New Blood
by Saber Alexander McConnell
Rated PG13

CHAPTER 9: Convergence

The next day, Killian and Nohano met Amaya again in the park, and she said she wanted to begin their fighting lessons as quickly as possible. They scouted out a parking lot behind a building that had once been a supermarket, but now had a ragged "FOR LEASE" sign hanging from its front wall. Its windows were boarded up and the place looked as if it had been deserted for at least five years.

The parking lot was plenty large enough for the three to move around as needed, and was mostly shielded from prying eyes. "I teach basic things first," said Amaya. She didn't seem as if she was accustomed to teaching, awkward and disorganized. 'That's okay,' thought Nohano. 'I'm not used to fighting, so we're even.'

What Amaya began schooling the boys on at first was not distinctly "karateish", as Nohano would have put it. She taught them punches such as jabs and hooks and uppercuts, things that Nohano would have expected to see in a boxing match. Still, he never knew there was so much to pay attention to just to punch a guy out. You had to make a fist right, you had to hit with the right part of the hand, and you had to have your arm in the right position... It made sense once it was explained, but it was a lot to remember.

Doing it, however, was tough. And Nohano was beginning not to like the girl so much as the lesson progressed. Amaya was not a patient teacher, and would often huff in exasperation when Nohano got something wrong, or asked why he had to do something a certain way. It was clear she was not used to questioning things, and Nohano questioned everything. The two traits did not mesh well together.

Even Killian was beginning to get frustrated. He was no weakling, but he was just as inexperienced with fighting as Nohano, and far less inclined to fight to begin with.

"Why you ask 'why' all the time?" Amaya finally demanded, stepping back to glared in frustration at Nohano. "You cannot just do the thing?"

Angry at being talked to like that, no less from some girl a year younger than he was, Nohano scowled right back. "No! I can't do something if I don't know why, because it doesn't make any sense! I like to understand things when I do them, or it's pointless to me."

Amaya took a big breath, as if Nohano had just deeply offended her. "In tradition, a student would never to question the teacher."

Mightily irritated at what he considered a demeaning comment, Nohano narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to tell the girl off, when Killian stepped between them. "We're not a part of your tradition, Amaya," he said calmly. "It's not our way. Everyone learns in different ways. Perhaps you could keep that in mind when teaching us, instead of behaving as if we're clueless sods who don't know anything."

Nohano backed off a step, calming himself down, as Killian talked to the girl. He was gratified to see a sudden, faint blush cover Amaya's cheeks. It was true, though, Amaya had a very condescending way about her, that seemed to come out when she was teaching the fighting styles she knew so well. As if her knowledge of fighting and Japanese tradition made her...superior or something.

"I...did not mean to make you think this," said Amaya, bowing in apology, and Nohano thought a little differently about his harsh thoughts.

Killian grinned. "It's all right. Just try and be patient, will you? Besides, isn't it better for us to understand what we're doing, rather than just doing it blindly like some overgrown puppets?"

This interesting comparison made both Amaya and Nohano laugh, effectively defusing the whole situation. Nohano looked at his friend in admiration, grinning at the pleased look on the blond boy's face.

"Yes," said Amaya. "I can be patient."

The lesson went far more smoothly from then on out. Amaya was still awkward, and prone to being impatient with her students, but there was no more of the outright contempt if Killian didn't hold his hand right, or Nohano asked why how you stood made a difference when using your hands to hit.

Once Amaya had run the boys through the basics, she set them to practicing while she ran through her own exercises. Nohano stopped his shadowboxing to watch her, amazed at the grace and power she displayed, even just in practice. Her style was more traditional, though Nohano recognized the same things she had just run them through, and included kicks and leaps and other things that weren't as easy to describe.

"I learn sword, also," Amaya explained when she caught the boys both watching her. "Have learned since I was five."

"Guess we've got some catching up to do," said Killian with a laugh.

Amaya laughed, dropping her formal facade for a moment. "A little," she agreed with a grin. "I will teach you sword work also if you want. But you will not catch up fast without practice!"

This was a not-so-subtle hint for them to stop staring and get on with their own practice. Nohano stopped and turned to Killian, shrugging. "Guess we better. If we don't, she's liable to use those moves on us."

Amaya laughed again, and soon the three of them had all continued practicing their moves. Their enmity was forgotten for the time being.

Three hours later, Nohano decided that he was never going to stand up again. He and Killian both lay on the floor of the apartment, taking turns complaining about how sore they were. After punches, Amaya had taken them through some basic kicks, and a body throw that she'd demonstrated on each of them in turn. Even though she'd greatly lessened their impact with the ground, it still hurt!

She hadn't kept them going constantly for the entire three hours—during the breaks they talked of themselves and of the Ronin Warriors, and exchanged ideas about how to work the armor. Killian came up with the idea that not only did they need to learn the name of their armor and have the force of mind to call it when it was needed, but they had to develop enough of a relationship with the spirit of the armor that it was comfortable enough to be worn.

"Ya know," said Nohano. "We should wear that riot gear when we do that crap. Then it won't hurt when she throws us all over the place."

"That's an idea!" said Killian. "Hell, if we're gonna be fighting in it, we should get used to it. We can put the idea to Amaya when we see her next." After a minute's worth of silence, Killian commented, "You know, those mystical abilities...they can't all be just from wearing this armor. I shoulda been dead when that tsunami hit. But I wasn't. I took to swimming by instinct; I never did take lessons, even though my parents suggested it. I knew I didn't need 'em. And you, well, I'm sure you've probably never tried walking into an inferno, but you like insane, blazing-hot days."

Nohano laughed. "Yeah, that's true, I guess. It wrings everyone else out, but it just makes me hyper. Hmm. Can't say I've ever been burned by anything, either. I can walk barefoot on hottop in the middle of summer. It's just...normal for me. It never occurred that it might be some kind of magical ability." Nohano sat up then, looking down on Killian with sudden uncertainty. "Do you really think we can do this, Killian? I mean...I mean jeez! What Amaya was talking about, and the dream I had, and those two creepy dudes--"

Killian also sat up, his expression grim. "Can't see a way out of it," he said. "We could run, but--" He smiled, seeing the furious look that crossed Nohano's face, and added, "—but that's not an option. All we can do is prepare."

They didn't get the chance to talk any more that night, when the guys returned one by one from their nighttime activities. 'This is gonna be rough,' thought Nohano. 'If we get deep enough in this, I'm either gonna have to tell the guys or quit No Quarter.' And the idea of quitting the group he loved made him feel cold.

The next day was Friday, a faire day, and Amaya met Nohano and Killian there. "I want to be nearby just in case," she'd said to them. "I think we must get used to being near one another. For when things happen."

Nohano certainly didn't argue, especially since she knew far more about fighting than either of the boys did. He managed to get her a weekend pass to the faire, thinking it wasn't right for her to have to pay to get in when she was there to help.

In between performances, Amaya spent the time teaching Nohano, and Killian when he wasn't tending to his faire clean-up duties. The Australian boy had decided he did want to join No Quarter, but he was still working with Phil, and wasn't ready to start performing yet, anyway.

The evening passed peaceably enough, though Nohano and Killian were both sorer than they'd ever been. Between the vigorous workout of performing on stage and the practicing in between, Nohano thought his arms might fall off. "It'll grow some muscles though," he said to Killian, who was complaining of similar aches. "More muscles in my case."

"Maybe," said Killian with a snort. "If my arms don't drop off in a rubbish bin first." Nohano would have laughed, but he knew how Killian felt.

Saturday went just as smoothly as Friday had. No Quarter didn't perform until the afternoon, and so the two boys spent the morning practicing with Amaya. Already in good shape, Nohano quickly began going far longer sparring before getting tired, and that the most basic moves were becoming easier and easier to execute. He even managed to block one of Amaya's punches, which he'd not been able to do before. As they trained more and more it was easier for Amaya to be patient with her peers, and for the boys to accept her rigid tradition a little more graciously. Their personal skills with each other still needed work, but they were getting better.

Nohano and Killian went home that night feeling content, and spent the evening in informal singing practice with the rest of the guys, with Killian beginning to learn their songs. Gregory wrote in a tenor part for Killian that complemented Nohano's alto, and the boys sounded well together.

On Sunday, all hell broke loose.

---

Xander Black walked wearily along a tall, wooden fence, cocking his head to listen to the sounds of merrymaking within. The surrounding fields and dirt parking lots were filled with cars, and people in strange garb milled about, laughing and talking about singing groups and reenactments. Xander Black had never been to a Renaissance Faire before, and after having traveled across the entire country by himself, he really didn't feel like checking it out, no matter how curious he was. Still, a strange sort of compulsion made him go up to the gate anyway, and purchase a ticket. He'd been doing odd jobs during his trip across the United States, and had enough to spare.

The men at the gate, dressed as court fools, obnoxiously teased Xander about his "strange" clothing, asking if he was a demon or some kind of heretic. He looked down at himself and realized that nearly everyone inside was wearing period garb, or some other kind of costume. He was amazed to hear himself laugh, and bantered back, claiming that he had stolen the clothing from a crazy old bloke in the next town, and wore them because they were unique.

One of the fools guffawed and clapped Xander on the shoulder. "Aye, yer a good lad!" he exclaimed, waving him on in. "Take care and enjoy!"

"I will, thanks!"

Xander walked into the sprawling area, confronted at once by the smells of a dozen different strange foods, and the raucous noises of people enjoying themselves. A group of three ladies was singing on a nearby makeshift stage, a minstrel wandered about with a lute, strumming his instrument and pretending to leer at the ladies, and a group of guys on a larger stage were belting out some kind of sea shanty. A teenaged boy in a peasant's costume was emptying trash barrels, and to Xander's right, several volunteers were handing out maps of the compound and taking submissions for the costume contest.

Xander had no idea why he had been drawn to this place, but once there he was glad he'd come across it. It had been a long, lonely, miserable few months, and he truly needed some fun.

--

A 2086 Toyota Cyclone spend down Interstate fifteen, keeping pace with the dozens of other cars that used the highway, traveling southwest into the city of Pomona. To the casual observer, the car was quite unremarkable, but the two people who sat inside were anything but normal.

Tarun and Suisei rode in the Toyota, traveling from Chicago, where they had lived for the past several months. With Tarun's help, Suisei had finally managed to learn where they needed to go to meet the six others whose fate they would share.

The months had been busy ones. Tarun, who'd had far longer to experiment, had discovered several of his sphere's secrets, teaching Suisei what he knew. Since then, after disturbing dreams and a bit of background research, the pair had begun making their way towards the west coast.

"Is this the right city?" asked Tarun, bouncing up and down in his seat.

"No," said Suisei patiently, deftly piloting the car into the other lane, between a van and an eighteen-wheeler. "There's another highway we need to get on nearby, though. The city we're going to is called Irwindale."

Tarun giggled. "That's a funny name for a town." He had said the same thing for several of the other towns they had passed, so Suisei wasn't too surprised. He had also resigned himself to the fact that any kind of travel in an enclosed vehicle with Tarun was going to be mildly nerve-wracking, because it the kid jumped around and fidgeted, even strapped in with a seat belt.

Still, he sympathized with Tarun. They'd been traveling for two days straight, and even Suisei was getting sick of the damned vehicle. But he wanted to get to Irwindale as quickly as possible, his dreams had taken on a distinct sense of urgency. Something was going to happen, and he and Tarun needed to be there when it did.

They were only a half-hour away from the city, which was a relief to them both. Tarun, because he wanted quite badly to be out of the car, and Suisei, because the sooner they met the others, the better.

As they sped past Victorville and Hesperia, and the dozens of tiny towns around and between them, the weather began to worsen, and even Tarun watched the sky in apprehension. Suisei nudged the Cyclone up until the speedometer hovered just below the one-hundred mile an hour speed limit. That afternoon. They had to be there that afternoon.

---

Coming from the opposite side of Irwindale, a Greyhound bus barreled up I-605, the two rearmost seats occupied by a husky albino boy and a determined looking girl from the Middle East. Rashida and Demetrius were quiet, grim, feeling the growing dread that blanketed the area. Demetrius held his translator in his hand, but was not using it; neither of them felt much like speaking.

When the bus reached Irwindale, and its passengers disembarked at the bus station, Demetrius asked Rashida if she knew where they had to go.

"I know," said Rashida, and Demetrius understood her without the help of the translator. Over the past weeks, each had begun to understand the others' language in a very basic way, enough to make conversation a little less of an ordeal. Sometimes, it seemed as though they hardly needed to talk at all, but they still knew what the other was saying. It was an advantage of traveling together for so long.

"Where?"

"I only know the direction...but it's not far." As strange, dark lightning flashed in the distance, Rashida's eyes widened. "It's there."