Beneath The Torn Sky Part 10

Chapter 16, Page Twenty Six: Beneath The Torn Sky -- Part 10 pic and text

I stirred at last. “What comes now, Ulysses? What will you do?” He did not respond, his eyes on the Flag, his head still cocked as if listening for something. I had loved him once, and I still felt pity for him in this place, alone. “Will you. . . will you leave this place, now? There is nothing here but death anymore, there is no reason for you to stay. You could. . . come with me, if you want. There was a time, I remember, where we gave to each other, rather than just taking away. There have been a lot of roads between then and now, but I’d not have you stay here alone. We could use your help, your strength, if you’d offer it. You could come back with me, to Big Mountain. There could be a home there for you.”

He did not turn around, but shook his head slowly. “I wish it were so simple,” he said.

I frowned, and started to ask him what he meant, but then I finally heard it as well. A gathering noise, that was only made soft by distance, a rolling roar like the crashing of many voices, and now that I could hear it, I could hear that it was increasing.

“What is that?”

“Marked Men,” he said. “I left the door open, unlocked, when you passed inside. They are coming. The demons of rage, nothing left to them but the craving to destroy the living they hate. They feared me for so long, and did not penetrate my defenses, but with you there are two of us, and I guess that is enough. Perhaps the noise of the engines kept them at bay until now. But they’re coming. They will be here soon, they’ve already cut off the only escape. It was my plan all along, to finish what I was doing here and then die at their hands, or as insurance that you would not escape, if you managed to cut me down.” He laughed shortly, ruefully. “I didn’t. . . . I didn’t expect you to change my mind.”

“How many are there?” I asked.

“Many,” he said simply. “More than either of us alone could handle. I had not meant for you to survive. Armed with clubs and old blades, like the others, but they will not stop. They will not let you by alive. But we are neither one of us alone, at the moment. There are two of us here, and two of us, perhaps that would be enough. You have defeated me utterly and you have spared me from death. Twice now in our lives, when once was enough. By . . . by the laws of my tribe I am indebted to you, and must see you safe. Two can dance so much better than one, and I remember something, now. I had forgotten.” His hand slid under his coat and, with the faint rasp of metal, slowly drew forth a curved sword. It caught the light of the torn sky on its bright, silver blade. I stared at it, and he said: “I remember that we used to dance, together. I remember that we danced . . . well.”

“That is a beautiful sword, Ulysses, I’ve never seen one like it before. Where did you find it?”

He looked down at it, and I saw his lips quirk in amusement. “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.” He flicked it twice, experimentally, cutting the air. Then he turned and, for the first time, faced me again. He smiled. “Do you remember the steps to our dance, Kristina Calderon?”

I looked back at him, and smiled as well, my hands unhooking my blade from my hip. The flame from its blade cast a warm light on us both. The ravenous sounds of the Marked Men grew louder, but I smiled, and could not give them a mind. Because, finally, in his eyes, I saw the sight I remembered. He stood now, again, a tall man that seemed taller, and the flames in his eyes were again from purpose, and drive. He stood again, calm and proud, his mind clean, waiting to do the next thing that had to be done. The man I had known, so long ago, who had set me on a path of purpose and vision. The man I had met and who had brought, for a time, light and warmth before we’d brought darkness to each other. The first man who had taken my heart, and who had taught me to dance in the light, and in the shadows as well. Here, at the end, he had finally come back to me.

“I remember, Ulysses.”

The doors break open, and the flood of hatred flows through, red faces snarling and gibbering with rage. But I look back at the man I had loved, and I smile. I let it all flow away, except the thrill of the dance, and the need of the moment, and that beneath the torn sky I stand with the man that I had loved, together.

Beneath the torn sky, and a dead nation’s flag, my first love and I start our dance.

We dance and, together, we are beautiful.