THE COMING OF WINTER
Part 1 of 4: Section 4 written by Victar, e-mail
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Part 1 Section 4
Pyre's use-name refers to his talent: pyrokenisis, the summoning and manipulation of elemental Fire. The deep crimson color of his ceremonial uniform symbolizes the searing bonfires he can create at will. Pyre's exalted position within the Hierarchy meant that theoretically, lesser Lin Kuei could challenge him for his rank at any time. In practice, only one such duel had taken place in the past five years. I'd had the privilege of being a witness.
Pyre never had to touch his opponent.
As soon as the duelmaster signaled for the fight to begin, Pyre unleashed the full brunt of his Talent. His mastery of the Power was unheard-of in centuries of Lin Kuei history. He didn't need to channel it through his hands; he simply focused his gaze, and the entire arena burned. Livid orange flames ate Pyre's victim inside and out, pouring from his mouth, ears, and eyes while his clothing and skin blackened. He staggered toward Pyre, but didn't last two steps. The heat was so intense that some of the witness' clothing caught afire, and I had to help put it out. When it was over, there was nothing recognizable left of Pyre's contender. The inferno had reduced his bones to ash.
"Yes, I know what Pyre has done to his challengers," I assured Smoke. "Why do you ask? I do not want to be part of the Hierarchy. I'm not going to challenge Pyre, and he has no reason to challenge me."
"Trust your instincts, not Lord Pyre. Do not speak to him unless spoken to. Age has made him devious, paranoid, and easy to offend. He may take the most innocent remark or gesture as a threat to his authority. Be wary, and tell no one of this meeting." Smoke brought his palms together in front of himself, fingers pointed upward. Light, breezy wisps of Power flickered from his fingertips. The ashen plumes surrounding his body immediately thickened into a single swath that encompassed him and dispersed, leaving behind no trace of his presence.
Fifteen seconds later, Pyre's messenger approached me with a personal summons.
There was barely enough time to gasp a lungful of air before the ooze covered my head. Quicksand is only sand saturated with water, I thought to myself. I can control it. I will control it. Focus was critical. The ache in my muscles, the sensation of being sucked down like grime into a sewer, and the shortness of breath in my lungs had to be ignored. Ice was all that mattered - the immediate creation of a large chunk of pure Ice, with a narrowed middle section so that my arms could more easily grasp it. Even as I seized the piece, I channeled still more Ice through my hands to increase its volume. Suspended underneath the amorphous mixture of sand and water, with my eyes blighted by countless particles, I was too deprived of my senses to know whether my plan was working or merely slowing my descent. My supply of air was running out, and my consciousness with it. I didn't dare pour any more energy into the Ice float, for now it took all the strength in my body and psyche just to maintain my hold upon it.
I was on the verge of blacking out when I felt a cool breeze waft across my fingers. Committing my waning stamina to one last heave, I dragged my head out of the depths. My ragged breathing was hampered because I clutched the Ice float so tightly that it put pressure upon my diaphragm.
I'd bought myself some time, but the heat of the sun's rays on my face reminded me that the Ice float would not last long. Did enough Power remain within me to freeze the quicksand bed? Creating the one float had been hard enough. If I were to overestimate the limits of my psyche, I might black out from the exertion, and that would prove my doom. Was it worth the risk? Would freezing only part of the quicksand bed be more effective?
You have developed keen senses, but you are slow to adapt and rely on the Power too much.
And why the hell was I thinking of Smoke at a time like this?
Smoke's warning echoed in my mind as I entered Pyre's uncomfortably warm reception chamber. Almost everything within was made of polished black stone: walls, floor, sparse furnishings. Ornately chiseled patterns of vines, birds, dragons, and men adorned the walls. A string of small glass jars rested on a stone ledge. Each jar contained liquid and a blobby, flaccid thing compressed inside.
Pyre's rank far outstripped mine, so I kneeled and touched my forehead to the floor. I had no idea why he wanted to speak to directly me, instead of using an intermediary. My memory recalled a picture of him standing aloof while his burning victim writhed like a tortured snake. Pyre's uniform had concealed his face, hair and body; all I'd seen of him was his eyes, which constantly changed color in the unsteady firelight. They appeared bored, as if he'd done this hundreds of times before. For all I knew, he probably had.
"You may rise," Pyre said, graciously. As I did so, I noticed two Lin Kuei retainers flanking his either side. Both were clad in matching ceremonial uniforms tinted a lighter shade of crimson than the highlights of Pyre's outfit. "Sub-Zero, isn't it? Yes, it must be. Smoke has told me about you. You're still learning to control your Power, but I have faith in your abilities."
What?
I'd trained to harness my Power for years. My teaching had progressed from straining to lower the temperature of a small room, to preserving a melting ice cube during the hottest summer months, then finally mastering the creation of true Ice at will. I'd graduated from Smoke's tutoring when I paralyzed him with a freezing blast of the Power. Did Smoke truly consider me a novice? Had I failed to earn my teacher's respect?
Enough of this. Pyre was speaking, and it was my duty to pay attention. I dismissed the questions from my mind and focused upon my superior. An uneasy feeling remained, and continued to worry me long after I'd forgotten the queries that caused it.
"Before I explain your presence here, there's something I'd like to show you. It's so extraordinary - are you still looking at the floor? Really, there is no need for displays of formality. Come on, head up. It's all right."
I did not want to disobey, yet my years among the Lin Kuei had ingrained the knowledge that lesser clansmen do not make eye contact with the Hierarchy. I'd once known a fellow initiate who made that mistake. For his impertinence, he lost his eyes and tongue, had his tendons severed, and was pressed into the ranks of the Lin Kuei's slaves. The clan prefers its bondsmen blind, mute, and lame because this make them easier to control; in addition, it has the advantage of discouraging infiltration. All slaves must never wear any covering over their scarred calves or eye sockets, and must open their mouths for inspection at least once a day, to ensure that no unmutilated spy lurks among them. The Lin Kuei have many rivals, but few enemies would voluntarily cripple themselves on the distant hope of blending with the slaves.
"Still feeling reticent? Do I have to spell it out for you, then? This audience is private. Only my grandsons are watching, and they can be trusted. I give you my word that for the length of this meeting, I will take nothing that you say or do as an offense. Of course, you had better observe the forms outside these walls, or I'll have Ember here drain the vitreous humor from your eyeballs and use it to preserve your severed tongue." The warning was quite amiable, as if he were admonishing a child not to sit too close to the fireplace.
"Now, look at me." To resist further might have incited Pyre's displeasure, so I did as he requested.
The person in front of me differed greatly from the specter I'd once observed in ritual combat. Pyre was a small man, slightly stooped from age. For some reason, he'd chosen to forego his mask, exposing a wizened face creased with lines from every possible facial expression. His stiff, grey moustache was perfectly trimmed. He beamed with warmth and good will. Was this the irascible, easily provoked overlord Smoke had warned me about? What had happened to the basilisk-man that could cremate a person with a single glance?
Only one detail hinted that Pyre was more deadly than he appeared. His solid black bodysuit retained sleeves and gloves that fully covered his hands. All other clansmen with the Talent, including Smoke and myself, must have our arms and hands free to project our Power. Decorating Pyre's bodysuit was the Lin Kuei ceremonial cloth overlay, including the divided vest, frontscloth tied with a sash, and guards on the forearms, hands, and shins, all colored deep crimson.
"That's better," Pyre affirmed. "Now where was I... ah, yes." He indicated the black stone wall behind us. Ember stepped forward, tucking a stray wisp of reddish hair underneath his hood, and raised his hands. Rivulets of Fire flowed from his fingertips, splashing against the stone. When Ember ceased his outburst, the wall began to move with a dull, rumbling noise.
"Takes a minimum of five hundred degrees Kelvin to make it budge," Pyre explained with a wink. "This way, quickly, before it cools." He strode through the scorched stone opening, which pulsed with enough heat to make me ill. His grandsons followed. I held my breath and hurried through the gaping stone rent moments before it slid back into place, cutting off light from the chamber.
Pyre's second grandson rubbed his fingers together, bringing to life a small flame in his cupped right hand. He fanned it a little, gradually coaxing its glow brighter. His hand trembled from the stress of calling the Power. That and the wavering light of his tiny beacon were enough to make it clear that he was only a student of the Power, even if I hadn't sensed the relative weakness of his aura. Studying his smaller stature and the smooth skin at the corners of his eyes, I estimated him to be about the age of my younger brother. He was clearly no match for Ember, or me, for that matter. I wondered why Pyre chose to have such an unskilled attendant, even if he was family. Was there no one else in the entire Lin Kuei that Pyre could trust? And if Pyre truly was that suspicious, then why was he taking me into his confidence?
The tiny flame's light was just bright enough for the three of us to find our way through the tunnel and down the stone steps to which it led. At last Pyre stopped before a square iron door. Something was very wrong about that door. I felt a little queasy, looking upon it. It was riveted, with a tiny eye-level slit too small for someone on this side to peer through, but its most ominous feature was the metal box attached to the latch. A ring of faint bulbs illuminated the box, revealing a pad of Arabic numbers underneath the recessed outline of a human hand. It appeared to be a locking device, but I'd never seen anything like it before.
"You are about to encounter something amazing," Pyre addressed me, resting his hand on the door's riveted surface. "Few of our clan know this project exists. There are some who might be uncomfortable with the concept, so it is better if they don't learn of it just yet. The repercussions would be very severe. Do you understand my meaning?"
"Yes, Lord Pyre." If I were to tell anyone what I was about to see, I'd be tortured to death.
"Excellent." He precisely fitted his hand into the recessed outline. Lights flashed; a thin chime sounded. A voice too monotone and flat to be human said, Identification verified. Access granted, Lord Pyre. The door opened of its own accord, sliding to the side and disappearing within a slot embedded in its frame. At first, dim reddish lights only half-illuminated the room beyond, which had no other exits or entrances. Then Pyre stepped through, and an unseen generator hummed as ceiling lamps turned themselves on.
The chamber was a laboratory, and a very messy one at that. Mechanical parts and wires covered virtually every surface. Some were just scattered aimlessly, but most were formed into pieces resembling human body parts - torsos, legs, arms, or helmeted heads. The "skin" of such prototype members was a transparent plastic, covering inner gears, grease, and colored wire strands. A unique box hummed quietly in the corner. Its near side glowed with light, showing a constantly changing pattern of green wires bent into grids resembling three-dimensional objects. A large container with an insulated lid rested against the back wall. My sensitivity to temperature told me that it was a freezer - and the reddish stains on the floor next to it plus my sense of smell offered a clue as to what was frozen inside. To the freezer's left was a nightmare that has troubled my sleep ever since.
It was an artificial thing constructed in the rough shape of a man, with plastic skin, a skeleton of metal, and innards of pumps and tubes. Wires ran along its limbs in the place of nerves. Black, oily liquid greased its mechanisms instead of blood. The thing was only partly finished, lacking an arm and a leg. The forehead of its metal skull had been cut away; inside I saw empty space, save for the frayed tips of wires leading out from its neck.
"Behold," Pyre proudly exclaimed, "unit LK-4D4! It's not done yet, of course. You don't know how much it has cost to get this far. This prototype was born from the resources of entire corporations under the Lin Kuei's control. We are close to making the perfect - no, the ultimate warrior! Envision, if you will, a Lin Kuei soldier that doesn't need food or sleep, that can see a gnat flying in pitch blackness, that cannot be stopped by blades or guns, that has the strength of ten men!" Eagerness flavored his voice. "The only problem is the central processing unit. We can't make one with the capability to function in every contingency, not just yet. We've tried, but the program invariably crashes within twenty-four hours of installation. Then I gave the matter some thought and realized that I already had the perfect 'computer' - it was inside my head all along!"
No. He couldn't mean-
"Just imagine it!" Lord Pyre hissed, stepping in front of the empty shell, which exactly matched his frame and build. "A tireless, ageless body superior to ordinary flesh in every way! We have the secret of immortality in our hands, Sub-Zero. Eternal life for the entire Lin Kuei clan! Our numbers have been steadily decreasing over the past centuries, but now we can preserve them forever! What do you think of that?"
I thought he was a madman.
My arms were tiring. Droplets of water trickled down the side of my ice float, making it so slick that I had to lock my hands together to maintain my hold. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead and mingled with the melted ice, seeping toward the rest of the quicksand bed. Instead of dissolving instantly, though, the moisture pooled upon the quicksand's surface, separated from the denser mixture below by a light film of surface tension.
My intuition made the leap.
The quicksand truly was nothing but sand mixed with ordinary water. I didn't have to freeze it when, buoyed by the float, I ought to be able to swim through it. The "shore," where my sandy footprints gave way to a deceptively smooth surface, was only a couple meters away.
I rolled on my side and pulled my knees in slightly, bringing my heels toward my hips, then vigorously extended them apart and brought them together again. I repeated the scissor kick over and over; each motion brought me precious centimeters closer to safety. The viscous quicksand sucked at my calves with a shlorp sound whenever they broke the surface. My slow progress could have been sped up if I'd used one arm, but I didn't dare compromise my precarious hold on the melting chunk of ice. The quicksand's sucking pull on me was far greater than ordinary water, and I doubted I could stay afloat solely on my own efforts.
The tousled remnant of the nearest footprint was close enough to touch when the narrowed midsection of my ice float broke apart. Resisting the urge to thrash, I dug my fingers into the shore. Underneath a couple centimeters of sand, I felt a rough, rocky surface and gripped it with my fingertips. I was sinking quickly despite efforts to keep my body horizontal, and to struggle would only have made me submerge all the faster. With what little purchase I had, I dragged my upper body forward and reached for another handhold.
All Lin Kuei warriors are expected to keep themselves in optimum physical condition. I regularly practice using my arms alone to scale nylon thread no thicker than twenty strands of hair, and the strength I've developed from such exercises serves me well. Fatigue and injury made hauling myself out of the quicksand pit more difficult, but my determination to survive carried me through. Fortunately, the ice bandages had stayed in place over my claw wounds, though the sharp pain in my shoulder blade warned me against trying another stunt like that.
My uniform was a mess, covered with the gritty morass. Now that I was out of danger, I felt the strength drain out of my limbs and my psyche, leaving me shaken and unable to conjure a single crystal. Yet I had to press on, and hope that the passage of time would help me recover. Before continuing my journey, I searched underneath the sand for loose rocks and pebbles. With every few steps, I'd toss a stone on the ground in front of me. When it appeared to sink too far into the sand, then I was very cautious indeed, and slowed my progress to a crawl until I found another, safer stretch to cross.
If it had been winter, I'd have retreated to the deepest snow-covered valley I could find. But it was spring, and the nearest source of snow was a mountaintop over two hundred kilometers away, so I had to be content with prowling the woods. I was restless, and needed to do something while I thought over Pyre's assignment.
Sometimes I practice the art of mundane invisibility through a more traditional form of hunting. Animal senses are far keener than those of men. Any fool can creep up behind a commoner, but only the quietest prowler can approach a hare unnoticed. It took a great deal of practice before I could come close enough to touch the hare's white tail with the tip of my finger - which is what I did. I kill people, not animals.
Pyre had told me to kill one more person, a member of a rival clan, within the next seven days. I should have immediately set out for the target's dwelling, yet something bothered me and I didn't understand what it was. Misgivings? This target was no different from any of the others. He was just another killer, and therefore my rightful prey. Wasting even a little time here was dangerously close to disobeying Pyre's wishes.
The wishes of a madman.
That had to be what bothered me. Memory of that thing in Pyre's laboratory made me nauseous. He actually planed to create zombies of metal and grease; worse, he planned to turn himself, and possibly others into those unliving, soulless objects. He had to be senile. Though he had appeared healthy when I met him, he was indeed an old man who couldn't have had too many years remaining. Perhaps he was desperate to try anything, no matter how blasphemous, to prolong his waning lifespan. Sometimes I forget how tightly other people cling to this world.
There was one other, acerbating circumstance. Pyre's second grandson had been tailing me ever since I left the clan's residence. He tried to be subtle about it, and showed some skill, but not enough to fool the game that ran away long before I could close in. He could probably use a quick lesson.
I made my way to a brook with small black fish that darted just underneath the water's surface. Having chosen my optimum territory, I settled down and started to craft an Ice mirror from the stream's cool water. It took a little time, during which I listened intently for any movement from behind. None came. He was either unaware of what I intended, or better than I thought.
I gazed upon the finished mirror. By shifting its angle, I could peer around the trees he was hidden behind. My right hand casually reached to scratch the back of my neck, then angled toward him and directed the Power. He was far enough away that he could have dodged the attack, had he anticipated it, but apparently following me for several hours had whittled away at his vigilance. I approached him and waited for the Power's effects to fade.
"Next time you trail someone, be careful to stay downwind or at least crosswind of them," I lectured, when he was no longer paralyzed. "The scent of a human being is very hard to conceal when you are upwind. And do not wear your ceremonial colors. By the clan's honor, what do you think you are doing? That shade of red is bright enough for a blind man to see! Now, what do you want with me?" He turned his head to the side and did not speak. "Consider this: I could have killed you, yet I did not."
"If you had, you would have paid with your blood!" he snapped, glaring at me.
"Perhaps, but you would still be dead."
He looked at me, strangely, and with apprehension.
"I do not have time for this charade," I sighed, shaking my head. "There is a task to carry out. Pyre cannot have charged you with monitoring me until I completed it; you are too inexperienced to be an effective observer, and too weak to be an effective enforcer. You probably thought up the idea on your own. Your time would be better spent practicing your disciplines. You have much to learn."
"I won't let you hurt him," he snarled.
"The target?" I enquired, genuinely curious.
"No! Grandfather Pyre. I don't know why he trusts you - something about wanting to forge an alliance between opposite elements, he said - but I don't! You'd better not try to harm him!"
"For your sake, I did not hear that. My loyalty to the clan is not to be questioned, and even if it were, Lord Pyre is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Do not speak of him in such a disrespectful manner or you'll pay the price, grandson or not."
"No. It's a trap, it's too convenient!"
"What are you babbling about?"
"Sub-Zero, the Lin Kuei's only living Ice master, just happens to be taken into confidence on the most perilous secret in the entire clan? It can't be a coincidence that he summoned you immediately after the Grand Council was in session. It's a Hierarchy trick! He doesn't realize how much they already know! You are their weapon. I've tried to warn him, and now I'm warning you: don't turn against him."
"Or?"
"Or I'll destroy you, your family, and anyone associated with you."
Brave words, from a novice who posed no serious threat to my well-being. I could have told him that an intelligent hunter does not warn his quarry before making the kill, and does not make a challenge unless he has the strength to back it up. I could have broken both his arms to emphasize the point.
Instead, I asked "What do you call yourself?"
"Sektor. Why?"
"I like to know the names of people who threaten me. It makes them easier to track down, later."
A shift of the wind brought more than moisture to my attention. It also carried a raw odor, warm and quaking with a salty tang. I recognized that smell. As I reached the top of a vantage point overlooking its source, my eyes confirmed the suspicions of my nose.
"Blood River," Saibot had called it. The name was no accident.
Coursing vigorously through the ravine's bottom was a scarlet river of real blood. The syrupy red liquid bubbled and churned, occasionally erupting into bright red geysers. It stretched for kilometers to the left, and curved around a bend to the right. Steam constantly drifted from its restless surface, masking its other side. Questions spun through my head. How did all this blood get here? Was it from humans, animals, or both? Why was it so smooth? Blood has a tendency to coagulate and decay, but the river's contents were as fresh as if they'd spilled out of a giant aorta.
The closer I came to the river, the more it throbbed with scalding heat. I could not swim across it. Though the river's grisly composition did not deter me, the prospect of boiling like meat in a cookpot did. By the time I reached its shore, my eyes stung from the steam; however, no tears formed. I have not shed tears since discovering my Power.
A shadow appeared within the river-mist.
As it gradually drifted closer, the shape resolved into a low, flat-bottomed object with pointed tips, hosting a man-sized visage. A long, thin streak extended from the figure, plunging underneath Blood River's turbulent surface and stirring it. It was a boat, guided by a single poleman. I suppose I'd expected the craft to be made from bones and strung with sinew, yet I was pleasantly surprised to see merely an ordinary wooden boat, joined with common iron and painted deep red from stem to stern. The being within wore a long-sleeved, floor-length sable robe with a heavy hood drawn down, leaving only his hands visible. To my relief those hands appeared human, though strung with discolored veins and quivering from moment to moment. The poleman had to be very old. He gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles had bled white. His pole was a little unusual, I noted, for it was gnarled and covered with twisting, brownish leaf stems. It looked as if it had been wrested from the bough of a tree.
The boatman halted about five meters from shore. His voice drifted amidst the steam, soft and rattling with the rasp of one who had overused his throat the day before.
"Fare?" He nodded vacantly toward a small bronze bowl tucked close to the boat's starboard rim. I couldn't see the bowl's contents, but I could guess that he wanted gold, or silver, neither of which were in my possession. I had nothing to offer him save the quicksand-caked rags of my uniform. Perhaps I could overpower him, and steal his vessel. If he came closer, I might be able to jump across the distance separating us, but at the moment he was so far away that the impact of my weight would risk overturning the boat.
"My deepest apologies, sir, for I cannot hear you," I lied. "Would you please approach a little nearer and say that again?"
A chuckle dry as dust, gritty as sandpaper glided on the warm breeze. "No fare? Is okay. I still take you." Ripples spread out from the end of his staff as he withdrew it and plunged it anew into Blood River's tumultuous surface. With unusual strength for one so ancient, he used the tool to pull his boat's prow close to land. "All you do is take pole, yes? I tired." He extended the head of his long wooden staff to me. Drops of river-blood trailed down its length and dripped on the rocky shore, joining pools of sanguine spray.
The target lived in a common fishing village, which took five days of brisk travel to reach. I was familiar with Lin Kuei records about all known rival clans and cartels, none of which had direct ties to this remote town. Most black market organizations recruit from their home territory first, but it is not unheard of for a cartel member to "retire" in such a quiet, out-of-the-way location, provided that his superiors approve. Lin Kuei forbid any such practice outright. To join them is to live in their domain for the rest of one's life.
I wondered why Pyre had chosen to me to carry out this elimination. The target was only a lowly Tong hit-man. Retirement must have dulled the target's senses, for I never had the slightest difficulty staying unnoticed as I observed his daily routine. This was no test of my abilities - but then, Pyre had been under the impression that I was still an apprentice.
The target worked sunup to sundown mending nets, casting them out, bringing back his catch, preparing it for the market, and so forth. A woman with a small boy came out to meet him when he dragged his boat home. She wore a plain traditional dress, narrowly bound, and her hair was tied firmly in a bun held with long pins. The child was about five years old and a little shy, peeking behind his mother's dress until he recognized his father, and only then running up to greet him. They matched photographs of the target's wife and son, in the file I had memorized before setting out to perform my mission.
I moved outside the village's perimeter and waited until well after sunset, then moonset, until the darkest hours when no common working man can afford to be awake. Then I waited some more. Every time I resolved to set forth, it seemed as though an animal cried out or voices muttered, and I halted. The sky began to grow lighter before I'd passed the first hut. I retreated, knowing that I had foolishly squandered my window of opportunity, and for what? Wondering about that distracted me for the next day, evening, and night, until the darkest hour descended once more.
My mandate had been clear: the target was not to greet tomorrow's dawn. Hierarchy orders are not to be questioned; only obeyed. Every worry that had buzzed in my head up to this point was dangerously close to treason. I certainly wasn't about to march all the way back and tell Lord Pyre that, due to my incompetence, someone else would have to assassinate the Tong.
The darkness had thickened to its deepest point. Memory told me that a humble fishing boat and net rested near the target's door, but shadows crowded them so densely I could no longer see them for what they truly were. I silently approached his modest dwelling, relying on the sense of touch to guide my movements.
I was about to take the staff when my eyes spotted a tiny motion. Little brown tendrils, which I'd taken to be leaf stems, connected the pole to the boatman's hand, burrowing underneath the skin into his bulging veins. They wriggled and pulsed ever so slightly, like the motion of a centipede's legs, as if to get a better purchase. A few of them had detached and waved toward my fingers. Instinctively, I focused a burst of Power through my hand, paralyzing the vile things before they could touch me.
"What wrong?" crooned the boatman, his shrill voice rapidly increasing in volume and pitch. "Afraid to work? Maybe I no give pole, because I very attached to it!" He cackled loudly and held up his face. His head was a fleshless skull yellowed with age. Independent eyeballs hung suspended in the skull's recessed eye sockets. The boatman lifted the staff and his sleeves gathered near his elbows, exposing radius and ulna bones. Only his hands had anything remotely like skin attached to them, and that was clearly a side effect of the writhing pole-thing they carried.
"Sure you no step on board?" cawed the skeleton. "Yes, job is hard and food terrible, but tenure last forever!
Aahhahahahahahaha!" He was still cackling when a sudden geyser of blood erupted from the river's surface, forcing me to move away and shield my eyes. "You better cross quickly. Death wait for you on other side!" When the geyser subsided, the boatman was gone, though he could have been anywhere in the dense mist above the river's surface.
There had to be another way across. I followed Blood River's bank to the right, around the curve and into unknown territory.
end part 1 section 4
Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.