“At first they told us not to worry. The authorities were working on a treatment. By the time we realized the authorities were dying just as quickly as everyone else, it was too late.”
— Anonymous
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Kiriai stood on her front porch, reluctant to go inside. She hurt in so many places they all blended into one morass of pain.
I love fighting, remember? This is my dream life.
Kiriai laughed softly and then stopped to grab her ribs.
No laughing until the fixer’s wand has had a chance to do its work, Kiriai berated herself. She knew better, but the war with Raibaru Hood was wearing everyone down. She wasn’t the only one not operating at top capacity.
The sturdy, wooden slats of her front door seemed to mock her. She couldn’t stand here all evening. Maybe she’d be able to slip past everyone and collapse into bed. With a deep breath, Kiriai straightened and slid the door open with a smile plastered on her face.
She didn’t fool Isha.
“Oh no, Kiriai-chan.” Her grandfather’s apprentice took one look at her and hurried over to help.
Kiriai didn’t bother trying to hide the grimace when she put weight on her left leg. If Isha was using her pet name, she’d already seen through any pretenses. At least her grandfather didn’t seem to be home to see what shape she was in. If she was lucky, Isha would help get her settled in bed before Ojisan returned. If she were recovering, he’d feel obligated to leave her alone. She hoped.
Isha, her face concerned, slid under Kiriai’s arm and helped her into the kitchen. “Lean on me. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll fix you a bowl of soup to eat while I mix up some remedies.”
“It’s nothing, Isha. Just a deep bruise that the fixer already treated with a wand.” Kiriai wanted to wave off the help, but it felt good, especially after the lonely trek back from the dispute arena. She let Isha help her to her favorite wicker chair against the kitchen wall where it caught the last of the late afternoon sun. Kiriai couldn’t help groaning with relief as she relaxed back into the cushions. Well-worn, they molded perfectly to her aching body.
“If you’re willing to admit you have an injury, I know it has to hurt. How long can you keep this up?” Isha’s worry was clear. She wasn’t Kiriai’s mother, but had filled the role with such love and care that Kiriai considered her family. Guilt filled Kiriai. Isha had her own troubles and didn’t need extra worries.
“I finished my fights today. I’m not needed as support for any of the Raibaru battles on Monday, so I have a few days to recover.”
“Fights?” Isha narrowed her eyes. “How many did you have today?”
Kiriai didn’t want to answer, but saw no way out. “Four,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Four!” Isha’s voice, in contrast, practically shrieked before she visibly forced herself to relax. “I’ll speak to Ojisan. That is too many for any fighter in a single day. I don’t care how skilled you are or how many disputes the scared people of our hood are registering against each other.”
“Isha, please.” Kiriai tried her most reasonable expression. “I’m really all right. There’s no need to get Ojisan involved. I’m not doing more than any other fighter. We all have to carry more weight at times like this. You and Ojisan are doing the same, right?”
“I know,” said Isha with a sigh as she handed a steaming bowl of soup to Kiriai. “I hate to see the toll it’s taking on you.”
“Well, I feel the same way about you and Ojisan. War makes more work for the fixers too. Blast! The entire hood could really use a break from this war. But we’ve lost so much territory in the outer ring, we can’t afford a break anytime soon. I have to help handle the disputes so the better fighters can hold back Raibaru in the hood battles.”
Isha nodded, her expression grave. She reached down to brush a few strands of auburn hair back from Kiriai’s face, but she didn’t object further. “Finish your soup. I’ll go mix up something for that leg of yours. I’ll be right back.”
Before Kiriai could protest, the fixer apprentice had disappeared down the hall toward their home’s dojo and workroom.
Kiriai wilted into her chair and cupped the porcelain bowl in aching hands, enjoying the warmth. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment. She leaned back and let her head rest as she released a slow breath.
Would now be a good time for an update?
Kiriai felt too tired to answer Yabban, even if the voice was in her head. She’d been ignoring the AI trainer’s gentle nudges to learn new fighting skills. With the crazy fighting schedule of the last few months, Kiriai just didn’t have time to learn fancy new kicks or principles. Granted, the constant fighting had increased her proficiency in other skills Yabban kept track of, like resilience and will power. Sometimes, it felt like that was all that kept her standing in the ring.
Would you like a joke instead?
Kiriai smiled, her eyes still closed. Sure, Yabban. And I promise I’ll find time to work on unlocking the rest of those novice moves you’ve been bugging me about.
Me? Bugging you? What do you call a bug that gobbles up trash?
Um, every bug?
Nope. A litter bug.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
After half a beat, Kiriai chuckled. Yabban always had her best interests at heart, and Kiriai resolved to carve out time to train with the ancient gaming AI.
Don’t forget the real reason to unlock the rest of your novice moves.
Oh, I haven’t. I can use the attribute point I earn to upgrade your autonomy feature. That’s just what I want, a trainer in my head who can think and speak for herself whenever she wants.
I’m glad you think so. Kiriai felt a pulse of satisfaction from the virtual trainer.
That was sarcasm, Yabban. Add that to your emotion database.
So you don’t want me to think and speak for myself? This time, Yabban shut down their emotional connection, and Kiriai felt like a jerk.
I do, Yabban. I’m just in a foul mood right now. Forgive me. This time Yabban pushed a sense of comfort her way in acknowledgment.
A bedroom door slid closed in the hallway and interrupted Kiriai’s internal conversation. She sat up, surprised at the unusual sight of her grandfather straining under the weight of a large pack on his back and another one filled to bursting in his hands. He was moving carefully, like he carried something valuable or breakable.
“Grandfather?”
The older man stopped and with unflappable calm turned and looked in her direction. “Ah, Kiriai. You’re home. I thought we had planned on meeting at the dojo for dinner.”
“We were, but I finished a little early, so I thought I’d just come home and eat here instead. Isha got me a little soup to start with.”
“I see,” her grandfather answered, his expression natural as if moving two stuffed packs were an everyday occurrence. “Were your fights today successful?”
“Mixed,” she admitted, curious about the packs, but knowing Ojisan would chastise her if she didn’t first engage in polite conversation. “I won three and lost one. But the loss was against a two-striped senior, so I didn’t drop too many points. The wins were against junior scrappers, so I didn’t gain too many either.” Kiriai gave a weary shrug. “Overall, I made a small gain today. It’s still an uphill slog to get back up past 1250 so I deserve this stripe I’m wearing.” Kiriai waved a hand in the direction of the fighting implant on her neck where a single blue stripe slashed across a glowing yellow background.
“Four fights?” Ojisan’s eyes drew together in the smallest motion, which for him was like a disapproving yell.
Kiriai nodded but didn’t try to explain. Everyone knew life wasn’t normal at the moment and there wasn’t much point in complaining about it.
“Is this something we should discuss with Boss Akuto?”
“No!” Kiriai flinched as some of her soup slopped into her lap. She set the bowl on a small end table and forced herself to mirror her grandfather’s calm. “No, Ojisan. I’m not being asked to do any more than the rest of the hood scrappers.”
Kiriai watched her grandfather consider her words before he nodded.
“Once we win this war, with your help, we’ll all be able to return to our normal lives. In addition, you are hard-working, determined and blessed with skill. I am confident you will succeed in the career you have chosen.” Ojisan gave her a firm nod as if the world would just fall into line with his declaration. He turned and started in the direction Isha had taken, which also led to the back door. Kiriai realized how effectively he’d distracted her. Not again!
“Ojisan?”
He stopped, almost through the doorway. As he turned, something made Kiriai see him with new eyes. How had he aged so much without her noticing? She looked at the slight figure of the man who had raised her from infancy. He turned toward her, eyebrows raised in question. The top of his head gleamed, a carefully combed circlet of salt-and-pepper hair leaving his ears to hold prominent positions. Even a man as stubborn as Ojisan hadn’t been able to prevent the wrinkles and sags etched into his face by age. With a control Kiriai wasn’t close to emulating, his expression betrayed not a single thought or feeling he didn’t want it to. And right now, he looked slightly curious, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Something is happening with you. Will you please tell me?” Kiriai hoped the direct approach would work.
Ojisan hesitated, but didn’t answer.
Disappointment crept in. The two of them had come a long way from the combative relationship they’d had earlier in the year. Kiriai didn’t realize how much she’d come to rely on their new trust. Whatever he was holding back threatened that openness. She didn’t like it at all.
Kiriai stood up, wincing slightly as she put weight on her leg. This wasn’t a conversation to have sitting down.
Something around Ojisan’s eyes tightened, and Kiriai knew he had noticed her injury. He was a very experienced healer, not to mention how well he knew her.
“Isha already went to get me something for my leg and the hood fixer treated it with a wand before I left.”
Ojisan pursed his lips, having no problem revealing his disgust for a fixer who relied on a wand instead of training and knowledge.
“Can we not talk about my injuries, please?” Kiriai took a few steps forward. Being taller than her grandfather still surprised her on occasion. Was it normal for children to still feel like they were looking up to their parents even when they were physically taller?
“What would you like to discuss?”
Kiriai scoffed and waved a hand at the two packs. “How about you start by explaining those? You’ve been acting differently for a few weeks now, but I haven’t wanted to intrude. You obviously have something you’re keeping from me.” Kiriai tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the hurt out of her voice.
“This pack contains valuable healing books in addition to a few of my tinctures and herb kits. The one on my back is filled with clothing and personal items.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking, Ojisan. You trained me to be observant. Something significant is happening and I want to know what it is.”
Ojisan opened his mouth but before he could speak, someone pounded vigorously on their door. Kiriai gave her grandfather a look that promised this wasn’t over before she turned to respond.
To her surprise, the door slid open before she got to it, hitting its stopper with a bang. How rude!
Then Kiriai saw who was at the door and froze, unable to process what she was seeing. A man and woman stood in the doorway, dressed in crisp black ’forcer uniforms of a style she’d only heard about, but never seen. They each wore holsters with some scary-looking tech devices instead of the billy clubs and knives she was used to seeing on the local hood ’forcers. It was the colors, though, that made their identification certain. They both wore distinctive armbands sporting an intricate pattern traced in black, stark against a white background: Southern Burb colors. What were burb ’forcers doing in Jitaku Hood, a border town, much less at the door of a local fixer’s family?