Piers Anthony & Robert Kornwise - Through the Ice.pdf

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Through the Ice
by
Piers Anthony and Robert Kornwise
Dedicated to seven friends of the author, Robert Ian Kornwise: _Andrew
Linovitz, Daniel Bree, Marc Rosenblatt, David Krivan, Josh Turetsky, David
Siebert, Kevin Bigman_
And to his English Teacher, who encouraged this novel: _Mrs. Judy Hite_
And to his family: _Sanford Kornwise, M.D., Maureen Kornwise, Jill Kornwise_
*CONTENTS*
1. Trouble
2. Reincarnation
3. Rame
4. The Chosen
5. Training
6. Dreams
7. Breakdown
8. Trek
9. Hermit
10. Fire
11. Ice
12. Nefarious
Author's Note
One
_Trouble_
The punkers were high and the jocks were drunk. Periodically a couple would
walk upstairs. Every so often the police would drive by, causing a brief
nervous hush that dissipated the moment the car departed. It was a typical New
Year's Eve party.
Seth Warner leaned back on the black leather couch, mildly interested in the
night's events. Drinking and drugs were not his thing, but his friend Rian had
wanted them to join the "in" crowd for this occasion, so Seth had done so
against his better judgment. He put his feet up on the table in front of him,
feigning nonchalance--and accidentally kicked over a can of beer. It was half
full, and the liquid spilled across the table in a frothy stream and dripped
to the floor before Seth could do anything about it.
Oops. Seth quickly put his feet down and stood up. "I'm sorry about that," he
said without much enthusiasm.
"Jerk!" the girl snapped, though she had not shown much interest in the beer
before.
Seth moved around the table and walked away, not eager to get into a dialogue
that might arouse the girl's rather large punker boyfriend. Avoidance was
almost always the better part of valor. This was one good lesson he had
learned in the course of his training in martial arts: not to look for
trouble.
"Hey, stupid!" It was the boyfriend, who had evidently not had such training.
 
Seth continued walking, not acknowledging the words or the tone. He had after
all been at fault; the punker was entitled to his irritation. To an extent.
There was, after all, litter and spilled food everywhere; the punkers weren't
much on housekeeping.
"Hey, pin-brain," the punker called, stirring. There was a sound that sent a
shiver up Seth's back.
He turned, realizing that he was not going to get out of this cleanly. Sure
enough, there was a knife thrust into the table: a clear challenge.
The buzz of conversation in the room faded. The others moved with seeming
casualness toward the walls, clearing a space. They knew what was coming. The
slightest of offenses was enough to provoke a fight, when the liquor was
flowing. That was why Seth had tried to get away promptly, hoping that the
punker wouldn't go out of his way to start trouble.
"Any problem?" Seth inquired. If the punker demanded an apology, he would make
it; if he was required to fetch another beer for the girl, he would do that.
He would have offered before, but had feared that any interaction between them
would only stir up antagonism. His judgment was being confirmed.
The punker heaved himself out of the chair. He took a moment to get his
balance; he was pretty far gone on beer or worse. Not much chance to reason
with someone in that condition. He stepped heavily around the table.
Seth slowly brought one foot behind the other in an almost casual fighting
stance, feeling his muscles tensing. He had done his honest best to avoid a
confrontation; his conscience was clear about that, at least. He was
seventeen, stood six-two, and was in excellent physical condition. He was sure
he could handle anything this jerk could throw at him, but he still hoped he
wouldn't have to.
The punker walked up, scowling. Seth stood his ground. The punker lunged. Seth
brought up his right hand and caught his adversary's arm. He then brought his
own left arm up over his attacker, pivoted powerfully, and threw him to the
floor. It was a basic technique, and he had used it in an attempt to stop the
fight without seriously injuring his attacker. Even a drunk could catch on to
the fact that the pickings were not as easy as he had supposed. This should be
the end of it.
Seth turned and walked away, but from the corner of his eye he saw movement.
He had known better than to turn his back on an opponent without caution. The
punker was getting up and grabbing at the table, cursing under his breath. He
was, unfortunately, a slow learner.
Seth spun around as the punker snatched up the knife and charged him. This
time, he knew, he could not afford to take it easy; he had to finish it
quickly and get away.
He kicked the man's hand and sent the weapon spinning across the floor. Then
he threw a side-foot kick into the oncoming attacker's chest. The force of the
kick was magnified as the punker ran into his foot. He felt the shock of solid
contact. There was a splintering crack, and his adversary fell to the ground.
That had been _too_ effective! Seth realized that he was hyped up by the
menace, and had used full power when a lesser move would have sufficed. If the
punker had been moving away, or taking defensive action, it wouldn't have been
so bad. As it was, ribs had been broken.
 
Definitely time to leave! There were more punkers around, and Seth really did
not like serious fighting, though he was equipped for it. He was proficient in
Ryu Kyu No Te, a form of the martial arts originating in Okinawa, but had
hoped never to use it in earnest. Why was it man's instinct to fight? The
world would be better off if people could talk out their problems. But as long
as there were those who would rather fight than talk, others had to be
prepared.
He remembered when he had found a way to meet a challenge without having to
fight. He hated people who made rude remarks to or about others. He did not
necessarily brood about this in silence. For example, there was a boy who was
along on some of the youth group trips he participated in. Somehow he always
managed to alienate others without meaning to. He was only a casual friend of
Seth's. But when other members of the group became too persistent about
teasing him and making him miserable (and not doing much for themselves in the
process) Seth had gotten angry. He had stood up and announced that he would
have none of this. "Lay off!" They laid off, and it made all the difference in
the world for that boy.
Seth had asserted himself on behalf of what he felt was right. That was all it
had taken. There had been no violence. In retrospect, he was glad that it had
happened, because it had made him realize one of his own values. Every person
deserved his chance, as that boy had deserved his.
Seth felt motion behind him. He had allowed himself to become preoccupied at
the wrong time!
A hand grabbed around his neck. Seth spun from the hold and jumped back. His
friend Rian was standing in front of him. _The fool!_ he thought ferociously.
To grab him like that, right after he had struck a man down hard! But that was
Rian's way; he was often thoughtless, but never malicious. Rian was short,
blond and gray eyed, in contrast to Seth's tall, brown and brown, and their
personalities differed more than their appearances, but none of that mattered.
"Nice fight," Rian said, nodding toward the punker, who was down to stay, this
time. The big difference between Seth and his friend was Rian's unabashed love
of fighting.
"We'd better take off before the other punkers realize what I did," Seth said
as they walked away. It was their luck that the spectators had not been
punkers, or it could have gotten much uglier in a hurry.
"That's a good plan! Are you as drunk as I am?"
"Stupid question," Seth replied. He had not been drinking at all. He respected
such things as legal age limits, even if others ignored them. "I'll drive."
They emerged from the building and climbed into Rian's 4x4. Seth fastened his
seat belt, started the engine and maneuvered it out of the parking lot.
"Did you meet that girl?" Rian asked. It was evident that he really wasn't
intoxicated, despite his remark; still, he had had a few.
"No. I don't think she was there." That had been the other reason to attend
this party: the hope that a particular girl would be there, unescorted. Seth
really didn't know her, but had hoped to change that. But if she kept company
with the likes of the punkers, it wasn't a good sign.
"It's just as well. I don't know what you see in her anyway...." Rian trailed
off.
 
Seth didn't like his friend's sudden quietness. "What?"
"That van behind us is getting a little too close, don't you think?"
Seth cursed himself for not watching more carefully. He was entirely too
likely to go off on some stray thought and not watch his feet--or, in this
case, his rearview mirror. If Rian was concerned, it could be bad. He
looked--and saw the headlights of the van coming up at ramming velocity.
Before he could answer, let alone get the car out of the way, the van
rear-ended their vehicle, hard. Seth fought the wheel as the jeep jolted
ahead. He tried to bring it under control by braking, but the brakes locked,
making a worse jolt. Then Rian's head hit the windshield. He hadn't buckled
his seat belt!
Seth jerked his foot off the brake pedal, but was still struggling for
control. They swerved off the road and smashed into a tree. All Seth could
think of as he saw it coming was how glad he was that by this time they were
moving under twenty miles an hour, instead of forty.
He was shaken by the crash, but not hurt. "Rian, are you all right?" he asked,
fearing the worst.
"Bruised, battered, enraged, otherwise just fine!" Rian growled, rubbing his
head. Evidently he had braced himself against the final crash. "But those
characters are dead! Hand me that bat in the back seat!"
Now Seth, peering through the broken window, saw the van pulling to a stop
beyond them. The trouble wasn't finished yet! "Maybe we'd better just get out
of here on foot," he suggested. "It's getting dark; they won't be able to see
us well enough to catch us."
Rian grabbed the bat. "Not likely! They wrecked my car. I'm going to bash
their lousy heads in!" He shoved until he got the door open and scrambled out.
Seth did not care for this situation at all, but he didn't seem to have many
options. He couldn't run off and leave his friend, so he had to stay. He
doubted that the van was stopping to offer apologies and assistance, but it
was possible that this stop was just to verify the damage to the jeep.
It was worse than he had feared. Figures were piling out of the van: about ten
punkers, including the one Seth had put down. There was no question about it:
they were out for blood.
"Rian, I really think we'd better get out of here and let the police handle
it. The bashed bumpers and skid marks will show who's at fault, and--"
But Rian, foolhardy, was already charging; he swung his bat in a wide arc, and
it smashed into the nearest punker's skull. Not a killing blow, but the punker
landed on the ground with a thud.
Seth knew that any chance at all to avoid mayhem was gone. His friend's
recklessness and the punkers' meanness were combining to guarantee disaster.
The two of them would be lucky to get out of this conscious, let alone
healthy--and even if they did, the mess wouldn't look good at all on their
records. What a situation--because of one spilled can of beer!
More cautious, now, the punkers took out weapons: knives, chains, nunchucks,
and metal pipes. These were mostly homemade devices, looking crude, but Seth
 
knew how deadly any of them could be. The blades were adapted from carving
knives, with special handles. The pipes had tape wrapped around one end for a
better grip. A chain was especially effective against an opponent's knife or
club, because it could wrap around the hand and disable it. The nunchucks, in
the hands of a skilled operator, could be worst of all. They consisted of two
short lengths of wood or pipe, connected by a short cord. The attacker held
one club, and whipped the other about on its tether, greatly increasing its
striking force. This weapon had long since been outlawed, but street gangs
still used it, and Seth was frankly afraid of it.
A short punker made a pass with his knife at Rian. Rian dodged the knife and
brought the stiffened side of his hand down against the man's wrist, causing
the knife to drop. But meanwhile two other punkers grabbed his arms, and then
the disarmed one kicked him in the groin. Rian went down in agony, while all
three punkers started beating on him.
Seth had been surveying the situation, trying to judge how best to help his
friend without merely getting himself beaten up. He had somehow thought that
the punkers would attack one at a time, so had been caught by surprise when
they piled on Rian. He should have realized that there would be no rules here!
At least that relieved him of his concern about fair play. Seth hurled himself
through the air, delivering a flying side-foot kick to the one who had kicked
Rian. That one fell to the ground.
No! Seth realized with horror that the punker he had just downed was no male.
It was the girl at the party--the one whose beer he had knocked over. She was
in a heavy jacket now, and had a cap on; in the dusk he had not recognized
her. No wonder her pass with the knife had been clumsy!
Still, she _had_ attacked, and _had_ kicked Rian. But not quite accurately;
Rian was now fighting back with the two who had held his arms, and was making
an increasingly good account of himself.
So at the moment two punkers were down: one from Rian's bat, the other from
Seth's kick. Two were battling Rian. The remaining six were circling Seth,
having recognized him as the more dangerous opponent. All of these were male;
apparently the girl had come along because she liked this kind of action, or
wanted to prove herself in some way. Seth still wished he hadn't kicked her.
The first of the six charged him. Seth brought his foot up in an arc and
delivered a crescent kick to the side of the punker's face. Then he spun in
air and scored on a second with a flying reverse kick. The punkers had made
the mistake of depending on numbers and weapons; they were relatively clumsy,
and almost helpless against truly fast, trained strikes. Still, this was a
long way from over!
"Aaaaah!"
Seth spun around and saw one of the attackers thrust a knife into Rian's hip.
Blood welled out, and Rian staggered.
Seth stood in shock. Somehow he had still had the notion that it was possible
to get through this without serious injury, though all the indications had
been against it. It was that spark of faith he nurtured, the faith that no man
was truly evil and that there was always a way to come through a problem. He
kept wanting to see some redeeming thing about the punkers, even as he fought
them. As if at some point they would stop and say "Hey, it's been a good
fight, you scored some points, let's quit now and go back to the party."
Sportsmanship. Now the obvious had registered: that there was no sportsmanship
 

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