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Learning to Walk Again

By: Sinead

Chapter Eleven

The bell rang. I felt as if I were in a dream, as Yokio helped strap on my gauntlets tightly. Savage picked up my helmet, Brute my shield, and Factor my sword. Yokio, oddly, kissed me hard right in front of my fighting comrades, but I didn’t mind. Once he pulled away, I rested my forehead against his collarbone, and then sighed. His hand combed through my hair once, then held my head close to him. He was scared that his dream would come true, that I would die in front of his eyes, while he was helpless, being held back.

With a deep breath, I stood straight, and walked with my friends, towards the arena. The media, as expected, met us half-way there, but not one reporter screamed a question at me. They didn’t get in our way, but instead plastered themselves against the walls. Savage handed me the helmet, and I put it on, allowing Yokio to help with the straps on the back. I reached for my sword first, and then locked the scabbard into place on my lower back. If I needed to roll over, then it would detach. Brute held out my shield, and I slipped it onto my arm. Cameras were pointed to our direction, and the crowd was silent.

Tempest was trying to get the crowd to shout, but only a few weak cries went up. I walked into the arena, and looked up at the silent watchers.

A voice started to yell.

“Get ’im, Kedakai! Show ’em what a real fighter is!”

Another joined, from the other side.

“Show him what defeat means!”

And another.

“Give him hell! Rip his heart out and shove it down his throat!”

Most were male voices. They respected my father, and saw that I was gonna avenge his defeat. And I’d make it as painful as I could.

A wolf howl went up, oddly, and a ’Raptor’s wail followed it. I looked up, and saw a group of people watching from the very top edge of the stands. I knew that Yokio had left my side, to run up to the top of the open-air arena as well, so that he could yell in delight that I had made it this far. He now knew I was fine without him by my side, even though I still felt a small quiver of worry ripple gently across his chest . . . his Spark. I looked to an attendant, then indicated the group. “Those up there . . . I want them seated comfortably, out of harm’s way. Yokio will be with them.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Either my rooms, or wherever my fiancee thinks would be safer for them. They aren’t humans, and might look odd, but they are to be treated with the same respect that you treat my father. If I hear that you or any who you have asked to help you have treated them as less, you’ll be facing me in combat. Understand?”

He nodded, completely serious, and left.

I looked to Tempest, drew my sword, then rested the tip upon the ground, and held it in place with the hand that usually held the shield completely in place. I gripped the scabbard, and pulled it free, glaring over at Tempest.

My voice was hard, I knew, and it echoed around the arena. “I’ll make you pay, Tempest, for what you did to my father.”

I threw the scabbard down beside and slightly behind me. That signified that I would rather die than lose to him.

The crowd burst to life, and Tempest glared over at me. “Then you’ll be sadly disappointed.”

The doors opened, and I walked in calmly, while Tempest rushed in, and ran at me. I glared at him, and then moved quickly, as fast as I would allow myself. With a sudden realization, I knew that I had speed unrivaled, that I had never found before. Tempest skidded to a halt, then looked at me. He jogged forward, and then rushed at me. I timed it, and then leapt upwards, flipping, and then landed behind him, kicking his back with my right foot as soon as my left was stable on the ground. He stumbled forwards, and then caught his balance. The crowds were, as my father once put it, wailing for me to win.

Tempest grinned, and then attacked with more ferocity than I have seen him show in any of his last battles. I deflected his sword’s blows grimly, knowing that one wrong move, and I was toast. If he got one lucky shot in, with the force that he was using, he probably could kill me.

Then, it happened. With a step forward on his left leg, a false swing of his right arm, his sword arm, he grabbed my sword arm with his shield-free left arm as I ducked. His right leg wedged itself around my left leg, and his whole body twisted.

Pain was my whole world, as his sword came whistling down. With a yell, I rolled, and then stood, ignoring the pain. I’ve had worse. With a grunt, I gripped my left leg, as I remembered exactly the way it had been dislocated. I watched Tempest. He skidded to a halt, as I roared in pain and concentration, and popped my leg back into place, then sagged slightly, letting the pain take a temporary toll.

With a deep breath, I stood straight, and then looked at him. He was between me . . . and my new sword. Bad idea. I already really like that sword.

The crowds were on their feet, yelling so loud, that I felt the ground tremble. I readied myself, and then glared at Tempest. We stood still, and the crowds’ cries dwindled to nothingness. Silence.

We stood still for over a minute, before he sheathed his sword, and then locked it to his back. I lowered into an unarmed fighting stance, and waited for his attack. He didn’t wait too long, and as he came towards me with a left punch, I gripped his arm, and used his momentum against him, so that he went tumbling. In a flash, I had my sword again, and he stood, chuckling. “You think that I’m gonna play nice, Kedakai? Hah. Insanity. I sharpened a new edge upon my sword . . . just for you.”

I waited, as he pulled his sword free, and twisted it, so that the mainly-unused side was now the one towards me. I looked into his eyes, a steely grey, and then replied, “If you think that a sharpened sword can stop me, you’re wrong.”

“Prove it, girl.”

“I trained with one. Father taught me how to defend against one. My first sword was a katana, sharpened to perfection. My father’s even cut me, accidentally, during practice. I’m no stranger to the bright edge of a blade.” I lowered myself into an attack position. My voice was a growl “Prepare for defeat.”

With a yell I attacked. All I saw, was him. And I was angry. He hurt my trainer. He hurt my mentor. He hurt my father. He hurt the father of my sibling-to-be. He threatened to take me away from Dinobot. He threatened my life.

And I was going to make him pay for it through his nose.

He couldn’t bring his sword around fast enough to block all my attacks. I was punishing him fiercely with the flat of my blade, causing him to lose ground at every new onslaught of moves. There was nothing that he could do, but take it.

Soon, he was on the ground, swordless, daggerless, defenseless, with my sword resting upon the base of his throat. The bell tolled, kept going past what would have usually been the customary six that a regional champion receives . . . and I backed away, panting. My foot brushed against something, and I saw that it was his sword.

I looked at it, then picked it up, after leaning my own sword against my hip. With practiced moves, I took my helmet off, amid shouts of victory from the stands, and then looked up at the fighter looking at me, his own helmet off, and his face a mask of confusion. I hung my helmet upon the hook that normally held my scabbard, then picked up my sword, and walked over to Tempest. He lowered his head, then bowed upon one knee, not looking at me. I touched his shoulder, then when he looked at me, at my eyes, I said with a gentle smile, “Well fought, Tempest. Thank you for the fight.”

I rested his sword against his shoulder, and smiled once more, kindly, and began to walk away, when I felt him grab my arm, then stand. “Please. Forgive my actions towards your father, and towards you. Although . . . how you managed to put your leg back in place . . .”

I shook my head. “Talk to him yourself. As for me, well, we were fighting. The whole point is to take your opponent out. And don’t ask about the leg deal. Please.”

He nodded, and then grinned. “Forgive this, too.”

“Wha – hey! Tempest!”

He hoisted me upon his shoulder, and yelled out to the multitudes, “Meet your Regional Champion, New England! You’ll never find a better fighter!”

I smiled, and then said, “I’m not better than the rest of them. Can you put me down, now?”

He chuckled, and did so, then said, “But if you and Yokio ever get divorced . . .”

With a shake of my head, I replied, “We never will. We know that.”

As we spoke of him, my “husband-to-be” came running up to me, then grabbed my head between his hands, asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yokio–”

“Alessa, are you sure?”

“Will you–”

“Are you okay?”

I laughed, and embraced him, sighing into his shoulder. [Dinobot, I’m as good as I can get, after dueling. I’m fine.]

[Your leg . . .]

I pulled away from him, and said, “And I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine. But you’d better feel this.”

He kissed me hard, again, right in front of Tempest and the whole of New England. Once he pulled away, I looked at him. “If you do that again, so help me, I’ll–”

“Lay him? Please say that’s what you were going to say,” Brute’s voice said.

I glared at him from around Yokio. “Can I kill you?”

Before I was whisked away to the winner’s circle, I gripped Yokio’s hand lightly, remembering my armor after I took his hand into mine, and said, “We have to talk.”

He nodded, and I was brought forward. Just as the ceremonies were beginning, he whispered, [The visitors are being brought to the Pavilion as we speak. They’re safe.]

[So I’ll meet them after tomorrow’s team death-match? I’m not gonna get a chance to get to the Pavilion until then, knowing procedures here.]

[Yes. You can trust them, I assure you.]

As I was being presented with the cup and the awards for being the Regional Champion, I looked over to my father, who was standing with the help of my mother, beaming. I smiled, and looked at Yokio, who was fighting his way towards me again. I helped him up, and then sat beside him, on the winner’s platform. The horde of watchers were yelling for me to do a speech. I held my hand up for silence, then called out, “And what would you have me speak on?”

“Winning!”

“The fight!”

“Other fighters!”

“Fighting styles!”

“Your fiancé!”

The last one broke the tension completely, and I laughed. “Alright, alright, hold on. I’m not gonna get into some long-winded session about any of those things. I know that it’s tradition for the Regional Champion to do so, but sorry, I’ve been bored far too many times with Dad’s eloquent passages.”

That caused guffaws, as my father glared at me, then tossed a foam pad at my head. I batted it away, and continued. “But I’ll speak about what drives each and every fighter that you’ve seen here, in one form or another.” I took a breath. “Honor and pride are two fickle matters. I’ll start with pride. It’s what drives us to keep standing, to keep getting up. It’s what helps us keep our heads held high and our shoulders square. Without pride, wether it be in ourselves, our training, our mentors, or our arena, none of us would have made it this far.

“Honor is the same. Honor is the code that keeps our anger in check. It is what keeps us stable, in a constantly shifting environment. Had we no honor, then none of us could have let our opponents live. Without the honor that binds us, we are nothing. We are not a single body, we are not of one mind, we are separated and cut apart.” I paused, and smiled. “Tomorrow, is the first competition in the ‘team death-match,’ as my fighters have started to call it. We will have to fight as a team, in an arena with traps.” I grinned. “This will be quite interesting, won’t you say?”

As the crowd roared it’s affirmation, I looked to Yokio, who smiled, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you something cold for that hip of yours.”

They were trying to armor Yokio, but none of them could figure out my father’s armor pattern, and Dad had told me not to tell them. Mom made me promise. She also made my father promise the same thing. So, they were looking to me, while I was sitting upon the couch, strong painkillers circulating through my bloodstream, and an cold compress resting upon my hip. It was bruising, but the medics said that I hadn’t pinched a nerve, or anything else around it. I had been brought into the emergency room via a back door, been x-rayed, and then sent back. We wouldn’t be going back to the Pavilion, until after all the ceremonies are through. Anyway, my hip would swell slightly, and I’d be uncomfortable, but nothing serious would happen. I’d just have to take it easy tomorrow.

“Alessa, how are you able to get into that armor?!” Factor asked for the fifth time.

I looked at him. “I grew up with it. Now think. Michael! Stop whispering to Terrence!”

Brute and Fear, as they are otherwise known, looked up meekly. I glared at them. “I’ll make you polish that. Again.” I indicated the gold cup that had been presented to me. They grinned, and then looked over to Yokio, who was looking at the helmet. That cup had been polished three times already.

Kale Haleleigha, and his brother Nahele Iolana, came in grinning. The slightly-larger of the two, Kale, grinned, and said, “Alessa, the media is at the end of the hall.”

I groaned. “Does security know?”

“Security has issues, as usual,” Nahele replied, grinning, “and we had to help convince them that you’re having ‘time’ with your fiancé.”

“You’re not helping, Factor,” I growled. “I’m in pain, they can’t get the armor on Yokio, since I’m sworn not to tell them, Michael and Terrence are snickering about something that I don’t want to know about, and I haven’t seen–”

Ito-chan ran in, slammed the door, and looked at me. “Media followed me.”

I glared at him. “And where have you been, Itosugi Yamayuurei?! I’ve been worried that you had left early, gotten sick or something!”

He shook his head. “We had to do this commentary on the final fights. It’s taken forever, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to escape from it, and come down to congratulate you, little sister.”

“‘Little’? I’m four inches taller than you.”

“Younger?”

“Fine.” I closed my eyes. “And you can help them armor Yokio, if you feel like it. Personally, I’d stand and watch them fall over themselves, unable to figure it out. Michael, if would you stop whispering to Terrence, I’d feel safer. And don’t give me that face, Terrence. Yokio! Aah . . . I’ve had it up to here with the lot of you! I’m going to sleep!”