WARRIOR SEVEN

The scout moved through the summer brush so quickly that Jason had difficulty following him. He pushed away the thick forest leaves and palm fronds with urgency, brushing aside cobwebs heavy with dew as he attempted to gain on the rustling flora that served as the only marker for his young and tiny guide. When Jason finally escaped the grasp of the wood line, he was nearly gasping for breath. He quietly cursed his mortality; age was taking its toll on him, though he was still far from elderly. He bent forward deeply, and hung his weight on the handle of his spear. The river before him was fast and swollen; the khaki sand was littered with branches, debris, and dead fish, as it was every morning after a midsummer storm. The air was thick with flies. Jason looked left, down the narrow, muddy beach, then right; the youth he had been following was in a full sprint, headed toward a rope bridge which connected the beach to a long, flat rock, sitting in the middle of the river. A group of boys stood on the island in a semicircle, staring at a large, black object, smashed against the farthest end of the outcrop. Jason’s skin tingled as he turned and jogged toward the bridge; around the object stood the village's daily fishing party of four teenage boys. Each carried a rope laden with fish; their leather loincloths were dark with water from the river. One of the smaller boys broke from the group, and began to run toward Jason as the old man crossed the last bit of the bridge. The boy spoke first, as Jason was still short of breath. “Master, it’s a boat! There were people aboard!” he said. Jason was mortified. “Where are they?” he asked, through heaving breaths. The boy smiled wryly. “They’re everywhere. The boat crashed cause of the current. They’re dead, all but one. Master, these people are different from us. Do you think they might be of the race of ancients?” Jason brushed the question aside. He stepped forward and grabbed the boy by the shoulders, and pulled him uncomfortably close. He spoke resolutely. “Virgil, where is the man who survived?” Virgil’s blue eyes opened wide. He looked frightened. “He-I had the others tie him up, Master. He was unconscious when we found him. He is still unconscious. The rest are dead,” he repeated. “Good. Go tell the others to touch nothing.” Jason released his grip on the boy. Virgil took a step away from Jason, and pulled his dreadlocks out of his face. “I already did, but I didn't have to. They’re terrified of them.” “Why?” Virgil inhaled deeply. “Well, for starters, some of them are very old. The boys are convinced they are ancients. Also, the guy who survived the wreck is pretty big, and all of them are a lot darker than any of us.” Jason stared at the boy for a moment, before craning his neck to look over Virgil’s head, past the wreckage, far upriver. There was nothing; either the vessel was traveling alone, or the others they were with had left them here. Virgil squirmed. “I shouldn't leave the dummies to their curiosity much longer.” He turned and trotted back to the wreckage. Jason followed behind him, but not closely. He wanted the villagers to begin listening to Virgil now. He knew the best way to do that was to slowly vanish as an authority figure—replaced by the young boy a bit at a time. Jason watched indirectly as his apprentice corralled the boys. He came upon the boat first; it was lodged deep into the island. The pilot appeared to have been caught in a surge during last night's thunderstorm and failed to see the dark stones. There were six dead altogether, they were lying upon the ground as if they had been thrown from the ship. The bodies were clothed in tattered fabrics, but the shirts and jackets were intact enough to reveal the machinated precision of the seams; they were manufactured clothes. These people were indeed survivors from his age—rather than warriors of Virgil’s. The tension in Jason’s neck softened a bit and he turned around to focus on the only survivor. He was a giant man, but he was young; he had maybe a handful of years on Virgil, but was likely older than anyone else in the village. His fingers sat on his bound hands like sausages; Jason estimated him at least two-eighty, and about six and a half feet tall. The dead passengers were all much older than the giant—some by nearly half a century. These elders would have obviously known Jason’s secret, but what did they tell this enormous young man—now feebly subdued at his feet? Jason scoured the wreckage for a long time. The boys were huddled together at a safe distance, their eyes remaining glued to the movements of their aging master, and their hands to the shafts of their spears. Slowly, Jason picked through the boat’s contents, tossing some things aside, and placing others discreetly into his tunic. He pushed on a pile of oily clothing, and the heap toppled, revealing something which sucked the air from his lungs; he gasped. Before him was a small trunk, emblazoned with a large, red-foil image of the letter H. He recognized the logo immediately; he shuddered to think that he had been found, but the feeling quickly passed. He was now more certain that the travelers were alone; if they were his pursuers, they would not have left this behind. This had to be coincidence, and it was one in his favor; one of these dead strangers had been keeping a similar secret. Jason smiled as he stood; it vanished as he turned toward the boys. “Virgil." The boy stepped forward. “Yes, Master?” “Take the boys back to the village. Have them say nothing to the others. Be certain they say nothing to the others.” Virgil nodded. “They will be silent.” Virgil turned to his fishermen; the teens were nodding in unison. He turned back. “Should I have them promise to keep this secret forever?” “No, not yet,” Jason looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. He looked back down at the captive. “I will return to the village when he comes to, and we have had a chance to talk privately. Have the boys leave their canteens.” Jason beckoned Virgil closer. He obliged, and Jason continued, but quietly. “Remember, Virgil, the boys must say nothing. If you are to accept my title, you must have control of their minds.” Virgil beamed. “I won’t let you down.” He looked down at the captive. “What are you really gonna do with him?” Jason shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know yet. I will decide when I know what he knows. There may be more people, and they might come looking for him—for them. We will either welcome him into our community, or I will kill him on this beach.” Virgil looked back up at Jason. “Why is he so dark?” “Shouldn't you be wondering how he got so tall?” He pointed toward the forest. “Now, go.” Virgil spat, then turned and ran toward the boys. “Okay, listen up!” he snapped. “We’re headed back to the village.” The boys fell into formation. “You better keep your mouths shut about this! Now let’s move!”