by Prince Edan
“Yes.”
“Not a bad looking kid, he seems tame enough.”
“He doesn’t give me much trouble,” Brody said, then motioned for Roland to have a seat.
Roland sat.
Hudgens sat on the corner of the desk. He asked Roland, “How do you think you did at the tournament?”
“All right.” Roland shrugged.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Hudgens raised his left brow. “What path do you want to pursue in life?”
Roland thought about the question. Music was the one thing he loved, the thing he wanted more than anything else. Without music, Roland was empty, void of all purpose. “I would like to become a concert pianist.”
“That’s pretty ambitious for a kid that comes from such a humble origin.”
Roland bowed his head.
Brody reclined in his chair and assumed a perfect poker face. Roland could never figure out what went on in that man’s head. He wondered what the purpose of this meeting was. If the director’s friend wasn’t present, Roland would have tried to persuade Brody to get him into the Order’s main attacking unit using whatever means possible. That would have to wait until later.
Roland told Hudgens, “It’s a goal I have set for myself since a long time ago, sir.”
“And you sing as well?” Hudgens crossed his arms over his chest, and his shoulders sagged as he relaxed.
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
Roland nodded.
“Where do you see yourself a few years from now?”
Roland resisted the urge to tell him to fuck off. . “Why do you ask?”
“Just answer the question,” Brody instructed.
Roland bit his lower lip and said hesitantly, “A full time musician.”
The man proceeded to ask Roland about his background, his views on politics, his friends, and morals. Though Roland found the man strange, he answered each question to best of his ability, leaving out unnecessary details such as where he was born and his birth parents. Hudgens conducted the interview for a while, skimming the surface of why he was there before getting to the point. Roland was suspicious. No one would be willing to gather information about him unless they wanted something from him. Hudgens wasn’t just here to visit an old friend. He was a member of the Order. What could he possibly want with Roland?
“Why does a musician like you want to join the Order’s attacking unit?”
Roland’s gaze didn’t waver; his hands were steady, his body relaxed. He did not want the man to think he was nervous. He wanted to prove that he could stand on his own under pressure. “I have a debt to repay,” he said confidently.
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“No.”
A drawer squeaked when Brody pulled it open and produced a thin black folder. He slid it toward Hudgens. Hudgens opened it, reading its contents. Laying the folder down, he said, “You were originally scheduled to patrol Samrea this winter break, but we’ve received some concerns from your instructor. Though your tournament results were satisfactory, he worries that you would easily succumb to the emotional turmoil caused by war, such as depression, anxiety, shock, and loss. It’s happened before. Students decide that they want to fight for their country without thinking about the impact it would have on the future. Some die, others watch their friends and companions die. Then there are the ones who go to the field, and once the battle starts, they abandon their squadron to save themselves. They couldn’t protect anyone, they couldn’t follow through on their pledge to the King. They were scared, lost in a situation they couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I’m here to offer you a spot on my team. Clark and Imani have already accepted my invitation despite the future consequences of their choices. Those two really left an impression on me. They will become strong, powerful warriors that will benefit our country. Their swordsmanship and agility outmatched anyone else in their division.” He glanced at Roland, coolly. “Your defense is shaky and your blows hesitant. But you hold a lot of promise. You have potential, Roland. I’m not here to sugar coat anything. It’s a tough battle out there, and you might not survive in your current state.”
“Then what should I do?”
“My squadron has ten members, including you if you accept. There will be a training camp throughout the first two weeks of December that will help you immensely.”
Roland pursed his lips. He was always behind Clark in technique, no matter how hard he tried. He would never catch up to him. Still, he had gotten a second chance to see his family; he was willing to take it. “What does the surveillance team do?”
“You’ll find out once you join. Right now you don’t have the qualifications to know. You think about it and get back to me by the end of the week. Don’t rush anything. Look at the situation from every angle.” Hudgens placed his left hand on Roland’s shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”
Hudgens told Brody goodbye and left the room. Roland stood there, absorbing everything the man had told him.
“Well?” Brody asked. “What’s your decision? If you decide to go, I won’t stop you, but there’s a chance that the family you’re looking for might not exist.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should know better than anyone that the ghettos aren’t safe. They might be dead, and you’ll be risking your life for nothing.”
For once, Roland was forced to face the truth. Beyond the safety of Hather’s borders, he could die. He clasped his hands and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. Brody had fully accepted Roland as his son. Roland could see it in the man’s sorrowful, dark eyes. It wasn’t what the man said, it was his actions that relayed his emotions. After losing his niece, Brody became withdrawn, reflecting on the past as if trying to find a way to bring her back to life. Roland missed her too. She was his caretaker, his second mother. She helped him train for the Order and then she died, her life snuffed out like a shimmering flame.
“What do you want me to do?” Roland asked the only man he could ever consider a father.
“When I was your age, I was on my own. I had to choose my own path and live with the consequences. You could choose music, or you could go out there and try to find what’s left of your family. Hudgens is a trusted colleague of mine, and he has promised to help you in any way he can. Who knows? You might come back safely and continue your career as a pianist. Only time will tell.”
A second chance. Roland’s heart raced within his chest, his palms were sweaty, but he knew he could surpass their expectations. He nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Brody’s smile was sincere as he ruffled Roland’s hair and said, “We all have to grow up at some point, right? For the record, it doesn’t matter what you do, I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Chapter XIX
Roland was nearing the end of his shift at La Bora. He sat behind the grand piano, and focused on the audience, his fingers dancing over the keys. It was a full house. The audience flaunted their designer clothes and jewelry, and some of the men sported fedoras that casted long shadows on their faces. Other than the spotlight that was aimed at Roland, the rest of the restaurant bathed in the soft glow of the lit candles which were placed in decorative holders on each table.
His thoughts drifted as he played the song’s intro, a slow, melodic sound. Imani had begged to visit his workplace. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had eventually given in, and took her to La Bora. After his match with Carl and the ordeal he went through with the Order, he had composed a new song and was sharing it with his audience for the first time.
He smiled when he met Imani’s gaze. She’d found a seat close to the stage. She looked pretty. He wasn’t sure if it was the lighting playing tricks on his mind or something else. Her olive skin had a healthy glow, her dark eyes sparkled. She wore a white dress shirt and black breeches with a pair of long leather boots.
He took a slow breath and sang.
“I’m strong
er than my rival.
I won’t surrender today.
Gonna keep marching down this path I chose to take.
I won’t let you beat me down.
Leave you in the past.”
He wanted to be stronger; he wanted to be able to protect the people he cared about. Time went by in a flash. Before he knew it, the next performer, a woman in her fifties, her black hair streaked with gray, was walking toward the stage, motioning for him to leave. Roland stood and bowed.
The crowd clapped. He watched them for a moment, enjoying their cheerful faces. Maybe rich people weren’t all that bad.
He promptly left the stage and took the empty chair beside Imani. The pianist began a soothing classical piece.
“Wow,” Imani breathed. “I’ve heard you were good but that was amazing. Who knew you could sing like that?”
“Did I blow you away?”
She winked. “I’m breathless.”
Roland’s stomach churned and his face flushed.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“A bit.”
Imani flipped through the menu. “I’m in the mood for dessert. A slice of cheesecake sounds good. Is there anything you want?”
“I’ll get my usual, lasagna with a few slices of garlic bread.”
Imani wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t like that?”
“Garlic makes me ill.”
“That’s a serious problem,” Roland said grimly. “There might be something wrong with you.”
Her bottom lip slowly parted from the top and she asked, “Do you think I caught something serious?”
He smirked. “You could be a vampire.”
She kicked his shin. “You asshole, I was really worried.
Roland laughed.
Imani waved to a waiter who came over and took their orders, returning a few minutes later with two glasses of water and told them that their meals would be ready soon.
Once he was out of earshot, Imani held up her glass. “We’ve been accepted into the Order’s surveillance squad. To us.”
He tapped his glass against hers. “To us.”
“And Clark,” she added as an afterthought.
“Of course.”
They reminisced on the year’s major events. Roland laughed when Imani brought up the time she saw Ryan strapped to the fence outside the girl’s dormitory, completely naked. The Order’s tournament was relived in exhilarating detail as Imani boasted about her victory.
Roland smiled.
“What?” Imani asked.
“I’ll just let you do the talking.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re a great storytell—”
Someone hollered in the hallway outside the diner’s doors. A quarrel broke out as the participants hurled insults at each other. Suddenly alert, Roland and Imani watched the doorway. The conversations around them dissolved into silence. A glass vase shattered. More cursing ensued. Roland’s hand went to his side but he had left his saber in the changing room. The argument ceased and a group of men wearing black clothing marched through the dining room’s open doors. Roland’s eyes focused on the red ram emblem on their shoulders.
The Rouge Resistance had invaded his territory.
The group was led by a bulky man sporting a shaggy beard, long brown hair, and a patch over his left eye. As he walked past a table where a mother was having dinner with her young children, he raised his hand and swept all their drinks to the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the room. Six disheveled men stepped into line beside their leader. Each member had a long sword resting in a sheath by their side, a smug look on their face.
All eyes were on them.
“All right folks, I’ll tell you how things are going to work from now on,” the man in the eye patch yelled. “You’re going to feed us dinner. While you’re preparing our food, my men will go around and collect money from your customers. If you remain seated and well behaved, I promise no one gets hurt.”
Roland and Imani exchanged a glance, and he quickly whispered to her where he had placed their swords. She nodded. Roland left his seat and walked toward the men. He trusted Imani well enough. He would distract them while she fetched their swords from the changing room. It was too bad that the manager didn’t allow customers to keep their weapons on them. Mr. Carter said it was unnerving and created an unpleasant atmosphere for meals.
Well, Roland thought. We’ve dug our own grave.
The leader drew his sword and pointed it at Roland’s chest. “What are you doing, kid?” he spat.
Roland glanced at his manager in the far corner of the room. The man’s face was purple with rage. He was livid. His hands were crossed over his chest in defiance. Roland knew that Mr. Carter would rush toward them in a few more seconds.
Roland’s hands hung loosely at his sides. Imani had stayed low and crawled into the changing room. It dawned on Roland that he hadn’t planned much further than this.
“Are you trying to pick a fight, brat?” the man snarled.
An idea occurred in Roland’s mind, he would play the role of a proper gentleman. “Good evening,” he said, smiling. “May I take your order, please?”
Beneath that smile was the promise of vengeance.
Chapter XX
The Rouge Resistance Members carried out their task, collecting money from the customers. Roland glanced at Imani. She shifted uneasily in her chair. He knew that her unsettled manner occurred from the desire to fight. When their eyes met, Roland shook his head. It wasn’t time to attack them…yet. A young waiter followed Roland’s example and cleared a table for the intruders, his hands trembling. The pianist continued her piece. The brutish looking men sat and dropped their earnings on the table. They looked around, scanning the panicked faces for anyone that opposed them, probably longing for a fight.
Roland brought steaming plates of food from the kitchen and placed it in front of them. A tempting arrangement of chicken, pasta, and fries. For good measure, the chef gave Roland a bottle of scotch. Roland wanted to let them relax, and then figure out a way to get the money back. He poured the liquid into their wine glasses. The men drank quickly, and they demanded more.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
He wasn’t sure when Imani left her seat, but surely enough her sword was strapped to her side. Her unwavering gaze examined the men. Roland grabbed her arm.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Something a coward like you would never have the guts to do.”
“Imani.”
“Roland.”
“I’m handling this, sit down.”
They glared at each other. Roland was planning on attacking them, he just needed time. He didn’t like to rush into a situation without a plan.
“What do we have here?” a man with gray hair asked, rising from his chair.
“Nothing,” Roland replied hastily, “she was just going back to her seat.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Imani, I’ll give you three seconds.”
Imani removed his fingers from her arm and brushed past him. Roland drew in a sharp breath. She refused to listen to reason. He thought they had a mutual understanding. He was wrong.
“Which one of you is the leader?” Imani asked.
The man with long brown hair and a scraggly beard studied her. “Of all the people here, the only person who has the balls to retaliate is a little girl. Tell you what; you seem like a sweet little thing so I’ll let you off with a warning. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Imani scoffed. “So are you the one in charge of these savages?”
“I am.”
“I would like to make a deal. I don’t like to surrender to people that I deem weaker than me.” She took out a hundred dollar bill from her pocket and held it above their heads. “If I fight against your boss and win, all the money belongs to me. However, if I lose, you’ll get the money plus the hundred dollar bill.”
The man stood. He was roughly a foot taller than Imani. Still, she drew her sword and placed her money in her pocket.
The man threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve caught my interest, girl.”
He took out his long sword and walked toward Imani. They were no formalities before the duel, only an air of uncertainty. In psychology, there was something called the “bystander effect.” Roland glanced around the room, witnessing it taking place. The people wouldn’t meet his gaze, they stared at their plates, refusing to endanger their lives. When people were gathered in a large crowd and a threatening situation ensued—like someone getting assaulted—they passed the responsibility of interfering to someone else. After all, there were other people there. Someone else would do it. It didn’t have to be them.
Imani blocked the man’s attack with a cross. Though she had a petite frame, she matched the strength behind his blow with a stable block. Of course, Imani had been practicing for years and her muscles were well adapted for sparring. She was by no means weak.
Imani advanced, driving the man toward the corner. She slashed and parried, darting in and out of his reach. Dodging his downward strike, she jumped and slashed his cheek. Blood dripped from the wound and his eyes burned with anger. His attacks became quicker, and stronger. Imani stood her ground. She hit his nose with the sword’s hilt and blood spewed from his nostrils.
“I’ll kill ya, bitch!” The man reached for Imani’s legs but she jumped out his reach, slamming the flat part of the sword against his neck, hitting a nerve. The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body slumped forward.
Imani stared at Roland, daring him to take up his sword and fight.
The resistance members rose from their tables. Some walked toward Imani, others surrounded Roland, all brandishing their weapons. They were pissed. Roland could see this situation ending terribly wrong. Only two surrounded Imani, while he had to deal with four of them.
“You ordered her to do that?” the gray haired man asked.
Roland raised both hands. “Yes, yes I did. I hate people who have no respect for others, and so does she. Let’s fight, gentlemen. Can’t let her have all the fun.”