It was all he could offer. He had nothing else. He couldn’t promise them things would return to normal. He couldn’t promise electricity, or the internet, or even freaking food and safety. But he could try. He could teach them both SOMETHING. Maybe, just maybe, if those bodies were strong, they could protect the spirits inside. Maybe.
Cassie pressed her hands together, her eyes squeezing, and Eliot’s mouth twitched nervously.
“Ok,” Asher said, needing no more prompting, “let’s start with a fighting stance.”
He instructed them in how to sink into their fighting stance and started teaching them the forms. If he’d had decades, he could have taught them properly, but every single thing he taught was laced with the tension of truth, of “proving” the technique in real life to save your own. It was why Cassie asked to learn the move that he’d used on the Hammer to break his grip on Asher’s neck. She was so much smarter and older and more observant than Asher realized or wanted to admit. As they trained he could see that Cassie’s goal was to protect Ginny. And he admired he for it. He admired both Ginny and Cassie for riding love over the cliff into Hell and clinging to one another with determination.
Over the coming weeks that they trained, Eliot impressed him too, though his natural kindness made Asher’s stomach clench. Every time Cassie got something wrong Eliot stopped and helped her. In his old classes Asher would have praised him for that, but today…it was tough. Ruthlessness was the way to win and neither of these lovely children had a shred of it in them. And he was forced to ask himself if teaching them the way of killing was the only way to save them. A terrible reality.
But the thought of Ginny and Cassie at someone’s mercy, or even Eliot if his formidable father wasn’t around…it drove him. And so they held several training sessions over the weeks. It was the most “crash” course he’d ever given.
“Remember,” he chided Cassie, “You have to rip your wrist out of my grasp without me knowing the move is coming. I can’t feel you tense. I can’t feel your breath. NOTHING. Make me think you’ve given up. Go LIMP. And then, when I relax...”
Cassie grabbed her own fist with her free hand before he finished his sentence and ripped it away from him, backing away at least ten yards.
He grinned, raising his hands in joy. “Yes, yes, yes!!! That was fantastic!”
She whooped and he grabbed her by the waist and whirled her around. “You could beat a GIANT with that sneak, little Cass!”
He couldn’t help it. Her study, her intensity, it gave him hope. Maybe she could adapt. Maybe she could survive. Eliot was equally jazzed and high-fived her enthusiastically.
“What the fuck is this?”
Asher’s heart sank before he turned, setting Cassie back on her feet. “Hey, TinMan. Just givin’ the kids some tips to help them defend themselves.
“Yeah?” Eliot’s father strode so close that only a millimeter separated their noses, the clamp of his cheap prosthetics echoing with each step. “Well you aren’t their fucking father, are you?”
“Dad, he was just trying to help!”
It was the first time Asher heard Eliot speak against his father and he waved to shush him, but it was too late. TinMan’s hand connected with the boy’s face and Asher’s stomach turned. He’d seen this before. His father had tapped some tough schools in the past, urging kids to come to the dojo for free…hoping to redirect them from Chicago’s deadly gangs. It was always the parents that ruined everything, Asher thought, his rage igniting.
TinMan eyed Asher angrily. “I didn’t ask you to train my boy.”
“I meant no disrespect. He wanted to help the girl,” he added, trying to ignore the fact that Cassie was cowering behind him, terrified of the man who was supposedly on “their team.” It was so screwed up and yet, this was familiar…a parent screaming, “Don’t get too close to my kid. Don’t do a better job than me! Don’t succeed where I’ve failed!” It was nauseating.
“Let him go,” Cassie whispered, as TinMan led Eliot away. Her hands held Asher’s this time, her mouth silencing his. “It’s ok,” she said. “You couldn’t stop it.”
It ripped him in two. This wasn’t the way. Children didn’t teach adults to be strong. But that was then and this was now. You could learn from a child. They could be stronger than you.
Only the Promise Remains
Asher awoke with a start, his eyes struggling to focus in the dawn light filtering through the warehouse windows far above. A footfall caught his attention and he sat up, turning to peer into the darkness, his hand already wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He thought he saw a shadow flicker and then all was quiet. He shifted and his free hand landed on something that crackled. Surprised, he squinted at the folded scrap of paper and saw the feminine cursive spelling out his name.
No.
Silently he rose and tiptoed past the others toward the sound he’d heard in his sleepy haze. As he wound through the bowels of the warehouse his heart grew heavier with every turn. He knew where this route headed – to the loading dock – and beyond.
When he reached the last door and found it hanging wide, he unleashed a series of curses that would have awakened the dead, had they been courteous enough to be present. Sadly, as he stared into the alley where his only reasons for living had disappeared, he had not even the dead to keep him company.
He wanted to call after them, to beg them to come back, but it was futile. They were gone. Anything he did now would only put them in more danger than they’d chosen to face on their own. He was alone again. With the exception of Eliot, the rest of the Lobos barely counted as living, breathing humans. Resigned, he turned back, the letter still clutched in his free hand, where it burned like coals.
When he’d managed to wedge himself into his normal hiding spot for writing in the warehouse office, he unfolded the letter with shaking hands. No matter how painful he’d imagined the words to be, they were far worse once he read them and made them real.
Dear boy,
It’s with a heavy heart that I leave this message behind, and you with it. I know that the only reason we’re still alive is because of your protection and that without it, in the wilderness, who knows what chance we’ll have? But I just can’t keep Cassie around these…men any longer. No matter what your skill, I don’t think you could keep us safe forever.
But it’s more than that. I also can’t keep you captive any longer either, Asher. You can’t imagine the guilt I’ve felt knowing that that we’ve been the cause of your anguish, that because of us you’ve compromised so much of who you are. We’ve been your shackles, tying you to the devil.
You once told me that your father was the most honorable man that you’d ever met. Well, I have news for you. YOU’RE the most honorable man that I’ve ever met. And now that you don’t have us to protect any longer I hope that you’re free to be that honorable man once again.
Don’t let momentum and grief pull you down. If your father is half the warrior you are, then he’s still alive and still looking for you. Don’t give up! Promise me…even if you close your eyes and wish it across the miles to us…promise me that you’ll leave those Godforsaken people behind one day. Promise me that you’ll find your family.
In love, honor, and respect…we are yours,
Ginny and Cassie
The unwelcome tears spattered onto their signatures, Cassie’s giant, girly loops making them come harder. He choked and clapped his hand over his mouth, sliding deeper into the crevice. He pulled his feet beneath him and wrapped his arms around his knees, strangling the sobs that threatened to shake him in two. Now there was nothing left, nothing good in the world.
###########################################
He awoke with a start as brash laughter broke into his consciousness. His neck ached and he grimaced as he looked around, reminded of his plight in an instant. With a heavy heart, he tucked Ginny’s letter into his shirt pocket and worked his way out of the tight space. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, onl
y that when he emerged the stray bits of light stubborn enough to work their way into the warehouse’s deepest levels were those of a high sun.
Despite the hours passed in what should have been rest, he struggled with a crippling weariness. It echoed in his bones and squeezed through his muscles, whispering, “What now?”
“Hey, Ash,” a voice called as he made his way up the stairs into the main level, “You gonna join or are you just going to sleep all day?”
He met Conner’s mocking eyes and forced a fake smile. The Guard was all centered around one of the giant plastic spools that served as the Lobo’s tables, chairs, couches, and in some cases, beds. The pile of cards and precious collectibles in their midst – gum, razors, mints, and the rare cigarette – showed that the guys were deep into their usual off-duty pastime. Though poker with this group rarely counted as fun given that fistfights were the usual outcome, anything would do as a distraction from his grief. “Don’t know what’s wrong with a little sleep,” he drawled, heading their way, “but by all means, deal me in.”
“By all means,” Conner parroted, rolling his eyes. “Do you believe this guy?” He elbowed a silent TinMan, whose grunt was the closest thing to collegiality that he ever managed. For a minute Asher considered whirling on his heel and stalking right out the door after Ginny and Cassie. Even though he knew that he’d probably never find them, Ginny’s plea that he free himself haunted him. But his eyes kept finding Eliot in the corner, where he crouched intently over the innards of some kind of engine, and he settled at the table instead. “Just shut it, Conner. Don’t make me kick your ass for real, instead of just at cards.”
At this the rest of the Guard laughed and hooted and Asher suppressed a sigh. Acting like one of these guys was exhausting.
Conner shook his head. “Shit, Ash, you’re a gasbag.”
Asher lost himself in the scatter of the dealt cards and patter of the other Lobos. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that he actually was staying for some good reason.
Tread Carefully
December 2033
Sid took me on a tour of the territory today. It was very, ah, educational.
##############################################
“C’mon, Ashhole.” Sid waved to him and leapt up the metal stairs toward street level.
Asher grunted. “I thought you said you were going to stop calling me that.”
“Wah, wah. You’re such a baby! What I’m teaching you today should show you what I think of your rank in the Lobos.” He paused at the door. “You ready for the Grand Tour?”
“Of what?”
“The Territory.”
Asher fought back the urge to gulp. Just the two of them? Deep into the warren of gangs whose only rule seemed to be “More blood, more better?”
“Oh, shit!” Sid cackled, doubling over. “That is hil-a-ri-ous, man! Your face, oh, oh, my God.”
Asher flushed. “Fuck you. You’re half the fighter I am.”
“True,” Sid danced backward gleefully. “But I have the edge because I don’t fear death.”
“I know. You’re a sicko. Congratufuckinglations. Just show me the ropes, alright? You want me to say thanks?”
Sid’s smile disappeared. “Not really.”
Asher startled, surprised by the sudden shift in his leader’s tone.
Sid’s eyes scanned the buildings they were approaching at the northeast edge of their territory. “I need someone else to understand this shit…the intricacies.” A snort erupted from Asher’s mouth before he could stop it and Sid whirled. “What? I can’t use big words?” His tattoo twisted in sickening ropes.
“Sorry, man. You’re not usually one to wax poetic, is all.”
Sid shook his head. “You don’t appreciate anything. It’s disgusting. The UBN would have eaten you alive and shit you out.”
As his pace picked up, Asher relaxed. He was at least a head taller than Sid and sometimes staying a pace behind him took effort, but he knew it was a necessary deference. “So show me the shit, fearless leader.”
Sid shot him a grin over his shoulder before ducking into an alley so tight it made breathing seem like a luxury. He peered around the corner before pointing. “You see that?”
Asher followed his gaze to the smattering of red tags: UBNs, some 5s, and 5 pointed stars. “Yeah. Those are your old gang signs, right?”
Sid yanked back his jacket and hoodie to reveal his shoulder. There, in scarring that could only have come from cigarette burns, was a dog paw. “UBN for life, man. Or at least, that was true then.” He shrugged back into his clothes.
“Seriously? So why the hell aren’t you with them now?”
“Yeah,” Sid said. “I actually feel bad about that. I mean, my word really was my bond.”
Asher nearly bit his tongue in half to avoid reacting. Sid didn’t seem to notice.
“But after the Famine it all changed. We used to have a purpose…”
“What?” Asher interrupted. He couldn’t help it. “How could you say that any street gang has a purpose? Didn’t UBN kill people for shit like drugs and turf? Like everyone does now for food?”
“Who the hell are you to judge?” Sid’s face creased, his scar folding in on itself like a growing hurricane. “Yes,” he hissed. “We killed people for drugs and turf. It was all we had. And you’re wrong to think there was nothing to it. There was family. There was community. There was brotherhood.”
“A brotherhood of blood.”
“Like you can say shit to me now.”
Sid bolted from their space and across the nearest intersection, grimacing as he squeezed though the opening of a locked chain-link gate. He vaulted over dumpsters onto a barricade and back down to the street. Asher followed, his footsteps the soft penumbra to Sid’s dark downbeat. His tongue had cleaved to his mouth with Sid’s last statement. Because he was right.
The blood swam before Asher’s eyes. Not just the many broken bones of the Lifer fights…that was child’s play. Those could be fatal blows, but they didn’t haunt him at night, bringing up the image of his mother’s hollow eyes over and over again. No. That was the privilege of his Lobo kills…and his first. It didn’t matter that he murdered the predator and not the prey. Not so long as he knew that innocent prey would starve once he’d sliced their lead “predator” to ribbons to save his own belly, his own gang.
That’s what it was now. Not even an eye for an eye. That would be balanced. This was senseless loss. This was the momentum of chaos, pulling each new soul behind it into the abyss – a surface tension of death.
And so it was with his tongue in check that Asher followed his Leader through the incredibly complex warren. There were several main gang regions within the City. The area to the north encompassing most of the Bronx and Harlem, down to the Park, was known simply as the “Territory.”
There was also the “Money Pit” (Battery and South), the “Killage” (if only this needed explanation), the “Wild West” (Upper West Side), the “Ramble” (Central Park), and the “Rising Sun” (Upper East Side).
“Here,” Sid pointed at more tags. “This side of the river is all Latin Kings.”
At first it was hard for Asher to even discern the letters, numbers, and symbols. These were not the beautiful artistic tags of the pre-Famine days. Supplies of things like Sharpies and paints were dwindling. Tags tended to be crude and graphic. Many had been reduced to carvings into concrete and brick.
“And the Latin Kings are bad?” For the first time in a long time, Asher felt his journalistic mind stir to life. He yearned to pull out his journal.
“They’re all bad, man,” Sid said, grinning, “including us.”
Asher nodded, ducking his head. It was not a duck of pride. “So how do we know these tags are Latin Kings?”
“Well, they’re real tight and organized, man, I gotta say that. UBN was serious, but LK, they got like, a cult almost.”
“A cult?”
“It’s like rel
igion. They name all their heads Kings and Queens. It’s all really royal.” Sid rolled his eyes. “What your ass needs to know is that despite the fancy names, they are kill-ahz. Tags can be ALKQN, ALKN. Basically, you see anything with an LK, run like hell, you got it?”
Asher nodded.
“Oh, and they hate La Raza.”
Asher was startled by the lyric words rolling off Sid’s tongue. He eyed him in his peripheral vision.
“Sworn enemies,” he went on. “Their tags won’t be anywhere close…they’re on the other side of the river even. That’s the good news, I guess.”
They made their way over a block, skirting a subway stop. The subways had become the homes for many small gangs and roving groups. It was never safe to dive into those dark holes and frankly, Asher would prefer not to anyway. Half of them were flooded. And that was the good half. “What do you mean by, ‘Good news?’”
They climbed through a broken storefront and up the stairs through the apartments to the roof. As always, Asher was struck by the sheer normalcy of the little apartment block. Where doors were open you saw cute curtains and throw pillows, children’s toys and empty wine glasses left after a very, very last swig. If it weren’t for the signs of rapid departure, the scattered papers, the overturned and upended drawers, you would never have known that anything was wrong.
That and the complete absence of life, Asher thought, following Sid’s dash up the stairs. No matter how “abandoned” the City was per square foot, one could never be too careful in these vertical mazes. It was easy to get ambushed. It was like he’d learned in physics. The likelihood of encountering someone overall was very low, but in any one place, it was completely unpredictable. Lost in his thoughts, Asher huffed as they made their way. It was a relief to burst back into the weak sunlight. When he caught his breath, he repeated his question. “So what’s good about Latin Kings hating La Raza?”
Dragon Rising: The Untold Story of Asher Grey (Eden's Root Trilogy Book 4) Page 5
