Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur saw Jan in a serious talk with the four men now. She was pulling more cores from her pouch, leaning in, and speaking animatedly, her words drowned out by distance and the din of the tent village around them.
Mel, behind him, caught Arthur’s eyes and jerked her chin forward. When Arthur nearly tripped from trying to watch Jan, she spoke curtly: “You said it. Keep moving.” Seeing the pursing lips, she added, “Trust us.”
Twisting his head around to fix his gaze forward, a part of him wondering why he gave a damn about the verbally abusive, grumpy woman who had threatened to kill him multiple times. He kept moving, though, dodging around strung tent lines as he followed Uswah toward the beginner village’s threshold.
Maybe caring, whether it was smart or not, was part of the human condition. The same reason why parents could not give up children spiraling into drugs or crime, or why lovers lingered, caring for terminally ill partners. Caring, even when it was not smart or logical, separated humanity from beasts. And machines.
“Left. Again.” Uswah’s voice cut in, making Arthur search for the incoming threat.
He found them after a bit, the group of a half dozen men bearing in on them. White singlets or T-shirts, with khaki shorts. Parangs in hand, death and mayhem in their eyes. The leader, a familiar-looking face, had his eyes locked on Arthur, idly striking an innocent who had scrambled out of the way too slowly.
No. Not eyes on him. But on the kris he carried.
“Shit. Suey Ying, right?” Arthur said, speeding up. He was not running, not yet. Mostly because the other party was not running. Yet, he wondered if it was time to do so.
“My turn,” Uswah said. She gestured with her free hand, the stump on the other arm moving at the same time to mimic the motion. Shadows cast by nearby began to move, twist, and solidify; they grasped and tripped three of the Suey Ying thugs.
As though her attack was a signal, the tong members unleashed a wordless roar and charged. They tried to keep to a single line, but an unseen tent string caught one man, sent him sprawling onto the side of a tent. He crashed down hard, bouncing off the ground, and a bystander outside spun around, hand falling to the knife by his side as he roared, “My tent!”
Even then, there were five more coming at him. Arthur took off, sprinting for all he was worth as he sought to cross the distance to safety. Uswah stayed behind, her face furrowed in concentration as she attempted to slow the group down with her shadow skills.
Arthur pelted ahead, knowing better than to look back or sideways. Not with the number of impediments in the way. He ran, the extra point in Body showcasing its effects. He was faster than ever, his feet digging into the dirt, his eyes picking out motion in his peripheral vision and ahead of him. He jumped, instinctively, leaping over a spear that emerged from a tent, skipped around a thin fishing line that had been used to work down a peg. He skidded around another tent that had been plonked in the middle of the walkway, leapt over the cooking fire without hesitation and nearly kicked the cook in the face.
Chased by the cries of the outraged, Arthur ran. His spear was held over his shoulder, slowing him down, threatening to get tangled. Cursing his choice of weapon, he still kept hold of it, leery of losing his own defense.
“Spear!” A roar from behind him, a woman’s familiar voice. Instinct, honed over weeks working together, entrusting his life to them and theirs to him, kicked in. He tossed the spear backwards. Trusting that she would catch it.
Of course, Arthur being Arthur, he could not help but add: “Dear!”
Then he ducked his head low and kept running, even as he heard Mel’s footsteps slow and then come to a stop. She was going to block the way, to buy him time.
Ahead of him, the threshold. The beginner village. Wooden buildings, manufactured by the Tower rose from the perimeter. A Tower guard, moving with the eerie grace of the unnatural, patrolled the boundary. A crowd of cultivators formed in front, slowing him down. Curiosity in their eyes, innocent in their motives.
Mostly.
Barreling forwards, hands stretched outwards, he swam through the group. Shoving and pulling, intent on not losing any of his momentum.
Ten meters.
Eight.
He could hear the shouts, the grumpy noises. Feel how the crowd parted behind him as he pushed through, curiosity making them turn.
Five.
He could almost taste freedom now. Then, louder shouts from behind him. Cries of pain, of surprise, the bellowing shouts of a man for the crowd to part or suffer. Arthur pushed faster, forced to shove and elbow, to tear a tent peg out as his foot got caught by an unseen line.
Slowed down. But making his way.
Three.
A hand, unseen, gripped his elbow. He let the hand grab it, but twisted his body to slam into someone’s ample stomach. Then he swung the knuckles of his hand upwards, crushing a nose. Not enough to kill, just enough to bloody a nose and cut his own hand on dirty teeth.
But it was enough to make the other let go.
Two meters.
He could do this. Breath coming harsh, sweaty bodies around him. He felt the pressure lighten up behind him, could almost sense the crowd parting. And then, suddenly, no one was trying to block his way.
One meter.
He jumped forward, giving up dignity. He hit the ground ahead of him, rolled and came up, spun around as fast as he could so he could see who was coming for him, even as he kicked backwards, backpedaling.
Wanting to get as far into the safe space as possible.
Only to blink and realise that he had that space. A few meters outside the boundary, the same eyeballing crowd had stymied his pursuers.
Arthur could almost laugh. If not for the cries of pain and surprise, the way the crowd was backing away as his pursuer was revealed.
Just one man. Just the one who had glared at him, looking at the kris he had sheathed.
Arthur kept moving back, then found himself bumping into a wooden building. The wall of one of the permanent establishments. It didn’t matter, he was inside the zone.
“Stop! You coward. Thief.” The voice that erupted from the glaring man was familiar, having shouted imprecations and orders for the crowd behind. The voice of one used to being listened to.
Arthur looked sideways, spotted the edge of the wall, and kept creeping that way. The guards might put an end to any fight, but if he was killed before they arrived . . . well, he was dead. What did it matter what happened to his assailant then?
“I said stop!” The man was inside the threshold, unhindered. The crowd was behind, watching. All curious.
Bloody rubberneckers.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, aren’t I?” Arthur said, hands held out in front of him and sideways. Just far enough that he could block, if he had to. No weapon in hand, though. Then again, neither did his opponent. But that didn’t mean Arthur was out of danger.
“Where you get that kris, ah?” the man snarled.
“What’s it to you?” Arthur asked, still edging for the corner of the building and the road beyond.
“It’s mine.” A hand raised, beckoning to Arthur. “Give it. Or else I take it.”
“We’re in the beginner zone.”
“You not gonna stay here forever.”
“No, but maybe for a day!” Arthur half-sung, then sighed. Of course no one knew that song either. Wait. Did that rubbernecker grin?
Nice!
“Are you stupid?” the man said.
“Of course I am. I’m an Ascender.” Arthur smiled, his back foot no longer finding the wall. He had a way out. “I’ll think about it. Just, let me see the admins first.”
The man snorted, gesturing to the side and backwards. “Ei. I tell you: We got all your little kawan.”
Arthur froze then.
“You don’t give me the kris and tell me what happened to my brother . . . I will cut them up in front of you.” He suddenly grinned wide. “Send you present every day. One finger. One toe.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I will. So, boy. How?”