Overcomer - The Battle by Judy Colella (best management books of all time txt) 📖

“Mom, please take me home. I need to sleep.” She picked up her backpack, the weariness suddenly hitting her, and Kristen, unable to say a single thing, put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and led her out to the car.

Celeste said nothing at all, but turned and went upstairs.

Cian looked at the Keeper. “If I sit down, I probably won’t want to get up again. Will you drive me home?”

The man nodded, thanked the Kellys for the use of their house once more, and walked out the front door with Cian.

“What was that all about?” demanded Tara. “What were they doing?”

Mrs. Kelly gave herself a mental shake. “Uh, reciting something, dear.”

“Sounded kinda like the Bible, but – but kinda not.”

“Well, now,” said Donal brightly, “I think you need to get ready for bed, young lady – and don’t pester your sister, please.”

Tara agreed and went upstairs.

“No wonder it took twenty-three years,” said Eileen, wonderingly.

“Are you saying they were in the Hub for the equivalent of over two decades?” demanded her husband, incredulous. “And what was that? Like Tara said, it sounded like the Bible, but not like it, either.”

“They call it The Scroll, and you didn’t hear the first three hours.” She got up and stretched, stiff and tired. “I’m going to bed, too.”

“Do you realize,” said Donal, only now remembering to removing his coat, “that this is the first evening in all our years of marriage that we had no supper?”

Eileen yawned. “Want some soup? I honestly don’t think I can manage anything else, but now that you mention food, I realize I’m starving.”

“Soup sounds wonderful.” Donal gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to get into my pajamas while you’re doing that, if it’s okay.”

“Go. I’ll try not to pitch head-first into the soup pot.”

He considered this. “I’m glad you said ‘pitch’ and not ‘leap.’”

“You know,” she said, giving a snort of laughter, “you’re a very strange man.”

 

*******

 

The time draws close, my General, said the supreme god of evil in a voice like acrid smoke. Are you prepared?

I am, Master. I have studied all his weaknesses, all his fears, all the gaps in his knowledge and understanding about life. I will destroy him and then take his life, exactly like I wanted to do from the start.

Good. I count on you to leave nothing of him behind. It is indeed a pity we can’t have the females, too. But there is still time for them.

Moloch agreed, stretching its senses to find something to burn. It touched on a human in one of the Middle Eastern countries, a fairly young boy, and asked if it was free to go.

You are. Remember, Moloch, your three-fold mission. Sometimes I think you get distracted.

The dark being assured its Master that it would always remember, then shot off toward its latest victim, already tasting him, already lamenting how quickly the hunger would grow again.

 

*******

 

This night of dreams was like no other as Cian’s thoughts swirled chaotically, unable to fix on any one thing, and were accompanied by a cacophony of sound – music, voices, the vibrant resonance of nature, echoes and whispers. Sense and order of any kind seemed to have fled, chased furiously by a frantic denial of reason. He tossed about, restless, searching for something to grasp, an anchor, anything that could fix him securely to one, sane thing.

The Scroll. It came at him, end-over-end amidst a clutter of bizarre objects, and he grabbed it, drawing it close to himself, to his heart, and resisted the pull of whatever force was causing the maelstrom around him. Then silence. The vast kind of silence one might feel in an underground cavern. He still held the Scroll but couldn’t see it, for no light penetrated this immense lack of sound. He began to recite its contents, his voice an eerie murmur that gradually gained strength. As he spoke, other voices joined his, but not all were in accord or even in harmony with his words. Some, yes, but many others not at all. He continued his recitation while at the same time hearing and listening to these other words, words that reminded him of the tenets of his pagan beliefs; words that showed the similarities between those beliefs and the new ones the Scroll had taught him; words that contradicted the possibility of either; words that confirmed the reality of all.

And in the end, when at long, long last he spoke the final words he knew therein, he bowed his head and acknowledged that the universe was more complex, terrible and magnificent than he’d ever imagined. He was now a being in which heathen, pagan and Christian had joined forces to make something altogether new and different. Were there many gods? Yes. Were they all good? No. Was there one that was Supreme? Indeed. Was He all good? Yes. Did he have a Son? Yes. Was this Son also God? No. Was he a human? Oh, yes. And Cian – what was he, now that he believed such things?

He was the Time Warrior, Sword-Wielder of the Light, Defender of the Balance.

And a young man who had, through an amazing grace, overcome adversity greater than many had faced, while yet remaining humble and desirous of beneficence. Perfect? Far from it. Still capable of violence? Indeed. But the crippling anger was somehow stilled, replaced by resignation and understanding.

He was ready.

The sun splashed through the curtains, bathing his eyelids and dissolving the darkness, taking him from the dream, waking him from the long night.

And clasped with both hands against his heart, was the Sword.

 

*******

 

Cian’s first period class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was Study Hall, and the first two times he’d been there, he had pretty much ignored the craziness around him and done what the class was meant for – study. But because it was held in the Cafeteria, the adult in charge (there was no actual teacher for this class) couldn’t really keep the students from talking, getting up and visiting other students at different tables, or making whatever noise their restlessness impelled them to make. Cian had been one of the only students doing anything closely resembling schoolwork.

This Thursday, however, he simply couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he sat staring off at nothing, trying to remember which sword strokes accompanied which words or phrases from the Scroll. He’d gotten most of it, but a few continued to be problematic, and he had a feeling that he couldn’t afford to be wrong. Someone slid into the empty seat next to him.

“Wake up, man!” It was Tyler.

Cian turned his head and looked blankly at his classmate, realized he was being rude, blinked, and smiled. “I’m awake. What’s up?”

“Nothing – you were, like, zoned out or something. Everything okay?”

Cian chuckled. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Since that day in the locker room when he’d seen the sickening scars on Cian’s back, Tyler seemed to have taken on the role of mentor, always checking to see if Cian was all right, never letting anyone say a single negative thing about him – not that too many people did.

“Good. ‘Cause lately, well, the last few days anyhow, you’ve been, uh, different.”

“How so?”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know – sometimes you look really lost, and other times like you could take on the whole wrestling team by yourself.”

“Why would I ever do something like that?”

The other boy laughed loudly. “You kill me, ya know that?”

A brief moment of alarm came and went as Cian quickly recognized this as another expression. Before he could say anything, they were joined by Alex Frebin, Captain of the football team, who threw himself into the seat on the other side of the long table.

“MacDara!” he exclaimed.

“Frebin!” exclaimed Cian.

“Hey, when are you going to give us some sword lessons – or at least a demonstration? My man here was supposed to ask you, but I think he forgot.”

Tyler shrugged. He hadn’t really forgotten, he simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

“I don’t know,” Cian answered. “Tomorrow? I could ask Mr. Eastman today if you’d like.”

“Sounds good. What kind of sword do you have?”

Cian had an insane flash-vision of him pulling out the Sword of Light, and the next day everyone coming to school with seeing-eye dogs, and suddenly had to control the urge to laugh. “Uh, I use different kinds,” he said. “I recently got a job as a sword instructor at a martial arts school, so there I’ll probably use a Dao, uh, a Chinese broadsword I think you could call it. I’ll find out tomorrow evening.”

“Huh. Very cool,” said Frebin. “What school – who is the Sifu?”

“Chao Liang.”

Frebin’s eyes widened and he leaned back. “No way!”

Okay. I’ve heard this one before… “Um, yeah – really. Why? Do you know him?”

“I studied martial arts there starting when I was four, and only quit a few months ago ‘cause it was interfering with my football schedule.”

“Did you study the sword there?” asked Tyler.

Frebin gave him a pitying look. “No, Dowd – when did you ever see me with a sword, or even talk about using one?”

“I don’t know.” Tyler shrugged. “Are we talking about karate or Ginger Williamson?”

Cian didn’t even try to interpret that one.

“You’re disgusting,” Frebin said, throwing a pen at him.

Tyler laughed, putting up his hands to protect his face from the plastic projectile.

“ANYway,” Frebin continued, grinning slightly, “Mr. Chao is a really neat guy – he expects a whole lot from his students, and I think that’s why I like him. But . . .wait a sec.” He frowned, pondering something. “If he hired you as an instructor, then damn, boy! You must be one impressive swordsman! When did you start studying it?”

“I think I was about two and a half the first time my father gave me a practice sword. It was wooden, and really small, but he showed me how to hold it up and block his. If I remember correctly, he. . .he made it like a game. I do remember him laughing a lot.”

“What’s your dad do now?”

“Not much. He died a long time ago.”

“Oh, wow, hey, I am so sorry, man,” Frebin apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“And…..and your Mom?”

“She died, too.”

“So you’re an orphan? Wow. That’s serious. Where do you live? I mean, who do you live with?”

“In a group foster home about six blocks from here.” Cian didn’t mind the questions nearly as much as Tyler obviously did. The other boy was shaking his head, eyes closed.

The bell sounded, more loudly in here than in the classrooms, startling them.

“Okay, all you geniuses,” called the man who was “babysitting” them. “Go away.”

“Yeah,” muttered Tyler, “so you can go out and smoke.”

Cian almost tripped over his own foot. Was the man going to set himself on fire?

“Hey, Cian,” said a girl who was walking past him from the other direction. Behind her, clustered in a stationary knot, four other girls started giggling hysterically.

“Uh, hey.” He nodded but didn’t stop, knowing the consequences of doing so could be dire.

His next class, Auto Shop, went quickly and was followed by lunch. Celeste and Katie usually got to the Cafeteria before him, as his shop class was in a different building on the campus, but when he arrived, he couldn’t see them anywhere. He got in the food line to hold a spot there for them, stopping at the end of the line of students already snaking out into the main area. He was greeted by several classmates, and gazed at longingly by every girl who caught sight of him. When he was almost at the serving counters, he still hadn’t seen the girls and was starting to worry a little. What if the recitation had been too much for them? It certainly had drained him, but then he’d recited the Scroll again in his dreams, and it had strengthened him somehow.

“Cian!”

He turned quickly and saw Katie squirming her way through the line to reach him amid rather loud protests, which she totally ignored.

“Are you all right?” he asked when she reached him.

“Fine. Tired. Celeste is wiped out, but she’s here. She asked