Horizon

Shadows cast by the moonlight flickered in and out of existence, engulfed and released by the angry clouds above. Ark observed the cycle cautiously, his head tilted slightly to the right, straining to catch a sound echoing off the winter-withered trees of the sleeping forest.

He could hear only his labored breathing, tinged with the pain of shattered ribs. He forced himself to slow his breath and placed full concentration on just listening.

The silence, as sharp and dangerous as the planted blade Ark teetered on, welcomed him with its peaceful, unconfused lull. He almost thought he could relax.

His shadow blurred, and he whirled to the right like a dancer, raising his sword to ward off a downward sweep that never came. His attacker had anticipated the movement, and instead spun towards Ark's unprotected back, twin swords flashed in the bitten moonlight like snake fangs.

Ark raised his arm even higher, tilting his own sword back over his shoulder. The three weapons hissed together like angry cats. Opening his stance to the right, Ark spun again, cutting wide towards his opponent's side.

It connected with a satisfying thud, right above the stomach as she turned into it. Vengeance wasn't supposed to make anyone feel better; but somehow his ribs felt a little lighter knowing that his partner shared similar grief. The weapons were dulled, not meant to cause permanent harm -- he and Alyrin, though, did not need sharp weapons to hurt. Or weapons at all, for that matter.

She cursed and slid her weapons back into the scabbards she wore on each hip. "Someday, Ark. Someday," she grumbled.

Ark strapped his sword back into his shoulder harness; the cool metal felt good against his burning skin, where the hand guard kissed his neck. He hadn't sweat this much since... well, his last fight with Alyrin, a month ago. "Someday," he agreed noncommittally, his soft voice barely audible, even in the calm aftermath of a duel. "For now," he said, "let's get home."

Each step made his sides groan in agony, and it irked him a little that Alyrin moved like she couldn't feel her own bruises. He resolved to himself to swing harder next time. It wasn't far to the road; less than ten minutes, even moving slowly. It was far enough away, though, that neighbors would not see. The techniques he and Alyrin used were secret -- they'd sworn on their lives to never reveal them to an uninitiated living soul. They were dangerous; it would probably be best if they didn't exist, Ark thought, but they did, and the only way to control it was to limit the people who knew about it.

Too many secrets. They were a mantle he and Alyrin wore, threaded with mercury -- heavy and poisonous. He even had his own, ones he could not share with Alyrin or Sensei. He wondered if they had their own too, as he peered out of the side of his blue-green eyes at Alyrin's soft features. Soft only on the outside. Small and beautiful, she attracted men like Ark attracted troubles. Her straight, waist-length black velvet hair stood in sharp contrast to Ark's short, dark brown that fell back, almost business-like without needing to be combed. Like Ark, Alyrin's eyes were unique -- amber, polished until they glowed with gold -- they shifted color occasionally, from dark, pensive brown, to shining halos when she let her emotions control her. They blazed now; frustration.Those eyes were a mark of who she was, who he was.

Skan'taen. The Gate Knights, in some obscure language that had been long ago purged in the voracious flames of history. Other religions and legends referred to them; but never as the same name, never as the same purpose. Truth be told, he didn't truly believe the reason he had been given.

Still, he knew he had been born for this purpose. From the first day, 16 years before, the sword felt natural in his hands; a simple extension of his body. The blood coursing through his heart pulsed in the sword; they were the same.

Besides that, Alyrin had been there. The slight girl had hid behind Sensei's leg that day peering out at him like he was a dangerous animal. Ark did not know at the time if he could trust the strange man who claimed to be a master of a fighting style called "The Song of the Goddess," but something in her eyes -- something that remained there even now, as he stared at them, fascinated, burned brightly -- a kinship, written in language far more complex than DNA bound them, and had ever since.

The sword, for all its virtues, never had anything on her; the deadly poise, the cool touch, the graceful curves. His reason for life.

She was better than him; he knew that. Faster, smarter, stronger. It was why his ribs were broken and she only sported bruises. Why Sensei favored her. Why life favored her. And that was his advantage; she truly was wind, and he a mountain, scarred and chipped and toughened by Misfortune's weight. Wind was superior in the end, it would wear the mountain to dust -- but it was also hasty, and broke itself on the mountain's cliffs. Once she learned patience, he wouldn't have a chance. He wished he understood his own weaknesses so well. They never seemed so obvious, wisps of doubt that touched his mind like smoke, dissipating into nothingness when he reached out towards it.

"Seeking the answer is the surest way to lose it," Sensei said. He was probably right; until then he would continue to train.

"You know I lost again, Alyrin," he admitted. "I'm in much worse shape than you."

Her eagle gaze fixed on him. "Your attack would have been fatal; mine was just crippling. In a real fight, I'd be dead."

Ark's breath caught for a moment, sending a jolt of pain running down his side. "Don't say that," he said through gritted teeth, "it was just sparring. You won."

Alyrin shook her head. "You still don't get it, Ark. It's not about 'winning'; we're not playing. If we were playing, then it wouldn't be a problem."

"What are we then?"

"Surviving."

The two reached the road, and conversation quickly stopped. Ark reached down and picked up a black ski bag hidden behind an old light pole that had seen better days and warmer winters. Alyrin grabbed a bright red one from nearby. The two slipped their weapons into their bags and tossed them over their shoulders. It was a simple precaution, but one that had saved unsettling questions from being asked before. The neighbors considered them avid cross country skiers. Ark really couldn't think of much he'd rather do less.

They picked their way down the winding road to Sensei's home; a little log cabin set back unobtrusively against the low-middle class homes that huddled together for warmth and protection from the elements on what the town called "The Hill". The tiny New Hampshire town was a victim of Winter -- and rightfully so, believed Ark -- the town could burn for all he cared.

Tiny towns bred tiny minds. Some of the older residents would point at Alyrin, whispering Vietnamese slurs -- and when he pointed out that she was, in fact, Japanese; they would look at her like a mortal enemy. Even the prejudices of WWII still hadn't managed to die. He was almost glad that no one of a Middle Eastern origin had moved to town... he didn't want to imagine how they would be treated. They didn't care for non-Christians either, and the further away one got from it, the worse. He, Alyrin, and Sensei were all outsiders, non-conformists. Alyrin claimed to be a strict Atheist, and Sensei never volunteered his beliefs. Ark didn't know what he believed, if anything. Alyrin's arguments were pretty strong, after all; and what proof did the other side have? Some dusty old legends. About him.

Either way, the whispers, spiced with words like "Hell" and "delinquent", followed him like miasma. Once, an elderly woman called him a villain and said that she'd try to pray him away. He rather liked the thought.

Quaint.

Ignorant.

Sensei wasn't in. The cabin stood stark and silent, a more distinct contrast of the callow neighborhood. Alyrin and Ark looked at each other quizzically. "Did he say he was going anywhere?" he asked her.

"No. Dammit, I can't get in -- I left my keys inside," she grumbled. "Maybe he went to the Kwik Stop to pick up dinner? I told him I didn't feel like cooking tonight."

"Well, I'd invite you over to my house... but... you know... I kinda don't want to do that to you," Ark mumbled.

She leveled a look on him, "It's fine. Let's go!" Those special eyes were shining with laughter at his discomfort.

There was a sudden distortion in the air, like a giant bell had rung soundlessly directly above their heads. The air smelled worse than the mill town's worst days, when the sulfur choked out the pine forest. Ark couldn't breathe at all. Fear.

Alyrin's weapons tasted moonlight a moment before Ark's shone in its pale gaze. She sprung right, and he leaped to the left; each rolling into a defensive stance that protected themselves and their partner. The space to Ark's right rippled and moved. A black clothed arm pushed out of nowhere, and peeled back existence like a curtain before the rest stepped through.

It's horned, bleeding mask fixed them in an insidious grin; fire rolled off it like sweat, sending up steaming vapor trails from where it fell into the snow.

Gods might not exist, Ark thought, but demons did.