Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy

by David McDonald

  Slowly the figure straightens, and the men relax as the moonlight reveals the figure of a beautiful woman, her skin a strange color in the silvery light. She looks somehow fey, fragile, overshadowed by the brutish menace of the men surrounding her.

  The girl’s heart sinks; what she thought was rescue is merely another victim. One of the men laughs.

  “Tonight is our lucky night, boys.”

  They begin to skulk towards her, and the girl sees the newcomer tense and then—faster than the eye can see—there are two blades in her hands, glimmering viciously in the moonlight.

  “You’re wrong,” the woman says. “Tonight is about to become the worst night of your life.”

  What follows will stay with the girl for the rest of her life, violent poetry that will shape everything she does.

  Chapter 7

  “So, do you really think you’ll find her there?” Rocket asked. “There are other women warriors in the world, you know. It’s not like they have a club.”

  Quill scowled at the raccoonoid. They had been walking for days, and his boots—while the height of court fashion—were a cavalryman’s show, and not designed for walking. He was sore and tired and grumpy, and they’d had this conversation more than once.

  “Rocket, as I keep telling you, I don’t really know,” he said, trying to stay patient. “The only clue I have is from the interrogation of a bandit the Duke captured. He was half mad and he kept rambling about a raid on a mountain village that went wrong when some mysterious woman decimated their party. It’s not much to go on—but the way he described her did sound like Gamora. I can’t imagine her staying completely out of trouble, can you?”

  “I am Groot.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. She probably would have stabbed at least one idiot by this point,” Rocket said. “I still don’t know how she hasn’t put a blade in you by now, the way you moon over her.”

  Quill flushed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. And maybe you should save your breath—we’ll hit the mountains soon.”

  Ahead of them, rocky slopes climbed from the trees, looming over the forest as they rose to towering peaks. Far above them, Quill could make out the white gleam of snow on the higher peaks, but the cliffs below them were barren and rocky. As the travelers pushed on, the forest began to thin and the ground became dotted with huge boulders, refugees from some cataclysmic avalanche that Quill hoped was now a part of ancient history. The leaf-covered ground below them slowly gave way to bare stone, and by late afternoon they had left the forest completely behind them. The trail they followed began to twist and turn, following the lay of the land rather than forging its own path—and even Rocket spent long stretches in silence as it grew steeper and steeper.

  But it was Quill who suffered most. His boots had little grip and he was constantly slipping and sliding, the extra effort required to keep moving forward taking its toll after months of feasting and roistering. Despite his bulk, Groot made much easier going of things, his rootlike toes digging into the ground with each step, finding cracks in the stone and wedging themselves in, giving him perfect purchase as he stolidly put one foot after the other.

  Meanwhile, Rocket could have been designed for this trail, his light weight and prehensile toes letting him climb with ease. He would scout ahead and then bound back down the trail, grinning mockingly at Quill as he raced around his companions.

  “Nothing ahead but more climbing, Quill,” he shouted. “Isn’t this fun?”

  Quill gritted his teeth as the raccoonoid dissolved into fits of laughter.

  “Yeah, couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be doing right now. No sign of any monks?” He paused. “Of anything, for that matter?”

  “Nothing. Not even a mountain goat.”

  Quill frowned. “It’s strange. I hate to sound like a cliché, but it’s too quiet. I feel like we’re being watched.”

  Rocket lifted his head and sniffed at the air.

  “I can’t smell anyone nearby, but it’s hard to tell,” he said. “This rock doesn’t hold a scent very well, and there isn’t any wind at all.”

  “I guess we just keep climbing then,” Quill said.

  He tried not to let his worry show. Time was ticking by, and he was terribly conscious of each day that had passed. It looked like they would be spending at least one night in the mountains. And even if they found Gamora and convinced her to come with them, there was another long journey ahead of them.

  The path narrowed as it passed between two peaks, to the point where they had to walk single file. But as it emerged from between the cliffs, the path suddenly widened out into a bowl-shaped valley surrounded by vertical walls of stone. The tops of the cliffs were covered with broken pieces of stone, creating natural ramparts and making it impossible to discern what, if anything, might be up there. It made Quill uneasy, and his skin crawled as they walked into the center of the rocky hollow. It was a terribly exposed position, and Quill tried not to think of the carnage even one skilled archer could wreak from such a strong vantage point. You could bring an army into passes like this and come out with nothing but mincemeat. But there was no army here—only the three of them. He hoped there was nothing waiting in the mountains that might see them as enemies.

  “This is a killing ground if I ever saw one,” Rocket said. “I hope these monks, if they exist, are friendly.”

  “Thanks for that,” Quill snapped. “Very reassuring. Just what I wanted to hear.”

  “Sorry,” the raccoonoid muttered. “Just making conversation.”

  They made their way to the other side of the basin without incident, and followed the path into another valley. This one was shallower, but much broader and far less exposed. The floor of the pass was covered with boulders, many so weathered by wind and water that they had taken on the appearance of massive columns. Anyone under attack could have made their way through without once being exposed to bowshot from the cliffs surrounding them. It was much more to Quill’s liking, but still, there was something in the air that made him tense and nervous, a feeling of hushed expectancy.

  “I don’t want to sound alarmist, but make sure your weapons are easy at hand,” he said. He reached over his shoulder and pulled out a long length of wood. He always liked to carry a non-lethal option, so he had liberated the handle of one of the axes that they’d taken from the woodcutters. It was solid ash and almost as thick as his wrist, and could be just as lethal as a sword if you knew what you were doing—but it gave him the ability to simply incapacitate if he so chose.

  “One step ahead of you, buddy,” Rocket said. He still had the cudgel he’d used in the forest, and looked far too eager to start cracking heads.

  Slowly, they made their way through the stone forest. The boulders were tall enough that even Groot couldn’t see over them, so they were forced to scout around each one. Quill froze as he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, a black shadow that flitted from one stone to another. Something tugged at his trousers, and he looked down to find Rocket trying to get his attention.

  “I know, I saw it,” Quill whispered. “Don’t let on that we’ve spotted whatever it is. I’m keeping my eyes on it, and right now it’s behind the third rock to the left.”

  “Ah, are we talking about the same thing?”

  Quill followed Rocket’s gaze to the right and saw another shadow, and then from behind there was a soft “I am Groot.”

  “I think we might be surrounded,” Rocket said.

  Suddenly there was movement all around them. The largest of the shadowy figures was almost as big as Quill, but they ranged to no larger than Rocket, and all of them flitted from stone to stone with the same fluid grace. Given the figures’ constant movement, it was hard to get a count, but there were at least a dozen—maybe two.

  “Let’s try and get to the other end and maybe find
some higher ground,” Rocket hissed. “We can make them come at us that way.”

  Quill nodded, always happy to bow to the raccoonoid’s tactical genius. They hurried though the pass, trying to look in every direction at once, so absorbed with their pursuers that it took Quill a moment to notice that the pass ended in a soaring cliff. He stopped cold, eyes following the almost vertical wall, staring in wonder at the intricate scaffolding that clung to the rock and supported a dozen huts that hung from the ropes like grapes on a vine. The only way up was a rope ladder that he imagined could be rolled up in case of attack, and at its foot stood three women in red monks’ robes. The one in the middle stepped forward and spoke in a strong, clear voice.

  “Strangers, you are trespassing in the Valley of the Lotus. We do not seek violence, and if you turn back now from whence you came, you will not be harmed.”

  The speaker was an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, with long, flowing white hair that contrasted sharply with the shaved heads of her two younger companions.

  Quill gave her his most charming smile and raised his hands peacefully.

  “Look, we mean no harm. We’re looking for a friend. She . . .”

  “You have no friends here, beast.” One of the younger women spoke, fire burning in her wide eyes, her shoulders quivering with suppressed rage. “Leave now, or be whipped the way curs deserve.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Quill said, angry despite himself. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t really appreciate your tone.”

  “Last warning, dog.”

  “Kasara!” the older woman snapped. “That will be enough.”

  “Thank you,” Quill said.

  The younger woman flushed.

  “It is not enough,” she argued. “They must leave. Now. This a security matter and the decision rests with me.”

  The older woman frowned, but nodded. “So be it.”

  Kasara pointed back the way that the Quill and his companions had come.

  “Last warning. Go now or suffer the consequences.”

  “And suppose we don’t?” Rocket asked, his hackles raised. Quill knew the raccoonoid hated animal names being used as insults, and that his temper would be on a hair trigger right now. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Kasara’s smile was cold enough to be glacial.

  “I hoped that you’d say that.”

  She reached into her robe and Quill prepared to dive behind the stone to his right if she drew any sort of projectile weapon. Instead she pulled out an ornate golden horn.

  “Last chance. Are you sure you won’t leave?”

  Quill shook his head. “All we want is some answers.”

  “So be it.”

  She raised the horn to her lips and blew. A long mellow note echoed from the cliffs, and then everything happened at once.

  There was a blur of motion to Quill’s left, and he only just managed to bring his weapon up in time to block a vicious blow from a rice flail wielded with dangerous precision. He flicked the end of the shaft back up, catching his attacker in the pit of the stomach. He cracked his stick over its head as it doubled up in pain and slumped to the ground, letting Quill see it for the first time. It was bundled in a shapeless black robe, a deep hood covering its face. He reached down to see what was underneath the cowl, but before he could, there was a shout from up ahead.

  “Quill, come on!”

  Quill straightened up and hurried to his companions. They were completely surrounded now, and the shadowy figures were becoming more daring. Two leaped on Groot, bringing lengths of wood bashing down with furious blows. Groot roared and grabbed one in either hand, tearing them away from his body and hurling them back into the shadows. Rocket was beset on all sides, his cudgel darting into the path of blow after blow, teeth bared in a feral snarl. Before Quill could reach Rocket, he found himself fighting for his own life against multiple attackers. Twirling the ash handle, he lunged and parried, knocking aside kicks, punches, and clubs, and sending his foes sprawling with brutal blows.

  A small round object came sailing out from behind one of the stones and smashed at his feet, sending a cloud of acrid, noxious smoke billowing towards his face. Quill began to cough, tears running from his eyes as he struggled to breathe. More of the smoke bombs rained down, and the fumes surrounded them, making it hard to see and harder to breath. Groot seemed oblivious, but Rocket was closer to the ground and his acute sense of smell became a weakness as each breath exposed him to more of whatever it was in the air. Still choking, Quill ripped a swatch of fabric from the cloak of one of the unconscious enemies and covered his mouth and nose, bringing some relief. Rocket saw what he was doing and followed suit, the makeshift masks giving them enough protection to continue to defend themselves while the smoke began to clear.

  Whoever their attackers were, they were skilled enough, showing mastery of whatever weapons they bore, and they were fast. But they couldn’t match the experience and strength of the three travelers and, one by one, they fell before them. There must have been twenty unconscious bodies scattered around them when a larger figure leaped out at Quill. This one was clad in a white robe, and made the others look like they’d been moving in slow motion. It was all Quill could do to defend himself against the whirlwind of fists and feet that he found himself swept up in. One punch snapped his axe handle cleanly in half, and just missed dong the same to his jaw. Quill’s awkward evasion saved him as a kick he hadn’t even seen coming lashed past his face and connected with the rock behind him, cracking off chunks of stone.

  Lowering his shoulder, Quill bulldozed into the robed figure, sending it staggering backwards. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, hindered by his mask, and he took advantage of the brief respite to tear it from his face. He braced himself for the next attack, but his foe wasn’t moving.

  “Quill?”

  The voice was as familiar to him as his own, and he felt memories flooding back.

  “Gamora?”

  The figure took a step towards him, before reaching up and pulling back the hood of her robe. Her eyes met his, wide with both surprise and—he saw with a sinking feeling in his stomach—anger.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be here! And what have you done to my pupils?”

  “Your pupils?” Quill asked stupidly.

  Instead of replying, she simply knelt next to one of the prone figures and gently pulled the cowl of its robe back. Quill gasped in shock, his face flushing at the sight of a young girl, barely in her teens, her eye blackened and swelling from one of his blows.

  “I was fighting little gi—” he cut off, seeing the anger build on Gamora’s face. “I mean, I was fighting children? I didn’t know!”

  “There is a lot you don’t know, Quill.” She sighed. “I guess you should come with me so I can remedy that.”

  Without another word she turned and stalked towards the suspended village, not even waiting to see if the three companions were following.

  Chapter 8

  The huts were surprisingly spacious inside. It probably helped that they had left Groot down on the ground, but still, there were five of them sitting comfortably around a low table. It was a shame that the atmosphere was as cold as ice—in a strictly emotional sense—the chill was emanating from the young woman sitting directly across from Rocket and Quill.

  “Let us be clear,” Kasara said. “If it were up to me, you’d be walking—or crawling—out of the valley by now.”

  Rocket half-laughed, half-snarled at her.

  “Seems like you gave it your best shot, and yet here we are.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, rodent,” Kasara said. “We’d only just gotten started.”

  “Kasara!” The older woman had been sitting quietly, but when she spoke her voice had the weight of absolute aut
hority. “You will be civil to our guests.”

  “Abbess . . .”

  “Do you understand me?”

  Kasara hung her head, but Quill could still make out the splotches of red on her cheeks.

  “Yes, Abbess. Forgive me.”

  Rocket grinned at Kasara, but his smile faded as the Abbess turned the full force of her gaze on him.

  “Rocket, you would do well to work on your manners, too,” she said. “Kasara is right. We do have other ways of dealing with intruders, and you are only here as a favor to Sister Gamora.”

  For once, Rocket didn’t have a quick reply at hand, and Quill’s estimation of the Abbess went up a notch. He couldn’t remember the last time the raccoonoid had been quelled with a look.

  “May I be excused?” Kasara asked. “I have duties to attend to.”

  “If you must,” the Abbess said, sighing.

  Once Kasara was gone, the Abbess turned back to Quill and Rocket.

  “Forgive her. Her life has not been easy, and she has good reason to be distrustful of strangers,” said the Abbess. “But she has a good heart, and she would do anything to protect this monastery and the girls here.”

  “Tell us about this place,” Quill said. “I’ve heard wild tales, but I’d rather get the real story.”

  The Abbess smiled. “That shows wisdom. There has been a monastery on this site for almost a thousand years. We were founded with one purpose—to provide a safe haven for young girls who had been orphaned or who had been victims of brutality. We teach them the skills they will need to not only survive, but thrive, and then they leave us. Some girls decide to stay, like Kasara, and give back.”

  “Only girls?” Rocket asked. “Seems a bit unfair.”

  Both Gamora and the Abbess glared at him. Quill was more than happy to see someone else at the receiving end of those looks; he wouldn’t have wanted to be Rocket right now.