Tearing The Shroud (26 page)

Once Coleman got past a fascination with the light switch and the plumbing, they made their way outside, taking extra time stretching to avoid injury while exploring the abilities they might have. Dark clouds covered the predawn sky, and the air carried the sound of waves against the cliffs at the bottom of the campus.

I usually run for a while then work on combat forms or strength training, sometimes both.

Absolutely. That okay with you?

Cool.

Coleman felt the meaning associated with the word Vincent used.

Up the stairs?

Seven long flights of stairs climbed the hill. They dashed up the first flight, feet moving in a blur, and came to the top in an instant. One stair at a time didn’t accommodate their speed. They dashed up the next flight with two-stair strides. A three-stair pattern — what would have been a small jump to most — finally felt like a normal stride. Fortunately, the early time of day offered the privacy they needed for testing their abilities. They turned left along the campus road and came to a stumbling halt. Vincent felt Coleman’s shock.

.

Vincent laughed.
Remember the cars I mentioned?

Here they are.
Vincent looked at the cars parked along the road. He looked in the sedan’s window.

Do you have machines in your world?

Vincent considered the best way to explain them.

What?

But...then...

Yes, of course...I’m just not used to...well...

Vincent took a breath and imagined himself loosening the grip on his thoughts then pictured everything he knew about cars in a quick movie.

Vincent felt his disbelief.

Yes, but maybe we better stick to running for now. We don’t need to get in an accident
.

Sure thing. Oh, by the way, if one of these hits us, it’ll be really bad
. He rapped their knuckles on the fender.

They set off up the hill.
Watch the pace. No need to scare people by running too fast
.
How about I show you a nice distance stride I use?

Vincent settled into the short Tarahumara stride he knew so well. They passed the music buildings and English department, taking a small road off campus. The rhythm allowed his mind to float aimlessly. Coleman remained silent as they turned left and headed north. About a half mile off campus Vincent said,
I’m sorry. I lose myself when I run. I didn’t forget you
.

Silence greeted him.

Maybe if he tried it out loud? ‘Coleman?’

Still, silence met his inquiry.

‘Hey, did I...lose you?’

‘Oh, I came across it researching a term paper. Pretty nice, huh?’

Suddenly he felt, anger, confusion, and doubt warring with trust and belief. Then, he realized they were Coleman’s emotions, not his, so he ran on.

‘Hey, man, you all right?’

I’ve never heard of it, but I’d like to.

Coleman spoke while Vincent ran; then Vincent spoke as Coleman ran.

The sky had lightened though the sun remained blocked by the low-hanging clouds as they glided effortlessly into Balboa Park.

Outrunning your opponent is a great idea, but running yourself to death doesn’t sound like much fun,
Vincent thought.

When you put it that way, I gotta agree
.

At Balboa Drive, they turned north and stopped across from the bowling green. Large eucalyptus trees towered above and formed a small glen, providing privacy for their workout.

Coleman told him.

Nah, it would ruin the park.

You misunderstand. In my Realm, there are homes here.

Vincent froze. ‘In...your land...here...?’ He dizzily stumbled to a bench and sat to keep from falling. They remained quiet for several minutes, looking at the ground.

So, we share worlds?

Like a covering for a dead person?

Coleman searched for a word.

Reality,
Vincent thought.

Coleman picked up on Vincent’s understanding of it.

Something Vincent had heard a few months ago came to mind. He quoted it: ‘“Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around.”’

No, it’s from...a sacred text. I heard a man teach on it when I went to church a few months ago.

Vincent blew out.
Only in theory
.
I bet the man who taught from the text would find this tough to believe; he’d probably think I’d gone crazy.

Vincent felt Coleman’s discouragement.

We’re pretty much on our own
.
I guess we could always try praying
. He shrugged, expressing his doubt about the results.

Vincent thought carefully about what had happened recently. Beyond the supernatural events, many unexpected things had dropped into his life. In some ways, they were less explainable than the preternatural stuff. How he’d changed, the friends supporting him, a woman who loved him — were they coincidence or was it something more? The more he compared his life now to the one previously, the clearer it became.
Whatever power brought us here wouldn’t just dump us off and say, ‘Okay, you’re on your own
.’

So, we’ll do what we can to stop this person, and if we need help, we’ll ask for it.

Speaking of that, how will we know they’re here?

We should notice. And this evil that might follow?

Kafla?
Vincent raised his eyebrows.

A few minutes later Vincent put his head in his hands. ‘I’m glad I was sitting. That’s what you face?’

He shook his head. ‘The Matriarch is right. If the Tearer is going to let those things into the world, we’ve got to stop him.’

What do you know about the Tearer?

‘What? A magic user?’ Vincent sat up rigidly.

Not real ones, at least that I know of. How do we take down someone like that?

I agree.

Coleman asked.

The long staff, but only for show. All of my sparring, or fight experience, has been with hands and feet.

That and a lot more.
Vincent grinned.

I’ll show you when we get going.

He stood up. ‘So, how do we go about this next step?’ Vincent asked.

Vincent smiled. His thought patterns were rubbing off on Coleman already.
I wonder what I’ll pick up from him.

Sorry, stray thought. I think I mentioned it last night but that’s something we need to work out. How to have private thoughts.

Vincent blushed.

Yeah. So, tell me about our workout,
Vincent thought.

Sounds good.
Vincent broke a thick stick into two sections about twenty inches long.
You wanna go first?

.

Over the next several hours they shared their collective knowledge and were happily surprised. Most of the techniques were similar, with only minor variations. It might have been because the body only moved certain ways and tactics evolved around exploiting those, or coincidence, or, as Coleman put it,

The differences found were due to specializations. Some specific longknife tactics only worked well with the weapons, and any kick that targeted above the waist was new to Coleman. Learning was nearly immediate as each of them benefited from an internal viewpoint and a clear perception of the reasons behind a maneuver. However, they learned more than combat. With their thoughts and emotions laid bare, and one mind instantly bolstering the other, camaraderie quickly formed.

Near the end of their workout Vincent paused.
Coleman, a couple of points.

The things one of us knows and the other doesn’t aren’t things that separate us, but the knowledge that fills in the gaps.

Vincent smiled.

‘We’re not sweating.’ Vincent felt his brow, and checked his pulse.

All that time running and then a tough workout —

< — and we haven’t worked hard enough to sweat.>

Oh, man. What time is it?

I have a one o’clock class.
He saw an elderly man walking his dog. ‘Excuse me, Sir, do you have the time?’

The man looked at his watch. ‘It’s 11:30.’

‘Thank you.’

Vincent chuckled.
Yep...but we don’t have Kafla. It’s about six miles to campus. If we run quickly, do you think anyone will notice?

Coleman shrugged mentally.

Somewhere near mile three, a few drops of sweat ran down their brow. Twenty minutes after leaving the park, with only a slightly elevated pulse, they ran up the last hill and through the campus gates.

A man in a gray Ford sedan pulled around the corner behind Vincent and parked along the curb, his eyes never leaving him. He spoke to himself, his voice a low chant, ‘
Pro Dominus... Pro Dominus
...’

Saturday Lunch

‘You what?’ Flea asked, as they sat eating.

‘We worked out for a few hours in Balboa Park then ran back...briskly.’ Vincent smiled. He loved see Flea all worked up, which admittedly didn’t take much.

‘You ran from Balboa Park, to here, in twenty minutes? That’s impossible.’ Knife punched the keypad of his calculator.

Julie looked at them. ‘What? So, he ran fast.’

Knife said, ‘That’s an understatement. The world’s best runners currently do a mile in about three-forty-eight. Vinni just ran a three-thirty-three and kept it up for six miles.’ He stared at his calculator as if the numbers would change.

‘Don’t forget, the last mile is uphill,’ Flea said

Vincent ate quietly from the food piled on his plate, stifling a grin. Julie looked at him and pushed his shoulder. ‘What are you not telling us?’

‘I was holding back.’ He munched on the tuna sandwich from a second plate. ‘
And
I’m crazy hungry.’

‘Holding back?’ Flea’s voice went up.

‘We didn’t want to get noticed by passing cars. Not that we can run faster than a car...at least I don’t think we can. So, no top-speed stuff.’ He drank a half glass of water and took another bite of the pasta.