New Blood
by Saber Alexander McConnell
Rated PG13

CHAPTER 4: Journey's End

The boy sat quietly in the studio apartment, gazing at the orb in his hand, and intuiting that this orb could be the most important thing he had ever owned, and that it was connected, somehow, with the others he had dreamed of that day. The Australian boy caught in the tsunami had survived, Nohano suddenly knew this with absolute certainty. As crazy as it seemed, the nightmare he had lived through had happened; when, he didn't know, but it had happened. The young man fixing the plane and the boy he looked after, they were connected, too, and the Asian girl, making her way across endless highways. The albino boy and the Middle Eastern girl he shared a table with at McDonald's, they were all a part of it.

"But what?" Nohano asked himself quietly. "What are they a part of? We...are 'we' a part of?"

"Huh?" Gregory, his tone slurred and sleepy, turned to regard Nohano, who deftly hid the orb in his hand.

"Nothin'," said Nohano, feeling a little guilty for lying to his friend. "Just looking for something."

"Mm...'kay." Gregory turned over in his bedroll and closed his eyes again. Nohano looked back to the orb, putting away his other belongings and zipping up his suitcase. He slipped the orb into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and slipped back into his hammock. Whatever secrets this strange orb held, he would begin figuring them out the next day.

---

Xander Black wandered the streets of Indianapolis, lost in an unhappy daze. Two weeks ago he had walked out of his parents' home in Washington DC, never to return. He had walked out with only the clothes on his back, furious at his parents for their fighting, for their divorce, for their efforts to persuade Xander to take sides. He had read about custody battles, and knew that they could get ugly, but he never knew just how awful they could be, and how they could make you feel like you were being torn in half.

He loved his parents still, even through the anger that made him declare that he hated them. But his home could never be his home again, and he could never go back. It was broken, just like his parents' relationship, and Xander had bigger things that he must do. The man whom he had met the month previous, the one who had given him his orb; the crazy Asian man who spoke of magic and warriors and dynasties, he had given Xander more to think about than his parents.

It was small enough to fit in his pocket, but was more powerful than anything he had ever seen in his life; it was an orb, an orb that swirled with gray smoke. When the Asian man had told Xander it was magic, and contained the essence of armor, he had scoffed. But when the man put the orb in his hand, closed his eyes, and let go, the orb was gone. And Xander was covered in armor. He certainly believed, then!

Xander had done a lot of experimenting since then, sometimes skipping school to do it. It got him grounded, but he didn't care; it only gave him more time to experiment with his new armor. He had found out a lot in that month, helped along by a whole lot of strange dreams he'd had in those weeks, dreams about others who had their own weird armor.

When he'd walked out of his home, he knew where he was headed; across the entire country towards the West Coast, hitching rides from strangers and creeping out into traffic to sit on the bumpers of pickup trucks and other larger vehicles. (That was fun, but he had been very lucky not to be caught.)

He still had a very long way to go, which was beginning to discourage him. He'd had to take odd jobs here and there for money to buy food, and it wasn't always possible to find someone who'd hire a teenager for an afternoon. He'd gone hungry more often than he cared to think about, and his mood was in a rather dark abyss. Several times he had nearly given up, only moving on again when he held the armor orb in his hand, and felt its energy. There would come a time when he would need to use that armor, and he needed to be in the right place when that time came.

-

It had been a long, hard journey, but finally she had made it to America. Getting past the border guards had not been too difficult for Amaya, slipping through the night with her camouflaged sub-armor. Concealment was not her strength, but she was cunning and quick, and the mystical armor she wore blocked the guards' electronic sensors.

She, of all who were chosen to bear the armor of the Ronin, knew the most of the legends and the armor itself. When she had been approached in Japan by the strange, red-haired man, he had given her the armor orb she now carried everywhere she went. He had told her that she was the great, great granddaughter of Sanada Ryo, the leader of the last band of Ronin Warriors, and bearer of the Wildfire armor. The armor that Amaya wore now was not Wildfire, but a newly created armor known as Night. She wasn't surprised; fire was not exactly something she had any affinity for, but the night she called family.

Amaya had researched for weeks, looking up the legends and speaking with her grandparents. Her grandmother had not been surprised by the girl's questions, and answered as many of them as she could; she was the daughter of Sanada Ryo, and had spent a good deal of time with him, even into adulthood.

Grandmother had not been able to fill in all the blanks, and Amaya's own armor was a great mystery. She was able to learn how to summon the full armor by sheer willpower, and that it allowed her to see and maneuver in complete darkness, but she knew little of its abilities beyond that. Of the weapon, there was no mystery; it was magical, that was obvious, but required no ceremony to work. Amaya knew several martial arts styles and was well-trained in the use of different weapons. The nunchaku that had appeared with the armor was a weapon she was well familiar with, and she practiced it often.

The dreams began a week later, dreams of the Dynasty, and she knew the demon creature would return soon. She also knew she would have to help the other learn their armor, for only one of them was from Japan, and even he didn't know the Ronin legends, beyond a few folk tales. The others converged on America, and it was there she must go.

In the end, it wasn't so difficult to get leave from her parents; unbeknownst to her, Grandmother had spoken to them, telling them that Amaya had inherited the destiny of her great grandfather. They had understood, and helped Amaya gather the things she would need for her journey.

Once in America, the red-haired man had entered her dreams, telling her where she must go; the West Coast, where the others would congregate. And so she began the final leg of her journey.

-

Demetrius Rost had the good fortune to be able to fly to America. His parents were well off, and they had given him enough money to get himself a passport and visa papers, to travel to America, and to help him find lodging.

It was a challenge, living in America. Demetrius knew fewer than ten words in English, and he stood out quite prominently, with his white hair and his strange eyes. He had an electronic translator, but it did not always translate things quite right, and it ended up being a very interesting ordeal even to do the simplest things. Ordering a meal could get exasperating, and trying to find lodging was nearly impossible. He had finally used the translator to write out a note in badly spelled English he could use each time: "I do not speak English. I wish to seek lodging here tonight. Please tell me how much a room is." Then he could simply use the translator to complete the conversation. It worked a lot better that way!

He had met a girl in his travels, who he realized quickly had the same goal he did. She was from Pakistan, and spoke a strange tongue called "Urdu", an exotic, beautiful language that he enjoyed listening to. With the help of his universal translator, she and Demetrius had been able to exchange stories.

The girl, Rashida, had also come to America, seeking out others who bore the Ronin armors. She had gotten hers on her sixteenth birthday, not knowing who it had come from. Like Demetrius, she had figured out how to don her sub-armor, and how to banish it, but little else. She showed Demetrius her orb, which swirled wisps of green, and he had brought out the orange armor.

The two got along quite well, despite having very little in common when it came to interests and personality. Rashida was quiet and intense, preferring to read or study, while Demetrius was cheerful and easy-going, preferring to be outside on the earth, and enjoyed things like archeology and rock-collecting. In fact, he had been fossil-hunting when he'd come across the orange orb, buried beneath a foot of stone, and he had already guessed that it had some kind of tie with stone, or earth, simply from where he had found it. It had gone buried for who knew how long, without a scratch on it. When he wore the sub-armor, he felt the way he did when lying on the earth, or digging in a stone quarry.

Rashida said she hadn't gotten quite that far with her sphere, and that she thought whatever it was tied to, it was something more elusive and abstract than stone. Demetrius suggested hesitantly that flora might be the orb's alignment, because of the green, but Rashida said she'd already tested out the theory. "I guess I will find out," she said through Demetrius's translator. "I only hope that I will find out in time."

-

Darwin had nearly been destroyed by the monster tsunami, and millions of people had been killed or injured by it. And even then, even in the face of that disaster and the hurricanes that wracked the coasts, they could not stop fighting. Even when nature itself wreaked disaster on their people, they couldn't stop their bloody, miserable war.

Killian Zale had been caught in that tsunami, but he hadn't died; he hadn't even been injured. When the wave hit, he thought he was dead, but oddly he felt no panic--only peace as the water descended. But when the wave crashed down, he was washed several miles offshore, alive and unharmed, and utterly astonished. He quickly realized that he had been swept nearly to Melville Island, and it was the swim of perhaps a kilometer to reach land. It was quite an easy swim for him, strong swimmer that he was.

It was a relief to reach shore, however. The island had been evacuated when the hurricanes started, and the only people there now he knew would be refugees trying to escape the fighting on the main island. No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing there. Exhausted by the day, the running, the terror, trying to stay out of the way of the soldiers, he crawled onto the beach and lay down. For anyone else, lying so close to the water in the middle of a hurricane would be the height of foolishness, but Killian didn't fear the water. To him, the water was a sanctuary; it soothed his terror and eased his fatigue.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. When he woke, blinking at the peculiar sensation of a very small hermit crab latched onto his cheek, he sat up, smiling and gently pulling the little creature off. He set the crab on the beach, where it retreated into its shell. Killian took a big breath and looked around; the wind still howled, though he perceived a marked decrease in its strength. He rubbed his eyes, then hissed as he ground sand into them. Muttering about doing stupid things, he ducked briefly into the shallows to rinse himself off.

It was then he saw it. A glint of blue, lighter than the water, almost seeming to glow in the surf. Reaching his hand out to grab it, he stared at a sphere, a sphere of aqua blue, swirling impossibly with mist. When his fingers touched the object, the last of his fatigue and fear seemed to fade, and he knew beyond a doubt that he was meant to find this special object. He slipped it into his pocket and headed further ashore.

He hid out for several days on Melville Island, dreaming the strangest dreams. After a week had gone by, he understood he had to leave the country, and knew he had the capability to do so on his own; he could swim. It was more than five hundred kilometers to the nearest main island, but the sphere in Killian's pocket would help him make the swim. It was insane, and the boy questioned his own sanity, but it wasn't any crazier than that madness back on the mainland.

A month later he was in Asia, avoiding the authorities, and trying to find a way to the Americas. In India, he managed to locate an ocean liner with an English-speaking crew, and bartered passage on the ship in exchange for working as a cabin boy. He even enjoyed the trip, spending much of his off time giving swimming lessons. Once they realized how well the boy swam, they lessened his cabin boy duties and let him instruct the passengers.

Three months later, Killian was in California.

-

Tarun Narayan had lived his entire life in an orphanage, cared for by the sisters who ran it. He spent his days going to school and playing with the other children. At the age of nine, his entire life was turned upside down by a Japanese man who had come to see him at the orphanage. He had not come to adopt Tarun, as first he had hoped, but he had brought a strange story, and a very special orb.

It didn't occur to Tarun to disbelieve the story; he firmly believed in magic, and felt sorry for people who didn't.

The boy had left the orphanage, leaving behind a note, and sneaking out during the night. He didn't like nighttime very much, but unfortunately sneaking out during the day would have been impossible. He hoped that the sisters did not worry too much about him, and that they would not miss him too badly. He knew he would miss them and his home, but he was also excited about the adventure that lay before him.

Yasuo Toshitada brought the boy to America, a land that Tarun had always wanted to see. He had been learning English in his school, and was eager to practice. When he asked Yasuo what they would do here in the United States, he said they had to seek out a man called Suisei. "He is to be your guardian, Tarun," said the man. "I have spoken to him in his dreams, and he will know you when he sees you."

"You can talk to people in dreams?" asked Tarun, fascinated.

"I can,' said Yasuo with a smile. "It is a gift I possess. This gift also allows me to track down the people I contact. We will find him, and then I must leave you."

Tarun did not like the idea of the man leaving him, but he said nothing. If it was necessary, it was necessary, and he could not change the necessity...but he still didn't have to like it! Still, he had a few days left to enjoy his new friend's company, and to pester him with questions, so he supposed it could have been worse.

--

Suisei Kyoto had come to America when he turned eighteen, having always wanted to see the United States. It was vastly different than Japan, and not nearly as crowded.

Pursuing his dream of one day learning to fly, he managed to get a job at an airline hangar, learning how to fix the planes and doing odd jobs around the facility. He began saving money for flight school, while learning as much as he could about the machines. He already knew a great deal from books, but no book could teach everything.

When a man from his own country, Japan, showed up at the hangar a month later, Suisei was not surprised. He'd had the oddest dreams of late, dreams like he'd never had before, and the man's arrival was just one more bit of weirdness. Nor was Suisei surprised that the man had a small boy with him, who looked like he might be from the Middle East or India. The boy had also been in his dreams.

"Good afternoon," he greeted the man in Japanese, bowing politely to him.

"Good afternoon," replied the man with a bow of his own. "My name is Yasuo Toshitada. I think that you recognize me."

"I do," said Suisei, smiling. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or soda?"

"No, thank you," said Yasuo. "I cannot stay long. This is Tarun." The boy looked up at the sound of his name, the only word he could understand in the entire conversation. "I have papers with me that claim you as his legal guardian, as I have spoken of to you before."

Suisei felt a strange sort of unreality come over him. He had never been a big believer in magic; he figured some form of it must exist, but he doubted he'd ever see, even experience it. But this, this went way beyond what he thought could be possible. And it was difficult to deny when it was staring him in the face. "I am more than willing to take him in," he said. "I love children. And he's no ordinary child, is he?"

"No," said Yasuo, smiling. "Nor are you an ordinary man. And you will learn of this." Suisei blinked. "Will I be able to leave the boy here, or shall I wait until you are able to go home from work?"

Suisei shook his head. "No," he said. "It's okay to leave him here. They're really good about that kind of thing here—some of the others bring their kids here to show them around on occasion. I'll just let the boss know he's a kid I will be adopting, and I wanted to show him around."

"Then I bid you farewell," said Yasuo, bowing once more. "And the best of luck to you. Take care of each other." When Suisei had bowed back, Yasuo knelt in front of Tarun, who had watched the whole thing with mild curiosity. "I must leave you now, child," he said in English. "I have enjoyed traveling with you. Suisei will care well for you."

The boy smiled a little sadly and threw his arms around the man. Yasuo was startled, but he smiled fondly and hugged the little boy back. "I'll miss you," said Tarun.

"And I, you. But we will meet again. For now, you must be brave. I do not think that will be a problem for you, little one." Beaming at the compliment, Tarun drew back and gave a little wave as Yasuo stood and left the hangar. He looked up at Suisei expectantly.

"Well, kid, let's get you to the boss." Suisei's accent was strong, but his speech was not formal, and it was clear he had studied English for quite a while, speaking it almost as casually as a United States native. Tarun nodded his head and took Suisei's hand, following amiably along.

The pair became good friends very quickly. Tarun came to the hangar with Suisei every day that he worked, sometimes learning about the planes, sometimes helping with the work, and a lot of time just running and playing outside. The boy could not sit still for long, and seemed to be always moving. He didn't even seem to sleep as long as other people did. When one day Suisei found a very strange object in the engine of a plane he was fixing, Tarun astonishingly knew what it was—for he had one of his own.

As Yasuo made his way back home to Japan, his long task finally finished, he felt a strange sense of emptiness. He had spent so long on this project, and now that Suisei Kyoto had found his sphere, all of the Ronin Warriors were ready to gather. Still, Yasuo did not think he was finished with the Ronin Warriors just yet. They would need guidance. He could not tell them some things directly, they were things the youths had to figure out for themselves. Their armor was attuned to them, would have to grow and evolve with them, and if he were to simply tell them everything, this relationship would not happen. But once they learned the secrets, Yasuo would have to assist them. Especially when the Dynasty reared its ugly head again.

The new Ronin (wearing their subgear):

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