by Jason Letts
Backing up to give himself space, he leapt forward at the first opening and slammed his fist into an exposed cheek. Two others grabbed his arms while a third recovered and prepared to strike. Bigger than the others, this man had a short beard and something on his hands that had a blue glow. Taylor struggled just enough to make them think they really had him, and when their big friend came in for the easy strike, Taylor used his holders to swing off the ground and send his boot into the other guy’s chin.
“Sheesh,” one of them mumbled, and Taylor knew they were worried. Shaking off the two men holding him, he socked one in the stomach and pulled him into the other man behind him. Both of them dropped to the ground and neither appeared anxious to get back up. Too bad. Taylor’s adrenaline had just kicked in.
Only the one with the blue on his hands remained. It might’ve been some fluorescent chalk or paint, and it reminded Taylor of stories he’d heard in the Youth Guard about fighters in various places using strange substances to enhance their attacks. This guy had some sense of the combative arts, and Taylor knew he’d be better off avoiding even a single punch.
His opponent ran at him, and Taylor caught him by the elbows, spread his arms wide, and head-butted him in the sternum. One of his hands slipped, and a fist whizzed by right in front of his nose. Taylor aided the man’s momentum, spinning him around and kicking at his knees to drop him onto the street.
Turning sideways and drawing his arm across his body in proper Guard form, Taylor smacked his elbow against the back of the man’s head, sending him limp against the ground. Strangely, the blue on his hands vanished.
Looking around, Taylor took stock of the situation. The other fighters were crawling away together, and Taylor was pleased he could help settle their dispute. He’d have to let that feeling carry him as he waited alone in bed for sleep to come.
Suddenly something latched on to his side, and Taylor cocked back a fist until he realized it was a disheveled girl with a black hair in a ponytail on top of her head.
“Oh, thank you so much. I had no idea what they were going to do,” she gushed. Tears had marred her makeup, but she had on pants with lots of pockets and a tube top that seemed no worse for wear. But what puzzled Taylor was how she’d reached his side so fast without him knowing. Maybe the drinks were getting to him.
“What happened?” Taylor asked.
“Oh, that’s my scumbag ex-boyfriend,” she said, gesturing to the guy on the ground a few paces away. She walked over and kicked him in the side. “He thought it’d be fun to torment me with his buddies because I finally told him we were through.”
The girl was petite and plenty pretty in the face, and the way her hair spilled out of the ponytail like a fountain had a strange appeal in the streetlights, but the situation seemed like a mess best avoided.
“It looks like you’ll be fine now,” Taylor said, lumbering on toward the hill and the campus. Some of those punches stayed with him and he felt a little woozy, but he immediately realized the girl was following him.
“Wait—don’t you even want to know my name? It’s Nissa,” she said, and he glanced back to find her still standing there, hands on her hips. There was some strength in her voice, a confidence that shone through. Maybe this was a chance to avoid a lonely night, but Taylor wondered if it was worth the effort.
“I’m Taylor. Goodnight,” he said, moving on.
“One minute,” Nissa said, and suddenly her hands were around his, though she’d been ten paces back an instant ago. “I haven’t been able to thank you for saving me yet. And I have a question. Which do you want to hear first?”
“I want to get some sleep,” he said, though in truth she was piquing his interest. It might’ve been her high cheekbones that made her alluring.
“Then I’ll start with the question. What would you do if your world came tumbling down around you?” she asked.
Taylor laughed. What kind of a question was that from a banged-up girl he’d found on the street? He shook his head and struggled to think.
“I’d build something better,” he said, getting lost in the smile dawning upon her face.
“I like that answer. Now for the thank you. I know this kind of thing isn’t done much anymore, but I feel a boy should be thanked properly for sticking up for a girl,” she said.
Before he could say anything, her fingers were against his cheeks and she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her soft lips against his. The kiss lasted but a moment, but he had a hard time ever remembering a better one.
“I know we’ve got classes tomorrow, but maybe there’s just a little time to…”
“Pff, I don’t go to this school,” she scoffed. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”
She turned to walk the other way down the street. Her arms swayed easily around her hips, and Taylor almost failed to notice that her ex-boyfriend had vanished.
On the eve of his first class, Taylor got a message he assumed was from the wispy girl he’d saved from her ex. It was strange, though, because he’d never given her his name or number. Was that information really so public?
“Come to the well at the north end of town in one hour,” it said, causing a flash of anxiety in Taylor. Meeting Nissa again had huge appeal, but her timing couldn’t have been worse.
“I’m meeting with my mentor now and I don’t know if I’ll be done by then. But I’ll try,” he replied, hoping he could breeze through the mandatory meeting and wander through town to find the well in time.
He got no response and continued on to Caneman Tower, which housed the school’s faculty. Climbing the steep stone steps, he found a guard camped out by the door, and the man allowed him to enter. Inside the building, every wall was lined with books. He followed the bookcases down a long hallway with carpets covering the stone floor to a spiral staircase.
From what he knew of his mentor, Professor Omicron, the man was extremely old, and trudging up these steep, uneven steps every day must’ve been a dance with death for him. Not a word or whisper echoed through the dark tower, making Taylor feel eerily out of place. Only the occasional torch gave any life to the place.
The top of the stairs met a circular room lined with the doors of Lynxstra Academy’s senior faculty. Taylor scanned the alternately rickety, rusty, and rotten doors until he found his professor’s, which had a hole near the center where a knot had fallen out. Peeking through, he saw the scholar poring over a large tome by candlelight, as he must’ve done his entire life. It seemed so vastly different from the life Taylor desired for himself.
“What are you waiting for? You’re in a hurry,” Professor Omicron said in a scratchy voice.
Taylor pushed open the door and took a few steps into the room, which had no fewer than five telescopes pointed at a window. The smell of musty books combined with a hint of smoke from a tiny wood stove hit him.
“How’d you know I was in a hurry?” Taylor asked, taking a seat in an open chair beside the desk. The professor turned away from his book. He had dark, wrinkly skin, glasses, a beard of gray and white, and the look of someone who was in no rush at all.
“Because people your age are always in a hurry. It’s not until you get to be closer to my age that you finally stop fighting against time,” he said. Taylor nodded and glanced at paintings on the walls that featured images of the school grounds. “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about.”
Taylor swallowed, not wanting to seem like a fool in front of one of the academy’s most decorated members.
“I’m here because I’m supposed to meet with my mentor. You’re supposed to guide me through life at school and make sure I’m prepared for a good career,” he said, smiling.
Professor Omicron leaned forward and took a good look at Taylor with his more lucid eye. Even without a telescope, he seemed to see very deeply.
“Is that so, Taylor Bracken? Tell me, on what subject should I mentor you?” he asked, and Taylor opened his mouth to answer despite drawing a blank. “Because it seems to me that
one of the hardest things for most people to realize is what they don’t know.”
“I guess that would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Taylor said, wondering if the professor’s words were really so obvious or if there were something more to them.
“Believe it or not, I asked the same question of your father many years ago when he came here. He had a very clear answer—he wanted to know how to be a good steward for his family—and he possessed a flare for theatrics similar to what you’ve already shown,” the old man recalled, his eyes glazing over.
“Did he?” Taylor asked, skeptical. It seemed to him his father’s idea of a good time was to go crazy and spend all night working on a tax return.
“He had charisma that people responded to, and one day he organized a protest against some rule or other, and every student arrived at class without a stitch of clothing on. Do you know what the professors did? They took off their clothes, too!” The professor released a slow, melodic chuckle. “I don’t think that would go over so well today, and not just because I’m sure people would prefer I keep my clothes on. Lynxstra has become uptight, rigid—defensive, even—and I daresay all of Cumeria has done the same.”
Taylor noticed something underneath his professor’s seemingly relaxed demeanor for the first time. Some tension raged deep within his eyes that this talk had brought to the surface.
“The school doesn’t seem that bad to me, nor Cumeria for that matter,” he said, forcing a smile and a shrug. The professor nodded and scratched underneath his beard.
“As much as I’d prefer to have you lead the way and forge a relationship with me on your own terms, I’m afraid that luxury may come at too great a cost. Most people don’t understand the dire state our nation is in. Oh, we’ve been beating this drum for years, but nobody listens to us. The politicians and the industry titans—nobody wants to realize that the entirety of Cumeria is like a box of matches ready to erupt in one spectacular blaze.”
The conversation had taken quite a turn from fond memories of his father. A bit of awe gripped Taylor at his mentor’s grim pronouncement, one that seemed so at odds with his understanding of Cumeria as the unshakable, de facto capitol of the world.
“But nothing like that could ever really happen, right?” Taylor asked, finding it harder to maintain a lighthearted tone. Omicron released a heavy sigh.
“If something were to happen to you, to what lengths would your parents go to avenge you? If your father cut off your enemies’ power and your mother froze their bank accounts, how desperate would they be to retaliate?” the professor asked.
Hearing Omicron say it so plainly, Taylor suddenly realized that his father would do anything to protect him. That loyalty and love had been so ubiquitous that he’d never even recognized it. But now the message struck a deep chord.
“These familial monopolies are at the core of Cumerian society, but they are far more interdependent than they realize. That means if one person makes a mistake and the wrong body drops, it could spread into a conflagration where nearly every aspect of life becomes an asset for allies or enemies.
“Some of these regional families already command the allegiance of their residents in a way that supersedes government. The Brackens have that in the ClawLands, but that’s only one example. The farming empire of the Illiam family forces its townships to worship them as gods, and that’s happening as we speak, just a few hours’ ride from where we are now. If a war broke out, Lynxstra would be an appealing target for them, right in arm’s reach.”
Blown away by the picture the professor drew, Taylor reconsidered the power his family and others wielded that seemed obvious and yet completely unthinkable.
“But there’s no way any of that could happen. There are the government and the Guard,” Taylor added. The professor pursed his lips and closed his eyes.
“If they acted quickly enough, they could contain a fight between two families before it spread, but acting fast is not the government’s strong suit. Most likely they’d end up being one more player on a crowded field, and some major foreign families, like the Lus in the Iron City, might see an opportunity to move in. There’s no telling how far an outbreak in Cumeria could spread.”
Taylor sat back in his chair and rested his chin on his hand. Just when he’d accepted the despair growing within him, his mentor reached out and patted him on the shoulder. His kind smile and bushy eyebrows were comforting.
“Hey, this is real and not to be taken lightly, but it’s not the whole story. What I want you to walk out of here with is a sense that you are in a very strong position to change this. It’s you and the sons and daughters of the other premier families who will decide whether the animosity continues. You can change everything and make society fairer for all.”
After sharing a few more words, Taylor glanced at the clock and found that his hour had completely expired. A nod from Professor Omicron excused him, and Taylor raced down the stairs and out of Caneman Tower as fast as he could. Thoughts of their conversation troubled him and his first impulse was to try to call his father to discuss it, but that would have to wait until he finished his meeting with Nissa.
Unlike during the party, the town seemed modest and quaint without the rampaging packs of students. More lights were on in the windows, and old couples walked hand in hand down the winding streets. Taylor asked one pair where the well was and took off once he had the directions. There was no doubt he’d be a little late, and he prepared to kick himself if he missed her.
His fears yielded when he saw Nissa balancing on one hand at the edge of the well. Her appendages hanging in the air, she produced a big upside-down smile as he approached the stone veranda tucked behind buildings at town’s edge.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall in?” Taylor asked, twisting in a weak attempt to match Nissa’s pose.
“The fear keeps me vigilant,” she said. “It’s like fire. As long as I accept it and understand it, I can wield it without getting burned, but without the proper respect, it could engulf me.”
Tipping away from the mouth of the well, Nissa arced through the dim light and landed on her feet. Taylor was more than impressed; he wanted to try balancing like that on only one hand.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you got my number.” Taylor grinned as Nissa strolled closer. She had on tight dark clothes that showed off a feminine figure, but it was the light in her eyes that got his attention. Biting her lip, she appraised him carefully.
“I called you here because I want to show you something, but I’m not sure if you’re ready. Once you know it, you can never un-know it. If you let it in it will change your life forever, but rejecting it could have disastrous consequences,” she said, almost in a trance.
Taylor didn’t know whether to share her excitement or be skeptical.
“I don’t suppose you mean one of those dance clubs everyone keeps talking about,” he joked, but she didn’t show any amusement. Instead, her eyes widened as if she were in a trance.
“They saved me, just like you did,” Nissa said, one hand reaching out to him, the other on her chest. “And I think they can save you, too. You said you wanted to build a better world, and I believe that you can help us do that.”
Swallowing, Taylor had a hard time deciding what to do. Certainly he had a strong inclination to go along with her, but something about what she said didn’t sound right. He didn’t need to be saved or get involved with some freaky group, but the threat of disastrous consequences didn’t worry him at all.
“OK. Let’s check it out,” he said, taking some comfort when a look of pleasure dawned on Nissa’s face.
“You’re sure? Don’t take this lightly,” she warned.
“I’m not,” he said. There was no doubt in his mind that if the situation was too weird, he would find a way to smash and dash out of there.
“Then follow me.” Holding him lightly by a few fingers, she led him around the wall and toward the end of the veranda, where the stone foundation stoppe
d and the tall grasses of southern Cumeria began. The pair trotted down the steep hill until they came to a wide sewer pipe, rusty but dry. Nissa nodded, and together they ducked under a gaping portcullis and hunched over so they could traverse the long pipe.
All light seemed to vanish after only a few steps, but Taylor continued on through the stale air deep beneath the town. Once he’d completely lost track of how far he’d gone, Nissa grabbed his arm and twisted him to the right.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, ever,” she said. In the complete darkness, her glowing hands were nearly blinding, certainly enough to illuminate the curved door set into the side of the pipe. It had a strange shape on it that looked vaguely like an impaled man.
“How do you do that?” he gasped, unable to look away from her hand.
“Once you have the energy, you’ll be able to do it, too,” she whispered.
Pressing her hand against the door undid a lock, allowing her to push it open into a basement lined with candles. There were numerous voices—cheers, even—and movements that produced strange shadows on the floor in front of him.
Once they’d entered the blue glow vanished, but Taylor’s attention shifted to something happening in the center of the crowd of hooded figures. Nissa gestured him closer to the others.
On his toes, Taylor’s jaw dropped at the sight of two women fighting in a pool of blood. They had on next to nothing, and they fought like animals. Before he could discern what the point was, one of the women knocked the other down, knocking her neck against the pool’s steel lip. One hard stomp was all it took to snap her neck and usher a roar of approval from the audience.
“We always win,” Nissa said, clapping.
Taylor had seen strange things when he was in the Youth Guard, but he’d never imagined anything like this. Between the blood sport and the blue glow that could only be described as magical, it finally hit Taylor that he might be in over his head.
