The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) (10 page)

The little boy beside me kicked at my boots, jarring me back into reality just as Sector 6 was about to be called. He crossed his fingers as tightly as he could and quietly mouthed, “Bubbles McGee, Bubbles McGee, Bubbles McGee!” so only I could see.

I rolled my eyes at him and managed a small smile as I waited for the announcer.

“We have three more Sectors to go folks. Hang with me now as I announce those who will be fighting for Sector 6. The two lucky individuals are to be: Henry Harnister and Bubbles McGee!”

The little boy beside me could hardly contain his excitement at hearing those words. He squealed out in his joy before clamping his hand to his mouth in embarrassment. A few of those in Sector 3 turned around, shooting him disapproving looks.

If Margie and Damaris had intimidated me, Bubbles McGee shined a whole new light on the matter of fear. He had to easily be seven-foot tall with forearms as thick as a grown man’s thighs. His handle bar mustache twitched as he grabbed his buddy, Henry, and hauled him one-armed to the stage.
    

The announcer moved aside to give the two a wide berth as they passed. Bubbles caught on to the announcer’s slight movement and within two strides was at his side, grabbing him up into a massive hug, jostling him around like a rag doll. Bubbles McGee practically bellowed in the announcer’s face in his amusement. Only when Bubbles had enough of his fun did he drop him to the ground. He playfully slapped both sides of the announcer’s face, with a resounding
smack
, before he strutted back to his spot next to Henry.

The crowd laughed and the announcer looked infuriated and visibly shaken as he walked back to the box. Bubbles had officially succeeded in ruffling his feathers. I smiled. The announcer wanted drama in today’s Drawing? Well he got it all right.

He nervously matched the audience’s enjoyment as he tried to regain his composure. “He’s a jokester, that Bubbles McGee,” he said red-faced. “I have no doubt he will give us a good show this year.”

The announcer flinched as Bubbles roared his consent and raised his massive arm into the air behind him.

Clearing his throat, the announcer remained unusually silent and tapped his foot while he waited for the gears to shift into place. He hastily reached into the opening and removed two more names from the box.

“Those fighting for Sector 7 are Giles, and Scottie Briggins,” he called out rather unenthusiastically—the announcer’s previous verve having deflated after being toyed with.

Great
. Scottie was fighting. Not that it really surprised me. No doubt
Mr. Briggins
had some influence in getting him selected.

Scottie approached the stage with a scummy-looking individual at his side, whom I could only guess was Giles. I studied the pair and smirked at the sight of the centralized black and blue bruise on Scottie’s face.
  

Giles stood tall and slinky next to Scottie in a worn-out suit and pair of shoes. His dark hair was greased flat against his head and his face, pale and pot-marked. The way he smugly looked over at Scottie sent shivers down my spine. Giles appeared to be another I’d need watch my back around.

The announcer sobered himself, realizing he needed to impress the Council, which he would not achieve through his now dour theatrics. He gleamed a fake bright smile as he waited for the box’s gears to shift into place this one last time.

The Drawing for Sector 8.

Time seemed to slow around me. My heart threatened to race from my chest. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew—I knew without a doubt—that today, I would be chosen to fight.

~

The announcer reached inside the box, anxious to have this over with, and stalled. He circled his hand around and around before finally removing one name only.

 
He cleared his throat. “It appears Sector 8 has only offered one Volunteer,” he said. A few members in the crowd gasped at his words.

This has never happened before. Was this even in accordance to the Law? The Barrage Code?

The announcer continued, “Lily Emerson!” he shouted. “Come take your place among the other inductees!” he called out cheerfully.

My heart sank.
I was the only Volunteer? How could that be?

There was no way I could ever survive the Barrage alone. The Council must’ve had a hand in this. To what purpose, I did not know.
They desire to see me fail, that much is clear
.

I sighed, accepting my fate. This choice was my mine after all. If I had to fight alone, then I would fight alone. But fight I would.

I would not give in to forfeit.

I started to rise, but hesitated when I spotted a short, rotund man huff his way quickly onto the stage.

I realized then that this was no ordinary individual, but
the
Magistrate himself—the Magistrate, who oversaw all proceedings of the Barrage. He handed the announcer a piece of paper and whispered something into his ear. The announcer looked at him inquiringly, though shrugged it off as if nothing else could surprise him today.

“It appears that another Volunteer came forth early this morning.”

“That’s
ludicrous
!” Mr. Briggins shouted from the Council member’s booth. “Only names that reside in the box can be accepted!”

The little rotund Magistrate who was halfway down the stairs stopped and shouted back at him. “Not unless
we
fail to place it in said box. It is to no fault but our own. The Volunteer shall be accepted.”

Mr. Briggins slumped back into his seat, knowing he had no further say in the matter. The Magistrate’s word was final. He had authority over any and all issues that involved the rules of the Barrage, the Drawing, included.

My breath hitched in my chest from the sudden turn of events
. Who? Who? Who?
My heart raced in anticipation, thudding frantically against my ribs. Only two minutes ago I had known without a doubt that my name was to be called today.

I, however, almost fell from my seat when I heard the words traverse across the announcer’s lips.

He looked at the card, scrunching his brows as he read the one word name that was scrawled across it. “Lily Emerson is to be paired with—Xander of Sector 8.”
  

Chapter 9

Dimachaeri

     
Remaining where I sat, I looked ahead to the stage, dumbfounded—only an audience member taking it all in before the little Sector 3 boy kicked at my shin. “Git up, girl!” he urged. “That’s you!
Go
.”

 
      
Mechanically, I rose and walked towards the stage, ignoring the curious looks and whispers.

       
“
Lily Emerson? The Head’s daughter?
”
I heard someone say to my right.

       
I glanced towards my parent’s booth. My mother was nowhere to be seen. My father, cool and calculative as ever, leaned over and gripped the railing of the booth as he looked at me. If he was worried, his face gave nothing away to indicate it.

       
Scottie and Giles repositioned themselves on the other side of Henry Harnister as I stepped up onto the stage, not wanting to stand by my side, in—what I presumed—a vain attempt to unnerve me.

       
I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge Xander. Even when he took his place beside me, I kept my gaze fixed forward. I swallowed and planted my dusty boots onto the stage as I looked out into the curious faces of the crowd.

       
Everything was happening so fast it hardly seemed real.

       
There’s no going back now.

       
It was oddly reassuring to have Xander at my side as I stood a mere foot from the Goliathan that was Bubbles McGee. Not just a Goliath, or a Leviathan . . . Bubbles was both. Xander’s quiet confidence somehow made me uncomfortable and secure at the same time as I gauged the presence of those around me.
Xander
.
My partner
?
            
I cared nothing for Scottie and Giles’ childish maneuver; I was far too curious as to what Xander had running through his head.
Did he have a death wish?
Why would he volunteer at the last possible moment?

       
That chivalrous, over-confident . . .
idiot
, I thought angrily. But then I realized the same could easily be said for myself.

       
And, all “whys” and “wherefores” aside, was he angry or disappointed that he had been paired with
me
, the girl who hardly knew how to fight?

       
Not able to stand it any longer, I chanced a peek at him. He didn’t seem to notice me staring, or at least I didn’t think he did as he stood with a bored nonchalance beside me, arms crossed, watching the crowd. He wore a brown leather vest over a dirty white tunic with sleeves rolled to his elbows as though he had only just sprinted over from the forge. Even when just wearing the traditional blacksmith’s garb, he somehow still managed to look dangerous. I watched as his eyes scanned over each person as though he was looking for something. For someone.

       
Like the first time I had sat eyes upon him from below the table during my Coronation, I was wrong in my assumptions about him. He
had
noticed me staring, which was evident by the small, sly smile that curved the corner of his mouth as he continued to casually search the crowd, ever watchful.

       
I refocused my gaze ahead of me, knowing I had been caught.

       
Perhaps he volunteered because he felt I could not forge a path to this revolution alone.

       
Perhaps he
pitied
me.

       
Whatever the case may be, Xander had come to my aid twice in two days. His generosity was far too mysterious for me to comprehend and I wasn’t quite confident I understood, or trusted, the origin of such motivation.

       
Good thing I had a month to figure him out.

~

Both the crowd and the Sector fighters fidgeted restlessly while we watched the announcer take a small break to refresh himself. He patted his damp forehead with his kerchief and sipped from a glass of water before he finally started the second portion of the Drawing process. This part was always wrought with the most anxiety. Anyone who volunteered their name, already accepted the possibility that they would be chosen to fight. This next part however, could either make or break a pairing. For now came the drawing that determined every Sector’s Barrage weapon specialty.

Each team was to implement the style of weaponry into their fighting technique. From what I was told this was based from an ancient tradition in our history. Like many other stories of our past, its origins had been lost and would remain that way. The extinction of the Elders of the city made sure of that.

I shifted on my feet as I watched the announcer return to his place beside the Drawing box. Sighs of relief and annoyance whispered throughout the perturbed crowd. It was not as if
they
were allowed to take a break from the heat of the sun.

I watched my father rise from his seat and exit with two other Council members. If I had to make a guess, they were convening to make a decision on their choice of Council Sponsor. A decision which mattered little to me.

I stood patiently and tried to mimic Xander’s demeanor as we would yet again be the last Sector to be drawn. The announcer waited for the gears to spring to life and move into place before he dug down into the golden box, and began calling out each Sector’s specialty one by one.

I ignored the extra fluff that the announcer added to his speeches and honed in on the particulars. My mind ran too frantic to do little more.

Sector 1: Affery and Afina were to become Thraex, implementing the Crescent Knife fighting style. They seemed pleased with this outcome as they nodded their approval and looked at each other knowingly.

Sector 2: Percival and Fin were to fight as Venators; those who scientifically engineer mechanical beasts to fight along with and aid them in battle. At this angle, I couldn’t gauge their reactions, though when Percival turned I saw a satisfied smile curve upwards on his face, his eyes depth-less as they stared into the crowd.

Sector 3: Gerald Chapman, and Hugo Miller would be the Laquearii, also known as the lasso fighters. They too seemed pleased with this selection. Sector 3 had been hoping for Laquearii for over thirteen years now. Exclamations of approval emanated from the Sector 3 stands which distracted the announcer briefly before he continued with a huff.
  

Sector 4: Brutish Damaris and Margie received Paegniarii.
Perfect
.
Those two will feel right at home with their massive Klaives. They looked the type who would enjoy butchering their enemies.

Sector 5: Sir Norbert and Charles Nampier, the two older men complete with their matching mustaches, would have the privilege of shooting at the rest of us with their Gatling guns—for they received the artillery specialty known only as the Polybolos.

Oh, how I cannot wait.

Sector 6: Bubbles McGee and Henry Harnister, who both nearly knocked me over, rejoiced over being chosen to fight with the Cestus. The Cestus being the name of both the fighter and the weapon used. If my memory served me correctly, this meant that Bubbles McGee and Henry Harnister would be allowed to fight using only their iron-spike covered fists.

How convenient.

I wouldn’t have been at all happy with getting the selection of Cestus, but it seemed to please both Bubbles and Harnister by satiating their male testosterone needs. At least I thought so until I heard the excited whispers of those in front of the stage.
Apparently
,
Bubbles McGee already knew a little something about unauthorized street boxing.

Now I see why
he’s the little boy’s hero . . . .

Fan-tas-tic.

Sector 7: Scottie and Giles were chosen as Retiarii. The net fighters. Over the years this seemed to be the most taxing of the styles. Maneuvering the nets while trying to fight off your opponents had proven difficult. Scottie and Giles both groaned in unison when the announcer had given them the news. They obviously understood they wouldn’t have it easy in the coming days, having to haul a net around as their only weapon.

Knowing they disliked their style brought some joy to this eventfully dramatic day I was having.

Finally, it was Sector 8’s turn. I glanced towards Xander with arms braced behind my back. He shrugged his eyebrows up at me, his only sign of camaraderie.

My mind raced through all the possible styles, and tried to remember what had already been chosen and what still remained. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow before the announcer finally called out our names and reached into the box.

“Dimachaeri!” he shouted.

I scrunched my brow at Xander, not understanding. I had a decent knowledge of the weapon specialties, but Dimachaeri danced precariously along the edge of my memory. A good number of the styles had not been chosen in the previous years, so many of them remained vague and existed only as descriptions in books.

It was only until an illustrated image came to mind. A crudely depicted man was drawn holding a sword in each of his hands as he stood defensively across from his invisible opponent.

Dimachaeri, were dual-wield fighters.

~

I would’ve preferred Sagittarius with its ranged attacks, to be quite honest.

Being smaller in comparison to most of the other competitors, I didn’t have any desire to fight in close quarters. Afina, who was the only one comparable in size, looked quite capable of holding her own. I sighed, resigned to the decision. I would have to assume having two swords was better than having
a net
.
 

Xander looked satisfied about the decision of Dimachaeri. I already knew he was deadly enough with those mechanical daggers that ejected from his sleeves. He would make do. Dimachaeri would most likely be second nature for him. For me? The only hope I had was to be able to dance my way around our competition. But I doubted back-handing an opponent while I pirouetted around them would reap any benefit.

Swallowing hard, the nerves began to claw their way under my skin again.

In the early days of the Barrage, a great feast honoring the participants concluded the events of the Drawing. In recent years, all formalities had been disbanded in lieu of expediting as much time as possible to work on armor designs. After all, who wants to get chatty with someone they may have to kill? I tended to agree with the new system. The Barrage shouldn’t be preempted with a flamboyant Meet-and-Greet of one’s future enemies.

I silently thanked whoever made the decision to not have the opening feast after today’s proceedings. I needed as much time to design and build my armor—otherwise, I would be dead within the first moments of the Barrage. There wasn’t a moment to waste.

I nearly groaned out loud when the announcer continued his speech of how it was now time for the Council to select the Sector which they chose to sponsor. Knowing they would never choose Xander and myself, I was anxious to leave the stage and be done with this.

Upon the Council members’ return, my father stood from his seat and projected his authoritative voice into the crowd, “As Head, I speak in honor of the Council, and after a thorough meeting, we have decided to choose Sector 7 to fight for our cause. Will you Sector 7 agree upon this arrangement and forfeit your right to the Law? Or do you choose to pass this given opportunity?”

Scottie didn’t even look for Giles’ or Sector 7’s consent before he puffed out his chest and shouted back towards my father, “It would be a pleasure to fight for the Council’s honor. We, in turn, shall forfeit our right to the Law in return for your assistance,” he added before bowing.

My father nodded with a reserved look upon his face. “So be it. In return, your team and your Sector will be greatly rewarded because of this alliance. May your battle be a prosperous one.”

Scottie and Giles smiled their cheeky smiles again which turned my blood boiling. Then I remembered why they smiled.

Bloody Bones.

They no longer had to be concerned with having to fight as Retiarii. With the expert Council designers and the many credits that will be thrown their way, losing will be difficult even if they were made to fight with cumbersome nets. After seventy eight Barrage tournament years, the Council Sponsored Sectors have yet to lose, and Scottie and Giles knew that.