Requiem

by Jim Moens

  “That's far enough!” came a voice that filled the room. A hooded figure rose from the throne and approached. The warriors accompanying Kiron all dropped to one knee.

  “Kneel!” the lead warrior hissed at Kiron.

  “I don't kneel for anyone,” Kiron said.

  “This is the Empress!”

  “She's your Empress,” Kiron said, “not mine.”

  The Empress approached and walked slowly down the three stone steps. She came face to face with Kiron, who finally did manage to bow, at least.

  “Empress, I am the warrior Kiron, of the clan Koshira. I hail from the village of Harinath. I am here on a mission of peace. I am here to discuss a truce between our clans.”

  “Why didn't Cyriak come as well?” the Empress asked, referring to the leader of the clan.

  “I'm afraid Cyriak has been ailing of late,” Kiron said. “It was likely he wouldn't have survived the journey across the desert. I barely survived it myself.”

  “I see.” the Empress said, her voice rich and strong. “So instead he sends his best warrior.”

  “We're all fine warriors,” Kiron replied. “And we all look forward to fighting alongside yours.”

  “I expect you do,” she said. “Now open your visor. I wish to see your face.”

  Kiron went a step further and removed his helmet, revealing his handsome but weather-beaten face and weary eyes.

  “Very good,” the Empress said. “Very good indeed.” She directed her gaze at the lead warrior. “Now kill him, please.”

  Suddenly Kiron realized that the olive branch of removing his helmet may not have been a wise move. He reached back and drew both of his swords. The group of warriors stepped back. The lead warrior drew his own swords and the two began circling one another.

  “I like to know a man's name before I kill him,” Kiron said.

  “I am Kala-Ru,” the lead warrior answered. “Now you will prepare to die!”

  Kala-Ru thrust forward with one sword, a blow that Kiron was easily able to block. Kiron swept his sword directly at Kala-Ru's neck. Blocked. Kala-Ru answered with the same move, and Kiron bent back, far enough that the sword rushed by. This battle was looking to be a stalemate of skill, decided only by luck or perhaps a slight edge in reflexes.

  The two warriors stepped back and regarded each other cautiously.

  “I hope you know,” Kiron said, “your head will soon be on the castle floor, rolling towards the feet of your precious Empress.”

  “Not before I slice you in two!” Kala-Ru said before issuing a fierce war cry and unleashing a fury of strikes. Kiron met each one with a block or a blow of his own. Neither warrior seemed able to seize the advantage.

  “Enough!” the Empress shouted. “Volitor!”

  Kala-Ru immediately backed away. An enormous figure emerged from the shadows, clad in sleek blood-red armor.

  “Volitor,” the Empress said, her voice now calm and quiet, “please kill our visitor. And do so quickly. I have a celebratory feast to prepare for.”

  Kiron thought that Volitor moved quite quickly for one so large. Maybe it was the dark magics showing their hand once again, or perhaps Volitor was some sort of steam-powered mechanical creature. In any case, Kiron had to create some distance between himself and Volitor. He slammed a kick into Volitor's chest, hoping to push the armored beast back. Kiron only ended up on his back on the floor of the throne room. He scrambled away as Volitor approached. Kiron brandished his lead sword as he stood.

  Volitor turned slightly and delivered a backhand blow. Kiron was barely able to duck, but managed to swing his sword. He suddenly became aware he was moving more slowly by the second. Fatigue from his long journey, perhaps.

  Volitor thrust an armored boot into Kiron's midsection, sending him flying back several feet into a stone wall. Kiron fairly well bounced off the wall and landed face first on the floor. Kiron struggled to stand as Volitor approached.

  “What's happening?” Kiron said, as much to himself as anyone else. He looked up, and even through his blurring vision, he could see the Empress' smile under the shadow of her hood.

  “Volitor!” she cried and held up a hand. “I'll kill him myself.”

  Volitor nodded and stood stock still.

  “Kala-Ru! Your sword, please.”

  Kala-Ru stepped forward and handed the Empress his sword. Kiron struggled to take a step. Then another. He suddenly realized he couldn't move at all.

  “What's wrong, warrior?” the Empress said as she hefted the sword.

  “I... I can't move,” Kiron said.

  “I'm very sorry to hear that,” the Empress said, her voice fairly well dripping with faux sympathy.

  Kala-Ru spoke up. “I told you to switch to broadband.”

  “It's not that,” Kiron said, “I think it's my router. Damn thing hasn't been working right all week.”

  “Just download the firmware update,” another warrior said. “Takes like two minutes.”

  “Enough of the geek talk, alright?” the Empress said with a broad shrug.

  “Sorry,” Kala-Ru said.

  “Yeah, sorry,” the other warrior said.

  “Now may I kill my opponent, please? Is that alright with all of you?”

  “Fine,” said Kala-Ru.

  The Empress rolled her eyes then turned to Kiron and raised her sword. “Are you prepared to die?” she said.

  “Not really,” Kiron replied, still unable to move a muscle.

  The Empress leveled her sword and

  Doug Schmidt peered down under his desk.

  “Seriously?” he muttered to himself. “This crap again?”

  The cords all appeared to be connected. The blue power light was glowing. Doug sighed as he sat back up and stared at the screen of his laptop, dominated by a large, ornate logo for something called “QuestWorld”. Suddenly, a beep. A small window appeared in the bottom right corner of his laptop's screen.

  KALA-RU: dodged a bullet there, huh?

  Doug smiled. He began to type.

  KIRON: more like decapitation by sword

  KALA-RU: LOL

  KIRON: there but for the grace of a bad wifi connection, my head on the empress' floor

  KALA-RU: you got that right

  KALA-RU: she was pissed LOL

  KIRON: i bet

  KALA-RU: i've missed you, you know

  KIRON: :-(

  KIRON: been working a lot

  KIRON: sorry

  KALA-RU: *sigh*

  KALA-RU: i wish you could come to oregon

  KIRON: someday i'm sure

  KALA-RU: maybe i should come to illinois

  Doug leaned back. The mighty warrior Kala-Ru was actually a twenty-eight year old database administrator from Portland, Oregon named Laurel. They began chatting during online QuestWorld sessions. Chatting became emailing and eventually pictures were exchanged. Laurel was cute enough, but the fact that she was half a country away tended to put a damper on Doug's ardor. The geography didn't seem to bother Laurel though. She pursued Doug as though they lived in the same town and could meet for a cup of coffee at the drop of a hat.

  KIRON: maybe someday

  KALA-RU: seriously?

  KALA-RU: i thought you wanted to meet

  KIRON: it's hard. you know, with the kid and all

  Doug was protective of his daughter Frankie... plus, there was the matter of an unwritten agreement with Frankie's mother Lisa that neither of them would introduce their child to every last person they dated. Lisa called it “avoiding the endless parade of fake parental figures”. It was easy for her, given that she was currently living in Milwaukee, a good four hour drive away. It wasn't too hard for Doug either, given that he hadn't gone out on a date in over a year.

  KALA-RU: i wish i could meet a guy like you here

  KIRON: i bet there is a guy like me there. you just have to find him.

  KALA-RU: * sigh* i suppose

  KIRON: listen i should get to bed. early day tomorrow


  KALA-RU: okay then

  KIRON: good night

  KALA-RU: good night :-*

  Of course she signed off with the kiss smiley, just as she had innumerable times before.

  CHAPTER THREE

  1951

  She was as beautiful as any girl he had ever seen. Her eyes were wide and dark, her lips full. Her hair, as dark as her eyes, fell along her long, almost regal neckline. She sat under a tall oak, just inside the shade, her legs tucked under her.

  The young man emerged from the lake and stared at the young woman for just a moment. Not so long as to make her uncomfortable, but perhaps just long enough to make her aware of his presence. He was surprised by her reaction. Her grin was an easy and friendly one, not the beatific smile he had imagined. He thought it best to at least appear that he was keeping his cool, so he answered with a half-smile of his own. He was suddenly conscious of having dug his toes deep into the wet sand.

  “Hello,” she said after a moment. Her glance traveled from head to toe. He wished he had taken a moment to throw on a shirt, imagining that she favored the sort of men one would see on the cover of a dime novel... rippling with muscles, square jawed, their expressions ripe with determination. He was none of those things.

  He offered a broad wave. “I'm Dennis,” he said, grateful his voice didn't break.

  “I'm Ayala,” she said, her gaze unwavering, her voice graceful and with the hint of an accent.

  “Ayala.” Dennis turned her name over in his mind. Beautiful. “What is that? Italian?”

  “I'm Romanian,” she said, again with that smile. “Well, I'm American, but my family is Romanian.”

  “I'm German,” he said. “I mean, I'm American. My family is German. And I think Scottish. And maybe Irish, I guess.”

  She nodded, taking it all in. She patted the ground next to her.

  “Dennis, would you like to get some shade?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Dennis said and shook the sand from his toes. He walked over, acutely aware of his every step, and sat cross-legged next to her. He was careful to sit close, but not too close.

  “Are you new in town?” Dennis asked, leaning in ever-so-slightly.

  Ayala nodded. “We may just be passing through,” she said.

  That won't do. “Looking for work, maybe?” Dennis said, already formulating a plan.

  “My papa says we go where the work takes us,” she replied. “Though it would be nice to stay in one place for awhile.”

  “Has your father gone to the quarry yet?”

  “The quarry?”

  “It's on the west end of town,” Dennis said. “I know they need a couple good, strong men. Your father should go there.”

  “How do you know this? Do you work there?”

  “My father was talking about it over dinner the other night.” A pause, then, “My family owns the quarry.”

  Ayala's eyes widened just a bit.

  “I have a feeling your papa is a good man with a strong back,” Dennis said. “I know the quarry could use a fellow like that.”

  She smiled, and Dennis looked down shyly.

  “Schmidt Brothers Quarry,” he said and cleared his throat. “Just on the west--”

  “--end of town,” Ayala said with a nod. “I will tell him. Thank you, Dennis.”

  A pause, then Dennis cleared his throat. “So are you here with friends?”

  “My sisters, actually.”

  Dennis nodded. “Are they... are they as lovely as you?”

  Ayala looked away and smiled. “You are a very sweet man. And they are, I think, far prettier than me.”

  Man, Dennis thought. She said I was a man.

  “We've been picking flowers for our mother,” Ayala continued. “I fortunately decided to rest for a moment.”

  Dennis didn't miss her emphasis on the word fortunately.

  “I'm glad you did,” Dennis said. He took a deep breath. “You know, there's a carnival on the riverfront this weekend.”

  Ayala looked at him and smiled. “There is? Perhaps I should go.”

  “Maybe you could meet me there,” Dennis said. “I'll buy you a cotton candy.”

  “I love cotton candy.”

  “And there's going to be a Ferris wheel and I think a roller coaster.”

  “That all sounds wonderful,” Ayala said. “Can I bring my sisters?”

  Dennis thought perhaps his best pal Fred would like to meet one of Ayala's sisters. Chuck might too. “I'll bring a couple buddies, how's that? Saturday night, around seven?”

  “That's perfect,” Ayala said. “Just perfect.”

  Dennis couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Doug sized up Young Nick (as he had already nicknamed him) right away. The kid was a little nervous, which was good... that meant he cared about his new job. He seemed intelligent, was attentive, and asked good questions. Best of all, he didn't pretend like he already knew everything that Doug had to share with him. That sort of arrogance generally came from those who thought they were above any kind of retail job.

  It wasn't all that hard to get hired on at Hester's Value Mart, but not everybody lasted. Between the usual odd retail hours, constantly shifting priorities, and dealing with irate customers, many new people would last only a few weeks, if that. Doug had high hopes for Young Nick, though.

  “Sales is really simple,” Doug told him. “You just find out what people really want and give it to them.”

  “Sounds like dating,” Young Nick said with a chuckle.

  Doug chuckled back, a bit ruefully. “I wouldn't know too much about that.”

  An elderly couple approached.

  “How can I help you folks today?” Doug said to them.

  “We want to buy a camera,” the man said. “One of those digital ones.”

  Doug swept his arm across the display counter of digital cameras he and Young Nick stood behind. “Well, you've come to the right place,” he said. “Did you have a particular model in mind?”

  “Not really,” the man said. “We don't know too much about them.”

  “Sure, of course.” Doug said, leaning forward just a bit. “So let me ask you this... what are you mostly going to take pictures of?”

  “Probably our grandson,” the woman answered.

  “Of course,” Doug said. “So you probably want to take pictures at sporting events, things like that?”

  “He's in track,” the man said. “He's probably going to state in cross-country.”

  Doug smiled. “Excellent. Good for him. So you want to get good pictures at those track meets, I bet.”

  “Oh yes,” the man said, nodding vigorously.

  “So you'll want a camera with a good optical zoom, then. That way, you can capture all those winning moments, even if you're way up in the stands.”

  “We don't want to spend a lot of money,” the woman said.

  “Of course not,” Doug said, and held up a slim black and silver camera. “That's why I recommend this one. It's not very expensive, but it's got a good zoom and very good picture quality.”

  The man and the woman looked at each other.

  “Okay,” the man said with a shrug. “We'll take it.”

  Doug drew his walkie talkie from his belt. “Great! Let me just get one from the stockroom for you.” He pressed a button on the walkie. “Hey, Bill? You there?”

  “This is Bill,” came a staticy voice.

  “Hey, this is Doug. I need one of those new digital Nikons up here for a customer. You need the stock number?”

  “Nah, I got it. I'll be there in a few.”

  Bill Murphy was one of those guys that everybody liked in spite of himself. His gruff demeanor did a lousy job of covering up the fact that he would give anyone the shirt off his back if they really needed it. He also ran the stockroom at Hester's like a well-oiled machine. He had the camera in Doug's hands in three minutes flat.

  “New guy?” Bill said, barely giving Young Nick a glanc
e.

  “Yeah... Bill, this is Nick,” Doug said, “Nick, Bill. He's the guy you want to suck up to here. He rules that stockroom with an iron fist. You need anything from back there, he's your man.”

  “It's true,” Bill said, as he and Nick shook hands. “Don't piss me off. I can make your shifts here a living hell.”

  Nick appeared to be genuinely nervous. “I, uh... I won't, sir,” he said.

  “I'm kidding, buddy,” Bill said. “It's all good.”

  “He wouldn't hurt a fly, actually,” Doug said.

  Bill was not a big man... several inches shorter than Doug and rail thin. Somehow he still managed to intimidate. Doug often theorized it was the abundance flaming skull tattoos, along with his ability to glower on command.

  “Alright... later, kids,” Bill said. “I have to go do actual work now.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Nick called out as Bill walked away.

  Bill stopped and turned back towards them. “Hey, give me a call later,” he said to Doug.

  “Sure,” Doug said with a nod. Then to Nick, “We should get back to work too.”

  The rest of the evening passed more or less without incident. Doug managed to train Nick on almost every aspect of the electronics department, as well as the ins and outs of dealing with customers and the store itself. Nick actually taught Doug a thing or two about tablet computers and smartphones.

  Doug was really starting to like the kid.

  The entire team managed to clean up their areas and put away stray items fairly early (it was a typical slow Tuesday, after all), so everyone was dismissed just a half an hour after store closing.

  “Good job tonight,” Doug said to Nick as they stepped out into the cool night air.

  “Thanks, man,” Nick replied with a grin.