Malware: A Cultivation Academy Series (Bastion Academy Book 2)

by J D Astra

  “He looks like a dirty badgermouse,” she said with a scowl.

  I chuckled. “And acts like one, too. It suits him.”

  “He won’t be able to dress that way in the kingdom,” she remarked with indignance, and my mood soured.

  “Then I’ll buy him a nicer cape. I’m leaving now,” I called to the rest of the house and got distracted farewells from the other kids.

  I gripped the strap of my bag, knuckles turning white, as I jogged after Daegon. Why did she always have some rude thing to say? How? Did she have a notebook full of comebacks to throw in my face?

  “Let it go, Jiyong. Daegon is waiting for you,” Mae said, and I looked to my little brother.

  He was zipping from side to side, his zo infused muscles glowing midnight black. The smile on his face radiated joy, and he giggled as he said, “Bet you can’t catch me!”

  I laughed. “You’re on, punk.”

  Chapter 4

  WE RACED THROUGH THE muddy streets, Daegon taunting me every so often as I let him get ahead. He was going to blow out his entire store of energy keeping this pace. While the pragmatist in me wanted to remind him to save his strength for when he may need it, the brother in me knew to stifle it. He was just a boy at play. These moments were too few and precious to bog them down with a scolding. I would buy him something to eat when we got to Pi-Ki to make up for the used energy.

  We passed the town center and turned down the road toward Se-hun’s house. When I saw it through the trees, I noticed Daegon put on an extra burst of speed.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” I yelled, infusing my muscles with zo for the first time during the race. I pumped my arms and legs, leaving a spray of mud in my wake. When I caught up to Daegon, he only pushed himself faster.

  He yelled in frustration as more zo surged through his skinny legs. “You have to let me win! I’m your little bro!”

  “You have to earn it!” I yelled back at him, staying a few steps ahead to push him faster and faster.

  We turned down Se-hun’s path, and I skidded to a halt, pushing a wave of mud out from my feet. Daegon did the same, aiming his mud-spray at me. I swirled my fingers with en munje and directed the sludge attack around me with a slice of my hand through the air.

  Daegon panted and put his hands on his hips as his mud-splattered cape fluttered behind him. “I almost beat you.”

  I patted his shoulder. “Next time.”

  “Uh, little help here?” Se-hun’s familiar voice said.

  I turned to see a defeated Se-hun a few meters away with a spray of brown running straight down his body from head to toe. Daegon burst into laughter, and I cringed. He looked like there’d been an accident at the sewage treatment plant. I swirled another bout of en munje. I lifted the grime from his body and slapped it back down onto the road, but there was still residue clinging to his hair and clothes.

  I grimaced. “Sorry, friend.”

  He pulled on his short messy locks, then shrugged. “I couldn’t clean it up any better.” Then his face shifted to pure excitement. “Come on, I’ve got the motorbikes in the bushes!”

  Daegon gasped. “Machina?”

  “Aera does know we’re taking them, right?” I asked with a scowl and followed Se-hun to the tall tree line.

  “Yeah, of course,” Se-hun said with discomfort. “You think I stole from my sister?”

  I crossed my arms, and Daegon mimicked me. “You have a habit of borrowing without asking.”

  Se-hun pulled the cover off the motorbikes with a flourish. I held my breath as I gazed down at the wondrous machina. They were a bit rusty, sure, and had some mismatched plating like Tuko, but otherwise, they were gorgeous.

  The frames were narrow and tall, most certainly made for adults. The seats were plush wool wrapped in rain resistant leather—expensive. The ma reservoir sat directly under the driver’s seat, and there were receptacle tubes running the length from the handlebars to the tank. The wheels were lined with rubber, another rare and expensive product that had to be imported from the kingdom far southwest of Busa-nan: Sainam.

  There were only two options for traveling between the kingdoms: risking the treacherous, razorfin-infested waters for seven days while working the paddlers around the clock, or carving a path through war-torn Chi-ganya, where powerful machina and towering beasts of unfathomable violence roamed. Both options had their strategies that could get the travelers through, but neither was safe.

  “These are so, so, SO cool!” Daegon exclaimed as he moved to touch one of the motorbikes.

  Se-hun smacked the back of his hand. “You’ll be riding with Jiyong. Don’t touch anything.”

  Daegon stuck out his tongue. “How’m I supposed to not touch anything if my butt’s gotta be on it?”

  I shook my head and pushed up the kickstand, then rolled the bike out to the muddy street. I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath, then visualized my core. I aligned the first, inner band to have the ma munje block positioned above the crystal. With a thought, I twisted the second band until the well-built en block situated directly over the ma one. I pulled energy into the outer band and then pushed it through the en block, down into the ma block, then to the crystal.

  A sickly looking brown munje came out the bottom of my crystal, and I let some of it down my arm. I touched the tire of the motorbike and imagined the spell I wanted to cast: a water-resistant shield that would be self-perpetuated at the turning of the wheels. The brownish gold munje dripped from the tip of my finger and poofed into smoke when it made contact with the tire.

  “I don’t think that worked,” Mae remarked, and I shrugged. They couldn’t all be winners.

  “Come on, let’s go already,” Se-hun taunted as he pushed down hard on the igniter. The little engine revved to life, and used ma munje puttered out the back end of the tailpipe.

  I kicked my leg over the bike and sat down, feeling the weight before bringing it to life. I let the store of my ma munje drift down the tubes and into the reservoir, then pushed it all through the bike. I could feel every weld, bump, crease, and component. I didn’t have to use the igniter once my munje had slipped into every part, and the bike roared to life at my command as I used my remote connection.

  “Getting pretty good at that,” Mae remarked, and I beamed.

  Daegon hopped onto the back and grabbed my shoulders for support.

  “Please be careful, Jiyong. These can be dangerous.” Mae warned, and I gave her a mental nod.

  “Let’s tear it up!” Se-hun declared, then howled as he spun his tire in the mud. I eased the clutch out and we accelerated. The bike took off like an arrow. The wind blew past the scarred side of my head and whipped my hair over my forehead. The buzzing roar of the engine drowned out most other sound, except Daegon’s whoop of excitement.

  “This isn’t careful!” Mae yelled.

  I eased back on the speed after I caught up to Se-hun. “This is awesome!”

  “I know!” he said with a devilish grin, then leaned forward.

  We sped through the back streets to Pi-Ki. The deflection spell had not worked as intended, and so by the time we reached the edge of the outer-city, we had to stop to pull the mud out of our clothes. Yuri’s cleaning spell worked like a charm, as usual, and we walked our bikes onto the paved streets, relatively clean.

  Pi-Ki had it all, for an outer-city. Buildings five stories tall with flashy neon signs, popup shacks with tarp roofs selling spices and other imported items, junkies sprawled out between lean-tos and under bridges, and far too many young ladies in too little clothing advertising friendship. Se-hun gave a wink and a winning grin to every girl we passed, who then of course offered us companionship for the day.

  “Hey sweetheart, I don’t mind that scar,” an older girl with too much face paint cooed as she wrapped an arm over my shoulder.

  I scowled and scratched that side of my head, feeling the heat of self-consciousness in my gut before shrugging her off with a, “No, thank you.”

  T
here was a shop not too far into town with rice at six guli a kilo, not too bad. I mentioned it to Se-hun, and we agreed to stop there on the way out. We brought our bikes to a small corral near the center of the hub where all manner of transportation waited for its owners’ return.

  Daegon was dragging his feet by the time we’d made it to the first shop, and so I took him down the street for a quick bowl of noodles. He perked up in an instant, and I held him back from exploding out of the shop and back onto the streets.

  I leaned forward to get eye to eye with him. “Excessive use of munje will drain your energy. You need that energy for your mind and body, too. You need to be more mindful of your munje use. Okay?”

  He nodded, shame forcing his gaze downward.

  “Let’s get to shopping,” I said and patted him on the back.

  We perused shop after shop, ogling the most recent fighter bots for far too long. Daegon had a gleam in his eye that I knew all too well. It was the same gleam I was sure had lit up my face when Father had taken me to my first fight. I would have to keep my eyes on him.

  We followed Se-hun to the clinic to pick up his father’s herbs, and Mae directed me toward a salve that would help with my mother’s headaches. It was nearly shoulder to shoulder traffic when we reached the transport corral, and the smell had intensified threefold. We grabbed our bikes and pushed our way past the animals with haste, keeping our eyes squinted and noses wrinkled from the foul scent of fresh-burning donkey droppings.

  We pulled up to the grocer with the cheap rice, and I left Daegon with the bike. “Do not touch anything but the seat with your butt. Understand?” I asked him with a stern gaze.

  He nodded, smiling broadly.

  I pointed my finger, leaning in and whispering, “If anything happens, you will remember the pain of your punishment when you’re old and gray.”

  His face shifted from feigned innocence to understanding, and he nodded again more vigorously.

  Se-hun had stopped a little farther back and was chatting up one of the pretty painted girls. I stepped up to him, knocking his arm with my elbow. “How much do you need?”

  “Ten kilos,” he said as he passed me some guli and his empty burlap rice sack without taking his eyes off the giggling woman.

  I looked back at Daegon one more time, scowling to be sure he understood I was serious. He nodded affirmation again and put his hands under his butt. I walked into the shop with a grin.

  I moved through the few patrons to the dry goods section and pulled out our satchels, filling them each with ten kilos. I was standing in line behind the others waiting to pay for their goods when I heard a shrill scream, followed by the rev of a motorbike.

  Chapter 5

  FEAR OVERTOOK ALL THOUGHT, and I dropped the sacks of rice where I stood. I rushed to the door and threw it open, then ran into the road.

  “Stop, get off!” Daegon screamed, beating his fists against a man in a tattered gray cloak on the front of the motorbike.

  I rushed down the street toward them, yelling for Daegon, Se-hun, or anyone to help. The bike sped off toward the outskirts of town without anyone jumping in to help.

  “Stop that thief!” I heard a gruff man shout far behind me.

  I pumped zo into my legs and chased after them. “Mae, help!” I called as my heart pounded in time with my feet. The man on the front threw an elbow into Daegon’s face, and he rolled backwards off the bike—

  But his cape caught on the seat!

  Daegon grabbed at his neck, pulling on the ratty cloth tied too tight to escape. The thief drove on, dragging Daegon behind him.

  “Mae!” I screamed in desperation, and suddenly I felt the bike again. The curves and creases, bumps and welds. I felt my way to the engine and cut the feed of ma munje. The bike slowed, and I pushed myself forward as Daegon’s face went from red, to purple.

  “Hold on, just hold on,” I yelled.

  Daegon’s hands went slack, and his head rolled to the side. The bike began to wobble, and the thief looked over his shoulder at me with a snarl.

  “Go away! I need it!” He screamed as putrid yellow ma munje burst from his hands into the motorbike. My connection to the engine died. The thief had forced the last of my munje from the reservoir.

  Se-hun blazed past me, his face contorted with anger. He pulled up next to the thief and kicked the bike with a burst of black zo. Se-hun and his bike hurdled left, and the thief tipped and skidded right.

  Daegon’s lips were blue when I reached him. I ripped the cape at the neck, and he rolled free into my arms. I shook him gently. “Get up.”

  Mae boomed through the fear in my mind. “Put him on his back, tilt his head, plug his nose, and blow air into his mouth. Do this twice.”

  I did as she ordered.

  “Good, now put your hands on his chest, here.” A blue “X” appeared in my vision over Daegon’s sternum. “Push down with force in time with this beat.”

  A drum beat in my mind, and I pushed down to the rhythm.

  “Breathe again,” she ordered, and I followed, tears burning my eyes.

  I blew into his mouth and pumped his chest over and over, until finally he gasped. I pulled him up into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

  “You’re okay, you made it,” I whispered into his hair.

  ‘Thank you.’ I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes as I imagined what would’ve happened without Mae. I saw Daegon resting amid a bed of roses on a tall pyre in the yard, Mother dressed in black, a torch in her hand as she sobbed. I pulled down a deep breath and willed the images to stop. He was alive. He was okay.

  There was a deep groan, and the motorbike shifted beside me. I opened my eyes to see the thief, still half pinned under the machina, shaking his head with confusion. My tears stopped as fire blazed in my heart.

  Black zo rippled over my body and filled my vision. I could hear Mae’s distant pleading, but I couldn’t stop. I set Daegon down and stood over the bike, looking on the pathetic ganhan who almost killed my brother.

  I pulled the bike off him in a single fluid movement, then wrapped my hand around his throat. He kicked and sputtered as I yanked him from the ground. His eyes were bloodshot and dingy gray. His broken nails clawed at my hand, and his bare feet kicked at my shins. I squeezed and the black closed in around my vision. All I saw was his despicable face.

  “Jiyong, stop!” Mae boomed in my mind, and pain lanced through my lungs. I curled back in on myself and dropped the thief as blue lightning zapped across my chest. I panted and the black, zo-infused tunnel vision faded.

  Daegon stepped up beside me. His face was red and streaked with tears, snot running down his lips as he sobbed, “Don’t kill him. You’ll get beaten.”

  I pulled myself up and shook off the buzz from Mae’s warning. The pain had been swift and intense, but dissipated quickly. I looked back at the thief lying prone on the ground. He was still breathing, so I hadn’t crushed his throat.

  I rubbed Daegon’s back as he cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Little help,” Se-hun gasped, and I spun on my heel. I ran to him, Daegon close in tow, and we pulled the bike off Se-hun.

  “Stay with him,” I told Daegon and looked back at the thief.

  An older man who looked like he’d been well-fed his whole life was wheezing his way down the street toward us, but it appeared he’d still be a few moments. I stepped closer to the unconscious thief in the gray cloak. There were red marks in the shape of my hand around his throat, but then another mark stood out to me. I bent down and turned his chin to better see the five red dots below his ear.

  “Those are puncture marks, for sure,” Mae spoke calmly in my mind. “There’s something wrong with him. His nanites are all flowing in a strange way, and I’m detecting a signal reverberation from them.”

  ‘What does that mean?’ I scowled down at the man as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

  Mae sighed. “I don’t know yet. If you can pull some of his ma munje fr
om the motorcycle reservoir, maybe I can analyze the signal.”

  I looked back for the bike I’d tossed and found it lying in the center of the road, front wheel bent. I cringed as I imagined how upset Aera would be when she saw it... but she’d be happy to know we were all safe. I pulled it upright and pushed down the kickstand, then placed my hand over the seat.

  My ma munje swirled down into the tank, then pulled a small bit of the thief’s munje back with it. Sickly yellow mist drifted out of the reservoir and into my hand. My ma and the thief’s pushed and pulled in my palm, warring against one another as my munje worked to convert his into something usable for me.

  The violent shimmies and shakes subsided until I felt that all the munje in my palm was mine to command. I pulled it back into my body, feeling the taint of whatever drugs the thief was using crawl across my skin. The munje flowed up my arm, bringing a shiver with it, and left a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

  “Analyzing,” Mae stated coolly.

  The well-fed man finally arrived on the scene. He was dressed in an alchemist’s apron, stained with caustic materials and dyes. His black hair was falling out of the oil hold he used to slick it back, and a sheen of sweat sat on his forehead.

  “You caught’m,” he remarked as he paused for a breath.

  I nodded to the man who must’ve been the shop owner the thief had stolen from and stepped closer. I knelt at the thief’s side while his sleep-talk went on. He was saying something about, “The crescent moon,” and, “Sharp in my blood,” which made my skin crawl. His face was gaunt, like my mother’s had been not long ago. I recalled the desperation in his voice as he tried to warn me away. What was going on inside him?

  “You did good work, boy,” the healthy shop owner said as he huffed and puffed his way closer.

  “What did he steal?” I asked.

  “What he took’s my business,” the shop owner barked with a hint of panic.

  I stood and stepped back from the thief, allowing the portly man to collect what was his. He searched through the man’s pockets and pulled free an ornate wooden box no longer than his hand. It was a deep red with an engraving on the top I couldn’t make out. It was painted with silver and the colors of the five munje, but the rest of the art was otherwise obscured. The shop owner ferreted it away into his apron and straightened up before wiping his forehead with a cloth.