The Gathering: Book One of The Uprising Series

by Bernadette Giacomazzo

  I shook my head. “I’ve never rode a motorcycle, and I don’t think Tommy has, either.”

  Tommy side-eyed me and smirked. “Think again, Evie.” He turned to Steele. “Well, if you take Evie, who’s going to take me?”

  Steele cackled as I settled, comfortably, on the back of his seat. “Don’t worry, Tommy Boy, don’t worry. You see Chainsaw over there? He’s got himself a nice Harley-Davidson CVO. You know what those Twin Cams are all about, kid? Chainsaw can haul you and a hundred like you. Ain’t that right, Chainsaw?”

  Chainsaw started his motorcycle, gunned the engine loudly, and grunted.

  “Yep. See? There you go. The Chainsaw has spoken. You’re gonna have to ride bitch” – he cackled maniacally, again, as he revved his engine – “but you’ll be fine. Go on. Scat. Get your ass over there, kid. We got an Uprising to join.”

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Emperor

  They brought her before me in my Throne Room – the same place where my wife and spoiled step-daughter celebrated the ridiculous Emperor’s Ball in their honor.

  There’s a first, and last, time for everything.

  What a pittance of a human my newest capture was – dressed all in white, like a virgin on her wedding night, but looking filthy nonetheless.

  Her wrists were shackled together, as were her ankles, and both were chained to the middle of her body so that she had to take tiny steps to prevent from falling.

  It was the most feminine she’d ever looked in her life.

  She stepped forward, and my Cabal officers gave her one good shove as she face-planted before me.

  On her knees.

  The way I like them.

  Good.

  “Look at your Emperor,” I barked, standing over her contemptuously.

  She refused to pick her head up off the floor.

  I tried again. “I command you, under penalty of psi, to look at your Emperor!”

  Still, she refused to pick her head up off the floor.

  I grabbed her, roughly, by her long hair and forced her to look at me. “When I say look at your Emperor, beast-child, I command you to listen. Do you even speak English, beast-child? Do you?”

  She said nothing as she looked at me defiantly. I licked her face – anything to humiliate her – and threw her back onto the floor where she belonged. She hit the ground with a loud thud, then looked up at me again with the same defiant eyes.

  Seeing her refusal to react made me even more violently angry. “Supreme Allied Commander!” I roared, ripping my thick black leather belt off from around my waist and cracking it like a whip, “get over here and show this beast-child what it means to have respect!”

  My Supreme Allied Commander – a nice young man by the singular name of Barton, who was more brute force than refined intelligence, but preferred to the obviously-foreign sounding and clearly-traitorous Kanoa Shinomura of so many decades ago – obliged, taking my belt and, with one motion, ripping the beast-child’s white cloak off her while making sure the belt buckle tore at her skin with every whip.

  I counted the number of times Supreme Allied Commander Barton let the belt buckle hit the beast-child’s back with glee. When I reached thirty-three, I made him stop. “Stop!” I roared. “Thirty-three. Just like the age of Jesus when He hung on the cross for my sins, and my sins alone. Perhaps this, too, will convert the beast-child.”

  Supreme Allied Commander Barton returned the belt to my hand as I marveled at her back, which was now red and swollen and bloody with welts. “Oh,” I said, tearfully, “it’s a work of art. Supreme Allied Commander Barton, it’s truly beautiful. You serve your Emperor well.” I snapped my fingers in the beast-child’s face. “Beast-child! Look at your Emperor now!”

  She looked up at me, again, with the same emotionless, defiant face.

  “Beast-child!” I roared. “What will it take for you to answer me?”

  She smiled, sweetly, and spoke gibberish.

  “What? You ghastly beast-child! Speak English or I will whip you again!” I screamed.

  “O loʻu igoa o Pualani Solosolo, o le afafine o le taʻitaʻiʻau o Tamati Solosolo, ma o oe, loʻu Emperor, ua viliina,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  I cracked my belt like a whip again. “Barton!” I roared. “Unleash hell!”

  He grabbed my belt and whipped her so savagely, I was sincerely impressed that she even survived. When Barton was finished with his work of art, there was no part of her body that wasn’t covered in welts – and it truly was a masterpiece.

  But I, eventually, made him stop and told the beast-child to look at me again, and demanded she answer me again.

  And she repeated herself, again, smiling sweetly. “O loʻu igoa o Pualani Solosolo, o le afafine o le taʻitaʻiʻau o Tamati Solosolo, ma o oe, loʻu Emperor, ua viliina.”

  I ordered the Cabal to bring her closer to me. She stood mere inches from my throne.

  “You ghastly beast-child,” I said, tenderly, “just speak English to me before I murder you.”

  She closed her eyes, which were swollen from the whipping she’d endured, smiled serenely, and – in a tiny, almost childish, voice, with a crisp, clean accent – said, “I don’t know why you don’t understand me, dear Emperor. But I said, ‘My name is Pualani Solosolo. I am the daughter of the Warrior chief Tamati Solosolo…’”

  Her voice drifted off and she smiled, sweetly, as she closed her eyes.

  “And what?!” I screamed. “And what, beast-child?!”

  We heard noises beneath us.

  She kept her eyes closed.

  She kept smiling as she rolled her head around on her neck.

  Finally, she stopped, faced me, and – confident in the noises she heard beneath us – changed her sweet smile to one of defiance. “And you, my Emperor, are fucked.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamie

  There were all sorts of noises, growls, and ululating. I understood none of it.

  All I could understand was that Tamati was madder than a hornet’s nest.

  “What?! Bruh! What the fuck did you say?!” shouted Basile. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on!” He looked around frantically. “Where is Pualani? Someone please find Pualani!” He walked over to Tamati’s second-in-command. “Pualani? Where is Pualani?”

  The second-in-command grunted and growled, and Basile jumped back. “Okay, fine. You don’t understand me. Where is Pualani?” He was screaming out loud, in the middle of the Bowery, before the building that once housed the Bowery Mission (which, given the circumstances, was oddly appropriate). “God, I just wish someone would find Pualani, so she could tell me what’s going on.”

  It was then that I heard the soft, frustrated sniffles and cries of Tagioalisi. Even in the face of confusion and war, Tagioalisi never stopped facing forward and holding her head up high in a dignified way.

  But there was pain in her eyes – there was no mistaking that.

  So, I went up to her, hesitantly, but prepared to use a gentle form of psi to find out what was going on.

  I’d used this same gentle form of psi on Rosie just a few days ago, when I was desperate to find out if she was loyal to her idiot husband, or loyal to The Uprising.

  With Rosie, however, I couldn’t find her thoughts – they lay somewhere behind a brick wall of her own design.

  But with Tagioalisi, I didn’t meet such resistance. Instead, I was able to read her mind purely – able to discover what happened to make her, and Tamati, so upset.

  And I saw it: Pualani, walking around Battery Park City, when she was happened upon by the Cabal. When she refused to answer their questions – she pretended not to know, or understand, English – they beat her mercilessly, shackled her, and took her off to Emperor.

  I couldn’t speak the Warrior language, so I tried – using psi – to speak my own, hoping that Taglioalisi would at least get the general gist of what I was saying. Pualani – did they take her? If they did, I know where they took h
er, and I know how to find her. Will you and your husband help me? Will the Warriors? Please – do something, say something, so I know you understand…

  She nodded furiously and grunted in affirmation, tears slowly streaming down her cheeks.

  “Alright, guys,” I said out loud. “The Cabal got Pualani.”

  Basile’s face registered the same level of exasperation. “Terrific. What for? How are we going to get her?”

  “I have no idea why, Basile, I just know they did! All I could see was that the stupid Cabal took her and brought her to Emperor,” I said, the exasperation clear in my voice.

  Basile grimaced. “Ugh. Who knows what that disgusting asshole is going to try on her? My body hurts just thinking about it.” He rubbed his forearms. “Now, how are we going to get her, Jamie? What are we going to do?”

  “Um, duh – the same thing we’d do it if it were one of us!” I said. “We all head up to Emperor’s Park, fight the Cabal, and get her back!”

  Kanoa side-eyed me. “That’s cute, Prince Charming,” he said sarcastically, “but you realize that in Emperor’s Park, they have the home field advantage, right? And it won’t exactly be as easy to defeat them on their front as it is on ours, right?”

  It was Basile who jumped in to answer before I could. “Jamie and I are fathers, Kanoa,” Basile said gently. “You aren’t. We don’t expect you to understand, but I’m going to try to explain: whether your child dies before birth, or dies after he’s born, or lives to adulthood, the fact is, you are still a father, no matter what. And, maybe better than anyone else, Jamie and I understand Tamati’s rage – and we’d want him to do the same for our sons, if the situation were reversed.”

  “Yes,” I concurred, quietly. “Exactly. My son is dead. My god-daughter isn’t. Basile’s son is dead. Tamati’s daughter isn’t. All these years, we’ve been fighting out of vengeance for the dead. And how far did we get? How far? We spent decades being the hunted, and the prey. Today, let’s fight to save the living – to provide a life for them they could never imagine for themselves, and better. And if we die while trying to save the future, at least I can say I lived a life worth living.”

  Using psi, I communicated our plan to Taglioalisi, who nodded her head in affirmation as she translated my words for her husband and the rest of the Warriors. My words were met with louder and louder whoops from the Warrior men, and when Taglioalisi was done, the men were whooping and hollering, gesticulating to the north and demanding to go to war.

  “Long live The Uprising!” hollered Tamati. “Long live New York City!”

  Kanoa shrugged. “I mean…yeah. Sure. Why not? Whatever you say, Jamie. Wasn’t planning on dying today, but it’s not like I had anything else to do.”

  We used the advantage of the trees in Emperor’s Park to camouflage ourselves from the surrounding Cabal. I couldn’t help but remember that, literally just a few days prior, I was sitting under a wilting star magnolia tree, looking up at Rosie’s bare, emaciated back, trying to figure out who she was loyal to, and why – and wondering if, in fact, Evanora (and, by extension, Tommy) was safe in this gilded ivory cage. Yes, she was just a plant – yes, she was collecting intel on behalf of The Uprising – but was it fair to give her the burden that I, myself, couldn’t bear myself, after decades of being a hunted animal?

  “I’m going to need you to calm your mind, Jamie Ryan,” Basile said, softly, from behind a tall oak tree, his New Orleans accent slowly bubbling to the surface yet again. “You know these motherfuckers can hear you – they were trained in the same arts you were – and all they need to hear is…”

  Before Basile could finish his thought, a Cabal officer came up from behind him and swung his rifle, hard, at the back of his head. And though he managed to avoid knocking Basile out cold, he did manage to stun him, and as he stumbled backwards onto the floor, the rest of us – myself, Kanoa, and the Warriors –jumped into action.

  Kanoa, of course, was able to show them all why, precisely, he was the most feared Supreme Allied Commander in Cabal history, as he tackled them row by row and sent them sprawling across the park. Officer after officer felt their bones crunch – and, at one point, there was so much blood on the ground, that it ran like rivers through the park, giving the fallen white flowers of the star magnolias a sickly pink tinge.

  But without his compatriot, Basile, in full retention of his faculties, and able to shift his mind to a lighter place, Kanoa – usually quick for a joke – was consumed by white-hot anger, and the more Cabal soldiers fell at his feet, the harder he kicked and screamed and crushed and, on more than one occasion, killed.

  By the end of it all, his face was covered in blood – his own and that of the Cabal.

  Meanwhile, the Warriors were doing more than their fair share of damage to the troops that surrounded us. With war cries and pounding of fists, they managed to neutralize the threat as a collective.

  And it was then that we heard them.

  The sounds of the motorcycles.

  The roars of engines.

  Twenty – maybe twenty-five – of the Ouroboros appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and I could see Tommy and Evanora amongst the crowd of the Ouroboros.

  For a minute, I couldn’t make out who had brought Evanora back to the island, but it didn’t take long for me to finally see that he was an old friend, especially when he opened his mouth and revved the engine of his Ducati.

  “Need a hand there, Little Lord Fuck-Your-Girl?” It was Steele, still as ludicrous – and still as hilarious – as ever.

  “Steele! You son of a bitch! As I live and breathe!” I said, shoving the Cabal members back into the trees.

  “Not for long if you don’t get our help,” he remarked slyly. He turned back to Evanora. “Now go on and get your ass back in your house. You know you don’t belong out here. You’re a plant, remember? And take your little boyfriend with you.”

  Tommy began to protest. “I’m not her—”

  “We know, Tommy!” Evanora screamed, grabbing his hand and bobbing and weaving amongst the Cabal, the Warriors, the Ouroboros, and the Uprising.

  But as she started to head inside her house, she saw Basile lying on the grass underneath a tall oak tree and screamed, loudly, as she ran to him.

  “Basile!” she screamed, cradling his head in her hands. “Basile! Oh God, Basile!”

  He sighed, rubbed his head, and looked at her. “I’m fine, little girl. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright. You get your ass inside that house like that man told you to. We’ll take care of things out here.”

  Evanora stroked his head, gently, and talked to him in a soothing voice. “Promise me something, Basile,” she said, “if you all win the fight today, and the war has in fact begun like Rock said, will you teach me the ways of psi? Will you make me a solider, just like you? Will you show me how to use the powers you have for good, like you said they were?”

  Basile smiled a half-moon smile, showing his teeth for the first time in months. “Baby girl, listen,” he said, “if I can get rid of this headache, you bet’cho ass I will teach you everything I know, and more.” He put his hand, softly, on her left cheek. “But you gotta promise me one thing in return, baby girl.”

  Evanora returned the smile. “What’s that?”

  “If you spend the night in my house, wear your pajamas,” Basile said, laughing.

  Tamati appeared with a battered and bruised Pualani. He screamed something at her, which she in turn translated for the rest of us. “My daughter has been rescued, and we can now return to the Bowery,” she said, weakly. “Consider this a victory, for today. My father will take me to our shaman to get some medical treatment. But enough with the fight for today.”

  “Pualani,” I asked, gingerly, “did he hurt you in…any other way?” I hoped she caught my meaning.

  She cocked an eyebrow at me and smiled a defiant smile. “Please,” she said, almost sarcastically. “I am my mother’s daughter. I wouldn’t have let him live.”r />
  I nodded, whistling and calling over the Ouroboros and the Warriors, rounding them up and calling for a retreat.

  “Emperor!” I called out to the window of Rosie’s room. “We have won the day for now! But your Cabal is no longer safe! No longer will I be the hunted prey, and your goons the wolves in the night! Because who stands with me are men and women who will no longer accept the shackles of your tyranny! A gathering of men and women from all walks of life – from different parts of the city – and different colors of the spectrum! Look outside your window, Emperor! LOOK OUTSIDE!”

  The smell of lilacs was, again, in the air.

  “And there are more of us! And what you see – this is just the beginning! We are the faces of the new New York – and no matter how many times you try to drive your colonizing forces through us, to make a lily-white nation-state in your image, you will never silence us! Still we will gather – and still we will rise! We are the gathering! We are the Uprising!”

  And with this, the chants began to echo throughout the park – Warrior, Ouroboros, and Cabal defectors alike, united, to form a collective determined to bring back the city we loved, once and for all. Ululating, stomping, chanting, and revving our engines – raising our fists, united, in the collective.

  “Long live The Uprising!” we chanted, raising our right fists high in the air. “Long live New York City!”

  Steele leaned over to me, his right fist still in the air, and whispered. “Hey, Ivan Sapphire,” he croaked.

  “What is it, fucker?” I asked, laughing.

  “I got some bad news and I got some good news. Which one you want first?” He reached into his front left vest pocket, fished out a cigarette, and lit it – all with one hand, which was quite impressive.

  I shrugged. “Hit me with the bad news first.”

  “Alright. Well, the bad news is, you know that fucker Tom Newman is dead, right?” He sucked on the cigarette and began hacking so violently, tears were streaming down his face.