Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  The son returned to the farm, a powerful master of the Battle Arts.

  Again, the townspeople said the farmer was very lucky. And so it went. The son had returned, but he’d turned into a drunk and a bully. This seemed bad, until bandits attacked the farmer and his family, and his son saved them all. Was this good? Was this bad? The farmer didn’t know.

  Monique parked her rented Chevy Road Dog outside Cheryl’s hermit shack. Thank you, zero-interest-for-a-year credit cards. Hopefully, when she had to pay, she’d have the money. If not, she’d be forced to play the credit shell game of modern life. She’d done it before.

  The shack had two rooms, the walls gray wood, covered by blue plastic tarps nailed into the roof, giving the sad shingles some hope for their job. An outhouse with a moon and stars cut into the door stood next to the main building, connected by a path lined with stones and dead flowers. Winter was in the air.

  The chimney pipe wasn’t leaking smoke, which wasn’t a good sign on such a cold day. Maybe Cheryl had gone out for more firewood, though she preferred coal.

  Monique got out of her car to crunch across the driveway. The tall pines threw pollen and perfume. The sound of the wind rustling the limbs was all she heard.

  She knocked on the door. “Cheryl?”

  No answer. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was as cold inside as it was outside. The room was tidy, the bed made, her desk clear of papers.

  Monique pulled a dining room table chair away from the small table by the window. Nothing matched in the comfortable little space. Ostensibly, Cheryl had gotten them all for function, and yet, there was a kind of pretty elegance to them. Handmade lace doilies covered most exposed spaces. A quilted runner sat on the table. Across from her, near the cold stove, towered a bookcase, and Monique recognized two books: a leatherbound copy of The Pranad and a beat-up paperback of A Princess of the Changing Winds. The rest were everything from cheap romances to outdated medical texts, and a few lawbooks tracking California law, the latest editions.

  Cheryl had been a doctor. She’d been a lawyer. But above all, she’d been an Artist who had never officially stepped onto the tiles of any Arena. For Cheryl, the Arts were about battling any enemy inside of her own skin.

  Monique checked the kitchen. Everything was clean. A drying rack held a pile of dishes next to a sink that drained outside. Hoses from the big propane tank outside were connected to a stove. A small refrigerator, running off a single drode, hummed. Inside, the shelves were cool, but no food was there.

  Cheryl was always there in the shack. Where had she gone? Dead outside? That didn’t feel right. Running an errand? That felt right, only it wasn’t some simple grocery run. Cheryl only went to civilization a couple times a year. This wasn’t that, Monique could feel it.

  Monique returned to the table and sat down. “Cheryl, I need to talk to you.”

  If Cheryl had been there she would’ve been in the kitchen, making them tea from chamomile and mint she grew and dried herself. She would’ve called out brusquely to Monique, Well, talk then.

  “Logan. He stole from me. From what I’ve pieced together, he’s been in communication with Russian hackers, which is a terrible cliché and doesn’t reflect well on the history and culture of that great country.”

  Cheryl would’ve sighed at her. No jokes. No fancy words. Get to your point. And please, I’m old, and I can’t have you wasting my time.

  Monique had spent years talking with Cheryl. The responses were so easy to guess.

  “He won’t talk to me. Well, Logan won’t talk to anyone. I’ve tried to get him to give the money back in his more lucid moments, which aren’t many. Or is this another con I fell for? Is he perfectly fine?”

  Cheryl wouldn’t have liked that line of thinking. Either you know or you don’t. He’s living under your roof.

  “It’s both,” Monique decided. “He’s aware enough to steal, but not aware enough to get away with it. I think he might have even forgotten what he did. Then, when he remembers, he gets desperate. Hence the trips to the local Apollo’s, to get on their wifi. I’ll eventually get the money back. At least I hope I will. It won’t be anytime soon because of the bureaucracy, the attorneys, and the big bucketful of international law.”

  You’re not worried about the money. You’re worried about what to do with him. What do you owe him? How much have you let go of your resentment?

  “It’s a tangled mess. Which is why I came to you. Only, you’re not here.”

  Monique shivered from the cold. Well, she could fix that easily enough. She started a fire in the stove, using kindling and sticks in a brass holder nearby.

  Then she pulled the chair close. “People are dead. I’m hunting a new kind of cambion, but I can’t find it. I feel responsible. Well, I should, because SoulFire has laid the blame on me. It’s not right. Nothing is right in that situation. Talk about resentment.”

  You know if you are responsible. If you are, take responsibility. If you aren’t, then it should be easy to let that go.

  “And the murders?”

  People have a way of dying. We are fragile. The world is a troubled place. This should not be news to you.

  “Ah, Cheryl, you always make things so clear. I’ve not given up. We can’t find the thing, yet.” This next part was going to be hard to talk about. “I met a man.”

  Men are trouble.

  “Not all.”

  For you they are.

  “Well, maybe, but I went from one psychopath, Logan, to another, Calabra. The twin fathers of my troubled soul.” Monique let out a breath. “It was easy when Aleksy and I were simply working together. He was my subordinate. And I don’t play in that end of the pool. Now? We’re friends. Yet, there’s an age difference, and I’m me, and he’s a good, upstanding member of society. I’m wondering what line I should cross.” She laughed a little, sighed a little, and then laughed some more. “Yes, men are trouble.”

  Pick your problems. Choose your troubles. Or the world will choose them for you.

  Monique chuckled. “Not sure why I drove all the way up here. I could’ve done this at home.”

  This place, you in that chair, brings a certain perspective that you couldn’t have gotten at home. And driving clears the mind.

  “I need to get right with myself and what I feel before I can get right with Logan. As for Aleksy, I just need to live in the moment, and the moment will provide. And this new daemon, I have to be patient. It’s not just SoulFire that’s looking for him. Local cops, government spooks, even the Coalition of Unified Countries are looking for him. I’m not alone. I refuse to think I am.”

  This time, Monique didn’t need to hear Cheryl’s voice in her head. This was the time Cheryl would clear her throat and then show her the latest knitting project she was working on. Or they would talk about Cheryl’s history. Or they would chat about the challenges of maintaining a spiritual discipline after so many years. Monique had her answers.

  Monique knew what she had to do. She let the fire die down, until the embers had turned to ash. She cycled, she went through the Duodecim, and when she left, the stove was cooling, and the sun had climbed higher into a cloud-strewn sky. It was a little after eleven.

  “I hope you’re okay, Cheryl,” Monique said softly. “I really do.”

  Most of the time seeing the misanthropic hermit was comforting. Sometimes it was troubling. And sometimes, Monique questioned the sanity of her guru. With her gone, Monique felt all of the emotions at once. She let them go.

  She was back on I-80 when her phone rang. Aleksy.

  She put him on speakerphone.

  “Monique, I think I found a way to track the chochlik.”

  The news made her gasp. “What do you mean track? We can’t track prana. Human heat signatures, yes, but not daemons.”

  “It’s not a daemon,” Aleksy said. “I mean, it is, but it’s taking shape. It has an Erosion Sign to it, and with Erosion at its zenith, it’s not only more powerful, but it’s
also more human. I think I can tweak our satellites to see it. I mean, I have. I worked with some tech guys, and we’ve seen it in Daly City. It’s moving north. I think it’s going to Bay City.”

  “You’ve contacted the police, right?” Monique asked.

  “Not yet.” Aleksy paused. “If we can bring it in, that vindicates you and SoulFire. We should wait.”

  “Aww, you care.” Monique switched lanes and drove slower in the right lane. A few raindrops spattered her windshield and she hit the wipers. “Aleksy, I know you want to be a good company man, it’s endearing, but I won’t have any more murders on my head. Call the police. Report up through Steven at SoulFire. Everyone needs to have this technology.”

  “It’s iffy. It’s not like I can find it. I look for a blur, and that blur might not mean anything. I think it does. But I don’t have anything I can test my theory on. Right? It’s not like we have a Whitney rack of chochliks I can work with.”

  Monique realized she couldn’t order Aleksy to do a thing. She was suspended. “Aleksy, please, let everyone know. And keep looking. The minute you can pinpoint the thing, call in the cavalry.”

  “That means you,” Aleksy said. “You’re the cavalry. So, I’ll call you.”

  “You’ll let them know first?”

  The guy didn’t answer right away. Then, he relented. “I will. If they take it from me, though, we’re screwed. I might be able to create a back door. And what I have isn’t pretty. I’m doing a lot of calculations by hand.”

  “Of course you are.” Monique felt the gratitude keenly. She’d been right about this guy, way back, when she’d brought him into the task force. “And I can handle the chochlik, so that makes me one part of the cavalry, but you’re the second half of our strike team. No one is going to have the Whitney you tweaked to contain the shadow man. So, keep your eyes peeled. I’m driving back to Bay City now.”

  She then remembered something. “Your brother is fighting Andrew J. Coffey today. You’re going, right?” Niko Black. Something about him seemed important to her, outside of his relationship with Aleksy. Niko had damaged his core, and had Radiance energy in it, or that’s what Aleksy had said. Had he run into a chochlik? That seemed unlikely. Such a beast would’ve killed him before he could cycle it.

  This next patch of silence was even longer than the first. Aleksy finally answered. “I want to see Niko fight. But I can’t be at the match and look for the daemon at the same time.”

  “Unless you remote into your workstation from your laptop. Go, Aleksy, keep searching. I was planning on being there as well. Well, until SoulFire suspended me. I’ll get a ticket. I might have to sell a kidney, but I have two, right?”

  She clutched the steering wheel firmly. They’d needed a break, and Aleksy had provided one.

  “I’ll be in touch. And thanks, Monique, for coming to see my brother fight.”

  “I should be thanking you. Seems like your family life is better.”

  “Much better. Thank you.”

  They hung up.

  Now, if only Monique could fix her fractured home life. She drove faster, switching over to the fast lane and letting the Road Dog’s engine scream.

  Fright Night started at noon, but they couldn’t call it Fright Day. It didn’t rhyme. Monique only hoped that the chochlik didn’t show up and start killing a stadium full of people.

  Well, if she and Aleksy were there, it wouldn’t.

  She drove faster. And all of her thoughts and feelings fell into place. She was at peace until she hit the traffic into Bay City, stop-and-go, all the way to the stadium.

  The Stadium

  NIKO HAD HIS OWN DRESSING room in the Bay City Stadium, one with a couch, two chairs, and a view of the bay water, full of sailboats. Polished wood, polished brass, and leather in unexpected places. A gift basket with his name sat on a glass and gold table. In it were candies, coffees, brochures for tinctures, and pamphlets for world-class apothecaries all across California. There was a USB drive from Vannix House, highlighting its accomplishments in a series of videos. Anvil Incorporated gave him a nice collection of chocolates. As for SoulFire, wrapped in a box with Halloween decorations was a copy of Barton Hennessey’s new book, Eternal Warrior, the sequel to The Art of the Inner Warrior.

  He thought about ripping it up and throwing it as confetti when he walked out onto the field. It would help with some of the nervousness. Every cell in him was buzzing. Too bad most of it was anxiety. And a terrible despair. He was grateful he wasn’t alone. Teddy was texting him every fifteen seconds, offering encouragement, condensing the news streams, and giving him the attendance numbers. This was basically a pro event. That didn’t help Niko feel any less nervous.

  Bonnie was also there. She hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. She wore a tank top, extra-ripped jeans, bleached white in places, and her boots. Her leather jacket hung on hooks by the door. She sat in a plush chair, reading a magazine and eating one of his chocolates. “I’ve seen nicer dressing rooms, oh, wait, I’ve been in nicer dressing rooms. And far crappier ones. This isn’t about me. This is all for you. And you rock.”

  Niko knew the truth, though. “No, Barton and Andrew are giving me a taste, just a taste, of what I could’ve had. And then, when Andrew beats me, they’ll sabotage all my connections. This is a ploy.” He smoothed his Artist robes, his same old Artist robes, worn and faded, a little ragged. He’d been wearing them nonstop for weeks.

  “Their ploy has provided us with some good chocolate.” Bonnie chewed and swallowed. “I think they should ploy you more often. And you’re getting a thousand dollars. I’d take most any gig for that kind of scratch.”

  Niko walked to the window. “It’s messed up, how they can play with people’s lives like they do.”

  “People in power are like that. It’s just business. And if they weren’t doing it to you, they’d be doing it to someone else.”

  “Not this time,” Niko murmured. “This time, they want me to lose, and lose big. But not right away. Andrew is going to take his time. It’s going to mean pain. Lots of pain.”

  “We both know all about that. You can take a punch. Like me. It’s one of the reasons why I like you so much. You’re sweet, kind, but underneath, you are one tough son of a bitch.”

  Niko turned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about my mom.”

  Bonnie rolled her eyes.

  A knock on the door. Niko opened it, and an old man stood there, his head shaved bald, but the hair had found other places to migrate to. His ears. His nose. He’d missed shaving a part of his beard, so a rough line of hair ran down the side of his face. He was dressed in a suit, vest, and a bow tie. His skin was a pale shade of brown, like he didn’t see much sun, but if he did, it would darken. “Niko Black?”

  Niko nodded.

  The man was quick with a card. “I’m Francisco Gold. Most people call me Frank. I’m an agent, and I’ve been watching your career. You don’t have representation, do you?”

  “I don’t.” Niko wasn’t sure he wanted any. He took the card.

  “Call me next week. Monday would be nice. It would let me know if you are serious. I like serious. If you don’t call, I’ll know.” Frank bowed. “Good luck out there. There’s a lot of buzz about this fight. I’m curious to see how it shakes out.”

  Niko wasn’t sure what to do after the bow. He put out a hand. “Thanks, Mr. Gold. I appreciate you stopping by.”

  “Thanks for taking my card.” The agent shook his hand, then left down the carpeted hallway.

  Niko closed the door.

  “Wow, let the schmoozing begin,” Bonnie said.

  Niko was stunned. Win, lose, or draw, it was national exposure. His anxiety ramped up a notch. In the end, though, it was simple. He simply had to play to the audience, stay in the fight for as long as he could, and take hits. Simple.

  Another knock.

  Niko opened the door. There stood the Sages of the Underpass, all of them... Danette, Pax, and Evelyn. All were dres
sed up—Danette in slacks and a nice blouse, Pax in a suit without a tie, and Evelyn in a dress, very flowery and very pretty.

  They crowded in to hug him.

  Pax was pale, and much thinner. He must’ve lost fifty pounds. It didn’t look good on him. “We passed Frank Gold in the hallway. He came to pay you a visit, right?”

  Niko glanced at Danette. “Yeah, he did.”

  Danette shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’ll lose your very coveted Unrepresented status by talking to an agent. It’s smart to play the entire board.”

  Evelyn leaned and waved at Bonnie.

  “Niko, I know you’re a big deal now, but don’t forget your manners.” Bonnie stood. “I’ll help out. I’m Bonnie. I’ve heard a lot about you guys.”

  “The girlfriend!” Pax thundered. “We thought you were in Canada, another figment of Niko’s imagination.”

  “Fevered imagination,” Bonnie corrected.

  Niko ignored them. “Hi, Evelyn.”

  “Hi.” She flushed. “I had to come. I had to see your fight.” The words came out as an apology.

  “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

  The door was open, and two people, a man and a woman in red Arena Assistant robes, came in. “It’s time, Niko. Are you ready?”

  He wasn’t. He gave them a quick nod.

  “I’ll get to my seat. I’m sitting with Niko’s parents,” Bonnie said. “And his brothers. Pete has never looked better, and Aleksy has his laptop, and he keeps complaining about the wifi connection. He’s a Kowalczyk all right, working when he should be playing.”

  Evelyn bowed, her hands folded. “Niko, I want to quote from The Pranad, but nothing is coming to mind.”