There was no chance of survival. No chance of success. Only an opportunity to delay, to give the frightened residents who were rushing to evacuate the city before the impending bombardment as much time as they could to escape.
“How old do you think this thing is?” Yumiko asked.
Sibylla couldn’t say. The Oath had been spoken more than ten years ago, but the by the spotless appearance of the plaque, it looked brand new.
“Do you think he knew?” Yumiko asked, a hesitation to her voice. “That what he said would mean so much?”
Sibylla wasn’t sure. Horace Underwood was the first of the Blood Eagles. And to many, the greatest. It was on the verge of that battle, that he climbed the tracks of a broken tank and addressed the remaining frightened soldiers with a humbled heart.
He spoke of honor, of purpose and the loyalty that bound them all, leaving everyone who’d heard his words to accept their duty as soldiers with renewed purpose.
In return, they had rewarded him with the Fist of Honor: a sign of recognition that signaled their undying loyalty. Hundreds of troops, freezing and starving, banged their chests over and over again, until the sound of it was like a giant drum beating in the night.
These were the words every soldier recited before they became an Eagle, and these were the words Sibylla swore to never speak.
“What do you think they felt that night?” Yumiko asked.
“Fear, I imagine,” Sibylla replied.
Yumiko scoffed. “Bullshit. If I’d been there, I would’ve been so hyped that they would’ve had to have held me back from the enemy.”
“I bet,” Sibylla said.
“What?” Yumiko asked. “You don’t think I would? To face off against all those soldiers? Just you, your weapon and fate?” Yumiko shook her head in silent reverence as she turned to one of the paintings. “That’s how I’d want to go.”
“Why would you want to go at all?” Sibylla asked.
“I don’t,” Yumiko said. “But we all die. At least here, it’s for a purpose.”
Sibylla said nothing. She’d heard the arguments before; the stand against tyranny, the fight against despots and imperial criminals. But were they right? She didn’t know. In her heart, she hoped that there was another way, one that could lead to peace without bloodshed.
“We should get going,” Sibylla said.
“You’re right,” Yumiko agreed. She looked to where Anais and Tayshaun were standing and yelled, “Hey, let’s go! If we’re not out on the field in less than a minute, Williams is gonna have our asses. Now, let’s go!”
Anais gave the Rotunda a final glance before sighing in frustration. “Fine,” she said, storming for the doors and leaving Tayshaun behind her.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, his boyish good looks now dampened as he watched her go.
“I’m not sure,” Sibylla said. As close as she and Anais had become over the past week, it was obvious that the girl was hiding more secrets. What they were, Sibylla didn’t know. But she was determined to find out.
21
The First Lesson
Their first lesson began a week later. Sibylla entered the Holo-dome with cautious feet, her gaze shifting to the Eagles standing guard along the far walls.
They held the Russian prisoner in their sites as he stood in the center of the dome, their fingers resting against the triggers of their VK’s as they watched his every move. The air felt charged somehow, as if fear and hesitation had mingled into a combustible mix, threatening to explode at any minute.
“You’re late,” Williams spat as he marched out to meet her.
“Sorry,” Sibylla said. “I had to use the restroom.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Williams said. He’d been becoming more demanding with her by the day, forcing her to work harder than any of the other recruits in her platoon. She hated it. She hated him. But what could she do? He was in charge, and she wasn’t. “Your absence puts people in danger.”
“You still think he’s dangerous?” Sibylla asked.
Williams snorted. “You don’t?”
Sibylla looked back at the young man. It had only been a week since she’d last seen him, but already he looked like an entirely different person. His hair was pulled up into a knot, and his face was cleanly shaven, giving view to a precise face that was undeniably breathtaking.
Even his body had improved, she noticed through the thin layer of his bodysuit, admiring his thick biceps and broad shoulders.
He peered at her through blue eyes, reminding her of a lone wolf watching from a distance.
“I can handle him,” she said.
The sergeant shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got balls, Cross. I’ll give you that.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation.”
Sibylla watched as the instructor stalked off to join the other Eagles. Waiting until he was far away, Sibylla turned to the Russian and smiled.
“I was not sure if you would return,” he said, his voice as accented as before.
“A deal’s a deal, right?”
“So it would seem.” His deep voice was laced with danger, and Sibylla felt a chill along her skin. What was this guy about? And what was it that he’d done that had people so spooked? Yet, as much as she wanted to know, she knew that any further questions might be perceived as an interrogation. Better to begin with basics.
“Before we start, there’s something I need to know.”
“And what’s that?” he asked.
“Your name.”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And why’s that?”
“Because, if we’re going to train every day, I want to be able to call you something other than, jerk.”
He snorted. “Very well then, those who know me, call me Atra.”
“Atra,” Sibylla repeated the word to herself, intrigued by the hard consonants. The word sounded more middle eastern than Russian. But then again, her name was Sibylla, and she was American. Still, she found it strange.
“Fine,” she said. “Shall we begin then…Atra?”
He shot her a smirk. “Please.”
Sibylla watched as he walked toward her, noticing the way his blue eyes shamelessly swept over her legs and chest. Scratching his chin in thought, he circled around her in silence, a grin touching his full lips as he found her rear end.
Sibylla crossed her arms, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am studying you.”
“Wow,” Sibylla said, her brows rising as she compared his words to the long list of ridiculous pickup lines she’d heard over the years. “Well, could you be a little less pervy about it?”
He arched a brow at her. “If I am to train you, I must know what I am working with.”
Sibylla let out a breath of frustration. He had a point; regardless of how nervous it made her feel. Hesitating for a moment, she eventually let her arms fall to the sides and she saw a smile touch his face.
“Not bad,” he said.
“Keep it up, asshole.” She spun around to meet his gaze. “You have just as much at stake as I do.”
He feigned an apology by surrendering his hands into the air and taking a step back. As he finished his examination, he walked around to face her, appearing oddly disappointed.
“What’s the matter?” Sibylla asked.
“You are…broken,” he said.
“Broken?” Sibylla didn’t understand what he was saying. “What are you talking about?”
“Your spirit.”
“And you can tell that just by looking at me?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Just look at what a mess you are. Your weight is shifted to the side. Your arms are weak. Your eyes are empty. You talk back. This is all confusion.”
“No, this is exhaustion from a crap day,” Sibylla said.
“There will always be crap days,” he said. “It is how we face them that matters.”
“And how do I do that?”
“With spirit,” he said. “Hand me your blade.”
Sibylla turned to the Eagles as he reached out for her blade and she saw them stir to life in a flashing second. They raised their rifles, adjusted their grips, holding their breaths as they waited for her next move.
“I’m not so sure that that’s a good idea.”
Atra followed her gaze to the Eagles behind him and snorted. “I do not fear them.” He reached out his hand farther, and she felt his fingers against hers. No longer trembling as they had the first they’d met, but stronger, calmer. She let go.
The Eagles watched in tense silence as he studied the blade, finally coming to a relaxed pose as Williams waved them down. Sibylla breathed.
“A warrior can survive in many ways,” Atra said. “First, he can rely on skill.” He swung the blade through the air, circling it around his shoulders in an elaborate pattern that made it whistle. “Next, he can rely on strength.” He swung the blade hard and fast over his head, stopping it mid-swing. “Or finally, he can rely on luck.” Tossing the blade into the air, he held out his hand behind his back, catching it deftly while holding Sibylla’s gaze. “But all of this does not matter unless your spirit is one.”
“And how do I do that?” she asked.
“By realigning the broken parts.” He handed her back the blade and took a step forward. “Let me show you. The spirit is made of three things.” He pointed to her head. “The mind.” He touched the center of her chest. “The heart.” He slipped in behind her, and as he did, she felt the skin of their suits rubbing together in a smooth glide. The sensation was unexpected, and she found herself gasping, pulling away and breaking from his embrace.
“The body,” he finished, his words leaking out in an absent mutter as he watched her stumble away.
“Right,” Sibylla said, regaining herself. “Gotcha.”
“If you are to be successful, all three must be aligned.”
She glared up at him warily. “You’re talking about balance.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Come.” He took a step back and waved her forward. “Show me your stance again.”
Sibylla nodded. She’d been anxious to show him what she’d learned since the last time they’d met. The clumsy exchange had left her feeling embarrassed, and she was determined to prove herself. Setting her feet, she straightened her back, trying desperately to mimic what she’d learned in class that week. But by the look on his face, it was apparent that it hadn’t been enough.
“What?” Sibylla asked, glancing at her feet in confusion. “The text said that it was designed for mobility and strength.”
He laughed. “It is designed to get you killed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t.” He cocked his head to the side, examining her closely, then, grabbing the tip of her blade, yanked her forward. She stumbled over from the force, caught unawares by the power of his strength. “You lean too much on your front foot. Aggression makes you overextend. You become predictable, easy to manipulate. The enemy will take advantage of this.”
Sibylla sighed in frustration as she stepped back into position. This was ridiculous. She hated being played with. Even when she was learning. Determined not to make the same mistake again, she rested the weight of her body on her back leg, anchoring herself to the ground.
“Now you are too cautious,” he observed, forcing her back by stepping into her. The sudden movement caused her to stumble back, and she tripped to the floor, falling on her butt. She glared up at him in anger. “It causes you to retreat, allowing the enemy to grow unchecked until you have no place to go.”
Sibylla shot to her feet and stood. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“I want you to be balanced!”
“Then show me!”
Motioning for her to take her stance again, he moved in behind her. But this time, she wanted to steel herself to the feel of his hands.Yet, it was no use. Her heart began to beat and a burning sensation lit in her chest as his hands fell to her hips.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeming to notice the sudden change in her breathing.
“Huh?” Sibylla rushed for an answer. “Uh, nothing. It must’ve something I ate for dinner.” She winced at the excuse, realizing how gross that made her seem.
“Do you need to relieve yourself?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“What? No. Of course not,” she dismissed. But inside, she was dying. She wasn’t used to worrying about what other people thought. The only opinion that had ever mattered was Dillon’s. But now she found herself actually trying to impress someone else, trying to convince him, as well as herself, that she was good enough to be trained. And she hated it. “Just shut up and keep teaching me.”
He shrugged. “Very well. In that case…” He pressed a hand against the small of her back as he adjusted her shoulders, straightening her posture. “This will allow you to move better.”
Sibylla smiled as she noticed the immediate difference. Standing upright afforded her the balance to bounce up and down, making it easier for her to move in any direction.
“Good.” He slid out from behind to face her. “Balance is everything. You need to be able to move with your opponent’s attack, adjust.”
He stepped into her once again, but this time, Sibylla was able to shuffle back, adjusting to his advance with ease.
“The position of a swordsman is no different than a warrior’s spirit, or that of an army’s,” he explained. “It must always be balanced and ready to attack. Now come, if you want to survive what lies ahead, we have much to do.”
22
Empty
They trained. It was incredible how intricate the art of swordplay was. It was nothing like the rigid lessons that her Blade instructor had preached to them in class—the emotionless step-by-step instructions that lacked any passion or insight, but a dangerous ballet, a lethal dance between partners, where Sibylla could sway with her opponent’s moves, recognize their intentions and react accordingly. It was incredible.
But as exciting as all this was, the day’s training from earlier had already taken its toll and Sibylla felt as if she was going to come apart at the ends. Her joints were like weak noodles, and she had to lean over at the waist just to keep from falling over.
“What are you doing?” Atra asked.
“Catching my breath.”
“No,” he said. “There is no time for rest.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” She threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath. “Let’s call it a night, dude. I’m spent.”
“But we are not done yet.”
“I am.”
“Fine,” he said. “You want to stop? Hit me.”
Sibylla stared at him in confusion. “What?”
“You heard me. Hit me and you can leave.”
Sibylla turned to the Eagles who were watching them from the sides of the dome, finding them just as puzzled as she was. They exchanged confused glances from behind the scopes of their rifles, seeming unsure of what to say.
“Don’t look at them,” Atra chided. Sibylla looked back at him. “They cannot help you. No one can. Only yourself. Now hit me.”
Startled, Sibylla idled in hesitation. “But you’re…unarmed.”
“Your compassion will not be something your enemy shares. You must remove this sense of mercy and do what needs to be done. Now hit me! Now!”
Reluctantly, Sibylla fell into her stance, trembling as her muscles fought to steady beneath her. Blinking, she peered through the haze of exhaustion clouding her sight and took a deep breath. If this was what he wanted, then so be it. With all her strength, she leapt out and swung at his hand.
Atra was quick. He backed away, avoiding her strike completely. “What was that?” he asked, disgusted.
“You told me to hit you,” Sibylla said. “So I tried to hit you.”
“Don’t try,” he commanded. “Do!�
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Sibylla swung at him again, trying for his shoulder, but he quickly spun to the side, slipping in behind her and kicking her in the butt. She stumbled forward uncontrollably, tripping over her feet and falling to the ground, where she remained motionless, stuck under the weight of her own exhaustion.
“You sleep better than you fight,” Atra remarked, nudging her body with the tip of his boot.
The gesture was insulting and she forced herself up, suddenly fueled by anger. If this was how he was going to play it, so be it.
“Okay,” Sibylla said, her fingers tightening around the handle of her blade. “You want me to hit you? How ‘bout this?” She leapt at him, thrusted her blade into his chest. But he simply rolled into the attack, spinning around, and elbowing her in the back.
She fell forward with a searing pain in her spine and she dropped to her knees, bracing herself against the floor with her hands.
Around her, the sounds of guns cocking in the distance rose, and she saw the Eagle holding the remote to the Beheader lift his hand, preparing once again to activate the countdown. But his hand was quickly stayed as Williams caught him by the wrist.
For a moment, she locked eyes with the instructor, and she saw the recognition in his eyes. He knew what was happening. A soldier learned through pain. It was the only way, like a blade being sharpened against an anvil. Motioning with his hand, he ordered the Eagles to stand down.
“To be empty, you must be free from pain, free from care.” Atra clasped her by the arm and hefted her up. She was like a duffel bag in his grasp and he threw her like one as well. She landed hard against the floor, bounced and rolled, skidding until she finally stopped. “It is like a chain around your neck.”
Sibylla heard him walking toward her. She needed to get up. She needed to defend herself. Lifting her head, she searched for her blade.
“You must break it if you want to live. Or continue living like dog.” He kicked her in the stomach, then shoved her over with the bottom of his boot. Sibylla rolled over from the pain and she felt the dinner she’d eaten earlier threatening to burst from her esophagus.
Sibylla of Earth Page 17
