Mara's Promise
Chapter One
He was going to die this night, he was sure of it. If his heart didn't burst from the excertion of running, then the men chasing him would surely slit his throat once they caught him.
So stupid, he thought. So incredibly stupid.
He put one hand against a wall to steady himself and placed the other against his chest. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs like a wild animal trying to break loose from it's cage.
"Well Johnny boy, this is certainly a fine situation you've gotten yourself into."
He pushed himself away from the wall and forced one leg in front of the other. The brief moment he'd rested had helped, his legs felt strong and his breathing was not as labored as before. But the problem remained of where to go. He couldn't return home, at least two of them knew where he lived. He could hide out with friends but none of them lived anywhere near the sector he was in.
There was a maze of buildings a couple of blocks away that was home to many of the scrapyard's destitute. The poor, the unloved, the diseased. If he could make it there he might be able to evade his pursuers until morning. His chances would be better then, there would be crowds on the streets and the occasional netman.
He ran in short strides, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. There was no one, yet he was sure they weren't far away, the men chasing him were not the kind to give up. They were after all men much like himself.
Why does shit like this happen? An hour ago he had been a participant in a game of poker. He had been doing pretty well too, most of the chips on the table had belonged to him. He had been cheating of course, but there was nothing unusual in that. The other participants in the game had been cheating as well. He'd noticed the one across from him dealing from the bottom of the deck while the one on his right had been marking the cards by pressing his fingernails into the edges. Amatuers he thought, several times he hadn't been able to suppress the smile that crept across his face whenever he found one of his opponents cheating.
His own method was simpler yet required sleight of hand. He'd had a duplicate set of cards in his possession and had been able to slip in the required card needed to give him the occasional winning hand. However this required that he remove the card on the next deal to keep the number at fifty two. He'd missed the card and had been discovered when his third opponent had found himself holding two of the queen of hearts.
In truth he had always known that he would die a violent death. Such was the life he lead, though it was not of his choosing. He was twenty years old and had spent most of those years living on the street. Petty theft, robbery, and the occasional act of violence necessary to get what he wanted though he was sure he had never killed anyone. Recreation consisted of games of chance and the frequenting of prostitutes. These always left him in need of money and drove him to commit more crimes, and he was good at it, very good. Never had his face appeared as a wanted criminal on a bulletin monitor. He prided himself on this and was therefore extremely angry he might die because of a stupid mistake made in a game of chance.
He reached a corner and paused to look down the street to his left. There was no still no sign of his pursuers, and that gave him hope that he might reach the squatter's shanty. He bolted across the street, nervous at the thought of being so exposed.
"Made it," he said aloud as his foot touched the opposite curb.
He ran several meters further when his foot caught on a sewer grid that had been left ajar, tangling his legs together and sending him to the pavement. He instinctively thrust his hands out to brace himself against the expected impact, turning his head away and closing his eyes.
But he never hit the ground, instead a strong arm wrapped around his waist and he was pulled away. The sudden change in direction left him disoriented as he was yanked into a dark alley. A hand was clasped over his mouth, threatening to suffocate him. The smell of machine oil and sweat engulfed him and he could feel the body of another pressing into his back. Someone was breathing into his ear, someone taller than him, and much stronger.
He was terrified, he realized that whoever was holding him was not a normal man. His captor was probably a cyborg, though why he wasn't dead yet was a mystery.
"I'm going to take my hand away," said a full baritone. "If you cry out I'll kill you, do you understand?"
John nodded his head and felt the hand move away from his mouth. Cold air settled around his lips and he filled his lungs. He had no idea what was happening, but he realized that he must be careful in his choice of words. Though he would be answering questions, the right answers provided information as well.
"There are three men chasing you," said the voice. "Why?"
"How did you know that?" replied John.
The arm around his waist dug into his ribs and he let out a wimper. The pain lasted a few seconds and then the hand relaxed, letting him breath again.
"Answer the question."
"They tried to rob me," he moaned. "I'm just trying to get away, that's all."
He was suddenly thrust into a wall, his head slamming against wet brick.
"Goddamn it that hurt! If you want a straight answer, ask nice."
John brought his right hand to his forehead and massaged the area that had collided with the wall. Turning, he saw a huge man, dark skin wrapped in a cloak and a flash of steel at his waist. He had a face of narrow eyes and full lips. His head was shaved bald, a large ring dangling from his left ear.
The giant stepped forward, looming over him like a dark cloud, ready to erupt in anger.
"I will ask you once more," said the man. "If you lie to me again I'll run a blade through your heart. Do you understand?"
He stared into the giant's eyes and nodded, even without the threat of violence he felt unable to resist. It were as if the man could see into his soul and discern the truth.
"I was playing a game of cards, that's all," John stammered. "They didn't like the fact that I was taking their money and wanted it back so I ran. Wouldn't you do the same?"
The man smiled and let out a grunt.
"No, I would have killed them."
John believed him, this guy looked like he had never run from anything in his life. He didn't need to.
"Have you committed any crimes? Murder, drugs, spine theft?"
He stared at the man and shook his head. Who the hell was this guy, and what kind of question was that?
"No, nothing like you're describing. I'm no angel, but I've never done any of the stuff you're talking about."
"Ah, an honest answer. God forgives those who confess sin, for it is the first step on the road to redemption."
The giant stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. He ran his eyes over the smaller man, judging him to be young, in his early twenties. Average build and height with short blond hair. Nothing special really except for the eyes. Hard they were, a mirror of the streets the boy had grown up on.
John found the silence unnerving and spoke up.
"What the hell is it that you want?! I've never met you before so there's no reason for you to kill me, and if it's money you want I left it at that card game."
"It's not you I'm after, it's those three that are chasing you."
Then what do you want with me?" asked John.
The giant put his finger to his lips, indicating for him to be silent, a moment later he knew why. John could hear several men approaching from the direction he had come. The footsteps grew steadily louder and then stopped, perhaps twenty meters away. He could hear voices, obviously of the men that had been chasing him. They couldn't see John, and were in involved in a heated discussion of what they were going to do once they caught him.
The giant looked at John and smiled. He leaned down and spoke into his ear, barely a whisper.
"Now I'll tell why I grabbed you, I need you as bait to lead them in here."
The younger man pulled away and shook his head in disbelief. There was no way he was going to put himself at risk, not for this guy, not for anybody.
"You're nuts," John whispered. "You're just plain friggin' nuts. I've met a lot of crazy people in my life, but you have to be the craziest."
The larger man frowned and straightened up.
Are you saying that you won't help me?"
"Oh you got that right pal," replied John. "I just spent the last hour killing myself trying not to get caught, and now you expect me to just step out and say, 'Hey boys, I'm over here.' Well it isn't going to happen."
The giant rubbed his chin in contemplation and then placed his left hand on John's shoulder.
"Well then," he said. "I guess I'll have to make you volunteer."
John felt metal fingers dig into his arm and was suddenly thrust out into the street. He swore and turned around to see his pursuers standing a block away. As one they spun around and looked at him.
"Hey, there he is," said one of them, raising his arm.
"Yeah," replied another. "It looks as if this guy's luck has run out."
They smiled as they advanced towards John. In their hands they held various weapons, a knife, a length of chain, and an iron club.
John was near panic. He was no coward in a one on one confrontation but against three he knew he didn't stand a chance. He glanced back into the dark alley from which he had been pushed. He couldn't see a thing yet he knew the giant was still there, and he was his only hope.
"I think I know why you're so pissed," said John. "You can't stand the fact that I cheat better than you."
He bolted into the alley with the men in pursuit. He smiled in the knowledge that the giant was still there and would take care of his problem for him. John looked around but could see no one, the man had disappeared. He twisted his head in all directions, listening for any sound. Now he was in a panic, the giant had abandoned him and he was in the very predicament he had been trying to avoid.
"Goddamn it!" he exclaimed.
John broke into a run taking him further into the alley, the security of the streetlights was left behind and he ran blindly through the black, occasionally stumbling over boxes and other debris. Behind him came the taunts of his pursuers and this spurned him to run faster. John prayed to whatever deity might be listening, the alley had to open onto another street, it just had to.
John saw a high wall with a single door directly in front of him. He ran to the door and grabbed the knob with both hands, bracing one foot against the wall for leverage. John pulled and twisted, his arms and shoulders ached and the metal handle dug into his palms. The door held fast, and there wasn't time to pick the lock.
"You're trapped now," said a familiar voice. "You know they don't call this a dead end for nothing."
John let go of the door and slumped against the wall. He looked at the three men with tired eyes. No matter what he did he was going to die, he resigned himself to that fact, the only question that remained was one of fighting or submission.
One of them stepped forward, knife in hand. He stopped two meters away and held his arm straight out, pointing the weapon at John's face.
"You can go quietly or you can put up a fight," he said to John. "One stab through the heart or we can cut you into little pieces, the choice is yours."
John didn't move a muscle. He stared past the man's face to his two companions, they stood further back in the alley, cutting off any avenue of escape. It seemed to John that the other two were holding back, leaving their companion with the duty of murder. If such was the case then the odds were even for the moment.
His attacker lunged forward, the knife aimed squarely at John's heart. At the last moment John twisted his body and grabbed the man's wrist, holding the knife away from him. He pushed his elbow into his attacker's face, causing blood to erupt from the man's nose. John twisted his opponent's arm in an attempt to make him drop the knife but the man was strong. He held to the knife and stepped back, wrenching his hand free of John's grasp and swiping the blade across his palm.
John swore and clutched his injured hand. Blood dripped in a steady stream upon the ground and he folded his palm into a tight fist in an attempt to stem the bleeding. Still the blood oozed from between his fingers.
"You little bastard!" said his attacker.
He was standing some distance away, John had broken his nose and blood was streaming down his face. He made no attempt to stop the bleeding and seemed unaffected by pain.
Tough sonofabitch, thought John.
"Now I'm gonna hurt you!" he threatened. "My friends and I are going to cut you up and sell the pieces."
John let out a deep breath and pushed his back against the door. This was the end, he knew. There was no way out of this one. Though the alley was dark there was still a little ambiant light that cast the players in shadow. John's eyes had accustomed to the dark and shapes had become vivid with detail, or perhaps he was just seeing things clearly for the first time. When one knows that death is imminent the simplest of objects seem to burst with color and vibrance. He glanced to the ground several meters away and saw a flower. Ugly, stunted, fighting for it's very existance among the fouled earth and weeds.
John smiled, he and that flower were the same. Both alone, unwanted, every day a struggle to survive. That flower hadn't chosen to bloom in a harsh environment but it was how things were.
John laughed aloud and his attackers paused in midstep. He kept laughing, the thought of being outlived by an ugly little flower was hysterical.
Suddenly John was struck on the back of the head and he fell to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he lay on his stomach, unable to move. His head swam and he turned his face to one side in an attempt to see what was happening. All he saw were shapes and colors, a collage of human forms that occasionally erupted in red. His ears rang with the shouts and screams of the men that had trapped him and several times there came the low whistling sound of a blade cleaving the air. Something landed on his back, not solid but rather wet. It seeped into his clothes and clung to his skin.
After a moment the shapes died away and the alley became silent. John's eyes cleared and he moaned. Slowly he pushed himself to his knees and raised his head, expecting at any moment to have a knife thrust into his face. He reached beneath his shirt and withdrew his hand. It was slick with blood, though he was sure it wasn't his.
John looked at the ground in front of him and saw a huge pair of black boots. He raised his head further and his eyes came to rest upon the giant who was standing over him, gazing into John's eyes with a dispassionate stare. The giant leaned over and thrust a gloved hand into John's face, an offer to help him rise. He grabbed his hand and the giant pulled him to his feet as easily as one picks a kitten off the floor.
John looked around and beheld a gruesome sight. The bodies of the men that had tried to kill him were strewn over the scene. Two had been decapitated and their heads were lying several meters from their bodies. The third was still in possession of it's head but there was a gaping wound to it's chest. Everywhere was blood, it stained the earth and pooled into every crevice.
John was no stranger to violence but the sight of such carnage was extreme. He felt his stomach knot and swallowed hard to force the bile down. He stared up at the giant who was looking away, focusing on nothing in particular. The big man seemed to be lost in contemplation, his mind elsewhere than the carnage around them.
"You did this?" asked John.
The giant snapped out his trance and looked at the smaller man.
"Of course," he replied dispassionately. "And a good thing too, it seems they were just about to kill you."
John was wrapped in anger and grabbed the giant by the coat, shaking the man to add emphasis to his words.
"You bastard!" he shouted into the giant's face. "Where the hell where you!? I almost got killed because you disappeared."
"But you didn't," he replied. "Your leading them to the back of the alley was part of the plan."
"What plan!" screamed John. "You never told me about any plan."
"There was no need," the giant answered. "You had to run into the alley, there was no where else for you to go. The alley is a deadend except for that door. I simply hid in there, waiting until the right time to reveal myself. Unfortunately I didn't count on your standing in the way, my apologies for striking you on the back of the head."
"You mean it was open the whole time?" said John, pointing his hand at the open door.
"Of course, I was holding onto the door to prevent you from entering, I wanted to see what you would do."
John released the giant and stepped back. He narrowed his eyes and placed his injured hand on his right hip.
"What do you mean?" he asked tentatively.
"You seemed like an interesting sort," said the giant. "I was curious to see what you would do in a life and death situation. Most people would have resigned themselves to their fate, even engaging in a futile attempt to beg for mercy. But you fought back, and despite the odds you even succeeded in injuring one of them. In truth my decision to act when I did depended upon you. If you had given up and not offered any resistance I would have let them kill you, for such people are deserving of death. I'm glad you didn't disappoint me."
John was speechless. He had never met such a character of absolutes. He was inwardly angry that the giant had been playing with his life to his own amusement. But he was also fascinated with the ease at which the giant had dispatched the three men.
The giant turned away and walked toward the body that had been stabbed in the chest. He pulled out his short sword and in the blink of an eye he cleaved the head away from the corpse. It rolled away and the giant caught it by the hair in one swipe. He straightened up and without looking back he threw the head in John's direction.
"Here."
The head flew straight at John's face and he instinctively put his hands out to catch it, his fingers digging into wet flesh. Again John was seized with the urge to wretch and he flung the horrible thing away, rubbing his hands against his thin shirt to wipe away the blood and to remove the feeling of having touched such a gruesome object.
"Why the hell did you do that!" exclaimed John.
The giant shrugged and folded his arms.
"I owe it to you," he answered. "Since you did help me at the risk of your own life I'll give you one third of the bounty. Of course I'll turn in all three heads and once I've collected the total chips I'll give you your share."
"Jesus," said John. "You're a hunter-warrior, I should have realized it sooner."
"Your mind was on other things," replied the giant.
"Well why were you after these three?" asked John, pointing to the body that had just lost it's head.
"Spine theft and murder," answered the giant. "For the past several weeks bodies had been found in this sector at a frequency of one every three days. All dead, and their spinal columns missing. It seemed like the work of a typical gang of thieves with one exception. The lack of a large amount of blood and other body fluids at each scene indicated to me that the murders had happened somewhere else. I surmised that the victims had been lured inside, away from prying eyes, and that once the deed had been done the bodies were dumped into the street to eliminate any clues. Very clever. Unfortunately for them they had been spotted disposing of their latest victim three days ago and had been identified. It was fortunate for me that you had escaped and brought them out into the street. I simply lay in wait and thought up a plan to trap them."
"You mean," began John. "That I..."
"Yes," the giant interjected. "You were to be their latest victim. Most likely you would have played cards late into the evening, and by then the combination of drink and exhaustion would have made you an easy kill. It's lucky for both of us that you escaped."
The giant turned his back to John and produced a neatly folded canvas sack from the inside of his coat. He shook it open and strode over to each body, grasping a handful of hair and dropping the heads into the sack. When he was finished he pulled the string tight and flung the bag over his shoulder.
John watched in silence, his mind trying to grasp all that had happened this night. He'd narrowly escaped death twice and felt that there had to be a reason. He wouldn't accept blind luck as an explanation. Divine intervention maybe, or perhaps he was intended for something other than the obscure life he had lead up to this point.
"Well come on," said the giant. "There's no point in staying here."
John pushed his hands into his pockets and gazed at the ground.
"Yeah, right," he murmered. "By the way, you haven't told me your name."
"Forgive me," answered the giant. "My full name is Inoda Solstace, but just Inoda will do. And your name would be..."
"John."
"Well John, do you have a last name?" asked Inoda.
John shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
"Probably at one time, but it's been so long since I heard it that I've forgotten."
Inoda waved his hand, indicating for John to follow him. He walked toward Inoda and as he stepped up to the giant Inoda suddenly seized him by the right arm, holding his hand up close to his face.
"It seems that you've been injured," said Inoda.
"Forget it," replied John with a sheepish grin. "Nothing that a little water and some bandage won't fix."
"Nonsense," frowned Inoda.
He reached into his coat and produced a silk cloth, neatly folded into a tiny square. He shook it loose and it revealed a delicate floral pattern, laced with a pleasing scent. Inoda wrapped the cloth around John's injured hand and tied a small knot. John felt foolish at being attended to like a child. But the cloth felt good against his hand, and it did stem the bleeding.
John looked at the makeshift bandage and then threw a puzzled stare at Inoda.
"Oh that," Inoda grinned. "It's a good luck charm from my daughter. It belonged to her mother and she never lets me leave the house without it."
John dropped his hands to his sides and turned his head away. He seemed to be lost in contemplation, staring into a corner of the alley at something that wasn't there.
"You can stay with me tonight," said Inoda. "Your inury is due in part to me and I owe you. I have a spare bed you can sleep in and your hand will be cleaned and dressed. That is, unless you have somewhere else to go."
John pictured the dingy, unkempt flat where he lived. How long had it been since he had slept on clean sheets?
"Sure," replied John. "I'd like that."
Inoda smiled and started to walk back toward the entrance of the alley way. There was a noticable bounce in the man's step and he started to hum a nameless tune.
John stood for a moment, looking at the ground several meters away. The flower was still there, as ugly and as twisted as before. Somehow it had survived the carnage that had taken place around it and stood defiantly in it's corner of the world. The most fragile of things living in the harshest of environments.
John was momentarily seized with the urge to walk over and step on that flower, grinding it into the earth and snuffing out it's existance, but he resisted the temptation. He would let the flower live, for to him it seemed that the small thing was a symbol of something greater. Perhaps it was better not to tempt fate and seem ungrateful to whatever powers had spared him.
John turned and hurried after the aimless melody that drifted through the night.
Chapter Two