The Ranger (Book 1)

by E. A. Whitehead

  “Why am I so dizzy,” Vincent asked. He was now lying on the ground, covering his eyes with his arms. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

  “This ability is taxing on the body, Vincent,” Silva explained. “Yes, it allows you exceed the limits of your body, but the body pays a price.” He paused and thought for a moment. “As you practice more you feel less strain, to a point.”

  “So there’s a catch,” Lauren put in.

  “Not exactly,” Silva continued. “It’s the same as any other training. Your muscles are not used to the new strain, and thus fatigue easily. With time, strength develops and the task seems easier. It’s not that the task itself has gotten any easier, you’ve just developed increased ability to perform it.”

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Vincent said, managing to regain his footing.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Silva said with his usual sly smile. “There is one caution I must give you both. You must know your limits. While using Furtivos you will not notice the fatigue building or the stress on your body. Once you release your token, it will all come crashing down on you. If you push yourself too far, it could kill you.”

  “No problem,” Vincent said as he embraced his token again.

  “Well,” Silva said, patting Vincent on the back, “There’s no time like the present. Let’s get to work.”

  Vincent focused once more on his token and slowly expanded the power through his body. The world slowed around him for a second longer than it had the time before. The power snapped back, sending Vincent tumbling to the ground.

  He spent the remainder of the day practicing under Silva’s watchful eye. With each attempt Vincent managed to hold it a little longer. However, he required at least a half hour of rest between each attempt. By the end of the day Vincent was able to hold it for a few minutes. Lauren, on the other hand, was not having as easy of a time with it. When the sun started to fall over the mountains, she had not even managed to hold it for a second.

  They both ate quickly that night and went to bed. The next few days seemed to fly by as Vincent dedicated all his time to mastering this new ability. Progress came slowly, but after the fourth day he could maintain Furtivos for nearly half an hour with minimal fatigue afterward.

  Lauren, however, had taken three days just to be able to hold it fleetingly for a few seconds. Once she learned to hold Furtivos, she progresses with incredible speed, matching Vincent’s endurance in only one day.

  “You have both done extremely well,” Silva said around mid-day of day five. “Your progress is unprecedented. However, it is one thing to be able to hold Furtivos. It’s another thing entirely to move with it.”

  “How so,” Vincent asked curiously.

  “Let me show you,” Silva said, with his customary smile, a smile which was starting to make Vincent feel uncomfortable. “Attack me using Furtivos. And don’t worry; I’ll go easy on you.”

  Vincent cautiously embraced his token and its power flowed through his body. The world slowed around him, and yet he continued to move at regular speed. This feeling, which only five days earlier had seemed strange and surreal, now felt second nature to him. Silva took a step toward Vincent; he too seemed to be moving at normal speed.

  “Now attack me,” Silva commanded.

  Vincent did as commanded and charged at his master, hands already moving through the forms for unarmed combat. To Vincent’s great surprise, his hands seemed to move in slow motion. Silva easily blocked the blows before giving Vincent a sharp kick to the chest, sending him flying several feet. Vincent released his token as he desperately fought to regain the breath that had been knocked from him.

  “I don’t understand,” Vincent panted as Silva came and stood over him. “Why couldn’t I move?”

  “It’s simple,” Silva replied, still smiling, “your mind has sped up, but your body has not. It’s not used to moving that fast.”

  “So how do we fix it,” Lauren asked as she moved to join them.

  “Practice,” Silva shrugged. “The more you practice, the easier it gets.”

  “Let’s get started then,” Vincent sighed as he pulled himself to his feet. “No sense wasting daylight.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Silva laughed. “The two of you will spar together to add a level of difficulty to the training and to hone your other skills at the same time. I recommend continuing your agility training.”

  “I like that idea,” Lauren said, smiling mischievously.

  Vincent, however, did not like the idea. He had yet to win a spar against Lauren, and it wasn’t looking like that was about to change.

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Silva said, patting them both on the back. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be in my cabin.” Lauren continued to smile as Silva walked away.

  “Shall we?” The kindness in her voice was almost sadistic as she jumped up onto the beam.

  “If we must,” Vincent groaned as he too jumped up onto the beam. He embraced his token and the world slowed as Furtivos took effect.

  Lauren stood across the beam from him. Vincent cautiously walked out to meet her in the middle. It no longer took any effort for him to balance himself on the narrow bar, and jumping and dodging was easy. Despite his confidence in his skills, Lauren was still far superior.

  She attacked first. Vincent was quick to defend, but his movements still felt like they were in slow motion. Fortunately for him, Lauren seemed to be having the same problem.

  Their movements meshed perfectly. Each strike was met by a block before a counter blow was returned. Vincent’s hands and feet seemed to be moving of their own accord. He performed every form he had ever learned perfectly, and a few forms he did not recognize.

  After thirty minutes of combat they were both still standing on the beam. Lauren drew back.

  “That’s enough for now,” she panted as she jumped from the beam. “It’s time for a rest.”

  Vincent also jumped from the beam and released his token. The fatigue hit him hard and he collapsed, gasping for air.

  “You’ve improved a lot Vincent,” Lauren said, glancing at him suspiciously. “What were you up to while I was gone?”

  “Nothing special,” Vincent said as he finally managed to sit up, “just my normal training.”

  “Right,” Lauren said incredulously, “well, as soon as you’re ready, we’ll start again.”

  They continued their sparing for the rest of the day, and most of the next. Their speed increased rapidly until it was almost impossible for someone who couldn’t use Furtivos to see them.

  The remaining Rangers in the encampment slowly started gathering in awe as they watched the spectacle. Even Silva was drawn to watch, but neither Vincent nor Lauren noticed. They were too engaged in their combat.

  The forms continued to flow perfectly, but Vincent was starting to gain the advantage as more and more forms that he didn’t recognize continued to flow through his body. He had no idea where the forms were coming from, yet he had a strange sensation that he had seen them somewhere before.

  Suddenly his mind flashed. He was no longer standing on the beam fighting with all his might, no longer a Ranger training on a field. He was a five year old child, standing in the warm firelight of his home, watching in awe as his father went through impressive forms with a tiny wooden sword.

  His mind flashed again. He was back on the beam, his hands following the same movements he had seen his father do just seconds before. Lauren was now fully on the defensive, frantically trying the block these new attacks. Vincent effortlessly continued with the forms, looking for the perfect opening. Then it came.

  Acting quickly, Vincent kicked Lauren’s legs out from under her. A look of shock was etched on her face as she started to fall, but Vincent wasn’t finished. With his open palm, he struck her hard in the chest as she fell, sending her rocketing across the field.

  “Vincent!” Silva’s angry voice startled him and he fell from the beam, releasing his token
as he landed. Silva picked him up roughly as he rubbed his head where it had just hit the ground.

  “Come with me,” Silva commanded gruffly, leading Vincent along. “Trent, see to Lauren,” he snapped as the hurried through the crowd of Rangers. “And the rest of you, back to work!” The small group of Rangers quickly dispersed.

  Vincent was led through the encampment to Silva’s cabin. Silva opened the door and pushed him in. The cabin was as disorderly as it had been the last time Vincent had been there, but now a large map covered the table in the middle of the room. Black and red rocks were scattered across the map along with two large gold coins. One gold coin marked the Grand Abbey, the other the Ranger’s camp.

  “Sit,” Silva commanded, pointing at a chair. Vincent obeyed. Silva sat across from him and stared silently, scrutinizing Vincent closely. After what seemed like an hour to Vincent, he spoke.

  “Where did you learn those techniques,” Silva asked quietly.

  “What techniques?”

  “Don’t play games with me,” Silva growled threateningly. “The techniques you just used against Lauren. They are not part of the traditional Giocapugni techniques. Who taught them to you?”

  “No one,” Vincent replied, very confused.

  “Then where did you learn them?” Silva stood up, becoming frustrated.

  “I don’t know,” Vincent said, becoming angry himself. “My father showed them to me as a child, but the forms just came, I couldn’t control it.”

  “I see,” Silva said, sitting back down. He clearly had not expected that answer. “Do you think you could do them on your own?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Go ahead, give it a try,” Silva motioned encouragingly.

  Vincent stood up and moved away from the table. He closed his eyes, envisioning his father once again. Slowly, he started to move, his body mirroring the movements of the image of his father that was burned into his mind. The motion felt natural and fluid. He started moving faster. As the movement became more familiar, he moved with more precision.

  “That will do,” Silva said quietly. “Please sit.”

  Vincent returned to his chair. Silva returned to his thoughts. At length, he spoke.

  “The technique you just displayed is one of the oldest forms of combat. It dates back thousands of years. There are few people left who could recognize it for what it is, and fewer still that could actually perform it. In fact, until just now, there were only two.”

  “You and Master Auna,” Vincent guessed. Silva nodded. “Then that means…”

  “That’s right,” Silva cut him off. “It was one of the secrets of the Pallàdrim.” The words hung in the air. “It is the ultimate in offense, but you sacrifice a great deal on defense. That was its only flaw. Other than that, it was perfect. It could be adapted for any weapon, and unless someone was familiar with it, it was almost unbeatable.”

  “If it is as powerful as you say, then why not teach it to the other Rangers?” Vincent asked.

  Something flickered in Silva’s eye. “This is a sign of the Pallàdrim,” he replied sternly. “Only Pallàdrim may learn it. Thus, if others went around using it, it might give the impression that we were training new Pallàdrim, and the Empire would rain down on us in their wrath. Unfortunately, we are not yet ready for that. Having said all this, you are never to use that technique, those forms, in public, or where another Ranger might see it and learn it.”

  “But you said that there were few people who could recognize it,” Vincent protested. “I don’t see the danger.”

  “Ah,” Silva nodded, “that is true; but most of those who would recognize it either are, or work for, the Magi. All it would take is for the wrong person to see it, and it’s all over.”

  “Very well,” Vincent conceded.

  “Good,” Silva seemed satisfied. “That will be all. Take the remainder of the day and rest. Tomorrow I’ll have a new assignment for you.”

  Vincent quietly left Silva’s cabin and returned to his own. The other Rangers stopped and stared as he passed, but he didn’t notice or care. The training from the past few days was catching up with him, and his body ached all over. It took all his remaining energy not to fall asleep as he undressed. He lay on his bed and slept.

  Chapter 13: Shadows of the Past

  The heavy metal door slammed shut with an ominous thud, plunging the small hole into darkness.

  It took Vincent’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim blue light coming from across the room. He was once again with his child self. It was cold, and the child was scared. The boy started shivering, then shaking, and couldn’t stop.

  A muffled sob drew Vincent’s attention to the light. The light was coming from a small stone that was hanging around the neck of one of the little girls from the neighboring farms. She was huddled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.

  Suddenly, Vincent was seeing though the child’s eyes. He slowly edged toward her. She didn’t react. “Are you alright?” he asked cautiously. At this, she cried harder. Vincent shifted uncomfortably before sitting next to her. “Everything will be ok,” he said, trying to reassure himself more than her. “You’ll see. Pappy is up there. He’ll take care of everything.”

  A thunderous boom shook the little chamber, shaking some dirt loose from the rough cut ceiling and sending it raining down on the cowering children. The little girl grabbed hold of Vincent and was holding him close. To Vincent’s surprise, he was holding her too.

  They sat holding each other as more and more booms shook the ground. The girl was still crying, while Vincent repeated to himself, “Pappy will protect us, everything will be fine,” over and over.

  Time seemed to creep by as the noise got steadily closer. They could faintly hear the shouts of men now through the ceiling. One final boom shook the chamber, much louder than any of the others, and it lasted much longer. And then there was silence.

  It was deafening. None of the children dared to move. What had happened up there?

  Vincent’s imagination was awhirl with the possibilities. Each imagined scenario finished with his father standing triumphant over the armies of the monsters from his stories. Any second now, Pappy would fling open the door to the chamber.

  Time continued to drag on, and still the chamber door remained closed. Slowly, Vincent’s mind turned to less savory thoughts. What if something had happened to his parents? He pushed those away. Nothing could hurt his parents, especially his father.

  The door at the top of the ladder creaked open and light flooded the little chamber. They must have been down there much longer than Vincent had thought, as the sun had risen and now shone down on them.

  A head appeared, silhouetted by the blinding light.

  “They’re down here,” a voice called, sounding relieved. It was not a voice that Vincent recognized, but it apparently came from the head at the top of the ladder. “It’s alright,” the voice said comfortingly, “you’re safe now.”

  Vincent started climbing the ladder. As he got higher the man came into view. He wore a silver mask that hid the features of his face. A large chunk was missing from the left side, not quite reaching his eye, and he was bleeding heavily, but Vincent hardly noticed that. He was transfixed by the eyes behind the mask. They were deep red and seemed to glow with an inner light, just like his father.

  “Hurry up now,” the man chided.

  Vincent hadn’t realized that he had stopped moving. He finished climbing the ladder and emerged from the hole. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  His house was gone. There was nothing left but a pile of smoldering ash. The rest of the farm yard had suffered the same fate. Burnt ground was all that remained. A large part of the forest on the border of their farms was still burning. It was all gone. What Vincent had thought was sunlight was actually the glow from the burning trees, which lit the clearing as though it were mid-day.

  There were two other men sorting through the ashes, as if looking for somethi
ng. They were dressed like the man with the silver mask, except their masks were white. They too appeared to have sustained serious injuries.

  Vincent’s legs gave out and he fell to the ground, crying and calling for his parents. They didn’t come. He knew they wouldn’t. The reality of what had happened had hit him, hard, and he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He was scared.

  One of the men noticed and hurried over. He was taller than the other two, and had deep black skin.

  “There, there, boy,” the man said with a voice like soft velvet. “Everything will be ok, you’ll see.” He untied the strange knives that were strapped to his fists and picked Vincent up, holding him close.

  Vincent wrapped his arms around the neck of the man, who winced noticeably but said nothing. Vincent peered over the man’s shoulder to see what was wrong. Shockingly, the back of the man’s tunic was gone and the armour had melted away. His back was covered in blistering burns, many of which were bleeding heavily. And yet he continued to hold and comfort Vincent.

  “It’s not here.” Vincent could hear the other man talking to the man in the silver mask. “It must have burned up in the backlash.”

  “That’s not possible,” the man in the silver mask replied calmly. “The stone was a gift from Sandora, it is indestructible.”

  “Then they must have beaten us to it,” the other reasoned. “That’s the only logical answer.”

  “But how? No one could have survived that.”

  “Unless they came after, in which case they are probably still close by.”

  The man in the silver mask paused, as if deep in thought. “No,” he said at length, “I can still sense the stone, and it is close. Ben,” the man called quietly. The man holding Vincent turned.

  “Yes?”

  “We need to get these children out of here,” the man said mournfully. “There’s nothing left for them.”