I wrote and illustrated this story over a period of 5 years, published by the magazine HegemonyShift. Primarily influenced by "The Chinese Connection", I then added characters who were a mix of imagination and people I actually knew.
Each illustration was based on real individuals.
Edited by Mike Routliffe.
Blood on the Tracks
Part III: The Waiting Game
San Francisco November 18th 2003/1.03 am
If you were to step back, just few feet, you would certainly feel a mix of emotions, somewhere in between fear & anxiety.
At first, you would be lost. All your senses as sharp as you could allow them to be, tracking for some clues, any clues in that absolute dark room.
There would be no doubt that you would be in absolute survival mode.
After few minutes, your eyes would eventually notice some lighter parts, lighter shapes, moving shapes and silent ones. And then, nothing again.
It would be an absolute silence. And, as you would still feel the taste of unease & scares in your mouth, it would be, for the other occupants of the house, a time of reflection and peace, peace as in equal rights and justice, before the battle.
The six fighters would have six different ways of meditating, getting ready in harmony, harmony with one self & with the six.
The time before the change comes.
And all is real, all except the fact that you would never witness this.
Part IV: The Here & Now
San Francisco November 18th 2003/2.37 am
On the top left corner of the main dinning room, right where Sarah had those columns designed and crafted, on the top of the one which sustains the roof, Oktavia stands, invisible and deadly.
She had been trained in many different type of weapons, and even though, she had used them all at some point, she finally refined her choice to three main type of weapons, the dagger, or daggers should I say, shurikens & arrows. Lots of arrows...
And, even though she had used the bolas a great deal few years ago, she had completely stopped by now.
As it was already mentioned, she also had been trained in a way to kill at first sight. One shot, and the soul of the assailant rest in peace. But, along her some fifteen years of killing, she had developed a fine pleasure in killing who ever deserved it in a slow and painfully manner.
Just as if it was to illustrate the last comment, she had killed this Japanese man with many arrows. Few in his legs and arms, then as it turned violently, two more in his back, the last one piercing his throat from behind. Oktavia had smiled and noticed how much she loved wearing lipstick nowadays.
Out of the 12 men that she killed that night, only one managed to see her, for a split of a second, and the fear in his eyes was the symbol of a poisoned arrow piercing his heart.
Oktavia, really was invisible that night, and she wore it well...
Lucid, or Caroline, if one was using the name that was given to her at birth, only had one weapon. She always had only one, and she will always do.
A perfectly balanced Katana, with the blade so sharp, you could have cut smoke in two with it.
The weapon had been made especially for her in the cold mountains of China, and had the talent to turn Lucid’s healing power onto a dedicated weapon.
She had just killed the Japanese man, and the other was rushing towards her, stepping onto the dead body. Lucid was quiet, but alert. She knew, as the other was getting closer at terrible speed, that a third person was also closing behind her.
Faster than one could possibly wish, Lucid had thrown herself towards the other, and had started an infernal dance, dance where everything her blade touched would fall to the ground.
The other was the first one to experiment it. His two hands fell to the floor, and while he raised his eyes to see Lucid’s serious face, he also felt her blade cut wide open his own throat, and then, it was only darkness, as log as he could remember.
She had learn the dances with Mary, in India, when she was an early teenager. Her favourite was the dance where she had to turn very fast for very long, making colourful strikes of light with her blade shinning in the powerful sun of the driest season, a long time ago. She had danced many time with Mary, the two of them could dance the deadly steps, close enough to smell each other, and still, never provide any cuts.
That is the closest to love as Lucid as ever been.
She rapidly turned, using the power of her previous movement, and instantly, killed the third opponent, the one coming from behind her.
It always seemed to be, to feel the same. It all happens very fast, faster than a breath, but in Lucid’s mind, it goes very slow. She has the time to look at the wind made by the blade moving, she has time to notice the texture of the skin of the enemy, and she certainly has time to prepare her next move. This time is no different, but she also noticed how young the third man was, barely a man, more a child than anything else.
And, it is with infinite sadness, as she has become accustomed to, that she now moves towards the Kid...
And the Kid doesn’t care.
A cold wind has snapped the smell of blood out of her, and still, XXXEmotionalKid doesn’t care.
For a brief instant, everything is quiet again, the past joins the present, the perfumes of the thousands flowers swirl in compassion & understanding, the agenda is wide open, and there is a notion of happiness in the air.
The Kid has no preferences as far as the choice of weapon is concerned. She can use a sword, she can use a rope, she can also use her surrounding. She can use a sharp blade, she can use a bate, she can use a morning star, or even a chain saw.
She can use them all. But in the end, she can hardly remember how it went, and none of the details will survive. None, except for the last look in those eyes, and the insane satisfaction that always follow...
One could think that the four men were coming from behind, but one would then be wrong.
The kid had noticed the four shades on the pale wall, and had turned in a stormy movement.
Once, a lover who saw her fight, told her that, when she lost all control, when the “other” takes over, she still carries the same beauty of her face, with the exception of her mouth. Her lips become dark red and dry, the skin cracks and turns white, the smell is closer to blood than to softness of a summer kiss.
- “Of course it is”, had she replied, “It’s the cry for blood!”
And the four men were getting closer. And the Kid was getting closer too. In an instant, an almost magical instant, the black of her air married the white of her purest lines, the long Scimitar she had picked moving in a fast and wide circle, striking the first, then the second man in the abdomen.
The Kid was always the one who would get injured the most, because she could not fill any pain when the Berserker who lived in her took control.
The one who lived inside...
This time had been a little different, the Kid had been able to stay in absolute control almost for ten entire minutes. But then and again, what had to happen ended up happening. Once and again...
The third man had moved close enough to hit her ribs with his long and flexible rod. Before she could put herself in a position where she could prepare her next move, he had hit her again, on her left leg, with the part of his rod where was inserted a small and sharp blade, a scalpel. The blood rained on her leg, but no pain was there to be seen.
The fourth man was also coming closer, too closer and too fast. But by then, XXXEmotionalKid was able to counter attack the two men at once. Taking the opportunity that the third man had just hit her and used all of his strength in a movement in motion, she grabbed the back of his head, and pulled her entire body over both men, swirling in the meantime, and, cutting all of the ears and noses she could spot.
The two men dropped their weapons at once, and desperately tried to reach their faces with their hands.
But the kid was already running towards two other Japanese men, leaving behind her, four mutilated bodies...
With my bare hands.
Even Though The Kid could have been thinking so, it was a thought coming directly from The Magus.
The source of all Magic, the beginning of time, and all the answers.
Mykl started his training at the late age of 12. He was discovered by Mary while searching for the Food of the Gods in Mexico, right on the beach the child had made his own. Mykl still remember the colours of that day, with a lots of yellow and blue. And also, a touch of pink.
He had followed Mary and met Sarah.
He had spent years with her afterward, and silence had been his main ally. He had learned the ways of the invisibility, walking on the clouds and stepping on ice without even feeling it. He had grown into a fine young man, and had been one of the fieriest student. He had become the only man of this generation to participate on the sacred rituals Sarah always professed.
Then, the day of the marks arrived. Around his eyes, covering his forehead, the black tattoos were implemented, deep onto his skin, as the eternal mark of his present soul.
The man had jumped into his face, from nowhere, with a striking dagger. In the meantime, two other Japanese warriors were in motion to stop the Magus on his move.
The first jump was to paralyse the “alone” assailant, and with a swift turn, his neck was broken. The two others had almost reached him when the ring of his right hand became shivering. The blow the man took on his forehead was the last of his memory in this life. Blood splattered on the wall, velvety and thick, to end on the two paintings behind Mykl.
But this one had not stop his swirl motion. Coming back to his feet, the same right hand, the same right fist met with the last Japanese man. The blow on the chin so heavy and hard, his teeth cutting his own tongue in two, and the last fly of the bloody warrior who landed on the metal bench Sarah and mary had so meticulously chosen.
A breath, a second, and Mykl was already onto another man.
With my bare hands, did he suddenly think, I will kill as many as I can, with my bare hands.
Part V: The Aftermath
The first ray of light was still nowhere to be seen, but the number of men laying on the floor, just like an unfinished puzzle, kept on growing, just like an almost completed painting.
Lucid sits down, she breathes slowly.
Dawn has made an appearance, and the morning is mysteriously quiet.
Lucid smiles.
The cuts on her arms and legs have disappeared. She hold her head straight and look at the horizon, the hills behind the buildings, the old factory beside the hills and the sweet smell of orange trees.
Is it her imagination?
Or is it the simple truth?
Lucid looks at Mykl and Oktavia taking care of the remaining corpses.
The van is almost filled.
In different circumstances, this would have been funny.
Mykl and Oktavia are too busy to notice Mary breeding XXXEmotinalKid’s hair.
The scene seems so natural, so peaceful... How can the ultimate revenge feel so good thought Mary in a blink.
But she smiles too.
XXXEmotinalKid looks tired, empty should I say. She has given it all, and from far, she had scored the highest number. The taste on her mouth is still made of blood and metal. Iron to be precise. But she doesn’t mind. She only focuses on Mary’s hands, the comb going up and down on her own black and white hair, the smell of the morning, and that surprising flavoured smell of orange trees.
- Are you OK? said Mary.
XXXEmotinalKid smiles again, and stays silent.
Epilogue
Part V: Remembrance
The child looks at the woman, the breeze reminding her of the spring, her blond hair floating in harmony.
There is no fear any more.
Li looks at her and his fingers softly touch the silky lines he already loves so much.
The woman throw her net, then bring it back.
She repeats the same gesture many many time.
Sarah doesn’t get bored looking at her over and over.
Li sits patiently, and wait.
Tonight, they will sleep in the poorest area of Shanghai, then they will be off to another continent.
Li smiles, at last.
The ocean facing them, they face the morning breeze, hand in hand, they face a new morning.
All rights reserved to Datura Productions & Sergio Foglio – Copyright © 2009 – Victoria BC
Voila, that's all folks.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Sincerely,
Serge
Janeiro 20th
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