Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity (11 page)

Jason did not think it was hostile.  He did not always understand their origin, but he had encountered enough hostile reactions that he felt reasonably sure of his ability to recognize them.

"Can I... can I ask you something?" she said, very quietly.  He refrained from attempting humor, this seemed too serious for that, and simply nodded.

"Why don't I feel anything from you?"  Her voice maintained its low volume, but there was something in it that he recognized.  A kind of hunger?

"I do not understand what you mean."

"Okay... let me think." she did not seem dissuaded.  If anything, the hunger was stronger.

"What do you think people mean, when they call me awesome, or when I say it about myself?"

It was very rare for someone to ask him about an emotional response, especially so directly.  Jenny was the third person to do so, since he had begun Citadel training.  Jason decided that this had been a good decision, despite his mother's warnings.  He had a number of stock answers that he could use but, like he had with Hector, he decided to tell her the truth.

"I do not really know.  Obviously, it is a combination of admiration or respect and excitement, but I do not have that response.  I mean no insult, but I do not find you to be 'awesome.'"  He hoped that would not be offensive, but something about the way she had asked... it felt important, perhaps vital.

"You... you really don't."  Jenny's voice was still soft, the hunger replaced by something else, but her expression had changed again.  It was strange, disbelief mixed with happiness?  'Hope,' maybe?

"Do you mind, can I ask two more?  Then, I promise, then I'll let you get back to your friend and you can plan your challenges for tomorrow or whatever."

"Of course."

"How come you don't use contractions?"  Oh.  Well, that was less dangerous than her last question, but still...

"I don't?" he asked.

She laughed.  "That's the first time I've heard you do it."  Her voice was back to a normal volume, its tone as well.  "Yeah, it's kind of weird.  Don't get me wrong, I decided to change my last name to Awesome.  I don't have anything against weird.  I was just wondering, that's all."

"Yes, I knew what you meant, but I have found that question works well as a lead in to a humorous statement."  She smiled at him.  Her 'happiness' was as easy to recognize as ever, but it seemed subtly different.  "It is an old habit, one my mother taught me.  I... do not always think about things in the same way as others."  She nodded, showing no sign of surprise or judgment. 

"By deliberately avoiding the use of contractions, I am forced to choose my words more carefully.  I think about what I am going to say before I say it and I have an added opportunity to filter myself.  It makes it less likely that I will make enemies or alienate those who might be friends."  Which was true, as far as it went, but there was more to it than that.  Perhaps... no, he did not know her well enough to be quite that honest.  Not yet.

"Okay.  That was a little more than I was expecting but I think I get it."

He wanted her to know that he was pleased by her acceptance of his differences.  Jason smiled at her.

"I believe you said you had two questions, for me?"

"Yeah."  Her expression had changed.  It was one he had not seen on her face before.  "I've got an appointment tomorrow morning and I was about to go place a challenge, but I was wondering..." she paused before continuing, "Do you have any plans on Sunday?"

"Nothing more than some routine chores."

"Okay, then... do you want to get together?"  She stopped speaking, took a deep breath, then resumed speaking, very rapidly.  "I mean, we can do whatever you want.  That's cool.  I just, just wanted to spend some time alone together?"

He did not know the best way to respond to that.  On the one hand, he had long since learned to avoid private social activities, even most of those that occurred in small groups.  The lack of structure forced him to improvise and the results had often been... unsatisfactory.  On the other hand, Hector had already helped him refine his social skills and could probably offer some useful advice for this occasion as well.  Then, as his father would have said, there was the gripping hand.  He liked Jenny.  She had reacted in a more or less positive manner to some of his surface oddities.  Perhaps, even if his behavior was not quite ideal, she would accept that as well?

"Very well.  Please send me an email with the time and location.  I will be pleased to join you."

Her smile returned, as large as ever.

"Kay.  See you then." she replied, before moving rapidly towards the challenge board.

A group of the other trainees, none of whom had seemed to be paying much attention to each other before her arrival, quickly converged on her.  They began discussing something with great animation.

Jason was rapidly beginning to feel disconcerted.  What, exactly, had he agreed to?  He would have to ask Hector.

CHAPTER 6:  UNTOUCHABLE

Marcus stared at the wall.  It was tall, wide and white.  If he was a different sort of person, he might have paid more attention to its composition.  It was perfectly smooth, utterly without blemish or scar and completely clean.  He might have thought about the amount of labor required to maintain such a surface.  Perhaps, he would have wondered where those laborers were.  At the very least, he should have asked why there were no guards.  He had torn through the outer fence, a simple chain link that had been painted white, with little effort.  This should have attracted a response of some sort.

Instead, Marcus thought only of himself.  He was ready to do it.  He was sure of that much.  Once he started the fight, no one could beat him.  But... starting was the tough part.  He remembered being a child.  Poor, hungry, always afraid.  His mother worked for a lesser Lord.  She earned just enough to keep them fed and clothed, not enough to be comfortable.  He ran errands for the Lord's servants, hoping to get something nicer.  It didn't have to be much, a toy, some candy, even clothes that weren't threadbare or worn.  The older boys took anything worthwhile he might have gotten.

Then, one by one, the Lords started to disappear.  The first few just vanished.  After that, one was found murdered in his own bed.  The city's highest Lord thought that there was a conspiracy, that some of the lesser Lords were trying to recruit allies against him.  He began investigating them, seeking signs of treason.  He found some who had been stealing from him, keeping back the best slaves, old technology or weapons.  He called down his fire and killed them.  The disappearances continued.

The city's Lord went mad with rage, and that anger seemed to infect the other Lords.  Some turned on each other, some fled and others closed the doors of their homes and attacked anyone that came near.  Marcus and his mother's Lord was one of the first to disappear.  He remembered being afraid, again.  The city wasn't safe for someone weak.  Without the Lords to control them, people ganged up, to protect themselves or to prey on others.  He hid in abandoned parts of the city, with his mother.  They didn't have enough food.  The buildings were unsafe, collapsing from neglect, offering little shelter from the weather.  His mother got sick, very sick.  After a month, it ended.

The Lords who fought mostly killed each other.  The few survivors began hiding in their homes as well.  One by one, they were found dead.  Some were killed by guns or a knife.  Others died strangely, drowning in their bathtubs, poisoned by food that hurt no one else. A few died without any sign of the cause.  By then, it was obvious.  There was no treason, no conspiracy.  The city's Lord was under attack by someone who didn't respect the challenge ritual.  Instead of simply walking in and presenting himself to fight the Lord, or one of the lesser Lords, this man simply murdered them.  He snuck in, like a coward, and killed them in their homes.

Maybe someone else, another Lord, would have run.  Lord Holocaust was strong.  He'd never been beaten, not since the first time he called down his burning storm.  Everyone knew that.  A message appeared in the sky, written in burning letters above the city.  Marcus’s mother could read, just a little, and told him what it meant.  The Lord was demanding that the attacker come out, face him.  Everyone knew where the Lord waited for him.  There was a great pillar of flame to mark the spot, taller than the city's tallest building.  The Lord waited, and waited, but no one ever came.

Marcus didn't know when it happened.  The body wasn't hung up and displayed.  There wasn't a big fight, no burning buildings or explosions.  One day, word just got around.  There was a new Lord.  Holocaust was dead.  The city belonged to Stainless now.  No one had ever heard of him.  No one knew what he could do.  They just obeyed the man, called him Lord.  He didn't bring in new Lords to serve him, just normal people.  Soon, the city was working again.  Everything went back to normal, maybe even a little better.  Everything but his mother.  She died.  There was no food for the ones who couldn't work, and she was too sick.

The new Lord's men organized the people, gave them specific tasks and jobs.  It seemed like there was a plan for everything.  They even settled disputes, didn't let people steal or hurt each other.  Anyone that crossed them wasn't burned alive, they just disappeared.

Everyone knew their place.  There were the normal people, doing the jobs they were assigned, getting food or clothing in return.  There were the Bands, the Lord's lowest servants.  They wore white arm bands, gave orders to the work crews and reported any problems or crimes to the Shirts.  All the Bands in a group of a few blocks reported to a Shirt, who wore a white shirt.  They gave the Bands orders and decided who was right or wrong in the disputes.  There were a few Suits above them.  Marcus didn't know how many there were or exactly what they did.  You didn't see them very often, but the Bands and Shirts always looked scared when they came around and always did what they were told.  Above them all, never seen in public, was Stainless.

One day, Marcus recognized one of the Bands.  It was one of the other boys, one who had stolen from him and beaten him, years ago.  Marcus didn't know how to join the Bands.  That meant he could never get stronger, he'd always be at the bottom.  Bands below Shirts, Shirts below Suits, Suits below Stainless and Marcus on the bottom, forever.  It made him angry.  So angry that he attacked the other man.  He hadn't thought about it or planned it out.  Marcus had just seen the man in the street, realized what it meant, and started screaming while he ran at him.  The Band had pulled a gun and shot him before Marcus was halfway there.

He should have died.  Instead, Marcus felt a pain in his chest, like being hit with a hammer, and then a strange burning.  He'd stopped, looked down at his chest, and seen the hole in his shirt but no wound.  That was when he found out he was a Lord.  He grinned, feeling wild and powerful.  It was the first time in his life when he didn't feel fear, not even a little.  The Band shot him again and again.  With each shot he felt the pain, a little weaker each time, and that strange burning.  Just before the man's gun clicked empty, on his very last shot, Marcus felt the impact but no pain.

The Band tried to run and Marcus had chased him.  He was stronger, taller and in better health than Marcus.  But the burning had come back, during the chase.  It was in his legs and his lungs, this time, and for every moment of it his breath came a little easier and his legs moved a little faster.  It didn't take long to catch him.  Marcus beat the Band, the older boy whose name he couldn't remember any more.  Beat him to death with his bare hands.  He laughed while he did it, laughed while he felt the burning in his arms and hands.  It was the best feeling he'd ever had.

He hid again, for the last time, while he tried to figure out what he could do.  Marcus saw other Bands come through the neighborhood, even a few Shirts, looking for him.  It didn't go on long, maybe a week or so.  The old Lords never would have stopped searching.  Anyone who crossed them would have been hunted forever.  It was the last little bit of proof that Marcus needed.  Stainless was weak.  That's why he'd killed the Lords the way he did, sneaking and cowardly.  That's why he didn't have any lesser Lords to serve him.  He knew they'd realize how weak he was and turn on him.  As far as he knew, Marcus and Stainless were the only Lords in the city, now.  Stainless was weak and Marcus was strong.  He knew what that meant.  The city was his, he just had to prove it.

That was why Marcus was here, at the building Stainless's men had ordered the people to make.  It was a great white dome, surrounded by a white fence.  No one went in or out but the men who wore white.  This was where Stainless hid.  Marcus was sure of it.  He would break in, find Stainless, and kill him.  Then everyone would know, would see that he was the strongest.  Marcus punched the wall. 

He felt the pain, felt the burning, and did it again.  When he saw the first cracks appear, he knew he'd won.  Anything that hurt him, anything that made him feel pain, brought the burning.  It healed him, fixed him, made him better.  If you shot him, Marcus got tougher.  If Marcus hit someone, it hurt his hand.  If he hit someone as hard as he could, it hurt his arms.  Everything brought the burning, Marcus's power.  No matter how tough the other guy was, eventually, Marcus would be tougher.  He tore out chunks of the wall like it was made of wet mud.

"Come out!" he shouted, so loud that he could feel the burning in his throat.

Marcus stepped through the hole he'd made, into the palace.  It was just a white corridor, running from left to right.  The walls were the same material.  There was no sign of anyone else.

"Stainless!  Come out and face me!" he shouted again, louder.

He followed the corridor, for a time.  There weren't any signs of a door.

"Coward!  Weakling!  Hiding while your home is torn apart!" he shouted everything he could think of, hoping for a response.  Marcus was a little worried, even though he was strong.  But that only lasted until he figured out what to do.  If he could break through the wall outside, he didn't need a door.  He picked a spot, and attacked the wall.  This one didn't last long at all.

Marcus came through the wall, into a large room.  Again, it was white and featureless.  And it was big, an enormous square.  He walked into the center, trying to decide which wall to go through now.  There was a sound, a whisper, and a piece of the ceiling slid aside.  Something like the barrel of a gun but larger, as big as his arm, slid out.  Without thinking, Marcus turned to run.  There was a sound, a great crashing, like the biggest explosion he'd ever heard.  It was followed by another, and another, and another, with almost no space between them.

With the first shot, he was driven to the ground.  Marcus felt pain like nothing before it.  There was blood and shattered bits of the floor all around him.  He could smell the stink of gunpowder and his own scorched flesh.  He was out of his mind with fear, confused that he hadn't died.  But he felt one more thing, and when it sank in, the fear vanished.  The burning, it was stronger than ever.  Eventually, the shots stopped.  Long before that, they'd stopped having any effect on him.  He'd just lain there, laughing, for the last of them.

"Is that all?!" he called out.  "You're weak!  And I'm only getting stronger!"

He walked, casual, with no sense of the lingering fear that he'd felt before, to the wall opposite the one he'd come through.  He didn't even need to hit it, this time.  Marcus pushed forward, barely slowing as the wall crumbled around him.  The next room looked the same as the last.  He smirked, wondering if his cowardly enemy would bother trying to shoot him, again. 

He let out a startled cry as the floor beneath him dropped away.  He fell, he didn't know how long.  It was quick, even though the top of the pit he landed in was at least a hundred feet above him.  The fall hadn't been enough to hurt him. He was too tough for that now.  He just smirked as he drove his hands and feet into a wall, climbed out as easily as he could've crossed the street.

It went on like that for a while.  Marcus broke into a room, was attacked by some kind of trap, got tougher or ignored it, then broke into the next.  He was so happy he could've thanked Stainless.  All these traps, the cowardly tricks he was using to hide behind, did nothing but make Marcus stronger.  Acid fell from the ceiling and burned his skin.  Streams of fire shot out of little nozzles and stuck to him.  Some kind of gas that made his lungs and eyes hurt.  Every time, the burning came and healed him, made him stronger.  His skin healed and took on a faint bluish tone.  The fire destroyed his clothes but the burning didn't let it harm him.  He cough a bloody mess and went blind for a moment, but the burning made everything right.    He lost all fear.

Eventually, he was so tough that the traps didn't even hurt.  Marcus laughed as the air crackled with electricity.  He twitched a little, at first, but the burning fixed that.  The next room was the first to repeat itself, another pit.  He'd already raised his face and opened his mouth, to taunt his foes again, when the acid came down.  It tasted awful, but that was it.  He heard the enormous gun firing and the crackle of electricity, saw the flash of fire and the gas in the air.  Instead of laughing he just smiled, he was naked now but he didn't care.  Nothing could hurt him and he'd never need to hide again.  Marcus had some trouble climbing out.  The gunfire did nothing to him, but it did damage the wall he was climbing and the slippery acid interfered with his grip.  He gave up, after the third time he fell, and just jumped out.

That had to be the last one.  Stainless wouldn't have started repeating traps if he wasn't desperate.  Marcus paused before the final wall, as a thought occurred to him.  He was about to kill Stainless.  That meant he'd be the new Lord.  But... what would he call himself?  Lord Marcus didn't have the right feel.

He knew a name mattered.  It was the first thing anyone would know about him.  No one wanted to mess with Lord Holocaust.  Before him had been Bloodrule, Kill Star and Stone Fist.  Marcus was too young to remember Lord Stone Fist, but his mother had told stories about the man.  They had been... well, they'd been freaking terrifying.    None of them lasted more than five years.  Marcus smirked, Stainless wouldn't even last six months.

Another man might have wondered, if those other Lords were so fearsome, how they had all fallen.  That other man might have wondered exactly how Stainless had defeated Holocaust, a living fire storm.  He would also have asked why, after all this time, and all this destruction, Marcus had still not seen another living being within the building.  Instead, Marcus was trying to pick a name that would tell everyone he couldn't be beaten.  Well, when he put it like that, the name seemed obvious.  He tore through the wall and into the throne room.