Flecks of Gold (12 page)

“Don’t worry, the term
master
is simply one of respect to a teacher.”

“That’s reassuring,” I said. “Just don’t expect me to call you ‘master.’ ”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiled his familiar mocking smile, and I gritted my teeth. He always seemed to be laughing at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry. I was just imagining what you might do when you appear in court.”

“Imagining what a fool I’ll make of myself?”

“No.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

“Well, do you know anything about how to behave?”

“I might.”

“Then would you teach me?” I grumbled.

“On one condition. You call me ‘master.’ I am, after all, teaching all of this to you without any payment.”

“ ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ huh? Well, dream on, buddy.” I packed up my blanket and stalked off down the narrow ravine.

He caught up to me and lightly grabbed my arm to make me look at him. “Wait, I’m sorry. I forgot that you don’t like jokes.” He was laughing.

I didn’t feel like explaining that when I’d said no funny stuff, I’d been referring to something completely different.

“I am not going to call you ‘master,’ ” I said, annoyed at his laughter.

“I know. I don’t want you to. I just wanted to get you back for teasing me. You do it to me often enough.”

Okay, so that was true. I started to slow my walk to its normal long stride. He was right—I could dish it out, but I sure couldn’t take it. I needed to learn how to loosen up a little.

I was about to apologize when a deafening yell echoed all around us. Breeohan and I dropped our bags and turned toward the walls of the little canyon, backs together. Breeohan had his sword out in as little time as it takes to sigh. My hands clutched into fists, empty, and I hoped the thugs wouldn’t be well-armed.

They emerged from the rocks like lizards from a crevice. Their garb blended well with the red of the canyon walls. The thugs must have been waiting for the next idiots to walk through. It was a perfect set-up for an ambush. I counted seven of them, but I didn’t want to miscalculate in case more were hiding.

Their faces were painted light brown and red to give them better camouflage. As they ran toward us, I thought of U.S. Army men and was glad that this country didn’t seem to have any guns. We certainly wouldn’t have lasted long against hidden snipers. I doubted our chances now. It was hard to stay positive when seven men in war paint were charging toward me, yelling like wild animals.

I focused on the rock-strewn streambed in front of the nearest attacker and twisted just as the man’s foot reached the sand. A rock sprang into his path. He tripped. I knew it wouldn’t stop him, but I couldn’t think of what else to do. Another attacker passed the fallen man, coming uncomfortably close. I manipulated a wind lacing and a fierce breeze whipped dirt into his eyes. He reeled back, trying to protect his face with his sleeve.

Too late I realized that another man had come up from the side. He grabbed my arm, and I struck without thinking. The now familiar flash of golden pattern sprang into my mind, and the man flew back just as Joe had a few weeks ago. I finally realized that I’d unconsciously changed the air pattern to push the man away with much more force than a mere blow. I couldn’t dwell on my discovery because another savage-looking thug was swinging a club at my head.

The only pattern that came into my head was one for old brittle wood. I changed his hard solid club to old wood, and raised my arm in defense. The club splintered against my arm and fell in pieces. I was out of ideas, so I hit the man with the same air-enforced blow as before. He flew back several feet, landed with a thud on a rock, and didn’t get back up. I winced.

It was hard to tell what Breeohan was doing, though I knew he was swinging his sword at several of the men. It looked like the best weapon any of them had was a club. In my moments of reprieve I changed their tough clubs into brittle wood. I saw Breeohan’s sword shatter one of the thick weapons. The attacker looked shocked, but Breeohan hardly paused.

I couldn’t see what he did next because I was distracted by the man I’d tripped. He had a bleeding scratch on his cheek and he was coming toward me like he was ready to murder me. He must’ve been the leader because he had a long broadsword clutched in his hands.

He swung, but I dropped and rolled, springing up again on his left. I was trying to think of a plan, but things were happening too fast to remember patterns, much less do something with them.

My attacker roared at me, and that gave me an idea. I yelled back, sounding as unearthly as I could, then I manipulated the echo pattern I’d discovered so that my strange and frightening cry echoed all around the men, hounding from all directions. The effect worked better than I’d predicted. I even got a little chill from the banshee sound echoing around us.

Our attackers certainly looked spooked. They paused in their fighting. Breeohan’s head twitched around nervously. I cut the echo off abruptly and whipped up the sand in the canyon with a strong wind, bringing up my arms to cover my eyes and mouth. I could only hope Breeohan was doing the same. The wind cut off at my command, and I hid my mouth behind my dusty arm.

“Get out of my wadi,” I said. The words bounced around in a hissing whiplash.

The men ran in terror through the crevice that Breeohan and I had come through that morning. I waited until I couldn’t see them anymore before I went to check on Breeohan. He was covered in dust and sand. I had never seen him so disheveled.

“That was impressive,” he said, looking up at me.

“My mom always said I was a drama queen.” I flipped my hair back jauntily, but there was a sudden lump in my throat. “We’d better hurry in case they come back.”

Breeohan nodded.

We traveled quickly and came out of the canyon onto upper ground at about noon. The wide main road stretched before us by evening. Taking the shortcut through the canyon had been Breeohan’s bright idea, but after being attacked I’d decided that even if there was another short cut, we should stick to the open road. The desert rolled around us in a wave of sand and brush. I was still biting down on gritty dirt. I felt smelly, sand-encrusted, and just generally disgusting.

It was slightly mollifying to see Breeohan covered in dirt too. His clothes had taken a beating from my sandstorm. They fell less gracefully and seemed to have soaked up the reddish brown sand like a sponge. Both of us had a red tint in our clothes that I doubted would ever come out.

“Will we reach an inn tonight?” I asked, a little whine sneaking into my voice. I tried to sound more cheerful. “A bath would be wonderful if we could get one.”

“We will not reach another town by nightfall. We’ll have to go as far as we can, then wake early to reach the next town by nightfall tomorrow.”

I was glad when we were able to lie down for the night, but I found it hard to sleep. I kept imagining that our attackers would come back.

The next day was a blur of gritty, hot, painful walking. I was sore all over again. I kept reviewing the attack in my mind. Twice now I had been assaulted by men in this country. I was tired of being dirty, overheated, and attacked.

I was limping by the time we saw the town lights. Breeohan had noticed and wanted to stop and heal me, but I was too focused on visions of soap and clean caressing water to listen. I just kept walking, eyes fixed on the town. All the buildings looked the same, and I still hadn’t figured out the lacing for the Iberloahan writing, so I couldn’t read the signs.

Breeohan overtook me and led the way down the town road. He cut down an alleyway, saying it was a faster route to the inn. Immediately misgivings plagued me. Hadn’t I just made a pact with myself to never take one of his “faster routes” again? And, just like a tragic play, as we turned the corner leading out of the alley, three beefy guys swaggered toward Breeohan and me.

“You and your dumb shortcuts,” I hissed. To the men I said, “Look, I’m really tired. Could you just take my bags and leave me alone? I mean, robbing someone doesn’t necessarily have to include injury, right?” I held out my leather bag, hoping they wouldn’t notice my Jansport. I was still really attached to the thing and didn’t want to lose it.

Breeohan gave me a funny look, but I gave him a shrug to convey I was serious. I was too tired to fight.

One of the men, built like a weight lifter, slouched forward warily. He seemed a little familiar, but I thought that maybe the experience of being attacked several times was making me dissolve all my attackers’ faces into one big conglomerate.
Whatever, just take the stupid bag
, I thought impatiently.

“You the magician?” the weight lifter asked Breeohan.

Breeohan and I exchanged glances, and I wondered if two attacks in two days might not be a coincidence after all. The snick of metal sounded as Breeohan slid his sword from his scabbard. Muscleman stopped moving forward. He signaled his mates to proceed instead. Unlike our previous attackers, these guys had swords. The swords curved in a moon-shaped arc, much thicker and slightly shorter than Breeohan’s. The thugs’ swords looked like they could snap Breeohan’s weapon in half in one stroke.

Breeohan was not fazed, and I felt bad for wanting no part in the situation. “Fine,” I grumbled. I couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself. I dropped both packs against the cracked wall of the building to my left. “Please, there must be some sort of misunderstanding. We aren’t the people you’re looking for. We’re simply traveling salesmen. Can I interest you in some amazing wares?”

Breeohan gave me another look of confusion. The poor boy had probably been in a constant state of confusion since meeting me.

The thugs looked a little confused as well, but Mr. Weight Lifter said with unexpected sharpness, “This man has purple eyes. He said the magician would have purple eyes.”

He?
I had no idea who the man was referring to, but I realized my bluff wasn’t going to work if they already knew who we were. I went to stand beside Breeohan, shifting into a fighting stance as I wished heartily for a big weapon. A tough stick to combat the swords would have been nice, but I only had a knife. Never having used a knife for anything other than cutting food, it wasn’t my weapon of choice.

“Step back, Mary. I don’t want you getting hurt. They’re only after me anyway,” Breeohan said.

“I may not have a sword, but I have other skills.”

“Which you could use best without distractions.”

“No time to argue.” And there wasn’t. The men were upon us.

Breeohan swung upward and caught one of the beefy men’s swords with his, then his steel clashed with another man’s sword blow. The third man came for me, and I had to admit that with no sand around, I was unsure of what to do. Figuring out amazing defensive moves with this new magic ability was really difficult when I had no time to think. I made a mental note to come up with some magic defense plans for the future, if I had any future.

I noticed that my attacker wore sandals that laced up his ankle. I pictured the wind lacing and untied his shoes, then bonded the leather together. He fell with a crash and his sword clattered. I summoned a wind to slide the sword closer to me, then snatched it up. It weighed down my arm. I doubted I’d be able to do anything useful with it despite all the years I had studied with a samurai. My “sword” in karate class had been wooden, much lighter than this thick solid metal.

Sandal guy tried to tear his laces apart, but I had bonded them well. One of the men fighting Breeohan left him to come to me. Breeohan tried to stop him, but the other combatant swung, and Breeohan had to refocus his attention. My new attacker slashed with such lightning speed, I could barely follow his movements. I blocked his blows clumsily. My muscles ached as I forced the sword into the defensive positions I had learned in my safe dojo a million miles away from this grungy, sweltering place.

Our swords locked. Despite my height advantage, I knew the man was going to kill me. I sensed the knife in his other hand and could do nothing to stop his sharp thrust. Pain ripped through my side. Black threaded the borders of my vision. I fought it off, clanged free of his long sword, the knife still buried in my side. I couldn’t think clearly. A knife was sticking out of my middle, but I knew that I couldn’t black out, or I would be dead. I swung my sword to the other side just in time to stop the man’s killing sweep.

“Breeohan.” I meant to yell, but it came out in a whisper. He was suddenly at my side, sword clashing with brutal force against my assailant’s blade. Skilled as the thug was, Breeohan was faster, which was probably why the man had come after me in the first place. Breeohan moved with the sure grace of a hunting cat and the speed of a falling guillotine. I wasn’t sure what happened. The world was turning black at the edges and closing in to the middle.

I sank to my knees on the cobblestones. Though I knew that I shouldn’t remove the knife until something could be done to staunch the bleeding, the pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I’d never even broken a bone, and now a weapon was protruding from my side.