Episode 015

                “One death is a tragedy. One million deaths is a statistic.”

                “Hey!”

                Ledger turned around, his bag in his hand. He stopped in the middle of the parking lot, watching as the girl jogged up to him. “Hey.” She said, stopping before him. “Hi.” She finally said in the awkward moment that followed.

                “Yes?” He asked gruffly, not even flinching at the thunder that rolled from the clouds overhead.

                “I’m Marilyn.” She said, a bit breathless. “That was a really intense class.”

                “I’m sorry.” He said politely, but insincerely.

                “Look, um, some friends of mine and I go out to dinner after the classes and we meet up with some other friends.” She looked around a bit nervously. “We’d really like it if you’d join us.”

                Ledger looked past Marilyn, glancing to the kung fu school in the middle of the strip mall. He could see at least two forms against the glass, watching. He looked back to Marilyn. “Thanks. But no thank you.” He turned to leave.

                “Some other time?” She asked to him.

                “Maybe.” He called back, not even turning to her.

                “What did he say?” Kim asked, as Marilyn came back into the school. With Alan behind her, they were some of the only ones still left in the closing storefront.

                “He said no.” Marilyn said, disheartened. She sighed, her hands on her hips as she looked down to the floor. “I was really hoping he’d join the Alliance.”

                “We just met him.” Alan said, his hands on Kim’s shoulders. “He might not be the type at all.”

                “He’s one of sifu’s only third-level Dim Mak students.” Marilyn said. “Sifu only teaches two or three students that style. He’d be a great addition.”

                “Victor’d get awfully jealous if he heard you saying that.” Kim said playfully.

                “It’s not that.” Marilyn said. “It’s just, well, if he’s that dedicated to kung fu, then he has to have the conviction we’re looking for.”

                “Says who?” Alan asked. “There’s no evidence of that. Just because you love kung fu, that doesn’t make you a good person.”

                “Sifu wouldn’t teach a bad person.” Marilyn protested.

                “Just because he’s not a bad person doesn’t mean he’s the type of person who wants to be in the Alliance.” Alan said.

“I’m not sure.” Marilyn said, her conviction holding strong. She looked at Alan defiantly, but he didn’t let her continue.

“And besides,” He said quickly. “It’s the first time we’ve met him.”

                “We might never meet him again, though.” Marilyn exclaimed.

                Edgar held the wooden sword ready, the replica of his katana familiar in his hands. Before him, Edgar held his wooden rapier with deft control. “You’re going to win this.” Roland said, as he circled around Edgar, the two keeping their distance, even in the moderate-sized training room.

                “That’s true.” Edgar said. “I know I’m going to win. You know I’m going to win.” He moved the tip of the ‘blade’ delicately, it’s motion mesmerizing Roland. “But as a knight, you HAVE to stop me from winning.”

                “That may be.” Roland said, as he refingered his grip on his wooden sword. “But there’s only so much I can do. I mean, come on.”

                Edgar did.

                Sliding forward before his target was ready, Edgar lunged at Roland. The younger knight parried the lunge with his wooden katana, but Edgar immediately slipped the blade around the katana’s edge, and lashed out at Roland. Almost unconsciously, Roland’s hand shot up, catching the blade with his bare hand before it could reach his throat.

                “See?” Edgar said, carefully withdrawing his sword from Roland’s grip.

Roland looked down at his hand, then to Edgar. “I still lost.” He said.

                “No.” Edgar corrected paternally. “You didn’t win.” He swung his sword into his hand, holding it like it was a tap-dancing cane. “There’s a big difference, Roland, between not winning and losing.”

                Malcolm and Ruwani were waiting when the others arrived. The three gathered around the circular table, all looking exhausted. “What happened to you guys?” Ruwani asked, looking at the exhausted kung fu students, still dressed in their work-out clothes.

                “We got a new instructor.” Alan said, sitting down next to Kim. The small girl seemed to collapse into her chair. “Guy’s name is Ledger. Tough kid. He ran us ragged within, what? Five minutes?”

                “’Bout that.” Marilyn said. She looked to Malcolm. “He’s seriously tough. I’ve never met anyone that was so hard-core.”

                “You too, huh?” Malcolm said.

                “What do you mean?” Ruwani asked, looking between the two leaders.

                “I sparred this guy at the TKD school.” Malcolm said. He shook his head. “He was a second-degree red belt, but I swear on the holy bible, this guy was amazing. He did this jumping spinning back kick, off one leg, and still knocked me against the wall. I’m talking a good four feet from one hit.”

                “Wow.” Marilyn said, her eyes wide. The others all listened intently as well.

                “This guy was, was something else.” Malcolm went on, shaking his head in detached disbelief. “I’m serious. I have never seen anyone move that fast or hit that hard in my life. Not even those tournament guys we went to go see.” He said, looking to Ruwani. “This guy was a monster.”

                “Sounds like this ‘Ledger’ cat alright.” Alan said, scratching the top of Kim’s head as she leaned it on the table. He looked to Marilyn. “Maybe these guys train a different way or something. We should ask either of them the next time we see them.”

                “What makes you think they know each other?” Malcolm asked.

                “Two guys that good?” Ruwani answered in Alan’s place. “In this town? No. They’ve probably fought or something.”

                “That or they’re friends.” Marilyn offered.

                Edgar looked out over the lake from his vantage on the porch of his house. Sitting in the reclining lawn chair underneath the wooden ceiling he had put up, he was enjoying the thunderstorm. “You want a beer?” He asked, looking to Roland.

                “Thanks, I’m fine.” Roland answered, dressed in his black jacket, the red shirt on underneath. Freshly showered, he sat on the other side of the deck from Edgar. “I can’t drink, anyways.” He added.

                “Now, there’s a difference between ‘not surrendering control’ and a couple of cold ones.” Edgar said, smiling, the lines on his face colliding roughly with the gray gravel for a beard he currently had. “Enjoy this and that every now and then, Ro.”

                “Oh, I do.” Roland said, smiling at Edgar. “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s just, well, my beard’s not gray yet.”

                “And you think not drinking is part of your responsibility to the Knights?” Edgar asked, as if quizzing the younger man who stood in his porch doorway.

                “Not so much that as, well, I just want to be the best I can be.” Roland shrugged. He stood up from doorway and looked out over the lake not far from him. “And I’m not going to be that by drinking beer.”

                “You’ve learned well.” Edgar smiled paternally. “Sounds like you’ve really taken the Oath to heart.”

                “I spent over six months rewriting it. Or, writing my own view of it.” Roland said, looking back at Edgar. “I should imagine so.”

                “Rewriting it isn’t something most knights have the balls to do.” Edgar said, unscrewing his own bottle of beer. “My beard started turning gray three years ago. That means for three years, my responsibilities to the knights, to my culture for that matter, has been shifted from defending and being an active knight, to teaching and educating. But it wasn’t until last year that I realized that my perception of the Oath of Chivalry needed to be reconsidered.”

                “Well, it’s not something most people would feel comfortable with.” Roland said, turning around to Edgar. He leaned against the railing, considering Edgar for a moment. The older man was only in his late thirties, but he carried with him both the power of youth and the wisdom of age. “I mean, the Oath of Chivalry’s a hallowed thing.” Roland finally got out.

                “Bull.” Edgar laughed. Roland had to smile. “It’s a bunch of words on a piece of paper. The ideas, they’re good. They’re holy. But not the Oath itself. That’s why the Oath isn’t mandated. Different people determine the Oath differently.”

                “Is that why there isn’t an organized knights group?” Roland asked.

                Edgar was silent.

                Roland looked up at the older man, seeing the quiet restraint in his eyes. “Edgar?” Roland asked, after waiting a moment. “Is that why the knights haven’t organized in so long?” When Edgar didn’t speak, Roland continued. “The Knights were disbanded during the Renaissance, yes. That was as an official military unit. But they continued as a ‘Civilian Enforcement’ group. And then, Winston Thorpe came to America and established . . .”

                “I know all this, Ro.” Edgar said, sounding slightly annoyed with the re-introduction. “It’s just . . . it’s a hard question to answer.”

                “Why?” Roland asked.

Edgar seemed to consider that question for a moment. Finally, he tilted his head to Roland, staring at the college student. “Just, please, trust me.” Edgar said. “It’s a very hard situation to explain and it’s a very long and very complicated story to boot.”