by O. J. Lowe
Anger.
Someone around her was walking around with a gut-full of anger. At what, she couldn’t say as she squinted through the crowd trying to detect the source. It was almost painful, she could feel the knots in her stomach threatening to overspill again and she had to swallow it down. The knives in her brain dug deeper. If this was what they were feeling amidst this setting of relative normality, what sort of person were they? She clutched the side of her head, blinked back tears.
Whoever they were, they were in pain. They just didn’t know quite how much or didn’t want to. She bit her lip and went back to looking for them. Callers, spectators, workers, all of them were about the place and pinning down one specific individual was proving tricky amidst it all. The only thing stopping her from reaching for the X7 in her bag was that she hadn’t sensed any malevolence within it. They didn’t wish any mass harm. So therefore, it was likely not someone who was going to open fire or blow themselves up. A small mercy there. She’d never killed someone at a range of less than a thousand yards. The benefits of being a sniper. She didn’t have to feel them die from that far away.
Anne swallowed again and went back to scanning the crowd, one eye closed as if it would make things clearer. Any sign of outward anger and at least her curiosity would be sated as to who it might be.
“So yeah, I was completely giving her the eyes,” Scott said, leaning back in his chair enthusiastically. “I was like, yeah, I’ve got you beat and taken my eye off the ball. She thinks she’s charging this uniblast up by surprise, I can’t see and, well she found out I could. Herc dodges it, lion gets flattened with a big ass chop, I go into the group stage and the crowd goes wild. They love me. Plain and simple. Hey, where are you going?”
That was the fourth person he’d regaled in the last hour with the story of his overcoming of Nadia Yepes in his bout the previous day, and the fourth person to walk away in the same period. He’d been on a high ever since and honestly felt he might not come down any time soon. Winning at the best of times was something to be savoured. Here and now, it was just exhilarating. He’d done it, nobody could take that from him and it was only the start…
He tried to ignore it, but somewhere in the back of his head, that little voice that demanded attention was clamouring out. Yeah, it is only the start. Lots of people get through the qualifier and don’t win. Statistically one hundred and ninety-nine people every tournament. Less than one percent and those are bad odds by anyone’s standards. You’ve got a lot of work to do, boyo.
Scott hated that little voice, even though he had to admit it was right. More than likely he would be the victim of some spectacularly bad odds and he’d crash and burn sooner or later. To admit anything other than that would be denying realism. Of course, the other side of that credit was that the further you went along in the tournament, the shorter your odds went. He’d already gone from one in two hundred to one in a hundred. Half a chance better than he’d had before facing Yepes. He’d been in the fourth pot for the draw. They didn’t expect him to do anything.
If anything, that stung a little bit. How dare these faceless idiots who come up with this stuff write him off before he’d even had much of a chance to show what he could do if given the chance. He could easily qualify out of that group. Granted Nick Roper might be a tricky fight, but he had to fight him last. Roper might already have qualified then and not put as much in it. The other two, Bruzack and Graham, he didn’t know much about them so that probably spoke volumes for their ability. Graham first, Bruzack second, Roper last. And hey, Roper would be the toughest probably but two wins would send you through. If he won the opening two and so did Roper, that final bout wouldn’t matter for either of them. Then again, maybe Roper wasn’t as tough as they said. Possibly.
“Hey, you.”
That voice cut into his thoughts. It was a voice he’d come to be familiar with, there’d even been quite a bit of love invoked whenever he’d heard it over the past several months. What it also was however was unexpected. He turned; saw a subdued-looking Jess stood behind him, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. She wore a loose skirt and a strappy scarlet vest, her hair let loose down her back. For a moment, he thought she looked like she’d been crying. Except that wasn’t likely. He doubted she had tear ducts. Or if she did, he’d yet to see any evidence of it.
“Hello stranger,” he said and immediately regretted it. Didn’t stop him from carrying on though, bitterness spilling from him like bile. “You look like someone I know. It’s uncanny. You like maybe her sister or something, because…”
“Scott. Don’t.” She sounded as subdued as she appeared, broken a little inside. Something was missing from what he’d seen of her in the past. “Just don’t.”
He sighed. He knew he shouldn’t take that attitude but so much of the past few days remained heavy on his mind. You couldn’t just brush it aside because she looked like she was feeling shitty. “Well what can I say, I had a whole lot more material. I was expecting you to have gone grey the next time I saw you. Assuming I did ever see you again.”
“What do you want me to say?!” That had gotten a reaction and just for a moment he’d seen something of the old Jess there beneath the surface. That old fire and the rush of defiant anger that had been her trademark way back when, he could see it again. He’d always remember that from when they’d met. She’d been angry at the way life had spat her out, she’d been dancing in a seedy crap hole and he’d not been in a good place himself. They’d gone out travelling at the behest of a bad man who wanted them to get something he couldn’t claim himself. It hadn’t ended well, they’d nearly been arrested by Unisco as accomplices, but he’d always considered it the first step towards making something with a beautiful woman who he’d come to love. “You want me to apologise?”
It would have been the wrong thing to do but it nearly brought a burst of laughter from him. The very idea of Jesseka Blake apologising for something was laughable, he knew that from bitter experience. It wasn’t in her vocabulary. More to the point, she wouldn’t really believe she was in the wrong. She was a woman after all. She’d crawl naked over hot lava before admitting error.
Still, he supposed that she was willing to offer it said something. Maybe she was willing to make amends.
“Well,” he said. “It’d be a start.”
Her mouth twisted at that and again, he fought the urge to smile. It really would make her uncomfortable. Did he really want that?
“I came to your bout yesterday,” she said. “Watched you. I would have said hello but, well, I didn’t want to distract you.”
“Thank you,” he said evenly. “I think.” He noticed she still hadn’t apologised, despite her offer. If she was to offer up one, it’d be likely kicking and screaming. “I thought you’d gone home.”
“Yeah, right back to the parents who loved me and never kicked me out of that lovely house in the suburbs,” she said sarcastically. “Because who wouldn’t want to go back there?”
“Well, all I knew was where you weren’t,” Scott said, the anger boiling hot in his stomach as he rose to his feet. “I knew you weren’t talking to me for something that wasn’t even my damn fault! Again!” It felt good getting it off his chest. “I mean, seriously, what do you want from me? I love you and nothing I ever do I good enough. Sure, I’ve made a few mistakes but I’ve never claimed to be perfect. And you, you know what? You seem to enjoy holding everyone else to that impossibly high standard while you run along and do whatever the hells you want?”
“You finished yet?” she asked coolly. Silent anger radiated off her and he wondered if he’d pushed it a little too far. “Scott, I’ve never wanted to hurt you. And despite what you’ve said to me since I got here, to make amends I might remind you, I know you’d never want to hurt me.”
She had a point there. He didn’t want to admit it but she was right. “I don’t want to hurt you. Because for some reason, I do love you. But how long can we keep together. Our relationship
has more cracks in it than most of the rest of them put together. It can only work for so long. And I don’t want to lose you. I really don’t, despite everything.”
“I don’t want to lose you either,” she admitted. “Scott, I’m… You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Say what?” he asked innocently. “The hardest word?” Not the hardest to say but the hardest to truly mean. Apologies could be so cheap.
“For everything, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “You know what; I can’t put it into words. I shouldn’t have snapped. Why would you ever look at a little cow like that Mia? I realise that now. Let’s never fight again.
That’d be the day, he thought dryly as he took her hands in his and their lips met. And she still hadn’t bloody apologised.
Chapter Fifteen. Close Calls.
“Being normal? No thanks. Come be a freak like me. Screw society, what the hells has it ever done to you? Kicked you down? Mocked you? Fuck that shit! When you’re on the outside, you get the best view of the fire… Did I mention there’s going to be a fire? Forget I mentioned that. But seriously, you got to want things to change, right?”
Harvey Rocastle, in conversation on Carcaradis Island.
The twenty fifth day of Summerdawn.
Leslie Graham was a petite brunette with astonishingly piercing brown eyes. Scott could testify this for he’d spent the last several minutes with them locked onto him, a threat to distract him. So far, he’d tried to ignore it, not ignore her but ignore the effect she was trying to cast on him. If he was being honest, he’d not done a bad job. The bout was nearly over, he was on his third spirit but so was she. And hers had fought longer and harder than Crush had.
If clawed crustaceans grew to a giant size with pincers easily big enough to crush a human head with little difficulty, Crush would be a prime example. Although it was hard for those six legs to move quickly, he looked to comfortably have the measure of the serpent in front of him. Graham’s spirit was maybe four feet long, a brilliant shade of scarlet scales covering its rope-like body and a pair of beetle black eyes that had an intensity to match the caller lodged within its arrow shaped head.
It had started so well for her as well. Initially he’d sent out Palawi to tackle her opening spirit, a giant silver feathered eagle with a vicious black beak. The sights and sounds of it using that beak to great surgical effect on Palawi wasn’t something that he was going to forget any time soon. The hound had managed to get some decent hits back in in retaliation but not enough to overwhelm it. As Palawi had fallen, he’d sent in Becko to gain some retribution and the leaf lizard, a huge bipedal reptile covered in acid green scales and a smattering of leaves up his spine had done just that. The eagle had fallen, as had her second spirit, a rock lurker which had surprised him.
Rock lurkers usually hid out on mountain trails, disguised as oversized boulders to ambush lone travellers. Here on the muddy battlefield, there wasn’t any place for a disguise like that to work. At least until Scott had discovered that the bastards could dig as well. It had done a hit and run number on Becko, leaping out of the ground to strike and fleeing, managing it three times until he’d managed to anticipate the incoming fourth and have the lizard ready.
The sharpened leaves that ran the length of Becko’s forearms had struck true, they’d left deep bleeding gouges in a skin that might have looked like rock but didn’t have any of the durability under organic leaves that had been especially designed to cut through barriers. With that, Becko had gone on the offensive, chasing down the lurker until it had no place to run. Scott had punched the air with the final attack, knowing he’d nearly done it.
Then the serpent had come. Becko had got a few shots in, but with the exertions of the previous two bouts on him, it had been a matter of when he would fall and not if. Especially when he’d seen how those toxic fangs had bitten down into the scaled back earlier into the duel, pumping what he guessed was a potent poison into the lizard’s body. Becko had tried to fight on, but he’d been overwhelmed very quickly. Hence the reason he’d chosen Crush to tackle the serpent at the last. He’d nearly picked Herc for the same reason, that hard body meant it’d be harder for the fangs to break through, but the crab had won out. Scott had made damn sure that Crush’s body couldn’t be penetrated easily and while the enemy might be fast, it couldn’t weave circles around the crab forever. Sooner or later it’d have to come in close and that might be the end.
That fork tongue flickered out of the serpent’s lips, testing the air. Scott tensed up, looked across to Crush and then to Graham. Come on, come on…
It lunged and Scott reacted just a little too late. One of Crush’s giant claws came down as if to impale the serpent and missed completely. It hit the dirt and sunk in deep, Graham’s snake spirit coiled around Crush’s body unimpeded, keeping the mouth closed and more importantly out of reach of the giant claws. Scott cursed as Crush immediately went to try and shake the writhing mass of scales away from his hard body to little effect. It had dug in just too tight; the arrow-shaped head was already seeking out the one soft spot across Crush’s body.
The eyes.
Everything Scott knew just went from him in a moment as he saw what was happening, he knew where it was going and any idea he might have had on how to stop it left him in instant, cold sweat running down his skin. This wasn’t supposed to be how it would be. Those fangs would get into Crush’s eyes, how effective the poison was might be open to debate but blinded… How would the giant crab be able to do anything to defeat the smaller opponent? All his size advantages, his height and weight couldn’t…
Hey…! A flash of inspiration struck him and he couldn’t help but smirk. Scott looked out at the way the snake had curled around Crush’s body, saw an opening. It’d need to be just right though…
Yes!
“Crush,” he said casually. Possibly the easiest order he’d ever give, and he wanted her to know it as well. Didn’t have to say it aloud but did anyway. “Jump and flop.”
Even as he’d given it, the order was already being obeyed, he saw the look of confusion on Graham’s face as the crustacean sprang into the air and came crashing down onto his stomach with bone breaking force, all his weight behind it. It would have broken bones if Crush had bones of his own to be broken. Yet instead all he had was that heavy shell which more than managed to deal with the impact. The snake spirit however, was unlucky enough to have bones to be broken by the sudden smash between crustacean and ground. And in that moment, with half its body suddenly incapacitated and useless, it loosened its grip around the crab and Scott punched the air.
Uniblast! Silently he roared the command, as if the intensity of the order would kick Crush into overdrive and get it done before the snake could recover and turn it back on him.
At close range, it’d be a risky move but it was still all he had. He just had to hope Crush had enough left to survive the splash back from the blast. The mandibles opened, just enough to spew out the white-hot energy into the being coiled around it. The snake let out a shriek as it was blasted clear of the body, suddenly writhing in several different pieces. Scott winced, he could see Crush was hurting, burns were already appearing across what passed for his face. That hard shell was bubbling from the sudden exposure to the heat of the uniblast, Scott winced as he watched it but he couldn’t completely quash that deep sense of satisfaction at the way it had ended.
Whatever happened here, he was guaranteed at least a point for the draw should Crush fall. No way Graham was going to be able to continue with her spirit destroyed like that. Being blown into smaller pieces was pretty much a game clincher. Nothing came back from that.
That was the important thing to remember about spirit calling. It didn’t matter how long or short the battles might be; the important thing was to get them won. If your spirit cut your opponents in half in the first ten seconds of the bout and they couldn’t continue, it might annoy the crowd but that was the risk they were taking in coming out. N
obody had ever publicly complained about it. Besides knockouts that quick at a tournament like this were rare. That was a beginner’s mistake losing like that. Scott could easily remember some of those humiliating early bouts that every caller went through where the spirit, no matter how well you thought you’d set up, was given a thorough schooling.
Either way, the video referee had made its call, it had declared Leslie Graham the loser with her last spirit unable to keep on fighting and therefore, it flashed up the picture of Scott on the screen declaring him to be the victor. And as he heard the cheering of the crowd, hearing the thousands of voices chanting his name, he couldn’t resist giving a little dance of victory on the spot, a comical little jig that he regretted the moment he saw himself on the big screen. Going a little flushed, he instead gave a more dignified wave and summoned back Crush to the crystal, muttering a few appreciated words as he did so. Whether the spirit appreciated them, he couldn’t say.
Either way, it didn’t take much effort and therefore what would be the harm? Some callers did view them as little more than tools but at the same time, he could respect that they had been living beings once and in a way, he didn’t want to forget that completely. Popular lore said that those who didn’t tended to get further in the sport than those who did. It wasn’t a prerequisite, just a personal choice. One he sometimes felt a little stupid in doing but had been pushing too long now to just stop.
Already the table was flashing up on the screen to show the group as it stood, revealing to Scott that he was stood second in the group alphabetically to Nicholas Roper who’d fought earlier and won against Santo Bruzack. If it finished right now, he’d be a happy man. All he needed to do was win one more, he’d be through. Halfway there.
