by Jeremy Finn
The flames and devastation around them slowly faded along with the acrid smell of smoke and the cries of fleeing pedestrians. As the garden came into view, all the fatigue and pains of the battle ebbed away.
“You are ready,” Arcturas proclaimed. “You must go now to accomplish your mission.”
“That’s it? I just go now?” James asked. “I thought there would be more…”
More of what, James did not exactly know, but it seemed uncomfortable and hasty to be released so suddenly after such a long period of time in the garden.
“Go,” Arcturas said simply. “Though my powers are weak, I will do what I can to aid you. Once you exit this place, though, leave quickly and discreetly as the time outside has not passed much and the assassin will still be searching for you.”
James conceded and nodded his agreement. After heartfelt thanks for Arcturas’ care and instruction, he followed him through the house and then bid him a final farewell as he stepped out into a small courtyard that opened through a gate onto the busy street. He stood on the edge of the street waiting for a taxi, and coaxed the hilt of his rhema because he could not keep his mind from straying to the possibility that he was actually just in another scenario in which dark figures would soon pour out of the scene around him, or that the assassin would stumble upon him in the open. The wind whipped around him and flecks of rain randomly fell on his cheeks. Finally, though, a taxi appeared, and once he was safely underway to the politician’s office building, he was able to relax these concerns.
“Typhoon is coming. Very strange this time of year,” the driver commented dryly, but James was in no mood for small talk and merely responded with a grunt as he leaned against the window and watched the vibrant lights of bars and storefronts slip by while fighting down a new anxiety that began to gnaw at his gut.
TYPHOON AT MIDNIGHT
Now it is time that we were going,
I to die and you to live;
but which of us has the happier prospect
is unknown to anyone but God.
-Plato, The Last Days of Socrates
Daejune sat behind his massive oak desk staring out the windows stretching from floor to ceiling in his high-rise office suite. Speckles of rain were just beginning to collide against the glass and form tiny rivers that meandered like snakes toward the ground far below. His mind drifted from his current dilemma as he mused over the fact that this very same rain water just recently passed over Joshin. It crossed the border freely without deterrent and descended on his homeland free from opposition. For a moment he envied the rain, then Shin’s voice brought him back from his fantasy.
“Minister,” he implored, “please think beyond your unfounded fears of security and uncertainty. For decades our people have only focused on difference and failed to realize the similarities that naturally draw us together. You may feel there are some difficulties involved in this agreement, but I assure you they will work themselves out if we just come together in compromise and unity.”
Ever since Joshin’s leaders proposed the Road to Healing Agreement a month ago, Minister of Cooperation Between Joshin and Shinla, Sun Daejune, had heralded it as a positive step in the right direction toward bringing his country back together again. Many in his state had long desired such a resolution, but tension and anxiety prevented anything more than mere symbolic actions on the part of either side. A tiny, persistent uneasiness was the only thing that caused him to delay signing the agreement and gave him thought to ponder it further. The President told him that he would back his decision, and the pressure to make the right choice was oppressive.
“Look,” Shin persisted, “if the idea of a whole homeland doesn’t win you over, think about the political gains you will reap from this. Not only will you go down in history as the man who began the path to healing, but you will build valuable contacts and friendships in Joshin that will serve you well when the two states merge. Can you imagine the positions of power you might achieve with allies from both Joshin and Shinla? They may even choose you to run the new government!”
“I am not interested in political positions,” the minister said loudly as much to convince himself as to counter his aide’s flattery. “Power can be dangerous and that is what is causing me to hesitate with this agreement…”
“But minister,” the aide interrupted, “you will never succumb to the temptation to abuse power. On the contrary, think about all the good you could do as a man in control of the combined resources and bureaucracies of both north and south. You could silence those who struggle for power with aims to abuse it and bring benevolent government to our people.”
Daejune was beginning to see the wisdom behind Shin’s words and realized maybe he really was the answer to this problem. The current president was too weak to handle this sort of challenge ,and the leader in Joshin would not hold any legitimacy with the citizens of Shinla. Perhaps this was his opportunity…to do good for the people, of course. Daejune picked up the pen laying atop the document that would set the whole process in motion. His signature was all it needed to get the ball rolling. The President would fall in line behind him, and Joshin’s leadership would stick by their promise to create an equally balanced governmental body.
James watched the numbers flash rapidly across the tiny digital screen – 23, 24, 25. He had been quite fortunate to find the night watchman asleep at the reception desk, and quickly paged through his binders to find out which floor housed the minister’s office. One thing still concerned him deeply, though. He knew he was here to attempt to convince the minister not to sign an agreement with Joshin, but exactly why and exactly what the agreement was about he did not have the faintest idea. As the numbers reached his chosen floor, he followed habit and resigned himself to the Light’s leading. It works in fighting, he thought, why not in persuasion. At any rate, it was the only hope he could come up with at the time.
“Well,” Daejune sighed, “I’ll do this for the people. May we become one once more.”
His pen traced out his signature on the page and he gazed at it silently until the ding of an arriving elevator car in the hall outside his office caused him to look up.
“Who could be coming to this floor at this hour?” he asked Shin. “And why didn’t the guard call ahead?”
Shin said nothing, but looked like an attack dog sensing an unwelcome intruder.
As the door slowly opened to reveal a short, ornate hallway, James gathered his courage and moved to exit the elevator car. Just as his first foot cleared the doorway, though, a muscular man in a tight business suit appeared directly in front of him. For a moment, James froze as both men stared into each other’s eyes. James began to reach for his rhema, but then he noticed something odd about the man’s gaze. He seemed to be looking beyond James, almost as if trying to see through him to the back wall of the car. His right hand was flexing on an invisible object at his side, but he made no other aggressive movements. Then, he leaned forward, almost touching James’ cheek with his nose, and looked to both sides of the elevator. The bell rang in warning, and the door began to slowly slide closed. As the man withdrew back into the hallway, James narrowly slid through the closing gap and stood silently beside the man. Realizing he must somehow be invisible to this person, James cautiously worked his way around him and toward the open door to an office suite at the end of the hall. Upon entering the spacious room, his attention was drawn to an older man sitting on the edge of a padded leather seat with his head buried in his hands over a document laid out across his desk.
“Sir,” he broke the silence of the late hour, “I have been sent with a very important message for you.”
Before he could say more, a force like a charging bull struck him in the back of the neck and drove his face down onto the edge of the desk.
“Stop!” he heard a voice bellow somewhere among the pain that swam through his skull.
“He is an intruder!” a voice behind him accused. “I am certain he means you harm and I will dispense of hi
m immediately.”
“Shin,” the other voice countered forcefully, “you are my advisor, not my bodyguard. Which is a good thing since he seems to have slipped right by you undetected. Now let go of this foreigner and let me deduce for myself what his intentions are.”
James felt the crushing grip release reluctantly and he pushed himself up to face the minister.
“Sit down,” the older man said as he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please forgive Shin. He lacks the gifts of a diplomat. I feel you mean me no harm, but you are suspect until you explain your presence.”
Shin eyed him warily and strode angrily over to a nearby chair, where he flopped down and fixed James with a piercing glare. Once James had recovered from the shock, he began with a very brief explanation of his background.
“My name is James Huener,” he began, but broke off when Shin nearly fell off his seat. The advisor suddenly went from exuding arrogance and menace to portraying shock and fear. James had no idea what brought this drastic change to the man, but he knew it would be best just to get to the point of the message. Unfortunately, he was afraid because he really did not know exactly what the message was and how he was going to answer any of the inevitable questions this politician would ask given the rare likelihood that he even invested one ounce of belief in his story. However, when he reached the part of his story that would seem fantastic, he suddenly felt as if a chest of forgotten knowledge had burst open and he knew precisely what needed to be said.
“Look,” he began, “Joshin is using this proposed agreement as a ruse. They want to slowly maneuver your government into a position that will result in an unstable political environment through which they can take advantage.”
“This is a foolish foreign reactionary!” Shin yelled. “He means to destroy the historic progress we are about to make. What does he know about our people?”
“Perhaps you are right, Shin, but I will hear him out,” the minister responded calmly then turned to James. “You know many others have said what you are saying, but your accusations are without proof or reason. Joshin has made every effort to reconcile our differences.”
Without knowing where his words were springing from, James countered, “But there is both evidence and reason. The agreement calls for equal compromise in all areas, including government, but you need to look beyond the superficial statements to see the design within.”
“What do you mean?” Daejune questioned with a spark of interest.
“One of the smaller clauses calls for equality across all cultural fields as well. Within this, the document states any beliefs or patterns of thought that conflict with the majority view should be subservient to promote unity,” James explained.
Daejune pushed away from his desk and sat straight. “I understand your concern, but such people will not be oppressed, merely asked to practice their thoughts in private to allow for agreement across the nation.”
“So it seems,” James continued, “and even that would be a dangerous enough direction in itself, but you need to look further into the document to see the real result. The agreement also calls for election of a fair government by the consolidated people, but it specifies in minor wording that only those citizens who live by the national lifestyle of unity will be able to participate in the process.”
“Did I miss this Shin?” Daejune petitioned his aide.
“I don’t know what foolishness he is talking about, sir,” Shin responded quickly.
“Since when have you called me sir?” Daejune inquired suspiciously.
“Clause 15, paragraph 3, third sentence,” James offered, astonished at his own words.
As the minister ruffled through the papers on his desk, James glanced at the aggressive aide. He was watching him with murder in his eyes, but at the same time appeared to want to back away from him as if he had some sort of deadly contagious disease.
“How could I have missed this?” the minister said in surprise. “Didn’t we go over this entire document several times, Shin? And yet it is right here just as this foreigner has said. Such a restriction is concerning.”
“There is more,” James added quickly. “If you know the ratio of populations between the Joshin and Shinla, you will know that Shinla leads by a small margin. This would appear to offer Shinla an advantage in any fair consensus among all the peoples of both states, but Shinla has a much higher percentage of servants.” He saw the look of confusion on the minister’s face and tried to briefly explain. “Servants of the Light. They are a group that serves the Light, or, um, well, it is basically like a religion, I guess. At any rate, they will not conform to the compromise in thought desired by Joshin, and this will cut them from participation in government leading to a slight advantage to Joshin, which they will use for their gain. Their leaders have a hypnotic control over their people and you will soon be facing a government not of compromise, but of northern persuasion. Have they ever offered a compromise to their form of government before? Why would they suddenly change now?”
“You are a foreigner, though you speak our language. How do you know all this?” Daejune asked skeptically. “The details of this document have not been released to anyone but the President’s inner circle.”
“I know because I am a servant.” James stated bluntly. The minister’s statement made him suddenly realize he had somehow been speaking the local language fluently.
As the words left his mouth, Shin sprang from his seat and slammed his fist on the desk. “This is preposterous!” he exclaimed. “Do not let this fool religious freak influence your resolve to see our people united!”
“Sit down!” Daejune ordered angrily. “While what this man says seems absurd, he makes some points that I cannot ignore. I am afraid we must review this document once more and resolve some of these questions with our brothers in Joshin.”
“I am tired of this!” Shin said with disgust. “You have signed the document, and who will doubt my story that you were suddenly seized with a heart attack at your advanced age.”
“What are you talking about?” Daejune said with a touch of fear in his voice.
“I am saying I no longer need to play the idiot to your bungling. I no longer need you.”
As the grim words lingered on his lips, Shin thrust his hand onto the minister’s chest and the old man’s eyes shot up toward the ceiling as his body went rigid.
“No!” James yelled, but as he stood from his chair, Shin launched a kick into his gut that sent him sprawling backwards over the chair behind him. Unable to breathe, he forced himself to his feet and leaped through the air over the chair. He drew his rhema as his body began to descend, and as it exited its invisible sheath, he brought it up in a short swing that took Shin’s hand off at the wrist. The momentum of his attempt sent him rolling across the floor, and he stopped with a clunk against a bookshelf behind the desk. Daejune was still in the chair, stiff but continuing to breathe rapidly. Shin looked at his vacant wrist for a moment, then shot his eyes at James. Rage seemed to pour from his countenance, and for a moment Shin looked as if all the blood vessels in his body were being pushed to the surface of his skin. Then, in a horrible flash that stuck in James mind for the rest of his life, Shin’s body practically exploded, and a horrific beast twice his size expanded from the ruins of the human flesh. The monster was unlike anything James had seen before. Up to this point, he had a fair share of experiences with nefarin and dark warriors, but this being was different. In fact, it almost looked like a Guardian of Light, but in a mutated, grossly deformed fashion. The surface of the being’s body swirled in a gray, sickening pattern, and rot and decay were the only words James could later use to describe what seemed indescribable. The missing hand returned, evidently just a loss to the fleshly body its host inhabited, and it moved rapidly to draw a long blade of a similar sickening color as the being itself.
“You will die first, servant,” the twisted nefarin spat.
James moved to position himself in between the minister
and the monster, and he could hear the older man scrambling beneath the desk for protection. Then, he opened himself to the Light and waited. The nefarin leaped at him with a flurry of rapid strokes that James just barely managed to deflect. He looked for an opening to launch an attack of his own, but the Dark Guardian was so aggressive, he could not take the offensive but was just managing to keep the dark blade away from his flesh. Slowly, James was being forced back through the large room, past the desk and around some chairs and a low table that nearly caused him to lose his balance under the relentless assault of the skilled nefarin. It was a large suite, but it was not long before he found himself running out of room as he backed into the wall-length windows that formed the outer edge of the room.
The twisted guardian came at him with a flurry of blows until James felt the cool glass window behind him. His opponent was pressing against his chest with both their swords locked just inches away from his face. With a forceful thrust, his enemy pushed away. As James brought his sword down to the ready position, the guardian caught it near the tip with his own blade and twisted skillfully with his wrist in a motion that brought James rhema in a full circle and wretched it out of his grasp. It whirled through the air and struck the concrete wall on the inner side of the room, immersing itself easily up to the hilt. It remained lodged in the wall out of his reach. The creature brought his blade level with James face and forced him to recoil into the corner of the room where the window met the bookcases running along the inside wall of the room. He did not know what to do, and just watched the glowing blade in expectation of sudden death. The creature smiled cruelly and made a stab. Instead of piercing James head, though, he purposefully sent the thrust over his right shoulder, and was slowly drawing it through the glass window like it was a pool of still water. Drops of molten glass ran down the blade and dripped on his shoulder, searing his clothes and painfully burning his flesh beneath. James cried out and leaned against the wall, but the blade continued its fateful path toward his neck. He could hear the wind whipping against the building outside and whistling through the narrow slit left by the guardian’s blade. Drops of cold rain shot through the narrow opening and mingled with the fiery drops of glass dripping onto his body. Just as he thought he could feel the deadly glow of the approaching blade severing the hairs on his neck, he caught a flash of movement on the far side of the room.
