jason cut a sorry figure.
Jason leaped forward. Allyra cursed silently—he was faking it, and she should have expected it. Jason never played by the rules. Playing dirty was his defining characteristic. He slammed into her, shoving her backward. She stumbled into the wall, her head hitting it with an audible whack. Stunned for a second, she didn’t see Jason approach, and he kicked her knee out, toppling her forward, and finished things by striking her back violently with his baton. He thrust the tip of the baton into her back until she slammed her hand to the ground, effectively tapping out and conceding.
“You need to stop being so immensely gullible,” Jason said with an ugly laugh.
Allyra turned over and looked up at him. Obviously amused, Jason had a huge grin on his face as he watched her, which only served to irritate her further.
“We’re talking now?” she snapped, not bothering to hide the ire in her voice.
He shrugged carelessly. “The silence was getting a little tedious.”
“Well, you’re getting a little tedious. Too bad a little conversation won’t get rid of you.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Finally, a little fire from the Atmospheric—I like it.”
