“Damn!” I heard my voice echo across the universe and slam back at me.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“What is it?”
I jumped at the sound and spun around to face Mentor.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“Look.” I gestured to the scene far below.
“Em has failed you?”
“Guardian, no! It’s my fault.” I turned away, closed my eyes briefly, and stole a sideways glance at Mentor. She was staring at me. Accusingly?
“How so?”
“I didn’t get her there fast enough. It erupted so suddenly. And now she has to fight.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…?” I felt my mouth drop open.
“Are you suggesting it’s good for her?”
“The physicality has to be liberating. Perhaps this was meant to happen. Perhaps your little human needs this aggressive outlet to maintain her balance and perspective.”
“All those years of training with soldiers….”
“Put to good use,”
“But, she will be hurt. She’s already taken a crushing blow to her shoulder.”
“She needs the pain.”
“To feel real.”
“To know she is real.”
Surely Mentor hadn’t engineered this. Even she wouldn’t put a human in the path of such danger, would she? I studied her intently, but her expression didn’t change. Of course Mentor’s expression seldom changed.
“Look,” she said and I turned back to Em.
*
Genocide. Just a word with a dictionary definition, like any other, until you lived it, Em thought. Or, died it. She watched as the images in the ring told the brutal story. The ring never lied.
Machete-wielding madmen and hordes of young rebels marauded the jungle town. She had seen it before. Children transformed into drug- crazed killers, manipulated by the current ruling militia or rebel party. Isolate them from family and civility, create a false sense of belonging, slash the upper arm, pack it with cocaine, wrap a bandanna around it—an innocent badge to the unsuspecting observer. The children, so unpredictable, were most to be feared.
The carnage was beyond obscenity, beyond words in any language—heads lopped off with machetes, limbs hacked off with dull scraps of metal, genitals severed, carried as trophies, hearts pulsating, ripped out of corpses, eaten warm, entrails spilling from abdominal gashes.
Tiny though the village was, it still managed to boast a church, the grandest edifice in the area. Em seethed age as she stood in the midst of those seeking the illusive protection of church sanctuary. They were trapped like sardines waiting to be speared from the can and devoured. The stench of sweat and fear, the salty flavor of tears and fear lay thick in the heavy, stagnant air. How much of it came from her? she wondered.
Along with the sixty or so cowering villagers—the lucky ones, mostly women and children, had long since fled or were dead according to the village chief—she listened to the wild rampage of the mob as their orgy of destruction continued to spiral out of control.
Enough! Come hell or high water, she wasn’t about to cower helplessly behind the altar. She stormed down the aisle, threw open the doors, challenged the mob outside as they charged toward the steps of the church.
She held up her hands, palms facing outward, gestured for them to stop, called out to them, shouted orders. Nothing she had used before worked. She felt as vulnerable as she had in the beginning, before meeting Powers, before any understanding of her role. Back to square one. With no magic manual to guide her and no understanding of why the regression, she cried out for Ron.
She closed her eyes and saw the dojo, sensei, soldiers…. Her scalp prickled and goose bumps rose on her arms. Did Powers want her to fight? Was he here? Now? With her?
Every nerve in her body vibrated as she faced the attackers. He was with her.
The leader lunged at her, a maniacal gleam in his eyes, machete raised high to strike a killing blow. The man uttered a crazed laugh as he loomed over her clearly expecting her to cower and plead for mercy. Instead she flowed into his attack, blocked his swing with her left hand on his wrist, blended her body to his and used his forward momentum to throw him over her hip to the ground. He was a big man and her throw, though clumsy, slammed his head against the door jamb knocking him unconscious. The guys I trained with should see this. Hell, they should be here with me. Jake too.
The man’s body blocked the one behind him. In her peripheral vision she caught sight of another man attacking from her right, with an arching back swing. She blocked his motion, grabbed his wrist with her right hand, his upper arm with her left and slammed his elbow against her raised knee. The blow was not strong enough to smash the joint but it did send the knife flying from his hand. He bent forward reflexively tucking the injured elbow into his side and she hammered his head with a closed fist sending him sprawling across the church doorway.
She spun to face a third man swinging wildly at her, ducked, slammed her shoulder into his hip, grabbed his legs behind his knees, lifted and sent him back down the steps. His falling body flattened two of the men still pushing forward and momentarily slowed the advance. A man grabbed her from behind. She reacted with a head butt and knew she had broken his nose when she felt warm blood and snot splattering the back of her neck.
Blow, throw, blow. Blow, throw, blow. Operating well below civilized, at the primal level of fight or flight, she chose fight.
Again and again she defended herself, viciously attacking, favoring left hooks when she discovered the effectiveness of the ring as a weapon. Powered by adrenaline, with moves governed by muscle memory, her actions inspired the villagers. In moments the attackers were engaged in full man-to-man combat with the villagers.
Hours later her body was one big dull pain; under that, a grim pride in having used her training well. She sat on a patch of high ground holding in her arms, a man dying from his bloody wounds. Her heart bled with him.
“Mommy,” he called plaintively.
“Mommy.”
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” She tried to shield him from the rain with her body and used the hem of her T-shirt to wipe his face clear of the blood, sweat, and dirt that mingled with her tears. She wanted desperately to take away his pain in his last dying moments, but could only cradle him, rock him, lie to him.
“Mommy, help me,” he cried again.
“Help me.”
“I’m here. I’m here.” She held him tighter and uttered soothing sounds long after his last breath.
The rain had come in great waves, lashing the men and the earth equally, indiscriminate in its attack, dousing the fires of the torched huts, blinding attackers and defenders alike and driving the last few combatants to shelter and her to this hillock. She inhaled deeply through her nose, let the air out slowly through her mouth. Clean and fresh, the richness of the earth revived faith and hope.
But, the silence hung oppressive. The village lay empty. Barely visible in the twilight, shadowed lumps of bodies sank into the blood-soaked muck that had oozed between her toes and long since swallowed her wrestling shoes. Or maybe she had been barefoot all along. She couldn’t remember.
*
“It’s time,” Mentor said, but neither of us moved as we watched the meager light fade into night until all we could see was the pristine whiteness of Em’s gi pants and T-shirt shining obscenely bright and hopeful amidst the bloody aftermath of battle. She should have been filthy, but I couldn’t stand the thought of my Little Soldier soiled in any way. I kept her clean and somehow that was more obscene. Dirty and muddy, she would have blended into the landscape and been more … more natural.
“It’s time.” Mentor nudged my elbow.
“I know.” My voice quavered and I struggled to hide my trembling. My appearance before the Grand Council would begin in moments. The fight I had just witnessed was irrevocable evidence of my failure, but I’d stand tall, face the council squarely, answer their questions and prepare for banishment. Dear Guardian, how?
And then, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.
*
That fight—it was appalling and thrilling, shameful and exhilarating. She had done it. She had proven herself in a most elemental way. Em tucked the sinful sense of pride close to her heart and reveled in the joy of triumph. If only sensei could have seen her.
She moved on to other small jobs, following the directives in the ring. She’d just finished cleaning up a village under siege, had done this job peacefully and was watching the mercenaries pack up to leave and the villagers creep out from hiding when a huge wave of guilt bowled her over. How on earth could she be proud in any way of fighting? Her? The one trying to stop conflict. The one given the power to do so. She had descended to the lowest form of conflict resolution. It was then that she saw him.
Soft flab of flesh sagging over a belt buckle, erection straining against the fabric of too tight jeans, stench of cigarettes and sweat; enough to make her gag. An ugly horrible excuse for a human.
She blinked and looked again. He was neat and fit and maybe even handsome. No, he couldn’t be. She didn’t want him to be handsome. He had to be gross. Any man with that crazed sexually deviant look in his eye, with that leer that told her she wasn’t a woman, simply an object, had to be gross. It was the stereotype after all. She blinked again but he was still good looking.
She’d been minding her own business, waiting for Powers to transport her when the creep waved the picture in front of her face. She stopped to look. A young beautiful face smiled out at her from the page; smiled in spite of the bullet hole above her right eye.
“Why are you showing me this?” She growled. The look on his face raised her hackles. Desire and contempt and smug superiority. She’d seen that many times before, but now, with this man, she was enraged beyond reason.
“Girl. Young. Beautiful. Big boo-sums. Man like.” He spoke English with a heavy accent. Faked. She searched his eyes for signs of a mental challenge that would let her forgive, but they were clear and bright and mocking. “I make sex to girl. Shoot. Make sex again.” Oh Lord, he couldn’t mean that. But he did. He was boasting, swaggered back and forth in front of her with a leering smirk waving the picture.
She snapped, slammed his chin up with a palm strike, knocking his head back. She hooked her ankle behind his, threw him down. O soto gari. Worked every time. She fell on him, pinned his arm with her knee and hit him again and again and again. He was long beyond fighting back before she stopped.
The picture? Where was the picture? She found it snagged under his foot, pressed it to her heart and then ripped it to a million little pieces. No one will ever violate you again.
She sank back, glanced at the inert body, the bloody face. Oh God, she’d done that. Her. Miracle Madame. The world’s savior. Had the jungle battle set loose the monster in her?
She vomited, looked for water to rinse her mouth of the foul taste and wash the sweat and tears from her face. The stream was only a few meters away. She crawled to it.
*
“What kind of a person is she?” Mentor asked. “To do a thing like that”
“I … I … She’s never….”
“Was violence always in her?”
“No. No. Not at all. Maybe her life as Madame made her do this.” I couldn’t fathom the passion of her assault on the man. Vile and disgusting, he was, yes, but for her to attack that way.
“So she’s not Little Miss Perfect after all.” Mentor sounded inordinately pleased.
*
Cool water dripped from her chin. Her reflection shimmered in the shallow stream. She looked perfectly normal, but she didn’t think she’d ever be normal again. God, Powers, did he know? She vomited again.
And yet, she wondered as she dried her face with the hem of her dress, did she truly regret what she had just done? And if she didn’t, what did that make her?
*
“Em,” Ron called. “Where are you?” He came up behind her. She whirled to face him.
“My hands. My hands.”
“Em, what is it?”
“Look.” Ron reached for her hands but she pulled back. “No, don’t touch me.”
“What?”
“The blood. Don’t you see it? My hands are covered in blood. The man I… It’s his blood. I…” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell Ron she’d pummeled a man almost to death with her bare hands. Ron reached to hold her, but she wrenched away and ran from him.
*
She ran straight into me. Yes me. I broke the most sacrosanct rule of all and went down to Earth.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “You’ll be fine. Just give it time.
“NO! It’s not okay. What I did was so … so….”
“Human?”
“Yes! Human! The worst kind of human.”
“It’s okay.”
“Oh God.” She pounded my chest. Don’t you see? It’s not okay at all.”
“It will be. I promise.”
“How can you…? Who the hell are you?” she asked looking up at me for the first time. “And her?” Em looked beyond me, pointed. Her hand shook. I turned to see the outline of a woman in white fading away. Surely it wasn't…. Before Em could say more I was snatched away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mentor’s face was red.
“I….”
“Don’t say anything. Don’t make any feeble excuses.”
“I….”
“Another word and your life is over. Now get out of my sight while I fix this.”
I knew how she’d fix it. She’d take the encounter with Em away from Ron. He would remember nothing of it. That was simple.
As for Em? Mentor hadn’t said I couldn’t help. I’d force her attack on that vile man to slide into a shadow of a memory, but Em wouldn’t have to live with the guilt much longer anyway. I’d already taken care of that and what I’d done would haunt me forever.