Forever Warriors

by M. J. Sewall

  Mariachi music blared from the large speakers in the corner of the backyard. Mary had moved on to see other relatives in the crowded space. Ariana made her way to the food tables.

  Her mother Josie asked, “Mija, could you help me with another table?”

  Ariana looked at the two eight foot tables filled with food, already surrounded by a dozen people. “Where will we put it?”

  Josie rolled her eyes. “I have no idea. But people keep bringing more food,” her mother said, “We’ll make room, even if we have to push some of your cousins into the pool.”

  Ariana smiled. Her Tia Helen stood nearby. She heard her mother’s remark and scowled.

  Tia Helen said, “I know a way we could make more room.” Helen rubbed her own stomach and looked at Josie. At over 300 pounds, Ariana’s mother had gotten used to being teased by her sister Helen. Ariana never liked her Aunt Helen, especially when making fun of her mother’s weight. Ariana frowned at her aunt.

  Josie knew not taking the bait would make Helen fume. “You’ll be the first one in the pool, Helen!”

  Ariana knew she wasn’t really joking where her mean Aunt Helen was concerned. Ariana smiled at the small victory. Tia Helen stalked off indignantly.

  “You want me to get Jorge for the third table?” asked Ariana.

  “No mija, he’s probably out front with Marco and Florio. We can manage.”

  They got the table, setting it up at the end of the first two, having to herd family members out of the way. It was just in time, as more people and food arrived. They found a way to make it fit.

  Luckily, the distraction of the arriving clown had cleared the small ones from around the tables. There was a flock of kids around the man in the rainbow wig. His hands were furiously making balloon animals of all types.

  Josie whispered to her daughter, “Don’t tell anyone, but I hate clowns.” Josie left, to try and manage the children. She said loudly to the horde, “The clown is here! Yay! Now let’s line up.”

  Ariana noticed her sister’s son was sitting by himself in the far corner of the yard, next to the pool. She made her way over and sat next to him. “Hey Celio. The clown just got here.”

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t like clowns.”

  “Me neither,” she looked to the clown and the circle of kids around him, “reminds me of a scary book I read. Clowns are creepy.”

  The boy smiled, but not for long. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. An image of a girl flashed into her mind, sitting behind her young nephew in a classroom. She was eight years old, like Celio, but she towered over him.

  Ariana was Celio for a moment, and she could feel the sharp pencil lead poking him in the back. There was no sound in her flash, but it was clear the girl was taunting and picking on her small nephew. The flash ended, and she was Ariana again, back in the present.

  Ariana consoled him. “I’m guessing someone is picking on you in school.”

  Celio looked at her a little surprised, then nodded.

  “Why don’t you tell the teacher?” but she already knew that he had.

  “Teacher doesn’t believe me,” said Celio. “Well, maybe she believes me. But nothing changes.”

  “My brothers could stop it,” but she already knew that he wouldn’t tell them. He was small for his age, and felt like he had to keep up with his older cousins; it was a matter of young pride.

  He shook his head and stared at the shimmering water of the pool.

  Ariana gave him the bad news, “You know, when I was your age, I would do mean things to a boy if I liked him.”

  Celio snapped his head to look at her. “I know. She wants to be my girlfriend!” he exclaimed a little too loudly, and looked around to make sure no one else could hear.

  Ariana smiled. “I’m fifteen and don’t have a boyfriend. You have a girl fighting over you at eight?”

  She put her hand on his side and tickled him. He squealed with delight and bucked to get away from her fearsome tickling.

  Celio’s shoulder hit a pedestal supporting a heavy clay flower pot. Her mother put it in the corner of the yard to avoid this exact kind of accident, but it tumbled over anyway.

  Ariana extended her hands. A few inches from the pool water, the flower pot and pedestal stopped in mid-air. The stand was tipped horizontal to the pool, frozen.

  Ariana leapt to her feet, pretending she had caught it before it hit the ground. Righting the pedestal, she placed the heavy pot back on top.

  Celio’s mouth was open. He stared, clearly un-fooled by her maneuver. She looked to the crowded yard, and hoped no one else saw what happened.

  Ariana got on her haunches in front of the boy. “Little man, I promise not to tell anyone about the girl, if you keep quiet about this.” She manually closed his gaping mouth.

  He looked at her hands and said, “Deal. I don’t want to mess with you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE – LUCAS

  Lucas T. Sandler sat by the long table, and pushed the glasses back up his nose. He concentrated his bright green eyes on his work. The wooden keel and main body of the model ship were done, and the sails and mast were laid out carefully, ready for the next step.

  “We only have about fifteen minutes left. You could at least tell me how school is going,” said the psychologist in the overstuffed chair. The forty five year old doctor shifted his large frame in his seat. He had a round face and kind eyes. The small office was painted in pastel blue, that had a soothing effect on most of his clients. For Lucas, it seemed to inspire silence.

  “School’s fine.” Lucas knew not to say more than that; his clever ship-building partner only needed a small foothold to pry things out of Lucas. That was his job, after all.

  “That’s all I get, huh? That forces me to go right for the red meat, Lucas.” The doctor leaned closer, writing pad in hand, “It’s been almost a year since…”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” Lucas said as he assembled the main mast of the wooden ship.

  “I get that. You know I’ve been very patient. But your parents are still worried you might… well, try again. The thing is, I like building model ships, but these kits come out of my pocket.” The man waved his hands around to the shelves on his office wall, all filled with model ships of different sizes.

  Lucas smiled. “Sorry, doc. I’ve told you and my parents I’ll never do anything like that again. And I won’t. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I wish they’d spend their money on something else besides a psychologist.”

  You wouldn’t believe what’s going on anyway, Lucas thought.

  “So I should just pronounce you cured, then? It doesn’t work that way, my friend. Therapy is about talking through your troubles. I know your grades are back up at school, and you are getting stronger. But I can’t take credit for any of that, since all we do is not talk, and build models together.”

  Lucas looked at the clock, two minutes until five.

  “Any more dreams?” asked the psychologist.

  “Nope,” Lucas lied.

  “I’ve brought this up several times, but I am trained in hypnotherapy. Your parents have okayed the use. In fact, it’s my most direct tool…”

  “No.”

  “Why not, Lucas?”

  Lucas imagined letting the doctor ask him what he’d been dreaming about. They’d lock me up for sure. “Sorry doc, I’ve told you I don’t want that.”

  “Any more bullying? That boy, Billy, moved away two years ago, right?”

  “Right. No issues there, doc. I can take care of myself now. The Kenpo helps a lot.”

  “Martial arts classes going well? Good.” The doctor made a note. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

  The clock hit five, but Lucas was already slinging his backpack over his shoulder as the alarm went off. He was going to leave in silence like always, allowing no hints. But Doctor Mason had been kind and patient. He turned to his psychologist. A gleam of hope flashed in the doctor’s eyes.

  “Doc, I love my parents. But, I w
as named after George Lucas, I have the same middle name as Captain Kirk, and my last name matches a movie star. All of that makes me bully bait. Am I messed up? Probably. I’m 15. I’m supposed to be a little messed up. Right, doc?” Lucas smiled.

  Dr. Mason smiled back. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Last session, right?”

  “Yep,” the psychologist said with a sigh, “then we go on permanent hiatus.”

  He turned away from his frustrated doctor and left for home. Walking the eight blocks, he allocated time for what he wanted to get done with the rest of the day. The self-imposed structure is what had gotten him through the last year. He went through his mental list:

  Homework – forty-five minutes. Just get it done. Training – two hours. Push harder, but don’t lose control. Dinner with Mom and Dad. Reward – Binge watch three hours of Heroes, even though season two wasn’t so good. And season three is going off the rails…

  His thoughts were cut off by a vision from the past. Billy. Billy Miller. No, it can’t be. But he was real, and standing in his path. Billy was taller than Lucas by six inches. Handsome, trim and athletic, Billy radiated an over- confidence reserved for the shiny gods of high school.

  “Hey Tiberius,” said a voice he thought he’d never hear again.

  No, no, no. Suddenly Lucas was thirteen, ten; a small shaking kid in the clutches of Billy. Should I pretend I don’t hear him?

  “Captain Kirk, I’m talking to you,” said Billy.

  Lucas fought the old feeling of panic. Too late, here he comes. You’re a different guy now. Don’t let him get to you. What is he doing here?

  “Why you ignoring me, Captain? I missed you, pal.” Next to him, his friend Jonesy smiled his weird, crooked smile; right back in loyal henchmen mode.

  Lucas looked at his former bully, “Hey, Billy.”

  Billy matched his stride and put his arm around Lucas. “Oohh. Getting some muscles, Captain. You working out?”

  Lucas said nothing as they walked down the street, looking like old buddies with Billy’s arm around him.

  Billy seemed cheerful. “Been gone two years. But Dad got stationed back at Camp Cooke. I’ve only missed a few weeks of school. Maybe we’ll have some classes together. I go back to ‘SVH’ tomorrow.”

  Lucas concentrated. Keep your cool. Don’t lose it. He thought of a few Kenpo moves to incapacity his “old bully,” but didn’t want to tip his hand. The shock of Billy being back made Lucas wonder if he could control his anger.

  Billy continued, “Hey, is your mom still hot?” Jonesy laughed like Igor at Dr. Frankenstein’s witty joke. Billy kept going, “She sure was a MILF…”

  Lucas stopped and shrugged off Billy’s arm.

  Billy stared. “Oh. Jonesy, maybe the Captain here wants to try his new muscles out. Come on Lucas Tiberius, I know you’ve always been gay for me. You want to kiss me, or fight?”

  Jonesy had already puffed out his chest, ready to hold Lucas down, or flank him when Billy made his move. Just like old times.

  Lucas fought every impulse to show Billy what he could do. Two flashes came quickly. Billy was either going to hit him in the stomach, or try to pants him. Lucas stared into Billy’s eyes. He focused on the second flash, ready to stop him. Lucas smiled knowingly.

  Billy caught the glint in Lucas’ eye and saw it as a challenge. But Jonesy got nervous at something new about Lucas. Just then, a car pulled up behind the two bullies.

  Billy’s demeanor changed when he saw the car, “Oh, Hey, Officer Jack.”

  “Hey boys,” said the police officer from his car window, “I saw the moving truck around the corner. Why don’t you go help your parents unload? You too, Jonesy.”

  Billy smirked. “I was just catching up with my old buddy here.”

  “You being the son of an Army Major doesn’t make you any less of an ass, Billy. Any new trouble starts; I’ll assume it was you.”

  Billy stopped smiling; his usual charm did no good on this particular adult. Maybe he’s losing his touch, thought Lucas. Billy nodded, glanced back at Lucas, and he stalked off with Jonesy trailing behind him.

  The blood that pumped just behind Lucas’s ears started to recede.

  Officer Jack said, “I’m proud of you, Lucas. Billy’s been gone a while; he doesn’t know how hard you’ve trained. I’m glad I didn’t have to call an ambulance for that little stain. Good control.”

  Lucas allowed a smile, “Thanks Sensei.”

  Police Officer Jack Tanner replied, “Just don’t go to juvie for those two. I’ll see you at the dojo on Thursday.”

  They said goodbye and Lucas got home, slipped into the side door of the converted garage that was his bedroom.

  “Okay. Billy’s back. New agenda,” he said to himself.

  He locked the door that led into the house, for his dad’s protection. His dad was home, and Lucas couldn’t chance anyone seeing a real training session. Lucas set up the five wooden opponents. He’d made them with scrap wood. They all stood much like the cardboard cutouts of sports stars, but these were made with plywood and two by fours. He set them in the widest circle he could, using the small sandbags on the bases to keep them upright.

  Lucas couldn’t remember how long he’d thought of the door in his mind. Maybe just after he started martial arts classes? The door in his mind, when opened, made a lot of things possible. He’d only opened it a few times before, scared of what it meant: Especially since it required his blood.

  But today was not a day for control. He needed to be unleashed.

  He got his phone and put it in his iHome, turning the music up to cover the noise he was about to make. Lucas took the small pocket knife and stood in the center of the circle of wooden foes. He took his shirt off and decided under his arm was the best place to cut. Lucas sliced, a small line of blood appeared. He closed the knife and tossed it onto his nightstand. Putting a finger on the blood, he then touched his tongue.

  He closed his eyes and the blood rose back behind his ears; surging, pulsing. The door flew open in his mind and he wasn’t Lucas anymore. In his mind, he was awash in red power. He opened his eyes and stared at his wooden opponents. For Lucas, they all had Billy’s face.

  Three minutes later, he stood in the room, surrounded by splinters of wood, none bigger than his fist. Sawdust hung in the air, but Lucas continued breathing heavily until all the red tint faded from his vision. He brushed himself off and dropped to one knee, exhausted.

  This was the worst part, the coming down, the closing the door to this other thing. His body ached and shivered as the effect wore off. He closed the mental door tight. Sweat made sawdust stick to him. His body drained, Lucas laid among the splintered wood, and sobs racked his body until he fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX - THE ELDER

  The old man put down his cell phone on the antique table. An image came of a battle long ago, of an old foe tearing into ten men with his blood rage. It was an odd thought, but as he got older, random thoughts came often. Sometimes they meant nothing. Sometimes they meant everything.

  The elderly man looked out at the view from his palatial estate on the Amalfi Italian coast. The expansive view showed a wide harbor with ships of all sizes dotting out to the horizon. The sanctuary, his office was decorated in an eclectic mix of antique furniture and modern office equipment. He absent-mindedly rubbed his temple and went back to the mirror. He ran his finger over the small crack, when there was a knock at the door.

  Derek Sommers breezed in before the old man could respond. He was wearing a form-fitting designer jacket. The elder demanded his agents be well dressed when summoned. “I’m here. What you said on the phone didn’t make any sense. Why would a naked teenager be in your mirror?”

  “He wasn’t just in my mirror, he was able to crack it when he broke his own,” said the old man, with an edge to his voice. “Have you lost all respect for me, Sazzo?”

  “Uh oh, using my ancient name. Must be trouble.” quipped Derek.

  The
elder stared with his unblinking, pale blue eyes, “I may be trapped in this old body, but I am still your Elder.”

  “Of course. Forgive me,” Derek put his hands together and bowed. “Due respect, Elder Zamma. But what you described isn’t possible. The talent for mirror viewing has been lost, except for your own power. Are you sure you’re not just tired?”

  “This body is 92,” said the elder, impatiently, “Of course I’m tired. But I know what I saw. More disturbing still, I had a flash of a warrior I know had a true death. The two things at once are no coincidence.”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Derek.

  The elder spoke, almost to himself, “It may be a breakout.”

  Derek smiled, and stretched out on the antique sofa, “Elder Zamma. With respect, you say that three times a year. Isn’t Ehrhardt in Mozambique right now investigating a possible breakout? We haven’t seen a real one for quite a while.”

  “Get your feet off my couch. It belonged to Charles the fourth.” Zamma shook a finger at Derek. “There are only four elders left. I’m stuck in this body and will not move on. We must remedy this imbalance by new recruits.”

  “Their numbers have dwindled too, we suspect, but the Amartus have been quiet for so long.” Derek added, “They have their small natural talents, but we are stronger with our magic. Why chase after every new possible recruit? We have the numbers, we will win.”

  Zamma sat, “Your overconfidence is tiresome. We’ve survived this long by rooting out even a possibility of a breakout. We only build our numbers by recruiting. We must work harder. This wiping out civilians tactic has made me enemies. Remember 2004? We need recruits, not mass extinction. Keep your brother in check this time.”

  “That wasn’t my idea…” Derek had a thought. A flash of a man on a train. It was on the coast of some country. The ocean. Then the thought was gone. “I just had a flash.”

  “I’m not alone, then. What did you see?”

  Derek’s phone rang in his pocket with a snippet of Mozart. He looked at the screen, “Now that’s interesting,” he mused before answering. “Hello? Yes, brother. I did have a flash just now. We were just discussing… wait, I’ll put you on speaker. I’m here at the palazzo with Zamma now.”