24991201 | 0038

  Guan Yin Temple | Repulse Bay | Hong Kong SAR

  22°14'16.68"N

  114°11'21.12"E

  “You should not stand so long in the rain,” came a voice behind him.

  Adam did not turn at first.

  He had long sensed the approach of the man in the faint shift of air, in the soft friction of cloth against stone.

  Raindrops splattered rhythmically against the membrane of his umbrella.

  Another moment passed.

  Adam turned then.

  The caretaker of the temple stood a few paces back.

  A well-built, middle-aged monk in simple robes, sleeves damp at the cuff.

  A small lantern hung from his hand.

  He had the stance of a warrior.

  His gaze was calm and steely, but not probing.

  Adam inclined his head.

  The monk returned it.

  From one warrior to another.

  “Master,” Adam said.

  The monk raised a hand and shook his head gently.

  “I had yet to attain the rank of Master, kind sir.”

  Adam smiled, “merely for conversation, then.”

  “That, I can accept.” The monk replied, “but for conversation, you may call me Wong.”

  “Very well, Master Wong, I am Adam,” the Harbinger replied.

  They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the water.

  “How long was I out?” Adam asked at length.

  “Five, maybe six days.” Wong replied.

  “My brothers?”

  “One of them – the warrior - awoken three days prior,” Wong said, “you can find him meditating in the inner sanctum.”

  The warrior.

  Adam instinctively knew who the monk was referring to.

  But he merely nodded.

  “You must be famished, we have some food from dinner,” the monk continued, “simple temple fare I am afraid – boiled vegetables, rice.”

  “It would suffice,” Adam answered, “you have my thanks.”

  A faint smile touched the monk’s face.

  “Her Eminence had asked us to see to your every need.”

  Asked.

  Compelled, more like. Adam thought.

  No one denies the Church.

  He tightened his grip on the railing.

  Not enough to bend it, not enough to leave mark.

  Adam’s eyes returned to the horizon.

  The drizzle had begun to gather along the railing beneath his fingers, beads of water forming along cold metal.

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  “You have tended this temple long?” Adam asked.

  “Long enough to see many tides,” the monk replied. “Long enough to know they do not consult us before they rise.”

  Adam was not sure if he should read more into that.

  “The Church believes it can guide the tide,” Adam replied.

  Carefully.

  The monk did not answer immediately.

  Instead, he walked up to the railing to stand beside Adam.

  The light cast their shadows long and uncertain.

  “The Church believes many things,” the monk said. “As do governments. As do corporations. As do warriors.”

  “And you?” Adam asked.

  “I believe the tide will rise, the sun will set,” the monk said simply. “Whether men pray, or curse, or command it.”

  “Some would consider those words,” Adam said, “heretical.”

  “No matter how the winds howled, the mountain will not bend to it.”

  Adam’s smile almost imperceptibly.

  “What, then, is faith?” he asked.

  The monk regarded him for a long moment.

  “Faith,” he said softly, “is standing in the rain and knowing the storm will pass you by.”

  Adam exhaled slowly.

  “And if the storm destroys the village?” he pressed.

  “Then we rebuild,” the monk said. “We always rebuild.”

  A pause stretched between them.

  Adam’s voice lowered slightly.

  “Do you believe in the Devil,” he asked, “Master Wong?”

  The monk regarded Adam steadily.

  “Because He believes in you.” Adam added.

  “If the devil comes to you,” Wong said softly, “he will wear the face of a friend.”

  “Are you the Devil then?” Adam pressed.

  “I am but a monk,” Wong replied, bowing.

  Adam did not respond immediately.

  He smiled and inclined his head.

  The sea continued its rhythm.

  “Good talk,” the Harbinger said.

  Master Wong smiled as he gestured with his hand.

  “Please,” the monk said.

  Adam strode past Wong, the monk followed as he passed.

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  David’s face flickered through Adam’s mind.

  His comrade.

  His brother-in-arms.

  The man who treated the Harbingers with honor when others treated them as instruments.

  The drizzle thickened briefly, then softened again.

  “You are deep in thoughts,” Wong observed.

  Adam’s expression remained composed.

  “My mind was heavy with questions.”

  “What sort of questions?” Wong ventured to say.

  “Many things,” Adam sighed, “

  “That is good,” the monk nodded. “Certainty is a heavy armor. It rusts quickly in salt air.”

  Adam turned fully now, studying the man.

  “You are most wise, Master Wong.”

  “Words,” the monk said dismissively. “We are all more than the sum of our experience.”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Then what is the purpose of our struggle?”

  The monk’s smile returned, faint and patient.

  “What else, but to aspire to our better selves.”

  The wind shifted.

  Lantern light flickered against wet stone.

  They crossed the courtyard into the temple proper.

  Wong stopped before the three deities.

  Adam followed suit.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  The monk reached within his robe and withdrew a slender scroll.

  Adam’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

  The scroll was bound with dark cords and sealed in crimson wax bearing a sigil Adam recognized instantly.

  The Church’s seal.

  Not the official administrative seal.

  It was the seal of the Inner Sanctum.

  From the High Priestess herself.

  “This arrived shortly after you,” the monk said as he offered it to Adam.

  Adam accepted it.

  “It was to be delivered when you were awakened.”

  The parchment felt dry despite the damp air.

  “Did the messenger leave any word?” Adam asked quietly.

  The monk’s gaze drifted briefly toward the statue of Goddess of Mercy.

  “No,” he replied. “He said you will know.”

  Adam held the scroll a moment longer before stoving it within his armor.

  He did not break the seal.

  He did not read it.

  Master Wong raised an eyebrow.

  “I shall peruse it only with my brothers,” Adam explained.

  The monk nodded.

  Adam looked towards one of the deities.

  Wong followed his gaze.

  “The God of War,” he said.

  “May I?” Adam asked, but not for permission.

  “Of course,” Wong said, “please.”

  Adam went to the altar.

  He reached for the stacks of joss-sticks.

  He lit three.

  He blew off the flames, embers flared.

  He clasped the three joss-sticks between his palms and raised them to his forehead.

  He dipped his head three times in homage.

  He placed the joss-sticks in the urn and turned to rejoin Master Wong.

  The monk looked at him askance.

  “It is customary to pay homage to all three patrons of the pantheon.”

  “Perhaps,” Adam said.

  He swept past the monk.

  “Perhaps I do not wish to ask for mercy,” Adam continued, “perhaps I need not guidance to my prey.”

  Master Wong smiled.

  “As you wished, Harbinger.”

  They walked to the back of the temple.

  To the inner courtyard and the monastery kitchen.

  “You will find your companions had broken fast before you,” Wong said.

  Adam did not reply.

  They strode through the open courtyard, heedless of the drizzle.

  Adam found Zora and Gideon seated at the table, eating.

  They were wrestling with the chopsticks more than actually eating.

  In another time, Adam would have been slightly amused.

  But he found Harbinger 03 seated with them too.

  He was scooping the rice into his mouth from his bowl.

  He was equally skilled clasping pieces of vegetables with his dexterous chopsticks.

  He stopped when he saw Adam approaching.

  Adam stopped at the threshold.

  Master Wong stopped beside him.

  A moment passed.

  Harbinger 03 pushed back on his stool.

  No.

  Adam corrected himself.

  Not Harbinger 03.

  X.

  X stood up.

  Gideon and Zora looked up.

  They made no attempt to move.

  X strode towards Adam.

  “I will take my leave then,” Wong said.

  The monk bowed slightly before turning to depart.

  Adam did not move.

  He watched X’s approach.

  X closed the breadth between them until he stood a mere three paces away.

  Adam watched him, unmoving.

  X stood still.

  The drizzle splattered onto their armors.

  Their cloaks.

  Their bandages.

  The rain trailed off Adam’s clenched fist.

  A drop fell off.

  Adam closed one pace.

  He punched X in the face.