Dragonfly Warrior by Jay Noel
THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER WAS A shadow of its former self. Geller noted the rotting marble columns that guarded the two arched entryways. The once awe-inspired domed ceiling no longer glistened with gold paint. King Tlacatl kept the furnishings plain. He probably didn't want to make the blatant atrophy of his kingdom even starker.
At the far end of the chamber, Tlacatl sat on his throne, which was nothing more than a large wooden chair elevated on a marble platform. It looked antique, but its flimsy construction matched the decay of his country.
The king's guards, armed with the Iberian auto guns Geller had sold them a year ago, escorted Geller and his large entourage through the chamber to the foot of Tlacatl's throne. The old man looked sickly. His long beard had grown longer since Geller's last visit. Directly following Geller was Marcel, being closely guarded by Kamau.
Kamau had changed into a loose shirt and light pants, just as the rest of Geller's men had. Geller noticed his most trusted bodyguard's dark skin through the man's damp white shirt. Mexihco was humid and stifling. Smelly and unbearable. Geller himself was already sweating when he approached the king.
“Welcome, Olaf Geller,” Tlacatl greeted with a show of his brown teeth. He drifted from his chair, lifting his long brown robe to prevent tripping over it. “I didn't know you were paying us a visit. Otherwise, I would have prepared a feast.”
Geller forced himself to bow his head. “I apologize for this unannounced visit, but I do come bearing gifts.”
Two of his men brought a large wooden crate forward. They pulled the lid off to reveal two dozen Iberian auto rifles. Tlacatl's eyes grew large. He reached into the crate and caressed a gun as if it were gold. Geller didn't know why Tlacatl continued to buy weapons; no one in their right mind would ever invade this rat-infested country.
“This is an unexpected surprise.” Tlacatl inspected the weapons. He peered into the box, likely searching for the drum magazines and ammunition for the rifles. Geller threw in three Iberian grenades to sweeten the offering, and the king gasped when he held one of them.
Geller wiped his forehead. The humidity was thick, and even in the dim light of the chamber, the heat remained oppressive. “I never come empty-handed. I ask only for safe passage through your great country.”
Tlacatl placed the grenade back into the crate. “Of course. You are a friend to Mexihco. My men tell me of another request you have.”
“Yes,” Geller began. “I need a piece of sophisticated machinery. Intact, but non-functioning.”
“This is a strange request.” Tlacatl's forehead wrinkled. “May I ask why?”
“Since today is a day of pleasant surprises, let's keep with the theme, shall we?” Geller was tiring of this game, and he wished Tlacatl would take a hint. It would be easy to simply kill this pathetic king where he stood, but a small part of him felt pity for the old man.
Tlacatl pretended to think it over. “Yes, we shall. On the condition that upon delivery of the machine, you tell me what you're up to.” The king smiled, trying to lighten his tone. “Curiosity. It is a great weakness of mine.”
Geller wiped his face with a cloth. “I will not keep you in suspense for long.”
Tlacatl signaled his guards. “If you will follow me, I believe I have a machine that meets all of your requirements.”
Geller and his group followed the king and his soldier from the chamber and through a series of dim corridors. The walls were deteriorating stone, but flecks of gold reflected the flickering light of the gas lanterns. The hall sloped downwards as they continued, and Geller found relief when the air cooled.
Tlacatl led them to a set of steel double doors. The guards pulled them open. The enormous chamber was filled with antique tools and discarded machines. They entered, and the smell of burning ore came to Geller's nose. Several engineers working with broken equipment and outdated tools snapped to attention as Tlacatl passed by.
They walked to the rear of the spacious workshop until they came to what looked like a giant metal spider. Geller approached it first. He placed his hand on one of its dusty iron legs. The machine was a transport with eight legs, and the body of the spider only allowed one operator.
The pilot's seat towards the front of the spider was surrounded by various levers and other controls. Geller went to the rear of the metal beast and tried to imagine this machine creature on the battlefield. It must have been frightening for the enemy to see a giant iron spider marching towards them.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Tlacatl asked, obviously taking pleasure in showing off this mechanized monster.
Geller exhaled. “It's an Iberian spydread. Where did you get this?”
“I bought it from an Azincayan pirate,” Tlacatl replied. He wiped dust from the machine's legs. “He said he found it abandoned on the Caobana Islands.”
Geller circled the spider one final time. “Intimidating. It looks like there might have been guns attached to both the bow and stern of the machine, but they've been removed.” He turned to Marcel. “Come forward.”
The boy was in his own world. Marcel looked captivated by the broken spydread already. Kamau stepped aside and allowed the boy to approach. Marcel rushed to the giant spider. His hands ran along each leg methodically and slowly.
“Who is this boy?” Tlacatl asked in almost a whisper.
“This is Marcel,” answered Geller. “He has a special gift with machines. Your spydread is the perfect test for him.”
Marcel finished inspecting all eight legs. With his eyes closed, he climbed up into the pilot's seat and his hands wandered over every inch of the control panel. He hopped out of the cockpit and crawled towards the rear along the narrow platform, finally coming to the spydread's boiler and other vital organs.
“The child doesn't talk much, does he?” Tlacatl asked.
Geller ignored the question as he watched Marcel jump down from the machine. “What do you think, Marcel?”
The boy looked up at the spydread. His eyes were full of the sympathy a surgeon might have for his dying patient. “I need tools.”
Geller gave Tlacatl an impatient glare, and the king shuffled back to the engineers on the other side of the chamber. Bending low to meet Marcel eye-to-eye, he whispered, “Can it be fixed?”
“Yes.”
“Better question is: can you fix it?” Geller got down on one knee and studied the child's pleasant face. The boy seemed quietly confident. “Are you the man for the job?”
“Yes.”
Geller felt giddy. “Please get him the tools he needs,” he said to the king.
Tlacatl grumbled orders to his engineers who retrieved a pair of large leather cases. They placed the bags at Marcel's feet. The child opened them and studied all the wrenches, clamps, and other tools.
“You believe this boy can repair this machine?” Tlacatl muttered, sounding as if he was already bored. “Impossible.”
“This is no ordinary boy,” Geller said as he watched Marcel sift through the cases of tools.
Tlacatl weakly shrugged his shoulders. In his Origin tongue, he commanded his men to provide seats for everyone. After they brought in cushioned chairs, Geller attempted to get comfortable in his stiff seat. The audience sat quietly, preparing to watch a nine year old boy perform a miracle. Geller could hardly contain his excitement, but he contemplated what he would do if Marcel failed to repair the spydread. Even if he sold him off to labor in a factory, the proceeds wouldn't even come close to covering the two hundred thousand ibers he had paid the boy's stepfather.
Before beginning his surgery, Marcel approached the king holding a large wrench in each of his tiny hands. “Your tools are terrible.” Marcel thrust the metal tool up into the air. “I hope I can work with this.”
Tlacatl was unable to respond. His mouth fell open and his eyes flashed distress. He stirred in his chair. It looked like he wanted to leave the chamber. Instead he nodded and shooed the boy away with his thin wrinkled hands.
Geller laughed at the
NEVA HAD PILOTED THE LOCOMOBILE for several hours straight until the morning sun sizzled in the clear sky. The desert was dusty and hot, and the small trade city at the southern tip of Agrios was a good place to stop. She and Zen wallowed in silence all morning, drowning in their private thoughts.
Once the locomible stopped, Zen climbed out of the vehicle and walked out into the hot desert. Zen replayed the final moments of his mother's life. Despite his reliving her passing, he found solace knowing her cryptic final words now made sense. His resolve solidified, and he treasured this new connection to his mother.
Enapay emerged from the passenger cabin with his eyes still heavy from sleep. He jumped off the car and joined Zen on the hill overlooking the small town. The simple native buildings were made of stone and wood. The market was already bursting with activity from the many vendors preparing their makeshift shops. As a border town, Zen assumed the locals depended on travelers for their livelihood.
“Did you sleep well?” Zen asked.
Enapay rubbed his face. “I sure did. I need another five or six hours, but it's hot in that car.”
Zen's Nabeho shirt billowed from the hot wind sweeping from the west. He watched the marketplace come to life. A few of the vendors down below looked up at them with hopeful eyes, eager to sell their goods to new faces.
Enapay cocked a thumb at the locomobile. “Neva coming out?”
“I believe so.” Zen took a deep breath. “Much has happened to her in a short amount of time.”
“You both have turned my world upside down,” Enapay remarked. “I'm a man of science. In my travels, I have seen many strange things. I think if you look long and closely enough, you start to see patterns all around you. To me, these patterns are mere coincidences. To others like yourself, the world is full of intentional and deliberate design. Make sense?”
Zen nodded, although Enapay seemed bent on dismissing the obvious.
“About that Dragonfly thing...” Enapay continued. “Sure, that was a strange coincidence. Neva's son with the ability to somehow understand the inner workings of machines by simply touching it? Defies commonsense. Looking into her eyes, however, I see truth there.”
He put a hand on Zen's shoulder. “How did your mother have knowledge of future events? Telling you to save the Machine Boy? And the initials match up. M.B. This child must be the one your mother was talking about. How is all of that possible?”
“I do not know,” Zen replied.
This was the sort of thing he would normally ask Master Kyta about. She always provided guidance and understanding of such matters. For now, he simply accepted it.
“I'm not able to dismiss any of this so quickly,” Enapay finally said. “I look at you and I look at Neva, and the weight of it all is too real. Everything is upside down.”
“It is understandable.” Zen gathered his long loose hair and let the wind cool the back of his neck.
Enapay gazed at Zen's face for a moment. “I know you Nihon warriors are trained to control your emotions. I saw something stir inside of you earlier.”
Zen felt his left eye twitch. “Even warriors have mothers.”
“You wear a hard exterior, Zen, and I know your culture regards such control of emotions to be a show of strength. But I understand how you feel.” Enapay leaned in. “I lost my mother, father, and sister by the time I was your age. I know your pain all too well.”
Zen nodded solemnly. “Yes. You have mourned for many loved ones. I forget your pain because of your nonchalance.”
“It's how I cope,” Enapay said with a hint of a smile.
“Maybe I too must learn your humor,” Zen said.
Enapay laughed. “You are a mystery.”
“Life is full of mysteries.” Zen closed his eyes and remembered something Master Kyta had once taught him. “We are not supposed to solve all of them. The unknown is what reminds us of our humanity. No need to know why. Just accept what is.”
“How old are you Zen?”
“Twenty years. Soon to be twenty-one.”
Enapay cracked a small smile. “You speak like an Elder. You're an old man in a young boy's body.”
“I had a wise teacher. I am fortunate Master Kyta has passed some of her wisdom on to me,” Zen said. “She taught me to relish the mysteries of life. Not to be in such a rush to know everything.”
“Ah, maybe that's why I'm always getting into trouble,” Enapay said.
“Maybe my quest for the Sky Blade does not seem as absurd to you now?” How open had Enapay's mind become? The blue medallion emitted a soft glow, and Zen saw Enapay glance down at it.
“Not so much. I will admit, it does feel like I'm where I should be. It's nice having a little direction in my life again.” Enapay threw a quick look behind them. Neva exited the locomobile at last. “I owe it to this woman to help her save her little Machine Boy. She did save my life, and I always pay my debts.”
Zen watched Neva give pause on the car's metal walkway. He waved to her, and she gestured back. “It is good you are opening your mind to such possibilities,” he said to Enapay. “It is a start.”
Enapay gave him a sharp look. “Speaking of possibilities, it's refreshing to see a little emotion come out of you. Makes you seem more human.”
“Even warriors have mothers.”
MOST OF THE PEOPLE IN the marketplace had tan skin with chalky black hair. Their gregarious voices rose and filled the hot desert air. Zen and Neva decided to traverse through the narrow aisles. Maybe they could pick up some information from the townspeople. It was most likely Geller and his group came through here if they were indeed heading south towards Azincaya.
Enapay stayed behind to guard their iron vehicle. He requested that they buy a barrel or two of water for the boiler and bread to go with the salted pork he was cooking.
Zen closely carried the leather bag of gold coins, which Enapay informed him was worth much more than the one thousand ibers he had owed him from their wager. After opening the pouch and glancing at the treasure, he was pretty sure the contents were worth five times that. The marketplace was undoubtedly filled with thieves and pickpockets, and Enapay warned him to not let anyone bump into them or stand too closely.
Neva led the way, as there wasn't enough width in the thick of the market for them to walk side-by-side. The vendors were much louder here compared to the marketplace in Agrios. The natives were all smiles. They acted like the passersby were long lost friends. Neva stopped to talk with three merchants, but they had no answers for her.
They came to what looked to be the largest merchant stand in the marketplace. The aroma of sweet flower petals came to Zen's nose, and he noticed the vendor sold various soaps. All the items were placed neatly on large wooden tables, and Zen took refuge from the sun underneath the massive canopy. The owner was a short woman of wide girth. Although the deep lines in her brown face gave away her age, she spoke with a childlike quality Zen found disarming.
“Can I interest you in any of my goods?” the woman asked them. “I have the best castile soap. Made from laurel oil. I also sell various canteens and other survival gear in the back.”
Neva sniffed at a white bar of soap before approaching the woman. “I am in need of information.”
The old woman leaned over her table. “What kind of information?”
“We are tracking someone, and we were curious if he passed through this way recently,” replied Neva. “I expect if he had, it would've been quite a spectacle.”
“I see.” The woman retreated, her eyes conveying exactly what she was wanting in return.
Zen opened the heavy pouch and grabbed several coins. He flashed the woman the gold, and her wrinkled eyes blinked before growing wide.
“Did they come in a massive procession of steam locomobiles?” the woman asked, her dark eyes tra
Neva nodded. “Probably. Yes.”
Zen slid one of the gold coins across the table, and the old woman quickly snatched it up.
“Passed through here two days ago,” she continued. “Their iron trains shook the ground, and we hoped the wealthy passengers would stop to buy our merchandise, but they didn't. The entire caravan thundered right past us, but it did finally stop about a mile south of here near the town's main plaza.”
“Were you able to see any of the passengers?” Neva asked, her voice sounding slightly constricted.
The woman thought for a moment. “No. The windows were blacked out. I couldn't see in. My niece, who was in the town square, watched them roll in. She said they made a stop in front of the government building and several men briefly met with the town's chief magistrate. Then they went to the orphanage across the street and took several young boys with them before leaving.”
Zen got a hand signal from Neva and handed the old woman another coin.
“Can we speak with your niece?” asked Neva.
“Sure.”
The woman paused and glanced at Zen once again. He jingled the bag to confirm he could pay, and when she smiled, she revealed perfect white teeth. The lady strained to turn her head towards a small tent behind her and called out to someone in her native tongue. A girl, maybe Zen's age, ran out and came to the woman's side. She was more robust, but her skin and long hair was the same hue as her elderly aunt.
“This is my niece, Izel.” The lady turned to Neva. “She can help you.”
Izel nervously gripped the display cart with both hands, but she managed to make eye contact with Neva and Zen after her aunt nudged her hip with the point of her elbow.
Neva's face and voice softened. “Izel, your aunt tells me you saw a caravan of steam transports rumble into town two days ago.”
Izel nodded. Her left hand reached into her satchel and produced a large leather bound book.
“They stopped by the orphanage?” asked Neva.
“Yes,” Izel said. “They grabbed some boys from there and threw them into one of the passenger cars.”