Maurice Broaddus - King's War

King's eyes bugged like disjointed marbles. His fists clenched. His chest high as his whole body shook with rage. With a snarl King turned and spat at Dred's feet.

"This is what I wanted," Dred said. "My birthright. The two reunited, the way Luther used to have them. A pair, never meant to be separated."

"Like us?" King asked. "You want me to join you?"

"We both know that would never happen. I'll make this simpler for you. All you have to do is give up and leave. You see, Indianapolis is all I know. Like you, I was born and raised here. These streets pump through my veins. So I can't leave. Nor do I really expect you to. "

King's chest tightened and his body trembled. Fear welled up in the back of his throat, and it had a coppery aftertaste. Grabbed by the forearm, shadow tendrils dragged him to the center of the room. He peered into the creatures' night eyes. He imagined his end might come like this. Surrounded by thugs, some armed with chains or bats or knives but mostly guns. He knew that to take a stand against them might end with his death. Execution.

"The storm is passing," he muttered. The rain fell lightly upon his shadowy form, as if attempting to cleanse him of the darkness of the night. He marveled at how far he had come, how much he'd learned in so short a time. Dred strode with determination and power. The Egbo Society controlled the gangs, the drugs, the money in Indianapolis, served at the pleasure of the Board of Directors and they to the Hierarchy. Not content to remain a lieutenant or a captain, Dred vied to get to the Board. For as long as he could remember, his ambition drove him to get the power and reign as the supreme power in the Egbo Society. Already he was one of the Ndibu, the high order of the Egbo Society. Soon he would have it all. Hands skeletal and gnarled, he uttered an incantation, a low whisper. Shadows danced about like ghostly dark flames. They lit along his body, wisps of black fire. He writhed in pain.

Dred had prepared a sacred place, carved out by his ritual. His pulse quickened. He lit a lone candle, and with its bare luminance, prepared the necessary instruments. Adorning the wall of the incomplete building were a legion of clay statues and wooden figurines, wrapped in twine, of various sizes, depicting personages of an earlier time. Three drums laid in wait next to the sacred vessels. Dred quickly rose and poured the water from the first vessel on his feet and then in a path toward them. He walked the water path to the rear, where he raised a small pot full of ashes. With them, Dred etched symbols along the beams.

Dred lowered his robe to his waist. Two yellow rings circled each breast. Below them, a white ring stamped his middle. Underneath it, two more yellow rings, forming a square on his chest. His back had the same pattern emblazoned on him, with the color scheme reversed. Alternating yellow and white stripes ornamented each arm.

Dred began to speak, his face falling into its shadows. "Ours is the house without walls. We call upon Obassi to guide and protect us. Okum ngbe ommobik ejennum ngimm, akiko ye ajakk nga ka ejenn nyamm."

The creatures' features morphed, becoming ebon sculptures of people he was unable to save or protect. Michelle Davis. Parker Griffin. Tavon. Rellik. Rok. Iz. Baylon. Prez.

Nakia.

No one thought to ask the question "Where's Baylon?" Not Dred. Not King. Not the knights. Not any of Dred's crew. Truth be told, no one cared. Except for one person. Omarosa cared where Baylon was. She cut through the underbrush like a deadly wraith. Snuck around the concrete debris, the spires of discarded rebar, the piles of brick, the mounds of gravel, with the ease of a lioness on the prowl. And she caught his scent, not too difficult to do with him smelling of graveside rot. A spark of interest flickered in Omarosa's eyes. He wouldn't be like any of the usual level of street trash she dealt with. However, his petty magic — parlor tricks, really — while they might have worked against other folks, she was of the fey. Her heightened hearing matched her heightened sight. She glided smoothly over the packed dirt, waiting for a telltale blunder or charge. Wisely, he didn't move. She turned her back. Not only was he upwind, the air thick with his stink of sweat and fear, his jackrabbit heart thundered in her ears.

His jogging suit reduced to a farm of mildew. His hair disheveled, whorls of knots. His complexion ashy, an ashiness that ran down to his soul. He was gone long before Dred had cast his spell which used Baylon's vitality to cure his paralysis, leaving Baylon little more than a shuffling husk. It wasn't the spell which broke him, it was the decision to use him for the spell. The betrayal. They were like brothers, Baylon had told himself. Dred came to him, chose him, found him, and said come do this thing with me. Together, they assembled the crew. Together, they ran things. Then King returned to the scene. It was like Dred forgot about Baylon and became obsessed with King. It wasn't as if Baylon wanted Dred to choose him over King, he just wanted to matter. Not be used and discarded.

"I'm surprised you're not standing with your boy," Omarosa said.

"I'm here. Where I always am. In his shadow. Supporting him as necessary." He continued to watch the ceremony.

"I'll never get you, B. Here Dred does you like he did, and you still here. That's some serious codependent shit right there. You're like a faithful puppy that no matter how's he's kicked, he comes right back to nip at his master's heels."

"Even the most faithful dog," Baylon turned to her, "can get kicked one time too many and not return home. Or if he do, it's to tear down the home from the inside to remind the master what all he's capable of doing."

"That's the difference between me and Dred. I got a dog and it comes home and starts chewing up my furniture, I just go ahead and put him down."

Omarosa trained her sawed-off shotgun on him.

"You all about business. I ain't holding, so this must be personal."

"You killed my brother."

"Who?"

"Colvin."

Baylon remembered.

The mad half-fey gestured furiously, his hand danced about. The occasional green gleam sparked, but dissipated as if shorted out. King strode toward him with furious intent. Colvin locked eyes on him, so focused he did not hear the click of a blade springing to life behind him.

Baylon fought for his throat, but Colvin twisted out of the way at the last instant. Not to be denied his opportunity, Baylon arced the blade again and buried the knife up to its hilt into the fey's belly. He turned the blade then drove it up, spilling his insides. Eyes splayed open in shock, his mouth agape as if pain was an entirely new sensation which caught him short, Colvin dropped to his knees.

"So, he was your kin. He needed to be put down."

"I don't argue that. He was of the land and I am of the sea. And I hated him with that special fury reserved for siblings. You understand the betrayal of a brother."

"Me and Dred, we were like brothers."

"But Colvin was still of the fey. He deserved to be taken down by someone worthy of him. Not some lap dog. No offense."

"None taken." Baylon began to move his hand. Omarosa checked him with a nod of the barrel. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reached into his pocket. He withdrew the ring Colvin had given Garlan. "I suppose you'll want this back."

Baylon rushed her. The shock of her recognizing Colvin's ring threw off the timing of her attack. Baylon possessed a speed that belied his condition. Adrenaline and the need for vengeance choked Omarosa, clouding her assassin's instinct. She staggered into his fist. It spun her around and his wizened arms wrapped around her. They pinned her arms to her side with her unable to find purchase. Face to face with him, she stared into his eyes. Cold, dead things without a hint of recognition.