The Poppy War. R.F. Kuang

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СКАЧАТЬ Tortoise,” Rin murmured. She had trouble following as Kureel and Altan began trading blows in close combat. They matched multiple strikes and parries per second, dodging and ducking around each other like dance partners.

      A minute passed. Kureel flagged visibly. Her blows became sloppy, overextended. Droplets of sweat flew from her forehead every time she moved. But Altan was unfazed, still moving with that same feline grace he had possessed since the beginning of the match.

      “He’s playing with her,” said Raban.

      Rin couldn’t take her eyes off Altan. His movements were dancelike, hypnotic. Every action bespoke sheer power—not the hulking muscle that Kobin had embodied, but a compact energy, as if at every moment Altan were a tightly coiled spring about to go off.

      “He’ll end it soon,” Raban predicted.

      It was ultimately a game of cat and mouse. Altan had never been evenly matched with Kureel. He fought on another level entirely. He had acted the part of her mirror to humor her at first, and then to tire her out. Kureel’s movements slowed with every passing second. And, mockingly, Altan too slowed down his pace to match Kureel’s rhythm. Finally Kureel lunged desperately forward, trying to score a hit on Altan’s midriff. Instead of blocking it, Altan jumped aside, ran up against the dirt wall of the ring, rebounded off the other side, and twisted in the air. His foot caught Kureel in the side of the head. She snapped backward.

      She was unconscious before Altan landed behind her, crouched like a cat.

      “Tiger’s tits,” said Kitay.

      “Tiger’s tits,” Raban agreed.

      Two orange-banded Medicine apprentices jumped immediately into the pit to lift Kureel out. A stretcher was already waiting by the side of the ring. Altan hung in the center of the pit, arms folded, waiting calmly for them to finish. Even as they carried Kureel out of the basement, another student climbed down the rope ladder.

      “Three challengers in one night,” Kitay said. “Is that normal?”

      “Altan fights a lot,” said Raban. “Everyone wants to be the one who takes him down.”

      “Has that ever happened?” Rin asked.

      Raban just laughed.

      The third challenger turned his shaved head up to the lamplight, and Rin realized with a start that it was Tobi—the apprentice from the tour.

      Good, Rin thought. I hope Altan destroys him.

      Tobi introduced himself loudly, whipping up yells from his Combat classmates. Altan picked at his sleeve and again said nothing. He might have rolled his eyes, but in the dim light Rin couldn’t be sure.

      “Begin,” Sonnen said.

      Tobi flexed his arms and sank back into a low crouch. Rather than forming fists with his hands, he curled his knobby fingers tightly as if wrapping them around an invisible ball.

      Altan tilted his head as if to say, Well, come on.

      The match quickly lost its elegance. It was a knockdown, bloody-knuckled, no-holds-barred struggle. It was heavy-handed and abrupt, and full of brute, animalistic force. Nothing was off-limits. Tobi clawed furiously at Altan’s eyes. Altan ducked his head and slammed an elbow into Tobi’s chest.

      Tobi staggered back, wheezing for air. Altan backhanded him across the head as if disciplining a child. Tobi tumbled to the floor, then rebounded with a complicated flipping motion and barreled forward. Altan raised his fists in anticipation, but Tobi threw himself at Altan’s waist, pushing both of them back to the ground.

      Altan slammed backward onto the dirt floor. Tobi pulled his right arm back and drove his clawed fingers into Altan’s stomach. Altan’s mouth opened in the shape of a soundless scream. Tobi dug his fingers in deeper and twisted. Rin could see veins protruding from his lower arm. His face warped into an wolf’s snarl.

      Altan convulsed under Tobi’s grip and coughed. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

      Rin’s stomach roiled.

      “Shit,” Kitay kept saying. “Shit, shit, shit.”

      “That’s Tiger Claws,” said Raban. “Tobi’s signature technique. Inherited arts. Altan won’t be able to shit properly for a week.”

      Sonnen leaned forward. “All right, break—”

      But then Altan wrapped his free hand around Tobi’s neck and jammed Tobi’s face down into his own forehead. Once. Twice. Tobi’s grip went slack.

      Altan flung Tobi off and lunged forward. Half a second later their positions were reversed; Tobi lay inert on the ground as Altan kneeled atop him, hands pressed firmly around his neck. Tobi tapped frantically at Altan’s arm.

      Altan flung Tobi away from him in disdain. He glanced at Master Sonnen as if awaiting further instructions.

      Sonnen shrugged. “That’s the match.”

      Rin let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

      The Medicine apprentices jumped into the ring and hauled Tobi up. He moaned. Blood streamed from his nose.

      Altan hung back, leaning against the dirt wall. He looked bored, disinterested, as if his stomach weren’t twisted into a sickening knot, as if he had never been touched at all. Blood dripped down his chin. Rin watched, partly in fascination and partly in horror, as Altan’s tongue snaked out and licked the blood from his upper lip.

      Altan closed his eyes for a long time, and then tilted his head up and exhaled slowly through his mouth.

      Raban grinned when he saw their expressions. “Make sense now?”

      “That was—” Kitay flapped his hands. “How? How?”

      “Doesn’t he feel pain?” Rin demanded. “He’s not human.”

      “He’s not,” said Raban. “He’s a Speerly.”

      The next day at lunch, all any of the first-years could talk about was Altan.

      The entire class had fallen in love with him, to some extent, but Kitay especially was besotted with him. “The way he moves, it’s just—” Kitay waved his arms in the air, at a loss for words.

      “He doesn’t talk much, does he?” Han said. “Wouldn’t even introduce himself. Prick.”

      “He doesn’t need to introduce himself,” Kitay scoffed. “Everyone knows who he is.”

      “Strong and mysterious,” Venka said dreamily. She and Niang giggled.

      “Maybe he doesn’t know how to talk,” Nezha suggested. “You know how the Speerlies were. Wild and bloodthirsty. Hardly knew what to do with themselves unless they’d been given orders.”

      “The Speerlies weren’t idiots,” Niang protested.

      “They were primitive. Scarcely more intelligent than children,” Nezha insisted. “I heard СКАЧАТЬ