The Sentinel

By Abigail Falanga

The wide training room lay behind them, mats rolled away, the monks motionless in parallel lines, eyes lowered.

“Are you certain of this choice?” the prior asked.

The Sentinel nodded curtly. “My decision stands.”

“From here, there is no turning back. You have mastered our martial arts and the theory of our powers, but you cannot reach the Wind of the Universe, which we bend to our will.” The prior lifted his hand. A door rusty with disuse obeyed the motion and swung open to reveal a dark stairway leading down. “So, now we must resort to the strangest and worst of trials, by which you must either reach the Wind—or die.”

He descended, the Sentinel and three monks following. The darkness of ancient caves swallowed them, like fear and failure.

The Sentinel had left his post as lone protector of his city because he could see what was coming, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

The explosives and decommissioned government vehicles he had tracked might have meant anything. The surge of criminal activity in the city may simply have been tied to the economic downturn. But then one of the Sentinel’s hacker sources had passed along definite proof that a terrorist attack was imminent.

Only a day or two out.

He was powerless to stop it. He had failed.

“Here.” The prior stopped at a small chamber in the dank underground catacombs. “Bind him upon the slab.”

The Sentinel allowed the monks to take hold of him, strip his shirt, and position him on a stone bier in the center of the room, tying his arms and legs spread-eagled.

He couldn’t move.

For an instant, panic threatened, before he mastered it with the discipline he’d learned in his weeks with the monks.

Though gifted with no superpowers, the Sentinel had taken on the duties of the city’s lone superhero in place of the disbanded Taskforce. He wasn’t used to being powerless. Naturally strong and intelligent, and with the money for gadgets and weaponry, he ought to have foreseen the terrorist attack.

But now, if he tried to mitigate or prevent it, he would be killed.

“It is impossible,” one of the monks murmured, just audibly. “No one unable to touch the Wind can manipulate it.”

“Perhaps,” another answered, “this is merely a way to prevent the foolish from trying.”

“Retreat,” the prior commanded.

The monks left, giving the Sentinel a look that betrayed their scorn.

It was true. He was just one man, with a man’s limitations. He would fall.

The city would be lost, and what followed the attack would be far worse, as criminal powers took advantage of the chaos after the cataclysm.

So, before the terrorist attack he could do nothing to prevent, to fight back against a surge of evil, the Sentinel left the city and traveled far, seeking one of the few remaining monasteries of the Ancient Order.

“I still don’t know how you learned of us,” the prior said, voice cold.

“Many rumors reach my ears.” The Sentinel eased his muscles against the restraining shackles, the cold stone biting against his bare back. “An Ancient Order of warrior-monks who fought with powers beyond the ordinary—beyond superpowers. I would never have sought you out of your seclusion if I wasn’t desperate.”

“More than seclusion. We were nearly destroyed, and secrecy is essential to our continued existence. We would never have agreed to train you—were it not for your…” a hard smile touched his face, “desperation.”

“You want this trial to kill me.”

The prior did not answer directly. “It is an arduous discipline. Almost unknown, even in the most terrible of our tales.”

With a clunk and scrape, a trapdoor opened in the ceiling over the bier. A sharp, horseshoe-shaped blade suspended from a rope dropped down until its glistening edge was inches over the Sentinel.

“Reach out with your mind and stop the blade,” the prior intoned as if it was any other ritual. “We will not save you. If it reaches you, you will die. The only way you can stop it is with the Wind.”

The prior withdrew from the room, gesturing only slightly toward the blade. It responded to his command of the Wind and began swinging.

The Sentinel was left alone. The blade swung above him and then began lowering in steady and relentless increments.

This was the trial. If the massive blade reached him, it would slice him in two.

He tried—he reached and felt and deployed every trick and technique he’d learned. Still, he could only see the blade, not feel its presence.

Some of his city’s criminals were already honing new superpowers. Ordinary people would pay dearly—in death, oppression, corruption.

Nearer, nearer.

He strained and reached, without success.

Is this for nothing? Doubt broke his concentration. I should have resisted! I should never have abandoned my city! Now I’ll die a worthless death…

The razor-edge reached his skin, brushed his bare chest. Still, he couldn’t feel its shape in the Wind.

It cut into his skin. Then deeper.

Another pass or two would be the death-stroke.

No! More than losing his city—more than keeping it from dark control. He could not fail the people he loved.

He cried in anguish and reached for freedom and life.

The blade swung down again—

The chains flew from his wrists, torn by the strength of Wind. He brought his hands together, just in time to catch the blade between his palms.

The Sentinel threw it aside and rose from the slab, wounded but unbroken. Shaking with fatigue, confusion crowding his thoughts, he didn’t notice the door open until the prior spoke.

“Not in catching or stopping the blade, but in freeing your hands.” He shook his head in amazement. “I did not foresee that! You passed the test. You are now a warrior in our Ancient Order.”

The Sentinel straightened, prepared at last to save his city.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail Falanga may be found in New Mexico creating magic in many ways – with fabric, food, paper, music, and especially with words! She’s loved fantasy ever since playing out epic adventures of swords, fairies, and monsters with her siblings, and loved sci-fi since her dad’s stories around the dinner table. Besides sharing mad little stories on Havok, she is busily trying to launch approximately five hundred novels into the world. Some of them are even finished!

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