Notes: I'm not sure what to say about this chapter, except that I do have a specific purpose (a couple, in fact) for sending things in the direction they go here. Also, please keep in mind that the story is only barely beginning; it will likely be at least fifteen chapters, possibly more. I am rather nervous about this chapter, but after this one I don't think there should be any hurdles to get over in the succeeding parts.

Chapter Three

The carriage ride was bumpy, even on the safer road. Autor's knuckles were white as he gripped the reins. He stared ahead to make sure the horses were keeping on the path—and to make sure that nothing was suddenly appearing on the path that could panic the beasts. He was more afraid of the horses going out of control than he was of the gang they would be facing.

Ahiru sat at his side, biting her lip. She felt terrible for Autor to not only have to ride in a carriage, but to be driving it. Still, it could not be any other way; she did not know the first thing about driving a carriage and this was not the time to learn.

"It shouldn't be far now, if Fakir is really there," Autor said. "We don't want the gang to know we're coming. We'll have to hide the carriage in the woods and walk the rest of the way."

"And then we can get away in it with Fakir!" Ahiru said hopefully.

"If it goes well, yes," Autor said. "Though I'll be sure to turn the honor of driving over to him at that point."

He steered the horses to the right when there was a good opening in the wooded area. They went agreeably, trotting up the small incline and among the concealing trees and bushes. As he brought them to a halt and climbed down, he tensed. He still had to unhook them from the carriage and tie them to the trees. The moonlight hid the fear in his eyes, but Ahiru was certain it was there.

She hopped down next to him. "Can I help?" she asked. "I heard what the man was telling you to do too."

Autor hesitated. He did not like to expose Ahiru to the possible dangers, but that was likely his fear talking. There was the chance that Ahiru would have trouble holding onto things and she might drop something and scare the horses. On the other hand, they might be receptive to her sweet nature.

"Alright," he said at last. "Try to keep these beasts calm while I unhook them."

Ahiru brightened to be able to be of use. "Okay!" she chirped.

She went in front of the horses, gently stroking their noses and talking to them. They snorted and nudged her, seeming to like her attention. Autor managed to release them from the carriage and then tie them to two trees without incident.

"Thank God," he muttered, sighing in relief as he stepped back. Louder he said, "We should leave now."

Ahiru gave the horses a final pat and scurried after him.

For a few minutes they walked in silence, with Autor not feeling like talking and Ahiru trying to think what to say. But soon the quiet became too loud for them both.

"Is something wrong?" Autor asked. Not much had been said on the carriage ride either, but he had attributed that to the jolting and bouncing. For it to persist now that they were on solid ground was indicative of a different explanation.

Ahiru started and looked up at him. "Well . . . yeah!" she said. Looking away she mumbled, "I feel like it's my fault that this happened with you and Fakir. If I hadn't asked you for help with getting something for Raetsel . . ."

Autor stared at her, stunned. "You can't think that!" he said. "It happened because Fakir didn't have enough trust. If that's how he feels, it's better for it to come out sooner rather than later."

Ahiru looked back to him. "But he trusts you!" she protested. "He just got mad and worried and jealous and stuff. . . ." By the time she finished the sentence she was gazing at the ground. She was making a terrible case.

Autor pushed up his glasses. "Aside from the fact that I wanted to keep my word about not revealing the truth without your permission, I could tell he wasn't ready to listen to any sort of innocuous account," he said. "He really appeared to believe I was guilty of betraying him. I don't appreciate that. And even if he was speaking solely in anger, he let his temper snap too drastically."

"Can you . . . ever make up?" It was a question Ahiru did not want to ask for fear of the answer, yet she felt she had to know all the same.

Autor lapsed into silence once more. "I don't want any harm to come to Fakir," he said then. "But that doesn't mean I still consider him a friend, nor that I necessarily even want to try to mend this. I don't know if it's possible to repair the damage. If Fakir doesn't trust me, how can I trust him? Why would I want such a person for a friend?"

Ahiru's lower lip trembled. "If you could just talk things out with him," she said, half-pleading. "He feels so bad! And . . . and there's other friends who have awful arguments like this and they fix things!"

"Yes, but we aren't 'other friends'," Autor said.

"It can't be worse than when you went crazy and wanted power and pushed us all away!" Ahiru blurted out without thinking. Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth. She had not meant to say that!

Autor stopped short, nearly resulting in the unsuspecting Ahiru tumbling to the ground. She wobbled, then straightened and looked to him in sickened alarm and regret.

"I didn't mean to bring that up!" she exclaimed. "Autor, I'm sorry. I . . ."

"No."

She blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

Autor turned to look at her. "You made a valid point," he said. "If Fakir was able to forgive me for that, I should be able to forgive this." But he frowned. "Although I wonder if he truly did forgive me," he mused. "Or even if he did, maybe I never did regain his trust. Maybe his outburst tonight was an offshoot of that. What if somewhere deep down, he's never known if he can trust me since then?"

Ahiru felt her heart squeeze. "That's not true!" she cried. "He's never acted weird about us doing things together before. He's always said he knew you wouldn't betray him. He just got mad tonight and he wasn't thinking! Or something like that. I know you got his trust back after you came back to yourself! I know it!"

But Autor slowly shook his head. "You can't really know that, unless you can see every facet of his heart," he said. "Neither of us can do that."

"Then there's just as much chance that he does trust you as there is the chance that he doesn't!" Ahiru declared.

At last a smile crept over Autor's features. "You still don't give up," he said.

Ahiru gave a firm nod. "And I'm not going to!" she said. Her shoulders drooped. "I really won't forgive myself if you guys can't be friends any more," she said softly.

Autor sighed. "And how can I say we can't be with that as the stakes?" he said. "Unfortunately, it isn't that simple. However . . ." He looked at Ahiru until she felt his gaze and looked back to him. "I will promise that I will make my best effort."

She brightened. "Really?"

"Yes." Autor shook his head. "I suppose there's still some part of me that wants to fight for the friendship I thought we had. Though the rest of me doesn't know why."

"It's a start," Ahiru said. "I know you can have it again. I know it!"

"It's hard to stay negative around you," Autor noted. "When I'm with you, I start to feel as though anything is possible. It's a strange sensation. But not unwelcome," he added.

Ahiru smiled all the more. But as the moon suddenly shone on them more clearly, she looked up with a surprised start.

"Hey, we're coming to the end of the woods," she said. "Is that the mansion?" She pointed up ahead to a three-story building.

"It is," Autor said. "And there's a car!" He grew both excited and tense at the discovery. This could very well be the place where Fakir was, just as they had hoped. Now they had to pause and determine what they could do to save him. Of course, just barging in was completely out of the question. They wanted to escape with Fakir, not get caught themselves.

"So what now?" Ahiru demanded.

An ominous click interrupted whatever Autor had been about to say. It was followed in quick succession by several others and cold-hearted laughter. As the sneering thugs emerged from the brush, guns held high, Ahiru backed up into Autor, her heart racing. Autor gripped her forearms, tense and angry.

They had been outsmarted by the gang without having a chance to do anything. This was not a good sign.

"Isn't it late to be wandering around here, kids?" said the man in the lead.

"We've been lost for hours," Autor retorted before Ahiru could speak. "Isn't it unethical to point guns at innocent bystanders?"

"You're both trespassers and you're here to rescue your friend," was the reply. "Only there's not going to be anything of the kind tonight."

"What have you done with Fakir?" Ahiru wailed. The charade was pointless, and anyway, she was too upset to keep it up now.

"Nothing yet," the gunman said. "But you'll know when we do something to him. You'll be right there." He nodded to the thug on his right, who reached out and grabbed Ahiru's arm to pull her away from Autor. She yelped in pain and Autor held fast.

"We'll go with you," he said coolly. When they were outnumbered, there was not much choice. "Just leave us be and allow us to walk."

"I'm giving the orders here," the leader answered. Bringing the gun to Ahiru's forehead he added, "Let go of her or I'll shoot."

Autor clenched his teeth. He could not risk the possibility it was a bluff. He released Ahiru's arms but stood where he was.

The man's lips pulled back in a nasty smirk. "Good," he said. "All it takes is a little manipulation in the right place. Now, come with us and we'll take you to Fakir."

xxxx

Fakir stiffened, looking towards the open door into the hall at the sound of multiple footsteps first in the parlor and then on the stairs. For what had seemed hours everything had been quiet. Now it sounded like an army had arrived.

"What's going on?" he wanted to know. "Are you guys ready to leave?"

"Could be," the man growled. "Or maybe they caught someone messing around."

Fakir's eyes widened in horrified alarm. That was it; somehow he knew that was it. And the people they caught could very well be . . .

A thump and a familiar moan stabbed the arrow deeper into his heart. "Ahiru!" he cried, leaping up from the chair.

The thug forcefully pushed him back down. "Cut it out, punk," he snarled.

Before Fakir could snap a retort, an annoyed voice came from the top of the stairs. "What's wrong with you? Can't you even walk up some stairs without doing something stupid?" And the gangster called Ahiru a vulgar name. Fakir's blood raged.

"I just couldn't see this step!" Ahiru shot back, angry and embarrassed all at once. "Maybe if I'm around when you trip on something I'll call you a . . . whatever it was you just called me!"

"Ahiru, hush."

Fakir stared at the door, his hands balled into fists. That was definitely Autor's voice. He was likely concerned about Ahiru copying such language as well as the possibility that she might incite the criminals to harm her.

He had not heard Autor since the argument. Had he come because of Ahiru's worry or because of his determination to do the right thing, in spite of his personal feelings? Or both? After the way Fakir had treated him, Fakir doubted it was at all likely that Autor had come because of concern about him.

Without warning the half-open door burst open the rest of the way, slamming against the wall with such ferocity that the plaster cracked. The gang members entered, prodding Ahiru and Autor with guns between their shoulder blades.

"Look at this, kid," the leader said, sneering at Fakir. "Your friends came to rescue you. Too bad they won't get the chance."

Fakir stared at them. "You shouldn't be here," he cried, his alarm and fear mixing with anger. "You're both idiots! These guys are out of all our league!"

"Of course we should be here!" Ahiru said. "Don't talk to us like that! Fakir, are you okay?" She tried to run forward, but two thugs caught her arms and wrenched them behind her back. "Hey!" she cried, struggling against them in vain.

"He's fine," one of them told her. "He's still alive. But now that he's been inducted into our organization to pay his dad's debt, we have a task for him."

Fakir's eyes were twin daggers boring into the wretch's soul. "What debt?" he demanded. "What did my father have to do with the likes of you?"

"We recruited him when he wasn't much older than you," said the leader. "He was kind of a rebel back then." He smirked at Fakir's increasing shock. "He liked the thought of being in a gang, at least at first." His face hardened. "When he decided he didn't like it, he had himself a problem."

"And that's when he escaped back to Kinkan," Fakir deduced, his own visage dark yet fiery. "The smartest thing he could have done."

"Only now you have to serve his time with us," was the retort. "And your first order is to do something to ensure that these two won't interfere any more."

Again Fakir sprang up, shoving the thug back before he could be pushed onto the chair. "I'm not going to hurt them!" he snarled.

Two guns clicked as the safeties were disabled. Both of them were brought to the back of Ahiru's head, as her eyes widened in shock and fear. Autor was thrust forward to crash on his knees. He gritted his teeth in pain.

"Fight the boy or the girl dies," the leader retorted. All other guns were brought to point at Fakir and Autor. "If he's out of commission she'll be too busy mending him to bother about us."

Fakir swore helplessly under his breath, his gaze traveling over the weapons and then back to his friends. What was he going to do? What could he do? The monster meant every word; that was obvious from his cold, remorseless tone. They were dealing with something they had never before encountered—heartless killers.

There was no possible way to charge the thugs and save Ahiru. They would all be shot dead. But . . . would that be better than the alternative? And what guarantee did they even have that Ahiru would not be killed anyway?

"Fakir."

He started at the sound of Autor's voice. The bespectacled boy was looking up at him in determination and resolution. He had already made up his mind on what to do.

"Fakir, we aren't being given a choice. Do what they want and fight me."

"No!" Ahiru wailed.

The guns pressed harder against her head. "Shut up," one of their owners growled.

Fakir stared at Autor, his heart beginning to gather speed. "Are you out of your mind?" he snarled. "I can't fight you any more than I could condemn Ahiru to death!"

Autor's lips curled in an ironic smile. "And yet you didn't seem to have any problems with preparing to throttle me senseless several hours ago," he said.

Fakir clamped his mouth shut, unable to hide the guilt flickering in his eyes. Autor sighed, slowly getting to his feet even as the guns remained trained on his back.

"They want us to fight because they heard us arguing earlier," Fakir said at last. "They think this would be a big joke. That's all we are—something for them to laugh at." He glowered at Autor. "We don't have a guarantee they'll let Ahiru live in any case."

"How can we afford to take chances with her life?" Autor returned, an edge slipping into his voice. "There isn't a way out of this, Fakir. You'll have to trust that somehow, eventually we'll all come out of this by doing what they want now."

"No, please!" Ahiru burst out. By now she was practically in tears. "Don't do it! Don't worry about me!" Her shoulders shook. "I wanted you to make up and be friends again, not to fight some more. Especially not because of me!"

"You don't have all day to decide," the leader said, ignoring Ahiru's desperate outburst. "In fact, you don't even have one minute. Get out on that balcony right now and fight."

The other gang members closed in on the boys, all with cocked guns and merciless eyes. Ahiru was pushed forward as well, her two captors continuing to hold the weapons at her head.

Fakir swore again. "Don't hurt her!" he roared.

"Then hurt him," the leader retorted, jerking his own revolver in Autor's direction. All the while they were moving, drawing closer to the open balcony doors.

Autor fixed him with a cold stare before looking back to Fakir. "We're going to fight, Fakir," he said, at the same time trying to convey a silent message with his eyes. He could only pray that Fakir would be attentive and pick up on what he could not say aloud.

Fakir stiffened. There was something in Autor's eyes, something he was not quite sure of. It was intended as a private communication between them, he understood that much. Could Autor be trying to hint that maybe they could catch the gang off-guard if they played along for a while? Yes, that could be it! What if Fakir went easy on Autor but could make it look authentic? And what if Autor could pretend to be badly hurt and then come to Fakir's aid at a point when he would be needed? Maybe they could take care of all of these creeps and actually get away safe.

Of course, he could not let on that anything had changed in his manner and feelings. He had to continue acting gruff and unwilling. "Fine," he snapped. "Just for Ahiru."

With that he lunged, shoving Autor with both hands through the door and onto the balcony. Autor gasped and stumbled, nearly losing his balance altogether when Fakir let go. But then his eyes narrowed and he lunged right back, elbowing Fakir harshly in the stomach.

Fakir grunted as he fell back. That had certainly felt authentic. Autor was stronger than his slender, muscle-lacking body appeared. Fakir shot out with his fist, catching Autor on the cheek. Autor was knocked off his feet—unless he was acting. If he was, even Fakir could not tell.

It was impossible to not think about when he had grabbed Autor earlier that evening. Ahiru's cry of horror had stopped the fight then. Now Ahiru was sobbing and screaming as she watched this new fight, and neither Fakir nor Autor could afford to bring it to a stop.

Autor pushed himself to his feet and went at Fakir before suddenly swaying to the side. Fakir frowned. What was he going to try now?

His eyes widened as Autor abruptly dove at him from the right. Autor had previously taught him about pressure points. Was he going to try, or pretend to try, pressing one of them? That was likely; Autor preferred that approach when possible.

"I know your strategies," Fakir said, "and I can't let you go through with this one." He swerved away from the attack, swinging a blow at Autor at the same moment. His fist caught Autor under the jaw and the boy wheezed in pain, tumbling backwards against the wooden railing.

The old wood splintered under Autor's weight, tearing free without allowing him to do anything about it. His eyes widened in shock. The wood had looked thick and strong. Had that all been an illusion? Or . . .

"Autor!"

He looked up as he fell. Fakir was lunging, his eyes panicked and haunted as he tried to grab hold of Autor and pull him back up. Ahiru was screaming, yelling for the thugs to let her go and that she had to help Fakir save Autor.

There was no lingering, suspended in air sensation, as in the movies. Instead there was only the surreal feeling of falling, as though it were some nightmarish dream. In the space of that instant, three thoughts flashed through Autor's mind.

We failed.

They wanted us to fight on the balcony because they knew the railing would break.

Fakir, I'm sorry.

Then he struck the ground and everything slammed into darkness.

Fakir crashed to his knees, leaning through the ruined safety guard as he stared with blank eyes at the body on the grass. "Autor," he croaked. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard, but it was a horrified cry to his ears. "My cousin. I've killed my own cousin."