Wandering Eyes, my email died and took your address with it. If
you woud be so kind as to drop me a letter, I would appreciate
it.
C&C accepted, welcome, and likely to make me happy. Public or
private, you know the addresses.
Chapter 8
"I am not happy about this."
"The judges agreed, unanimously, that for you to take a plane in
this weather was not to be. You can override them, of course. But
do you really want too?"
The shadowed man growled slightly. His eyes roamed around the
office for a bit, alighting on the absence of some of the
furnishings and utilities normally present. An empty square of
wall space represented the missing Michaelangelo painting, and
the vacant wall mount was deprived of the blade of Tachibana.
Such priceless trivialities, such beautiful wastes of resources,
all gone, moved and waiting for him to follow, he thought. This
deprivation was annoying, but no more.
"One week you said?"
"Yes. Everyone seems to agree both storms should be gone within
a week. We'll fly far to the south of them, just to be sure."
Reclining on her usual seat, a sheaf of notes, factiods, and
probably relevant data present as always, the woman waited for
the verdict. Her black hair was pulled back, out of her face, and
her business suit would not have been out of place on the
personal secretary of any high powered CEO. The very mundanity of
her appearance seemed to clash with her position and the identity
of her superior.
"Tell the judges I will accept their request. I know not what
desperate preparations they'd make were I not too." Being a
god-king could be so hard at times.
"Very well." She checked an item on the legal pad before her.
"What else is of special import today?"
"It's the storms, actually. I had some information pulled up
from someone in America's weather service. They were in agreement
with what we were told by both Japan, Argentina, and England.
Those storms are ridiculously improbable. Full details are on
pages twenty three through thirty one." The man behind the desk
flipped to the appropriate part of the brief and read. The woman
waited patiently for the minute it took him to consume, process,
and accept what was there.
"Only improbable now? Has the human race finally begun to accept
reality?" with a wry smile, the man asked as he replaced the
packet on his desk.
"Weather has been a phenomenon for several billion years.
They've had accurate information on it for a few hundred. And the
storms in question are going on right now. It appears reality has
beaten itself into their brains."
"Cute," was the reply. The man lifted the package again and
flipped to the back.
"Appendix II, page 56." The woman interjected before he got to
the index.
Another dry smile adorned his face as his hands presented the
appropriate page to his eyes. It was a map of the Pacific, in
fine detail, showing the storms. A red triangle was a few hundred
miles south of the northern one, and a green dot was only a few
miles away. The southern storm, coming up from below the equator,
encompassed most of the bottom half of the map. A helpful key
translated the color scheme to wind velocity.
"An anvil and hammer."
"He was never very forgiving."
The dark man sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Did Cane get out yet?"
"We've not spoken with her since her insertion."
Another sigh escaped his lips. If anyone was too old to ride
herd on a suicidal bunch of fanatics, it was him. Overprotective
fanatics at that, he decided as his thoughts touched his delayed
flight plan again. There was the soft sound of glass sliding
across wood. The man lifted his hand and took hold of the jigger
without looking up. After gazing at the unanswering panels of his
desk for a long moment, he took a sip.
"Next."
"Someone's selling the Chinese nukes again. It appears the US
took care of the storage facilities, and Landbound is searching
for the dealers."
"The US directly interfered?"
"It seems that way. 5.56mm bullets and casings were found, trace
elements of high durability plastics, and the MO fit the American
profile."
"Unlikely. Not with the current president. Look into that
deeper."
"Very well. And finally, Argus passed away," she said,
hesitantly. The words were hard to speak, and they achieved a
reaction as strong as expected.
Closing his eyes, the suddenly extremely weary gentleman drained
his drink in a long, slow death. He placed it alone on the empty
expanse of the desk and drew one youthful hand across his face.
Argus was dead. Argus. Truly, his generation was finally losing
their war with death.
"How?"
"Unknown. Details on that are priority one."
He was the last one older than me, the man realized. Both
Ueressesa and Dystopia had been his junior by a few years when
the ceremony had taken place. Still, they three were now the
masters of the circle.
"Where are the other two?"
"Status' are both unchanged. Neither seems to be concerned with
this current series of events."
"Good." They haven't cared in the last how many years?
Seeing this interview was over, the woman rose gathered her
things. Unmoving, her master's closed eyes were directed at the
ceiling. She walked out and shut the door, silently to leave him
alone with his thoughts.
===
"So, um, how does it look?"
"Well, the first one nearly sank us. The second one is looking
like it made the Dynasty flee. These things come in sets of
three."
"That's, ah, really bad."
"I think you could say that without too much worry of misleading
yourself, yes."
"We going to make it?"
"It might be possible that we'll not all die."
"Uh, I was sorta hoping for something more definite and
hopefully positive. You know, like 'Yes. We'll survive.' That
would be a good way to start."
Damion White turned to look at him for a long, slow moment as
the winds gave his hair a life of its own. The sea behind him
bucked and dove, white breakers colliding and showering the deck
and air with the brine. The tang of the moving ocean filled his
nose and made his eyes burn with just the hint of what drowning
would be like. Wrapping itself around his legs, the final remnant
of a once mighty wave gave a feeble, dying attempt to drag him
into the cool recesses of the sea.
After regarding his companion with a level, strong gaze, he
returned his attention to the helm. His lean features were set,
the vague lines rising to visibility. A will that had survived
horrors unmentionable looked from deep brown eyes and considered
the hellish liquid death trap which had arisen around them.
"It might even be possible that we'll survive."
"Um, yeah. We'll, uh, leave it at that then."
"I see. Why don't you go back below decks and tell Kyle I need
him"
"Yeah. I'll think I'll go do that. Um, bye."
Damion watched Sagawa's retreating back for a moment before once
more turning all his concentration on the wheel. It was fighting
him wildly, and his considerable strength was hard pressed to
maintain mastery over it.
===
"Hey, Kyle."
"Eh?" Looking up from the small apparatus he was working on,
Kyle made eye contact with Sagawa.
"Captain needs you up stairs."
"Oh. Right." Cracking his back as he rose, Kyle nodded
acquiescence and made for the door.
"Wait a sec. That pump's automatic. Why work it by hand?"
His answer was just a shrug and a hint of a smile. Standing
above it, he watched Kyle vanish up a ladder. A moment later, he
shrugged himself and climbed a different ladder.
After navigating the tunnels and passages of the bowels of the
ship, the mercenary dropped to a seat in the crewman's mess.
Beside him Nadia was staring intently at a spread of cards. Her
brow was furled, and her slightly upturned nose was pulled a bit
to the side as she pondered her hand.
Across the table, Carin lifted her own hand, took a vague look
at it, looked at Nadia's face, and smiled. She put her hand back
down on the table. Almost apologetically, she pushed three small
packets of sugar forward. "Call."
"Pair of aces." It was almost a question as Nadia placed the
cards down, face up.
"Three Queens." Carin dropped her own cards, placed her hand
atop the pile, and dragged it to her.
Sagawa noticed that the piles were slightly uneven. Carin was
having a hard time dealing over hers, and Nadia had three packets
left.
"You really need to work on the poker face," Carin commented as
she dealt again. At a look from Sagawa, she dealt him in. She
also passed the other two most of her pile, commenting she wanted
to keep playing.
"Five card draw, ante is one blue, Vegas betting, Ace to draw
four, suicide kings and one eyed jacks. Red on black, blades over
blunt, and keep it interesting. Deal rotates left." Carin did not
even appear to be thinking about the words as she flipped the
cards from her hands. Ante slid in, Sagawa watched the deal,
letting all five cards hit the table before moving, and they
began.
They looked, bet, drew, and looked again. Nadia folded. Sagawa
flipt a red packet to the center and lifted his gaze to his
opponent, face completely expressionless. They made eye contact
for several seconds, neither one betraying any emotion. Finally,
when Nadia was sure that she could feel the air chill, Carin
called.
Sagawa won, queens over tens. The deal moved.
Nadia tossed cards out, everything landing neatly in pile. The
game progressed, betting was quick, and again the three surveyed
their opponents.
Nadia folded. The other two looked at her, Carin rolling her
eyes while Sagawa sighed, and returned their gaze to each other.
Again Sagawa pushed a red packet to the center. Carin looked at
him for another moment, then tossed her cards, face down, to
Nadia. Sagawa turned over three kings, and the deal moved.
"So, why aren't you above decks, taunting the storm with your
immortality?" Carin asked as Sagawa lifted the cards to a pile.
"Because I'm plenty mortal." While he pulled the winnings in
with his right, he began shuffling with his left. He split the
deck, bridged, and pulled it together without letting the cards
touch the table. "And I enjoy staying that way."
"Ah."
With speed that left Nadia whistling, Sagawa dealt, still with
just one hand. Each card landed perfectly before their owners.
Carin lifted hers without comment; Nadia gave Sagawa an
intimidated look.
"Professional gambler, two years. Lived in Saharan Africa. Was
waiting for one of the wars to turn profitable," he explained.
"Aren't you the vulture," she subvocalized as she glanced at her
hand.
"Huh?"
"Waiting in the wings for people to start killing each other
with enough money to make it worth while. I thought you'd keep
yourself to such things as body-guarding." Nadia was surprised
he'd heard her.
Sagawa watched her after she had spoken, a peculiar intensity in
his slanted eyes. His gaze was steady and calculating, giving
both women the impression he was evaluating odds. After
scrutinizing her for almost a minute, he spoke. "A married man
had two kids, both boys. Lived in Kiombala. This was about ten
years ago, so the succession wars hadn't started, but everyone
knew they were coming. Desperate to get himself and his family
out of the country, he found his way to New York and worked. I
once saw his home, when we were working out the contract. It was
a rat hole.
"He had two full time jobs and did a little extra on the side.
He lived so far beyond poor he had to look up to find absolutely
destitute. Managed to save quite a bit, though.
"Finally, after a year, he had enough money and started on the
paper work for his family. That took most of another year, but in
the end, the US decided to accept them if they could make it
over. Problem was by then Kiombala had disintegrated, and they
couldn't get out. That's where I came in.
"He gave me money. I went to Africa, found his family, and
brought them out. It took me most of a month, but I gave the guy
the good cause discount so he could afford to hire me. Seventy
five percent. For a little more than plane fare, ammo costs, and
food, he got his family. The half that was profit, well, I earned
that. He certainly thought it was worth twenty grand. "
"Your normal fee is twenty thousand a week?" a disbelieving
Carin asked.
"For a search and retrieve, three people. Usually plus expenses.
Tax free. I gave him free expenses because a friend of mine ran
an airport. My ammo bill did top a thousand though."
The business woman looked at him aghast. That was well over her
salary, and she paid lots of taxes.
Sagawa shrugged.
As if suddenly remembering what they had been doing, Nadia
raised her cards back to her eyes. Carin looked away and examined
her own cards. The game moved on.
Some twenty minutes of silence, broken only to speak as
necessary for the game. Carin and Sagawa were keeping the
exchange of chips fairly even, and Nadia almost always folded
before any serious money could be moved, keeping her to a slow
but steady slide towards defeat.
In a half-hearted attempt to restart the conversation, Nadia
turned to her right and asked, "So, Carin, what do you attribute
your skill to?"
"Played twice a week, once with 'the boys,' once with the girls.
And I'm a professional negotiator," she responded. She looked
across the table for a second, but the almost hostile
defensiveness that had loomed over the gunman was gone. In its
place was an almost mournful air of regret.
"I'm doomed," Nadia decided. Another round came and ended, Carin
winning modestly.
"You are with that poker face." Sagawa glanced at his cards and
the game resumed.
Several hands went by, Sagawa winning just over half, Nadia
never winning at all. As the two stronger players again had their
almost customary battle of wills before betting, Nadia finally
asked, "Why are you so happy to be mortal? When you asserted that
you were, there was quite a bit of pride in it."
Carin tossed her cards to the center, face down. Sagawa covered
them with his four aces. "Because I like my mortality. I'm a real
person because of it."
"What do you mean?" asked Carin as she began her own deal. Not
as flashy as the man across from her, but more professional than
Nadia, she quickly had the cards out again.
"Well, think about it. What's Kyle been doing for the last few
years?" Lifting his cards to get a look at them, he gazed at them
blankly. He replaced them on the table and began moving sugar
packets.
"Working for me mainly. He's been doing that for almost six
years. Raise you ten." True to her word, the businesswoman pushed
the three red increments to the center. Nadia called, followed by
Sagawa.
"Think about it, then. He's been living a slow, comfortable life
for at least a decade. Then, straight out of the blue, people are
trying to kill him, he's traipsing, homeless, across the globe,
and now he's up there, helping Damion fight one of the nastiest
storms this part of the ocean has seen in a very long time. I'm
used to it, he's not. And he's just as calm about it as I am."
Everyone discarded and received their replacements.
While both of the gambling veterans gazed at their cards with
expressionless masks, Nadia was not so professional. Her eyes
widened to twice their already considerable width, and a smile
covered her face. The other two exchanged gazes.
Sagawa did not laugh with all his might. He could see a similar
struggle across the table. They began to bet.
A few minutes later, when Nadia was pulling a huge pot, Sagawa
looked at her cards. This was the fourth time in his life he had
seen a natural royal flush without cheating. Nadia's winnings had
reduced both his and Carin's piles to merest fractions of their
former size.
"Well, I'll be damned. Who would have thought?" he queried the
empty air.
"Oh, shut up. Let me keep my little illusion," Nadia happily
grumped.
Poker faces resumed, the game moved on.
"What were you saying about Kyle?" Nadia carefully organized
her pile, letting the sheer size of it loom over the table.
"Oh. Just think about it. He's gone through this complete life
style change. Everything about him up and altered. And he just
rolls with it, no problems. That happens as people stop aging."
"I'm not sure I follow. I remember Damion saying something about
your mind getting harder; is that what you mean?" Shooting him
another inquisitive look, Carin watched her cards drop to a
cluster before her.
Not responding immediately, Sagawa finished the deal. He glanced
at his hand and watched the game move. "I can't really explain it
better. Sorry."
No one said anything for several minutes as the game resumed.
Sagawa seemed to be slightly luckier, but Carin had a definite
edge in reading him. Nadia was less than extremely fortuitous.
She did play the odds though and did better than previously.
"While we three, the normal ones, are left down here, playing
for sweetener packages," Nadia finally stated. There was another
pause.
"Seems kinda insulting."
"And Nadia, I hope you like black coffee." Sagawa dropped three
twos, smiled apologetically, and took the pot, breaking Nadia.
"Hmpf. You are not my favorite person right now."
"Sorry."
===
"Isn't that rather impossible?" The impossibility in question, a
wall of water about eighty feet tall, was bearing down on them
from the port side.
"Probably." Damion shifted the engines, threw the full gas on,
and watched the prow swing to aim itself directly into the liquid
bulwark. He was forced to make a few additional corrections, as
they were now broadsiding most of the waves. They rode them out
and started up the side of the larger one.
As the deck shifted until it was almost vertical, Kyle was
quietly thankful he had tied himself to the boat, that the order
to those within to hang on tight had been given, and that this
was a relatively modern boat. To his left, hanging onto a control
panel with his body parallel to the metal floor, Damion hung by
one hand and a thin rope.
"Flip?" Kyle realized it was something of a stupid question as
the boat was already beginning its summersault. A moment later,
as he held his breath underwater, still clinging tightly to the
steering wheel, he nodded to himself. Yep, stupid question.
A brief eternity later the ship burst cork-like to the surface.
Swinging his head around, desperate to find out their current
orientation, Kyle swung the wheel again. He could feel the
engines already shifting to his assistance.
"You know, that was a fair sized tidal wave," he decided aloud.
"The third one was bigger."
"True. But that one was actually going with the storm. Going
across the wind and currents like that one was, that was more
impressive."
There was no answer as Damion checked the bilge dials. Seeing
that they were still within reasonable limits, he tapped once on
the horn. The answering bleat told him that all those below were
somewhat all right. A breaker crashed on their heads, rendering
Kyle silent as he struggled to spit out the water and draw in
air.
"What are we up to now?" His hair was plastered to his head as
his clothing clung to his skin. Wet in places he previously was
unaware he had, a stray thought wondering if somehow the Gift
could be used to dry himself crossed his mind with a wet flap. He
shook his head to clear it and then shook it again to free his
eyes of salty hair.
"Eight of the big ones." Damion shifted eased off on the
throttle a bit and watched the sea. He too was drenched, but he
ignored it. Moving only to wipe his eyes clear, the ancient
warrior watched his share of dials. "Two or three maybes."
Kyle checked his watch. "So far that's one tsunami an hour. I
wonder if that's a world record?"
"Tsunami's are the ones that hit the shore. I think these have a
different name."
"Any idea what? Just tidal waves?"
"I think so. Port a few points."
White Gull, one of the big names in boat building, had released
a line of ships in 2015 for serious sea travel. Proclaimed as
"The safest personal ship ever built," they could be sealed so
the interior cabins were airtight. Thus, unless the hull was
punctured, they were as close to unsinkable as possible. That was
somewhat reassuring, being as it was that the storm which hung
above was somewhat unusual.
"Oh, did you hear? Carin's decided to rename the boat. The 'Ugly
Woman' just doesn't sit right with her." Another crashing watery
assault beat down on them, forcing Kyle to augment his strength
with even more occult might. He was already tripling his strength
and endurance, and at moments when the depths of Oceanus' prowess
were displayed, he would triple that again. The thick cord about
his waist was a biting reminder that even he needed aid staying
on deck.
"Rename her what?"
"Not sure. She isn't, I mean. Big one coming."
"See it. Not that bad."
Kyle shrugged. The ship passed over a crest and plunged down.
Foamy streamers falling around them, they hit the base of the
next wave. It crashed down atop them, trying to push their little
craft to the sea bottom. As a multitude of miniscule currents
danced around them, they emerged again.
"Nice little boat. Suffers from not having an enclosed pilot's
chamber."
"It had one. You can see where it was removed." Damion gestured
with his head.
"Hmm. Looks like it was blown off and just never replaced." Kyle
glanced at one part of the metal surrounding them. It had been
cut through, amateurishly, some time earlier. Behind him two huge
towers of water collided and filled the air with even more salt
water. It was difficult to tell for a moment where the sea
stopped.
Finally, Kyle's receitence broke and no longer searching for a
way to diplomatically say it, he blurted out, "Why is the ocean
trying to kill us?"
"It doesn't like us."
"Could you answer the question any more insufficiently?"
Damion laughed, a surprisingly cheerful sound for such grim
conditions. "I'm afraid I can't, or won't, you decide, answer
that any better." He smiled once again, his arms and legs gently
flexing with the roll of the deck to keep him upright. Kyle shook
his head but decided not to pursue it. Around them, the sea
continued to buck and gyre, mad with rage. Great fists of water
rose and fell, pummeling the vessel with impotent hate.
In the crew's quarters, clinging to the walls of his bunk and
trying desperately not to be ill, Sagawa wondered if perhaps just
a heartfelt apology of his on behalf of others would suffice.
Face green in the flickering light, he concluded that it probably
would not.
===
As evening descended on the third day, a small breeze from the
southeast danced lightly through the trees of the Philippines.
Elsewhere, a faint wind pushed at the shutters of Australian
houses, causing those within to be momentarily thankful of their
shelter. Gentle flows glid over the wheat and corn of the great
plains, making waves of green and gold. But no winds blew in one
corner of the northern Pacific, for there it was the calm before
the storm.
"What do you mean, the calm before the storm? The storm just
died, finally," came the scared demand. Kyle, victim of this
interrogation, could just shrug and indicate the weather report.
"We have a class five hurricane coming straight up from the
south. Reports name this thing as the largest storm in recorded
history. Confirmed reports have sustained winds of two hundred
plus, and it looks like jet streams are tying themselves in
knots. This is biblical."
"This is ridiculous, that's what it is." Carin was sitting on
the main deck, watching the setting sun. Her legs were drawn up
and she had wrapped her arms around her shins, pulling them
against her chest. Reclining her chin on one knee, she had let
her hair loose. It hung straight down her back, inert as the
sullen, heavy air.
"We're not exactly living in what most people consider the
normal world to begin with here. I can throw Buicks, Damion's
older than dirt, we're fighting some people who seem to teleport
at will. This is just part of the game." He stepped forward and
sat behind her. Placing one leg outstretched on either side of
her, he leaned forward. His arms encircled her tense form and
pulled her back to his chest. She did not react.
They sat thus for several long moments, neither moving. Kyle
could feel the tension that wrapped her, the tightness in her
muscles and back. For the life of him, he could not think of
anything to do about it.
"We're going to die."
That statement, announced so calmly with only the faintest trace
of regret, shocked him. She seemed like she was trying it out,
persuading herself of a truth she refused to believe but knew she
must.
"No, we're not."
"Yes, we are. With a storm like that coming?"
"No, we're not."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so, dammit. And I'm going to force the entire
sea to accept that, whether it wants to or not." The conviction
in his voice matched that of his heart and words.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Good." Finally allowing herself to relax into his embrace, she
sighed and put her forehead into her knees.
===
It was in the late twelve hundreds. Almost at the end of the
century, the Duke of Lithuania was preparing himself for the
festivities of the coming crossover into a new era. The greatest
of his glory was yet to come, so would he tell anyone who asked,
and this would be the years of it. This was the time of milk and
honey, the demons of the land would pay tribute to him or be
banished for he would tolerate their minor dominions no more.
Jasko of Lithuania would suffer no power but his.
The Teutonic Knights were making violent noises again,
trumpeting the rise of Christianity against the pagan nations.
Far exceeding their original invitation to defeat the Prussians,
they had long since become an apparently secular, in truth if not
in name, power. Their aims, both religious and worldly, were not
what Jasko was willing to allow to pass. Their defeat would be
crushing, throwing them deeply into the pit of militant
inability. It would be his crowning moment of celebration for the
festivities.
They were not to be taken lightly, he knew. Victories against
them were always with great cost, whittling at his armies and
land even when the encroachers were pushed back. Still, he had a
secret weapon. He had had built a new castle, designed by
Frenchmen, that would be the center point of the coming
engagement. Knowing as he did that he could base his strategy
around its inviolate impenetrability, he could vanquish those
that stood before him. A centerpiece it would be, a hub for a
victorious wheel of ever moving and capering combative enscoreled
strength. As a tornado pulled all that was around it in, so would
his forces suck and drag those Germans in, pulling them
inevitably to the center of his power, the Stone of Wilno. There
would the gates of the netherworld open as the rivers of
bloodshed spilled from Teuter throats. Gloriously, it would be
his crowning moment for the end of an age.
That had been two years ago and wisely had the Duke plotted.
Unsuspecting and full of conceit, the Christians had gone slowly
around the circle, moving to the beat of Jasko's drummers. Paths
of depopulated emptiness lay upon the earth, as the spiral's skid
of unmitigated war processed towards that rock of Wilno.
It was the eve of third fortnight of the siege of the Stone now.
So silent and lacking had the noises of Lithuania's defender's
been that the siege had been declared unnecessary. Tomorrow, with
the first light of dawn, would the full assault begin. The sea of
Germans would rise and beat on the shore of the walls. Each side
was sure of the outcome.
Blood and fire rose from the field for three days. Titanic
boulders graced the air with parabolic arcs, and unrelenting
attempts upon the integrity of the gate left blood and ash
coating the portcullis and roads. As the invaders threw
themselves at the walls, again and again, the defenders would
toss their hate down in boiling water, oil, and stones. Floods of
arrows let the carnage spread past unbreached walls, filling the
air with crows and vultures. Aided by the stink of rotting
corpses, disease began to storm mercilessly through all parties.
Day and night blended together into a vehemence of unceasing
battle. Sleep allowed no peace, only fighting on an internal
battleground.
As dawn broke slowly on the fourth day, each side resumed their
efforts. Unnoticed, a white pigeon flew from the inner keep, over
the grounds, and off into the country. It returned at noon.
As shadows shrank to their minima, the portcullis rose. From
within the castle issued forth half the army of Jasko, sallying
to dalliance with the Germans on a more personal level.. From the
low line of hills to the west a distant thunder rose and
flourished. With horror in the hearts of the Teutonic command the
other half of Lithuania's defenders appeared, an irresistible
force came to immovable Wilno, with the Knights of the Red Cross
between.
As the screams rose, noises and deep reverberations climbing
into the air with a speed only outstretched by the mortality
rate, the armies were thrown into a melee. Battle lines and
planning forgotten, red stained everything. The blood was a sea,
a painted sea, a virus which infected everyone. The healthy wore
it in the marks of the fallen, and the ground drank it. The dirt
itself was red more than black, clinging in crimson mud to the
deceased and wounded. Nothing mortal was spared.
Death was everywhere, and death was in human form. Surrounded in
a mist of white flashes and sliver reflections, one man in white
bore no crimson stains upon him. Lacking a shield as other men,
he swept his slightly curved foreign blade faster than sanity
allowed. Always he was moving, walking, running, and flying over
the ground as if it held no more than a mild attraction to him.
His visage countenanced no fury, only the calm one would find in
a library.
A knight stood before him, lunging to attack. His blade died
first, bisected before it finished its stroke. Before the
segments could fall apart from each other, the knight began to
slide gently into four separate pieces. His last inhalation
escaped the gaping holes in his lungs and rose to the heavens,
leaving the mire behind.
The knight's squire attempted to avenge his master and joined
him a moment later. Three men, brave knights all, rushed the
white figure. All were dead before the last realized his
companion's had fallen. An arrow came down on the ivory clad
figure from behind. It was cut from the air a yard from its
target.
Sweeping through five men fighting back-to-back, the figure
frowned slightly. An imperceptible shift of the grip later, two
mounted knights landed by their steeds' feet. Again the grip was
edited too minutely for an observer to perceive. The flowing
white robes moved past a crouching axe man, leaving his axe on
the ground in the grip of dead hands. The frown vanished. Four
men died. A nod, as imperceptible as the grip adjustments, moved
the head of frost robed lightning.
A stroke rose from the ground, twisted and fell. The descent had
closely been compared to cherry blossoms more than once and was
in fact named for them. For a moment all around the ghost was
empty of life, as all living had fallen to his flickering sword.
Locating a patch of dense men, all exhibiting uncommon mastery of
the blade, the white figure moving on. Behind him, footsteps and
bodies remained.
The battle was won for Jasko, and all involved knew it. Nothing
was left other than putting up a good show and praying for a
miracle to allow them a safe retreat. The only miracle which
stalked that field had no intent of allowing anyone a safe exit.
The Lithuanians, confident and proud, passed the word of an ashen
god who danced for them. His single edged sword was like nothing
they had previously seen, as was right and good for a god to use.
Words of relief and confidence passed in his unheeding wake,
flourishing and eventually descending to a simple song, many
years later.
When darkness finally fell, the Teutonic Knights routed and in
harassed flight, Jasko himself came down from his perch atop the
walls. No cowardice had kept him from battle, merely the
knowledge that he was better for soldiers there. Command of the
battle had left him weak and fatigued, but one thing was beating
in his brain. A desire to see this man in white, the one clad in
outlandish garments that were almost a dress, rode in his heart
and made him come looking.
A wise ruler, words of encouragement, praise, and support passed
from him to those of his soldiers he passed. Bolstering their
morale and loyalty, he rode around battle field, knighting
several men who's valor had attracted his attention. Still, he
had almost given up hope of his primary goal when he found his
prize. Running the same stroke over and over again, making sure
it was absolutely perfect, the white clad man stood at the edge
of the field. Turning, unconcerned and confident, he met the Duke
with level eye. After a pause that stretched almost to the point
of rudeness, he bowed at the waist.
"We saw you from the parapet. You were unequaled on the field."
"Practice."
The Duke eyed him critically. This strange man wore a flowing
robe, very similar to a monks. This was white, though dark enough
to be almost considered gray. Wide, expansive leggings hung from
the belt, and the top was also bunched in strange places.
Distasteful to the eye on a man, he had heard tales of foreign
women wearing something similar, the Duke elected not to comment.
But instead he decided oh, the hell with it. "You look like a
girl! Ha ha!" And thus died Jasko of Lithuania. <Author's note:
Sorry.>
The man in white swept his arm through a motion of unconscious
grace and returned his blade to the lacquered sheath. His hands
and arms were heavily muscled, not very bulky but chiseled. Every
vein and tendon stood out in relief, showing on the definition of
the arms and chest. Not breathing heavily, the swordsman stood at
ready ease. Idly the Duke wondered what he would do should arms
be drawn against him.
"We go to sup tonight. Would you join me?" The Duke took a
calculated risk in his invitation. He knew very well that this
man was no part of his army, yet skill like that called to him.
He wanted this blade. No power like that wielded here could be
allowed to remain outside of his command.
"I will at that." The man bowed again, this one reflexive.
"Good. Come, we have a spare horse for you."
===
When Sagawa Ohito had been younger, he attended a few semesters
of college before deciding it was not for him and leaving. While
there, he had been a member of a hunting club. The club was very
close knit and organized, almost an unofficial fraternity. They
had thrown parties, gone places, and of course hunted together.
It had been at one of those parties in fact that he had met Nadia
Ash for the first time.
Twice monthly the club had official meetings, which usually
lasted about half an hour, and these were followed by usually two
or three hours of relaxed socialization. It had been at one of
the official meetings that one member, Jack Vorhol, had announced
to the rest of those present he had cancer.
Testicular cancer in fact, it had struck when he was not yet
legal to drink. He had gone in for surgery to have one of his
testicles removed and the following week would have to go back
for an exploratory procedure. Dead silence had greeted this
statement and for several long moments, no one could say
anything, totally bereft en-mass of anything worthy of speaking.
Finally, growing irritated with the solemnity that had descended,
Jack had announced they'd better get the ball rolling.
No one had been brave enough to laugh, but the mood did lighten.
That had not satiated Jack, as he declared shortly thereafter
that a submarine could still dive pretty well on one ballast
tank, as his girlfriend could attest. This had been enough to
prompt one of his closest friends to ask how the beer came from
half a keg. The response was, 'with a whole lot more than one
inch of head.'
Afterwards, despite Jack's obvious wishes, the matter was still
considered taboo for a long time. No one could feel comfortable
making light of such a serious situation. That changed when the
news came, two months later, that he was out of danger, and the
cancer had been totally arrested. A flurry of jokes and gentle
barbs referring to Jack's anatomical deficit had appeared. This
was definitely more along the lines of what he needed, as he
enjoyed them all. His favorite, a comment about motorcycles not
being that much better than unicycles, he had written down and
placed on one of the walls of his apartment.
Jack died seven months later. Details were never released, but
his sudden adoption of the bald look prior and weakness gave rise
to some very convincing theories.
Looking at the weather report, Sagawa had a sudden feeling of
deja vu. That same nervous, scared silence gripped the five on
the deck as it had the hunting club's meeting. Nadia had looked
at it briefly and then sighed and turned away. Damion's
expression was calm. Carin was scared and stood a little closer
to Kyle than she usually did. Kyle's worry and determination
mixed inseparably on his face. Sagawa was just resigned.
The silence stretched on, and with a jolt, Sagawa realized that
if anyone was going to be able to break it, it was going to be
him. But his brain would simply not divulge anything for him to
say. No joke, no one-liner, no mildly sarcastic witticism,
nothing came to mind that would break the tension. He sighed.
"I'm going back above. You two," Damion indicated the women,
"come with me. We've almost thirty hours before this thing hits
by my estimation. Maybe we can find an island on a chart or come
across an epiphany. Kyle, get some rest."
"I'm all right. Are you sure you don't want me on deck with
you?" Shaking his head, Kyle affixed Damion with a look of
resolution.
"Kyle, increase your healing for a moment." Damion's voice was
urbane.
A moment later, Kyle started glowing a pale blue from
innumerable minor cuts all over his body. None were significantly
bleeding, but they covered his skin to such an extent that it
appeared he was wearing phosphorescent paint. He regarded himself
for a moment before saying, "Oh," and going below.
No one met Damion's raised eyebrow, and the two women followed
Kyle a moment later. The thin man exhaled deeply and returned his
attentions to the steerage.
"You know, we do have another option."
The voice came timidly from behind Damion, and he did not need
to turn around to see who was speaking. He responded without
changing facial expressions. "No, we don't. Not that."
"It might work."
"The storm's still going to hit us. Your 'option' won't abate
his anger. Besides, the rest of the plan is unchanged. With so
little time left, you really want to even suggest that?"
There was a long pause. Damion could hear uncomfortable shifts
as the other tried to finish his statement. Continuing to watch
the wind and waves, the elder warrior waited.
"What if it would? What if it will? Would you then?" Hesitant
and fearful, the voice asked quietly.
"Never make Sophi's choice."
"You would. We both know it. Admit it."
Damion turned and regarded Sagawa with a hard and penetrating
gaze. The lines on his face were firm and set, looking deeper
than usual. His hard brown eyes looked out from similarly hued
eyebrows and for a moment, the gunman felt the weight of the
years of age beyond nature hit him. It pressed down on his chest
and throat, pushing his thoughts around while asking, 'Who are
you to make such imperious statements? Know your place.'
"You see that ocean? The one we're fighting?"
"Yes."
"That is the enemy right now. Not me. The Dynasty is the enemy.
Not me. We're both warriors. We're not fools or traitors. Don't
think I'm so inconstant as to turn because of this pathetic
squall. Now go below."
A hint of a breeze crossed the deck a minute later, wove itself
around a solitary figure, and left.
End Chapter
Thanks to DB Sommer Wandering Eyes, and Strife.
Http://www.execulink.com/~stryker
Miashara
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