Dragonfly Warrior

by Jay Noel

  Riches meant nothing to him.

  Emperor Hideaki gave explicit instructions not to harm Marcel Bouvier, but he had the freedom to do whatever it took to get the job done. Kai had no idea why a child would be so important and worth nearly a ton in gold, but Hideaki did say the future of Nihon depended on this boy. At first, he thought this was a joke, but he knew the emperor was serious when he gave Kai his orders and all that gold.

  Kai continued scanning the ocean with a wooden and brass spyglass, but there was nothing but an endless expanse of water in front of him. With only two days of traveling separating him from his destination and every member of the crew smelling rancid, Kai was more than ready to get off the boat immediately. Being able to tolerate the discomfort was easy for a trained Shadow. Only the mission was important.

  However, for once, this secret assignment might not involve any killing if Olaf Geller was agreeable. This could all end up being a simple transaction. Exchange the gold for the child. It would be his first mission ever without bloodshed.

  Kai's experience didn't allow him to assume any mission was simple. His mind stopped its wandering and slipped into a light meditation when the heavy boot steps of one of the crew members approached him.

  Without saying a word, Kai whirled around. The stumpy sailor's name escaped him, and if the man tried to be stealthy, he had failed. Maybe the man's name was Ako. Everything about the man was round, and the sailor's jowls jiggled when he spoke.

  “Master Kai...”

  Kai was not accustomed to being called by his name by anyone other than his own people and Emperor Hideaki. But it didn't matter since Kai would have all sixty-eight men on board killed once they returned to Nihon.

  “The men and I were talking in the galley during dinner,” the-man-that-might-be-Ako said. He bowed his head and averting his eyes towards the wooden floor. “And we...”

  This didn't sound good. Some of the crew came up the steps onto the top deck to watch the scene unfold. The twenty or so men looked just as nervous as the fat sailor, and Kai understood they must have volunteered poor Ako to address him.

  “What do you want?” Kai asked directly to the men below.

  Ako shivered, making his chubby cheeks flap. “We are concerned.”

  “Concerned?”

  “Yes, Master. We do not know why we are going to Azincaya. Our ship usually carries cargo to the western harbors of Agrios.”

  Kai felt the static charge of energy surrounding him. The crew was anxious, and Ako seemed to be on the verge of tears. He turned and looked the man in the eyes. The sailor wiped the sweat from his forehead, and Kai waited for the sailor to continue.

  “Rumor has it this ship is carrying more gold than any of us could ever spend.” Ako drifted off, waiting for a reaction from Kai. “We are in strange and perilous waters, and we are not accustomed to such danger. Why risk our lives? If there is gold in all those crates we carried on board...”

  “What are you asking?” Kai's right hand twitched.

  “You would get the most of it, Master. The rest of us would divide whatever you felt was fair.”

  Kai smiled, which Ako mimicked. The crew seemed perplexed for a moment until Kai let out a light chuckle. The men whispered to each other. Their relieved surprise cut the tension and they laughed. Some even slapped each other on the back. Ako joined in, and his body relaxed when he threw his head back in delight.

  “I knew you would be agreeable,” Ako said.

  Kai unleashed his katana in a backhanded swing. He seared Ako's throat, and a crimson fountain sprayed from the gash. The splashing blood was carried by the wind towards the frozen sailors, staining their uniforms. The round and limp body fell backwards before crashing at the feet of the aghast crew below.

  It took fourteen days for one of the men to even show a glint of treachery, and Kai was surprised by this. He had expected it much sooner.

  ZEN JOLTED HIMSELF AWAKE WITH a vague memory of a dream about his mother. For a moment, he forgot where he was, but the constant rumbling of the steam locomobile lifted the fog in his brain.

  He slid out of bed and went to a dusty window. The ache from his leg made him groan. It was still dark and only hints of morning light penetrated the feathery clouds overhead. The land looked bare, and it lacked vegetation or any sign of civilization.

  When Zen exited the passenger car, the humid and musty air shook away any remnants of sleep left in his head. His feet fought to keep his balance, and he noticed the soreness in his right leg subsided. Zen gingerly walked down the narrow footway along the edge of the passenger car and entered the locomobile through the sliding door.

  Still at the controls, Enapay turned to him and waved. Next to him, Neva was seated and studying the map. She didn't look up. A crease burrowed between her brows as she read. Everything was as Zen remembered before retiring to the attached car, and now he wondered how long he slept.

  “You could have slept for another couple of hours,” Enapay greeted. “I'm wide awake, and Neva refuses to sleep.”

  Neva folded the map. “I won't sleep until my son is with me again.”

  At the mentioning of the boy's name, Zen couldn't help his curiosity about her son. He made his way to the front of the car. “Tell us about Marcel.” He sat on the hard floor of the cabin and pressed his back up against the wall. “If you are not going to be able to sleep, you might as well talk about him.”

  “Little Marcel is nine, soon to be ten on the fifteenth day in the winter season. He's named after his father.” Neva's face softened. “My boy shares more than his father's name. He's curious and interested in the way things work.”

  “How so?” Enapay asked.

  “My first husband was a great inventor. He could build or fix anything.” A smile crept on her face. “My son is the same.”

  “I can't wait to meet him,” Enapay said. “Sounds like my kind of little man.”

  “Yes, you two would get along well I think,” Neva said to Enapay.

  Zen's amulet was hot again against his skin. He wondered if the enchanted stone was trying to tell him something related to Neva. His instincts told him there was more to her story. He and Marcel shared the same birthday, and maybe that was yet another sign. Despite Zen's desire to not bring her anymore pain, something about the child's abduction bothered him.

  “A man who steals a child is without conscience,” Zen said. “I must know something.”

  Neva tensed. “What?”

  “Why did the merchant take him?” Zen asked, almost regretting he had asked. “I apologize if I have asked an uncomfortable question.”

  Enapay must have sensed her hesitation and filled in the silence with useless chatter. “Child labor still exists in certain parts of the world. They put them to work in the fields, tending to the animals on farms, in fact...”

  “There is something you should know,” Neva said to Zen. “My first husband was a genius, and the people of our small town marveled at his mechanical abilities. One day, a merchant brought his steam cycle into the workshop we owned at the time. Marcel placed his hands on the machine. Without having to take the cycle apart or unbolt any of its components, Marcel could feel precisely what was wrong with it.”

  Zen felt lost. He replayed her words in his mind, but the pieces failed to come together. Without saying a word, he looked up at Neva whose eyes were now full of threatening tears.

  “What are you saying?” Enapay asked while looking through the dusty windshield. “Did you say your husband could feel the cycle's malfunction?”

  Neva wiped her face. “Yes. He was a military volunteer, charged with maintaining our vehicles. I would watch him work. Marcel would place his hands on the machine, close his eyes, and within seconds he knew exactly what was wrong with it. His gift wasn't relegated to only transport. He fixed any machine, even if he had no prior knowledge of its mechanics.”

  Zen swam in a sea of confusion. Maybe he didn't have the knowledge to fully appreciate this talent Neva's h
usband possessed. He looked over at Enapay, hoping for clarification as to what Neva revealed.

  Enapay shook his head. “I've never heard of anything like that in my life. What you're saying is that your late husband had the power to commune with machines. Do you know how absurd that sounds?”

  “You don't believe me?” Neva whipped around to face Enapay. “You think I'm making this up?”

  Zen needed to intervene. He pulled himself up and put a hand on Neva's shoulder. “He can be infuriating. It is like arguing with a wall.”

  “It defies the laws of nature,” Enapay said. “There's no such thing as someone having the ability to neuropathically connect to machines.” He turned to Zen. “Just like there's no such thing as an all-powerful sword forged from a star rock that can cut through iron.”

  Neva tightly folded her arms. “Sword?”

  Enapay looked disgusted. “Never mind.”

  “I don't care if you don't believe me, but I swear what I've told you is true,” Neva shot back. “After Iberia crushed our Resistance, we fled the front lines and married. Because of the work he did at our shop, word of his abilities spread.”

  Enapay kept his lips tight in disbelief, but Zen listened with an open mind.

  “Geller came to our workshop on many occasions, bringing all kinds of things for my husband to fix after he observed my husband repair his cycle,” Neva continued. “At first, Geller would drop off Iberian vehicles and other everyday machines. Then he started bringing in strange weapons, like none we had ever seen. Yet Marcel was able to repair them. His beautiful mind talked to machines and understood how every component, clockwork, or gear should work.”

  The clouds were slowly beginning to lift, and Zen began to realize the implications. “Your son inherited his father's power,” Zen said under his breath.

  “Yes. One day, we found our boy in the shop, and he was fiddling with a small artillery cannon. Little Marcel didn't quite know which were the right tools for some of the tasks, but he managed to dismantle its main assembly and repair the breach-loading mechanism. His father and I watched him for a long time until we made him stop. It was unnerving.”

  “How old was your son at the time?” Zen asked.

  Neva replied, “Four years old.”

  Enapay remained silent, but Zen was certain he saw him shake his head again.

  “After that incident, we knew we had to close the shop. Cut ties with villains like Geller. We had made a lot of money, but we feared for our boy's future. We moved out to the country and bought a farm. I made my husband swear to me he would never let another soul know of his ability.”

  Neva paused to scowl at the unmoving Enapay before continuing. “Things were perfect for a year or two, but Marcel was a horrible farmer. Later, he became ill, unable to work the fields and tend to the animals. When he died, my boy and I lost the homestead. We were practically destitute. I had no family to turn to, and we survived with whatever assistance old friends offered us.”

  Zen couldn't imagine such desperation. “How did you survive?”

  “Pierce and his family fortune came to the rescue,” Neva replied. “I made Little Marcel promise to never reveal his powers to anyone, especially to Pierce, but I am sure Geller found us from my second husband.”

  The mood in the cockpit remained heavy, and Zen was relieved to see Enapay reach over the control panel and touch Neva's hand in a show of support.

  “It doesn't matter what I believe about your son,” Enapay said. “He is your child. That's all that matters to me. Machine powers or not, I will help you get him back.”

  Zen knew this was Enapay's way of apologizing, and Neva seemed to accept it.

  “Now you know everything about Little Marcel,” Neva said. “I must save my Machine Boy from Geller and however he plans to exploit my son's abilities.”

  Zen's ears grew red hot and tingly. He felt dizzy, and the blue fire from the stone underneath his shirt seemed to burst forth with intense energy. His mother's face and her words reverberated in his brain with such ferocity, he saw stars. Zen worked to regain normal breathing and keep from passing out.

  “Something wrong?” Neva bent down from her seat to touch Zen's clammy face.

  “Could you repeat what you said?” Zen murmured.

  “I asked if something was wrong.”

  “No, before that.” Zen's head was about to explode, but at least his lungs were able to fully expand again. “You called Marcel a Machine Boy.”

  The corner of Neva's eyes wrinkled. “Machine Boy. Yes.”

  Zen pulled himself up to his feet. He tried to balance himself. He stumbled and slammed into the cabin wall. When the sensation of everything spinning returned, Zen had to sit back down.

  “What's wrong with you?” Enapay said over his shoulder.

  “I thought her mind was drifting; she spoke nonsense.” Zen closed his eyes and willed the dizziness to go away. “For years, deep down, I knew it had to be significant.”

  “What are you talking about? Whose mind was drifting?” Neva left her seat and plopped down next to him on the floor. “You're scaring me, Zen.”

  Zen struggled to swallow, as if stones were lodged in his throat. “My mother. She died seven years ago. Her last words to me made no sense. But now...”

  “What were her last words to you?” Neva took hold of his shoulders.

  “She said I must save the Machine Boy.”

  Without warning, Neva and Zen were thrown to the other side of the cabin when the locomobile veered off the dirt highway and drifted into the rough edge of the road. Enapay lost his grip on the steering wheel and struggled to get the locomobile back onto the highway. He grunted an apology as he regained control of the vehicle.

  “Machine Boy?” Neva's cheeks glistened with fresh tears. She threw her arms around Zen and nearly squeezed the air from his chest. “That's what his father and I nicknamed him, using his initials. M.B. Marcel Bouvier. Machine Boy. Your mother was talking about my boy?”

  “Yes,” Zen said in her ear.

  “How? H...how is that possible?” Neva pressed her forehead on Zen's shoulder. “How could she have known?”

  “As she was dying, perhaps she was able to straddle our world and the spirit realm simultaneously. She experienced a moment of complete clarity of past, present, and future. My mother saw what was to come and what I must do.”

  Zen's eyes stung. His mother's face, her beautiful countenance, became clear in his mind now, just as her words had become. Zen felt Neva's body quiver as she sobbed, and the intense and steady heat from his glowing amulet brought him comfort.

  “My mother foresaw this. I am supposed to be here,” Zen said. “I am supposed to save your Machine Boy.”

  IT WAS DIFFICULT FOR GELLER to imagine Mexihco as the grand and awe-inspiring country it once was. The kingdom was ruled by a worthless king. There was nothing but crumbled ruins to remind the natives of how much their kingdom has deteriorated the last thousand years.

  Mexihco bordered two worlds: the Wild Land to the north and the barren wasteland to the south. The locals were desperate, unscrupulous people roving in small tribes and bands. Targets of these bandits were usually travelers using Mexihco as a bridge from Agrios to Azincaya. Geller had come prepared, however. His bodyguards, their deadly weapons, and their reinforced vehicles were enough to deter even the most ambitious raiders.

  Geller's caravan had finally reached the Capital after two days, and the oppressive heat greeted them when they rolled onto a brick-paved street. Marcel had fallen asleep at the desk with his head propped by a small stack of books. While Geller changed into a fresh white shirt, a wonderful idea struck him.

  Shortly after taking possession of the boy, he had tested Marcel. Before crossing the Atlantica Sea, he wanted proof of the boy's machine power. The child was given a broken pictogram projector. It was an expensive and rare piece of technology, and something Marcel most likely had never seen before. The boy cried incessantly since being taken from
his stepfather but was immediately fascinated with the damaged machine.

  Geller said it was broken and he wanted Marcel to fix it. The boy's hands explored all of the moving parts, his fingers touching every gear and spindle on the outside of the rectangular machine. He found the small crank on the side and turned it. Nothing. Marcel closed his eyes and planted both of his hands on the projector's metal casing.

  When the boy's brows crinkled in deep concentration, his right index finger found the small button on the side and pushed it. The casing popped open, exposing the projector's myriad of gear-works and components. Without even asking for tools, his tiny fingers worked furiously.

  In a few short minutes, Marcel shut the casing and turned the crank. A ghostly image appeared a few feet in front of the machine's glass projection lens. While the boy continued to operate the crank, the pictogram sharpened. Geller grinned at the image of an ocean, a beach, and an ancient castle overlooking the surf. The footage was recorded on a small island in Oceania. Soon, he'd retire there.

  But that had been an easy test. Its defect was a series of misaligned gears, easily repaired in minutes without tools. Now Geller wanted to see how Marcel would perform a more difficult task.

  Geller went to the talking horn and yanked the brass cone from its station. A long metal cable ran from the horn to the wall. He pulled on the slack so he could sit on the long couch while he spoke. He brought the horn to his face and called out, “Boris.”

  After a short pause, Boris' voice emitted from the horn. “Sir?”

  “I need you to go into the capital and request a meeting with King Tlacatl.” Geller paused for a moment before continuing. “Also, inquire about getting a piece of machinery. It must be broken or damaged. Get something big.”

  “Sir?”

  Geller tightened his lips in impatience. “Tell Tlacatl I would like something mechanical that no longer functions. Maybe a damaged vehicle or a steam generator. Something large. Is that clear Boris?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was still a trace of doubt in Boris' voice, but Geller placed the horn back onto the wall and got up from the couch. He looked across the way, to the far side of his car. Marcel still slept soundly at the desk, and Geller wondered if the boy dreamed of automatons, moving gears, and bringing machines back to life.