Holding down the page with her left hand, she brushed away an errant strand of raven that fluttered across her face. Tucking it behind her ear, she continued to try and frame passions with words, to distill the day into a brief outpouring of emotions and reactions. But the words were awkward and jumbled, forming uncooperative sentences that chased each other across the face of her journal. Lifting her pen briefly, her attention was caught by the concentric circles of leaves dancing in the courtyard beneath the landing. Stirred by the same fitful breath of air that licked through her tresses, they tumbled and whirled, ordered at first, but descending into chaotic hysteria. Chaos, echoed her mind. The taste of lips, the crush of an embrace; memories hastily thrust aside. Words crashed and jumbled as tears blurred sight and thought. Furious now, she felt like screaming, but the sudden silence stopped her. The leaves were still, and even the city, steel fangs against a sodium orange- cobalt black sky, seemed frozen. The air hung tight, as if in breathless anticipation of a coming atrocity. Her ears caught a single note, a high pitched engine whine approaching rapidly. As the wail dopplered down into a racing purr, she saw that it belonged to a red and silver motorcycle. Braking to a halt in the halo cast by a tired old streetlight, the rider dismounted and glanced around; a gash of black in the luminescent cone. She watched as the helmet came off, revealing a pale face of sharp planes, framed by short- cropped black hair. As he turned back to his cycle, she saw that it was longer in back, about shoulder length. Curiosity warred with fear and disinterest. She crept closer, forsaking her perch on the carved stone railing for the vantage afforded by the fifth step. The rider had turned back and walked into the courtyard, carrying something in his left hand. With a start, she realized that it was a scabbarded sword. Kneeling in the clearing, the rider swept his hand in a slow arc about him. As it passed over the ground, it left a shallow furrow in its wake. The hair at the back of her neck stirred, and she shrank back, clutching her journal to herself. Surrounded now by a circle some five meters in diameter, the rider glanced around one last time, then seemed to kneel in meditation, his back to her. The air was thick and heavy, charged like before a lightning storm, and she glanced skyward, half expecting to see clouds where there had been clear sky before. The few stars able to outshine the industrial lighting of the downtown sector twinkled slowly at her, as if in pain. She looked back to the circle and was startled to see another man had stepped forward into the courtyard. The newcomer was shorter and stockier than the rider, muscles straining against a tight black shirt. He smiled, an ugly expression that twisted his face.

"Kohln. I might have known you'd try to continue the Oath."

The rider stood, holding his weapon in his left hand. When he spoke, it was in a soft, rasping voice.

"The time is gone for small talk, Barrant, are you ready?"

The newcomer, Barrant her mind filled in, snarled, and drew his sword. Light washed off the 100cm of double-edged toledo steel as he moved forward into the circle. Kohln drew his blade as well, a crescent of silver in the semi-darkness, and dropped his scabbard outside the circle.

Barrant smiled, weaving his blade back and forth. "Leave now, walk away, and I'll forget that this ever happened. You can go on fighting your crazy war and I'll keep out of your way."

"You've never understood me, Barrant, stop trying to now. You played your part, and now it's time to pay the price."

Barrant snarled, and lunged forward, his blade carving a swath of light through the shadows. Kohln flickered into motion, and steel rang on steel as the thrust slid aside. Barrant stepped in close, and the two grappled briefly before Kohln thrust him away, following with a diagonal cutting blow. Barrant blocked it, and was ready for the follow-up thrust as well. He slashed at Kohln's head, then hopped backward as Kohln ducked and cut at his ankles. The two drew apart, circling.

She inhaled, unaware until now that she'd been holding her breath. The strikes, blocks, and counterstrikes flowed so effortlessly and so swiftly that she had trouble following them. Breath plumed from the two men as they circled, blades held at the ready. At a silent signal they leapt forward again, steel ringing on steel. As far as she could tell the two combatants were evenly matched, neither one seemed to be able to gain an advantage over the other. Barrant beat back a strike, and in the half-second that Kohln was exposed as he recovered from his attack, his hand flicked back to his sleeve, then outward. A thin dagger buried itself in Kohln's left shoulder, and he staggered back a step. Barrant grinned ferally, and pressed his advantage, hammering away at Kohln's desperate defenses. Her mouth open in protest, she caught herself leaning forward, and froze. Kohln retreated backwards rapidly, weaving a defensive net of steel around himself. Barrant followed closely, his blade licking out, testing the shield. In a sudden shift, Kohln reversed off a block and lunged, his attack carrying him dangerously far inside of Barrant's reach. Caught off guard, the smaller man jumped back, his blade held ready. Kohln switched his sword to his left hand, and yanked the dagger from his shoulder.

"You always were a fool," smiled Barrant, swinging his blade easily in front of him. Kohln flung the dagger outside the circle.

"That may be, but at least I have my honor." His blade came up en garde, and he circled closer. Barrant snarled, stepping forward. Once more the shorter man pressed the attack, and Kohln countered defensively. She could detect a difference though, the blocks were not so desperate, not so haphazard. Barrant might be on the offensive, but it was Kohln who was controlling the fight. More and more of his blocks were becoming strikes, and slowly Barrant began to realize what was happening. By then it was too late. Feral exultation gave way to anger, then to fear. Kohln's blade was everywhere at once, and she saw Barrant stagger from several shallow cuts. A fever brightness in his eyes, Barrant exploded into a last frenzy, but it was a futile attempt. With a shattering crash, Kohln's blade cleaved through Barrant's, and continued on to lay open the shorter man from shoulder to stomach. She hid her eyes compulsively, fighting the sickness that rose in her throat at the horrible sucking noises. Terrifying silence once more reclaimed the courtyard, and she dared to look back upon the scene. Kohln stood with his face raised to the night sky, his eyes closed. Steam curled about him like an ethereal mist. Glancing at the ground, she furrowed her brows in confusion, for there was no body to be seen. Kohln exhaled audibly, and turned to look at her. She shrank back in sudden fear, for his gaze was unlike anything she'd ever felt, almost like a tangible caress. An eternity seemed to crawl by before the gaze that held her prisoner swept away. Kohln pivoted smoothly and strode towards where his cycle was parked. Kneeling briefly at the edge of the circle, he retrieved his scabbard before continuing. She wanted to cry out, to say something, to hold the moment for an instant longer. But he was already astride the motorcycle, face hidden by the bulk of his helmet. His wrist flickered, and the engine purred to life. Snapping the kickstand up with his heel, Kohln accelerated away from the curb. She tracked his progress down the street, and blinked in surprise when he stopped just before he would have disappeared between the buildings. The helmet twisted to look back at her, and she could feel his eyes even behind the tinted faceshield. Sitting back, Kohln held out a black gloved hand to her. She felt her heartbeat, once, then she was running towards him. Settling herself behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his back. He smelled of leather and sweat. The bike purred beneath her as Kohln fed it fuel, and together they disappeared into the night. Her pen, forgotten in the moment, rested quietly on the step, watching as the leaves resumed their dance.