by Frank Morin
This was the final gamble. He’d hoped Anaru would realize the need to act, that the captain might set aside his bitterness, but hadn’t really expected him to.
Anaru had clearly understood where the conversation would end up, had allowed it to take them to this point. Had he wanted to, he could have managed the situation differently and blocked Tomas’ ability to make the challenge. He’d allowed a chance, but Tomas wasn’t entirely sure why. Did Anaru secretly yearn to break with orders and destroy the hated Cui Dashi? That would break with orders, tarnish his carefully honed honor, but stay true to their deepest oaths. Or did he position Tomas to make a challenge because only by defeating Tomas could he remove any lingering doubts as to his right to command?
It didn’t matter. Even if Anaru secretly supported Tomas’ stance, his honor would never allow him to throw a fight. He’d fight to win. His honor was as firm as steel, and just as unyielding.
If Tomas lost, his life was forfeit, and no doubt Mai Luan would succeed in enslaving the council. Tomas accepted the risk. He’d fought for this command more than once. The Tenth was his legion, and he welcomed the chance to fight to redeem them, no matter the cost.
With deliberate motions, Tomas drew his two concealed pistols, turned them barrel-down, and passed them to Domenico. Anaru did likewise.
The challenge was given and accepted.
The enforcers broke into excited conversation and betting grew heated as Tomas and Anaru together led the assembled company down one level to the practice room. Fashioned like a gladiator arena, the circular, sand-floored room spanned forty feet in diameter. This was the sparring room, where the enforcers trained for hand-to-hand fighting.
Tomas crossed the sand, every step triggering hundreds of memories. He’d personally trained most of the men now climbing into the spectator seats above the eight-foot wooden wall. This arena, built seven centuries ago, had housed the Tenth ever since. It held a rich history that permeated every inch of the aged wooden wall.
He dropped his coat, stripped off his shirt, and kicked off his shoes. A challenge for leadership was a hand-to-hand contest. More than one contender had died in this arena while battling for dominance, but that was fitting in a contest of strength. The Tenth was an organization steeped in tradition, and the requirement that the captain defend his post against any and all challengers with fist and heart had remained constant for nearly two thousand years.
Anaru had paused near the entrance and was already stripped to the waist. His hugely-muscled torso rippled with strength and the many tattoos he sported would have done his Maori ancestors proud. The big man stepped into the sand, feet moving quickly, hands beating against bicep and chest in a rhythmic war dance his ancestors had chanted for centuries.
With each step, he shouted in Maori, chanting the war cries of his people. The whites of his bulging eyes gleamed against his brown skin, and his muscles quivered with growing battle frenzy. He stuck out his tongue while he chanted, the ancient Maori threat to consume his fallen victims.
Tomas had seen the war dance many times, but had to admit it was impressive. His muscles tensed with anticipation and adrenaline burned through him, filling him with eagerness to close in battle.
Anaru maintained perfect balance, gliding forward with intricate footwork. His balanced center allowed him to strike or block, adapting with great speed. Breaking through Anaru’s daunting defenses had always been the key to victory. The man could strike like a cobra, his huge fists falling with overwhelming force. Naturally possessing incredible strength, he bore more runes of strength than any other enforcer. Tomas had seen him bench press a Suburban.
Tomas advanced cautiously, closing to ten feet, just outside of striking range. He expected the two of them to circle each other, probing one another’s techniques, and eventually building to a full tempo. That’s how they had usually sparred, and how their two serious duels had progressed.
Not this time.
How the early priests came into possession of these secret runes does not appear, and if there were ever any records of this kind the Church would hardly allow them to become public.
~Harry Houdini
Chapter Fifty-One
Anaru lunged into a rush that surprised Tomas.
He managed to fire off a couple of jabs that did nothing to slow the Maori, who bulled through the blows, anticipated Tomas’ last-second dodge, and drove a mighty fist into Tomas’ sternum. The hammer stroke catapulted Tomas across the arena. If not enhanced, the blow would have crushed his chest. It still rattled him, driving the air from his lungs.
He rolled smoothly back to his feet, but struggled to breathe.
The assembled enforcers shouted encouragement for their captain, and the betting intensified. Whatever their personal doubts about the rightness of the council’s current directives, the enforcers loved a good fight, and Anaru was giving them one.
Anaru rushed across the sands in another reckless charge, shouting in Maori. Tomas could imagine meeting a man much like Anaru leading a surprise Maori attack on an unsuspecting village, and the sight would have instilled paralyzing fear on the hapless villagers.
Tomas embraced the fear, but it couldn’t rule him. He magnified the apparent effort required to breathe, as if Anaru had hurt him badly, encouraging the big man to rush in for a quick kill.
Anaru fell for the ruse, and with a mighty cry closed the distance, his huge fist poised to deliver the knockout blow.
At the last second, Tomas dropped to the sands, barely avoiding Anaru’s deadly hands, and kicked the side of Anaru’s leading knee. The leg buckled and Anaru tumbled to the ground with a howl of pain.
Tomas rose, but waited for Anaru to return to his feet, which he did slowly, favoring his wounded leg. Tomas had hoped to break the knee, but Anaru still managed to support some of his weight with it.
With Anaru reduced to a hobble, Tomas circled him, throwing punches and kicks, probing Anaru’s defenses and forcing him to constantly turn. Anaru tried launching a counterstrike, but his wounded leg slowed him down and Tomas easily avoided his grasping hands and punched him a couple of times on his meaty head. The blows had no visible effect, but they served to enrage him. Anaru prided himself on his fighting ability and considered any punches to the face an insult to his honor.
Anaru lunged, catching Tomas in a tackle. They rolled over each other, pummeling with fists and elbows. Tomas tried to slip away, but Anaru pressed Tomas against the sand and reared his torso above him, raining blows with his heavy fists like sledgehammers.
“You’re weak,” Anaru cried as he beat Tomas into the sands. “This time no one will doubt my right to command.”
Rattled by the brutal beating, Tomas tried to protect his face and avoid the worst of the blows, but he needed to break free or Anaru would beat him to a pulp.
He couldn’t punch as hard, but he was faster, so he changed tactics. He stopped playing defense and despite his weaker position, he threw fists and elbows into Anaru’s midsection as fast and hard as he could. The intensity of his attack surprised Anaru, who drove his torso down to render Tomas’ leverage ineffective.
Just what Tomas needed.
He clapped both hands across Anaru’s ears.
The huge Maori howled and reared away, clutching at his head.
Tomas kicked him off and tripped Anaru before he could regain his balance. Then Tomas straddled Anaru, pinning the man’s massive arms with his knees and pounding his face.
“You lack vision,” Tomas shouted. “And you’ve gotten fat!”
Anaru bucked under him, shouting Maori curses, and threatening to knock him flying.
Tomas punched him twice in the throat. As the giant gagged, Tomas rolled off and retreated a step. He waited for Anaru to haul himself to his feet. The two faced off, and Tomas maintained a calm expression, despite the aching of his body from Anaru’s beating. His healing runes were already easing the pain, but more importantly he needed to command the psychological aspect of the
fight. That would be a key in defeating Anaru and in proving to his men that he was worthy to lead them.
As soon as Anaru was set, Tomas closed in and launched a blistering attack with feet and fists, elbows and knees, drawing upon every fighting trick he’d learned in his long career. He could have choked Anaru when he’d recently knocked the big man down, but he needed to beat him soundly, fist to fist.
The two fought across the sands in close hand-to-hand combat, striking, parrying, and absorbing hit after hit. Tomas managed to avoid the worst of Anaru’s overwhelming punches, but even glancing blows rattled him. He didn’t let up, didn’t show the pain, and drove Anaru all the way to the far wall.
Anaru’s earlier confident shouting faded to panting and growling, but he kept fighting, his massive arms still posing a deadly threat.
A well-placed kick from Tomas knocked Anaru into the wooden wall. He lunged back at Tomas, his arm sweeping out in a haymaker that would’ve knocked Tomas’ head off.
Tomas slipped under the deadly swing and launched himself at the nearby wall. He jumped, kicked off the wall to reverse course, and soared high, coming down with all his momentum focused on his right elbow. He drove it into the base of Anaru’s throat just as the big man turned to face him.
Anaru’s collarbone snapped and Tomas’ elbow drove deep into the soft tissue beneath. He crashed against Anaru, but bounced off the bigger man. Anaru stumbled but didn’t fall. His face was contorted with pain and rage.
Tomas’ elbow throbbed from the impact, and he stared in amazement. That hit should’ve knocked even Anaru out of the fight.
Anaru lunged, hands reaching for Tomas’ throat.
Tomas stepped between his grasping hands and threw every ounce of strength left to him into a right cross at Anaru’s jaw. The blow snapped the big man’s head back, then his body followed. He fell backward and crashed into the sand, where he lay unmoving.
Tomas’ hand burned. He was sure he’d just broken at least one finger, so he kept his fist clenched. Panting from exertion and pain, he carefully circled the fallen giant, but Anaru didn’t move.
From the nearby stands, Domenico leaped to his feet. “Captain Tomas wins!”
The rest of the enforcers broke into a cheer and several of them rushed out to treat the unconscious Anaru.
Domenico approached Tomas and offered an ice pack for his broken hand.
“Thank you,” Tomas said through bruised lips, trying to hide how much he hurt and how badly he wanted to lie down in the sands and sleep.
“Good fight,” Domenico said. “For a while, I thought you were done for.”
“So did I.”
He turned to the rest of the enforcers gathered onto the sands. More than half of the Tenth had assembled to witness the duel. “Does anyone else challenge my right to command?”
Tradition required he make the offer, but he worried someone might actually take him up on it. If any of them shared Anaru’s long-held resentment, this would be their best chance. Tomas didn’t think he could win another duel, but he’d be honor-bound to accept the challenge.
When no one spoke up, he smiled. “All right, then. It’s good to be back.”
The enforcers, his men, cheered and surrounded him clapping him on the back and congratulating him. Their support filled him with strength and soaring joy. These were his men. Leaving his command had been one of the hardest decisions he’d ever made. Being labeled an enemy had hurt deeply, but it all washed away under the simple joy of again being part of this company.
“We’re honored to have you back,” Domenico said. “What are your orders?”
“See that Anaru’s patched up. I need him functional.”
At Domenico’s surprised look he added, “Anaru served as captain with honor. He’s now my second. You’re now my first lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” Domenico saluted.
Tomas hoped Anaru would accept the appointment as second with good grace. It was the best honor Tomas could offer, and better than most fallen captains received. Most were stripped of rank and, if not kicked out of the legion outright, were often transferred to remote posts where they couldn’t undermine the authority of their usurper. Tomas needed Anaru’s knowledge of current operations, and he needed the Tenth united. If Anaru embraced his new role, together they could take Mai Luan apart.
“Someone inform Quentin he can come out from behind his barricade. I need his help,” Tomas ordered another enforcer. “And someone find out when Mai Luan’s expected to arrive with her new machines.”
“She’s already here,” Anaru said, sitting up with the help of two other men. His face was pale and his eyes weren’t entirely focused, but his voice sounded clear. “The council’s assembled. They’re planning to begin the final test within the hour.”
Tomas cursed. Quentin’s last report had suggested they had at least until evening.
“Domenico, assemble everyone on the double! Battle array. This is an alpha level event. The council’s in grave danger.”
As his lieutenant began barking orders and men rushed to gear up, Tomas grabbed his phone and dialed Gregorios. He cursed again while he waited for it to ring.
The memory hunt was about to start, and he was out of position.
The Liberal State is a mask behind which there is no face; it is a scaffolding behind which there is no building. Upon this truth I will stake my upcoming lives.
~Benito Mussolini
Chapter Fifty-Two
“Are we ready?” Gregorios asked without preamble when he entered the dining room.
Sarah hovered near Alter and Eirene, absorbing everything she could of their discussion. They had drawn all of the runes they’d found marked onto the machine, and the table was covered with the drawings.
“As near as we can be with so little time,” Alter said, gesturing toward the table.
“We’re out of time,” Gregorios reminded him.
“When will Tomas get back?” Sarah asked. Her relief at the news that he’d survived the crazy return to his company and regained his position as captain had been eclipsed by renewed fear at the news of Mai Luan’s imminent test with Asoka.
“He won’t be back,” Gregorios said. “Not in time for it to matter to us.”
“But he’s part of the plan,” Sarah protested.
Over the past couple of days, the team had worked out the framework of a plan to block Mai Luan’s attempt on the master rune. It relied upon Tomas and Alter working together to fight her while Gregorios defeated Asoka and terminated the memory before it reached the point where the master rune would be revealed.
“The plan’s going to have to change,” Gregorios said. “This is our only shot, and we can’t wait. It’s now or never.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Eirene assured Sarah. “But at least Tomas is there. With a little luck, and lots of muscle from the Tenth, he might be able to remove Mai Luan while she’s sleeping.”
“He suggested the same thing already,” Gregorios said. “It opens up an entirely new front she can’t have foreseen. If we can block her in time, he can take her out.”
“We haven’t solved the entire mystery of these runes yet,” Alter warned. “There are just too many unknowns and we’re not even going to get to test our ideas before jumping right into the memory hunt.”
“That can’t be helped,” Gregorios said. “Can we or can we not fire this thing up?”
“Yes,” Alter said after a slight pause. He gestured at the many runes on the table. “I’ve already modified the runes on our machine to grant you more control of the memory. It should allow whoever’s in the secondary helmet to actively interact with the memory without being able to take over like Mai Luan did.”
“I still don’t understand how she pulled that monster into your dream,” Eirene said. “That part worries me, and I haven’t found any evidence among these runes that speak to that.”
“I’m not sure she did it on purpose,” Gregorios said. “I’ve been thinking
about that. She seemed surprised by it, and that creature attacked Asoka and his squad. That couldn’t have been part of her plan.”
“You fought her,” Alter said with a snap of his fingers. “That changed things.”
“It’s my mind. I should be able to change what I want.”
“This is a memory, not a dream,” Alter said. “The runes work by driving you back to a specific point in history in search of a master rune. For it to work, you must walk the memory with great care and approach a pure truth of that moment in history. Changes threaten the memory’s integrity. I suspect it produces gaps that are filled with negative energy.”
“Monsters?”
“It appears so. Drawn from the subconscious mind of the dreamer.”
“Fascinating as this discussion is, we’re out of time.” Gregorios said. “We’ll just have to be careful.”
“I believe the additional helmet is ready,” Eirene said. “The runes are in place anyway. It should allow two passengers into the memory with you.”
“But who’s going?” Sarah asked. “Tomas isn’t here.”
“I can take Mai Luan,” Alter declared with customary zeal.
“Maybe.” Eirene didn’t sound convinced. “But distracting her first was the plan, and that approach still offers us the best chance of victory.”
“You’ve got to power the machine,” Gregorios said to Eirene. “And I’ll be busy with Asoka. If Quentin were here, we could ask him.”
Sarah spoke, offering the most logical solution, but the one no one had suggested yet. “I’ll go.”
“You can’t,” Alter protested. “It’s going to be very dangerous.”
“That’s why I have to do it,” she insisted.
“You’ve made wonderful progress in your training,” Eirene said. “But this isn’t going to be a stroll down memory lane. This will be war. Injuries suffered while locked into the memoryscape transfer to our sleeping forms. Gregorios and I both experience it. You could get hurt.”
“Or killed,” Alter added.
