Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Third Study was offensive prana attacks. Fourth Study was for defensive energy skills. It was a little strange that he didn’t have First Study abilities, since most people started there, imbuing their punches and kicks with prana. That was the traditional way to do things.

  Before his terrible decision, Niko had been a Mars Belt Quintessence, with First and Second Studies; he’d had a physical attack as well as a defensive maneuver, utilizing his speed. But he’d lost his Second Study. Now he was a Mercury Belt, weak, rusty, and worthless. He wasn’t a Battle Artist anymore. This was a bad idea.

  Teddy, though, had other ideas. “He doesn’t have a Second Study, Niko.”

  That made him grin. “You think if I get in close, keep him off-balance, he won’t be able to hit me with fire.”

  Teddy shoved him. “See? This is a great idea. It’ll get you moving in the right direction. I mean, come on, you were born to be a Battle Artist. You haven’t been yourself since you gave it up.”

  Niko didn’t think that was the case. People simply liked to put you in boxes. If you biked to places, you were a cyclist. If you wrote a book, you were a writer. In you went to church, you were religious. It helped with birthday presents. You could always buy a guy another set of Artist robes because if they fought twice a year, they were an Artist.

  Teddy searched Niko’s face. He must’ve seen the doubt. Teddy pushed beyond it. “We have a bit of a problem because Stan isn’t a slouch when it comes to simple sharira attacks. And he seems like kind of an Arena ass.”

  “Like how much ass are we talking about?” Niko didn’t like where this was going.

  “Like mule levels of ass.” Teddy frowned. “So Maddy asked him to fight, and he took it that he’s the next big deal. Like he’s featured on the website, so that means he and Andrew J. Coffey are basically competing at the same level.”

  Niko blew out his breath. “One of those guys. He’s not young, is he?”

  Teddy shook his head. “Middle-age. Hobbyist. Trying to break in.”

  “As Stan Howling.” Niko surprised himself by looking forward to the fight. His chances of winning were slim to none. Yet, a slim chance was better than no chance. And if he took too much damage, the Arena Master would call the fight. Maddy wasn’t going to take any chances. Again, her small Con couldn’t handle any bad publicity.

  Teddy shot him a finger gun. “As Stan Howling. Are you going to compete as Niko Black, like in the old days? Nikodemus the Blacksmith, the badass, the best of the best?”

  “No, just Niko is fine.” Kowalczyk, in Polish, meant blacksmith. That sure fit his family. “I never liked Niko Black as a name.”

  Vanessa’s boyfriend’s cousin showed up with the robes; they were ripe and soaking wet. The guy must’ve fought a water-based sign, a Woda, a Luna, or an Erosion. The green room was a conference room, cleared of chairs, with a table at one end. There was an empty bowl dusted with tortilla chips crumbs, a full bowl of thickening salsa, and a selection of diet sodas. All the bottled water was gone. The big pot of coffee was empty, though there was a smaller pot of cooling decaf.

  Teddy winced. “Okay, this isn’t exactly the green room. It’s more like an off lime. But we don’t need anything fancy. We’re about the fight, not the frills.”

  Niko unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off. “What’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about? Even back in the day, it wasn’t like we fought together.”

  “Ouch, bro.”

  Niko felt the air turn sour. Teddy’s face darkened a bit. This was dangerous, talking about their past together. It hadn’t been all roses.

  Teddy turned his back on him. “I’ll give you some privacy while I defend myself. First of all, you know I’ve supported you since seventh grade, when I saw you fight. Ah, even as a little Mercury Belt, your First Study attack was mighty. The Mighty Kowalczyk! Isn’t that what you fought under?”

  Niko put on the top shirt of the robes and grimaced as the damp material touched his skin. Putting on wet clothes was terrible. And wet clothes that smelled of someone else’s body odor? Maddy was going to owe him big. But this was as much for Teddy as it was for her. “Yes, the Mighty Kowalczyk.” There was a name that made him grimace. He wanted to put his friend at ease. “Even when I wasn’t around for you, you were always there for me. There wasn’t ever ‘we,’ but there’s always been a ‘we.’ You know?”

  “Yes, I do know. If it wasn’t for my asthma, I’d be fighting Stan Howling!” Teddy made a fist as if he expected something to happen. Nothing did. His birthday was September 5, so that made him a Gravitas, but Teddy had always been a Second Study fighter when he fought. While Teddy loved the Arena more than most people loved chocolate, he’d stopped fighting. He blamed his asthma, but Niko always thought there was more to it than that.

  Niko finished buttoning the twelve buttons that went from his right collar to his left hip. He pulled on the pants. More wet clothes madness. He cinched the belt. The robes were the color of a muddy green river.

  Yet when Teddy turned, he beamed. “Oh, dude, it’s so good seeing you in your Artist robes. Seriously, can’t you feel how right this is?”

  Niko raised his hands over his head, stretched, and then fell into a fighting stance, feet shoulder-width apart. He bounced back and forth. “I can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening, but I’m kind of glad it is.” He tried to temper his excitement. “But we both know I’m not going to win. I’m a crippled Mercury Belt against a Mars Belt. Best-case scenario, I don’t die. Worst case? Stan doesn’t want to give the people a good fight and takes me out in the first round.”

  “Crippled?” Teddy asked.

  His friend didn’t know the truth. No one did. “Cusp, you know, I’m a total cusp between Quintessence and Luna. Crippled.”

  Teddy pursed his lips. “Yeah, there’s been a ton of cusps that have kicked major butt. Franklin Wash in the 1930s was a cusp Artist, a Jupiter Belt, who won the 1937 LBA Championships with a Discordant Study.”

  “Franklin Wash went on to fight in World War II. Right?” Niko asked.

  “Bingo.” Teddy flicked up a finger. “A cusp who punched Nazis in the face. There you have it. Also, LJ Crown uses Harmonic Studies.”

  “Jupiter Belts have prana to spare,” Niko said. “That’s different from being a cusp.”

  Teddy dug into his pocket and took out his phone. “A text from Maddy. Are we ready to rumble?”

  Niko bent over, stretching out his hamstrings. “No, I’m not ready to rumble.”

  “Ready to win?”

  Niko’s muscles were as tight and constricted as his core. “Let’s just say I’m ready to give another lesson for my teacher to use with me.”

  “A thousand losses are a teacher. A single victory is a pause.” The big guy knew his Pranad.

  Niko straightened. “But you know, it would be nice to pause for a second.”

  “Do you think that means you pause to enjoy? Or is it just some bit of lost wisdom?” Teddy asked.

  Niko wasn’t sure, but he thought he knew. “One victory isn’t the deal. You pause because it doesn’t mean much.”

  That put a smile on Teddy’s face. “What’s the deal then? What matters in the Battle Arts? Tell me, great master.”

  “The deal? Battle Artists battle. That’s the deal. Win, lose, or die, a true Battle Artist is in a constant state of creation and destruction.”

  “This feels like old times. This feels like the start of something.” Teddy’s voice was soft, like he was talking to himself. “Creation and destruction. Not sure I get that. Boil it down for me.”

  Niko remembered his high school sage, what he always said. “A lot of people will talk about the Arts, especially other Battle Artists, but not many will really practice them. In the end, the deal is to do it.”

  “Then let’s do it.” Teddy laughed.

  It did feel like old times, which scared Niko. It frightened him far more than what Stan Howling might do to him. Or that Andrew J. Coffe
y was going to watch him fight. The celebrity Artist was there, standing with his arms crossed, in the sparse crowd around the Arena.

  The day had gone from mildly annoying to straight-up terrifying. A guy’s day off shouldn’t be so fraught with danger and intrigue.

  The Fight

  HALL BB HAD A SINGLE level of risers surrounding a central ring of cheap metal poles marking off the Arena itself. Colorful tiles were laid in squares, delineating the floor of the Arena. These had been hand painted by MudCon’s Artist Guest of Honor, someone named Paolo Kompf. He’d captured the twelve classes of the Battle Artist using a mixture of people of all ages and ethnicities. There were a hundred and forty-four in all, but only twelve had the Artist Signs.

  If anything convinced Niko that MudCon might one day be a qualifying con, it was the quality of the tiles. The Arena was square, twenty feet by twenty feet, and the poles were only there to keep people off the flooring.

  The Arena Master would create the Arena itself.

  Maddy had brought in a professional Arena Master because she might be able to save on costs in other areas, but she couldn’t skimp on that. The Arena Master was a lean fiftyish man, with a shaved head and sharp features. He had piercing eyes and a hawk-shaped nose. Two other people, an old guy and a thick woman, stood around the Arena, and they would act as his assistants. All were barefoot, in sky-blue robes, with twelve silver buttons crossing their chests.

  Maddy waved at Niko and then ducked underneath the poles. She held a cordless microphone and her voice exploded out of the speakers. “Testing. Testing. Is this thing on?”

  A few people had brought in chairs to sit on the risers; those standing moved so the chair-sitters could see. Other than that, it was a typical hotel conference hall, with the carpet, the off-white wallpaper, and the fake wooden ceiling, baroquely ornate, above. Air-conditioned air, scented with new carpet, leaked from the vents.

  Andrew Coffey appeared older than Niko expected, his face lined, and his hairline receding into sandy blond hair. He was big, powerful, and lean like a panther. The belt on his robes showed his level, a Neptune Belt, Sanguine, and a master of all Four Studies. Coffey’s level also surprised Niko. With his reputation, he’d thought Coffey was at least Caelus if not Saturn Belt.

  Then it got even more interesting. Next to Coffey, in a blue silk suit, no tie, stood his agent, Barton Hennessey. Most likely, Hennessey had forgotten all about Niko, but at one time, the tall, thin man had scouted him, and had even talked to Niko’s parents.

  A balding guy, black fringe around his white skull, stepped into the Arena, dressed in white robes with a fist made out of flames on the back. He was about the same size as Niko, but with thicker muscles. He’d been training, without a doubt, and something about him made Niko think that Stan had been vaping to improve his prana.

  It wasn’t cheating, per se, but Niko had been taught that if you mastered your fundamentals, you didn’t need tinctures, smokes, or vapes. A true Battle Artist need only master himself. As if that took less than a lifetime to do.

  Maddy gestured him into the ring. Niko obeyed.

  “May your soul be strong and your mind sharp.” Teddy smacked him on the back. “Ew. You’re wet.”

  “Thanks.” Niko ducked under the poles. He heard a few people whisper, saying his name.

  Maddy must’ve heard it as well. “Ladies and gentlemen, Allen Storm couldn’t make it, but I have a treat for you all. You’ve heard the rumors, but now you are going to see Niko Black in action. Coming out of a tragic, early retirement, Niko has agreed to face Stan Howling in our afternoon match.”

  A few people muttered, but most stayed silent. One woman did utter a muffled, “Wow.”

  Niko glanced at Coffey and Barton Hennessey. They were leaning in, talking about something—probably had nothing to do with MudCon at all.

  Stan Howling frowned at Maddy. “I should get top billing. You should introduce me first.”

  Yes, Stan had a bad case of Arena ass.

  Maddy didn’t pause. She was used to dealing with egos. It came with the job description of a Battle Con organizer. “Niko Black will be facing the ultimate challenge, Stan Howling, a Mars Belt Sunfire. Stan’s repped by the Barton Hennessey Battle Artist Agency and has just come from a major victory for the SoulFire Corporation in Tulsa, Oklahoma.”

  The crowd whistled and applauded, and those on the risers stomped in a rhythm. That explained why Barton was there along with Coffey. Both wanted to see Stan fight.

  Stan raised his hands and fire erupted from his fingertips. Burning prana was never a good idea, not if you wanted to win. The fans loved it, though, and Stan had every right to be overconfident. He had his agent there, he wasn’t going to lose, and he was going up against a nobody.

  Maddy continued with introductions. “As I said, Niko Black has come forward to challenge Stan Howling. Niko is a local hero, one of Apricot High School’s prodigies, and a Mars Belt of the Quintessence Battle Sign.”

  “Mercury Belt,” Niko whispered.

  Maddy was about to correct herself when the crowd broke out in chanting. “Zenith Spin! Zenith Spin! Zenith Spin!”

  They were more interested in the fight itself than in the fighters. A major victory in Tulsa didn’t mean much it seemed. A live event, though, where you could feel the heat and see the match, firsthand, that was something special. The fans there loved the Arts, even at the lowest echelons. And they knew the rules: three rounds, five minutes each, with a one-minute rest period between rounds. The Artist who went under ten percent sharira lost.

  The match started with a Zenith Spin.

  Maddy gestured to the Arena Master, who bent and touched the tiles. The twelve Artist Signs lit up all at once and then the light went through the various signs, from Sanguine to Masonry all the way to Sky and Woda. Around the light went until it came to rest on Metallurgy.

  “Yes!” Teddy pumped a fist.

  It was neutral sign and would help neither Niko nor Stan. If the Zenith Spin had landed on one of their signs, or even a Harmonic sign, that would’ve aided one of them, providing a bit more energy. Outside of the Arena, it was March, and so the Sanguine Artist sign was at its zenith. Andrew J. Coffey must be feeling good.

  Inside the Arena, however, the Metallurgy sign was prominent. That made Niko and Stan as even as they could be, given their circumstances.

  A guy with a beer belly cursed. He wore the shirt of a fire sign, flames running down his arms, but had jeans on, and big work boots. A Harmonic spin might’ve made the match more interesting, or Beer Belly was a Stan Howling fan.

  The Arena Master shouted, “Arena clear!”

  That was Maddy’s cue. She ducked underneath the poles.

  “Artists approach!”

  Stan walked to the center.

  Niko had almost forgotten the next part. He moved to the center as well. He bowed.

  Stan didn’t. “Let’s just get this over with, kid. I’ll try not to toast you too much.” He sighed, as if this were all beneath him.

  That pissed Niko off. He glanced over at Coffey and Barton. They were still talking, yet every once in a while, the agent would look up, but he wasn’t fixing his gaze on Stan. No, he was looking at Niko. A little of the dream trickled into Niko. What if he beat Stan? What if Barton offered to rep him?

  Hope had deep roots. Was that in The Pranad? Or was it from some coach Niko had trained under? It could be both or neither. Sayings just popped into Niko’s head from time to time, a product of growing up with Polish parents.

  “Artists ready?” the Arena Master shouted.

  “Yes, Master!” Stan and Niko responded in unison.

  “Assistants connect!”

  Niko felt a tug at his core as one of the assistants reached into him. It was invasive, felt like a punch, but it would keep him safe. If he took too much damage, it would end the battle. He could feel the old Master Assistant’s presence, and that somehow made Niko feel better. The old guy must have a ton of experienc
e. The younger, thicker woman linked herself to Stan. Both would be Luna Artists, a very difficult sign to master.

  “Arena engaged!” The Master pushed his prana into the tiles. Bars of solid iron rose around the perimeter, pushed up against the cheap aluminum poles. They came together in a cage, surrounding Stan and Niko.

  The iron would keep them locked inside the Arena, but more than that, it would protect the audience against any manifested prana that might hurt them. This wasn’t a big stadium with hundreds of feet between the audience and the Artists.

  On all four sides of the cage were golden letters and numbers. At the top was the fight clock, set to five minutes. Below it was a display of both Niko’s and Stan’s prana and sharira. Niko had a hundred percent sharira and a hundred percent prana. Stan had a hundred percent sharira, but his prana was down to ninety percent. His little flame tricks had sapped some of his power.

  “Artists to their corners!” the Arena Master yelled.

  Stan danced back to his corner, again letting flames leak out of his skin around his neck. Fire Mane, okay, that was a Fourth Study ability, and Stan’s prana dropped another five percent.

  Niko backed to his own corner, his heart beating fast, his breath coming quick. He’d not felt battle adrenaline in years, and he liked it. Maybe it had been a mistake for him to give up. Taylor had thought so.

  He couldn’t think about her. No, that would kill his focus.

  The Arena Master straightened. He held his right hand high in the air. “Souls strong?”

  “Yes!” from both Niko and Stan.

  “Minds sharp?”

  “Yes!”

  The Arena Master dropped his right hand. “Let the Artistry commence!”

  Niko didn’t charge, no, because Stan would be expecting that. Instead, he darted down the side of the cage and then rolled forward.

  A spear of flame seared the air above him. He was grateful for the cousin’s wet robes—they would take some of the sting out of Stan’s fire attacks.

  Back on his feet, Niko charged, right fist raised. He didn’t trust himself to use his First Study ability, Twin Damage, not yet. He wanted to wear down his opponent. Stan wasn’t being careful with his prana, and that was Niko’s only hope of winning. Or at least of surviving the first round.