"There Goes the Red Runner"
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dochermes"There Goes the Red Runner"
11/3-11/10/2010
I.
Dawn on the Danarak border filled the sky with orange hazy light from a rising sun. The air had not particularly cooled down overnight and was already oppressive. Concealed behind a jumble of boulders beside the road, Sheng Mo-Yuan laced up his trainers and did some stretching.
No more than five feet five but with a wiry and well defined musculature, the Chujiran adventurer was wearing dark blue shorts with a vertical white stripe, a loose white T-shirt and a black baseball cap from which the team logo had been removed. He had yanked the symbol off after an infuriating final World Series game.
As he moved around, loosening up, pulling his ankle up behind him to stretch the tendons while standing on the other leg, Sheng would seem to a casual observer to be Northern Chinese. The coarse black hair, tawny skin and single eyelid fold supported that. But his high cheekbones and eagle-beaked nose gave away that he was really from the adjacent realm of Chujir.
Before he expected it, while he was getting ready, the Red Runner came sprinted along the hard-packed dirt road. Yikes, thought Sheng, they said this guy was fast but he was leaving a plume of dust behind him.
In the instant before the man came within reach, Sheng got a good look at him. The Messenger was a classic Danarakan from the hill tribes, tall and lanky with long long legs. The glossy black skin shone with sweat. The Red Runner wore nothing but a bright scarlet loincloth and a similar scarlet band tied around his brows. He was barefoot. In one hand, he clutched a short cleft stick that held a scrap of paper in its notch.
There was no time for hesitation. As the Runner came near, Sheng shifted the gralic force in his body into increased speed. He leaped out from behind the boulders, quick enough himself to snatch up a fleeing hummingbird or to slap a rearing cobra without being bit. But he was in for a rude surprise. Even as he lunged with clutching hands to grab the man, the Red Runner accelerated sharply away and Sheng fell directly on his face.
Instantly, he was up and giving chase. Sheng had never clocked his best speed but he knew he was capable of matching Jeremy Bane, and the two of them could grab a running cheetah by the neck. He raced full tilt, leaning forward, legs pumping smoothly, taking in deep oxygen-filled breaths. He knew he was in good form and would be breaking athletic records if anyone had been there to record it. The Red Runner pulled away and disappeared down the road as if Sheng had been standing steel.
Slowing to a halt, the Tel Shai knight caught his breath. An expression of chagrin spread over his face and his shoulders sagged. It had never occured to him that anything on two legs could outrun him. Sheng raised one hand, snapped his fingers and tried to take this setback in stride. There were twenty-four hours before the Red Runner was expected to pass this way again. He was known to carry his messages at first light.
Trudging back to his little camp behind the boulders, Sheng rinsed his mouth out from one of the canteens and spit, then took a good swig. He had been sure to bring lots of water with him. The Chujiran's basic personality was resilient and inventive, so he recovered quickly from disappointment. He strapped his knapsack to his back and took one of the dried sticks of jerky to chew on. Sheng shifted the gralic force in his body to strength. With his added endurance to carry him, he began the half-day hike back to the military camp where he would pick up some items that he was already planning how to use.
II.
Two days earlier, Sheng had been winding down a quiet night at his office in the building at the corner of Canal Street in Manhattan. His firm of Argent Investigations kept the unusual hours of Midnight to eight in the morning but he had found that was when most of his customers had been desperately looking for help and he had flourished since becoming the city's only overnight detective agency.
On his office door, the frosted glass panel had the Chinese symbols for 'Chuan Lo Tsing' painted on it. This translated as roughly "Hard Worker Fist" or "Fist For Hire." The phone number and the hours available had also been displayed.
At eight-thirty, ready to stretch out on his leather couch for a nap, Sheng Mo-Yuan had been rousted instead by a knock on the door and a visit by two well-dressed gentlemen from Danarak. Within the hour, he had accepted this commission. Now here he was, striding through the hard rocky soil toward the garrison camp to report the first setback.
This was a disputed area near the outer border of Danarak, as far as one could travel before being stopped by the barriers between this realm and the real world. This was desert and arid scrubland; far to the east could be seen the soft blue of the mountain ridge that marked moister tropical forests which occupied most of Danarak.
Tireless as long as he kept the gralic power reinforcing his muscles, Sheng covered the miles at a good clip. As Argent, he could enhance his body to be either stronger or faster or more resilient than normal but he could only concentrate on one attribute at a time. In the years he had served as a Tel Shai knight, he had practiced until he could shift quickly between traits as needed.
Once he had opened Argent Investigations, he had learned a lot about human nature and how the interface between the criminal underworld and the Midnight War worked. Most of his cases were cleared up in a few days; this long-term commisson of the Danarakan Army was unusual for him.
Ahead was a shallow creek which ran over rounded pebbles. Laid out alongside this water were a half-dozen khaki tents with twenty Danarak warriors milling about. The well-muscled men wore loose robes of thin pale green cotton to protect even their dark skins from the sun, and rope sandals that kept their feet from being burnt. Most had driven their short stabbing spears upright into the dirt until needed, but they always carried the curved-blade knives in their sashes. When they saw Argent draw near, many smiled and waved him closer.
A fire was being tended by an older man and the scent of roasting goat filled the air. In a kettle suspended from a tripod of sticks, beans boiled in steaming water as well. When Sheng came into view, the Danarakans gathered with eagerness to hear what he had to say.
Striding over from his own tent with its white flag bearing the stylized head of Wakimbe the Black Lion, the captain of this company waved for Sheng to approach. Avergim was a man in his early fifties, still iron-hard and trim with only grey in his short-cropped hair to show any sign of middle age. On his left bicep were three rings of polished gold to show his rank. He was not leathering his leather headdress at the moment.
Slightly embarrassed by the excitement with which the Danarakans greeted him, Sheng admitted his lack of success. The warriors did not mock him openly but he saw the reaction in their faces.
"So it goes," said Avergim. "You had to see with your own eyes why this Red Runner is such a hard bird to catch. Many have tried in years past. No one has seen him leave the road, no one has ever heard him speak. He will pass by again tomorrow."
"And I will be ready. Good captain, I have an idea that will enable me to drag this runner before you to be questioned."
"Aye, whatever we may do to help will be done," the Danarakan officer said. He pointed in the direction from which Sheng had walked. "Beyond that rise, we may not go. To enter that disputed territory would mean open rebellion by Maltesek's forces. Only you, a yellow-hided outsider, may do this deed."
"That's our agreement," Sheng admitted. "I want a few items to take back with me. And, as long as I am here, perhaps I will join your men at their noon meal?"
Avergim grinned, showing white strong teeth. "So it shall be. That was a tender young kid we carved this morning and my men have been licking their lips at the aroma. Come. Take a wooden plate from the stack and fill your belly before you go back to the chase."
III.
Sunrise the next morning found Sheng stretched out atop a rocky outcropping that stuck out ten feet over the dirt road. He had brought back with him a wooden cart much like a wheelbarrow, filled with items he had requested. When the singing of unfamiliar birds had awakened him, the Chujiran had yawned and rubbed his eyes and brewed a mug of Tagra tea for his breakfast.
He had been on the Tagra regimen for more than a decade now. Available only to Tel Shai knights, it was so prized because it enhanced the body's healing abilities far beyond what medical science could explain. Sheng was not invulnerable nor immortal; like other Tel Shai knights, he could be killed by trauma severe and sudden enough. But he recovered from less than fatal damage so quickly and thoroughly that he had survived many beatings, stabbings, shootings and exposure to extreme heat and cold without any permanent harm.
Sheng sipped the tea gratefully, enjoying its strong minty fragrance. It was the Tagra plant, not found in any realm or anywhere in the world, that made being a Tel Shai knight such a prized status. As he finished the mug, Sheng felt fresh vitality course through him. He wiped the mug with a cloth and returned the small bag of crushed Tagra leaves to his knapsack.
Below him was the dirt road that the Rebels had been using for the past few years. He was three miles further west than he had been the day before. Next to Shang was a shapeless bundle of cowhide cords and he inserted one finger into it thoughtfully.
As he waited, Argent reflected about the people whose lives he was affecting by this intervention. He had asked Sable at KDF headquarters before leaving the world. She had explained in considerable detail the conflict between the King's regime and the Rebel party. Mostly it involved trade routes and taxes and the way the hill tribes were not well represented in the Senior Council. For the past year, an uneasy truce had simmered between the two factions.
It had been the appearance of the Red Runner that had stirred great concern. The King and the Senior Council worried that the legendary messenger was relaying communications between the various scattered Rebel clans and this meant that insurrection was ready to boil over.
Sheng sighed and let the matter go. Unless he intended to spend months in Danarak interviewing people and doing undercover research, he had to take Sable's opinion that the current King was not too bad and that civil war would mean more death and suffering than the minor grievances were worth.
Movement in the distance caught his peripheral vision. A tiny dark speck was approaching fast. Sheng Mo Yuan spread out the bundle, braced himself up on one knee and waited with unexpected anticipation. The afternoon before, he had satisfied himself that a man on the road could not see anyone atop the outcropping unless that person actually stood up and drew attention to himself.
The Red Runner hurtled into view. If anything, he seemed to be running even faster than he had the day before. His motion looked surreal. Sheng waited, calculating velocity and distance, then acted when he judged the messenger was at the right spot.
Heaving up to his feet, the Chujiran adventurer whirled the net of cowhide strips in a semi-circle and flung it. Its ends were weighted with round stones tied securely. As he threw the net, though, somehow his left foot became caught in one of the openings and the heavy net pulled him with it. He just had time to yell, "Hey!" before he was sailing out helplessly into space.
Sheng hit the hard dry dirt with a thud. Entangled in the net, he couldn't roll to dissipate the impact or land properly. The breath was knocked out of him and he saw flashing lights as the back of his head smacked the ground with force that would have killed a normal man.
Pausing just out of reach, the Red Runner saluted him ironically with the cleft stick that now held three scraps of paper. The gaunt man stuck out his tongue and laughed "HAW-haw!" before launching himself away again in a full run.
Getting himself loose from the net, Sheng barely kept himself from stamping his feet or jumping up and down. He was furious. How could he have been so clumsy? He wanted to tell himself that somehow the net had delibately caught his foot but blaming an inanimate object was ridiculous.
The mocking laugh and grin from the Red Runner had really sparked his rage, though. Already recovered from a twenty-foot fall onto his head, Sheng Mo-Yuan gathered up the net and started planning. Tomorrow morning would end differently.
IV.
Most of that day was spent in labor. Sheng had brought with him from the soldier's camp a short-handled shovel and he moved with determination of the deeply embarrassed. Moving a few miles further down the road, he found a likely spot which offered a hill from which he could watch.
Concentrating his Argent power into enhanced strength, Sheng dug a pit in the road, five feet deep and three feet across. He painstakingly filled the wagon with the dirt that was displaced and disposed of it out of sight. Taking a thin cotton cloth he had been given to use as a blanket, Sheng stretched it taut over the hole, pinning down the corners with rocks. Finally, taking great pains, he sprinkled dust and light dirt over the cloth until it looked like the rest of the road.
This last detail seemed to preoccupy Sheng. He kept adding and subtracting dust on the cloth, walking a distance away to study the effect and standing with hand cradling his chin as he thought how to make the illusion better.
Finally, as the sun was setting and a cool breeze drifted in, the Chujiran decided he had to let it be. He built a small fire in a circle of loose rocks on the other side of the hill and grilled some of the goat meat he had brought back from the camp. Another mug of the Tagra tea helped lift his spirits. As darkness fell completely, the fire died down to hot ashes. Sheng stretched out on his back and stared up at the stars so brilliantly clear away from any city.
More and more, he was grateful for the amazing life he had been leading. Since Tang Ming had discovered his latent abilities back in Chujir, Sheng had left a drowsy village behind to have the most hair-raising and unexpected advantures in various adjacent realms and in every country of the real world. He had become a Tel Shai knight, learning Kumundu. He had become a KDF member and made friends like Jeremy Bane, Sable, Megan Salenger and even that darn Unicorn.
Now, with the Fist For Hire agency, he was his own boss and could choose his own exploits. Like this unlikely commission, trying to catch a messenger who seemed uncatchable. The lack of imminent danger made this case less stressful and more enjoyable for its own sake.
Tired from hours of physical exertion, Sheng drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Long practice allowed him to remain alert enough that anyone passing would have instantly awoken him.
Shortly before dawn, he stirred and sat up, feeling rested and cheerful. He strolled over to a cluster of scrub brush to urinate and saw the pink streaks in the sky to the east. Sheng found the ashes still hot enough to stir some tinder into flame. He brewed one more mug of Tagra tea, stirring the crumbled leaves with a twig. From his knapsack, he pulled two high-density energy bars with nuts and raisins, chewed on them thoughtfully and then made sure the fire was out completely.
As the sun cleared the horizon, Argent positioned himself with only the top of his head clearing the hill to peer down at the road. The trap looked perfect. He almost hugged himself with gleeful anticipation.
Returning from the direction in which he had disappeared the previous morning, the lean figure of the Red Runner came whipping along. The man seemed so much in his element. Sprinting up along the road, the Messenger drew near.
Up on the hill, Sheng Mo-Yuan remained motionless but he focused his gralic charge into extra speed. He was more than ready, he was eager. The thin dark form rushed up to the concealed trap... and then came to a sudden stop. He stood on the dust-covered cloth as if standing on solid rock, leering up at Sheng with total insolence.
This was too much. Not thinking straight in his outrage, the Chujiran leaped to his feet and raced headlong down toward the road to tackle the Messenger. At the last possible split-second, the Danarakan runner neatly side-stepped off the trap and Sheng stepped down with all his weight on the concealed cloth. It gave way and wrapped around him as he fell awkwardly into the pit.
Sheng thrashed around, strugging to get the tangled cloth off him in the narrow space. He had twisted his ankle in the fall. As the Chujiran cursed and finally freed himself, he glared up in time to see the Red Runner stick out his tongue and go "HAW-haw!" before speeding away again.
V.
Stewing in resentment, Sheng spent the rest of the day filling the hole back in and tamping the dirt down firmly. Naturally, he did not want any innocent traveler to fall into the trap that had backfired so inexplicably.
After an hour, the swelling in his ankle went down and he stopped limping. Sheng hardly noticed. He was so used to bouncing back from physical trauma that he took it for granted. It was mid-afternoon before the road looked back to normal and he could move on.
Gathering up everything in the wagon, Argent headed in the opposite direction from the way he had been going. He remembered seeing something earlier than might offer possibilities. As he hiked along the road, he turned the incident over and over in his mind but it still made absolutely no sense.
How on earth had that man stood on the concealed cloth without falling through? Sheng himself had certainly taken a fall when he had rashly stepped there. Did the Red Runner have some sort of gralic power? Could he hover or perhaps reduce his weight to a few ounces? That would perhaps explain the great speed. Sheng scowled darkly as he selected the spot for his next attempt.
Overhanging the road was another outcropping of naked granite. Its edge protruded forward enough to shadow the road, and near its base were five rounded boulders the size of a man. Sheng stood surveying the area, calculating and deciding. Yes. This would do.
Gathering some dried twigs and grass, finding sticks thick enough to serve, the Chujiran built a small fire. From the pocket in his shorts, he used a mundane cigarette lighter. Danarak was one of the adjacent realms where technology was unreliable. The lighter worked well, but a flashlight would not. Guns and radios were useless here. This was a condition by the will of Jordyn Himself, the Spirit that guided the realms, and it explained why so many of the realms were staying at a medieval level.
Brewing more Tagra tea, adding an extra handful of the leaves because he worried he might need as much healing factor as possible, Sheng sat and brooded. He reached into his knapsack, took out a jar of multivamins and popped one in his mouth. He knew he should finish off the roast goat before it went bad in the heat, so he chewed on the leg glumly, not even tasting it.
As much as he enjoyed operating on his own, there were times when company would have been welcome. The blithe chatter of Unicorn, the solid good advice from Josef, the well-read Sable's interesting insights on any topic. Or maybe he was just in a funk because he wasn't doing that well so far.
Eventually, Argent shook himself out of it and set to work. He clambered up onto the outcropping and chose a suitable spot. Bringing up a number of smaller rocks no bigger than coconuts, he made a pile of them on one side. He had already decided on the main boulder. This was egg-shaped, bigger than a person, flattened on one side.
Sheng took deep breaths and pulled his gralic charge into his body as strength. The existential force reinforced his bones, muscles and tendons beyond their natural limits. Setting himself careful, he began shoving the boulder up onto the outcropping and positioning it right on the edge over the road. Bracing himself against the huge rock, he reached over with one hand and got the smaller rocks to prop the big one into place.
Finally, more than a little nervous, he stepped aside. The boulder stayed where it was. Sheng exhaled and slapped his palms together as if dusting them off. His legs and shoulders ached from the effort and he slid down to the ground to do some stretching.
Sheng's abilities as Argent were regulated by his will power. He grew stronger or faster or more durable as he made himself become. There were limits, of course. He could never match Sulak in sheer strength and he could never slap a bullet out of the air, but over the years he had kept forcing himself to push his abilities a little further.
Sipping water from one of the canteens, Sheng saw to his surprise that it was almost sunset. He must have been sitting around feeling sorry for himself longer than he had thought. Rummaging around in his knapsack, he found two cans of Boston baked beans and three Granola bars. Building another fire, Sheng heated the beans and ate them out of the can, enjoying the Granola bars as dessert. He had been in Danarak four days now and the novelty of camping out in a desert was wearing off. When he got back the world, a big plate of beef lo mein would be one of his first goals.
Cleaning up as best he could, licking his fingers, the Chujiran hoped that trap would work better than the previous ones. This Red Runner guy was getting on his nerves.
A scrawny lizard with a frilled crest scuttled past. Sheng smiled at the little creature, then decided to do his DohRa form to pass the time. Stepping into a clear space, he stood with feet together, fists at his hips and bowed to his Teacher Chael. The DohRa began as a series of increasingly difficult poses and stances than gradually turned into punches and blocks and kicks. After ten minutes, Sheng had turned into a blur striking at imagined opponents, leaping and crouching and throwing combination blows. Then, the process reversed. Eventually, he was again settling into poses on one leg with his knee up by his ribs or a low wide-legged stance with both arms extended full length.
After forty-five minutes, he bowed again to his Teacher at Tel Shai and sat down on a flat rock. His body was covered with a thin film of sweat but he was breathing only slightly faster than normal. Sheng reviewed his performance and was pleased but realized there was always room for improvement.
By now, it was quite dark. Sheng stripped down and got a fresh T-shirt and underwear from his knapsack. Using as little water as possible, even though he knew the Danarak camp was not that far away, he moistened a rag and wiped his face and hands and under his arms before putting on the clean clothes. He had brought spare socks and he put a fresh pair on now. The soiled sweaty clothes he laid on the ground for the moment to air out.
Scooping depressions in the dirt for his hips and shoulders, using his knapsack as a pillow, Sheng laid down and yawned prodigiously. He was asleep within a few breaths.
VI.
The rising sun jabbing his eyes rousted him. In the sparse trees to the south, birds argued and claimed territory with their songs. Sheng sat up in a surprisingly discouraged mood. His former eagerness to catch this messenger seemed to have evaporated while he slept. Still, he had accepted the substantial payment in gold from the Danarakan emissaries and he intended to earn it. His reputation at the Fist For Hire Agency had been earned by hard work and he meant to protect it.
Time to get ready. Sheng climbed up on the outcropping and knelt behind the delicately balanced boulder. Timing was going to be crucial.
He certainly didn't want to crush the Red Runner, only to block his chosen path. There he was! A thin speck on the road to the west, zipping along faster than ever. Sheng focused his attribute on strength and rocked the boulder back and forth, getting ready for the maximum effort that would send it crashing down to the middle of the road. The huge rock started to tilt...
And the Red Runner was somehow right behind him, braying "HAW Haw!" right in his ear. Sheng Mo-Yuan screamed, lost his balance and fell on his face. In the tiny fraction of a second before he would be killed, acting more by reflex than thought, he shifted his gralic charge into invulnerability. His bones became reinforced like steel bars, his flesh hardened like marble.
Even so, when the boulder rolled entirely over him on its path down the outcropping, flattening him under its weight, blackness took him.
Ages crawled by in dim miserable agony. Through fog and haze, his mind fought to clear itself. Pain was nothing new to him. As soon as first coherent thoughts formed in his mind, Sheng began taking deep healing breaths to draw in oxygen. Memory returned.
Opening his eyelids despite their resistance, Argent found himself on the ground, leaning back against the base of the outcropping. Every breath burned but at least he was breathing. Instinctively, he flexed his fingers and toes and could feel them. His back wasn't broken.
As his eyesight cleared, Sheng gaped in final surprise. The Red Runner was crouching next to him, gently wiping his bruised face with a cloth dipped in water. When the messenger saw Sheng revive, he grinned with honest happiness.
This close, Sheng could see that the Red Runner was not that young a man. The skin on his neck and the crow's feet around his eyes gave that away. The scalp had a five-o'clock shadow, indicating that the man had shaved his a day or two earlier.
The messenger had the rich dark skin and distinctive facial features of Danarak, lantern jaw and pointed nose as expected.
Seeing Sheng try to stir, the Red Runner raised one finger and waggled it from side to side in a mild gesture of reproval. He placed one of the canteens in Sheng's lap and then sprang up onto his feet.
"Wait," the Chujiran adventurer managed to croak. With every passing second, he felt stronger. "I-- I don't know. Should I thank you or try to wring your neck or what?"
The messenger picked up the cleft stick with its identifying scarlet ribbon hanging off its lower end. He tugged out two pieces of stiff paper from the notch and handed them to Sheng. Then, sticking his tongue out with a pop like a champagne bottle losing its cork, he spun on his heel and sprinted away so quickly it looked as if he was being pulled by invisible wire.
Sitting up but unable to rise just yet, Argent probed his sides tentatively. A few cracked ribs, he decided. Lots of bruising. That was no surprise. His nose felt clogged and he touched it to find caked dry blood plugging both nostrils. But he was healing fast and he felt that soon he would be able to walk.
Finally, as if reluctant to deal with any more setbacks, he remembered the papers that the messenger had given him. That had been an unexpected gesture. Sheng unfolded the scraps and turned them over. When he began to laugh, it was with the relief of immense stress being released. Tears ran down his bruised face. He was holding two pieces of completely blank paper.
2/15/2018
11/3-11/10/2010
I.
Dawn on the Danarak border filled the sky with orange hazy light from a rising sun. The air had not particularly cooled down overnight and was already oppressive. Concealed behind a jumble of boulders beside the road, Sheng Mo-Yuan laced up his trainers and did some stretching.
No more than five feet five but with a wiry and well defined musculature, the Chujiran adventurer was wearing dark blue shorts with a vertical white stripe, a loose white T-shirt and a black baseball cap from which the team logo had been removed. He had yanked the symbol off after an infuriating final World Series game.
As he moved around, loosening up, pulling his ankle up behind him to stretch the tendons while standing on the other leg, Sheng would seem to a casual observer to be Northern Chinese. The coarse black hair, tawny skin and single eyelid fold supported that. But his high cheekbones and eagle-beaked nose gave away that he was really from the adjacent realm of Chujir.
Before he expected it, while he was getting ready, the Red Runner came sprinted along the hard-packed dirt road. Yikes, thought Sheng, they said this guy was fast but he was leaving a plume of dust behind him.
In the instant before the man came within reach, Sheng got a good look at him. The Messenger was a classic Danarakan from the hill tribes, tall and lanky with long long legs. The glossy black skin shone with sweat. The Red Runner wore nothing but a bright scarlet loincloth and a similar scarlet band tied around his brows. He was barefoot. In one hand, he clutched a short cleft stick that held a scrap of paper in its notch.
There was no time for hesitation. As the Runner came near, Sheng shifted the gralic force in his body into increased speed. He leaped out from behind the boulders, quick enough himself to snatch up a fleeing hummingbird or to slap a rearing cobra without being bit. But he was in for a rude surprise. Even as he lunged with clutching hands to grab the man, the Red Runner accelerated sharply away and Sheng fell directly on his face.
Instantly, he was up and giving chase. Sheng had never clocked his best speed but he knew he was capable of matching Jeremy Bane, and the two of them could grab a running cheetah by the neck. He raced full tilt, leaning forward, legs pumping smoothly, taking in deep oxygen-filled breaths. He knew he was in good form and would be breaking athletic records if anyone had been there to record it. The Red Runner pulled away and disappeared down the road as if Sheng had been standing steel.
Slowing to a halt, the Tel Shai knight caught his breath. An expression of chagrin spread over his face and his shoulders sagged. It had never occured to him that anything on two legs could outrun him. Sheng raised one hand, snapped his fingers and tried to take this setback in stride. There were twenty-four hours before the Red Runner was expected to pass this way again. He was known to carry his messages at first light.
Trudging back to his little camp behind the boulders, Sheng rinsed his mouth out from one of the canteens and spit, then took a good swig. He had been sure to bring lots of water with him. The Chujiran's basic personality was resilient and inventive, so he recovered quickly from disappointment. He strapped his knapsack to his back and took one of the dried sticks of jerky to chew on. Sheng shifted the gralic force in his body to strength. With his added endurance to carry him, he began the half-day hike back to the military camp where he would pick up some items that he was already planning how to use.
II.
Two days earlier, Sheng had been winding down a quiet night at his office in the building at the corner of Canal Street in Manhattan. His firm of Argent Investigations kept the unusual hours of Midnight to eight in the morning but he had found that was when most of his customers had been desperately looking for help and he had flourished since becoming the city's only overnight detective agency.
On his office door, the frosted glass panel had the Chinese symbols for 'Chuan Lo Tsing' painted on it. This translated as roughly "Hard Worker Fist" or "Fist For Hire." The phone number and the hours available had also been displayed.
At eight-thirty, ready to stretch out on his leather couch for a nap, Sheng Mo-Yuan had been rousted instead by a knock on the door and a visit by two well-dressed gentlemen from Danarak. Within the hour, he had accepted this commission. Now here he was, striding through the hard rocky soil toward the garrison camp to report the first setback.
This was a disputed area near the outer border of Danarak, as far as one could travel before being stopped by the barriers between this realm and the real world. This was desert and arid scrubland; far to the east could be seen the soft blue of the mountain ridge that marked moister tropical forests which occupied most of Danarak.
Tireless as long as he kept the gralic power reinforcing his muscles, Sheng covered the miles at a good clip. As Argent, he could enhance his body to be either stronger or faster or more resilient than normal but he could only concentrate on one attribute at a time. In the years he had served as a Tel Shai knight, he had practiced until he could shift quickly between traits as needed.
Once he had opened Argent Investigations, he had learned a lot about human nature and how the interface between the criminal underworld and the Midnight War worked. Most of his cases were cleared up in a few days; this long-term commisson of the Danarakan Army was unusual for him.
Ahead was a shallow creek which ran over rounded pebbles. Laid out alongside this water were a half-dozen khaki tents with twenty Danarak warriors milling about. The well-muscled men wore loose robes of thin pale green cotton to protect even their dark skins from the sun, and rope sandals that kept their feet from being burnt. Most had driven their short stabbing spears upright into the dirt until needed, but they always carried the curved-blade knives in their sashes. When they saw Argent draw near, many smiled and waved him closer.
A fire was being tended by an older man and the scent of roasting goat filled the air. In a kettle suspended from a tripod of sticks, beans boiled in steaming water as well. When Sheng came into view, the Danarakans gathered with eagerness to hear what he had to say.
Striding over from his own tent with its white flag bearing the stylized head of Wakimbe the Black Lion, the captain of this company waved for Sheng to approach. Avergim was a man in his early fifties, still iron-hard and trim with only grey in his short-cropped hair to show any sign of middle age. On his left bicep were three rings of polished gold to show his rank. He was not leathering his leather headdress at the moment.
Slightly embarrassed by the excitement with which the Danarakans greeted him, Sheng admitted his lack of success. The warriors did not mock him openly but he saw the reaction in their faces.
"So it goes," said Avergim. "You had to see with your own eyes why this Red Runner is such a hard bird to catch. Many have tried in years past. No one has seen him leave the road, no one has ever heard him speak. He will pass by again tomorrow."
"And I will be ready. Good captain, I have an idea that will enable me to drag this runner before you to be questioned."
"Aye, whatever we may do to help will be done," the Danarakan officer said. He pointed in the direction from which Sheng had walked. "Beyond that rise, we may not go. To enter that disputed territory would mean open rebellion by Maltesek's forces. Only you, a yellow-hided outsider, may do this deed."
"That's our agreement," Sheng admitted. "I want a few items to take back with me. And, as long as I am here, perhaps I will join your men at their noon meal?"
Avergim grinned, showing white strong teeth. "So it shall be. That was a tender young kid we carved this morning and my men have been licking their lips at the aroma. Come. Take a wooden plate from the stack and fill your belly before you go back to the chase."
III.
Sunrise the next morning found Sheng stretched out atop a rocky outcropping that stuck out ten feet over the dirt road. He had brought back with him a wooden cart much like a wheelbarrow, filled with items he had requested. When the singing of unfamiliar birds had awakened him, the Chujiran had yawned and rubbed his eyes and brewed a mug of Tagra tea for his breakfast.
He had been on the Tagra regimen for more than a decade now. Available only to Tel Shai knights, it was so prized because it enhanced the body's healing abilities far beyond what medical science could explain. Sheng was not invulnerable nor immortal; like other Tel Shai knights, he could be killed by trauma severe and sudden enough. But he recovered from less than fatal damage so quickly and thoroughly that he had survived many beatings, stabbings, shootings and exposure to extreme heat and cold without any permanent harm.
Sheng sipped the tea gratefully, enjoying its strong minty fragrance. It was the Tagra plant, not found in any realm or anywhere in the world, that made being a Tel Shai knight such a prized status. As he finished the mug, Sheng felt fresh vitality course through him. He wiped the mug with a cloth and returned the small bag of crushed Tagra leaves to his knapsack.
Below him was the dirt road that the Rebels had been using for the past few years. He was three miles further west than he had been the day before. Next to Shang was a shapeless bundle of cowhide cords and he inserted one finger into it thoughtfully.
As he waited, Argent reflected about the people whose lives he was affecting by this intervention. He had asked Sable at KDF headquarters before leaving the world. She had explained in considerable detail the conflict between the King's regime and the Rebel party. Mostly it involved trade routes and taxes and the way the hill tribes were not well represented in the Senior Council. For the past year, an uneasy truce had simmered between the two factions.
It had been the appearance of the Red Runner that had stirred great concern. The King and the Senior Council worried that the legendary messenger was relaying communications between the various scattered Rebel clans and this meant that insurrection was ready to boil over.
Sheng sighed and let the matter go. Unless he intended to spend months in Danarak interviewing people and doing undercover research, he had to take Sable's opinion that the current King was not too bad and that civil war would mean more death and suffering than the minor grievances were worth.
Movement in the distance caught his peripheral vision. A tiny dark speck was approaching fast. Sheng Mo Yuan spread out the bundle, braced himself up on one knee and waited with unexpected anticipation. The afternoon before, he had satisfied himself that a man on the road could not see anyone atop the outcropping unless that person actually stood up and drew attention to himself.
The Red Runner hurtled into view. If anything, he seemed to be running even faster than he had the day before. His motion looked surreal. Sheng waited, calculating velocity and distance, then acted when he judged the messenger was at the right spot.
Heaving up to his feet, the Chujiran adventurer whirled the net of cowhide strips in a semi-circle and flung it. Its ends were weighted with round stones tied securely. As he threw the net, though, somehow his left foot became caught in one of the openings and the heavy net pulled him with it. He just had time to yell, "Hey!" before he was sailing out helplessly into space.
Sheng hit the hard dry dirt with a thud. Entangled in the net, he couldn't roll to dissipate the impact or land properly. The breath was knocked out of him and he saw flashing lights as the back of his head smacked the ground with force that would have killed a normal man.
Pausing just out of reach, the Red Runner saluted him ironically with the cleft stick that now held three scraps of paper. The gaunt man stuck out his tongue and laughed "HAW-haw!" before launching himself away again in a full run.
Getting himself loose from the net, Sheng barely kept himself from stamping his feet or jumping up and down. He was furious. How could he have been so clumsy? He wanted to tell himself that somehow the net had delibately caught his foot but blaming an inanimate object was ridiculous.
The mocking laugh and grin from the Red Runner had really sparked his rage, though. Already recovered from a twenty-foot fall onto his head, Sheng Mo-Yuan gathered up the net and started planning. Tomorrow morning would end differently.
IV.
Most of that day was spent in labor. Sheng had brought with him from the soldier's camp a short-handled shovel and he moved with determination of the deeply embarrassed. Moving a few miles further down the road, he found a likely spot which offered a hill from which he could watch.
Concentrating his Argent power into enhanced strength, Sheng dug a pit in the road, five feet deep and three feet across. He painstakingly filled the wagon with the dirt that was displaced and disposed of it out of sight. Taking a thin cotton cloth he had been given to use as a blanket, Sheng stretched it taut over the hole, pinning down the corners with rocks. Finally, taking great pains, he sprinkled dust and light dirt over the cloth until it looked like the rest of the road.
This last detail seemed to preoccupy Sheng. He kept adding and subtracting dust on the cloth, walking a distance away to study the effect and standing with hand cradling his chin as he thought how to make the illusion better.
Finally, as the sun was setting and a cool breeze drifted in, the Chujiran decided he had to let it be. He built a small fire in a circle of loose rocks on the other side of the hill and grilled some of the goat meat he had brought back from the camp. Another mug of the Tagra tea helped lift his spirits. As darkness fell completely, the fire died down to hot ashes. Sheng stretched out on his back and stared up at the stars so brilliantly clear away from any city.
More and more, he was grateful for the amazing life he had been leading. Since Tang Ming had discovered his latent abilities back in Chujir, Sheng had left a drowsy village behind to have the most hair-raising and unexpected advantures in various adjacent realms and in every country of the real world. He had become a Tel Shai knight, learning Kumundu. He had become a KDF member and made friends like Jeremy Bane, Sable, Megan Salenger and even that darn Unicorn.
Now, with the Fist For Hire agency, he was his own boss and could choose his own exploits. Like this unlikely commission, trying to catch a messenger who seemed uncatchable. The lack of imminent danger made this case less stressful and more enjoyable for its own sake.
Tired from hours of physical exertion, Sheng drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Long practice allowed him to remain alert enough that anyone passing would have instantly awoken him.
Shortly before dawn, he stirred and sat up, feeling rested and cheerful. He strolled over to a cluster of scrub brush to urinate and saw the pink streaks in the sky to the east. Sheng found the ashes still hot enough to stir some tinder into flame. He brewed one more mug of Tagra tea, stirring the crumbled leaves with a twig. From his knapsack, he pulled two high-density energy bars with nuts and raisins, chewed on them thoughtfully and then made sure the fire was out completely.
As the sun cleared the horizon, Argent positioned himself with only the top of his head clearing the hill to peer down at the road. The trap looked perfect. He almost hugged himself with gleeful anticipation.
Returning from the direction in which he had disappeared the previous morning, the lean figure of the Red Runner came whipping along. The man seemed so much in his element. Sprinting up along the road, the Messenger drew near.
Up on the hill, Sheng Mo-Yuan remained motionless but he focused his gralic charge into extra speed. He was more than ready, he was eager. The thin dark form rushed up to the concealed trap... and then came to a sudden stop. He stood on the dust-covered cloth as if standing on solid rock, leering up at Sheng with total insolence.
This was too much. Not thinking straight in his outrage, the Chujiran leaped to his feet and raced headlong down toward the road to tackle the Messenger. At the last possible split-second, the Danarakan runner neatly side-stepped off the trap and Sheng stepped down with all his weight on the concealed cloth. It gave way and wrapped around him as he fell awkwardly into the pit.
Sheng thrashed around, strugging to get the tangled cloth off him in the narrow space. He had twisted his ankle in the fall. As the Chujiran cursed and finally freed himself, he glared up in time to see the Red Runner stick out his tongue and go "HAW-haw!" before speeding away again.
V.
Stewing in resentment, Sheng spent the rest of the day filling the hole back in and tamping the dirt down firmly. Naturally, he did not want any innocent traveler to fall into the trap that had backfired so inexplicably.
After an hour, the swelling in his ankle went down and he stopped limping. Sheng hardly noticed. He was so used to bouncing back from physical trauma that he took it for granted. It was mid-afternoon before the road looked back to normal and he could move on.
Gathering up everything in the wagon, Argent headed in the opposite direction from the way he had been going. He remembered seeing something earlier than might offer possibilities. As he hiked along the road, he turned the incident over and over in his mind but it still made absolutely no sense.
How on earth had that man stood on the concealed cloth without falling through? Sheng himself had certainly taken a fall when he had rashly stepped there. Did the Red Runner have some sort of gralic power? Could he hover or perhaps reduce his weight to a few ounces? That would perhaps explain the great speed. Sheng scowled darkly as he selected the spot for his next attempt.
Overhanging the road was another outcropping of naked granite. Its edge protruded forward enough to shadow the road, and near its base were five rounded boulders the size of a man. Sheng stood surveying the area, calculating and deciding. Yes. This would do.
Gathering some dried twigs and grass, finding sticks thick enough to serve, the Chujiran built a small fire. From the pocket in his shorts, he used a mundane cigarette lighter. Danarak was one of the adjacent realms where technology was unreliable. The lighter worked well, but a flashlight would not. Guns and radios were useless here. This was a condition by the will of Jordyn Himself, the Spirit that guided the realms, and it explained why so many of the realms were staying at a medieval level.
Brewing more Tagra tea, adding an extra handful of the leaves because he worried he might need as much healing factor as possible, Sheng sat and brooded. He reached into his knapsack, took out a jar of multivamins and popped one in his mouth. He knew he should finish off the roast goat before it went bad in the heat, so he chewed on the leg glumly, not even tasting it.
As much as he enjoyed operating on his own, there were times when company would have been welcome. The blithe chatter of Unicorn, the solid good advice from Josef, the well-read Sable's interesting insights on any topic. Or maybe he was just in a funk because he wasn't doing that well so far.
Eventually, Argent shook himself out of it and set to work. He clambered up onto the outcropping and chose a suitable spot. Bringing up a number of smaller rocks no bigger than coconuts, he made a pile of them on one side. He had already decided on the main boulder. This was egg-shaped, bigger than a person, flattened on one side.
Sheng took deep breaths and pulled his gralic charge into his body as strength. The existential force reinforced his bones, muscles and tendons beyond their natural limits. Setting himself careful, he began shoving the boulder up onto the outcropping and positioning it right on the edge over the road. Bracing himself against the huge rock, he reached over with one hand and got the smaller rocks to prop the big one into place.
Finally, more than a little nervous, he stepped aside. The boulder stayed where it was. Sheng exhaled and slapped his palms together as if dusting them off. His legs and shoulders ached from the effort and he slid down to the ground to do some stretching.
Sheng's abilities as Argent were regulated by his will power. He grew stronger or faster or more durable as he made himself become. There were limits, of course. He could never match Sulak in sheer strength and he could never slap a bullet out of the air, but over the years he had kept forcing himself to push his abilities a little further.
Sipping water from one of the canteens, Sheng saw to his surprise that it was almost sunset. He must have been sitting around feeling sorry for himself longer than he had thought. Rummaging around in his knapsack, he found two cans of Boston baked beans and three Granola bars. Building another fire, Sheng heated the beans and ate them out of the can, enjoying the Granola bars as dessert. He had been in Danarak four days now and the novelty of camping out in a desert was wearing off. When he got back the world, a big plate of beef lo mein would be one of his first goals.
Cleaning up as best he could, licking his fingers, the Chujiran hoped that trap would work better than the previous ones. This Red Runner guy was getting on his nerves.
A scrawny lizard with a frilled crest scuttled past. Sheng smiled at the little creature, then decided to do his DohRa form to pass the time. Stepping into a clear space, he stood with feet together, fists at his hips and bowed to his Teacher Chael. The DohRa began as a series of increasingly difficult poses and stances than gradually turned into punches and blocks and kicks. After ten minutes, Sheng had turned into a blur striking at imagined opponents, leaping and crouching and throwing combination blows. Then, the process reversed. Eventually, he was again settling into poses on one leg with his knee up by his ribs or a low wide-legged stance with both arms extended full length.
After forty-five minutes, he bowed again to his Teacher at Tel Shai and sat down on a flat rock. His body was covered with a thin film of sweat but he was breathing only slightly faster than normal. Sheng reviewed his performance and was pleased but realized there was always room for improvement.
By now, it was quite dark. Sheng stripped down and got a fresh T-shirt and underwear from his knapsack. Using as little water as possible, even though he knew the Danarak camp was not that far away, he moistened a rag and wiped his face and hands and under his arms before putting on the clean clothes. He had brought spare socks and he put a fresh pair on now. The soiled sweaty clothes he laid on the ground for the moment to air out.
Scooping depressions in the dirt for his hips and shoulders, using his knapsack as a pillow, Sheng laid down and yawned prodigiously. He was asleep within a few breaths.
VI.
The rising sun jabbing his eyes rousted him. In the sparse trees to the south, birds argued and claimed territory with their songs. Sheng sat up in a surprisingly discouraged mood. His former eagerness to catch this messenger seemed to have evaporated while he slept. Still, he had accepted the substantial payment in gold from the Danarakan emissaries and he intended to earn it. His reputation at the Fist For Hire Agency had been earned by hard work and he meant to protect it.
Time to get ready. Sheng climbed up on the outcropping and knelt behind the delicately balanced boulder. Timing was going to be crucial.
He certainly didn't want to crush the Red Runner, only to block his chosen path. There he was! A thin speck on the road to the west, zipping along faster than ever. Sheng focused his attribute on strength and rocked the boulder back and forth, getting ready for the maximum effort that would send it crashing down to the middle of the road. The huge rock started to tilt...
And the Red Runner was somehow right behind him, braying "HAW Haw!" right in his ear. Sheng Mo-Yuan screamed, lost his balance and fell on his face. In the tiny fraction of a second before he would be killed, acting more by reflex than thought, he shifted his gralic charge into invulnerability. His bones became reinforced like steel bars, his flesh hardened like marble.
Even so, when the boulder rolled entirely over him on its path down the outcropping, flattening him under its weight, blackness took him.
Ages crawled by in dim miserable agony. Through fog and haze, his mind fought to clear itself. Pain was nothing new to him. As soon as first coherent thoughts formed in his mind, Sheng began taking deep healing breaths to draw in oxygen. Memory returned.
Opening his eyelids despite their resistance, Argent found himself on the ground, leaning back against the base of the outcropping. Every breath burned but at least he was breathing. Instinctively, he flexed his fingers and toes and could feel them. His back wasn't broken.
As his eyesight cleared, Sheng gaped in final surprise. The Red Runner was crouching next to him, gently wiping his bruised face with a cloth dipped in water. When the messenger saw Sheng revive, he grinned with honest happiness.
This close, Sheng could see that the Red Runner was not that young a man. The skin on his neck and the crow's feet around his eyes gave that away. The scalp had a five-o'clock shadow, indicating that the man had shaved his a day or two earlier.
The messenger had the rich dark skin and distinctive facial features of Danarak, lantern jaw and pointed nose as expected.
Seeing Sheng try to stir, the Red Runner raised one finger and waggled it from side to side in a mild gesture of reproval. He placed one of the canteens in Sheng's lap and then sprang up onto his feet.
"Wait," the Chujiran adventurer managed to croak. With every passing second, he felt stronger. "I-- I don't know. Should I thank you or try to wring your neck or what?"
The messenger picked up the cleft stick with its identifying scarlet ribbon hanging off its lower end. He tugged out two pieces of stiff paper from the notch and handed them to Sheng. Then, sticking his tongue out with a pop like a champagne bottle losing its cork, he spun on his heel and sprinted away so quickly it looked as if he was being pulled by invisible wire.
Sitting up but unable to rise just yet, Argent probed his sides tentatively. A few cracked ribs, he decided. Lots of bruising. That was no surprise. His nose felt clogged and he touched it to find caked dry blood plugging both nostrils. But he was healing fast and he felt that soon he would be able to walk.
Finally, as if reluctant to deal with any more setbacks, he remembered the papers that the messenger had given him. That had been an unexpected gesture. Sheng unfolded the scraps and turned them over. When he began to laugh, it was with the relief of immense stress being released. Tears ran down his bruised face. He was holding two pieces of completely blank paper.
2/15/2018
