by Graeme Hurry
The creek fractured into miniature waterfalls at intervals. Kyle stepped over and around slick boulders as he sought the plateau. He was surrounded by tall trees when the telltale buzzing commenced. He followed the creek as fast as he could, but each step seemed to endow The Grip with greater intensity. He reached a small clearing about halfway down the hillside and searched desperately for a cave of any size.
She appeared out of nowhere. The Berserker girl.
Insanity saturated him. The world ached and buckled. The Berserker, or the Grip-induced vision that was the Berserker, helped lower him to a seated position with his legs crossed. She positioned herself directly in front of him.
“No…” she said, raising her eyes as if she were searching for the next word. Then: “No … scared.” The accent was unfamiliar.
“Are you saying that you have no fear?”
She pointed at him. “No fear.” She pointed at herself and at Kyle again. She repeated the words rhythmically: “No fear…. No fear…. No fear….”
He closed his eyes—or what passed for them in the fever dream—and repeated the phrase in sync with her. “No fear…. No fear…. No fear….”
Icy fingers sought to rip his robe from his body. A woman’s sweet voice—his mother’s?—begged him to join her in some lightless region.
“No fear….”
Head-high flowers glistening in a violet fog, bottomless lakes of molten ruby-hued fire—a series of intense images flowed around and through him. He continued to focus on the words “no fear”. The longer he tried to hold on to the phrase, the easier it became to do so. Unsolicited visions turned hazy, eased into the periphery, and faded into oblivion.
At some point his eyes were open. He knew that the real Berserker was seated before him.
“Is it over?” he asked.
“Mind eater go. For now.”
“You can talk.”
“She learns to me.”
“Teaches.”
“She teaches to me.”
Kyle wanted to ask about the mind eater and her amazing reaction to its onslaught. But he had a more pressing question.
“Can you take me to her? The one who teaches you?”
Without a word, the young woman rose and headed down the hillside. Kyle followed. When they reached the plateau, they joined a trail that seemed to skirt the mound. Periodically he tried to catch a view of it, but the land would not surrender its secret.
“Stay.” She continued on the path. Kyle listened to the rustling of tree branches as small animals went about their business.
The tapping of a sturdy stick announced the old woman’s arrival. She held herself upright with one hand on the stick. With the other hand, she parted tangled gray hair to reveal an infinitely sad face.
“First Grandmother?”
A faint smile appeared. “Kyle. I have longed to see you again.” She gripped her stick with both hands and turned. “Come.”
* * *
Kyle entered the cave with two sprinters and some wild vegetables. First Grandmother was pouring water into a bowl over a fire.
“We have much to talk about,” she said. “But I am tired, and we must eat.”
The meal was simple and satisfying. Kyle bedded down in the main chamber, awaking to find night upon him. Neither woman was present. He fed the fire and waited.
When First Grandmother appeared, she carried what appeared to be the skin of a large animal—except that it was gray and shiny. She displayed it to Kyle.
“I am your demon.”
“What—” Kyle stammered. “I don’t understand.”
She lowered herself to the cave floor. “What I am about to tell you will cause both of us pain—all of us,” she said. “Dayna, you may join us.”
The Berserker emerged from a passageway and seated herself near the fire.
The old woman held the skin close to Kyle. Reflections of firelight danced on perfectly formed letters, reminiscent of those on the book that First Grandmother had given him so long ago.
“You cannot be a demon, First Grandmother,” said Kyle. “You cannot be the thing that forces us to live in caves.”
“Not personally,” she said. “But I brought the demon upon us. It was never my intention. You must believe that.”
Kyle felt no need to respond.
First Grandmother stared into the fire and folded her hands. “These letters—T, U, R, N, E, R—form the name of your clan. As they form my name. This uniform—this clothing—was mine when I came to this land with my friends.” She closed her eyes. “My ancestors were born on a world like this one circling a distant star. Their mission was to find a new home because their world was becoming too sick to support the people living there—a sickness that they caused.”
“Why would your people do that, First Grandmother?”
“Through selfishness and neglect, the people on our old world caused terrible damage to their land and water and air. They needed to start over in a new place. My ancestors left that world in a big spaceship—something they made that could fly through the vast nothingness between the stars. My friends and I woke from a long sleep on the spaceship and found ourselves close to this world.
“Oh, how excited we were! To think that after so much time and so much sacrifice by our parents and grandparents and others before them—who were long dead—that we might find a new home for our people. As our ship reached the sky above this world, we argued over who would be the first among us to travel in a small landing craft that would take us to the ground. We were in such a hurry to walk on the firm soil, to breathe the glorious air. Only one of our group remained in the ship up in the sky. The other nine of us boarded the lander.
“We had never tested the scanner on humans. Nor on animals—that practice was strictly forbidden, too. We knew only that it was powerful and had the potential to tell us whether sentient life existed here.”
“Sen—tee—ent?” Dayna asked the question before Kyle could get it out.
“Intelligent. Thinking people. People like us,” First Grandmother said, adding a dry chuckle. “It was designed to locate and measure brainwave activity—the workings of the minds of thinking creatures. We wanted to know if we were landing on a world that was already settled by people—so that we could ask them if we could live on a small portion of it. A lesson we learned the hard way on our old world.”
“The scanner,” said Kyle. “Is it shiny? Does it cause The Grip?”
First Grandmother’s tears gave Kyle and Dayna all the answer they needed.
* * *
As tiny lights sparkled amid the blackness above, Kyle wondered which of them had sent First Grandmother and her friends to this world. Dayna stood close to him at the cave entrance, silent. First Grandmother joined them in time.
“Arturo was the man who agreed to remain in our big ship up there,” she said, scanning the heavens. “He must have decided to test the scanner by maneuvering it close to the lander while we were descending. I can’t remember what happened. Perhaps we fought for control of the craft. All I know is that it crashed.
“Seven of us scrambled out of the wreckage. We buried the other two; I’ll show you their graves someday. We collected the few useful items that survived, including the book that I later gave you, Kyle. The scanner kept following us, no doubt guided by Arturo. He probably believed that if he could track us he could discover some way to help us.
“It didn’t take long for us to realize that the caves gave us protection from the scanner. We survived the first days eating plants. Eventually, people branched out. Some must have become Dayna’s ancestors. At one time there were nearly ten clans. I don’t know how many remain. I have not been welcome among them for some time.”
“The man up in the sky—Arturo—what happened to him?” asked Kyle.
“With the lander destroyed, he could not come to this world. He is likely dead, and the scanner must be programmed—given automatic orders—to continue to seek us.” She paused. “Maybe
it’s a fitting punishment—for me, anyway. But not for all of you struggling to survive.” First Grandmother pointed to the mound below them, which reflected just enough moonlight to be visible from her home. “Every day I face the wreckage of the landing craft and ask myself: How could I have brought the worst faults of my old world to this one?”
Kyle spoke up. “I do not blame you or your fellow travelers, because you could not have known what would happen. But surely there is some way to fight this thing, to destroy this scanner.”
First Grandmother hobbled back toward the fire, and her guests followed. “Once, some good people devised such a plan. They made a large net to try to catch it, bring it down and smash it. But they were overcome by the scanner’s effects and paid the price.” She looked at Kyle. “Your father was one of them.”
Kyle fought back tears. Her words rang true, as if he had known all along. He died for a good cause. I hope that it happened quickly and he did not wander insane until the elements took him.
Kyle took a deep breath and released it. “There might be another way.” He turned toward Dayna. “This young woman has a special ability. She can resist The Grip, to the point that it has almost no effect. And she helped me resist it, too.”
First Grandmother’s eyes widened. “Dayna, how is this possible?”
She met the old woman’s gaze. “No fear.”
“It’s a mind exercise,” said Kyle. “It appears that The Grip can’t overcome you when you say that—when you think that phrase—over and over with total conviction.”
First Grandmother stood and paced. “Dayna, I want you to show me this technique. Do all of your people use it?”
“Some people.”
First Grandmother stared out the cave entrance. “I fear that the clans are too set in their ways to learn something like this—to even try.”
“I show them,” said Dayna. “We show them.”
Kyle saw the determination in her face. He recalled his father’s sacrifice. And he considered his own wasted days dwelling in the dark. All my life I have let others tell me how to live my life.
“First Grandmother, I agree that teaching people a new way to deal with The Grip will not be easy,” he said. “But I believe that this is what I was meant to do.”
Daylight was starting to illuminate the wall behind First Grandmother. Kyle could see that her eyes were misting, and not from shame.
Dayna rose and prepared to depart. Kyle did likewise.
“Be of good heart,” said First Grandmother. She retreated into a passageway.
Kyle offered his hand to Dayna. This time, she accepted it. Under brightening skies, he led her down the hill to the plateau, where they joined the trail and headed west. Out of habit, Kyle scanned the hillside for signs of a cave that could offer shelter. He caught himself, and he smiled.
THE SLEEPY WARRIOR
by Todd Sullivan
Joo Won cupped the poison in his hand and sat seiza-style across from Shi’u, the seonsu favorite to win next week’s tournament. Smiling at the slender swordsman, he poured them both tall glasses of beer, the poison pressed against his palm. He then stood, raised one of the glasses, and waited for the clamor of voices to quiet. His fellow seonsu glanced at him but did not pause their animated conversations. Their boasts for the coming games and sudden bursts of laughter floated up to the ceiling fans spinning above them.
Joo Won flushed, his cheeks hot. Seonsu read weakness in the eyes of others, and he burned in embarrassment under Shi’u’s gaze as he awkwardly stood in the midst of those ignoring him. Finally, he shouted above the raucous, “A toast to next week’s games!”
The seonsu closest to him drunkenly banged their fists on the tabletop to get the others’ attention. Joo Won clutched the glass as he suppressed his simmering anger, but more of his comrades stared at him, and he added in a strained voice, “May the player with an indomitable spirit break their lessers under the bokken!”
Smoke from the table grill rose up between the competitors in the crowded pork restaurant. Joo Won slid a genial smile over his humiliation, his lips stretched tight. He offered the glass to Shi’u with both hands, the small packet of poison obscured by the golden beer. Shi’u stood, took the cup with an appreciative nod, and raised it above his head. A hush fell over the gathered seonsu as they filled their cups and leaned forward in anticipation. Joo Won clenched his teeth, the grinding echoing in his ear. If he could, he would poison all of them, the fools, for not giving him the respect they gave Shi’u.
“We will play under the onslaught of the bokken,” Shi’u said quietly in the silent restaurant. “The weakest of us will be buried beneath the grave. The timid will return home to their mothers with cracked bones and broken dreams. The strongest will compete before the president as a team, whilst the best will stand beneath the torchlights to claim full glory.”
A cheer went up amongst the gathered players. They slammed their empty cups on the table. Shi’u also drank his beer in one shot, and lowered his cup with a thud. When Joo Won reached over to pick up Shi’u’s cup to refill it, he uncorked the vial with his thumb and let a drop of clear poison drop into the pint.
Joo Won did not glance up to see if anyone saw him. Their actions would tell him if they spotted him. He could almost imagine rough hands grabbing his shoulders and shaking him at his treachery. If caught, his fellow seonsu would drag him out of the pork restaurant and throw him into the mud to kick him, to crush his left hand under their sandals so that he would never wield a bokken again. Joo Won wouldn’t be the first to poison a competitor. What happened to those who did was worse than death. Their punishment was, instead, public disgrace, which they bore for the rest of their lives.
Joo Won filled his glass of beer after he topped off Shi’u’s glass and set it before his comrade. He leaned back and waited, but nothing happened, and relief swept through him. He glanced up to see Shi’u staring at him, his eyes half-closed as if he would fall asleep at any moment. Joo Won swallowed hard. Steadying his hand, he picked up a slice of pork, placed it on a leaf and added tofu.
“Older brother.” He held the food to Shi’u, his breath catching as he waited for the other’s reaction.
Shi’u leaned over the table, and Joo Won placed the wrapped pork into his mouth. Watching Shi’u eat reminded Joo Won of the cows on farms chewing cud. Those who did not know Shi’u may believe that he was slow witted. The sword player rarely spoke, though he was more talkative after becoming drunk.
Shi’u’s movements were deliberate as if he feared bumping into something and knocking it over. But when he entered in a match against his opponent, he became a whirlwind of motion, speed, and strength. Many believed he was fated to win the individual competition this year. Joo Won had always wondered what Shi’u’s secret was. While Joo Won put in more hours of conditioning, skipping meals so that he could practice the fundaments of kumdo, Shi’u still managed to beat him every match.
“Would you offer me some advice for tomorrow’s competition?” Joo Won asked him.
Shi’u regarded him silently for several moments. His eyes pierced Joo Won, who wondered if he knew about the poison and was just biding his time to expose him. Joo Won folded his hands on his lap so that Shi’u would not see them tremble.
“I am only a lowly student of kumdo,” Shi’u began. “There is much I must learn, and your question would best be posed to a master of the martial arts.”
Joo Won leaned forward. “Even as a lowly student, your skill far surpasses mine. Any advice you can impart to me, I will happily take and ponder before I enter into the games with the other seonsu.”
“As you wish. Just remember that my words are burdened by my lack of knowledge.” Shi’u inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “It is my opinion that you have assumed incorrectly. My skill with the bokku does not match yours.”
“Older brother…,” Joo Won began, but Shi’ u waved him to silence.
“You are a superior swordsmen,” Shi’u continued. “Your f
orm and technique far surpass mine. Ask anyone else in the dojang, and they will say the same. No other swordsmen compares to you when it comes to the technical aspects of the game.”
This is true, Joo Won thought bitterly. No one studied kumdo more than he, no one practiced as long and as hard as he did. Despite this, Shi’u remained the favorite to win the tournament next week.
“It should be your destiny to compete in the final round before the president for the grand prize in tomorrow’s game.”
Shi’u paused. When he did not speak again, Joo Won gasped out, “But why won’t it be?”
Shi’u placed his hand on his cup. “When we practice in the dojang, I see weakness in your eyes,” he said softly. “You are afraid to lose, and terrified of death.”
Joo Won kept the mask in place as his anger spiked, spilling out from his heart to burn through his body. Shi’u watched him closely, his expression placid. Joo Won knew this was only a veil. If he were to lose his temper and attack Shi’u for the aforementioned insult, his older brother would spring to life with incredible violence. In this restaurant in front of the other seonsu, Shi’u would likely beat him until he lay bloodied and cowering beneath the tables.
So Joo Won swallowed in his dry throat, reached to his cup instead, and lifted it. “Though it was difficult to hear,” he said, his words smooth and untroubled despite the hatred raging through him like fire, “I appreciate your wisdom, and will consider it in the next several days during the tournament.”
Shi’u lifted his cup also. When their neighbors saw them, they also lifted their glasses. Bringing them together in cheer, they tilted back their heads and drained their beer. Joo Won watched Shi’u place the cup on the table with a thud.
Three hours. That’s all the arrogant swordsman had left to him. The herbalist had told Joo Won to administer the poison after the victim had eaten a full meal. This way he could escape suspicion as the poison affected the victim after they’d gone their separate ways. When Joo Won had asked what the symptoms would be, the herbalist had simply smiled.