Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) (3 page)

Thirteen stops abruptly at the sight of her opponent, her obvious surprise turning into unrestrained anger. Six smiles back in recognition, making me frown. They know each other. I retrieve every memory I possess about the respective fighters, only to find that there is no possible way they met after conscription. Fighters are forbidden to interact outside their respective units and I am certain neither unit has crossed paths during training. Thirteen reaches for one of the daggers stored inside the golden clasp of her corset belt and Six responds by retrieving both of her moon blades. The thin knives fit perfectly around her knuckles, as if she had reached out into the starry sky and pulled down two half-moons from the dark vastness beyond.

Thirteen throws first, aiming one of her daggers directly toward Six’s chest. Six rotates left, avoiding the dagger and throwing one of her knives in Thirteen’s direction. The blade scrapes Thirteen’s hip, tearing the delicate fabric over her skin. Before Six can even register the movement, Thirteen lunges forward and kicks her in the stomach. I can’t hold back my surprise at her aggressive approach. The blow throws Six off balance, making her wobble back a few steps, but she recovers quickly, retaliating with kicks of her own. Before long, both fighters are caught between blows, well-aimed strikes, punches, and kicks. No one dares to look away. Their swift movements flux through the air like the strokes of a painter, sketching patterns of color against the pale surroundings.

Thirteen manages to grasp Six’s shoulder, digging her nails deep into her rival’s skin. Six swings her blade toward Thirteen, but she catches her wrist and rotates her body, clutching Six’s arm behind her own back. Thirteen locks her other arm around Six’s neck and tightens her grip as she struggles for breath. Six digs her chin into Thirteen’s elbow and pushes her hips backwards, grasping her opponent’s arms in the process and pulling her over her body and onto the floor. Thirteen hits the floor and Six pivots over her, aiming a strike directly to her face. Thirteen crosses her arms in front of her, stopping the two sharp edges of the half-moon dagger only inches away from her face.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Thirteen spits.

I freeze in place. “Yes, you should have.” Six’s laugh echoes through the room as their arms struggle against each other.

Six and Thirteen do have a history. I examine every possibility based on the information from their recruiting. Both fighters were conscripted from adjacent zones, but the distance was significant, a week’s travel on foot, maybe longer. I turn toward Seven, only to find his eyes already locked on me, the confusion in his expression borderlines on anxiety.

Thirteen finally manages to squeeze her knee into Six's chest and begins to push against her until she loosens her grip. The dagger, still pointed at her face, moves slightly, and Thirteen releases her lock. The sudden movement tosses Six forward. The dagger stabs the floor next to Thirteen’s face, nicking her cheek. Thirteen shoves Six away with her heel and jumps up, aiming her other knife at Six. The blade pierces Six’s thigh and she groans in pain. She pulls the dagger out without delay and throws it on the floor, looking at it with disdain. Blood begins to gush out of her wound, bathing her pants in a darker shade of red.

Six limps forward, pain contorting her features with every step. I turn my attention to Thirteen, feeling my eyebrows pinching together as I realize she is weaponless. Six starts to circle around her, while Thirteen remains still, her eyes following the black-haired assassin without blinking. Six walks around, but Thirteen doesn’t even rotate her body to look at her anymore.

Still, something about her stance, the deliberate nature of her pose and conscious effort to remain motionless, tells me she is not only highly aware of Six’s position, but she is also preparing to make her next move. Six swings her arm over her shoulder in preparation to throw her half-moon dagger and the blade leaves her hand just as Thirteen catapults forward, rolling over the bloody knife laying on the floor. She picks it up, leaps to her feet, and aims. The blade soars straight ahead, cutting through the air in Six’s direction. Six lunges to the right in an attempt to escape the dagger heading her way, but a grunt escapes her lips just as the blade enters her stomach.

Thirteen's aim is perfectly synchronized with Six's movement. Had Six stood still, the knife would have missed her completely. Her legs begin to shake, as if the weight of her body has suddenly become too heavy. She falls to her knees, grunting painfully and dropping her gaze to the floor. Thirteen walks forward, crouches down in front of Six, and pulls the knife out, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. Something tugs at my chest as I recognize the regret in Thirteen’s expression. Her chin quivers and after a moment in torturing stillness, someone completely unexpected speaks.

“It is the Markram way,” Senator Six says. I turn toward him unable to hide my surprise both at his perfect pronunciation of the human language and his empathetic tone. He almost sounds understanding of Thirteen's pain. "Weakness doesn’t deserve mercy."

Thirteen clenches her jaw. "Surely anyone can see that there is no weakness in the warrior standing before of me. We are equally skilled. It was merely luck that gave me an advantage over her. It could have easily gone the other way."

“But it didn't,” he replies. “Luck is merely the universe conspiring in your favor.”

My body freezes on the spot at the sound of those words. They pierce the air around me, unlocking a memory long forgotten in the most secluded corner of my mind. Krana. The woman who left me for another despite her feelings for me. The woman who nearly drove me to insanity. The woman who prompted my desire to join the army, in an attempt to flee from the memory of her betrayal. The image of the Senator comes with perfect clarity now. The same cheekbones, the same nose, the same honey-colored eyes. Her brother. I had never met him before. My background and recessive status then prevented me from approaching her family in a formal way. “Weakness has many faces,” he continues. “If the forces of the universe gather against you, perhaps they are simply exposing a weakness unseen by others. There should be no resentment, no sadness, no regret, only acceptance of your circumstances. That is the Markram way.”

Thirteen's attention returns to Six just in time to see her falling sideways, dead. Thirteen’s breathing quickens and she lifts her eyes to scan the crowd. She stops at the sight of Seven, looking at her as if he understood with perfect clarity what she feels. Seven conceals his expression almost immediately though, returning to the unresponsive soldier, and makes his way forward. As tradition dictates, only the unit leader over the winning fighter can recognize her victory. Seven reaches Thirteen and takes her hand, lifting her up and raising her arm as acknowledgment of her triumph.

Senator Thirty-Two steps forward. His white dress uniform completely devoid of black piping, signifying his authority as a ruling Senator, glistens amid the black sea of unit leaders around him. He nods in approval. "Honor to the dead. Honor to the victor."

The voices of every Markram in the room resound with pride and admiration at their unequivocal victory. "Honor to the dead. Honor to the victor."

I cannot help my stomach from contracting painfully as I watch Senator Six make his way to greet the two warriors standing in the middle of the Grand Hall, their fingers still interlaced and raised in triumph. My legs move forward, covering the distance in only a few strides, and when I reach him I have to bite down the bitter resentment threatening to escape from deep within me.

“You must be very pleased with the performance of the soldiers under your charge, Commander. Seven, and now Thirteen, have proven themselves rather skilled in the art of combat.”

I don’t answer. I don’t even nod in acknowledgment. The Senator eyes me curiously, and out of the corner of my eye I see Seven and Thirteen bowing, petitioning for dismissal. I tilt my head toward Seven without taking my eyes off the Senator, and sense him walking away with Thirteen.

“I trust your sister is well.” My voice comes out sharp and unfriendly.

The Senator’s lips curve slightly in delighted surprise. “Yes, she is rather well.”  He averts his eyes, focusing them on the group of attendants clearing the bloody aftermath of the match. “She has taken a post as a patronage representative.”

I grind my teeth together, uninterested. “It has been a pleasure to finally meet you.” I force my neck to bend slightly, nodding in spite of my desire to just walk away. He nods back, his expression warm and sympathetic.

I take my leave, immediately darting through the room toward the exit doors, only to find that most attendees have gathered outside. Their loud expressions of excitement are still focused on the match that took place. The rounded veranda facing the gleaming city of Velkram, capital of Sector 32, or Earth as it used to be known before its annexation to the empire, expands all the way around the massive building. I begin to walk away from the crowd and toward quieter surroundings when I find myself face to face with Seven.

“Commander.”

“Seven.” The irritation from the previous encounter with Senator Six still vibrates through my limbs and I have to force my thoughts into focus before speaking again. “Have you learned anything new regarding the prior relationship between tonight’s fighters?”

Seven lets out a displeased grunt. “They met during the occupation years. I have not learned the details yet, but their disagreements seem to date back to that time period. I can press the subject further if you require it.”

I shake my head. “It is of no importance now.” I look up toward the sky. The full moon shines brightly against the starry vastness beyond and the crisp breeze works its way through my lungs, cooling any vestige of irritation left. “Go. Enjoy the rest of the festivities. I believe more than one of the guests would love to keep you company for the remainder of the evening.”

Seven takes a sharp inhale, bringing my attention back to him. “I will be retiring immediately.” I raise my eyebrows, questioning him without a word. Seven doesn’t respond. His head bows. “Permission to be dismissed.” Something about his tone makes me wonder if he is simply requesting to leave my presence or, if he is in a very subtle way, trying to validate his desire to withdraw from the social gathering.

Either way, I move aside to let him pass. “Granted.”

He walks past me and works his way through the clusters of people. Two women approach him, but he dismisses them with a respectful inclination of his head. Still, the two women, one of which is the daughter of Senator Thirty-Two, couldn’t look any more displeased, maybe even offended, by the gentle refusal.

My eyes move toward the ocean of faces. Both the Major General and Eleven are nowhere in sight. My insides ripple with the jovial atmosphere that flavors the night and I let my gaze scan the sea of black and white uniforms. In spite of my efforts to keep the memories of my past entombed, my thoughts begin to drift, wandering farther and farther away from the man I have become, and closer to the woman I once loved and the man I was then. So many emotions linger in those memories. So little of that man remains.

Krana’s words resonate inside my head, bringing back the painful memory of her farewell. “It would seem the universe is conspiring against our weakness.”

I took her hand, pressing it against my chest. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. We aren’t weak. We don’t have to agree with the notion that there is anything beyond our own wills that has any control over our lives. All we have to do is fight; push back until this supposed universe collapses at our feet in surrender of our strength. Don’t give up, Krana, please.”

She looked up, her eyes glossy with tears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She pulled her hand away, gripping it against her neck, and turned around. Days later I enlisted in the army, seeking refuge from the news of her betrothal.

My hands ball into fists, remembering the sting of her goodbye. I drag her image down into the rocky floor of my inner thoughts and bury it deep within the darkness beyond. I wasn’t weak then and I am not weak now. My only weakness was her. Without her I am stronger than ever. I think about Seven and I can’t help seeing the similarities. Thirteen. His bane. His curse. She will continue to be a threat as long as she lives, tormenting him until the end of his days.

The city of Velkram, capital of Sector 32, ex
pands as far as my eyes can see. Like a warped maze of white concrete and glass, it bends and turns, consuming everyone inside its straight and narrow streets. Glass towers bend on themselves, coiling through the city like the dancing limbs of a sea creature. The crystal structures rise high above the clouds, only to dive back down and loop around themselves and other buildings. I shade my eyes as the pale light from the setting sun penetrates the translucent walls. The picture from where I sit is magnificent. The residence provides a panoramic view of everything surrounding the building. Even the glass floor beneath my feet allows me to take in the sight of the alleys below.

My fingers continue playing with the fragment of emerald-colored fabric. The soft material is soothing against my skin, though the shimmering threads woven randomly into the sheer material have a rough quality to them. I consider the souvenir from Thirteen’s fight and my stomach heaves in response. The residence belonging to me because of her performance at the Opening Ceremony feels like a cage, a crystal box showcasing all of my weaknesses. I rub the bloodstain on the fabric, clenching my jaw at the memory of Six’s knife flying through the air and scraping Thirteen’s hip. I knew I would try to collect the flimsy scrap as soon as it hit the floor, though I fought against the sudden impulse to no avail.

The tension in my jaw expands through my body. Her performing at the Opening Ceremony was no accident. Eleven made this pretty clear when he approached me that night. What I cannot begin to imagine is what he could be hiding behind his seemingly ignorant façade.

“We are matched against each other,” he said that evening, obviously referring to our next battle in the Arena. “What do you think will happen?”

I was in no mood for formalities. “One of us will die.”

His purple eyes searched mine inquisitively. I could sense his satisfaction at my harsh reply, indulging himself in the pleasure of producing an emotional response in me. “You should be so lucky.”

I refrained from answering at all. The moment my eyes spotted the scheduled matched on the display panel earlier that day, I knew Eleven was behind it. Our units had some of the highest scores in the battles, which meant we would most likely make it to the final weeks of the tournament without fighting each other. But the battles were only halfway through, and yet here we were, matched against each other, as if on purpose.

“I don’t know what you are up to,” I said. “But if you think your chances of winning have increased simply because you are taking our fight to a higher level of confrontation, your efforts are completely useless. You can fight me in the Arena or anywhere else in between. You will always lose.”

I could feel something sinister hiding in the shadow of his gaze, as if my words were digging a hole beneath my feet that would soon cave in and swallow me whole.

“The battles that rule our lives have never been in the Arena, Seven. Our fight will never end as long as we are both breathing. It is too unfortunate that those you care about will have to suffer as much as you. Their pain will make you squirm, I will personally see to it.”

I tuck the soft fabric inside my pocket and rub my forehead in frustration. My mind has been mulling over every possibility, and the nauseating anger coursing through me has given me a pounding headache. Surely he couldn’t be referring to Thirteen. He has no control over her, nothing to use against her. Except me. But even then, I doubt I am a compelling enough reason. I wonder if he knows something about her I don’t. I stand up and begin pacing, unable to control my annoyance at that small fact. That’s when it hits me. The other fighter, Six, she knew Thirteen, even before they were both captured. Could she have told Eleven something about Thirteen’s past? Something Eleven could use against her? Maybe Thirteen has a family, people she cares about, people she left behind.

She was alone when I found her, or so I thought at the time. But I know this really means nothing. The thrill of finding her that night could have been clouding my judgment. Either way, Eleven would need help to find whatever it is that he is looking for, and who would help him achieve such a goal? Still, something inside of me tells me I am right. It is the only possibility that makes sense, the only possibility that could threaten my performance, and my life, right along with every fighter in my unit. Bile rises to my throat at the memory of his smug expression. He had never looked so pleased with himself, nor I so irritated. Eleven has always blamed me for the life he leads, and even today, the tormented memory of our intertwined past haunts my every breath.

The city of Velkram begins to darken as the sun recedes and fog takes ownership of the night. I give the streets below one last look and close my eyes just as a glint of red flashes across my peripheral vision. My eyes swing open in shock. I scan the white maze below in search of any trace of color, only to find concrete and glass staring back at me. I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. But by the time I realize what I’m doing I have already walked out of the residence, coat in hand. I keep my attention on the streets as I step onto the transport shuttle. The honeycomb-shaped platform lights up as I step in, activating with my body weight. In one swift motion the single cell detaches itself from the others, lowering me down to the ground. My heartbeat doubles in speed when I step out. Thirteen’s senses hit me like a gust of wind.

I work my way through the narrow streets, inhaling deeply as I walk and guiding my mind through the pool of senses fresh in the air. Markram senses are considerably duller than other races, including humans. The constant effort to control our emotions becomes ingrained in our nature, masking the intensity of our responses. I wouldn’t know this if it weren’t for my ability. Extracting senses isn’t as black and white as some may think. Taking away someone’s capacity to see, hear, or feel is impossible. I have to absorb their senses into myself. Only by absorbing the entirety of their physiological capacities can I temporarily impair them.

Most Markrams are unaware of the link between senses and emotions. Seeing something, tasting it, smelling it, touching it, causes an emotional response, even if we are unaware of it, or in our case, even if we are trying to control it. Separating both would be impossible, which makes my ability all the more complicated. Especially when it comes to Thirteen. When I absorb her senses, I am not only absorbing what she sees, or hears, or tastes, I am also absorbing how she processes the information. Her emotional energy is much harder to manage.

I stop in front of a crossroads and close my eyes before breathing in, inhaling just enough of the senses around me to deduce her direction. Thirteen’s senses are sharper than most humans I’ve encountered. Even now, after months training myself to restrain the potency of her responses, the intensity of everything she feels overpowers me. Her energy tingles through me, intoxicating my body like a disorienting stimulant. I grunt at my shaking limbs. The sensation makes me feel like a child again, when every breath I took sent an exorbitant amount of foreign emotions gushing into my body. I couldn’t control my ability then. Breathing alone brought in the emotional failures and pains everyone exuded around me, especially during our squadron’s training exercises.

As I grew older, through training and self-control, I taught myself to build a wall around that part of my brain, shielding my mind from everyone’s senses and emotions except my own. After a while, the wall rose higher, increasing its protection for the benefit of own sanity. Now, I can choose to breath in whomever I want. Or no one at all. It takes effort to maintain the wall, but I don’t even have to think about it anymore. My mind has grown accustomed to it. It is part of the make up of my consciousness, built through endless sessions of self-discipline and torture.

My lips curve involuntarily as Thirteen’s senses wash through me and I grunt, annoyed at how easily her distinct essence affects me. I could pick her out in a crowd of millions. I take a sharp turn and follow her trail into a dark, narrow alley between two buildings, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. I stop in my tracks as her senses sharpen exponentially. Before I can gather what’s happened, blinding pain shoots through my stomach. My back hits something hard as another kick hits my chest, and though I manage to seize my attacker’s arm, the narrow space disorients me. I take a deep breath, aiming to impair whoever stands before me, only to find myself being smashed against the building with a knife pointed at my throat.

“Move again and I swear I’ll kill you,” Thirteen says. Her eyes burn with a fury so vivid it stops my attempts to impair her on the spot.

Her hood falls back, exposing her red hair and my eyes dart toward the street. I don’t think anyone can see us in the diminishing light, but even then I can’t be sure. I ease my hands around her shoulders to retrieve her hood, but she presses the knife even deeper into my skin. Just then I realize the suspicious quality of her senses. Fighting against my instincts to lower the wall around my mind, I allow everything she is experiencing to permeate the air I breathe. Anger. Distrust. Revulsion. Bloodlust.

Her pungent emotions burn through me, overcoming my mental defenses. I withdraw my hands, pushing my back against the wall as if I could put any more distance between us. Her eyes flicker at my reaction, but her body remains stiff. “Seven?” The hesitation in her expression and the subtle cooling of her temper tell me something is wrong, but I don’t let my ability linger in her any longer. I withdraw from her, placating my mind behind the safety of my own walls.

When I speak my voice comes out flat and detached. “You need to cover your hair.”

Her hands still clutch the knife tightly, but her arm begins to move away. I reach over to pull the hood back over her head and she doesn't protest. "Seven," she says, as if stating a fact that hadn’t been obvious before.

“How did you get out of the holding facility?” I ask.

She releases the pressure on the knife and exhales, relieved. Before I can stop her she wraps her arms around my neck. Every inch of my body stiffens, stunned at the impulsiveness of her gesture. I can feel her body relaxing against mine, tempting me to lower my mental wall again and, though I desperately want to, I don’t. I swallow thickly, not knowing how to respond. My limbs remain frozen, too afraid and confused to move. The sweet fragrance of her skin tickles my nose and I frantically reach for my wall, struggling to keep it in place.

“I didn’t think it was you,” she whispers against my neck.

Confusion and awkwardness turn into absolute horror as I realize what she means. I seize Thirteen’s shoulders, clenching my jaw in aggravation, and peel her body away from mine. I only know of one person with the extrasensory ability to alter reality. Somehow the fact that he had to touch her to create the illusion, since it is the only way his ability works, makes the thought even more disturbing.

"Who did you think I was?" I ask.

Thirteen averts her eyes in a clear attempt to conceal her expression. "It doesn’t matter anymore."

"Thirteen.”

“Why were you following me?" The tender tone and gesture expressed only moments ago already replaced with harsh annoyance.

My mind cringes away from her words, thickening the protective wall out of pure instinct. "Do I really need to explain the danger you would be in if you are caught?"

"You said it." She looks up toward the darkening sky and when her eyes return to me I can see mischief running through them. "If caught."

I feel her movement before it happens, catching her elbow just as she begins to turn around. "What are you up to?"

"Come and find out for yourself.” I tighten my grip, frowning at her smiling invitation. "Oh come on, Seven. Don't tell me you've never tried to get away, even if just for a little while."

I don't even have to consider her question. "No actually, I never have."

"Boy, you wouldn't know what fun is even if it hit you in the face, would you?"

"Am I supposed to understand what that means?"

She bites her lower lip, exhaling in obvious disappointment. "I suppose not.”

I can feel the crease on my forehead deepening. My desire teases me again, enticing me to lower the wall around my mind. I shake the thought, wrestling with myself to keep the wall in place. “How did you get out of the facility and who did you think I was?”

Thirteen wiggles her arm, but I grasp it even tighter. “I snuck out,” she says, placing her hand around my forearm and ignoring the other half of my question. For a fraction of a moment I am lost in her touch, nearly losing grasp of my restraint. “Come on. Are you game for a little adventure?”