Chapter 5

The flashes of lightning, pure arcs of energy, filled the air all around him. Dark and angry clouds rumbled as if the sky itself was furious with him. For what, he didn’t know. Only the bubble of air that surrounded him kept his skin from the harsh rains hammering down against the thin protection. He took a deep breath of the electrically charged air: it tasted like newly minted copper pennies. At that moment the bubble that had been his protection burst, the icy pellets of rain crashing into his body. The downpour increased intensely as if the clouds wanted to drown him. Every nerve ending screamed in pain and protest at the freezing deluge. 

 Slowly, a smile crept across his face despite everything else as he realized an important change to this nightmare. No longer was he afraid of dying and maybe because of this, he floated perfectly suspended in midair. He studied his surroundings, his blue-gray eyes searching for clues. Placing his exact elevation turned out to be impossible, he could only tell that he must be very high up as the air was especially thin and cold. Just as he was getting somewhat comfortable with his position, the cloud bank that he resided in rumbled ominously like an angry grizzly bear defending his cave. Suddenly, the hairs all over his body stood on end; the air around him became increasingly charged with energized particles. Miniscule arcs of lightning sparked up and down his arms causing his eyes to fling wide in fearful wonder. The energy continued to build and as the breaking point was reached, a master thunderbolt as thick around as his body surged through him. 

        Not even his soul was spared. 

 He opened his mouth and bellowed in pure agony. Every inch of his body felt pain past the point of no return. His back arched painfully as if his naval was being pulled by a chain run through his innards. Just as he could feel himself slipping away into darkness, the bolt ceased its attack and he began to plunge at the speed of sound.

As he neared the ground, the earth opened into an awesome cavern with teeth ready to devour him. So quickly had he flown through the opening, he barely noticed the ground close after him, plunging his existence into a painful, empty eternity. 

It was nothing and everything all at once. Everyone he had ever 

cared about was gone and he was all alone, with nothing but—

        James took a desperate breath as he opened his eyes from the 

realistic dream. 

        The pulse racing in his head caused his body to tremble and 

feel light as oxygen. As he panted heavily, he swallowed deeply and demanded his faculties to come under control. 

        He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nostrils, then 

out through his mouth. 

        Again. 

        And again. 

        At last his heart began to slow to its normal rhythm, his breath-

ing paced itself once again. For the first time he noticed that his body was covered in a film of fear-induced sweat. Or maybe it was from the original elation of flying? he wondered. 

 Regardless, he kicked himself out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He flipped on the light and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin was flushed and pale and bags were formed under his eyes like the bruises of a vampire. James shook his head at the thought of his lack of sleep, then he glanced down at his arms. Huh? That’s funny. The fine, dark hairs on his arms stood at lack attention as if he had rubbed a balloon over them. He shrugged it off and reach out for the faucet, wanting a refreshing splash of water over his face. As his fingers made contact, they sparked with static electricity. 

        Now that was weird, James admitted to himself. 

 With the cold water flowing freely, he cupped a handful and splashed his face and neck. He sighed appreciatively as the sweat was wiped cleanly from his skin. After a moment of reveling in the refreshment, he toweled off and made his way back to bed. Barely had his head hit the pillow than he succumbed to a dreamless, restful sleep. 

“How do you want your eggs?” James asked Eliza as he stood over 

the hot and ready frying pan in the kitchen.

     She yawned, then smiled sheepishly. “Scrambled, please.”

     He bowed at the waist. “I live to serve you, my dear,” James in-

toned half-seriously.

     “You are so lame,” Eliza chuckled.

 “I do try my best.” He turned back to the pan and finished scrambling her eggs with a spatula. The eggs done, he slid them onto a plate with a couple strips of bacon and some fruit and handed the hearty breakfast to her.

     “Thanks,” she said before digging in. 

 James scrambled up a few eggs for himself, loaded his plate with breakfast meats, and scooted onto the chair opposite her. Swallowing his first bite, he scowled as he took in the day’s weather. A summer downpour had struck earlier in the morning and typical of a southern climate, the clouds had opened in an attempt to flood the land. Training is sure to fun today, that’s for sure, he told himself. He shrugged in resignation and ate another scoopful of eggs.

     “You okay?” asked Eliza tentatively

     “Hmm . . .” he responded thoughtlessly. “Oh, yeah. Why do you 

ask?”

     She reached across the table and lightly fingered the bags under 

his eyes. “These. Are you sleeping okay?”      He shrugged.

     “Another of your dreams last night?” Eliza probed.

     “Yeah. ‘Bout the same as always. It’s no biggie,” he said, brushing 

off the concern.

     She pursed her lips and nodded.

     “Something smells good,” observed Oliver as he ambled into the 

kitchen. “Good morning.”

     “Morning,” said Eliza cheerfully.

     “Mmorng,” James mumbles with his mouth full.

     She shook her head. “Such a heathen.”

     “So, who cooked this lovely bacon?” Oliver inquired.

     Eliza piped up. “James.”

Oliver studied the pork as if it was something terribly disgusting. 

“On second thought, maybe just a bit of toast, then.”

        “Oh, shut up. I’m a better cook than you are,” James said with 

indignation.

 “So, then you can boil hot dogs . . . I am so proud of you.” Oliver chuckled at his own wit and dumped some bacon, fruit, and toast onto a plate and joined the others at the table. 

        Not a second later, Blakeney walked in looking as if ready to face 

the day. “Good morning, everyone.”

        “Morning,” they said in somewhat unison.

        Blakeney crossed to the stove and cracked a few eggs in the bat-

tered pan. “I hope you three don’t think training is canceled for the day because of the rain,” he said as the eggs scrambled.

        “Of course not,” James answered, his voice dripping sarcasm.

        Blakeney sighed and glanced over at him. “you can hold the sar-

casm, please.” As he scraped the finished eggs onto a plate, he continued speaking. “I have a special training course being set up for today. In fact, Captain Roberts and Ms. Romero should be finishing up with it.”

        James and Eliza raised their eyes in question as Blakeney sat at 

the table with them.

 “It’s mainly for you James, to push you harder . . . challenge you a little more. I do not want you to become complacent and stagnant. So, myself and Mars have come up with some new challenges for you. Of course,” he continued after a swallow of food, “the rest of you may attempt the obstacle course as well, but other . . . stations will be made available for the two of you.”

     Eliza nodded respectfully while Oliver said, “Excellent.”      “What kind of challenges,” James wanted to know.

        “You’ll see,” said Blakeney.

        Any further questions were cut off as the older man dug into his 

food with a renewed gusto.

 The rain continued to pour down from the heavens like a biblical deluge as Blakeney finished telling James what all he would have to do. He sighed and studied the sky. The clouds were so thick and dark—that purplish-gray color of a bruise—that not a single flash of sunlight was able to sneak through. As a result, the normally gleaming divine weaponry shone dully in the melancholy atmosphere. James nodded once. “So, let me get this straight.” He met the Director’s dark gray eyes and continued. “First,  I have to dodge three spears thrown by Eliza while using all of the boxes, walls, and columns as protection; then, I have to make it across the line,” James pointed to a painted line on the field, “and grab the burning torch only after I have fought all four of you . . . right? Oh, I almost forgot,” he hit his head sarcastically. “I have to do it all within three minutes.”

 Blakeney chuckled at the boy’s ruffled feathers. “That’s correct. But, James,” the man’s tone softened, “I have faith in you.”

 “You say so,” he muttered. James threw a glance towards Eliza and noticed how apprehensive she looked. Obviously because of her having to try and spear her own boyfriend. He knew she had become proficient enough in throwing that she could hit a target from up to thirty yards. He grinned crookedly. “Don’t hold back, Xena. It’s not like you can throw anyway.” That should do it, he thought.

     She narrowed her eyes dangerously and clenched her jaw, rising 

to the challenge. “I didn’t plan on it.”

     With a half-hearted wave, he jogged down the field to his requi-

site starting position. He stood behind the low wall, shielded from view, and slicked his hair back in his best attempt to keep his soaked bangs out of his face. Shrugging his shoulders, he felt the weight of his shield. It felt oppressive and dragging for the first time like a weight trying to take him under. As the course required speed and agility, he slipped it off his back; the bronze-like shield clambered to the ground. 

     James closed his eyes to focus on the task ahead.

 He willed his body to come under his complete control and breathed deeply. He exhaled his humanity, the god within him vying to take over, and he allowed it to have full reign. Instantaneously, his senses heightened. On his skin he could feel each droplet of rain collide then slide down his arms, face, and back; he could smell the river in the distance and the coppery tang of charging ions in the atmosphere; when he opened his eyes, it was almost as if he had tunnel vision—the extent of his sharpened eyesight was that acute.

 Knowing the whistle, which would signal him to begin, would come at any moment, he dug his heels into the puddled ground and tensed his muscles for launch.

     He almost sensed the first push of air through the mouth of the 

whistle he reacted so swiftly. James pumped his legs and drove himself into the open. The grass was slick and restricting so he ran to the left opting to cross as much of the course as possible on the long, low wooden box.

He jumped deftly onto it, no break in his stride, and drove hard-

er. Immediately he saw the parting of the rain as an Olympic spear was speeding straight at his gut. Realizing it was too low to duck under, yet too high to jump and still stay on the box—I’m too exposed up here anyway—he took one more step and launched into the air.

 He twisted agilely in the air, the razor tip of the spear barely missing his hip bone, and he landed with a splash onto the flooded ground. With no time to waste he ran straight up the course. 

        In the closing distance he observed Blakeney turn to his right 

and nod once. Some sort of signal apparently. 

 No sooner had he processed the thought then another spear came hurling right at him. Not a single instinct could be second guessed, the death bringing metal came on so swiftly. He slid to his knees like he was on a water slide and arched backwards. The spear flew over his left shoulder but as it passed his body and its trajectory altered with gravity, the tip had angled downward; a chunk of skin was plucked from his upper arm.

        James clenched his jaws in anger and frustration as he stood to 

his feet.

 The last of Eliza’s spears came whizzing through the air, his body it’s target, but this time instead of dodging, he demanded more from his body. As the rain blended with the leaking blood from his shoulder and stained the ground pink, he forced his mind to reassess what it could do. In response, time slowed suddenly like a DVD being put on slow motion. He could see the slice of the divine metal though the rain and the way it parted the heavy, humid air.

 As the spear came closer, he reached out and grasped the shaft; the metal was slick from the rain, but he grit his teeth and grabbed a handhold at the very last second. The unfamiliar weapon felt surprisingly comfortable in his hands and as there were no more to be thrown at him, he took off for Blakeney, time speeding up to its normal rate. 

 He sprinted straight through what he now referred to as the gauntlet, the older man standing steady in the open with sword and shield in hand. Blakeney’s calm disregard for his near injury flared within him a drive he never knew existed; the adrenal glands flooded his extremities with pure adrenaline.

 He passed into the open and his eyes swept the terrain. Two columns stood on either side and a scattering of boxes of various sizes littered the immediate area. When he came within a couple of yards of Blakeney, he slowed to a walk and slipped into a crouch, senses focused in awareness. He sensed movement off to his left and flicked a sideways glance, the older man never leaving his peripheral vision. Mars had sprinted out from behind a box and was bearing down on him like a raging bull. 

     James swept the long spear straight at the man’s legs hoping to 

take him down, but it had been expected.

     Mars jumped lithely over the swinging spear and kept coming.

     James completed the failed strike and placed an extra hand on 

the shaft to prepare for defense.

     Mars swung his blade down in a high arc, but James deflected it 

easily and threw his shoulder into the oncoming shield. Using it’s forward momentum, he spun around behind and slammed the butt end of the acquired spear into Mars’s back. One down, three to go, he reminded himself.

 No longer needing the spear he cocked back his arm and let it fly straight at Blakeney. He didn’t wait for the outcome before he had slipped out his sword and spun to meet a new attacker. 

 Romero had been trying to sneak up behind him, but as usual he sensed her footsteps splashing in the water. Keeping the time limit fresh in his conscious, he dove feet first at her legs and tripped her up. She flew sprawling to the ground, her face hitting the sopping grass. Before he had a chance to finish her off, Blakeney had intervened.

 James grunted with exertion as he deflected Blakeney’s potent first strike.

     Blakeney had driven his blade straight at his chest, but James 

swung his own sword down and knocked it to the side. He knew Romero would be up and on the attack once more at any second; without a shield, he was at a great disadvantage. After the swift parry, he struck upward wanting to Blakeney out of the equation. 

 Somewhere from deep within, he felt more than saw, Blakeney begin to swing the shield around to block the attack. Unquestioningly, James altered his attack. He leapt high into the air, driving off his left foot, and changed the trajectory of his intended strike.

 As the older man’s left shoulder became exposed, James angled his body away and drove the sword of Achilles straight at the shoulder of his enemy. The blade nicked the skin, ruby-red blood glistening in droplets at the contact, and he retracted the sword; he landed easily on his feet.

Standing before him, and directly in his path of attaining the 

victory torch, was Oliver.

        James threw a sideways glance to his right and saw Romero up 

and ready for attack. He evaluated the situation and quickly backpedaled a few steps. With Blakeney’s weaponry now at his feet—the older man having removed himself from the area—he paused, knowing that her early humiliation would drive her forward with a vengeance. What he didn’t expect was what happened.

        Both Oliver and Romero chose to attack at the exact same mo-

ment. 

 His eyes flew wide at the realization that he was outmatched, but the inner divinity screamed for attention. Giving completely into it and once again shutting off his human side, time slowed infinitesimally. To James, their steps and roars of attack looked almost comical like an old black and white gladiator movie. Before they could get to him, he slammed his foot into the wet, giving ground under Blakeney’s shield and kicked it upwards.

        No sooner had the shield reached shoulder height and he slid his 

arm into the straps, then Oliver had landed his first strike.

 To the British boy, it seemed that one second James’s left side had been exposed and open and then the next it was protected by the broad bronze-like shield. Oliver roared in frustration as the medievaltype sword smashed into James’s shield with an ear shattering clang.

 Deftly deflecting Romero’s arcing slice, he countered with his blade aimed straight at her chest, but she was too fast. Quick as the sting of a scorpion she parried and swung at his now exposed neck. 

        James ducked and spun on a heel, successfully repositioning 

himself just as Oliver was attacking once again. With the Brit off balanced by the move, James slammed his shield into Oliver and flung him to the sopping wet grass. 

 Bringing the heavy, divine metal to bear once again, he swung off Romero’s continued attack—metal smashing against metal like the slam of a hammer on an anvil—opening her up completely. With a swift thrust, James pricked her neck and took her out of the fight.

        She dropped her saber onto the ground and sprinted off the field.

        “Are you too afraid to fight me without your shield?” Oliver spat 

as he scrambled to his feet.

        James snorted. “You wish, limey.” To assert the statement, he 

threw the shield of Achilles down at his feet.

     The shield bounced dully as it collided with the ground and kicked up sprays of rainwater.

     Oliver roared as he attacked once more.

 Sword met sword like two opposing forces of nature smashing into one another. With the extra foot of length on Oliver’s blade, James knew he had to stay in close in order to keep the upper hand. Strike begat parry and parry begat counterstrike, both young men driven forward in anticipation of conquering their opponent. After several unsuccessful attacks from either side, James swung for the legs hoping to draw his opponent. 

     The feint worked.

     As Oliver sliced downwards to block the attack, the heavy medi-

eval weapon blurring in motion, James switched the angle of his swing and strengthened his grip on his sword. Coming from below and hitting just above the hilt, Oliver couldn’t contend with the determined force and the Brit’s blade flew out of his hand. 

 Not wasting any precious seconds, James snatched the sword out of the air as if catching a fastball barehanded. Before Oliver could recover in any kind of way, James brought the blade to his throat in a scissor-formation. James winked at Oliver and threw a triumphant grin.

     “Thirty seconds!” shouted Blakeney.

 James dropped the swords and turned his attention to the prize. He walked purposefully and determinedly across the remaining length of field, the rain licking down dis exerted body like a massage of deft fingers. With only seconds to spare, he reached the flaming torch, grasped it confidently, and held it high in the air. The goal reached, James breathed deeply allowing his humanity to return and the pulse pounding in his ears to slow.

     They all came over to him from their various positions of obser-

vation. “Well done, James,” stated Blakeney with a warm smile. “For a minute there I didn’t think you would make it.”  “Neither did I,” James admitted.

 “How did you move so fast?” Romero asked in awe. “That shield was on the ground and then all of a sudden you had it. I thought for sure 

Oliver and I had you.”      James just shrugged.

     “If you think that was fast, then you should have seen him snatch 

a spear out of the air,” countered Blakeney.

     They stared at him in amazement. James began to feel a little 

embarrassed by all the comments and attention. Regardless of everything that had happened in the past several months, he still didn’t like being the center of attention. He smiled self-consciously trying to be gracious for the compliments.

 Then, Eliza gasped. She darted to his side and peeled up his sleeve. The earlier cut was bleeding quite a bit, blood mixing with the rain splashing down his arm. “You’re hurt,” she observed fretfully, tendrils of her soaked red hair falling into her face.

        “It’s okay, Eliza,” he said.

     “But I don’t remember seeing anyone—” she cut stopped herself as the source of the injury dawned on her. She was aghast. “I’m . . . I’m . . . so sorry!” Eliza wailed; she was devastated that she had hurt him.

 Even through the rain, James could see tears well up in her eyes and spill over her long lashes. He gently reached up and cupped her wet cheek. “I’m okay. I promise.” James smiled in admiration. “You did really good actually, I’m proud of you.”

        “Really?” she smiled a little at the compliment, still fingering his 

cut tenderly.

        He nodded and smiled crookedly.

 Oliver joined the group looking sullen and dejected. The Brit reached out and called the flames from the torch to him. They danced and churned in suspension above his open palm.

        “Show off,” James mumbled.

 Blakeney spoke up then. “Well, I think we’ve had all the rain we could possible get for the day. Good job, everyone. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”

        Romero and Mars turned to walk off the field.

        “James,” continued Blakeney. “Let’s get that cut cleaned and 

stitched up.”

        He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

        The older man clapped him on his uninjured shoulder. “Great 

job, James. You fought better than I expected and accomplished the improbable.” 

        James looked up and met Blakeney’s eyes. With a wide smile, he 

said, “Thank you, sir.”