The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

the two who’d spent so much time together all those years ago.

Master Miyamoto Kazashi held her stare as he spoke. “It is time for you to learn your family’s purpose in this world, and why you were put through the rigorous training of your youth.”

Adriana felt her heart flutter in her chest, like a child rounding the bottom of the stairs on Christmas morning.

He turned to the back wall and glided toward a pair of swords hanging from wooden pegs. He removed them from their hangers, then faced her again. He shrugged off the black robe, which fell off his shoulders like water to the floor, revealing a white kimono tied with a golden belt.

His right hand snapped forward, and he released the sword, sending it tumbling through the air toward Adriana. She waited until the last second before snatching the scabbard. She held it aloft, waiting for his instruction.

Her father stepped back, watching the dance with the concern of a father, but the curiosity of someone watching a professional tennis match.

“Live blades then?” Adriana asked.

“As it should be, my child.”

She didn’t have to ask another question. Before Master Miyamoto would give up his answers, she would have to spar with him—a dangerous proposition with real katanas. Deep down, she believed the man would not try to harm her, and would use at least a little restraint. Then again, he’d barely used any when she was a child. Now that she was full grown, Adriana wasn’t so sure he would spare her at all.

“First we fight,” Miyamoto said. “Then we talk.”

He loosed his blade from its scabbard and surged forward. She whipped the weapon to her right, sending the sheath flying off the sword as her master darted toward her.

She raised the blade in time to meet his, and a deafening clank reverberated through the room. Bright orange sparks sprayed off the metal. The two stared into each other’s eyes, neither with anger, but both with fierce determination.

No words were said in the moment, and then Miyamoto stepped away, dropping his right foot as he spun, whipping his left foot at Adriana’s ankles.

She deftly hopped over them and raised her sword again as he brought his blade down toward her neck. Once more, she blocked the attack then countered with one of her own, flicking her wrist to one side then twisting her body in toward his as she continued to push the deadly weapon down and to the side. With one last curl of her wrist, she sent his blade flying from his hand and punched toward his chest with her palm.

Miyamoto was unfazed by the attack or the loss of his weapon. He shifted sideways, deflected the blow, then grabbed her other wrist and smashed it into his knee as he brought up his leg with devastating force.

Pain screamed through her arm, and the sword fell from her limp fingers.

He jerked her toward him and swung the bridge of his free hand toward her throat, but Adriana was quicker. She flipped over the master’s arm as he held her wrist. The maneuver freed her hand, and when she landed, she swept Miyamoto’s legs, dropping him to the floor with a bang.

In an instant, she was straddling his back, pressing her thumb against his neck just behind the ear in a painful submission move that used a relatively secret pressure point.

“Yield,” she demanded, a touch more angrily than she intended. She bent his left arm up and behind his back as he struggled, and gripped his torso with her legs as if riding a wild bull.

The man wriggled, but only for two seconds as she increased the pressure on his arm and the spot on his neck. Then his body started shaking as Miyamoto laughed.

“You have gotten faster since our last time together, little one. Stronger, too.” He grunted the second sentence.

“Is that a yield?” she asked in perfect Japanese.

“Yes,” he said in his native tongue. “I yield.”

She let go of his arm and stood up, stepping away from the older man.

Adriana calmed her breathing and pressed her hands together as he stood. Then she bowed to him once more. He returned the gesture again and smiled proudly at her.

“I don’t know how, but you seem faster and stronger as well, Master.”

Miyamoto grinned broadly. “No, little one. You’re just getting older.” He let out a belly laugh as Diego approached from the side, a relieved grin wiped across his face.

“That may be,” Adriana agreed happily.

“You have done well, little one,” Miyamoto said. “I have kept up with your exploits through the years. Your choice of…hobbies was a wise one to keep you sharp for the task ahead.”

She narrowed her eyes at the statement, and at once the jovial mood that had taken over the room vanished, replaced by a more serious pall. It hung in the air as densely as the scent from the smoldering sticks spewing gray smoke into the air.

“What task?” Adriana asked. “What is all this about? Are you the reason that my father called for me? Are you sick?” She whirled to face her father. “Is he the family business we needed to discuss?”

“Not exactly,” Diego said. “I’m sorry I had to keep you for the last few weeks, Adriana. And I didn’t want to tell you everything, not until Master Miyamoto joined us. Now, I’m afraid, it’s time you knew the entire story.”

She couldn’t have been more lost in a corn maze with no exits. Adriana puzzled over the cryptic way her father and former teacher spoke.

“You two are scaring me.” Her head bounced back and forth between the two men. “What is going on?”

Miyamoto inclined his head. The Ninja, one of the last of his order, flicked his eyes toward a table next to one of the walls to the side. Atop it sat four burning candles and rolled scroll.

Adriana followed his gaze.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The answer,” he said, “to most of the questions you’ve had about your life.” Miyamoto paused. “And