Received: from SOUTH-STATION-ANNEX.MIT.EDU by po10.MIT.EDU (5.61/4.7) id AA05787; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:51:11 EST Received: from emout10.mx.aol.com by MIT.EDU with SMTP id AA13567; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:51:09 EST Received: by emout10.mail.aol.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) id VAA25174 for jevans@mit.edu; Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:51:46 -0500 Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:51:46 -0500 From: Vctr113062@aol.com Message-Id: <960217215146_146994427@emout10.mail.aol.com> To: jevans@MIT.EDU Subject: Winter 4/16 ***************************************************************** My arms were tiring. Droplets of water trickled down the side of my ice float, making it so slick that I had to lock my hands together to maintain my hold. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead and mingled with the melted ice, seeping toward the rest of the quicksand bed. Instead of dissolving instantly, though, the moisture pooled upon the quicksand's surface, separated from the denser mixture below by a light film of surface tension. My intuition made the leap. The quicksand truly was nothing but sand mixed with ordinary water. I didn't have to freeze it when, buoyed by the float, I ought to be able to swim through it. The "shore," where my sandy footprints gave way to a deceptively smooth surface, was only a couple meters away. I rolled on my side and pulled my knees in slightly, bringing my heels toward my hips, then vigorously extended them apart and brought them together again. I repeated the scissor kick over and over; each motion brought me precious centimeters closer to safety. The viscous quicksand sucked at my calves with a sound whenever they broke the surface. My slow progress could have been sped up if I'd used one arm, but I didn't dare compromise my precarious hold on the melting chunk of ice. The quicksand's sucking pull on me was far greater than ordinary water, and I doubted I could stay afloat solely on my own efforts. The tousled remnant of the nearest footprint was close enough to touch when the narrowed midsection of my ice float broke apart. Resisting the urge to thrash, I dug my fingers into the shore. Underneath a couple centimeters of sand, I felt a rough, rocky surface and gripped it with my fingertips. I was sinking quickly despite efforts to keep my body horizontal, and to struggle would only have made me submerge all the faster. With what little purchase I had, I dragged my upper body forward and reached for another handhold. All Lin Kuei warriors are expected to keep themselves in optimum physical condition. I regularly practice using my arms alone to scale nylon thread no thicker than twenty strands of hair, and the strength I've developed from such exercises serves me well. Fatigue and injury made hauling myself out of the quicksand pit more difficult, but my determination to survive carried me through. Fortunately, the ice bandages had stayed in place over my claw wounds, though the sharp pain in my shoulder blade warned me against trying another stunt like that. My uniform was a mess, covered with the gritty morass. Now that I was out of danger, I felt the strength drain out of my limbs and my psyche, leaving me shaken and unable to conjure a single crystal. Yet I had to press on, and hope that the passage of time would help me recover. Before continuing my journey, I searched underneath the sand for loose rocks and pebbles. With every few steps, I'd toss a stone on the ground in front of me. When it appeared to sink too far into the sand, then I was very cautious indeed, and slowed my progress to a crawl until I found another, safer stretch to cross. ***************************************************************** If it had been winter, I'd have retreated to the deepest snow-covered valley I could find. But it was spring, and the nearest source of snow was a mountaintop over two hundred kilometers away, so I had to be content with prowling the woods. I was restless, and needed to do something while I thought over Pyre's assignment. Sometimes I practice the art of mundane invisibility through a more traditional form of hunting. Animal senses are far keener than those of men. Any fool can creep up behind a commoner, but only the quietest prowler can approach a hare unnoticed. It took a great deal of practice before I could come close enough to touch the hare's white tail with the tip of my finger - which is what I did. I kill people, not animals. Pyre had told me to kill one more person, a member of a rival clan, within the next seven days. I should have immediately set out for the target's dwelling, yet something bothered me and I didn't understand what it was. Misgivings? This target was no different from any of the others. He was just another killer, and therefore my rightful prey. Wasting even a little time here was dangerously close to disobeying Pyre's wishes. The wishes of a madman. That had to be what bothered me. Memory of that _thing_ in Pyre's laboratory made me nauseous. He actually planed to create zombies of metal and grease; worse, he planned to turn himself, possibly others into those unliving, soulless objects. He had to be senile. Though he had appeared healthy when I met him, he was indeed an old man who couldn't have had too many years remaining. Perhaps he was desperate to try anything, no matter how blasphemous, to prolong his waning lifespan. Sometimes I forget how tightly other people cling to this world. There was one other, acerbating circumstance. Pyre's second grandson had been tailing me ever since I left the clan's residence. He tried to be subtle about it, and showed some skill, but not enough to fool the game that ran away long before I could close in. He could probably use a quick lesson. I made my way to a brook with small black fish that darted just underneath the water's surface. Having chosen my optimum territory, I settled down and started to craft an Ice mirror from the stream's cool water. It took a little time, during which I listened intently for any movement from behind. None came. He was either unaware of what I intended, or better than I thought. I gazed upon the finished mirror. By shifting its angle, I could peer around the trees he was hidden behind. My right hand casually reached to scratch the back of my neck, then angled toward him and directed the Power. He was far enough away that he could have dodged the attack, had he anticipated it, but apparently following me for several hours had whittled away at his vigilance. I approached him and waited for the Power's effects to fade. "Next time you trail someone, be careful to stay upwind or at least crosswind of them," I lectured, when he was no longer paralyzed. "The scent of a human being is very hard to conceal when you are downwind. And do not wear your ceremonial colors. By the clan's honor, what do you think you are doing? That shade of red is bright enough for a blind man to see! Now, what do you want with me?" He turned his head to the side and did not speak. "Consider this: I could have killed you, yet I did not." "If you had, you would have paid with your blood!" he snapped, glaring at me. "Perhaps, but you would still be dead." He looked at me, strangely, and with apprehension. "I do not have time for this charade," I sighed, shaking my head. "There is a task to carry out. Pyre cannot have charged you with monitoring me until I completed it; you are too inexperienced to be an effective observer, and too weak to be an effective enforcer. You probably thought up the idea on your own. Your time would be better spent practicing your disciplines. You have much to learn." "I won't let you hurt him," he snarled. "The target?" I enquired, genuinely curious. "No! Grandfather Pyre. I don't know why he trusts you - something about wanting to forge an alliance between opposite elements, he said - but I don't! You'd better not try to harm him!" "For your sake, I did not hear that. My loyalty to the clan is not to be questioned, and even if it were, Lord Pyre is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Do not speak of him in such a disrespectful manner or you'll pay the price, grandson or not." "No. It's a trap, it's too convenient!" "What are you babbling about?" "Sub-Zero, the Lin Kuei's only living Ice master, just happens to be taken into confidence on the most perilous secret in the entire clan? It can't be a coincidence that he summoned you immediately after the Grand Council was in session. It's a Hierarchy trick! He doesn't realize how much they already know! You are their weapon. I've tried to warn him, and now I'm warning you: don't turn against him." "Or?" "Or I'll destroy you, your family, and anyone associated with you." Brave words, from a novice who posed no serious threat to my well-being. I could have told him that an intelligent hunter does not warn his quarry before making the kill, and does not make a challenge unless he has the strength to back it up. I could have broken both his arms to emphasize the point. Instead, I asked "What do you call yourself?" "Sektor. Why?" "I like to know the names of people who threaten me. It makes them easier to track down, later." ***************************************************************** A shift of the wind brought more than moisture to my attention. It also carried a raw odor, warm and quaking with a salty tang. I recognized that smell. As I reached the top of a vantage point overlooking its source, my eyes confirmed the suspicions of my nose. "Blood River," Saibot had called it. The name was no accident. Coursing vigorously through the ravine's bottom was a scarlet river of real blood. The syrupy red liquid bubbled and churned, occasionally erupting into bright red geysers. It stretched for kilometers to the left, and curved around a bend to the right. Steam constantly drifted from its restless surface, masking its other side. Questions spun through my head. How did all this blood get here? Was it from humans, animals, or both? Why was it so smooth? Blood has a tendency to coagulate and decay, but the river's contents were as fresh as if they'd spilled out of a giant aorta. The closer I came to the river, the more it throbbed with scalding heat. I could not swim across it. Though the river's grisly composition did not deter me, the prospect of boiling like meat in a cookpot did. By the time I reached its shore, my eyes stung from the steam; however, no tears formed. I have not shed tears since discovering my Power. A shadow formed within the river-mist. As it gradually drifted closer, the shape resolved into a low, flat-bottomed object with pointed tips, hosting a man-sized visage. A long, thin streak extended from the figure, plunging underneath Blood River's turbulent surface and stirring it. It was a boat, guided by a single poleman. I suppose I'd expected the craft to be made from bones and strung with sinew, yet I was pleasantly surprised to see merely an ordinary wooden boat, joined with common iron and painted deep red from stem to stern. The being within wore a long-sleeved, floor-length sable robe with a heavy hood drawn down, leaving only his hands visible. To my relief those hands appeared human, though strung with discolored veins and quivering from moment to moment. The poleman had to be very old. He gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles had bled white. His pole was a little unusual, I noted, for it was gnarled and covered with twisting, brownish leaf stems. It looked as if it had been wrested from the bough of a tree. The boatman halted about five meters from shore. His voice drifted amidst the steam, soft and rattling with the rasp of one who had overused his throat the day before. "Fare?" He nodded vacantly toward a small bronze bowl tucked close to the boat's starboard rim. I couldn't see the bowl's contents, but I could guess that he wanted gold, or silver, neither of which were in my possession. I had nothing to offer him save the quicksand-caked rags of my uniform. Perhaps I could overpower him, and steal his vessel. If he came closer, I might be able to jump across the distance separating us, but at the moment he was so far away that the impact of my weight would risk overturning the boat. "My deepest apologies, sir, for I cannot hear you," I lied. "Would you please approach a little nearer and say that again?" A chuckle dry as dust, gritty as sandpaper glided on the warm breeze. "No fare? Is okay. I still take you." Ripples spread out from the end of his staff as he withdrew it and plunged it anew into Blood River's tumultuous surface. With unusual strength for one so ancient, he used the tool to pull his boat's prow close to land. "All you do is take pole, yes? I tired." He extended the head of his long wooden staff to me. Drops of river-blood trailed down its length and dripped on the rocky shore, joining pools of sanguine spray. ***************************************************************** The target lived in a common fishing village, which took five days of brisk travel to reach. I was familiar with Lin Kuei records about all known rival clans and cartels, none of which had direct ties to this remote town. Most black market organizations recruit from their home territory first, but it is not unheard of for a cartel member to "retire" in such a quiet, out-of-the-way location, provided that his superiors approve. Lin Kuei forbid any such practice outright. To join them is to live in their domain for the rest of one's life. I wondered why Pyre had chosen to me to carry out this elimination. The target was only a lowly Tong hit-man. Retirement must have dulled the target's senses, for I never had the slightest difficulty staying unnoticed as I observed his daily routine. This was no test of my abilities - but then, Pyre had been under the impression that I was still an apprentice. The target worked sunup to sundown mending nets, casting them out, bringing back his catch, preparing it for the market, and so forth. A woman with a small boy came out to meet him when he dragged his boat back near his home. She wore a plain traditional dress, narrowly bound, and her hair was tied firmly in a bun held with long pins. The child was about five years old and a little shy, peeking behind his mother's dress until he recognized his father, and only then running up to greet him. They matched photographs of the target's wife and son, in the file I had memorized before setting out to perform my mission. I moved outside the village's perimeter and waited until well after sunset, then moonset, until the darkest hours when no common working man can afford to be awake. Then I waited some more. Every time I resolved to set forth, it seemed as though an animal cried out or voices muttered, and I halted. The sky began to grow lighter before I'd passed the first hut. I retreated, knowing that I had foolishly squandered my window of opportunity, and for what? Wondering about that distracted me for the next day, evening, and night, until the darkest hour descended once more. My mandate had been clear: the target was not to greet tomorrow's dawn. Hierarchy orders are not to be questioned; only obeyed. Every worry that had buzzed in my head up to this point was dangerously close to treason. I certainly wasn't about to march all the way back and tell Lord Pyre that due to my incompetence, someone else would have to assassinate the Tong. The darkness had thickened to its deepest point. Memory told me that a humble fishing boat and net rested near the target's door, but shadows crowded them so densely I could no longer see them for what they truly were. I silently approached his modest dwelling, relying on the sense of touch to guide my movements. ***************************************************************** I was about to take the staff when my eyes spotted a tiny motion. Little brown tendrils, which I'd taken to be leaf stems, connected the pole to the boatman's hand, burrowing underneath the skin into his bulging veins. They wriggled and pulsed ever so slightly, like the motion of a centipede's legs, as if to get a better purchase. A few of them had detached and waved toward my fingers. Instinctively, I focused a burst of Power through my hand, paralyzing the vile things before they could touch me. "What wrong?" crooned the boatman, his shrill voice rapidly increasing in volume and pitch. "Afraid to work? Maybe I no give pole, because I very _attached_ to it!" He cackled loudly and held up his face. His head was a fleshless skull yellowed with age. Independent eyeballs hung suspended in the skull's recessed eye sockets. The boatman lifted the staff and his sleeves gathered near his elbows, exposing radii and ulna bones. Only his hands had anything remotely like skin attached to them, and that was clearly a side effect of the writhing pole-thing they carried. "Sure you no step on board?" cawed the skeleton. "Yes, job is hard and food terrible, but tenure last forever! Aahhahahahahahaha!" He was still cackling when a sudden geyser of blood erupted from the river's surface, forcing me to move away and shield my eyes. "You better cross quickly. Death wait for you on other side!" When the geyser subsided, the boatman was gone, though he could have been anywhere in the dense mist above the river's surface. There had to be another way across. I followed Blood River's bank to the right, around the curve and into unknown territory. ***************************************************************** My retreat from the target's dwelling was anything but silent. Fisherman's blood moistened my hands. I made no effort to conceal my departure. Howls and wailing rose from the hut I left behind. A puppy. The bastard had owned a stinking flat-faced puppy, smaller than the fish he netted, but with a bark loud enough to wake the hosts of Hell. He must have acquired it within the past week, or it would have been mentioned in his file. I would have known anyway if he'd let the blasted thing outdoors; gods alone know why he didn't. The damn creature slept outside his bedroom, and its keen nose smelled me before mine could smell him. (What is it now, Pom-Pom?) the fisherman had yawned, shuffling out of his bedroom. His movements weren't right; he was far too careless, not even holding a light or a weapon. I faltered. He followed the little animal's gaze and glimpsed my outline against the window starlight. (Who are you?) It took one last burst of resolve to quell my hesitation and carry out my task. The black-painted dagger was already in my hand; he didn't move as I brought it toward his throat. That threw me off. I'd expected him to flinch away, with automatic reflexes even the lowliest enforcer must develop to survive, and he didn't. Instead of cleanly severing his jugular, I only carved a deep gash on the side of his neck. Sloppy. (What do you want?) he'd cried out, staggering back. (I have little, but if you want to steal something take it! Just don't hurt my wife and child!) A gangster would have reached for a gun, a knife, anything that could be used as a weapon, but he merely stared at me when I stepped forward and inserted the dagger between his fourth and fifth ribs, angled up. (Why...?) He didn't seem to realize that his heart had stopped, until suddenly his legs bent like reeds. He slid down, and the blade withdrew from his chest cavity with a wet, sucking sound. That was when his wife's screams joined the puppy's barking. A child's cry could also be heard, blending into the cacophony. I dashed for the nearest exit, still holding the dagger. The little dog sank its teeth into my shin. Instead of stabbing it, I merely kicked it away. I kill people, not animals. The noise seemed to follow me forever. Sprinting away from the village, I did not slow my pace till dawn. Only then did the truth of what I'd done sink into me, along with the first rays of morning sunlight. I stopped and sank to my knees, not unlike the man I'd killed. Time must have passed, for the sun was at its zenith when someone snickered. "Pathetic. Truly pathetic." I'd never heard the voice before, but I recognized the deep aura of fiery Power. Of course Pyre had sent someone to monitor me; it just didn't happen to be Sektor. Ember had been watching all this time. "You're lucky those peasants are too frightened to mount a search party. A blind ox could follow your trail. You are unfit to be called Lin Kuei. I ought to execute you on the spot for your ineptitude. You'd be dead right now if not for your Power. I'd have a hard time telling Lord Pyre that I destroyed the clan's only Ice 'master' in over two decades, without the Hierarchy's approval." My legs were numb from hours of kneeling, and protested my slow turn around. "The target was no Tong. He was nothing but a common villager." "How long did it take you to figure that out?" "Why did Lord Pyre lie to me?" I snapped, stepping forward. "Why did he want that man dead?" "Don't question orders from your superior." I struck him. He never saw it coming. Neither did I. It wasn't until he choked and spat out one of his teeth that I was aware of taking the action. "On second thought, I'm sure Grandfather will understand," Ember growled, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. The ambience of Power coating his hands intensified, shining like a solar flare. ***************************************************************** Light glinted a kilometer past the bend. A bridge stretched across Blood River. For all I could tell, it was the only bridge in the whole of Limbo. Its thick, black posts thrust deep into the river's shores of clay. A second set of posts rose out of the murky blood-waters to support the next section, followed by another pair, and another, the rest of its length hidden in the drifting mist. The posts were composed of no earthly substance - not wood, steel, stone, nor paint of any texture. They were so polished as to reflect what little light found its way into this deep valley, and the ones in the river never lost their shine no matter how often bloody geysers splashed over them. As for the bridge itself, it consisted of planks joined by cables anchored to the posts, all made of tarnished metal. Halfway between sets of the widely spaced posts, the walkway dipped and swayed alternately left and right. There were no ropes or guards to keep one from falling off. With my first, tentative step upon the bridge, I felt dizzy. My head hurt. The temperature had soared beyond sweltering. I'd endured the backbreaking desert heat all the way down; now, I had reached its source. I'd had only a short time to rebuild my psychic reserves since escaping the quicksand pit, but I needed to expend a steady output of the Power simply to remain conscious. My heart was pounding to keep up with the strain. My ice bandages melted and dripped away; when I tried to muster the effort to replace them, the thought darted like a confused fish, wriggling from my grasp. One thing was clear: if I didn't cross this devil's river quickly, I would pass out and never wake up. ***************************************************************** (Trust your instincts, not Lord Pyre.) I was only partially aware of the journey back. Each day, I ran until the moon set, only then would I allow myself a few, fitful hours of sleep before jolting awake at dawn. It only took four days to return, instead of five. (Just don't hurt my wife and child!) When I stormed onto Lin Kuei grounds, a blind slave cleaning the windows was not fast enough to get out of my way. I shoved him on the floor without breaking stride. I sent no notice of my coming as I plowed toward Pyre's audience chamber. He'd be there. He had to be there. If he weren't, I'd take the damn place apart brick by brick until I found him. (How long did it take you to figure that out?) "Lord Pyre!" I roared, slamming the unlocked doors to his audience chamber open. He was there, all right. Sektor was to his left; two more black-clad members shadowed his either side. In front of him kneeled a half-dozen lesser Hierarchy members, and Smoke. A twitching irritation curled within me, the closest thing to anger I am capable of feeling. It was directed at Smoke and Pyre, but even more so at myself. I had broken my own code. Instead of stalking a hunter, I'd killed a common fisherman. The balance had to be repaid. Now. I held out my dagger so that its flat side, tainted with bloodstains, faced the others. "You have insulted me, Lord Pyre, offending my dignity." I bit off each word as an acrid sore. "You have lied to me, offending my trust. You have enjoined me to hunt a common man, offending my honor." I turned my right forearm supine and touched the dagger's tip to the brink of my inner elbow, away from the brachial artery, and brought pressure down to bear. Holding the knife rigid, I slowly drew it along the edge the ulna bone down to the wrist. Thick red fluid welled in the blade's wake. Transferring the dagger from left hand to right, I clenched it in my fist and pressed my gashed forearm against my chest so that it crossed diagonally from my side to my opposite clavicle. A moist streak remained on my garments after I'd removed my arm and tossed the dagger before Pyre. It skittered across the polished stone, coming to rest by his feet. He did not glance at it. "No," Sektor whispered. His grandfather motioned for him to be silent. The old man chuckled. "A challenge? From you? If I wanted to waste my time roasting waterfowl, I'd turn the spits in the kitchen. "Ember sent a report of your progress. Piteous. You wasted a whole day; far from being invisible you raised a ruckus that alerted the entire town; neglected to cover your tracks; and most appalling of all, you left _living witnesses_ behind. Perhaps I share some blame for overestimating your capability to carry out a simple task," he sighed, with a brief shrug. "Ember was slated to send another message yesterday. Pray that it speaks more favorably of you when it arrives." "It will not arrive." Slowly, without taking my eyes off him, I reached within my uniform's folds and drew out a floppy sack of dark cloth, loosely tied with a sash. "Don't play games," Pyre warned, his mood abruptly changing from disdainful to suspicious. "What are you talking about?" "Why did you order me to kill the fisherman?" "You are rapidly depleting my patience." The air shifted slightly, and I did not have to move my head to know that more of his agents had the drop on me. "It had come to my attention that you were getting into disputes with other clan members, refusing to accept assignments unless they had a certain, shall we say, prestige? A truly loyal clansman must be willing to carry out any elimination, no matter how lowly, even if the target's lifestyle conflicts with what he is told." "So it was nothing but a test," I hissed, "a test of my loyalty. For that, I cannot forgive you." I cast the sack next to the dagger. The soft of its landing spread the flat sash, like the drawstring belt it was. The sack's dark material flopped open, though its further half remained creased like the flattened hood it was. Inside lay a short length of reddish hair attached to a patch of human scalp. Sektor screamed, "Murderer!" and tried to charge me, but two of Pyre's black-clad assistants restrained the furious youth. He fought against them, wresting one arm free. A thin jet of flame streamed from his fingertips; it didn't extend more than a meter before sputtering and dying out. "Get him out of here," commanded the old man, calmly. It took another two assistants to coerce Sektor's departure without physically harming him. Smoke closed the black stone doors behind them, cutting off Sektor's outcries and curses. In stark contrast, Pyre showed neither outrage nor grief. His air of authority remained firm. He did not address me again, but only stared pointedly, analyzing my every detail. At last he knelt to pick up the dagger lying near his feet, without taking his sharp, bright eyes off me. A couple drops of my blood hung from its tip, joining stains of fisherman's blood and Ember's blood. He grasped its hilt firmly and made a similar incision along the edge of his left ulna, adding his sanguine fluid to the mix, then pressed his cut forearm across his chest. In that moment, I think, I came to truly respect him.