Jason Willow: Face Your Demons

by G Mottram

  ‘As I said, all we have is rumour.’ Ilena said, calmly.

  ‘But they kicked him out for something.’ Miranda added.

  ‘Well I’ve got no choice have I?’ Jason shot back. ‘I’m going to learn my Gift and nobody else here will teach me anything,’ Jason stared at Dad for a moment then shook his head. He reached for his Coke to take another drink.

  ‘All right, enough discussion,’ Dad said, his voice resigned. ‘We knew this might happen and as I’ve said before, I can’t stop you forever.’

  He took a sip of tea, seeming to gather himself. ‘I won’t stand in the way of you training but there’s just one condition – we keep talking. I want to know exactly what Brash or anybody else is teaching you at the abbey each and every day.’

  Jason sat down at the table. ‘Okay, Dad. I’ll let you know everything and… well, thanks. And I won’t decide about joining the Watch and everything without talking to you first.’

  ‘Or me,’ Miranda said.

  ‘Naturally, Sis,’ Jason said, ‘when have I ever been able to leave you out of anything?’

  ‘That’s because you need my superior intelligence.’

  Jason nodded – no point in arguing. ‘Oh, one other thing. Brash mentioned sleeping over there, to really focus on my training… perhaps over half term?’

  ‘Let’s see how your first few days go first,’ Dad said. ‘It could actually work out if you do stay there as I’m thinking of travelling up to Mawn if I don’t hear from your grandfather in the next few days.’

  ‘I thought everything was okay up there.’ Jason said.

  ‘Well, that’s what he said in that letter at the beginning of term,’ Dad answered, ‘but I’ve sent two back to him since and no reply.’

  ‘That’s not unusual,’ Miranda mumbled.

  ‘True, but he hasn’t left it quite this long before. If that agent – Black - did let other Brethren know where he was going when he followed us…maybe a time-delayed email or 2nd class snail-mail to give him a head start at glory-hunting…’

  ‘It’s sounding a bit far-fetched, Dad,’ Miranda said, topping up everyone’s tea from the pot.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ilena said quietly, ‘but agents are always trying to impress their demon masters and obey the Brethren’s strict rules.’

  ‘I just want to be certain everything’s all right up there.’ Dad said.

  ‘We’ll come with you,’ Jason said. If Grandfather was in trouble then his training would have to wait.

  ‘Not this time,’ Dad said, ‘just in case anything really is wrong. Miranda will stay with Ilena and you’ll be safe behind the abbey’s ridiculously high security.’

  ‘You don’t really think anything’s happened to the old git, do you?’ Miranda asked.

  Dad shrugged. ‘Not really – most likely he’s trying to get me worried because I didn’t spot Black following us.’

  Jason looked up at Dad who didn’t meet his eyes. He was concerned after all, but obviously didn’t want to talk about it now.

  ‘It’ll be weird you not being around the place.’ Jason said, quietly.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Dad answered. ‘However, Marakoff will follow through on his retirement cover story and arrive at the abbey this weekend so he can keep an eye on your… indoctrination.’

  Jason gave a tight smile. It felt as if he was pulling away slightly from Dad and Miranda and they were agreeing to let him go.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said, ‘… for letting me do this. I’ll keep out of trouble.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Miranda said, looking pointedly at his various cuts and bruises, ‘you’re good at that.’

  ***

  Lance van Garde picked Jason up at seven o’clock next morning, this time in a silver Jaguar XK8 convertible. Lance started off chatty, asking Jason how it had gone with his father last night but soon let the conversation drop, after getting little more than one word answers.

  Jason stared out of the smoked-glass windows. Last night, worries about going head to head with Dad had been more or less sorted but that had just left more room for another one - What if something had happened to grandfather? As much as they didn’t get on, Dad and Grandfather had always kept in touch with a fairly regular exchange of letters – basically to say they were both still alive.

  As they passed through Darkston Abbey gates, Lance tried to make conversation again.

  ‘You’ve been real quiet, Jase – you’re not changing your mind are ya? You’ve a real chance here, buddy… I mean, maybe your pa gave you a rough time last night but… well, he’ll get over it. Remember what I said - don’t let anyone stand in your way.’

  Jason took a slow breath and turned to face his driver. ‘Don’t worry – it’s becoming clearer all the time how much I need to do this.’

  ***

  ‘Go on, boy – finish him.’ Cadaveril hissed.

  Jason side kicked his staggering opponent and sent him crashing to the floor.

  Cadaveril had matched him against two older and bigger students. Now they both lay flat out on the mat.

  Jason made his respect to Cadaveril – his right fist of martial combat hitting the open left hand of rule-book and respect a little harder than was strictly necessary. His defeated opponents struggled to their feet and did the same.

  ‘Not bad at all,’ an unfamiliar voice pronounced from behind Jason. It was a powerful voice, clipped in Germanic tones and full of authority.

  Willow kept his attention firmly on Cadaveril – remembering only too well the dart in his arm yesterday.

  Cadaveril looked a little disappointed but after a moment said, ‘Make your respect to Master Schmidt, Willow.’

  Willow turned around to make the sign to this new master.

  It was as if the man had just stepped out of some clichéd spy film – he was the archetypal villain’s chief henchman. Tall, muscular, clean cut, chiselled good looks, piercing blue eyes and short, spikey blonde hair. He wore the same black, sleeveless T-shirt and trousers as Cadaveril.

  Schmidt strode through the ten students kneeling around the edge of the mat and looked down at Jason, quickly appraising his body and then holding his gaze. Jason dropped his eyes. This man had a huge sense of presence, giving off an almost irresistible urge to do whatever he said, very quickly.

  To Jason’s surprise, Cadaveril handed over the white sash that had been tied around his waist. Schmidt nodded and put it on. Obviously relieved of command for now, Cadaveril made his respect to Schmidt and strode off the mat.

  ‘Ready,’ Schmidt snapped without warning and every student, even Jason’s two battered opponents, sprang to their feet into Jakra’s First Stance – left leg in front of right, knees slightly bent and fists up.

  Twelve of them surrounded Jason, all older, all stronger.

  Jason breathed in deeply and readied himself. He didn’t have a hope against a dozen opponents of course but he’d go down fighting. Perhaps he could even up the odds if he drew the fight in to one of the mock buildings at either end of the hall - they wouldn’t all be able to surround him in there. Scanning each of the fighters to cover any clue to his intentions, he judged the distance. Three, maybe four opponents at most would reach him before he made it to the door.

  Everyone waited for Schmidt’s command.

  ‘You would have to be very good to make that run to the pub,’ Schmidt said in his clipped tones. Jason didn’t look at the Jakra Master – he was in the ready stance and now was expected to keep his attention on his opponents. How had he known the plan?

  ‘Still, it was not a bad idea... far better than deciding to go down in open ground like some heroic English knight of centuries ago.’ Jason kept scanning the students surrounding him. At any second, Schmidt could snap “Begin”.

  ‘Are you a coward, Jason… that you would run and hide in a pretend building rather than stand and fight honourably? Master Brash tells me your father was a great hunter… in his time. He would be ashamed to see you running away from a few
miserable opponents.’

  Jason would not be drawn. Insults had never had the slightest effect on him. ‘There are too many to fight in the open, Master.’

  ‘You think so? Would Master Cadaveril run and hide do you think?’

  Schmidt started to walk around him now. Jason tried to stay relaxed and keep his vision wide to cover as many of the surrounding students as possible as well as waiting for an attack from Schmidt.

  ‘Master Cadaveril is far more highly skilled than I am, Master – he’d have no need to take cover against this number.’

  Leaning against one wall, Cadaveril snorted.

  ‘Is Master Cadaveril stupid, Jason?’ Schmidt asked.

  ‘No, Master.’

  ‘How many of these fit, well trained students would it take to hold one of Master Cadaveril’ arms do you think, or pin one of his legs?’

  ‘One… two perhaps.’

  ‘I see twelve students about me, Jason. Two for each limb leaves four to break his ribs, crush his face, rip out his eyes and smash his wind pipe.’

  Jason swallowed. All around him, the students waited. He didn’t know any of the group and he’d hurt two of them. Those two wanted revenge and every eye was fixed on him, every fist angled towards the new golden-boy’s face.

  Schmidt moved away to stalk around behind the students. He made small adjustments to their ready positions – a fist higher here, an arm slightly more bent there, right leg in a touch. ‘I ask you again - would Master Cadaveril run into the pub?’

  Jason resisted the temptation to twist a little to glance at Cadaveril. ‘Perhaps he’d look for a better position, to limit the number of attackers.’

  Suddenly Schmidt flipped himself right over one of the boys, twisted in mid-air and landed directly in front of Jason.

  He’s Gifted then.

  Schmidt stared at him. ‘And me, Jason? Would I need to seek a “better position to limit the number of attackers”?’

  Jason didn’t know how to answer. If he said no it might imply Schmidt was stupid, if he said yes, it would mean he thought Schmidt was no more powerful than Cadaveril.

  Schmidt ended his dilemma. ‘All on me, full contact – go,’ he snapped.

  Every eye widened in surprise momentarily then, an instant later, twelve well trained students swarmed forward to attack the master as Jason leapt out of the way.

  It was like a whirlwind in reverse. Schmidt whipped his hands through the air in pushes, punches, side-swipes and sweeps and all around him students, still feet away, flew backwards, flipped sideways through the air and sank, pole-axed to the ground.

  Three of the twelve actually managed to make contact with Schmidt. He blocked two in a flash of limbs, wrist locked one over and flick-kicked the other away. The third flashed a lightening punch only to connect with an invisible shield two inches in front of Schmidt’s staring eyes and then suddenly flew backwards at a swat of the Master’s hand.

  Others scrambled to their feet for another attack. Schmidt actually smiled and held up his hands.

  ‘Stop,’ he said. His breathing had hardly quickened.

  The students made their respect and sank to their knees.

  Schmidt turned to face Jason. ‘So - you have an answer. Sometimes there is nowhere to run and sometimes running blindly into unknown territory will lead you into much worse danger. With our Gift, we have a choice. It is time you learned what power you have. Come with me.’

  Schmidt tossed Cadaveril the white cord from around his waist before walking over to one of the side doors. Jason jogged to catch up whilst, behind him, Cadaveril called the class to order.

  ‘On your feet,’ Cadaveril began, ‘you were pathetic – the lot of you. You all know Master Schmidt’s wonderful powers, yet you all ran at him like sheep. What if you did that against a turned Gifted or a puppeteer? You’d get more than a little bruise or bloody lip – they’d give your soul to their master and then I’d ‘ave to kill you myself.’

  Schmidt led Jason through one of two side doors on the east wall of the training hall and cut off Cadaveril’s voice by closing the door behind them. They were in a narrow corridor with five small archways leading from it.

  ‘The bars to begin with, I think,’ Schmidt said and stepped through the arch directly in front of them. The room beyond was perhaps twenty metres square with no windows and lit by small lights sunk into the high ceiling. A full length punch bag hung in the middle of the room but that was where training room normality ended.

  At ground level it was like a silver jungle. Twenty or more shining rods rose up from the floor in pairs, each supporting horizontal bars at different heights. Stranger than that were another couple of dozen single rods, each ending in a flat disk to form stepping stones almost up to the ceiling. Finally, three thin metal beams stretched horizontally through the air, again supported by the metal rods rising straight out of the floor.

  ‘What is this place?’ Jason asked.

  ‘These are for another day.’ Schmidt replied, flicking one of a number of switches by the door. All the rods sank silently down and small covers slid back in the floor to reveal depressions the exact size and shape of the descending trapeze bar, stepping stone or beam. In ten seconds, the incredible metal jungle had disappeared beneath a, once again, smooth floor.

  Only the punch bag remained, heavy and black in the centre of the room.

  Schmidt pointed to one side of the room and Jason crossed quickly over to kneel there.

  ‘So. ‘Schmidt said. ‘Today we will try to bring out a small part of your Gift. It is not hard to do. Now you are of age you would begin to do some small things without any training at all, perhaps when you are angry or afraid… you may have already experienced this?’

  ‘I think so,’ Jason said, thinking back to the Pit and knocking Baldwin’s legs out from under him.

  ‘I and others will teach you many things here - how to control your powers, focus and strengthen them and reliably call on them whenever you wish. You must devote yourself entirely to the mastery of your Gift – learn quickly and well for the Brethren may find us at any time.’

  ‘Yes, Master,’ Jason said, wondering if Schmidt would ever get on with teaching him something.

  ‘So – first you must understand that all of the Gifted’s power comes from drawing in energy from around him. As you pull in the energy from the air, it hardens to become a solid of whatever basic shape you desire and you take its energy inside you to channel in many ways.’

  Jason frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Master, I really don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ Schmidt nodded, ‘this is something unfamiliar. Let me try another way… do you make tea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Think if you filled an electric kettle with ice and switched it on. You understand that the curling metal element would become hot and pass its energy into the ice, which then turns to water and then to steam?’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘Good, imagine this backwards now. The element sucks in energy from the steamy air which turns first back into boiling water. It becomes colder and colder as more energy is pulled out of it and finally it turns back into a block of ice freezing around the element. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘Yes, Master – I think so.’

  ‘Good. Then see the hand of a Gifted as the element of the kettle. It draws in the energy from the air around it which turns instantly through a liquid and into a solid around his fist. Do you understand?’

  Jason nodded again. ‘Yes, I think so, but how do we… pull the energy out of the air and into us?’

  ‘Ah, now if we knew that we could make machines to do it for us.’ Schmidt shrugged – too human a gesture for the almost henchman stereotype. ‘Now then, we will begin with the fist.’

  Schmidt brought one hand slowly up and drew it back as if to strike, closing his fingers into a tight fist and breathing in slowly. The air shimmered around his hand, like a heat-haze in the desert. Schmidt held for a moment then punched forwa
rd into thin air.

  Five feet away, the heavy punch bag creased double and flew back as if hit by a sledgehammer.

  ‘So.’ Schmidt said, looking at Jason, ‘copy my movements to begin.’

  Jason moved to stand by the master. For ten minutes they ran through the punch move, becoming perfectly synchronised as the punch bag swung slower and slower until at last it settled still.

  They continued raising their hands, pulling back slowly, closing into a fist and punching. Schmidt talked slowly as they moved. ‘Now – imagine your fist is a freezing rod being dipped into water – some of the water freezes all around your fist, taking on its shape like a cast around a broken arm. Breathe in slowly, deep into your stomach, hold and push out.’

  Jason sank deeper into the rhythm. The physical movements were part of the Jakra training he’d been doing with Dad all his life. Oxygen filled his head, making him feel like he was floating.

  ‘Watch just in front of my fist this time,’ Schmidt said, still keeping their synchronised movements going.

  As Schmidt slowly pulled his hand back into a fist, the space around his closing fingers shimmered again, becoming opaque, as if turning into a solid cast of his fist. Schmidt punched forward and the opaque air-fist hurtled into the punch bag, sending it swinging high again.

  Schmidt carried on, his voice almost hypnotic now. ‘I draw the energy deep inside me; the air hardens around my hand like a glove; I throw the energy back into the punch to propel the air-fist forward.’

  Schmidt kept the practise going, with Jason following him in perfect time. It was almost as if one brain were controlling the two bodies.

  ‘Concentrate on the air around your closing hand; imagine you’re pulling a heavy weight towards you as you draw back your fist, your fingers closing. You’re pulling the energy from it… draw it deep inside you, deep into your stomach.’

  They continued the movement, flawlessly, breathing as one person now. Jason started to feel a tingling filling his fist and arm each time he drew it back, becoming stronger each time. In his stomach, it felt like a small sphere began to spin, sucking in energy along his arm.