The Afflicted Ch. 08

In.

Aimée sent out a thrust, missed, and tried to block the mental assault from Abby. This time, it was a gigantic eagle swooping in toward her.

Out.

Peace again.

Aimée tried several more times, but she saw that it was futile. She would never beat Abby in a direct assault, her friend's mind was too strong.

Aimée contemplated what she could possibly do. Suddenly, a memory came to her. She remembered all of the times Claude had taunted her when they were children. When he had descended to his most cruel she had simply plugged her ears and shouted out nonsense as loud as she could. Since she hadn't been able to silence him, she'd had to drown him out.

That was it! She realized the key to Abby's power was in control. The empath controlled her opponent's minds. Even when she wasn't doing that -- she tapped into their thoughts and was able to counter any sort of attacks.

What if there were no thoughts? What if there was no coherent attack? Abby could do many things, but she couldn't manage confusion. If nothing was logical, she would have nothing to hang onto.

Aimée marshaled her thoughts. She closed her eyes and began singing her favorite nursery song from her childhood.

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques..."

Keeping her eyes closed, she envisioned herself materializing in the ring near Abby.

In.

"Dormez vous, Dormez vous!"

Aimée's eyes were still closed. She was thrusting about with no plan whatsoever, making horrible sloppy slashes.

Clang. Her sword bounced off of Abby's sword.

Suddenly, Abby was back in her mind -- following the trail of the nursery rhyme and trying to latch onto it to control Aimée's thoughts. Aimée switched.

"La la la! Blah blah, blah!"

The strategy worked, Abby was unable to grasp ahold of anything concrete in Aimée's mind. However, her attempt to control Aimée was almost like someone shouting out their name in blind man's bluff. By following the path of Abby's mind, Aimée could tell with 'hotter' or 'colder' how close Abby was.

More slashing, more unplanned thrusts. Abby's sword arm was strong enough and she had that uncanny ability of some people who are blind. Without her eyes, her other senses had grown more acute. By sound, Abby was able to block several of Aimée's attempts -- but only for so long. After several intense moments, Aimée felt the sickening 'squish' which she knew so well. She opened her eyes in panic, but was gratified to see she had merely grazed the meat of Abby's hip. It certainly wasn't comfortable, but it would heal well and was nowhere near any vital organs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," cried Scaurus. "For the first time in more than three months, I give you a new champion."

Aimée blushed at the applause and accepted the many congratulations with great humility.

"Sorry," she whispered to Abby.

"Are you kidding," whispered the redhead back to her. "That was brilliant, and I'm SO glad not to be champion for a while."

Scaurus pulled Claude and Aimée aside.

"I must say, I'm very impressed with both of you," said the ancient instructor. "Fighting is one thing, thinking is another -- and you two are first-rate thinkers."

"Now, time for individual training!" called Scaurus to the group. "Fliers with me, others to the sword instructors -- and Aimée with Bullet."

* * * *

Claude followed Scaurus and the others down a long hallway. Their journey ended in a curious, massive square room. It was a cube of at least thirty meters on each side. All surfaces were black -- jet black (or geet black as his mother sometimes said, reverting back to the ancient Anglo-Norman origin of the word). There was one source of light, a huge globe suspended near the ceiling. There were four individuals waiting for them in the room -- and Claude was surprised to see that one was his own father. He started, at first, but Palo simply gave him a tacit nod.

"My friends," announced Aurelius Scaurus. "I welcome you to the flight cube. This is the most important training facility we have available for fliers. Not only am I glad to welcome our cadets, but I am also pleased to see some adult newcomers as well as people returning for a refresher. I will tell you this. I, personally, submit myself to lessons at least once a year. There is nothing more dangerous than a complacent fighter. I would urge all of you to come back here from time to time to reinforce the basics.

"We fight here for two reasons," he continued. "One, because you need confines. Yes, the sky is a great friend -- but there will always come the point when you must engage. Here, you have limits on where you can run. Two, you must learn that flying is an entirely different discipline and that up and down are relative terms. You, and you -- come here."

He had indicated Claude and Palo.

"Before you stand two of the finest land swordsmen I have ever seen. I have told it to this gentleman (he indicated Palo) and I will say it to young Claude here. I would never wish to meet them in combat on the ground. I am fairly certain that either of them could best me on a given day if we were earthbound."

Scaurus levitated into the air and hung above them.

"However, I know I could make short work of either of them in the air. That is what we are here for -- to teach you the discipline of the skies."

"Here," he said, reaching into a bag on the floor. It held several small flasks with attached cords which he shook before handing to each of the students.

"In these containers is a very simple formula. Phosphorus, mineral oil, and a couple of other minor ingredients. Please place this around your neck and secure it around your chest so it doesn't fly about."

Claude and Palo did as he asked and looked curiously as the others did so.

"Please fly," instructed Aurelius.

He flew up to the globe, tapping it on the side which made it retract into the ceiling and disappear -- a cover sliding into place. Suddenly, they were ensconced in darkness, a score of figures glowing in endless darkness.

"Listen closely to my words," said Scaurus. "Up and down no longer have meaning. Up is a means of escape and eventual asphyxiation. Down is a place of refuge among trees and buildings - or the place where non-flying opponents are to be met. However, it is time to forget all lessons you know from the swordsmen Thibault, Destreza, or even Myamoto. You fight in three directions now, not two. Discard the mysterious circle and replace it with a mysterious sphere."

They started by closing their eyes, at which point Aurelius grabbed them by the shoulder and spun them around.

"No up. No down," he shouted. "Now, we learn how to fight as proper flyers should."

For the next two hours they were put through the most grueling, exhausting drills Claude could imagine. Scaurus's gaze was intent and infallible.

"No up!" he shouted at Claude whenever he detected the young man was drifting back toward relying on a vertical orientation. The flight cube really did help -- and Claude soon found himself thinking only in terms of his alignment with his opponent.

"No feet!" shouted Scaurus at Palo, who had just lunged with his body as though he were on ground. "You don't have feet any more Palo. Remember, you have wings! You fly. Do not forget it."

Palo nodded with chagrin and kept working. Palo was actually catching on more quickly than Claude. This impressed Scaurus. Often his older students had more bad habits he needed to break. Palo, at least when it came to swordsmanship, was a quick and receptive learner.

"Very good," shouted Scaurus after a full two hours. "You are all doing well. Now pair up and we'll see if the drills are taking hold."

* * * *

While Claude was in the flight cube and the others were sent to fencing masters or experts befitting their gifts, Aimée waited with the warrior woman who had been by Scaurus' side.

"So, you're called Bullet?" she asked.

"That is what they call me but you may call me by my name, Mathilda. We jumpers don't mind the nicknames, but among ourselves, we insist on our real names. You are Aimée."

"Yes, Aimée Du..."

"I know your surname," said Bullet, interrupting her. "For now, even with friends -- your last name is best not spoken."

Aimée nodded.

"Come with me. We will jump to a place where we can converse in private."

Bullet took Aimée's hand in hers and they winked out. When they materialized, Aimée felt a curious sense of déjà vu. They were in an elegant room, carved entirely from rock.

"I know this place," whispered Aimée.

"Impossible," said Bullet. "This place is inaccessible from the outside world."

"But I do, Mathilda," insisted Aimée. "This is the place where my friend Abby and her brother Jacob were hidden away."

"Yes," said Mathilda, sadly. "I was the one who found them on regular maintenance rounds. So, you know this place. Good. Fix it in your mind and we will go to another safe room."

Aimée did as instructed and then Bullet whisked them off to another place. This one was much warmer, but again it was a room with no entrances or exits."

"Where are we?" asked Aimée.

"This is the original safe room," explained Bullet. "When the very first Afflicted was found to be a jumper, or a trepidon as they were first known -- she sought out a place where she could take people to in secret. Since then, we have built a network of safe places -- the locations of which are only shared among Jumpers. For today, we will use these two. I will teach you a few more every time we meet. First, I must compliment you on your deplacing ability. You are quick and powerful. However, we must work on your noise."

"I know!" exclaimed Aimée. "No matter what I do, I can't seem to be more quiet."

"When in a rush, there is nothing you can do," explained Bullet. "You are displacing a body's worth of air. That air must go somewhere and it will make noise. However, if you take your time, you can ease in."

"But how?" asked Aimée.

"Think of it this way," said Bullet, crossing to the door to another room in the safe house. "If you come from one room to another -- you can jump in, as though you are wishing to startle someone."

With this, she stepped into the other room and then jumped from the other room back into theirs.

"Or," she explained while walking back into the other room. "You can slink in, like a cat."

She eased herself through the doorway gently, like fluid.

"The key," she went on, "is to be in both places at once. To do a standard jump, you just picture yourself in the new place. To do a quiet jump, you must envision yourself in both places and ease yourself in, just like I did in through the doorway."

To illustrate, Bullet slowly faded away and was soon no longer there. A moment later, she was easing back into the room.

She worked on this technique with Aimée for several minutes. Aimée caught on fairly quickly, but was still frustrated at the noise she sometimes made.

"Aimée," said Bullet calmly. "You've been jumping for less than two months. I've been doing it for over two hundred years. Give it time."

Bullet proceeded to teach Aimée five more safe houses, or rooms. She made Aimée recite the names and descriptions of each room. The names were unique and unmistakable from each other. The Aerie, the Tomb, Close Quarters, and so on.

"Now remember. A room is just a room. A safe room has limited supplies, but it is a valid escape in the short term. Also, safe rooms have an emergency exit which can be used. A safe 'house' is supplied, warm, and secure. Safe houses are also ensconced deep within something massive like a mountain with no exit other than by deplacing. Now, for the most important room of all."

They winked out and into a much more comfortable looking room. The walls were lined with maps and papers. There were bunks spread around, and a fully stocked pantry. Brolly, their savior from the black guard, was lounging in a chair, sipping at a beer.

"Brolly."

"Mathilda," said the affable Englishman. "Oh, and the fresh blood. Thank god! It's been nearly two years now since we got a new jumper."

"What is this place?" asked Aimée.

"This," explained Brolly, stepping into the conversation, "is the heart of the Afflicted empire. Everything comes and goes via this very room."

"What he says is true," continued Bullet. "All messages, all transports, they are all coordinated through this very place."

A gentle whoosh sang in the room and a new jumper stepped in. This was a raven haired beauty who seemed to wear a perpetual bemused expression that matched that of the genial Brolly.

"Bullet, Brolly -- new girl! Yay! New girl."

"Aimée," said Brolly, scooping the beautiful new woman into his arms. "This is Leonora, the love of my life."

"Since when?" asked Leonora, though she did return his kiss with her own enthusiasm.

"Since you showed up," teased Brolly. "How much time do you have?"

"A little," said Leonora. "But first..."

She crossed to a huge bulletin board where there were three clipboards labeled 'Transport', 'Message', and 'Sanctuary'. The messages and transports were just that.

"We log everything here," explained Bullet. "All messages, all transports, and they must be reconciled against the central request log in the council headquarters."

"Good. Lesson learned," said Brolly, "Now, if you don't mind, we have some business to attend to."

He scooped Leonora up in his arms and tossed her onto bed.

"Perhaps we should go," said Aimée, blushing.

"If you wish," said Bullet with a grin. "Take us to the tomb."

Aimée whisked them away and was proud of her arrival, which was soft as a whisper.

"Much better, Aimée," said Bullet, proudly.

"I've been wondering. Why the name? Why Bullet?" asked Aimée.

"Good question," said the woman. "Let's go... elsewhere so I can explain."

She winked them out and into a desert canyon.

"Where are we?" asked Aimée.

"It's called Nine Mile Canyon in the Utah Territory,' explained Bullet. "It helps to have some room to show you this. As you know jumping is safe because one cannot jump into anything. As useful as it would be in battle to emerge with one's sword already within an enemy's body, one must first materialize and then strike the blow. We are still fierce fighters, but there are limits."

"I thought long on this," explained Bullet. "When I began, the standard fighting technique for deplaceurs was fairly standard. Materialize, thrust, evaporate -- then repeat. It occurred to me what was missing was inertia."

"I don't understand," said Aimée, perplexed. "We appear instantaneously. What can be faster than that?"

"You see, you are confusing speed with inertia," explained Bullet. "Yes, speed is so rapid with us as to almost seem immaterial. However, inertia is the movement through a system. It seemed to me that movement was essential."

"But you do move when you jump."

"I relocate. I am not moving. Here, let me illustrate -- it will be easier to simply show you. Look out there. Those plants that are called sagebrush. See how they are about the height of a man? Imagine that the top of each plant is a man's head. Now, watch."

Bullet jogged several yards from Aimée. With a great look of determination, she pulled out her sword and began to run. Aided by the strength afforded her by the Affliction, she was absurdly fast. As she whooshed past Aimée, she muttered 'watch the sagebrush'.

Aimée turned to watch the bushes in question. Suddenly, at a full dash, Bullet disappeared. A split second later she reappeared, mid-stride, next to the first bush. Swish, the head of the bush went toppling. Aimée gasped in amazement as the heads of fifteen more bushes fell off in the space of less than a second -- Bullet appearing as a blur beside each one as she dashed past.

"Oh my god," gasped Aimée as Bullet appeared before her, panting just a bit. "You really are a bullet."

"I'm certainly a weapon, no doubt about that," said Bullet, matter-of-factly.

"Have you ever used that technique in battle?"

"Of course," said Mathilda. "We had a skirmish with the black guard about a century ago. I claimed fifty-three lives that day, most in less than ten minutes."

"That must be a record."

"No, not even for a jumper," said Bullet, with a touch of chagrin. "That honor goes to Brolly."

"Brolly?" cried Aimée in amazement. "He's so... he's so..."

"Informal?" suggested Bullet.

"Yes, informal."

"Don't let that casual attitude fool you, young lady," admonished Bullet. "I've seen him decimate a room in less time than I just took out those bushes -- and I mean decimate. The ancient Romans would do that -- killing one out of every ten males in a population."

"We were once pinned down by a group of rebels. Folks got it into their minds to go vampire hunting. They were waiting outside of an Afflicted stronghold. Brolly -- Charles is his real name, by the way -- he called down from the ramparts. "

"'How many men do you have?' 'Five hundred' they called back.'

"Just like that, Brolly winked out. All we heard were thuds. He came back with a frightening grin on his face."

"You've just been decimated!" he yells down.

"There were fifty men dead. Fifty. Ten percent, just like that. Brolly suggested they leave. They refused. Ten percent of four-hundred and fifty -- forty-five. Five seconds later, Brolly was back -- Four-hundred and five men were left standing. In the space of less than a minute, there were ninety five dead with knives to the neck. The rebels departed and never even thought of attacking our kind again."

"This is true?" asked Aimée in amazement.

"I swear it on the memory of Frederique La Teilière," said Bullet.

With a chortle, Aimée caught herself.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to adjust that exclamation. But yes, do not underestimate Brolly. I scare people with my fighting skills. He scares me with his.

"Teach me to be a bullet," insisted Aimée.

For the rest of their session, Bullet walked through the intricacies of her 'trick'. It was difficult at first, but by the end, Aimée had mastered three running jumps in a row.

Soon, it was time to return and Bullet allowed Aimée to whoosh them back to the battle ring.

The others were starting to gather. Claude was beaming with a smile that brightened all the room.

"How were your lessons?" she asked, coyly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," said Claude. "I have so much to learn -- but I'm excited to do so."

Then he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"By the way, father sends his love."

"You saw him? I'm jealous," said Aimée. "How does he look?"

"Very good. And by god, he's a monster in the air. You should see how much he learned in just one day."

"Now then," said Scaurus, calling them to attention. "We've barely an hour left before sunrise. I propose we have a team competition to finish off the day. Who here is healed enough from the tournament?"

Two dozen raised their hands. Seven of the thirty-one cadets were still nursing wounds too deep for battle.

"Very good. I will choose the teams. Six teams of four"

Surprisingly, Scaurus picked Aimée and Abby to be on a team and added Claude and Jacob to the foursome.

"Not fair," protested Oppo. "Two champions on the same team."

"Really Oppo?" said Scaurus with a patient grin. "And the enemy, do you think they'll choose their worst people to send to battle?"

"No, I suppose not," said Oppo. "But we'll still be crushed."

"Perhaps," explained Scaurus. "But, you've all taken enough of a beating for one day. This is just an ink match."

A sigh of relief went up from the cadets. Ink matches were pure fun. The weapons were either long or short dowels, the ends of which had a rubber stamp attached. All that was needed for a 'kill' was to imprint the ink on a vital organ. The ink was bright yellow, so no mistake could be made when someone was touched. There was also an unspoken rule that the ink had to touch skin, not just clothing.