he saw Knees slowly attempting to replicate the technique with another crew member.
Eventually, the other boys began to come directly to Cego for advice on techniques for their upcoming fights.
In the corner of their bunkroom, beyond the view of the old guard, Cego showed Knees and Dozer a simple back take. Drag the arm across, swivel the hips, out and pull the opponent down into the open space.
To Cego, these sorts of things were second nature. He felt it in his muscles—he’d drilled that back take thousands of times. To these boys, though, even the simplest techniques were marvels. They were awed at the efficiency of good movement. The boys had Grievar blood in them, but they certainly weren’t fighters yet.
Ozark eventually caught wind of Cego helping out the crew. Though he made Cego pay for the stand-down in the yard every chance he got, Ozark didn’t intervene with the off-hours training.
Since Cego had arrived, the crew’s overall winning percentage had increased and they’d been moving ahead in the crew rankings, which appraised the cumulative wins of all members. Cego could nearly see the bits flashing in the Ozark’s eyes as he watched his product appreciate in value.
Weep had even stopped crying at night. Before bed, Cego saw the little boy sitting up against the wall, breathing steadily as he’d shown him in the yard. Though he hadn’t won any fights, Weep had won some confidence.
Shiar was the only one who still did not accept Cego. The jackal got even worse.
After one of Shiar’s fights, he returned to the bunk and stared Cego down. Shiar had blood on his hands, having just mercilessly pounded his opponent into the ground with glee. He licked the blood from his knuckles while keeping his burning eyes on Cego.
Shiar’s insults toward Weep became even more stinging, and he even turned his vehemence toward Dozer. Shiar treated Dozer like an unwanted pet, shooing him away and calling him a mound of useless muscle, a blockheaded dolt, and yet Dozer still followed his lead.
And then Shiar called Dozer lightless .
Before that day, Dozer had brashly repeated he would graduate from the Lyceum and become a Knight. That was his goal, his destiny, his lightpath.
The scales of destiny weren’t balanced for all, though. For some like Dozer, who wasn’t born of pure Grievar blood, whose eyes didn’t burn like morning stars, that destiny was nearly impossible to reach.
Shiar had made it perfectly clear to the rest of the crew on numerous occasions that he was the only purelight in the bunk, perhaps even at Thaloo’s. Both his mother and father were from a long line of Grievar. They “hadn’t strayed from the light,” as Shiar arrogantly repeated. Though he’d had the misfortune of ending up in this slave Circle, Shiar said it wouldn’t be long before he ended up at his rightful place at the Lyceum.
By contrast, most of the other boys at Thaloo’s were lacklights; they were some impure mixture of breeds. They didn’t have the pure Grievar line that assured them a place at the Lyceum.
After Shiar called him lightless, Dozer fell silent, no longer posturing before his fights and boasting in victory. In fact, the entire bunk was far quieter without the large boy’s constant bravado, thumping around wherever he went. Though Cego appreciated the newfound silence, he also saw the toll the insult had taken on Dozer.
The large boy sat on his cot with his shoulders slumped, he barely ate (his numerous hoarded cans overflowed from his hiding spot), and during training, Dozer went through the grueling tasks with a lifeless monotony.
Dozer’s bit-price began to fall along with his confidence—he’d lost two out of three of his last fights, one against a top specimen called Grinder. Cego had watched that fight from the sidelines.
Grinder had taken Dozer down from the onset and unleashed a flurry of ground-and-pound for nearly ten minutes as his friend tried to cover up helplessly. Cego cringed,
Eventually, the other boys began to come directly to Cego for advice on techniques for their upcoming fights.
In the corner of their bunkroom, beyond the view of the old guard, Cego showed Knees and Dozer a simple back take. Drag the arm across, swivel the hips, out and pull the opponent down into the open space.
To Cego, these sorts of things were second nature. He felt it in his muscles—he’d drilled that back take thousands of times. To these boys, though, even the simplest techniques were marvels. They were awed at the efficiency of good movement. The boys had Grievar blood in them, but they certainly weren’t fighters yet.
Ozark eventually caught wind of Cego helping out the crew. Though he made Cego pay for the stand-down in the yard every chance he got, Ozark didn’t intervene with the off-hours training.
Since Cego had arrived, the crew’s overall winning percentage had increased and they’d been moving ahead in the crew rankings, which appraised the cumulative wins of all members. Cego could nearly see the bits flashing in the Ozark’s eyes as he watched his product appreciate in value.
Weep had even stopped crying at night. Before bed, Cego saw the little boy sitting up against the wall, breathing steadily as he’d shown him in the yard. Though he hadn’t won any fights, Weep had won some confidence.
Shiar was the only one who still did not accept Cego. The jackal got even worse.
After one of Shiar’s fights, he returned to the bunk and stared Cego down. Shiar had blood on his hands, having just mercilessly pounded his opponent into the ground with glee. He licked the blood from his knuckles while keeping his burning eyes on Cego.
Shiar’s insults toward Weep became even more stinging, and he even turned his vehemence toward Dozer. Shiar treated Dozer like an unwanted pet, shooing him away and calling him a mound of useless muscle, a blockheaded dolt, and yet Dozer still followed his lead.
And then Shiar called Dozer lightless .
Before that day, Dozer had brashly repeated he would graduate from the Lyceum and become a Knight. That was his goal, his destiny, his lightpath.
The scales of destiny weren’t balanced for all, though. For some like Dozer, who wasn’t born of pure Grievar blood, whose eyes didn’t burn like morning stars, that destiny was nearly impossible to reach.
Shiar had made it perfectly clear to the rest of the crew on numerous occasions that he was the only purelight in the bunk, perhaps even at Thaloo’s. Both his mother and father were from a long line of Grievar. They “hadn’t strayed from the light,” as Shiar arrogantly repeated. Though he’d had the misfortune of ending up in this slave Circle, Shiar said it wouldn’t be long before he ended up at his rightful place at the Lyceum.
By contrast, most of the other boys at Thaloo’s were lacklights; they were some impure mixture of breeds. They didn’t have the pure Grievar line that assured them a place at the Lyceum.
After Shiar called him lightless, Dozer fell silent, no longer posturing before his fights and boasting in victory. In fact, the entire bunk was far quieter without the large boy’s constant bravado, thumping around wherever he went. Though Cego appreciated the newfound silence, he also saw the toll the insult had taken on Dozer.
The large boy sat on his cot with his shoulders slumped, he barely ate (his numerous hoarded cans overflowed from his hiding spot), and during training, Dozer went through the grueling tasks with a lifeless monotony.
Dozer’s bit-price began to fall along with his confidence—he’d lost two out of three of his last fights, one against a top specimen called Grinder. Cego had watched that fight from the sidelines.
Grinder had taken Dozer down from the onset and unleashed a flurry of ground-and-pound for nearly ten minutes as his friend tried to cover up helplessly. Cego cringed,
Similar Books
