4
"I am Necessary Evil…"
Bane strode through the masses of seedy people that flowed like sewage through the dim, dingy underground streets—noisy, foul-smelling, and leering from beneath hoods or low-pulled hats. He walked with a long, even stride, and those in front of him shifted out of his path. He cut a great swath through their ranks—his mighty, agile form earned him startled, sometimes terrified, glances from the members of the underworld. No one even dared to brush against the sleeves of his worn, leather coat. They knew who he was. Any of them could name him on sight, and no one inquired into his business.
Bane was on the move—alone and unarmed. Yet every motion he made implied a potent and deadly capability.
He had been listening. Listening, as he always did, to the rumbles, the whispers, the rumors that slid and slithered through the dark places of the world. Listened, until one hushed, startled cry rippled through all of the fevered murmurs:
Ra's al Ghul is dead!
And then Bane had taken to the streets.
Using every strain of knowledge and considerable influence he had mustered over the years, he had traced down a nearly invisible thread, and followed it to its source. Its source, which now stood mere feet away.
He turned a corner, and ascended a set of narrow stone steps. His boots thudded as he climbed. He made no effort at stealth.
He arrived at a landing, paused, and glanced forward through a partially-open shutter-door into a plain wooden room beyond.
He felt them watching him—from above, behind, all around—though he could not see them. It had been a long time—ages to him—but he had no doubt they recognized him.
He ignored them.
Masculine voices issued from the shuttered room. He stepped forward, then lingered in the shadow of the threshold, peering inside.
A group of men, all garbed in a utilitarian fashion, stood or sat around a beaten rectangular table, facing the wall to Bane's right. He only recognized about a third of their scarred, weather-beaten faces. The others were newer, younger members. Their intense, calm gazes did not find him—they watched a young, bearded man who stood apart—a man who addressed someone out of Bane's sight.
It felt like so long…
"I understand," the young man said, unblinking. "But the game has now changed. If we proceed, we will be dealing with a man who was once one of our members," he gestured to the others. "One who, single-handedly, has murdered Ra's al Ghul."
"Gotham is rotting from within," answered a clear, calm—female—voice.
A voice that sent thrills through Bane's blood.
"Its very core is corrupted," she went on. "And the plague that infects it is already spreading. My father would want us to continue, to pursue our purpose to its end."
"We agree, of course," a man with long black hair and piercing green eyes—an assassin named Ghil-hal—said he stepped forward. "Our uncertainty lies with you."
Bane shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tilting his head. Waiting.
"What do you mean?" the woman asked.
"You have trained with our brotherhood," the Ghil-hal went on, stepping slightly past the bearded young man. "And we know you are no stranger to pain. But you have never led us into battle—never even accompanied us on a mission."
Murmurs of agreement rustled through the ranks. Bane lifted his chin.
"My father made me his heir," the woman said firmly. "He bestowed upon me ancient practices and knowledge he shared with no one else."
"Book learning does not make you a leader," Ghil-hal snapped back. "And it does not make you fit to spearhead one of the most dangerous and delicate operations we have ever undertaken."
"Ghil-hal, my friend," Bane rumbled, his booming voice echoing as he shoved the shutter-door aside and strode into the room. "It sounds to me as if you are afraid." Bane pinned him with a terrible stare. "Afraid—or in possession of a streak of treachery."
All of them twitched—their attention snapped to him.
"Bane," another, Aaron, let loose his name as if on accident.
"Good to see you, Aaron," Bane said robustly, nodding to him as he continued walking in. He felt her, standing off to his right and behind.
He did not look at her.
"Treachery?" Ghil-hal spat, eyes blazing. "Who are you to come here without our invitation and make accusations? You! You were disgraced and excommunicated by Ra's al Ghul himself!"
"You have made another mistake, Brother," Bane drew himself up and hooked his hands through the vest beneath his coat. "I was not excommunicated, nor was I disgraced. I was secretly sent by our esteemed master out into the world to gather resources, build alliances, convert more warriors to our cause." He turned, and addressed them all. "To make preparations, in the event that this last assault upon Gotham failed."
She moved behind him. Stepped forward, to stand even with him—several feet away. Bane did not turn.
"Are you saying that Ra's al Ghul anticipated failure?" the bearded young man asked Bane, eyes narrowed.
"Of course not," Bane replied. "If you will recall, I used the word preparations. Only a fool goes into battle without first counting the cost and insuring against all possible outcomes." He looked again at the rest of them. "Gotham stands upon the tipping point. It just requires the proper push."
"No one is contesting the fact that Gotham must be brought down," Ghil-hal said coldly, turning his focus from Bane to the one standing off to the side of him. Ghil-hal stepped forward, to stand in front of her. And finally, Bane turned…
And laid eyes upon her for the first time.
He could not look away.
Lovely and striking and fierce—she stood like a pillar, wearing black, her arms folded, her long, thick hair done back in a braid. Her blue eyes sparked at Ghil-hal, and she did not step back. She just lifted her face, and stared icily at him.
Ghil-hal smirked.
"I simply know that I am not alone when I say…" Ghil-hal murmured. "That the League of Shadows should not be commanded by a little girl." He ran his gaze up and down her form. "No matter how pleasing her face and her figure." And he reached out, and touched her cheek.
Bane hit him.
An eyeblink of movement—a flash of his fist—
And Ghil-hal's face broke with a sickening crack.
Blood flew.
Ghil-hal crashed to the floor and laid still, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.
Everyone froze.
Bane shook out his hand, then rubbed his knuckles and looked briskly around at the other men.
"I am certain that he was alone," Bane declared. "I am counting upon it. For another duty with which our beloved master charged me was the protection of his heir. I plan to fulfill that duty against our enemies…" He raised his eyebrows pointedly. "For I truly do not believe I will ever be required to come to her aid whilst she is in the presence of her brothers."
Aaron swallowed.
The rest of their eyes watched him, unblinking.
Bane took a breath, paying no heed to the body on the floor.
"You see," Bane continued. "Our plan to collapse Gotham cannot succeed without her. She holds the key, the final answer, to that wicked city's undoing."
He turned, and attended to her.
And again, he waited.
And bit back that underhanded, burning hope.
She did not look at him. But she lifted her head, and addressed the others.
"There are plans for a nuclear reactor to be built beneath the streets of Gotham," she said. "A reactor that can, if necessary, be turned into a nuclear bomb. My father has given me the tools and the resources to enter Gotham as one of its citizens, and ensure that this reactor is built."
For a long while, the other men considered.
Then, they nodded.
The tension in Bane's chest loosened.
And Talia turned, and left the room.
BBBBB
Bane remained among his former brethren for almost an hour, reacquainting himself with their ways of speech, the ebbs and flows of their dynamics and conversation. They exchanged rousing stories of conquests and captures, of Bane's travels and the discoveries he had made. They spoke in detail about the brothers they had lost during the failed raid on Gotham—and the one who had foiled them: a former pupil of Ra's al Ghul's named Bruce Wayne. Bane listened, absorbing everything, but caring little for it.
And all the while, an irrepressible force pulled him toward the door.
At long last, when food was brought in and the men began to eat and get drunk, Bane withdrew, stepped out through that door, and followed a long, thin, dark hallway toward a door that stood slightly ajar.
He did not disguise his footsteps. He did not wish to be covert. He wanted her to hear him coming.
He pushed the door aside, and looked in.
It was a small room, longer lengthwise than it was deep. Talia sat with her back to him at an ornate desk, a single bright candle alight upon it as her careful hands worked on a small weaving. The rest of the room was hung with darkness.
Bane paused. His heart beat fast—but she seemed utterly calm. He stayed where he was—for all of a sudden, he could summon nothing to say.
This was not what he expected. He had imagined their reunion hundreds, thousands of times. He had imagined…
What?
What had he imagined?
He swallowed, suddenly feeling weak. Ashamed. Hollow.
"You lied."
Her quiet voice entered the silent space between them. And it was not an accusation. It was an observation.
"I did," he confessed, managing to summon enough volume. She did not turn.
"I thought so," she said. "My father had many flaws, but he never deceived me. Not once." She reached over and picked up a long, thick cord. Bane caught sight of her profile—soft in the little light.
"He told me he could not abide your deformity any longer," she said. "That your presence among us tormented him with memories of my mother. And so he banished you."
"Yes," Bane whispered roughly. "He did."
Talia thoughtfully wound the cord around her fingers.
A sharp, twisting sensation started in Bane's chest and wouldn't release.
"And now he, my only family, is dead," she murmured. "Murdered. By a real traitor."
Bane said nothing.
Talia canted her head.
"How did you know?"
"Know what?" Bane wondered.
"How did you know I was aware of the reactor?" she clarified.
"I didn't," he admitted. "But you have always been a step ahead of everyone else, Talia al Ghul. I knew you would supply them with something."
She halfway turned, but still did not look at him.
"But you do believe what you said about Gotham. And about me."
"Yes," Bane answered, his throat tightening. "Every word."
"Then you will help me?"
Her hopeful question lifted into the air.
Bane took a low breath.
"I will do whatever you ask."
To be continued…