Alex Archer - Sacred Ground

Derek struggled to hear them over the din. “What are you two babbling about over there?”

Annja smiled. “It seems as though some of Godwin’s friends might be looking to join us.”

“Friends?”

“It’s a loose term.” Annja shrugged. “Really depends on how you feel about people who want to break your bones.”

Godwin glanced at Derek. “Mr. Wainman, there’s a chance we might have some trouble here very shortly. Whether we want it or not.”

Derek frowned. “We haven’t even eaten dinner yet.”

Annja grinned some more. “I’ve found these types rarely have a good sense of timing.”

Derek looked at Godwin. “Can you handle it?”

“Most certainly.”

Annja stretched her arms overhead. “Well, I’m not missing out on the fun.”

Godwin shook his head. “It’s not your fight.”

“It is my prerogative, however,” Annja said. “And I need a bit of activity to keep my muscles in shape.”

The bigger of the two men came off the bar then, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Godwin. Annja figured he must have weighed over two hundred pounds, given that even the thick shirt he wore couldn’t disguise the mass underneath. He had his huge hands tightly squeezed into fists.

Behind him, the smaller man followed, but he was by no means the lesser of the two threats. Annja saw that he kept his right hand tucked in his back pocket. She frowned. A knife. It had to be a knife of some sort.

Great.

The big man managed ten steps before he stopped and pointed a finger at Godwin. “You there. You’re Araktak, ain’cha?”

Godwin shrugged. “Part.”

“Part? You mean you’re a bastard, too? What was it, your mother or your father that couldn’t stand to be with his own people?”

“What business is it of yours?”

The big man growled. “I don’t like Araktak.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

The big man edged closer. “I don’t like them because they stole my land from my family.”

Godwin shrugged. “The Araktak have been in this area for the better part of a thousand years. How long has your family been here?”

“Don’t matter,” the big man said. “They took what didn’t belong to them. And my family lost everything thanks to that no-good government being all concerned for the Inuit scum.”

Godwin nodded. “Well, you have my sympathies, if it makes any difference to you at all.”

“It don’t,” the big man said. “Because to me, the only good Araktak is a dead Araktak.”

Annja sighed. “God should strike down whichever idiot first coined that expression. Only the brainless still use it.”

The big man frowned. “Last I checked, this conversation weren’t about you, little lady.”

Annja laughed. “‘Little lady’?”

The big man nodded. “Just keep yer pretty little mouth shut and you won’t get hurt.”

Annja rose from the table. “And suppose—just suppose—I feel like opening my mouth? What then?”

“Then you get it closed.”

Annja smiled widely. She could feel her blood coursing through her as her heart pumped. She flexed her hands, knowing that her energy was cresting.

She glanced back at Godwin, who had moved closer to the edge of the booth seat. She pointed at the smaller of the two men. “Watch out for the blade that guy has in his right back pocket.”

Godwin nodded. “Got it.”

Annja looked back at the big man. “I’m not going to close my mouth, so I guess you’ll just have to do it for me.”

The big man frowned. “Fine by me, you dumb bitch.”

But as he started forward, Annja jumped, twisting as she did so until her right foot was aimed straight at the big man’s chin. She moved so fast that the man didn’t have a chance to track her and in the next moment, Annja’s foot slammed into the side of his chin with a solid crack.

To his credit, the man didn’t go down. He grunted once and then swatted the air where Annja had been, catching her with a backhand fist on the side of her head.

Annja saw stars, but blinked the pain away as she dropped to the ground and rolled to get some distance. The big man came charging forward.

“You think I won’t kick a girl’s ass? You’re about to find out you’re very mistaken.”

Annja frowned. That kick should have knocked him out. She came up on the balls of her feet and feinted with a jab that the big man fell for. Annja ducked and drove a sharp right hook into his floating ribs.

The thick shirt absorbed most of the impact.

The man brought his hands together and dropped them down on the back of Annja’s back. Annja thought she heard a crack but then the floor rushed to greet her.

Not good, she thought. As long as he’s standing, this contest isn’t going to go well.

She was briefly aware that Godwin had moved to engage the smaller man. The man had a curved knife out in front of him, flashing through the air in vicious swipes.

The big man charged her again. Annja stayed on one knee and as he came in, she pivoted, sweeping her left leg out to attack the back of the big man’s knees.

It worked and he lost his balance, going down hard on his butt.

Annja leaped up and brought her elbow down into his stomach. She heard a rush of air go out of his lungs and the air around her stunk with the smell of liquor. She blanched and rolled away. “Gross.”

But even her elbow strike to his stomach didn’t stop her opponent, and he rolled over and got to his feet with surprising quickness for someone of his size. He brought his hands together and frowned at Annja.

“Now you’ve made me mad.”

Annja grabbed a chair from the closest table and smashed it over his head as he charged again. The wooden frame splintered nicely over his skull and this time, he went down and stayed down.

Annja took a breath and then checked to make sure he was finally unconscious.

Godwin was still working on getting the edge with his attacker. The smaller man was clearly more skilled than his oafish counterpart. The way he handled the knife told Annja that he’d used it many times in the past, probably with great effect.

He cut the air with short, clipped circles, keeping Godwin at bay. But Annja sensed no impatience in Godwin’s body movement. He seemed content to let the smaller man wear himself out.

The man noted that his comrade was down for the count and then made his error. He feinted with a thrust and then jerked it out in a wider arc than he had before. Godwin’s eyes twinkled for just a moment and then he pivoted inside the arc, driving his elbow deep into the smaller man’s solar plexus. His hands clamped down on the arm wielding the knife, and Annja heard a pop as Godwin dislocated the man’s elbow and the knife skittered clear.

The smaller man screamed as Godwin stepped back and let the now-useless limb drop harmlessly to the smaller man’s side.

Godwin stooped and retrieved the knife. He turned it over and frowned. “I haven’t seen one like this in a very long time.”

Annja walked over to him. “What?”

Godwin showed it to her. The knife seemed to curve closer to the tip, but Annja could also see that the blade had an edge on both sides. It seemed perfect for stabbing through multiple layers and then hooking to inflict grievous injury.

“This is an assassin’s weapon,” Godwin said.

“Assassin?”

Godwin nodded. “Certain tribes among the Inuit have secret aspects of their tribes. When the white man started encroaching on their lands, some among the tribes resolved to use their skill and cunning to inflict terror among the new settlers.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really. The settlers kept coming. It was inevitable, I suppose. But the traditions of the assassins have been passed down regardless. It used to be something much more honorable than it apparently has become.”