“No, well, you’re right about that, but I could mail it to you.”
“Well, if I can’t make it here next time, I’ll send you a message, but I’d just as soon come by. That way, I can read for free while you are taking your sweet time in the back.”
“The truth comes out.” He held up the scanner and took Scythe’s information and payment. “Thank you, Scythe.”
Scythe finished his drink while they chatted a bit longer. He focused on not reading the titles of the books behind Gorthe again, and made sure to resist the urge to time the interval between one raindrop and the next as it rolled off the edge of the roof and struck the bell outside. Finally, he packed his tablet and the history book in his backpack. He pocketed the mini book, shook the bookshop owner’s hand, thanked him, and left.
On his return trip to where he would catch the bus back to the barracks, he thought about the question that had hung in the air as he was getting ready to leave the bookshop. For the first time, Gorthe had not asked Scythe about his own family, although it was clear that he wanted to. In a society built around the family, it was only natural for people to feel awkward around a man who, in addition to having the physical hallmarks of a halfblood, had no family to speak of. Scythe, although of marrying age, had never been in a relationship; further, his parents were deceased, he had no siblings and he was estranged from his cousins and their family. The only possible exception was his cousin Prize’s father-in-law, but it had been a long while since Scythe had spoken even to him.
He had some friends in Poinsea, the Kin settlement where he grew up, but his visits there had grown infrequent; he had stopped communicating with them through messages or video conferences over a year ago. The same thing had happened with his friends in the neighboring Human city of Menelaus.
He was very busy with work, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept to himself. He had just grown less and less interested in maintaining the relationships. Life had become very simple for Scythe, and he found that it suited him well. The final reason was also his first. Not long before, he had lost control over his life; in order to get it back, he had chosen to leave behind the things that had tied him up.
Waiting for the bus, Scythe saw a young girl run to catch up to her mother; her shiny face disappeared when she ducked under their umbrella. It made him wonder if the amount he had paid Hon would be enough to get his daughter out of whatever trouble she was in. Then, thinking about what he knew of the shopkeeper, he wondered if Hon would even use it to help her. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist, and then let it go.
Chapter 3
Mercy felt it rising, but was too weak by now to fight it. It coiled around her stomach and squeezed. Her body squirmed where it was pinned tightly by the two shelves. Where she had screamed out before from the pain, now she could only moan. It seemed to last forever. Forever in the dark and the cold and the smell of her own waste. When it ended, she wept. The pathetic, tearless, coughing sound crawled around and around the small room until she couldn’t tell if it was happening now, or if it was an echo from one of the hundred other times she had cried in that horrible place.
Then, in the stillness that she now knew to appreciate, when she was merely hungry, and tired, and sore, and either hot or shivering with the cold, she thought.
Early on she had realized that, although she had had the vision, there were no guarantees that she would be there to see it. She had wasted it, wasted her life, on the whole stupid gamble. It had either happened already, or he would come later, when she was dead. The thought of dying scared her, but it was nothing to what she felt about having him discover her dead. That was what really terrified her, because she didn’t want him hurt any more than he already was.
Eventually, time and exhaustion sanded away her jagged worries until she was smooth. The weight of the fear became too heavy to carry any longer; it washed through her, as did the anger and self-loathing. When the hope for rescue had come and gone, her mind slowed down and walked hand in hand with her weakened body.
Finally, she accepted the pain that her disappearance and death would bring to her family; she accepted the failure of her mission. She even accepted the loss of all her life’s ambitions: numerous pages that she had planned to paint with so many beautiful pictures would now lie blank.
She calmly waited for it to end, until another contraction rose and began to circle. As it bore down on her, she was ripped from resignation’s gentle embrace, her composure shredded.
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“Border patrol was denied access to the site.”
“Why?”
Shrug. “Who knows? There is some kind of political hold up. Apparently, they insisted on leading the investigation, even after a Kin unit was deployed. Our people were pulled out and they were given the terrorist assignment, but they didn’t find a damn thing. Then, they walk into a trap like a bunch of idiots. My guess is that our people don’t want any more blunders, so we’re going in to check it out.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three days.” At Scythe’s reaction, Anvil said, “Yeah, three days, no backup, no med team. Might as well be an order of execution if there were any survivors.”
Scythe frowned, “No communication from the site?”
“Not a word. A local, some Human, reported seeing the burning building to the authorities in Juniper.” He stretched out on the bunk. “Anyway, we’re out of here at five tomorrow, so I’m calling it a night.”
Getting up, Scythe said, “See you in the morning, then.” He left the barracks and wound his way to the large meeting hall which had been converted into a practice room for the duration of their operation. He dropped his backpack in one of the cubicles on the wall and pulled off his jacket. He grabbed several body weights from a nearby bin and strapped them onto his forearms, ankles and waist. Then, after drinking a little water, he began his workout. He started with the jumprope.
Tonight was dedicated to strength and flexibility, along with the usual cardiovascular training that he always incorporated. He alternated his workouts each night to cover several fitness areas. He worked on improving things like gross and fine motor movement and speed, individual weapon and open hand skills.
He also liked to spar, if he could find a partner. Sparring was the best way to test his skills and learn new techniques. Whenever he was attached to a new unit, it was easy to get partners. Everyone wanted a piece of the halfblood. However, within a week, or shorter if the unit’s heavies jumped in early, he was usually back to solo workouts. He had been on enough operations that his reputation had spread and he was becoming well known as one of the toughest to go up against. Difficulties arose when people got frustrated or, in the heat of the moment, got too serious; because of that, he always made sure to spar with reliable witnesses. And a medic.
After five minutes on the rope, he did a thorough stretch, some calisthenics, and then twenty more minutes back on the rope. He preferred to run, but he didn’t want to take to the rainy streets, so he made due with some complex footwork, punching, kicking and lunging practice with the rope. Besides being one of the best ways to up his stamina, using the rope allowed him to count, something that always soothed him. He would count his heartbeats, breaths, and of course the clicking of the rope on the ground; if he was lazy, he’d only count one at a time, but he wasn’t feeling lazy that night. Later, after another long stretch, he moved to the free weights.
He felt a little regretful for leaving the settlement sooner than expected. He had anticipated being able to train longer at a small school in the area which practiced a type of boxing he had only read about, but never seen. Whenever he was in a place for a job that was expected to last over a few weeks, he would look around for a good place to extend his martial training. It was one of the ways he kept his aggressive side in check. Heavy workouts and physical, combative training on a daily basis kept the fire banked. If the settlement was large enough, there was often a school attached to the local law enforcemen
t or military establishment. Being loosely associated with the military, he could be assured of his acceptance, but rarely his welcome, in those places. This was his choice only if there was nothing else available, because these generally offered only a basic level of instruction. Because Kin families were self monitoring, Kin society generally was peaceful; there was little need for the common citizen to know anything beyond basic self defense, and peace officers engaged in a minimal number of violent interactions. Occasionally classes were offered to the public, but they were mainly recreational.
The best situation was one in which a good teacher accepted private students in the home, or, if there were enough students, in a small, private school attached to their residence. The opportunity for this type of study was by invitation only, and Scythe’s particular situation, namely his racial impurity, excluded him from consideration almost invariably. However, with his contacts, and sometimes just with luck, he had been able to find a few teachers here and there that would accept him. He always trained with them when he was in their area, working extremely hard and learning rapidly. That got him welcomed back and earned him some referrals to teachers in other places.
The boxing school nearby was run by a middle aged, retired military officer who had learned his art from a Human in a bordertown. When the town was later forcibly evacuated, the master and his students all became 'casualties of the move.’ Thus, Shard, the Kin who had studied with the master on and off for fifteen years, was one of the few remaining practitioners of the style. Scythe’s letter of recommendation from an honorable open hand combat teacher proved unnecessary, as Shard surprisingly had no reservations about accepting him.
Perhaps sensitive to the built in time limitations of working with the military, from the first hour, Shard had given him excellent instruction and fast paced, intense training. Scythe knew right away that he could learn a great deal from such a generous, talented teacher. He also felt that Shard approved of his student’s devotion to learning. That was why it was with remorse that, earlier that day, Scythe had gone to personally inform Shard that he was leaving.
“I expect you will be back for more training, so I am not concerned about your departure,” said Shard from his position on the short, raised platform overlooking the workout space. His habit was to sit quietly, hardly moving and rarely speaking during class.
Scythe sat below him, watching the current class flow from one technique to the next in a routine practice form. “That is my intention. I am very grateful to you for accepting me and giving me the opportunity to learn from you. I regret leaving after such a short time, teacher.”
Shard nodded, and they watched for a while longer.
“Watch here, do you see how this group of techniques is related?”
Scythe observed for a minute before answering, “They are all entering attacks, inside the guard.”
“Yes. This is where you need to work. Your blocks and distance strikes are strong, but your weakness is your reluctance to enter.”
Scythe kept his face very still, “Yes, teacher.”
“You don’t believe me,” Shard said with a small smile.
“I do.”
“Then, perhaps you don’t understand what I am saying.”
Scythe nodded, agreeing that he was confused by his teacher’s statement. He had excelled at moving into close range positions to attack vulnerable spots for many years. Some of his favorite, most efficient techniques were performed from that distance. On the other hand, he also knew that a teacher could see what a student could not, so he trusted that Shard was correct.
After a few moments, Shard spoke again. “When you are inside the guard, two things happen, other than the obvious opportunity to disable your opponent. One, you have brought yourself into your opponent’s circle of power: you have exposed yourself to him. The second is that you have exposed him to yourself.” Shard looked down at Scythe. “When you enter, there is no connection, no exposure, only the strike. That is why your entrance is weak.”
Scythe did not hide his surprise, “Why would I want to connect with someone I am trying to harm, or kill? Why would I expose myself to him?”
“That is what you still need to learn.”
They did not speak again until the end of class.
As Scythe readied to leave, Shard said, “Practice the forms and think on what I’ve said. When you return, I will ask you what you asked me, and we will see if you have learned anything on your own.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Scythe had no idea what his teacher was talking about, but he was determined to follow the man’s instructions. To complete his workout, he ran through the twelve boxing forms he had learned in the two months he had been attending class. While he did them, he tried to clear his mind of thoughts and merely move. When he was done, he gathered his things and went to clean up. In the shower, he reviewed the man’s words, but couldn’t think of a tactical reason to leave an opening for his opponent. He only connected with his enemy when he used the power to read memories that he had inherited from his mother’s people, but his teacher didn’t know anything about that, so it couldn’t be related to his advice. Eventually, he put the topic aside. He had plenty of time to work it out. Maybe he’d order some books on the topic.
After showering off, Scythe returned to the barracks and lay down for the night. He found that sleep was easy after a long day and a hard workout. He tucked one hand behind his head and laid one over his bag. He let his heavy eyelids pull him down into a restful sleep.
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She lay in darkness, but she could see, and when the vision left her, she knew.
I am going to live.
Everything she felt, the cramps, the way her heart raced in her chest, the fever that masqueraded as a chill, the incredible thirst, the pain that racked her body, the dreams of food that taunted her, the weakness that had soaked through her body and invaded her spirit, the tired child inside of her that begged for it all to go away, everything told her she would soon die. But her mother’s gift to her disdained what was logical and, with a swift wind, blew away reason.
She had seen something that she wanted to live for, so she concentrated on that.
I am going to live.
Chapter 4
Scythe approached the building at the back of Anvil’s team and immediately sensed the flow of a strong power. Feeling it after spending so much time around the bereft Kin was like approaching a warm fire after traveling through a blizzard: it both shocked him and called to him. He had been able to feel and even see the use of power since his own appeared to everyone’s amazement at age thirteen. Only Humans had the strange abilities, with rare exceptions, so Scythe, who shared the heritage of both the Kin and Human races, appeared to be one of the very few Kin with power. As he had matured and his power had strengthened, he could feel the vibration of it coming off some Humans, even when they weren’t doing anything. The energy that he felt outside the warehouse was not close to him, but it was still very clear, which told him it was a significant gift.
“Sir,” he said quietly.
Anvil stopped immediately, signaling for his men to do the same. He looked over at Scythe.
“I think you should let me go first,” Scythe suggested.
Anvil, who had worked with Scythe on more than one occasion, trusted the man’s instincts. His senses were sharp and he had safeguarded lives more than once. In addition, Anvil was willing to let him be the first to enter what had already proven to be a booby-trapped building. He nodded.
Scythe moved to the front of the line and entered the warehouse cautiously. The entire inside had been blackened by multiple explosions. Scythe made his way through the rubble, his eyes passing over every inch of what he could see of the expansive building. The sharp odor of charred wood, burnt flesh and oil stung his eyes and overwhelmed his sensitive nose. Nothing moved, and common sense told him that no one could have survived the bombs and subsequent fire that had demolished the buildi
ng. However, he knew otherwise, and he headed directly for the source of life in the center of the far wall.
He stopped when he sensed power coming up through the floor. A thin ribbon made of energy, similar to ones he had seen in his youth, floated up through the cement, curved over and then sank down and out of sight. Then another appeared and disappeared to his right. He had never witnessed power that wasn’t directed at something, or power that appeared to be randomly flowing on its own without purpose. More of the bright, arcing strands rose and fell closer to the door, creating a moving maze he would have to traverse if he wanted to arrive there without being touched. Was it a defensive technique? His excitement grew as the puzzle became more complex.
Careful to avoid them, he pushed forward until he could examine the metal cabinet at the back of the room; a quick inspection revealed a door behind it. The multiple explosions had blown the cabinet backward, jamming it up into the doorway and wedging the heavy door closed. A concentration of several wisps of power floated around the doorway.
“I think we’ve got a survivor,” he said, knowing that all the Kin could hear him from outside with their excellent hearing. “I need to move some debris to get to him, though.”
“You need assistance with it?” Anvil asked from the door.
“No.”
“Might be a trap. A survivor after this long is unlikely.”
“Yes.”
While he was pushing the cabinet away from the door, a streamer that was almost devoid of substance delicately touched his arm, ran along it a ways, and then was joined by three others to wrap lightly and apparently harmlessly around his arms and upper body.
One of Scythe’s first Human mentors, Ian, had a power that included thick bands of energy similar to these; they were strong enough that they could move heavy objects. In fact, Ian had been able to pull Scythe and Ian’s sister, Lena, out of an angry crowd once during a riot. Ian was also able to communicate through the ribbons, sending his thoughts to whomever he touched. The nearly transparent ribbons in front of Scythe now didn’t seem to have the same properties as Ian’s. There was no sense of intelligence from them. However, their touch was strangely soothing, which made him wary of them. Scythe paused to brush them off and was pleasantly surprised when some of them responded by pulling away. Others stubbornly clung to him until he repulsed them by sending a jolt of his power through his skin.
Halfblood Journey Page 4
