Stars & Ashes

by Teagan Kearney

  “This bed’s yours.” Cheydii opened a cupboard, showing her a pile of neat uniforms. “You pick up clean uniforms each morning or as necessary,” she explained. “Bathrooms and showers are through there.” She nodded toward the end of the room. “Annen and I have rooms after the bathrooms, and farther along you’ll find a steam room and a massage room. As you can appreciate, we take good care of the applicants.” She led the way out of the dormitory. “In here,” she opened the door opposite, “is the recreation room.”

  Kia peeked in. Easy chairs were placed in groups about the room with some facing the full-length glass window, a couple of desks with comunits, and that was it.

  “That,” Cheydii walked over to the window, “is Lord Rial’s residence. You’ll get to see inside if and when you’re successful.”

  Kia looked, her jaw dropping at the golden domed roofs peeping above the trees. “What happens to those who aren’t successful?”

  Cheydii laughed. “Well, we don’t execute them, if that’s what you’re wondering. It depends. If they have other valuable skills, they stay here, but that’s rare. If they’re not chosen, they return home, where they’re honored for having achieved candidate status.” She paused and studied Kia. “You want to return to the mines?”

  There was nothing intimidating in her tone. Kia remembered Oloran. Here, she’d learn how to become a more skilled fighter. She bit back the instant ‘what do you think’ response, turning away from an image of Lord Rial seated on an elaborate golden throne, issuing orders to decimate this or that planet and its people. “No.”

  “Remember that when it gets tough and it will. C’mon, let’s go eat.”

  As Kia followed, she was sure she’d remember where everything was in a few days but somewhat stupefied by her changed circumstances, the place was a maze.

  Cheydii halted outside a door on the first floor. “A tip. Don’t take offense when the ribbing starts, but don’t give an inch either. Don’t worry, the candidates are informed about your history, and it’ll be easier for you if you don’t mention the asteroid or your status. Keep that to yourself.”

  Kia could imagine how stating she was a slave who until recently had spent her days in the dark belly of a mine, hacking at the rock with a pickax, would simply confirm everything these people thought of her. She lagged behind Cheydii, took a deep breath, and walked into the room.

  A plain wooden table filled with steaming bowls of food and carafes of water occupied the center of the large room. Nagavi sat at the top, with Annen on his right. All the seats, except two—one on his left and one at the bottom near the door—were occupied.

  Kia slid into the empty seat near the door next to a girl with bright copper hair who gave her a quick grin. She clasped her hands together, her eyes down, avoiding the gauntlet of stares.

  “Praise the Emperor Teyrn,” Nagavi intoned.

  “And the Heir,” came the communal response.

  “Kia!” Nagavi’s voice split the air.

  What had she done wrong? Alarmed, she shot a look of panic at him. Everyone remained with heads down though she realized they were absorbing every nuance of the exchange.

  “Your response?”

  She hadn’t responded because in Sestris they only praised the Gods before a meal, and she was busy inhaling the delicious smells of freshly cooked food, but she should have known he’d miss nothing. “Um… and… and the Heir,” she stuttered

  Nagavi gave an exaggerated sigh. “And his Heir and don’t be shy about saying it.”

  She studied the intricate grain of the wood on the table. “And his Heir.”

  “Let us begin.”

  Nobody said a word during the meal, the silence broken by the sounds of utensils on plates and various chewing and swallowing noises.

  Despite Cheydii’s earlier pep talk, Kia’s goal was to survive and take her revenge. She wasn’t here to make friends and wasn’t the least bit interested in making a cozy here on the emperor’s home planet, but the food was an improvement from the mines, and she didn’t expect to be stuffing bread in her pocket to make it through the day. She was on her third bowl of soup when the door flew open, and four Chenjerai in their plain green uniforms, without their visored helmets, marched into the room.

  Chairs scraped and spoons clattered as everyone stood, heads bowed in silence as the Heir entered.

  This time Kia copied the others and managed not to stand out as the exception. She could see his boots, and her heart beat a little faster as she remembered his fingers on her neck, taking her pulse. Shh, little bird. Yes, she was trapped in a cage.

  “Sit down, candidates, and continue eating,” their visitor instructed.

  Kia sat and continued eating, but her appetite had gone.

  Lord Rial walked around the far side of the table pausing by Nagavi, who’d remained standing. “You start this afternoon?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. If I can get away, I’ll drop in.”

  “I’m sure the candidates will appreciate it. Thank you, my lord.”

  Kia kept eating, aware of the Heir completing his circuit and listening to his footsteps coming closer, but instead of exiting, he stopped behind her chair. “Are you settling in, Kia?” he asked.

  Kia spluttered as her soup went down the wrong way. “Yes, my lord,” she choked out, hot with embarrassment at being the focus of his attention and displaying to the room how unaccustomed she was to such notice.

  “Good, but don’t choke on my account.”

  Was he enjoying her discomfort? She didn’t look up. It was safer to stare at her hand gripping the spoon a tad too tightly. She bit the inside of her lip hard, bringing tears to her eyes, as she endeavored to deflect her antagonistic thoughts. “No, my lord.”

  “Good. Commander Nagavi, I take my leave of you.”

  Not caring who noticed, Kia sagged with relief as he swept out, shadowed by his guards.

  “Annen, Cheydii,” Nagavi instructed, “have everyone assemble in the gymnasium in five minutes.”

  Chapter Seven: Training

  Nagavi began the session by having everyone sit in a large circle and introduce themselves; names, followed by town and planet.

  Kia wondered if this was for her benefit as the rest of the group must surely be acquainted with each other.

  As Cheydii had mentioned, several were from Djem, Xarunta’s capital, and judging by the superior manner in which some individuals surveyed the others, these must be the sons of aristocrats who’d trained for this from birth. The tall blond who’d stared blatantly at her yesterday had to be one of those.

  Kia hoped they all failed. She recognized none of the names of the planets mentioned and felt woefully ignorant, a failing she swore to remedy as soon as she could access a comunit. It would be useful to find out if any originated, like her, from recently annexed worlds. When her turn came, she introduced herself as Kia O’Afon from the desert town of Ko'rinmas on the southern continent of Emankora. Ko'rinmas didn’t exist, but the word meant invisible in her mother’s dialect. She enjoyed having a private joke that nobody would understand and ignored the smirk on the commandant’s face.

  The opening exercises Nagavi set comprised shooting with various types of firearms. “We record each shot you take and every one counts toward your total score. If you aspire to join the ranks of Lord Rial’s Chenjerai, make every shot count.”

  Cheydii accompanied her to a row of holovid booths at the rear of the hall and fitted a close-fitting cap interwoven with thin silver filaments on her head. The headpiece had a thin flexible holoscreen attached to the front. “You’ll work your way through a series of exercises. All you have to do is adjust your aim to the weight and size of the weapon in your hand and shoot at the mark.”

  At the beginning, it had been odd watching the screen knowing her hands were empty, yet aware of the weight of the weapon in her hand, but she soon got the hang of the device. Sighting down the scope of her first weapon, a tiny stunner, she aimed a
nd picked off enemies, who rushed her in small and larger groups. She enjoyed using the advanced weaponry, some of which she had no idea even existed; pulse guns, phaserifles, hefty hand plascannons, and focused light rifles, known as FLRs, which used either a compressed beam to hit a single spot or a diffuse beam to decimate half a dozen opponents. Shooting wasn’t in her skill set, as srilao was a hand-to-hand martial art, but she surprised herself by scoring direct hits on all of her targets.

  By the time she was on to the lasecrossbows she was having fun imagining Nagavi’s face on every objective. It added extra impetus. If she couldn’t visualize her real enemy, then the chief officer was second best.

  When she sat again with the others after the holovid session ended, the return to reality was sobering. The empire still owned her, but since the afternoon she stood in the street locking the practice hall door until now, fear had dominated her life. Initially, the fear had been for others; her family, her town and its people, and for her planet. On Jahanamu, she had feared for her life. She still wasn’t free, but here she could absorb herself in mastering new skills and use them to further her own agenda, and that felt good.

  For the first time that day, she was calm enough to give her fellow candidates serious scrutiny and surreptitiously eyed the twelve men and seven women. If her assumptions were correct, at some point, she would have to fight each one of them. Irrespective of their skin and hair color or size, they all wore the earnest expression of determined commitment. She recognized that look. It was the one she’d worn since her first srilao lesson at four years old. A few looked like they might give her some trouble, but she wasn’t overly bothered. She heard their names but let them float in one ear and straight out the other. She didn’t care about their names, didn’t need to be on a team or compete against them, and hoped they all died in excruciating pain and extremely—“Ow!”

  Nagavi smacked her across the side of her head. “Paying full attention, are we?”

  She’d been lost in her own thoughts and hadn’t noticed him get up and walk around the outside of the group. “Yes, Commander.”

  “Okay, everyone. Boots off and choose a partner.”

  The group stood, and Kia uttered a mental groan as the tall blond man who’d been arguing outside yesterday, worked his way toward her.

  “Hi, I’m Jalux. Would you care to partner me?” The smaller dark-haired man he’d quarreled with stepped in front of her and bowed. “I’m sure you heard, but to rephrase our trainer’s instructions, this is a free-for-all hand combat session. He wants to assess our strengths in fighting an opponent trained in a different discipline, and I’m happy to oblige.” He grinned cheekily.

  She wondered if his offer was genuine or he’d noticed the other guy approaching, and this was a deliberate move to thwart him. “Yes, thank you, and I’m Kia.”

  His grin grew wider as he leaned in close. “Yes, even the Heir knows your name.”

  She had felt a slight thaw toward him, but his words made her want to lay him out flat. “Aren’t I the lucky one?” she said following him into one of the fighting circles Cheydii and Annen had marked out while Nagavi talked.

  He might be smaller than some of the others, but they were of a matching height, and she couldn’t help but notice his stance. Head down, chin tucked in, tightened abdominal muscles, right arm close to protect his liver and ribs, left arm slightly in front—positioned for bringing it up swiftly to defend himself—and feet staggered wider than his hips.

  She copied him and watched recognition of what she was doing dawn on him.

  His eyes twinkled as he laughed. “Okay, point to you.”

  She smiled back at him.

  Nagavi led them through a set of warmup exercises: stretches, jumping jacks, squats, push up, lunges, similar to any other warmup she’d ever done. “Annen, Cheydii and I will circulate and award points. The goal is not to witness your ability to kill an opponent but to test your control. When both of your feet are outside the circle, you’re defeated. Any injury that prevents a candidate from taking part, or puts him out of the game for longer than five minutes, will also see you disqualified.”

  Shame, thought Kia, giving Jalux a polite grimace. I was looking forward to doing some serious injury.

  “Go!”

  Kia sprang toward Jalux, but he was swift and she barely clipped his chest with her foot as she flipped mid-air.

  “Great move, if a bit slow,” he taunted her, shuffling to the left.

  “Don’t be scared, little boy.” She watched his eyes flare with something. Was it being called little boy? Had she hit a nerve? Always the smaller lad, he would have learned to use speed to make up for his lack of size. “Don’t worry, wee laddie, the big bad lady won’t hurt you.” She danced sideways as Jalux shifted forward and made a grab at her leg, smiling when she slashed down and caught his arm, twisting it behind him.

  He wriggled and slid out of the hold seconds before she was about to shove him outside the line, and he frowned as he focused on finding the pattern to her movements.

  Kia kept up her rapid attack and even more immediate withdrawal, watching his chest heave as he fended her off. Experience told her she had him on the defense, and it was purely a matter of waiting until he misjudged his chances, and victory was hers. A heartbeat later, she spun, kicked the back of his knee, caught his wrist as he went down and swung him well clear of the circle.

  Jalux bowed, accepting his defeat, and joined four others sitting down on the side watching the matches.

  Kia walked over to the window where the other victors stood—the woman with the flame colored hair, the blond man, and two others—trying to keep the grin off her face. Her blood was singing and she felt good. Blowing out a breath, she glimpsed herself in the glass and stared in surprise at her pale reflection. This was the first occasion she’d seen herself since plaiting her hair for her afternoon srilao teaching lesson in her previous life. She was thinner, her hair had grown, and short pale curls covered her head. Squeezing her upper arms the muscles felt harder and leaner, and something else had changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on the exact difference.

  “That round has given us ten victors.”

  The other matches had finished while she’d been staring at her reflection instead of studying the opposition, and the losers gave a few unenthusiastic cheers from where they squatted along the wall.

  “Kia! Tamaiko! You’re up next.”

  She headed for the circle where Nagavi stood waiting.

  The blond, who’d been leaning against the window as if he was waiting for a friend and not taking part in a competition for the most highly rated position a young aristocrat could want, sauntered after her.

  “I look forward to getting my hands on you,” he muttered as he passed her.

  A slow rage built in Kia’s gut, and she glared at him. Oh, he’d feel her all right. He’d feel her hands around his neck. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself. She’d fought enough matches to know an angry fighter was a sloppy fighter, and Tamaiko had a longer reach than Jalux.

  “Go!”

  Kia took her time, assessing Tamaiko’s style. He started off aiming to grab her in a wrestling hold, intent on using his greater mass and muscle power, but she was too quick. She let him get close on a couple of occasions, teasing him by throwing in a srilao move, then twirling out of reach, laughing as he missed her.

  “Go, Kia!” somebody shouted.

  “Silence,” Nagavi growled, and once again the sound of the combatants shuffling around the floor and the huff and puff of their lungs were the only noises in the gymnasium.

  The amusement had gone from Tamaiko’s expression; instead, the grim calculating look said he had sized her up and would do whatever was necessary to win.

  Kia didn’t care. Ignoring the press of attention from Nagavi and the group, she surrendered herself to the flow of movement, for srilao taught that all fight had a rhythm, a dance, to it—you had to find it and go with it. She could tell
Tamaiko wasn’t used to losing, and the longer she stayed out of his reach, the more she riled him. An opening appeared on his left side; she skipped in, struck his spleen hard with her thumb knuckle, and twirled away. “You’ll have to work harder than that to get your hands on me.” She had this fight. Tamaiko, for all his confidence, was no serious match for her.

  She was getting bored with how easy it was to gain the upper hand and was looking for an opportunity to end the match when he stumbled. Surprised, as her strike had glanced off his arm, she watched him fall forward and didn’t move promptly enough as he made a grab for her leg.

  He caught her ankle and was on his feet, flipping her over onto her back. Before she could respond, he grabbed her tunic, yanked her up off the floor, twisted her around, and had his arm tight across her throat as she trod air. “Well, I’ve got my hands on you good and proper now, haven’t I?” he whispered in her ear, stepping backward toward the edge as he spoke.

  She gripped his arm straining to loosen his grip while she kicked his shins, his knees, punched and elbowed his torso with her other arm, wriggled furiously, trying to seize his fingers but he’d fisted his hands. She was causing damage, but not enough. All he had to do to win was keep walking until he reached the edge of the circle.

  He swung her around and flung her to the floor.

  Kia glanced down. One foot remained inside—he’d misjudged. A hot rage ignited in the pit of her belly as she realized he’d played her, pretending to be slow, letting her think she had the upper hand, but she wouldn’t lose. Not to him, not to anyone. She flew at him, shoved him hard, and he staggered sideways, not quite regaining his balance before she charged him again, channeling every bit of anger she had suppressed since the capture of Sestris.

  This time when she attacked she wanted each blow to have maximum impact, to hurt. Forward, back, spin, leap, kicking hard at his chest. Again and again. She didn’t feel his strikes; the single thing she was aware of was the rage, a red hot live fire consuming her. She almost missed his jeer.