The Trinity Sitch - Book 4: Heart of the Fury
Chapter 10 - The Hand of the Fury
Two days had come and gone by in the cell.
Ron was starting to worry that he was cut off from home and his KP forever.
Food was brought by more large men wearing strange, garishly painted armor, though not a word was spoken to or by Sagan while they were there. The hulking general himself was somewhat taciturn but the hours spent with nothing to do but stare at each other in the dim light they finally were able to strike up a conversation.
What the alien had to say, however, did not thrill him in the least.
The Torellians had been in space for just over fifty years when they first encountered the Arkonians, now two years hence. They had been aware of the existence of the planet but they had no idea it was inhabited until they suddenly started sending out their own starships, spacecraft more advanced than anything known to the few races who had left their own home worlds behind.
The sudden appearance of the powerful, speedy ships changed the balance of power. As the man-like race moved out into new colonies, there was a political schism, led by a group of young dissidents who no longer wanted to live under Imperial rule, opting instead to form their own autonomous colonial governments. At first, the cash strapped Imperial court saw fit to let them do so, basically sending them out on their own, cutting them off from control and from aid.
Surprisingly, the new colonies thrived. Unfortunately, that eventually created the impression of a threat. New fleets of combat ships were built to regain power and reunite all Torellians under one flag. Civil erupted between the two factions, eventually resulting in an uneasy stalemate.
The Arkonians quickly threw in with the Empire of Tor El Ka. With an infusion of new weapons and new ships they started forcing the loose confederation of colonies further and further back, threatening to eradicate the nascent Republic.
What few besides Sagan and a few other members of the military knew was that the Arkonians were betraying the Imperials, sending aid to the colonies in secret. They were playing both sides. To what aim, they did not yet know.
Ron could guess, based on what he knew about the "Master" of the Arkonians.
How that led to his imprisonment on the contested surface of the planet Troxxite, he had no clue.
The planet itself was generally considered to be worthless. Worthless, except for the fact both sides wanted it! It wasn't on any shipping lanes, it had no easily extracted natural resources. It wasn't even comfortable by Torellian standards, with much of the surface covered by dense jungle. They preferred cool, dry climates like the cloud enshrouded homeworld they called Tor El Ka.
The planet had one more surprise. There was a colony of humans living there on a large island located on a lake in the southern hemisphere. How they got there was any guess, considering they had been there at least two hundred Terran years and they spoke and older dialect of Arkonian. The called their tiny island/state Vershaltia.
At first the local governor had seen fit to simply ignore the colony. They kept to themselves and didn't consume resources important to the garrison (which was stationed on the far side of the planet anyway) That arrangement went on for some time. That is, until the tide of the civil war started turning in favor of the Torellian colonies. That was when the edicts were issued.
No humans would be allowed on planets controlled by the Torellian Empire. They were given ten days to leave. After that, they would simply be exterminated.
The Vershaltians possessed no means of leaving the planet. However they had gotten there, they only had iron age technology. The Torellians never intended for them to leave.
That was what had led to Sagan's imprisonment. He protested, issuing a challenge to his superiors they would be honor bound to meet. Instead they had him stripped of his command and thrown him in the local gladiatorial pits. That had been three days ago.
In less than a week Vershaltia would be bombed out of existence.
That last part is what scared Ron the most. This was how they dealt with condemned prisoners here. They would be forced to fight to the death, much like his human ancestors had on Earth. However that paled in his mind considering there were more than two hundred lives at stake. Thoughts of his survival in the ring, thoughts of returning to Kim were pushed aside. His mission now was to escape and save those people.
Sagan shook his head in amazement at that. Here was a human, and not even an Arkonian who was literally less than half his size, not trained in the arts of war, who had literally never met a Vershaltian in his life, who had now pledged to save them, despite the fact he was likely not going to live to see the next day.
"I like your spirit, Ron Stoppable." He said, tripping over Ron's name in his guttural dialect of Arkonian. "If all your people are like you, they must be a formidable race."
"They have their moments." He said, thinking that any race of beings that could produce KP had to be the greatest in the universe.
"So, my little Golden Warrior, what would you do to save these people?"
Kim never took too kindly to being grabbed from behind, even when she recognized the voice. She planted a foot, grabbing the arm that muffled her by the wrist and twisted downwards. Knowing who her assailant was, she was surprised when she went sailing through the door she had been about to slide open.
Yori landed in a heap of broken framework and torn Shoji paper. In a heartbeat Kim was on top of her, a fist poised to strike.
"Where's Ron?"
"He is someplace safe." She said, never taking her eyes off Kim's fist.
Kim's eyes narrowed at the Japanese woman. Something was a little off but she could not put her finger on it. Still, her hand did not waver from it's ready to strike position.
"Not good enough! You just said I had to come with you if he was going to live. That doesn't sound safe to me so SPILL!" She almost roared at her.
"Ron-san is safe for the moment but he cannot remain so forever."
"Quit trying to be oblique with me Yori! Location, condition, NOW!"
"I…cannot tell you yet."
"Wrong answer!" Kim hauled her up by the front of her gi. The woman flinched just a bit, sure that Kim would throw the punch. Instead she lowered the arm.
"Where are my clothes?" She wasn't about to go traipsing around the mountains of Japan in nothing but a light sleeping kimono. In fact, she wasn't going to be traipsing anywhere. She was going to get some answers and whether they came from Yori or from Sensei, at that very moment she didn't care. It was clear to her now that the old man had done something to her, had employed some mystical monkey business to put her at ease, to make her agree to spending the night.
To delay her.
That meant, whatever was going on, Sensei and his school had something to do with it. He lied to her about Yori. What else had he lied about?
"Your clothing is in the room beside yours. The servants cleaned it as best they could. None of the sensitive systems of your suit have come to harm." Yori answered with her eyes downcast.
Kim backed away from her, glancing in the open door of the small cubicle. Her super-suit was propped on a clothes stand while her pants were neatly folded on the floor, along with the form-fitting boots. The other woman politely looked away as she quickly changed into her mission gear.
Snapping her Kimmunicator bracelet in place she hit the call button, ready to rip Wade a new one for not checking in with her already. She readied her diatribe as the holographic projector winked to life.
"No signal." Scrolled by in the air.
That didn't make any sense! All of Japan was smack dab in the heart of one of the strongest satellite signals on Earth. There wasn't anywhere on the island nation her Kimmunicator shouldn't work. Frustrated, she stepped out of the small guest house, just in case it was somehow causing interference.
She took one stop off the wooden decking of the house, her foot sinking up to her ankle in sticky wet mud. Looking up, the air in her lungs escaped in a startled yelp.
The Blue Fox was not sitting outside in the courtyard. Actually, the courtyard was not there either, nor where any of the other Yamanuchi buildings. There was nothing there except a small clearing in a very thick rainforest.
She turned back just in time to see the guest house fading from view, leaving only Yori standing there in the moonlight. Kim was about to make a comment about where all this registered on the weirdness scale when she happened to glance up at the moons shining in the clear night sky.
Moons.
Plural moons. Two of them. One was large and white, much like she was accustomed to seeing, except it didn't bear the darker markings she was familiar with. The other, smaller one had a softer look to it, reflecting the light of a sun with a soft blue glow.
There were two moons above her and Yamanuchi and perhaps all of Japan and very likely all of her world were gone!
What was gong on?
"We must hurry!" Yori pleaded.
Kim's eyes narrowed on the other woman. There was only so much she could take and she had passed that point long before she realized she was no longer on the familiar world of her birth. She was on her in a flash, pinning her down in the cold mud.
"I've just flown half way around the world to have an old man I barely know act like some kind of marriage counselor then have him put some kind of whammy on me then wake up with you telling me my husband is in some kind of danger and then he's safe but he wont' stay that way unless we hurry and then everything disappears and we're in a jungle with two moons so, Yori, when I ask you what's going on…
…I FEROCIOUSLY WANT AN ANSWER!" She screamed, her hands gripping silk lapels.
Yori responded by putting a knee in her gut.
Kim rolled off of her, trying to catch her breath. Moments later Yori was on top, trying to pin her down. Bunching her legs up, Kim was able to force her away.
There was no one around to remark on how odd it was that two women, one skilled in sixteen kinds of Kung-Fu, the other a ninja master, were rolling around in the mud in the middle of an alien rain forest.
Kim got a handful of gi again and slugged her opponent in the chin, knock the back of her head into the wet muck with an audible 'fwap.'
We so don't have time for this! Kim thought.
Perhaps it was an abstract thought slipping through because of the utter silliness of two women mud wrestling alone in the moonlight, but something suddenly struck her as odd.
Yori called Ron 'Ron-san.'
Yet Ron often told Kim that the entire time he had known Yori she had only ever called him 'Stoppable-san,' despite his entreaties that he call her by his first name. Also Kim knew she had landed some pretty good shots on her already. They were clearly both pulling their punches, but Yori had been trained since early childhood in the art of Ninjitsu, as well as several other more esoteric martial arts. That should have trumped her hybrid Kung-Fu/cheerleading fighting style any day of the week. There was a big difference between holding back and taking a hit.
Taking a shot of her own in the chin, she realized she still had to keep her head in the game.
Somehow, this needed to come to an end!
The drums started as night fell.
Ron didn't have to ask that something was about to happen. Somehow he had an inkling what that would be.
In confirmation, Sagan simply nodded in response to the question in his eyes.
The steady thump of what must have been large drums went on and on for what seemed like hours. His cellmate stood and started stretching, his shoulder and back muscles bulging as he worked days of inactivity from them. For some reason the muscles in his arms and legs didn't seem to flow as they rest of his body did. The alien noticed his stares.
"With my people, it is considered honorable to make yourself into the best warrior you can possibly be. To be a soldier is the highest calling as our warrior caste controls all aspects of our life. Long ago we found ways for a soldier who had been maimed in battle to return to service with honor and dignity. We have become masters of cybernetic limb replacement, to the point where many young warriors will volunteer to have their natural extremities replaced with stronger, faster implants. I was one such warrior, many, many years ago."
Sagan held out his hands. In the days he had spent with the alien, Ron had no idea he had bionic arms and legs. Unless you watched the movement of the simulated muscles, you would never know the difference.
The knowledge made him somewhat uneasy.
The pace of the drums started increasing. Whatever was happening seemed to be approaching.
"So how many of them are like you here?"
"I have no way of knowing. For the most part, the condemned are criminals of one kind or another. It would be unlikely they would be enhanced. There is also the possibility they will be less skilled in the arts of combat. I do have hope I may prevail for some time."
"This isn't just about prevailing." Ron said. "I have to do something about those people."
"You can't be serious, little Golden Warrior. The best you can hope for is to survive this night, or to have your ending be quick. I know your race does not value combat like ours does."
"Look, Sagan, I like you, but look at me. This is my 'Serious' face. I may act like a goofball from time to time, but if there is one thing my wife has taught me over the years, it's that there's something bigger than just me. Survival isn't enough for me. If I go down knowing what I know about these people, I'll be the biggest failure there can be. I've got to do something about it and the best chance I see of doing it will be to get away while all this competition is going on."
Sagan nodded. "I hope for your sake and for theirs you are right but do not forget, I have laid down my freedom and most likely my life for these people. I too would like an opportunity to do more than simply die in the name of their cause."
"Badical!" Ron said, in English.
"Excuse me?"
"It means really, really good." He switched back to Arkonian, still wondering exactly how it was he could speak the language now.
Somebody outside was working the bolt on the door. Moments later it swung wide, admitting a group of Torellians wearing thick robes. There were six of the all together, four of them divided among two stretchers. At first Ron thought they were bringing in two unconscious warriors but upon closer inspection he realized they were bringing in suits of armor. It was immediately clear who each set was for.
With practiced ease Sagan pulled his own suit on, snapping the chest plates in place first, pulling on the segmented leggings like a pair of pants. In moments he was linking a short cape over one shoulder, holding a large silver helmet in his hands.
The armor was, to say the least, garish. The main body was painted dark green but the chest plate had been enameled in multi-colored flames. In the center of the chest was a large plate of brightly polished golden metal. The arms and legs were a dark, almost black colored metal, obviously made of small plates that could moved as naturally as the flesh beneath them, or in his case, the mechanical arms and legs. The armor was completed with matching gauntlets and boots, both seemingly too large, making him look even larger than he was.
Sagan Del Maath was a formidable, towering warrior.
The attendants must have been told that Ron would have no idea how to put on his own suit. They helped him, repeating the process, showing him how the various parts fit together. He was not given a cape like Sagan's, but was still handed a rather ornate helmet. It included a mask that would completely hide his face.
His towering friend placed his helmet on his head. Ron was shocked at the similarity to another masked helmet he had once seen.
Sagan's helmet was definitely not the same as the Podondrin of Arkonia's, but the vanes at each side were the same general shape. Out of the corner of his eye he could mistake the two, though this one had a slit for the eyes and did not have the wicked stylized grin.
"For a warrior of my people, it is not proper to show your face except among friends. So that we may be identified, we have masks and helmets that mark us by family and clan. All of the Del Maath wear helmets with this design." He indicated the vanes on each side extending upwards from where his ears would be. "It would be very dishonorable to even consider masquerading as someone who you are not. I tell you this, because of what they have brought for you this night."
"I don't understand."
Sagan waited until the attendants left. He surveyed the young human, now dressed in gold and black armor, though in a form much scaled down from his own.
"The helmet they brought you is for a minor family called Den Mek. I was wondering how they were going to deal with you. This is supposed to be for Torellians alone. It is completely unknown to include a human in these competitions. It appears, in fact, they mean for you to masquerade as a Torellian. I can see two reasons for them to do so. First, as I said, such a thing would be considered highly dishonorable. I do not know if they realize you would be unaware of this, but it is actually a great insult directed at you."
"And the other?"
"They wish to dispose of you in great pain while everyone who witnesses will think you are no more than an unusually small warrior."
"Oh, great, so I'm not only being sent to my certain death, I'm being dissed? Man, that tanks!"
"Um, it would seem so." Sagan replied, not sure what the young human's strange terms meant.
An armored Torellian entered the cell, barking unintelligible orders in their guttural language. Ron shot a questioning glance at his new friend.
"He said it is time to go and you must now put on your helmet."
"No." Ron said, standing his ground.
"Ron Stoppable, I do not think this is the time to challenge a Gamesmaster." Sagan warned.
"You can tell him that if they want me to fight, I'm doing it as a human being, not hiding behind a mask just so they can insult me behind my back. I've had my fill of insults in my life and I'm not going in there just to have some bucket headed aliens do it to me again!" Ron was surprised at his outburst himself, not quite sure where it was coming from.
Whether the hulking Gamesmaster understood the Arkonian he was speaking or whether he simply divined the meaning from his tone, he simply backhanded Ron across the room, speaking calmly but clearly at him.
"He said you must put it on or he will simply rip your yellow head off himself right here." Sagan repeated for his benefit.
"Tell me how to say no in Torellian." Ron said, getting to his feet, wiping a drop of blood from his lip.
"N'hok." Sagan supplied, his eyes pleading with the young man.
"Neehawk." Ron repeated, his mouth having trouble with the alien syllables.
The Gamesmaster ripped the helmet from Ron's hands and roughly jammed it directly onto his head, snarling something at him before turning to Sagan to translate.
"He said that if you attempt to take it off, you will be shot down like a lizard-cur. Ron Stoppable, I ask you as a personal favor. Do this. There will be a time and a place for reckoning. Know now that I am your friend and I will not hold your honor in question for doing this."
Ron regarded the alien through the eye slits of his headgear, then nodded. The Gamesmaster laughed, a horrible, grunting sound that ripped into Ron's soul as they were led from the cell.
The drums continued their pounding, the sound echoing through the building.
They were led into an arena of sorts. The field itself was not extraordinarily large, perhaps only a hundred feet across, maybe half again as long. There was a small set of review stands set up for the spectators. Ron was immediately reminded of a scene in the movie Demetrius and the Gladiators.
His mind also went back to something else he had nearly forgotten about. Early in their Junior year they had gone on a field trip to the Tri-City Museum of History to view an exhibit about the World's Fair in Middleton in 1904. In the process, they had stumbled onto another exhibit being set up.
Ronnicus the Gladiator!
It was a great fantasy pretending the great warrior was a distant ancestor of his!
Only now he was wishing the masked female warrior was here to fight the battle with him!
He could see the drums now. More of the cloaked Torellians were beating them, sweat soaking their garments.
It was beginning!
Two other warriors we shoved into the center of the ring. There was no fanfare, calling of names or salute to the stands. They were simply handed large swords and they faced off.
Ron had a difficult time watching it, though he was amazed at the mastery the two Torellians showed with the two-handed weapons. The blades swung like the rotors of helicopters, swinging this way and that in the air, sometimes clashing together, sometimes finding their marks on their armored bodies. In the space of two minutes it was over.
He knew that inside his helmet he was turning green from the spectacle. He almost didn't notice that Sagan was pushed into the ring next.
This time the combat did not last even that long. The old general dispatched his opponent before he could even raise his sword. Ron fought back his nausea, taking a bit of solace in the fact the man had been spared a great deal of pain.
He was so numb he didn't realize he was being pushed out there next, a sword placed in his hands.
He snapped out of his reverie to discover he as alone in the ring. No other warriors were being pushed out there with him. He stood there in the center of the ring, his hands feeling like ice as he tried to raise the point of the heavy blade. Guttural laughter floated down from the review stands.
Ron was not alone for long.
A door opened at the far end of the ring. Something lumbered out, facing him.
The laughter stopped instantly.
Facing him was something he could only bring himself to describe as a demented version of Drakken's battle-bot. It was smaller than the former mad scientist's creations, moving on narrow, segmented legs. It walked upright like a man, but that's where the resemblance ended.
Its two mechanical arms ended in wicked looking curved blades that sizzled with pulsing energy.
His heart racing, he raised a sword that was almost as tall as he was over his head.
Kim!
Kim was exhausted.
Yori was circling around her, looking more like a mud creature now than the beautiful young woman she used to be. Distantly, Kim realized she looked much the same.
She was also realizing that the woman facing her was not the ninja she had met five years earlier.
"I do not understand this." Yori said.
"Understand it plenty." Kim replied, wiping some of the muck from her face. There was something about Yori's voice, though her tiring mind couldn't quite place it.
"She said you would trust me."
"Who said that?" Kim spat back.
Then it started to dawn on her. Yori's accent was wrong. It was still there, but it was not the accent of a woman who spent most of her life speaking only Japanese, only to learn English later.
Sensing her subterfuge was playing out, Yori seemed to shrink in upon herself. Shoulder length hair matted with wet muck seemed to change, growing longer in the bright moonlight. Her face narrowed a bit, the oval eyes flattening out. Despite being covered with mud, Kim recognized the young woman now standing before her, panting in the wet clearing.
She did not know her name, but she had seen her once before, just more than a year and a half ago. She had been one of the Blessed Mother's acolytes. She was one of the girls who had taken Kim and Ron from their quarters to prepare for their Soul Joining ceremony.
Kim's body untensed as she tried to reel in her lower jaw.
The girl dropped her head. Her cheek was swelling from the repeated blows Kim had landed on her. That explained much. While she might have looked and sounded like Yori, she had none of the training the young ninja possessed.
"I think you need to start talking, right now." Kim warned in a low voice.
"You had to be tested. Both you and your Soul-Bond. One of my sisters was sent to take him to one of the Tragda Sur masters so he could be trained in the arts. Then we found out we had been betrayed. He was taken, not to the sword master, but to the corrupt governor of this world. He is even now being sent into the blood-sports they engage in."
"What! You mean to tell me all of this is some kind of trick? If he's in that kind of danger why the hell are you playing these games?"
"Because, as much as it pains the Blessed Mother, as much shame as it brings to me to fool you, you must still be tested."
"Tested? Tested for what? Ron is the one who's the Chosen one! He's the Sword of the Fury or Effurien or whatever you people called it!"
"Yes. But he has already been tested. It is you who must now embrace the mantle you have been given."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you not know? The Blessed Mother told you! You are part of the Trinity!"
"I am? All I remember is her talking about Ron being the sword!"
"She said to remind you. Half of the job is done. All that remains is to find the final member of the Trinity!"
"But she meant Neil Argus. He was supposed to be the first! Ron was the second!"
"Argus is lost. She was not speaking of him. It was you she was speaking of. You are the Hand of the Effurien! Do she not tell you that the Sword and the Hand must be joined by their souls?"
Kim's eyes shot open, remembering that moment in the caves of the Spiron before the Blessed Mother sent them home. "All that remains is the third!" She had said.
Suddenly she felt excruciating pain shoot through her, though there was no mark on her.
Ron!
Kim! His voice screamed in her head.
Ron was hurting. He was in pain! He was calling out to her in desperation! She could feel it, his terror, his pain.
Light burst around her body. The mud and grime were burned away as the transformation took place. From the light tendrils of liquid metal flowed, covering her whole body, engulfing her. She could feel it covering her face, flowing under her clothing. It even covered her eyes though she found she could still see.
All the while she could feel Ron's pain as if they were one.
They were one!
She shot into the air, her body hurling into the night sky, streaking with great speed to where her Soulmate lay dying!