The bets were taken and everyone waited with anticipation. Father Griffith still felt an urge to run and grab the bird, but in truth, he thought, watching the small creature, I wish more than anything, that the bell would ring before the little thing finally buckles under the weight of pain and fatigue. Lord, give him strength! Father Griffith gritted his teeth and gripped the sides of his seat.
As the minutes wore on, slowly, Bora no longer had the strength to jump at his opponent. He stood as still as possible, trembling; his head was a puffy ball of blood, swaying with each blow. Chagatay was relentless, leaping all the while, clawing and ripping. Father Griffith thought he could feel the blows, and he stood still, too, and prayed for Bora to remain standing. He prayed for the time to pass. How long were the minutes? Longer than the normal sixty seconds, surely…
Lord, do not let him run!
Finally, within the cacophony of howls, the bell rang. The little one had not even taken one step back. He never ran way. To his immense surprise, Father Griffith found himself shouting with relief and jubilation as Bora’s owner proudly pounced on the bird with cries of “My son! My boy!” and bore him away to be cleaned and medicated. Chagatay, the clear winner, was collected with far less exuberance.
“He didn’t run! He didn’t run!” shouted Cat, hugging Orion excitedly. “Did you see? He didn’t even budge! Is he going to be all right?” she added, worried for the animal’s safety.
“Yes,” Orion said. “He will be fine.” He shook his head proudly, “Bora would never run.”
In the world of cockfighting, the bird that had technically lost to the bigger, stronger opponent, the little bird that had stood his ground stoically until the end, was the true winner. The little bird that had stood his ground without time, until the very end.
I am more than you know, the little bird seemed to be saying as Father Griffith watched him, still trembling, his head erect, his owner and assistant ministering to his wounds.
“He never moved.”
“He never ran...”
“Our brave champion,” announced the master of ceremonies.
“Bora the Brave!”
Bora the Brave, thought Father Griffith. Thank you, Lord.
38
“That was certainly interesting,” Bruce said, choosing his words carefully. They were standing outside. The air was refreshingly cold and free of the combined odor of rooster, sweat and alcohol.
“You’re quite sure, though, that both of those poor creatures will not – will not be killed?” Father Griffith asked Orion insistently.
Orion gave him a playful slap on the back. “Yes! For the fifth time, yes! That Bora is the king of the roost. And Chagatay … well, he’s not exactly unpopular either!”
“Very well,” Father Griffith nodded cautiously. “But I have seen far too many instances, heard too many horror stories…”
“This is not a horror story, Roland,” Orion said. “It is bloody and painful though… it’s life.”
“So, now what?” Cat asked.
“Now? You must all be tired. Shady will accompany you back to LiGa headquarters, won’t you, Shades?”
“Oh, sure…” Shady sighed. “Where’s Peter?” he asked pointedly.
“Peter’s busy,” Orion replied with an enigmatic smile.
“We’ve been dismissed,” Cat said.
“Where are you going?” Bruce asked.
Orion gave a perfunctory wave. “I need to take care of a few matters. Nothing that concerns you right now.” He smiled.
“Are you sure?” Father Griffith eyed him narrowly. “I mean… we can all go together–”
“Together?” Shady scoffed. “You obviously don’t know Orion very well. He doesn’t do together.”
“That’s my fear,” Father Griffith said quietly.
“Don’t worry, Roland,” Orion intoned and patted him on the arm. “You worry too much. You really should do something about it.”
Bruce yawned. “You know what? I am tired. Come on, let’s go back. It’s our first day here and it’s already been full of excitement. Not to mention all the fun and games we went through getting across the Light Veil. I want nothing more than to go to sleep. I don’t think I would be any help anyway.
“It’s time we call it a night–” he nodded curtly. “Right?” he looked around at Cat and Father Griffith. “We don’t know this place. We would be more of a hindrance to him than a help,” he added, noting Father Griffith’s reluctance to leave Orion by himself.
“Yes, Roland, come on!” Cat urged. “I want to go to sleep. Orion, my love, you will be careful won’t you?” she smiled sweetly.
“I promise,” Orion grinned.
“There, see–” Cat turned to Father Griffith. “He promised he’d be a good boy. Come on, let’s go – well, home, for lack of a better word,” she laughed.
“Good night, Orion,” Father Griffith said solemnly.
“Yes, I will watch my back,” Orion nodded, smiling slyly. “But really, if there’s anyone out there wishing to do me harm, you should worry about them!” He laughed.
He is so carefree… thought Father Griffith. So sure of himself. He inclined his head. “Well, see you tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” Orion replied. “Don’t worry. Go and enjoy yourself, Roland. Cat’s right. You worry too much!” He turned and walked away briskly.
“We are going to take one of those carriage things,” Cat said, crossing her arms, and stared meaningfully towards a horse-drawn cart standing some thirty meters away.
“Very well,” Shady said, resigned. “Come on.”
Orion stopped at the end of the street and glanced around him briefly before starting off in the direction of the harbor. It would have been a shorter walk – no more than fifteen-minutes – along the well-lit, populous Nightingale.
Instead, he remained in the back streets: narrow, winding, darkened…
He walked with a quick, steady step, whistling occasionally.
“In the black of night, I walk…” he said softly in a singsong voice.
“Because the Dark shall do what Light cannot…”
It was not long before he stopped, in the middle of a residential street with three- to four-story buildings rising about him. A few streetlights affixed to ledges above the doors provided localized illumination. A light bird perched sleepily on a slanted rooftop. He stood before the front door of a house.
Orion smiled to himself, and dexterously swung up to the ledge above the door. Silently, he unscrewed the tear-shaped glass coated with Moonlightsmear. Squatting on the ledge, he held the lamp across his knees…
“It only takes one…” he said softly to the silent street. He glanced towards the end of the street opposite from the direction from which he had come. It was darker there, where the street wound sharply to the left.
Suddenly there came the sound of footsteps, running. Away.
Orion smiled. “One down…” he said, “four to go…” There was a tiny well-oiled click as a short, sharp blade appeared in his right hand, glowing coldly by the light of the glass on his knees. “It only takes one,” he said in a lecturing tone, “to give the group away. Only one mind to think… And poof! The trap’s sprung. Yeees,” he continued, “you are right: you have the advantage of numbers. I am but one…” he grinned. “Against three,” he added, as another set of footsteps – somewhat lighter than the first – sprang away. There was another click. And a second blade – longer and thinner than the first – fitted comfortably into the palm of his left hand.
“Panic. That’s your worst enemy,” Orion continued conversationally. “Apart from me, of course. But I’m a localized danger, if you see what I mean. If you tell me what I need to know, and don’t set traps for me… well, the likelihood is pretty high that I will forget you even exist,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Now panic, on the other hand, is dangerous because you don’t know when it will strike, or how long it will stick around–”
Orion’s speech was
punctuated by the loud crash of glass as the lamp resting on his knees flew with the force of a well-aimed kick towards the end of the street. Shards of lit glass glittered in the darkened street.
“Two…” Orion said as the sound of running feet disappeared in the distance. “Yes,” he continued conversationally, addressing one of the unseen assailants, “I know you would like me to believe that your buddy next to you put you up to this. He paid you, you say?” Orion smiled to himself. “I could believe that…
“Then again, why should I?” He leapt nimbly to the street as the front door of the house opened, revealing a sleepy-looking man in disheveled pajamas inexpertly wielding a length of metal tubing. “Oh, Orion.” The man sagged with relief.
“Sorry about your lamp,” Orion said. “I’ll have it replaced in the morning.”
The man waved away the offer and went back inside, with a reassuring, “It’s all right. Orion’s here,” to the inhabitants within.
Orion continued to walk nonchalantly towards the end of the street. “I know who you are, you know,” he said as he crunched past the broken lamp. “Now, all I want is to know who sent you. That’s all. If you don’t tell me… Well, you know I will find you,” he added pleasantly. “Even if you manage to get away from me right now. Now is a very short time. Then is far longer. Far … longer. If you tell me, I will let you go. I won’t come after you. You know I mean it. Now.” Orion stopped a few steps from the corner. “I am giving you a chance,” he said. “Right now, you can give me the answer, and you are free to go…
“Or… I will find you then. It’s your choice.” He waited a few moments. “Thank you,” he said as the sound of two sets of feet running echoed in the silent street. The two blades were sheathed and Orion continued to stroll to his destination.
“Sloppy,” he said to himself. “She’s getting sloppy… Panicky…”
* * *
Cat kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the enormous bed with the headboard featuring a curving white crocodile in shimmering mother-of-pearl. She nestled against a cocoon of soft, linen-covered pillows, and smiled a smile of the deepest satisfaction. I like this place, she thought, stretching her legs and wiggling her feet. The bedside lamp was lit. Sunlightsmear? She wondered. It had a warm glow. Warmer than the glow of the sleet beads. She waved her hand with a downward movement near the glass and laughed as the light went out.
The room was illuminated by the cold glow of the moon and stars as she had left the curtains open. She lay still for some moments listening to the silence and watching the moon’s melancholy light. The Dark One… This is his time, she thought. The silence of the dark… the Silent Dark… It is not frightening, she decided. “I am not afraid of you,” she declared in a normal voice.
She rose from the bed and padded across the thick carpet to the French windows that opened up onto the crisp night air, with a view of the Ortasu. Cat gathered a heavy shawl from the sofa and stepped out onto the balcony…
“Oh hello darling!” she said and waved happily to Father Griffith standing on the adjacent balcony to the left.
“Good evening,” he said somberly.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Didn’t want to,” he replied after a brief pause.
“Of course not. You must have such a lot to think about!”
Father Griffith shook his head. “You make fun of me,” he said without rancor. “I suppose I deserve it.”
“Yes,” she said decisively. “Only when I think you need it though,” she added.
“Perhaps I do…” he said in a faraway voice. “Think too much, I mean. But don’t you? Isn’t all this–” he groaned, waving expansively, unable to enunciate his thoughts.
“New?” she suggested. “It’s just new. That’s all. Change. I was just thinking– You see, I can think too!” she laughed.
“It never occurred to me to doubt it,” he said gravely, looking at her. “You are simply more… able to deal with…” he smiled sadly, “change? Possibly?”
“This is the time of the Dark One,” she said. “What do you think of that?”
Father Griffith straightened his posture and looked out towards the dark water. He was silent.
“What about Shadow?” Cat continued – mercilessly, it seemed to him. “Does He ever speak to you? Really speak to you. In words you can understand, even if not actually hear,” she added, recalling how Shadow had invaded her thoughts.
Father Griffith looked down. “These are…” he began and paused. He looked at her again. “Difficult,” he said at last.
“Yes, I can imagine so.” She regarded him with compassion. “Poor dear Roland. Well good night,” she yawned daintily. “I hope you will be able to get some sleep at least.”
“Good night. Don’t worry about me.”
Cat closed the doors behind her and looked around the room in the half-dark. An object glittered on the dresser. She went to it. It was small, white and familiar: the diamond alligator brooch she had worn throughout the LiGa tournament. She ran her index finger lightly along its gem-studded spine, and smiled. “Good night,” she said softly. “Good night, both of you… here and in New Orleans.”
Father Griffith remained on the balcony looking up at the sky. It is the same sky. It is the sky I know, he thought, gazing at Orion’s celestial form. But is it? Here is Orion. I have known him all my life, but only as a collection of stars. And I have not paid him any attention. But now…
Orion walks among us. A different Orion. He is flesh and blood; not a collection of distant stars. He is the opposite of those stars, who reveal nothing and know nothing of us. Bright points of light that we forge for our imagination. Orion is the opposite… he knows. He knows our thoughts, our emotions, our souls… He is Us.
But he is like you, too, thought Father Griffith, addressing the constellation. Like you, he is alone. Solitary. He hunts alone, as do you.
Father Griffith sighed and transferred his gaze to the dark waters below the balcony.
Shadow…in the River below. That’s what the book says. The guardian of the River. Both Judge and Forgiver.
I have seen you…
I have felt your presence. I have … heard you. Lord, what is this? Is it true? Is it real? Do I trust the evidence of my senses?
I heard Shadow. I felt Shadow as physically as I stand on this balcony, and as surely as I breathe the air of Pera…
Should I have stopped up my ears like the deaf adder? Is this but a charmer, charming never so wisely?
But I have never needed the evidence of my senses to know You. To trust You, and to … have faith. I know You with all my heart. I know You in my soul. I know You; I see You in the worlds around me. In everything around me. You are in the sunrise… You are the sunrise…
You are Truth. And Shadow? Are You, also, Shadow? Father Griffith shook his head. I should go to sleep, he told himself. Perhaps a night’s rest will help still these thoughts, he hoped.
* * *
An earthly Orion arrived at the harbor. The only ferry service to the White Islands ran twice a week – Mondays and Thursdays at 10 in the morning. This meant he would require alternate transportation. He scanned the vessels present for something suitable, deciding against one of the available pirate ships. A medium-sized fishing vessel would be best, he thought. It would be sturdy enough to traverse the waters for it was a journey of several hours, but unobtrusive enough; a pirate ship might cause too much agitation, which he did not want … at the present time.
The fishermen did not go out to the Islands these days if they could help it, but Orion could be persuasive when he wished…
* * *
Father Griffith lay sleepless in bed. On the road to Damascus…
And I said, what shall I do, Lord?
And the Lord said unto me, Arise and go into Damascus; and there it shall be told thee of all things which are appointed for thee to do…
Lord, what is it you seek of me? Father Griffith wondered. How shall I find it whe
n I don’t even know the way?
And then there it was…not a voice, exactly, but not quite a thought either. He did not hear the words so much as feel them…
I am looking for a map,
Said the Traveller.
Have you one?
I fear I may lose my way
Without a map.
I fear I may have mislaid it already
For I have no map…
Listen to that, my brothers!
My sisters, did you ever hear such a thing?
The road is a snake, Traveller
It glides past
when you are not looking.
The road is a toad, Traveller
It bounds
From rock
To hill
And back to rock…
If you try to catch it.
The road is long, Traveller
It is as long as you make it.
But that is no answer,
Cried the Traveller.
That does not answer my question.
I asked you once
And I shall ask again:
Have you a map?
I do not wish to lose my way
Be it snake, or toad or any other play…
Your road is hard, Traveller,
It is as you made it
Listen: can you find the snake on a map, Traveller?
And the toad, does he hop on your map?
I am weary, sighed the Traveller.
There are no toads or snakes on this path,
So, I ask one last time:
A map! A map!
Or you will feel my wrath!
Your wrath, Traveller, will not help you find your path.
If you had a thousand maps, Traveller,
Would you see the snake?
Could you follow the toad?
This is your map, Traveller:
the Dark shall do what Light cannot (LiGa Book 2) Page 37