Роджер Желязны - Warriors of Blood and Dream

"A warrior-shaman. One who can walk between worlds. Someone willing to die in order to kill. That's really the only secret there is, you know. Resist such a thing, and it will probably kill you—like resistance in an electrical line. There are stories of people literally burning up. Spontaneous combustion." He laughed again. "Just fairy tales."

"He's just a boy," she said. She looked back at David. He was sprawled in front of the television, now, asleep.

"And it's all just a fantasy anyway," Elk said.

"If ... if there was something in him ... why wouldn't it have taken him by now?"

"It might be on a lunar cycle," Elk said. "Its strength peaks when the moon is full. And every time it is, it takes more of him. Another week, perhaps," he said, watching the sky. "Five days."

"You told Trias that Chulakua was devised to help young warriors deal with fear," she said. "That's not exactly true, is it?"

He just smiled.

"If there was ... something. Trying to get David. Can he learn to kick or punch a nightmare away ... ?"

"It's the emotions that are important, not the moves. All of the kicking and punching, the throws and holds ... ? All bullshit. Take any human being and place him in a focused, deinhibited state—insanity, angel dust, extreme threat to life or loved ones—and you will produce an animal response, an R-Brain response. He'd rip most black belts into pieces." He chuckled, and dropped his cigarette to the dirt at his side, then ground his heel into it.

"A good instructor will give you joy, and discovery. And then ecstasy, beyond fear or pain, or joy—pure sensation. Total deinhibition, flowing through a body strong enough and flexible enough and balanced enough to take that kind of emotional current without burning up. That is the true job of a real instructor—to prepare his students for death, and therefore, for life. Everything else is a shadow of the real purpose."

"Can you teach David that?"

"In five days? No. But I might be able to help him teach himself."

Brenda held David in her arms. He seemed small and cool—but at peace. More peaceful than she had seen him in months. Whatever was happening here, in this place, was good for her child.

"David?" she said softly. He stirred, and half opened his eyes. He pressed his cool mouth against her cheek.

"Mom," he said. And rested his cheek against her.

"David. Do you want to stay here?"

"Stay," he said. "Stay here. Feel ... safe."

She nodded, and kissed his forehead, and walked back out to Elk. "I don't know what you're doing," she said. "But it seems to be healthy." She took his hand. "Help him. Please."

"I'm trying," Elk said. "I have to teach him enough physical technique so that the emotions can flow. I'm going to keep it simple. Rolling. The five angles of attack—"

She clutched his wrists. "I don't believe in demons," she said. "I can't . But I believe that something is hurting my boy. All I want to know. What I have to know is: Can you help him? If you can't, I'll take him somewhere else. Or I'll put him somewhere he can't hurt himself. I have to do something, and I'm at the end of my rope." Her voice was cold steel. " Can you help him ?"

He met her eyes. They locked, and there was no more lying, no more circumlocution. "Yes," he said. "I can help him."

" Will you help him?"

"Yes," Elk said. "I will."

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death—

From the tip of his toes to his kneecaps, David was covered with bruises. Bruises from hitting the heavy bag, bruises from blocking Lightning Elk's strikes with the rattan sticks.

His diaphragm was sore from the breathing exercises. Inhaling for three, holding for twelve, then striking on the exhale, exhaling forcefully. Or exhaling after that twelve count retention as Lightning Elk punched or kicked him in the solar plexus. The pain was extreme.

David dropped to his knees, sucking air. He looked out over the shelf of rock, down onto the desert below. They worked in shadow, rested and talked when the sun stole the shade. For the past four days he had eaten well, worked hard, and slept every night within the circle of sand drawn by Lightning Elk.

The entire world stretched out beneath them, the sky so blue and crisp and wide above them, expanding to an infinite horizon. He could feel the pulse of this place.

And his body and mind awakened to its rhythm. He dreamed of light lines crisscrossing in darkness. Lightning Elk drilled David's body and mind until those lines seemed almost to hover in the air around him. It was easy to imagine them, carving the air between the two of them. It was true—there was no human movement except along those lines, and he saw them more and more clearly with every passing hour.

In the city, it might have seemed absurd. But here, in this place—

It seemed perfectly natural.

"Last night," David said, "I started to dream again. I couldn't help it."

"How did it feel?"

"Like there was something behind a gate, and it was coming for me."

"Tell me about the gate."

"It's made out of sand. It circles me. Sandstone, maybe. But the wind is eating at it."

"What's inside the gate."

"Me, I think."

"And outside?"

"I don't know."

"Come on," Elk said. "It's time to work."

They climbed. Up through rock chimneys so narrow that David could barely squeeze through, and marveled at the fact that the old man could contort his body to pass. The bastard must have been made out of catgut. "I need ... to rest," he gasped. He rolled over onto a rock shelf, and collapsed, panting. Elk zipped open his backpack and threw David a Jolt cola.

It was warm, and flat, and incredibly delicious.

He was tired, but sleeping in Elk's gym within a circle of sand was a strangely calming and energizing experience. And this place ... in the distance, at night, there was the glow of a distant town. Aside from that, they were wonderfully alone in the desert.

"I used to go climbing with ... my dad," David said.

Elk was braced in a rock fissure, feet against one side, back against the other, resting comfortably. "My grandfather did the same for me," Elk said. He popped open a Jolt can and sipped happily. "He taught me how to climb, and hunt. And he taught me about power spots and light lines."

"What?"

"You'll see." He waited for David to finish his can and then said: "Rested?" Affirmative. "Then let's go."

The last fifty yards were sheer. Elk attached a rope to David's waist, and shinnied up ahead of him, surefooted as a goat. Despite the absurdity of the emotion, David felt as completely secure as he ever had in his life.

They came out on a flat shelf of rock, separated from the main mountain by a deep defile. They were about three hundred feet above the floor of the desert. David had an odd feeling as he climbed up. He tingled. The air smelled— electrified .

Elk was grinning. "You feel it, don't you."

David nodded.

"There are places of power. Some of them are in the land. Some of them are in human beings: centers of balance, nerve centers ... centers of energy. Throw a kick," he said.

David set himself, and threw a roundhouse kick into the air.

"Fine," Elk said. "Now, move around. Eyes closed. Find a place here that feels right to you."

David closed his eyes and walked carefully. He felt odd. He remembered watching a video about a man dowsing for water, holding a Y -shaped stick before him, and how the stick would begin to vibrate when he was near water. His body felt like that now. With his eyes closed, he ordinarily saw tiny specks of light floating in the darkness. Now, they were beginning to coalesce into lines. At this moment, the line was distinct. His breathing tilled him with light, and the light flowed down to his feet and seemed to connect him to the earth, and balance was perfect. His arm shot up and he heard and felt CRACK! and his right foot flew out, seemingly of its own accord, and that light flowed from the ground and swirled around his hip and shot out CRACK! and he felt it connect. He opened his eyes.