Divine Awakening

Ash followed Nomad into the briefing room.

Charts and maps covered the far wall, and a seventy-inch TV hung on the wall to his left. A table and podium that were probably intended for the open area were pushed under the TV, which confirmed what Nomad hoped would happen here.

Glancing to the right, Ash surveyed the nine men and women in combat khakis. They all sat in the front row of the stadium seating, their expressions ranging from neutral to faintly hostile. He shrugged out of his pack and let it fall to the floor.

Ash’s Third Eye detected the danger these men and women represented, but his Root barely stirred, assuring him this didn’t pose a life-or-death situation.

All of them studied Ash, sizing him up and categorizing the type of threat he represented. Their dismissive looks suggested they’d decided he wasn’t a threat at all, which made him smile. Grandpa would warn them with something like “Calm water hides its depth.”

Ash didn’t plan on warning anyone.

“Who’s the kid?” the man in the middle chair asked.

Ash studied the speaker, his Third Eye wrapping the man in an instant.

A Native American male in his late thirties, with a rugged and fit physique honed by decades of training, his features were sharp and expressive. His deep-set eyes studied Ash with calculating intelligence. He kept his black hair short, and his deeply brown skin testified to prolonged exposure to the elements. Despite this tough exterior, Ash’s Heart chakra vibrated, revealing the man’s warm presence.

Slouched as the man was in the chair, his center of gravity remained only a half-inch from perfect. Ash knew this had to be Grizzly, the Air Force expert in survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. He was the guy whose daughter, Everest, was on Ash’s team.

Nomad answered the question. “This is Shamrock, squad leader for the Civies, and rabbit’s foot for this mission.”

Grizzly grew far more interested in Ash. “He looks twelve,” Grizzly said with a scowl. “We’re recruiting from junior high now?”

Most in the room laughed and Ash guessed Grizzly was a popular and likeable guy, but, with his daughter’s life on the line, he was probing Ash for weaknesses.

Ash took note of the two men who didn’t laugh or smile. No sense of humor could come from many sources, but the results were usually the same, and he filed the data away for further investigation.

Ash let the twelve-year-old remark roll off. He’d been called far worse and knew he looked younger than his age, but his life experience likely exceeded all these soldiers added together.

“What’s a rabbit’s foot?” one of the no humor men asked. He sat on the far left of the group, a little apart, and he looked like someone had killed his puppy. No, Ash decided, the man had probably killed it himself.

Ash hadn’t had much time to adjust to his Awakened Third Eye, which had swamped his senses with input. He’d erected something like a mental dam around the chakra to dampen his perception until he learned to control it better. He relaxed that barrier now as he focused on the man.

The faint smell of tar mixed with oil from the C4 under the man’s fingernails pegged him as an explosive’s specialist. A serious man for serious work Ash thought. The file Captain Riegal had provided would make this Blast, an explosive ordinance disposal expert from the Navy.

Blast had a lean, athletic build honed from rigorous physical training and demanding field operations. His short blond hair was kept neatly within military regulations. His eyes reflected a sharp intellect and unwavering focus, and his weathered skin indicated countless hours spent in harsh environments. The white scar tissue on his right hand attested to the danger of his profession.

Like Grizzly, Blast’s posture showed he’d spent considerable time practicing unarmed combat. That likely meant Blast didn’t get assigned to typical missions, but the secret and dangerous kind.

“He’s lucky,” Nomad responded.

“Luck doesn’t exist,” Blast said, “it’s a word the ignorant use for preparation.”

Nomad didn’t react to the implied insult and continued. “Shamrock has command authority for our mission.”

“Ridiculous,” Grizzly said. “I’m not taking orders from this toddler. What’s his combat experience?”

Nomad shrugged. “You volunteered, Grizzly. If you don’t like it, you’re dismissed.”

Grizzly clenched his jaw and sat up straight. Obviously, the man would never abandon his daughter, especially in a situation like this.

Blast spoke again. “Define what you mean by luck. Statistically? Empirically?”

Ash shifted Blast into his own category. Thinkers caused him the most problems.

Nomad faced Blast and with a neutral look replied. “Perfectly.”

“Perfectly lucky?” Blast repeated. “That’s ludicrous and impossible. Look at him. It looks like a train hit him.”

Not a bad guess, Ash thought.

Grizzly sighed, and Ash focused on the man again.

Grizzly tensed his right arm and shoulder as if to move but hesitated before acting. Likely shoulder pain from overuse or an old wound. It appeared chronic, if Ash considered the man’s offset center of gravity, it became obvious Grizzly had unconsciously compensated for the injury by altering his entire posture. It made the man vulnerable to thirty-three different Viper strikes, seven joint locks, and twelve Bamboo throws.

“Never wrong?” Grizzly asked. “Are we sure he’s human?”

More laughter, but this time a little uncomfortable.

A month ago, the Clypse changed the world, and overnight myths had come to life. Dragons over China created worldwide panic, leprechauns in Ireland destroyed three small towns, not to mention Death, Famine, and Ra appearing over Egypt. Even the States had been affected: Elves in the Rocky Mountains and Wendigos along the east coast. Grizzly’s off-hand question about Ash’s humanity had far more substance now than before.

Ash shook his mental thoughts like an etch-a-sketch, clearing them so he could concentrate on the present. His Third Eye warned him of impending violence, but once again his Root remained quiet.

Something bothered Ash about this meeting, and a moment later he spotted it. Nomad had warned his team at least a little. Probably in case Ash didn’t catch the subtle hints of what actions needed to happen.

Ash spoke for the first time as he pointed at Blast. “He’s a distraction, and a clever one.”

“It talks!” Grizzly said.

Ash’s neck tingled as his Throat chakra finally gained his attention. Everyone in the room displayed varying levels of dishonesty, or what he thought of as concealing behavior, but Grizzly’s and Blast’s interactions had an additional layer to the deceiving performance.

It was go time.

“I talk, and I dance, too,” Ash said as he strode toward Grizzly. “Like a monkey, I’ll dance until you flip me a coin.”

To Grizzly’s credit, he shifted into a more mobile posture, likely recognizing Ash’s fighting skills by the way he moved.

Ash stopped directly in front of Grizzly, leaned down until his face was inches from Grizzly’s. Without looking, Ash grabbed the lump of C4 under Grizzly’s chair. He brought it up to his cheek, keeping his gaze locked on Grizzly.

“Well, I guess I don’t need your coins,” Ash whispered to Grizzly. He remained inside the man’s personal space and cursed him in Spanish. “Puto.”

Grizzly stood slowly. Ash didn’t move but was forced to look up at the six-two soldier.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Grizzly asked.

Ash shrugged and took the opportunity to manipulate the man. “She’s dead, but thanks for bringing up the painful memories.”

Just as Ash expected this made Grizzly uncomfortable, disturbing his focus. Ash took the opening to step back, turn, and throw the C4 at Blast.

Blast yelped and caught the explosive. It would take far more than a hard throw to detonate it, Ash knew, but it showed disrespect for the material, and that would upset Blast.

Blast’s face turned red as he carefully set the explosive on the desk. Grizzly placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder pulling on it to turn him around.

Instead of turning, Ash reached up, grasped the hand, and jerked forward as he kneeled. Grandpa called this Bowing Ladybug, and it was one of the simplest moves in the Bamboo style. He didn’t throw Grizzly hard, as Ash only wanted to make a point, not start a fight.

Grizzly rolled out of the throw and onto his feet, turning immediately to face Ash.

Ash ignored Grizzly and sat in the man’s chair, another manipulation, this time aimed at his power. Sitting in this chair was like a peasant taking the king’s throne.

Nomad had given Ash valuable advice on leading a team, which Ash needed, but when it came to understanding people, or manipulating them, he didn’t need guidance. He’d grown up an outsider, a marcado, marked for death, by the dangerous men around his home.

Surviving such an environment took intuition and an incredible understanding of people. Eventually, marcado became mano de la muerte, the hand of death.

Nobody in the room moved, unsure of how to take this glorified audition.