Dragonfly Warrior

by Jay Noel

  THE SUCKERS WEREN'T BITING. AT least that's what Enapay told himself as he watched small groups of fresh faces roam past him and his makeshift ring. Yesterday was profitable, taking in over one thousand ibers. Even though he'd only been back in Porticus City less than a whole season, he knew this business was feast or famine. Today famine reared its bony, starving head.

  Enapay studied how the shoppers dressed or moved. There was an art to finding his next victim. The best were the kind that looked like they had money on them, but all of the saps around him looked poor. Enapay made it a practice to scrutinize every potential rube's eyes. If a man walking by possessed a combination of desperation and arrogance, they were prime for the picking. Something had better turn up soon, or he'd have to do something drastic. Maybe it was time to go home after all these years. His people would make sure he had hot meals and a place to stay. To hell with pride.

  When a delicate adolescent turned the corner, Enapay knew he had found the perfect target. The foreigner wore plain clothes, but his black hair was folded up into a ball on top of his head. The young man looked like he had made a wrong turn and expected someone to give him directions.

  The hint of confusion behind the stranger's narrow angled eyes gave his arrogance away, as if the boy believed he was above everyone else. His long wool coat looked expensive, and it was more than enough to convince Enapay to make his move.

  As the foreigner approached, Enapay almost thought twice about luring him to his ring, as if the boy seemed even smaller up close than he did from afar. However, today was not the day to have a conscience.

  “You look strong.” Enapay pulled as wide of a smile as he could manage.

  The foreigner's mouth drew open, and Enapay wondered if the boy could even speak Standard. That would make doing business difficult.

  “Would you like to challenge my friend to a stick fight? I'm paying three-to-one.” Enapay put a hand on the boy's shoulder and give it a warm pat. “Where are you going to find odds like that? A minimum wager of one hundred ibers is all it takes.”

  Enapay pointed to the center of the ring where his fellow tribesman Istas stood. The boy turned and glanced at Enapay's fighter. Istas was not just lean, but bordered on malnutrition. The man ate, but he couldn't keep the fat on his long stick-like frame.

  Two other friends, Toksu and Sike stood behind Istas. They massaged his skin and bones as they whispered words of insincere encouragement into his big ears. Usually, prospects laughed out loud when presented with their potential opponent, but this boy looked bored.

  “What's wrong?” Enapay asked. He lifted his goggles up to make eye contact. “Do you speak Standard? Maybe you speak Ancient? You look like you're from the old Sun Nation. Xian? Nihonese? I can't help you if you only speak Origin.”

  “Ibers?” the boy asked, his pale smooth face still unmoving.

  This was a good sign. Now he was talking money.

  “You must be fresh off the boat, huh?” Enapay put his arm around him and pivoted both of them towards the ring. “Ibers...Iberian currency. All the markets here take it. Sure, few will take mergos, but that's nearly worthless now. Everybody takes Iberian money along with the always dependable gold and silver. The barter system is also alive and well in this country.”

  Right on cue, Istas began doing his dance. It looked ridiculous, and it took effort for Enapay to keep from laughing. His friend looked like an old rag doll being jerked about. Istas played his part perfectly, his sun-tanned face glaring, begging the boy to take him on.

  “I do not have any ibers,” the adolescent said, his eyes following Istas' dance around the ring.

  Sike chuckled and cried, “Enapay, this kid is useless without any cash.”

  Enapay snapped his fingers at him, furious at his friend for using his real name. Sometimes, he wished he worked alone. He understood, however, that his scheme wouldn't work without the help of his old friends.

  Something underneath the foreigner's coat caught his eye, and Enapay's mind worked fast. “What's your name, friend?”

  “Zenjiro. You can call me Zen.”

  Enapay recognized that Zen carried an antique sword under his coat. “Zen, sorry to hear that you've fallen on tough times. Maybe you have something of value you can wager?”

  Zen's eyes widened, following Enapay's gaze down to the sword. “This is a family treasure, handed down from my ancestors.” He pulled back his coat, revealing the gorgeous weapon. “It is far more valuable than your wager.”

  The boy was not an idiot. Enapay eyed the silk-wrapped handle and ornate hardwood scabbard. He also caught sight of the boy's hands. His fingers were thick, the palms wide like those of a bear. They didn't fit with the rest of Zen's body. Either Zen had performed grueling, back-breaking labor, or the boy was born with hands that looked as tough as stone. Enapay hesitated, as they were the hands of someone to be feared. But the boy's porcelain face and dainty features were too good to resist. Enapay turned his attention back to the sword.

  “I won't argue with you there,” Enapay remarked. “That thing looks ancient and expensive.”

  Istas twirled a fighting stick and struck his own face. Enapay wondered if Istas was playing it up, or if his partner was honestly being his foolish self. He gave a slight shake of his head to tell his tribesman to tone down the idiocy, if that was possible.

  “I'll tell you what, you ante up that sword of yours, and if you defeat my champion, I'll pay you ten to one of the original one hundred iber wager.”

  Istas continued with his clumsy gyrations, and the fighting stick slipped from his long fingers and pounded his exposed big toe. The man shrieked and threw his body onto the floor before grabbing his foot. Enapay was sure his man was no longer acting.

  “What do you say?” Enapay asked, now playing to the growing audience around them.

  “I agree.” Zen removed his gear. He handed everything to an elderly man in the corner. “I trust you will keep my belongings safe?”

  The geezer nodded and clutched the large rucksack and other belongings Zen had given him. He attempted to lift it all, but finding it heavy, he dragged it to the wooden benches in the far corner to watch the contest.

  The spectators applauded. Several more bystanders stopped in front of the ring, eager to watch a new victim get pummeled. Enapay stepped away after handing Zen another rattan stick before he signaled his men to take their places.

  Istas jumped off the canvas platform. Sike followed, which left Toksu alone at the rear of the rectangular elevated platform serving as the fighting arena. The true champion tightened his grip on his weapon and flexed his hardened tattoo-covered arms.

  Toksu easily stood nearly seven feet tall. The beast wore a ragged vest which failed to hide the rippling muscles underneath. He held a long worn out stick which he rhythmically tapped on his right hip, hungry for action.

  Enapay noticed that Toksu had shaved his head today, leaving a dark strip of coarse hair running down the center. Angry jagged scars decorated his chiseled face. Enapay turned to Zen, not having to guess what the boy must be thinking.

  “You tricked me,” said Zen, still holding onto his stick. “I thought I was fighting the other man.”

  Istas shrugged his shoulders and pointed to his foot. “I'm injured.”

  Zen crossed his arms while the audience grew restless. He turned to the old man holding his belongings, and a dark cloud of doubt blew over his face. Like all the other suckers, Zen walked into the ring anyway. Arrogance was good for business, and most men wouldn't dare walk out now. Even this delicate flower of a boy had some pride.

  Zen twirled the stick with the grace of a warrior. It was as if the boy was gauging his weapon's weight and balance. Enapay felt a splinter of apprehension as he stared at the youngster's large and worn hands. But the mere image of this small boy in the ring with Toksu looked almost ridiculous. He felt pity for Zen and the world of pain he was about to enter. Zen's sword could be sold for at last two thousand ibers, and this payoff w
ould more than make up for the day's lack of business.

  Toksu's shoulders swayed to the rhythm of an unheard drum beat. It seemed like the entire plaza was watching, and Enapay stood in the center of the ring, wallowing in the crowd's clapping and screaming.

  “Any and all attacks and strikes are allowed,” he shouted. “The fighter that either knocks out or kills the other is the winner.” Enapay pointed to his revolver holstered on his hip. “If you beg for mercy like a coward, I might kill you myself.”

  This made the blood-thirsty audience howl with laughter.

  “Let the contest begin!” Enapay left the center of the stage and took his position next to Sike and Istas.

  Zen circled and kept his stick in a defensive position out in front of him. No matter what skill the boy had with the weapon, this was sure to be a swift beating. Maybe there would be enough time to concoct one more bout before dusk. Enapay wondered when the last cargo boat was to arrive and bring him more gullible foreigners.

  Toksu worked himself into a silent frenzy; his legs coiled like thick pythons ready to unleash. He and Enapay grew up together, and Toksu was always a god-like specimen built for war. When Enapay had recently returned to Agrios' western coast from his ten year absence, Sike and Istas had not changed much. Toksu, however, looked even scarier now than he did as an adolescent.

  All of this was Enapay's idea, and despite his friends' initial reluctance, the amount of money they were making was too good to walk away from. His tribe's Elders forbade this kind of behavior, but he left those laws behind long ago.

  Enapay expected to see Zen quivering by this point, but the boy looked unwavering. In fact, his foreign eyes tightened into focus and cold determination. The boyish and placid demeanor vanished, replaced by something else...something that scared Enapay. He looked menacing and strong. Maybe the child was delusional. Toksu would soon remedy that.

  “Smash him!” a spectator shouted. “Smash the kid's face in!”

  Toksu lunged forward and swung his stick in a downward arc. Zen glided sideways and evaded the blow. The champion attacked three more times, and Zen parried the swings with his own stick.

  Enapay swore he saw the boy's thin lips curl into a wicked smile. He wished he was in the ring to smack that cocky smirk off this boy's face.

  Toksu growled and surged again, swinging his weapon rapidly. Without effort, Zen dodged and blocked every strike. Enapay shared Toksu's fury. Not only did the boy avoid punishment, but he seemed to be toying with the giant.

  The possibility of defeat crept into his mind, and Enapay couldn't believe what he was watching. Toksu had always annihilated his opponents by now. He noticed Toksu's labored breathing when his fighter backed away from their challenger.

  Enapay clapped his hands to get Toksu's attention. “You're wasting all your energy! I told you not to eat so much for breakfast.”

  Toksu struggled to suck in air. Zen lowered his stance, his stick a blur as he whirled it in his right hand. The champion squared his shoulders, and with another wild scream, he barreled forward. He slashed his stick at Zen's head and missed by inches. The momentum of the errant swing threw Toksu off balance for only a fraction of a second.

  Zen moved in, and by the look in Toksu's eyes, the giant was not prepared for the boy's speed. He attacked the monstrous warrior's hands first. Toksu snarled, his fingers bloodied and unable to hold onto his weapon. The stick slipped from the brute's grip and fell to the canvas floor with a hollow thunk.

  Zen followed up with another furious attack, striking Toksu several times in the head and chest in a flurry of blows. He moved with such speed that Enapay felt his mouth open in complete disbelief. He was about to lose his first bet in nearly ninety days. A whole season of victories, wiped away by the fury of a boy.

  One final blow connected near Toksu's temple; the strike made a hollow thud against his tribesman's head. Toksu was still for a moment before crashing to the ground. The crowd quieted until the old man still minding Zen's belongings cried, “The boy wins!”

  Their cheers surrounded Zen, but the boy did something peculiar. Instead of basking in the glory, he knelt down where Toksu lay in pain and clutched the ex-champion's muscular shoulder. Zen pulled him back up to his feet. Toksu's legs trembled as if they could give way at any moment, so Zen shifted the weight onto his own small frame.

  Enapay motioned to Sike and Istas, who broke through the crowd to help drag the injured Toksu into a nearby tent. The audience kept applauding, and Enapay's own legs felt weak as he dragged his feet towards Zen.

  “I've never seen anything like that,” was all Enapay mustered.

  Several members of the group of spectators stepped into the ring to give Zen a hearty pat on the back before returning to the commotion of the marketplace. Zen retrieved his things from the old man and handed Enapay the stick. He strapped on his belt and slung his canvas pack onto his back.

  Without thinking, Enapay inspected the stick as if expecting it to show signs of enchantment. Any reasonable explanation for what he had witnessed just felt impossible. Any trace of ferocity on Zen's face melted away, and he looked harmless again. Enapay second guessed his faculties, and he wondered just what the hell he had witnessed. That was when the full gravity of his defeat sank in. Enapay fought the waves of nausea gurgling from his stomach. He didn't have the money to pay the boy.

  “You agreed to pay me ten to one of the original wager if I defeated your champion. One thousand ibers.”

  “I don't have it here.” Enapay's shoulders slumped. “It's not on me.”

  There was movement, and Sike came up from behind Zen. Enapay noticed Zen's right hand go to his holstered pistol. He had already underestimated the boy once, so he went with his instincts and shooed Sike away with a click of his tongue. Sike scurried back into their tent.

  “Two things, Zen. First, I had no idea I was going to be waging a ten-to-one payout. Secondly, my friend has never lost. How could I have known that Toksu would have been crushed by someone by the likes of...you?”

  “You have to be willing to lose if you are going to gamble,” Zen said. He released his grip from his gun. “I am young, but hardly a child. I do expect payment. I would have honored our wager had I been defeated.”

  A storm of stupid ideas filled Enapay's head. He decided to pick the least stupid of them all. “I am Enapay of the Nabeho, Tribe of the West, and I can tell you are a man of honor. I am too most of the time, and I always pay my debts.”

  Zen gave him a look of doubt. No, this boy was not an idiot. He was smarter than all of the previous victims Enapay had swindled. The boy won, and Enapay hated losing.

  “My money is back at my village,” he continued. “What if I take you there as my guest? The Nabeho will feed you well, give you a place to stay overnight, and you'll end up one thousand ibers richer.”

  Zen put his hand to his chin as if he considered the invitation.

  “It is an honor to be a guest of the Nabeho. Not many outsiders ever receive such an offer.” Enapay decided to appeal to the boy's arrogance once more. “Besides, I must show everyone the young warrior who soundly defeated the great Toksu in stick-war. Otherwise, no one would believe me.”

  “I am hungry.” Zen rubbed his stomach. “I accept.”

  Enapay waved to Sike, whose head peered from the tent, before leading the two of them away from the marketplace and finding the narrow dirt road.

  Enapay shook his head as they walked. “How do you move so fast? Toksu has never missed until today. You seemed to avoid his attack with such ease. You moved faster than I've ever seen anyone move.”

  “My people call it Ishen. In Standard language, it means ferocity with intent. I am able to alter my body's energy, focusing it,” replied Zen.

  Enapay stifled a laugh. “Alter and focus your body's energy? Now that sounds like something one of my Elders might talk about.”

  “Ishen is rare, even among the greatest warriors. My master said I inherently possessed the ability
since birth, but my training has allowed me to control it and conjure it at will. Strength without effort.”

  “Sounds mystical,” Enapay said, hoping his skepticism wasn't too obvious.

  The dirt road led to a steep hill, and he heard Zen's stomach growl. Enapay still wasn't sure what he was going to do with the boy once they reached the village. He started to regret inviting him. Ten years had passed since he left the Nabeho, but his uncle did owe him six hundred ibers. He could shoot Zen in the back, but that wasn't Enapay's style.

  “How far is your village?” Zen asked.

  Enapay stopped mid-stride, his thoughts broken by the boy's inquiry. “It's about a hundred miles east of here.”

  “What?” Zen stopped. “That will take us almost three days.” His hand grasped the grip of his sword.

  “Relax!” Enapay held up his hands. “We will get there in under two hours.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Enapay chuckled. “We're not going by foot.”

  He continued walking up the steep incline of earth and heard Zen's light footsteps behind him. When they reached the flat summit, Enapay was certain he caught Zen gasp.

  Sitting in the middle of a wheat field was his airship.

  Enapay pointed to his flying machine. “We're going by air.”

  STARING AT THE AIR TRANSPORT, Zen contemplated turning away and forgetting about his winnings. He hated flying. It had been seven years since he last took to the air. The day of his mother's death.

  Nevertheless, Zen couldn't take his eyes away from the exotic craft. Steam rose from the exhaust at the rear of the ship. The wooden hull resembled the body of a large flotilla boat from back home, but everything else about its construction was strange and beautiful.

  Two long metallic cylinders with propellers were connected to the hull by a spider's web of steel cables. The machine looked like a fire-breathing dragon made of metal. When he followed Enapay through a small swinging door onto the deck, Zen immediately noticed the brass controls up on the helm, reflecting what little sunlight remained.