Chapter 9

Clash of Champions

The afternoon sun gleams off the blade of my machete. The light stabs into my eyes. A crowd of White Tree villagers have gathered around me and Jethro in a large, ever-shifting circle. Most of the spectators are Yampa men and women. They are watching me eagerly, as I prepare to duel their chieftain in the middle of town.

Twil is standing beside the guard tower. A rope has been tied around her neck. Urahil is positioned behind her. If I lose this duel, he'll garrote Twil, strangling her the moment I go down.

I can't fail, or Twil and I will die together. And not just us. I have a feeling that Jethro will condemn Broken Legs to die, too.

Jethro is standing opposite me, next to a small group of New Canaanites. One hands him his chosen weapon - a war hammer that's about three feet long. Its head is smaller than a sledge hammer's, and on one side it's pointed, like the back spike of a fireman's axe. The shaft is wood, reinforced by strips of crudely smelted steel.

I take a practice swing with my machete and listen as it cuts through the air. My heart is pounding in my chest. The afternoon sun gives everything an orange hue. I look over at Twil and she cracks a smile.

Jethro steps away from his attendants and picks up an unpainted, wooden shield. The shield is a foot wide. It's little more than four wooden boards that have been nailed together and sawed into a circle. He feeds his arm through the shieldback's leather loop, so he's protected wrist-to-shoulder on the left side.

There's a shield for me too, if I want it. An old Yampa man approaches and attempts to hand it to me.

I shake my head and decline.

A shield would provide good protection against a weapon like my machete. Even though the wood isn't particularly thick, it could block or parry a stab. But Jethro's hammer is a different matter. One solid hit from the hammer head or back spike and the shield would splinter. And even if I blocked the hit, the force of the impact could shatter my arm.

I decide that the shield would only give me a false sense of safety. I'd rather have the maneuverability and the chance to grapple hand-to-hand with a free, unencumbered arm.

"It's not too late to change your mind." Jethro slowly approaches, using his hammer like a walking staff. "You have no stake in this. This isn't your fight. This isn't your tribe."

"No. It's hers." I glance over at Twil and watch the wind flutter her curly hair. She's still smiling. She's proud of me. I've never seen her so happy - even though a noose is looped around her neck.

"I warn you, I'm very good with my hammer. You will lose, Mr. Io. I wouldn't have accepted your challenge if I didn't think I would win."

"Neither would I. . ."

Jethro furrows his brow. The wind ripples across his cloak. Dust swirls around us, and somewhere, a crow caws overhead.

"Twil is going to die." Jethro says curtly. "Why die with her? What is she to you?"

"She. . ." I hesitate. I can feel Twil's gaze burning into me. I picture her smile. "She saved my life."

Jethro barely acknowledges this. He scans the crowd and raises his hammer into the air, holding it high above his head.

"The pagan and the witch have challenged me and the one almighty God to trial by combat! Let their deaths illuminate the path to absolution for all who are present, and for all who have cracks in the armor of their faith. Let everyone here know the power of the one true God, and let the pagan and the witch suffer His wrath in the hereafter. . .And may God have mercy on them."

I put my right leg forward and dip into a fighting stance. The crowd falls silent. All I can hear is the wind, and occasionally, the wail of a baby clinging to its mother's back.

Jethro kneels in the dirt and bows his head.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. . ."

Several New Canaanites in the crowd chime in with an 'amen.'

Jethro rises to his feet.

One of the New Canaanites calls out to me.

"Legionnaire! Do you have any last words?"

I close my eyes.

All I can think of is my mother. An old memory of her. I must have only been a toddler at the time.

Two boys had roughed me up with wooden swords after sparring practice. Through teary eyes, I saw my mother coming back to our tent from one of the mills. I ran up to her, crying like a baby. My tears soaked into her filthy slave rags.

My mother picked me up and I hugged her tightly. When I pulled away, I saw that my hands were stained a dark red. I watched my mother duck into our tent. Her master had whipped her with a cat-of-nine tails. The steel barbs cut straight through her tattered rags, leaving ten deep cuts on her back.

"For Ionia." I mutter. "Requiescat in pace."

Jethro nods and taps his hammer against his shield.

"Let's begin."

The duel starts, but little happens. For a few moments, Jethro and I circle each other, probing for weaknesses, not yet ready to commit to an attack.

I strike first. A quick slash at Jethro's head. Instead of blocking the swipe, Jethro steps back, beyond my reach, and responds with a hammer swing aimed at my chest.

I can feel the whoosh of the air as the hammer comes down full force. I sidestep the blow, but Jethro fluidly transitions the downward thrust into a sideways strike with the hammer's spiked end.

I meet the strike head on with my machete to try and parry it. The force of the blow makes the steel ring and sends a painful shock up my arm.

With my other arm, I grab the shaft of Jethro's hammer, but before I can get a good grip on it, Jethro lunges forward and hits me in the shoulder with his shield. I teeter backwards, but am able to regain my balance. I try to stab Jethro in the armpit but he blocks my blade with his shield and then darts away.

Jethro has more reach and more force behind his blows than I do. I'm more nimble, and - I hope - I have more stamina. Swinging a hammer is hard work, and the best way to fight with one is to always keep it in motion, which will quickly tire you out. Instead of going toe-to-toe with Jethro, I decide to wear him down with a flurry of quick attacks. If that doesn't work, I'll try and get inside of his reach to grapple and stab.

I swing my machete up high at Jethro's head, then straight at his gut, then down towards his thigh. Jethro blocks every attack with his shield and then swings his hammer around in a circle to give himself more breathing space.

We're both sweating now. The sun burns hot on my skin. My left shoulder is sore from being battered by Jethro's shield, and my right arm is a bit numb from parrying his hammer.

Jethro refuses to play my game. He lets me dance around him, as I pop in and out for a quick strike, but never initiates an attack. He isn't going to let me exhaust him. He's conserving his energy, relying on his reach. I decide to try and get inside of his guard and strike low, at his legs.

I juke around him and slice open his right knee with a quick swipe.

Jethro winces and hops away. The cut isn't deep. As he tries to recover, I swing my machete at his head. He blocks the blow with his hammer, and while he's committed, I grab his shield with my free hand. I continue hacking at his hammer with my machete, keeping him off balance until I'm able to take the shield from him.

A new Canaanite in the crowd curses.

"Kill him, Io!" Twil shouts.

I throw Jethro's shield behind me and press on with a barrage of quick hacks at his arms and head.

Jethro stops me with a sideways swing from his hammer. When I back up, he spins around in a circle, pressing his attack. I jump back to avoid the hammer's spike and then spin left to avoid its head. Jethro presses on, and I meet him, still trying to stay inside of his reach.

I grab the hammer's shaft with one hand and run my machete's blade along it to cut off Jethro's fingers. He charges me, and I lose my grip.

As I stagger backward, Jethro spins around, swinging the hammer in a circle. I avoid it, but when I try to stab him in the heart, he continues the swing, and I lose sight of the hammerhead.

Within a second, it's buried in the small of my back.

NO!

I fall to my knees from the force of the blow. My bones crack. My kidney's been smashed. My insides are on fire.

I hear Twil scream.

Before I can get back to my feet, something connects with my skull.

I hear a loud ring and everything goes black.

(*************)

When I wake up, my skull is throbbing. I'm hazy from a concussion. I feel a stabbing pain in my spine. I try to move my hands and realize that they're tied behind me and stretched around something.

I can feel what it is.

A tree.

I open my eyes and my vision slowly clears.

Twil is hanging from the same tree I'm tied to. The noose is still around her neck, though now it's pulled taut, and she's dangling from it. She's just a few feet away, but I'm tied to the tree trunk, and cannot reach her.

I kick my legs and scream.

"TWIL! Twil! Can you hear me?"

Twil doesn't react. Her feet are bare. Her toes twitch. Her face looks purple. The noose has dug itself deeply into her neck, making a bloody ring.

"Fuck, Twil! I'm sorry! Twil! I'm so sorry! I - I didn't mean to. I - I. . ."

The wind blows; hard this time. Twil's limp body sways back and forth on the noose. I lock eyes with her. Her eyes seem to have a glint of life left in them. I struggle in my bonds, screaming.

"Twil! TWIL!"

My eyes flood with tears. I can't be sure, but it looks like Twil is still alive. I beg her not to die. I continue screaming. Within moments, that last glint of life fades, and I know that I've lost her forever.

I cry. Time passes. I have no idea how much time. My mind is still swimming from the concussion. All I can think of is Twil. And my mother. Sometimes I see Ionia hanging from that noose instead of Twil.

I couldn't save either one of them. . . .

Slowly, my cries turn into wails. Then a litany of obscenities.

I curse Jethro. I curse the New Canaanites. I curse the legion.

Most of all, I curse myself.

I've failed her.

Why? Why didn't they kill me too? I was supposed to die with Twil. . .

This is so much worse. I can't bear to look up at her now.

More time passes. It all blends together. My dirty clothes are soaked with tears. They drip down my chin like melting ice. I've been struggling in my bonds for so long that my wrists are red and raw. The sun is hanging a bit lower in the sky. It's just over Twil's shoulder. I glance at her and begin to cry again.

The hammer wound on my back must have reopened from my struggling, as I can see blood beginning to pool around my feet. Everything becomes a bit cooler. I'm dizzy.

It's hard to stay awake now. I want to go to sleep.

All of a sudden, I hear something carrying over my sobs. An odd noise, but I've heard it before. The gentle chiming of bells.

Ali. . .Ali's caravan.

Adrenaline surges through my broken body. I whip my head to the side. About a hundred yards to my left is a meandering gravel trail. I can see someone walking along it, towards me.

It's the one-eyed woman. Kat.

Kat is wearing jungle green combat armor. In her arms is an assault rifle. She's holding it to her cheek, methodically sweeping the area with her blue, glass eye. She's on alert. She's heard my cries.

"Kat! Kat!" I scream.

Kat continues her cautious approach. There's no hurry in her step. Ali, his brahmin, and his two other mercs are slowly lumbering their way down the trail, but they're far behind Kat.

They can't hear me, but I know she can.

Kat slowly walks over to me and Twil. She shoulders her rifle and blankly stares up at Twil's lifeless body, swaying on the noose. There isn't even a trace of sadness in Kat's one real eye. Her gaze is stone.

I'm enraged.

"Cut her down!" I snarl. "What are you doing! Cut her down!"

Kat calmly reaches into her armor and pulls out a Bouie knife. She's tall - taller than I am. She's reaches up and cuts Twil out of her noose.

Twil falls to the ground like dead weight.

I struggle against my restraints. Kat casually walks up behind me and cuts me free. I rush over to Twil and cradle her head in my hands.

"She's dead." Kat says dryly.

I press down on Twil's chest and breathe into her mouth to try and resuscitate her, mimicking a technique an old legionnaire taught me. I count the seconds and switch back and forth between her chest and mouth, trying to breathe life back into her empty shell.

"That won't work." Kat puts a hand on my shoulder and tries to pull me away. "She's dead."

I stare into Kat's glass eye. "Fuck you!"

I shove Kat with all of my strength. She doesn't budge. She feels like she's made of solid rock. I'm weaker than before and collapse to my knees.

"Kitarshna!" Ali's call carries across the scrubland. He and his caravan are very close now. I can hear brahmin hooves grinding against the gravel trail. "What's going on?"

Kat leaves me be. I take Twil's cold hand into mine. I'm crying again. I can't help it.

"No. No. No." Ali shuffles over to me and Twil. He covers his mouth with his hands, shakes his head, and closes his eyes. "My malak. My poor malak. What - what happened to her?"

"I failed her. . .I failed her." I look up at Ali. He and his mercs are hovering over me now. They seem to be swaying, but that's probably just in my head. "It was my fault. It - it was me. . .I was supposed to be her champion. . .I was supposed to save her. . .I. . ."

Ali kneels down next to Twil's body. He runs his fingers across her cheek.

"My poor malak. My poor malak. She - she is at peace. . .I'm sorry my friend. So sorry."

"It was my fault!"

"I'm sorry. She was my angel. She is with Allah now. His angel. . ." Ali begins to choke up. He wipes a tear from his eye and turns to his mercs. "Thomas, get a shroud from my brahmin. . .and bring me my Koran. I - I need to say prayers."

"I'll get it." Kat chimes in.

Kat's nonchalance infuriates me. I want to tackle her, but have no strength left. I clench down on Twil's lifeless hand even tighter than before.

"My friend. My friend!" Ali begins to shake me. "You're injured. You're bleeding. Badly. There's blood everywhere. Kitarshna! Bring a stimpak! Quickly!"

"Get off of me!"

I can't think. Well, I can think - but only of Twil. Ali's right though. My clothes are dripping blood. The adrenaline is gone, and I'm dizzy again.

I begin to keel over and one of Ali's mercs catches me as I black out.