Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:52:18 -0500
From: Vctr113062@aol.com
Message-Id: <960217215216_146994595@emout09.mail.aol.com>
To: jevans@MIT.EDU
Subject: Winter 5/16

*****************************************************************

	Keep moving.
	The narrow metal underfoot creaked and swayed with each uncertain step. Heat
weighed me down like a millstone around my neck. To travel faster than a
brisk walk could invite a fall. There were times when I thought the river's
blood shaped itself into demons and ghosts from my past. (Fool!) they called.
(Hypocrite!) (Incompetent!) 
	Keep moving.
	My psychic reserves were gone; to survive, I had to call upon stored energy
from within my physical body to feed the Power. The resulting toll was akin
to maintaining a dead run, even though I took one, slow step at a time. I
could feel the Power's protection ebbing away. My skin, already flushed deep
red, began to itch and burn from the scalding steam. I tucked both arms
inside my vest for protection.
	(Slow to adapt,) Smoke criticized.
	(Truly pathetic,) sneered Ember.
	(Piteous,) Pyre sniffed.
	(Murderer!) yelled Sektor.
	Keep moving, into the flame and past the geyser. Ignore the voices, forget
the strain, pay no attention to the burns. Keep moving. Nothing matters save
to keep moving.
	Was that the shadow of the other side? Probably not, just like the last
three times I thought I saw the bridge's end. Yet the shadow seemed to get
darker and firmer the closer I approached it...
	"HURR! AN INSECT! DOES IT WANT TO CROSS?"
	A painfully loud, deep bass voice boomed from directly ahead. The sound
carried a peculiar dual resonance. Mist and sweat impeded my vision, so that
I could not perceive more than a single great mass in front of me. The bridge
was too narrow to move around him. His heavy, panting breath came in paired
gasps.
	"WELL? DON'T BE RUDE TO US, INSECT! DO YOU WANT TO CROSS OR NOT?" 
	"Yes," I answered. Then as an afterthought, "Please."
	"OH? SOMEHOW, WE DON'T THINK SO!"
	That and the whistle of rushing air were my only warnings. Automatically, I
turned aside, freeing my arms and stepping back into guard position. A heavy
object with wide, dull spikes cracked my torso. Vibrations from the impact
reached my head, spinning it. I staggered and turned my momentum into a
backward flip before I could lose my balance. My attacker followed, his great
weight rocking the bridge from side to side. The mists thinned to reveal an
ogre.
	He towered nearly twice my height. Two hideous heads bobbed upon a single
body. Each head had a short, conical horn protruding from the skull, a single
green-gold eye with elliptical pupils, and a mouth so wide it stretched
through the cheeks. Cracked lips drew against double rows of serrated,
backward-pointing shark's teeth. His skin gleamed jaundiced yellow-green, the
color of vomit mixed with bile. While his torso distantly resembled a man's,
his sleek black legs were crooked and had horse hooves instead of feet. His
elongated arms were thickly muscled, and each hand bore claws as long as
their fingers. The right hand, claws and all, curled about the base of a huge
wooden club studded with tetrapod iron spikes. The weapon was roughly the
size of a person and must have weighed hundreds of kilograms; he waved it
about as if it were a toy. 
	"HURR! COME BACK HERE, INSECT! WE'RE NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET!"
	The hell you say.

*****************************************************************

	As the challenged party, Pyre had the right of dictating terms for the
death-duel. Predictably, he chose a weaponless match. Only attacks with the
physical body or the Power would be permitted. The confrontation would take
place at midnight tomorrow, in an underground stone chamber reserved
exclusively for the purpose.
	Death-duels are not the same as assassinations. Though both have the intent
of killing, in an ideal assassination the target dies before he is aware of
being attacked. It is not always possible to surprise the target in this
manner, but it is preferable. In a Lin Kuei death-duel, the contest must
begin on equal terms. Enforcing these rules are a single Overseer and four
Watchers, those who have mastered the Power of Invisibility. The Watchers
observe, and if either contestant attacks before the Overseer's beckon or
uses an unsanctioned weapon, they kill him. While there is no dishonor in
losing a duel, an ignominious death at the hands of the Watchers inevitably
brings shame and slaughter to the rulebreaker's family.
	I had survived six previous death-duels by adhering to two general tenets.
Rule One: Preparation. Study your opponent. Know him well. Internalize his
strengths, weaknesses, and how they compare against your own. Rehearse in
body and mind tactics to counter those you expect him to use, and be ready to
improvise if he uses unexpected tactics. Have some idea of what you will
actually do before you are thrust in a closed ring with someone determined to
end your life.
	Rule Two: _Never_ forget Rule One.
	I found Smoke at his personal practice grounds, sparring with one of his
pupils. The student carried wooden mock-daggers; Smoke was unarmed. The
initiate had a solid grasp of the basics, but could not change his tactics
quickly enough to keep up with Smoke's constantly shifting attacks. Smoke's
velocity inspires awe. When he wants to, he can glide across ground as if
carried by wind spirits; yet his movements are not rushed. He masters every
turn, thrust, parry and dodge with consummate grace. Sometimes I wonder if
his perfectly-controlled acceleration is fueled by his Power.
	At one point Smoke's rhythm skipped a beat. He stopped short and skidded on
one knee. To the casual eye, he appeared to have stumbled. I knew better. His
stance was too relaxed and alert for someone preoccupied with resuming his
equilibrium; furthermore, I'd seen him act that way before, back when I was
holding the wooden dagger. Smoke's adversary faced him full forward and
covered the distance between them in two long steps. He thrust in the middle
of the second step, aiming for the neck. Braced on hands and knees, Smoke
kicked his pupil's shin out from under him, before he could put his full
weight on it. The student's attack went wide, and he fell on his face.
	"Do not surrender your balance," Smoke instructed, "because with it, you
surrender control. Keep your center of your gravity low to the ground at all
times, especially when you close in on a seemingly weakened foe." The pupil
looked at the floor, shamefaced. "One more thing. _Never_ lower your eyes to
an enemy!"
	Smoke's hand seemed barely to graze the student's forehead. The initiate's
body sagged and went limp in his arms. He set his unconscious pupil down
gently. 
	"Tell me about Pyre," I demanded.
	Smoke did not make eye contact. "You and I should not be seen together. Is
there no one you can trust to discreetly carry a message?"
	"I did not come to discuss trust. I charge you to tell me all you know about
Pyre, right here, right now."
	"And if I decline?" Smoke mused. His face was expressionless, but his body
turned to the side, knees slightly bent, at once both at ease and ready to
snap into action.
	"Then once I am done with Pyre, I shall challenge you next." He did not
appear intimidated. That was to be expected; Lin Kuei do not let fear hinder
their countenance.
	The teacher inclined his head and spoke. "Pyre is the direct descendent of
one of the Lin Kuei's founding members. He has earned the rank of honored
Second Tier veteran, and is the oldest Hierarchy member currently living. In
his younger days, his temper matched his name. Time changed that. He is no
longer as quick to destroy those who offend him. Some think this means he had
grown weak. They are wrong. Pyre crushes his enemies as thoroughly as ever,
but age has given him the wisdom to hold back until he is certain he has no
other use for them." Smoke went on to describe Pyre's personality, habits,
history, and most importantly, his fighting tactics. 	Concentrating upon the
information, I listened until he had nothing more to say. Then I bowed,
without taking my eyes off him. "I shall see you again, after the duel."
	"Assuming you survive," he returned dryly, with a similar bow.
	"I will."
	"And if you don't?"
	"Then I'll see you in Hell."

*****************************************************************

	As I retreated, I twisted the guards on the backs of my hands around. The
ogre swung his club again; I dodged with a handspring. Thick guard-pads
shielded my hands, though my fingertips came in contact with the heated metal
bridge. Tiny, searing needles punctured each digit. I turned my next flip
into a fully aerial somersault, with a half-twist in the middle to land
facing the other way. Touching down in a crouch, I accelerated into a sprint.

	"YOU WON'T GET AWAY THAT EASILY, INSECT!" The bridge whipped with the
pounding <clip-clop> of hooves. He was pursuing me at full tilt. Good. I
waited until I could feel the jangling hoof-tremors barely two meters behind
my back, flipped forward to expend some of my own momentum, and pivoted about
upon landing. If there'd been enough Power left within me to immobilize the
ogre, I'd have done so, but my psyche was too exhausted to call more than a
trickle. Instead, I thrust my heel out in a full-force side kick.
	It should have worked.
	Lured into high speed pursuit, the ogre should have run straight into an
attack strong enough to shatter the joint of his right knee. His horse-legs
already looked too frail and crooked to support the hulking mass of his
torso. But my foot came into contact with an iron spike instead of skin and
bone. Metal tore through the leather of my footwear and punctured my skin. A
crackling shock of pain coursed through my leg, pain that had to be ignored.
A clammy tingling followed. There was Power in that club; I'd have felt it
sooner if I hadn't been so overwhelmed by the heat.
	How could the ogre have reacted so quickly? His inertia was too great; at
the speed he'd been moving, he couldn't have come to a dead halt in
mid-stride. He appeared far too heavy and ungainly, yet his lengthy arms had
swung down the club with instantaneous speed and grace that reminded me of
Smoke. Perhaps I should have used a faster, snapping kick instead of going
for the raw power of a full turn and thrust. 
	The ogre brought his elbow down toward my extended leg. He would have
shattered my femur if I hadn't once more thrown myself into a back
handspring. I collapsed to my knees when my injured foot touched the bridge,
and its heat burned through the rent in my footwear. Some of my blood sizzled
on the metal slats and dripped through its cracks, joining the contents of
Blood River. 
	My enemy rushed forward and swung his deadly weapon before I could stand.
The club's iron ribbing loomed before me; for one tiny, timeless moment I saw
a close-up of one band embellished with the finely etched letters "UT." Then
the weapon crashed into my face, neck, and midsection. Accompanying each hit
was the thudding, internal vibrations of something cracking, tearing, or
giving way. For the last strike, he held the club in both hands and brought
it in an arc from down to up. Its spikes grabbed hold of me and scooped me
into the air, hurling me like a flower kicked off its stem. Mist and river
and metal bridge flew past my eyes. I landed on the bridge's edge.
	The ogre roared and repeatedly pounded one hoof into the metal bridge,
making it bounce violently. I felt my center of gravity roll over the side
and flailed to keep from falling off. Agony wracked my frame. It was all I
could do to seize hold of the bridge's supporting cables, medium-thick
textured wires that ran underneath the metal plates and joined them. The
handhold further burned my fingers; if not for my hand guards, I could never
have hung on. The ogre's continuous stomping changed into the alternating
rhythm of his walk, which still shook the bridge fiercely enough to threaten
my grip. 
	I strained to lift myself; when the bridge's edge touched upon one of my
broken ribs, a crippling jolt of pain ran through them. Slipping back, I
seized cables once again and dangled precariously. Heat clouded my head. My
hold was gradually sliding out of my sweat-soaked grasp.
	A pair of dark, curved things - hooves, I realized - peeked over the
bridge's rim. The rest of the hulking monster was one great shadow except for
his eyes, twin green-gold stars nestled within a yawning galaxy of steam. The
monster boomed, "IS THIS THE GNAT THAT TEAM ONE FAILED TO RETRIEVE? HA! IT'S
NOT WORTH THE EFFORT TO SQUASH IT FLAT! YOU'VE ALREADY FAILED US ONCE,
INSECT. YOU DON'T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE!" The <swish> of displaced air
rushed to fill the void left when he raised his club, about to bring it down
on my precarious handhold. What little strength remained in my arms would not
be enough to withstand a direct hit.

*****************************************************************

	Pyre's underground duel-chamber had been carved entirely out of a single bed
of stone, or so it appeared. Slow-burning fire pits circumscribed the actual
battle arena. Their steady blaze combined with the glow from torches set in
the walls made the atmosphere sweltering hot.
	I arrived dressed in an unusual manner. Rather than wear colored ceremonial
attire such as that which Pyre had donned, I was clad head to toe in black,
like a common Lin Kuei. My eyes were shielded with a smoky grey lens strapped
to my head. Long gloves completely covered my forearms and hands. Pyre looked
at me strangely. He knew that I could not channel blasts of my Power as an
offensive weapon, muffled as I was; at the very least, I'd have needed my
hands free. The old man raised an eyebrow. I could almost hear him think
(Overconfident young pup) over the crackle of burning torches.
	Spectators crowded around the perimeter of the circle carved into the stone
floor, their collective body heat further warming the chamber. Most of them
were initiates or lower ranking instructors. Smoke was not among them. Sektor
seethed in the far corner, poorly containing his agitation. No Hierarchy
members were present, which was unusual considering that one of their own
would fight the duel. The Watchers' location was impossible to pinpoint, yet
the soft resonance of their combined Power remained, lingering like the
barest hint of sea breeze after the wind changed course has from land to
waves.
	The Overseer stepped forward. He held a red flag in one hand, and a white
flag in the other. He was dressed in nondescript black, like I was, with one
difference; a ceramic mask painted to resemble the head of a demon covered
his face. The mask's eye indentations were large on the outside, narrowing
into thin slits the deeper they went in, effectively making his true eyes
invisible. 
	"Take your places," the Overseer commanded. Absolute silence enveloped the
crowd. Noise came only from the crackle and hiss of fuel being consumed in
the fire pits. Pyre and I moved around the arena to its back wall, where a
single concrete slab bridged the fiery perimeter. It was the only way in or
out of the battlegrounds, unless one walked upon white-hot coals. Pyre stood
at the circle's westmost point; I moved to the opposite corresponding pole
several meters away. The Overseer stayed upon the concrete bridge. Now that
we were both in the arena, he would allow only one of us to leave alive.
	Pyre held up his hand, palm toward the Overseer, who bowed and stepped a
pace back. The Hierarchy lord spoke, quietly, yet projecting his voice with
underlying strength. "Let it be known that I dislike the necessity of this.
For the good of the clan, Sub-Zero, you must be destroyed." The outward
veneer of sincerity penetrated his voice and face. Perhaps his speech fooled
the others, but he'd already lied to me once with that same expression.
	When the Overseer glanced at me, I shook my head. This arena was a place for
killing, not talking. The Overseer crossed his arms and raised the flags
high. "Ready..." he called, preparing to snap them both down as he signaled
the start of the duel. "Begin!" 
	With the roaring of an efreeti, the arena became an incinerator. Flame
blanketed the circle. It burned, fueled by the strength of Pyre's will,
sucking the breath from my lungs, enveloping me in a crematorium a thousand
times stronger than what I'd experienced on the day of my Test.

*****************************************************************

	Where hope failed, desperation clung. I pushed my bleeding muscles to the
limit and reached with one hand, wrapping it around the hide and matted fur
of the ogre's equine left ankle. His club crashed where my handhold on the
wire had been, but now I'd disengaged my left hand from it as well, and held
fast to his leg.
	"WHAT? GET _OFF_!" He couldn't lean forward to club his own legs without
falling, so he kicked, awkwardly, trying to shake me off. I dug my
fingernails into his skin and called to the Power, sacrificing the last of my
inner strength in a final gambit. The ogre voiced a cry of pure rage and
jumped back, dragging me with him. My chest scraped the bridge's side. Wedges
of splintered bone poke deep into internal injuries. Shock made me let go in
midair and collapse, back on the narrow overpass. I couldn't have done it
without his help.
	The ogre's jump had carried him a few meters from where I'd fallen, facing
at an angle to the bridge's lateral extension. "RRRRRRAAAARGH!" he yelled,
smacking his club next to his hooves. "NOW, MOSQUITO, YOU DIE!" He took a
step forward, raising his lethal weapon-
	-and his left hoof, made slick by a single sheet of Ice coating its bottom,
skidded out from underneath him. 
	His top-heavy frame careened back, matching the forward thrust of the
slipped hoof, and he pitched over the side. His free hand clamped upon the
metal slats of the bridge's edge, but they instantly twisted and slipped out
of his fingers. I locked my own arms around one of the slats and clung to it,
lurching with every rock and swing, ignoring the hurt of scalding metal,
broken bones and bleeding skin. 
	Through the grooves between the metal slats, I saw the ogre thrash in Blood
River. He'd lost his club. He screamed and stretched his arms toward the
bridge, which swayed a scant two meters above his longest extension. The hiss
of scalding flesh filled the air. He was not only drowning, he was being
boiled alive. His flailing made waves, some of which spattered through the
bridge's slats, stinging my face. The steaming river swelled about his torso,
making it flush deep red. Then the river's blood climbed to his armpits,
necks, and heads. One hand broke the surface for an instant after he'd
submerged. It was quickly reabsorbed.
	"Thank you," I spat. The ripples where he'd been remained mute.

*****************************************************************

	A look of bewilderment crossed Pyre's face when I plunged through the flames
and drove two stiffened fingers into his eyes. He'd expected me to be ashes,
and I would have been if not for the concentrated layers of Power I'd
generated underneath the fireproof suit that covered every square centimeter
of my skin. The suit itself had served its purpose in hiding my Power's aura
from casual study. It had taken twelve hours of meditation to weave a
defensive sheath of the Power strong enough to insulate against Pyre's
attack. Even that would have failed after another couple seconds of his
inferno, but all the Fire vanished the instant I pierced his eyeballs.
	Are you waiting to hear how I struggled tooth and nail against Pyre, trading
blows for hours on end? I'll have to disappoint you, then. It had been
decades since Pyre last relied on his martial prowess. The old man was
accustomed to instantly incinerating enemies from a distance, not actually
fighting them. Blinded, he had no means with which to focus his Power -
unless he were to take off the gloves of his ceremonial uniform, something I
didn't give him the chance to do. He was defenseless. 
	I tore my fingers out of his ruined eyes, formed a fist with my other hand,
and invested the full brunt of my strength upon his skull. He sprawled on the
floor. The listless manner in which he landed told me that I'd knocked him
insensate, or close to it. I'd defeated him as quickly as he'd destroyed so
many others, but the duel was not yet finished. I had to make it absolutely
clear to the onlookers what would happen to any who dared betray my honor as
Pyre had.
	Detaching the glove on my right hand and rolling up the sleeve, I bent down
to grasp the old man's neck. He twitched and groaned as I called the Power,
yet could not coordinate more than weak cuff of resistance. His lips moved to
mouth three words, so quietly that only I could hear. 
	"So be it." He went limp. There were no screams, curses, or pleas for mercy.

	A couple seconds of concentration was necessary to send the Power down
beneath his skin, burrowing through muscles and gristle. It wrapped around
his spinal column, severing bone and notochord more precisely than a
butcher's knife of the highest quality. I yanked Pyre's his head up while it
worked. His frame remained attached for a moment; then it slid back down,
separating from his head as his spine eased out of its body cavity. Bits of
gore streamed down the incision in his neck, dripping from the lower tip of
his dangling vertebrae and landing on his lifeless body. Maroon fluids
blended into the crimson fabric of his ceremonial uniform. I held Pyre's head
and spine up high, for all to see.
	The Overseer dropped both his flags.	One of the Watchers flickered into
view, too startled to maintain his Power of Invisibility. Most of the crowd
was wide-eyed, in stunned silence. 
	Sektor went berserk.
	He charged with an animal howl, vaulting over the arena's fiery divide. I
flung his grandfather's head in his face. That didn't hurt him, but it did
distract him from the burst of Power that followed. The Power paralyzed him
in mid-shriek. I took his left arm, holding its palm prone, and wound it past
its natural stopping point perpendicular to his back. He regained his voice
when his left humerus fractured from the strain. I drove my knee into his
solar plexus. While he folded in half, I forced his head further down and
repeated the violence on his right arm. Finally, I shoved him to the ground
by the arena's fire-border. A corner of his uniform's fabric caught alight.
Legs thrashing, he managed to roll over and smother the flame before shock
overwhelmed him and he fell into motionless stupor.
	"Well?" I addressed the rest of the onlookers.
	The Overseer fell to his knees. "Lord Sub-Zero," he said, looking at the
floor. One by one, the rest of the observers followed suit. Lesser clansmen
do not make eye contact with members of the Hierarchy.

*****************************************************************

	The adrenaline which had flooded my system ebbed away, so that I began to
feel how badly hurt I was. I could barely keep my eyes open because some
adhesive substance covered them. It was blood, I realized. Streaks of sticky
red discolored my uniform. More crimson fluid trickled from my head and
torso. A sucking chest wound interrupted my breathing. Steam burns scalded my
exposed arms. One leg worked. The other felt stiff and numb, with a puncture
in the foot; it wouldn't support my full weight. I couldn't stop to tend the
injuries, or the heat from Blood River would kill me. There was no Power left
to create Ice bandages, so I held the tears in my side closed with my hands,
and limped toward shore.
	Each step weakened me further. Blurring vision informed me that the shore
was a scant fifty meters away, just beyond where I'd met the ogre. My
throbbing nerves told a different story. Several times, I had to stop and
cough up blood. Another spate of coughing made me double over when I touched
the other side. I fell to my knees and vomited. There wasn't enough strength
in my limbs to stand back up. When I tried, dizziness rocked my head and I
fell flat. The jolt pressed my broken rib bones further out of alignment.
From where I lay, I could see a dull, maroon trail leading back to the metal
bridge and beyond. Remarkable. I didn't think a person could lose that much
blood and remain conscious.
	The thought of trying to treat my wounds had receded. Part of me recognized
their nature and knew damn well that no improvised bandage was going to stave
off the inevitable. The rest of me remained unified on one thought: press on.
I was not going to surrender to Limbo. This place would not claim me while I
still lived.
	On this side of the bridge, a sheer wall of polished stone rose directly out
of the sandy ground. Unlike the relatively gentle slope of the previous side,
scaling this vertical expanse would have been impossible without specialized
climbing gear, not to mention a healthy body with which to use it. The only
place to go was through a huge, cavernous opening directly ahead. A whale
could have fit through that aperture, leaving enough room for seagulls to fly
overhead. 
	Framing the portal were the bleached bones of the most immense dragon yet.
Its gracefully honed front limbs, each of which ended in three wickedly
recurved talons, were affixed to tapering walls near either side of the
entrance. Its backbone merged with the tunnel's ceiling. Two vast, bat-like
sets of wing bones were fused with the tunnel's interior. Beyond, I glimpsed
the skeleton's clawed hind limbs and spined, sinuous tail with a
three-pronged tip. A many-vertebra neck with shorter, more slender barbs
rested in an S-curve near the top of the entrance. Cresting the neck was a
long, sharp-toothed skull with two smoothly tapered, backward-pointing horns.
I couldn't tell what held all the bones together. Some appeared to be
fastened to the entrance's walls; others simply hung in place, as if they
were all part of a single sculpture.
	Slowly, painfully, I struggled to drag myself toward the yawning hole in the
canyon's side. I wriggled like a worm, scrabbling forward with my hands, then
pushing with my good leg. At least the heat lessened the further I writhed
from Blood River's shores, perhaps to as low as ninety-five degrees
Fahrenheit. Reaching the gateway seemed to take an age. When it was close
enough, I stretched out single hand toward the tantalizing shade within.
Something hard and flat stopped my fingertips. An invisible barrier blocked
my path.
	My hand dropped, and my body followed it, gradually easing into a supine
sprawl. I still wasn't giving up; I just needed some time to think about this
latest obstruction. Perhaps if I closed my eyes for a moment, I'd be able to
concentrate better. The realization that I was slipping deeper into shock
fluttered across the back of my mind.
	The skull moved.
	My eyelids blinked open and shut. The dragon's skull was descending, guided
smoothly down by that serpentine neck until its empty eye sockets hovered
above my own. Something I can only describe as black fire sparkled, where the
skull's eyes would once have been. Now that they had come alive, the bones
radiated titanic waves of godlike Power. A sibilant whisper, quiet as silt,
soft as soapstone, echoed in my mind.
	#They will have told you that I am Death. You, mortal, are at my door.#