“No.” He countered not with words, but with a flurry of blows that drove me back.
“And I’m here to make sure you fail for a final time.” I let Beacon’s next strike, aimed at my right shoulder, hit home. I gritted my teeth against the pain, took two steps upward and slashed at his torso. He leaped backward, and the smile fled from Beacon’s face. “You no longer have power, so you are now mortal. I bet it’s been a long time since your existence was truly threatened.”
“You don’t threaten me.”
That was bluster; the beginnings of fear touched his eyes. He sliced downward at my temple; I deflected it and took another step forward, striking out. This time my knife scored a hit in his upper arm. It cost me a long painful slice against my ribs, but I didn’t care. I had made him bleed. “You may think you have all the advantages, but I’m ready to die. You are not.” I had fought enough to know that fights weren’t always about weapons and strategies.
Beacon responded by putting more distance between us. He backed up until he had the roof door at his back. From there he struck out with short precise thrusts aimed at throat, face, neck, careful not to overextend himself. When I finally managed to get inside his guard, taking another strike in the shoulder in the process, he gave me a kick in the chest that sent me tumbling down the stairs.
On the landing, I quickly righted myself, ready for another attack. But Beacon had stayed where he was, his sword stretched out before him, clearly intent on not letting me get close. “If you are ready for it, then be my guest,” he said. “Die!”
As I began to ascend again, my vision dimmed and I swayed. With blood pouring from several wounds, my energy levels were redlining. I slumped to one knee. Needing my left to hold the knife, my crippled right hand caught the edge of the step—it could do that, at least. I wasn’t exactly fighting with one hand tied behind my back even if it felt like it. Unless…
I pushed myself back upright. I didn’t have many more attacks left in me; I had to make the next one count. I placed my right foot on the first step and planted my left foot beside it. My right knee buckled, and I toppled to the side, my right shoulder hitting the wall. Pain coursed down my arm, and I screamed. A dark smear of blood marked the spot where my shoulder had hit. I looked up to where Beacon watched and waited; despite my distress, he remained cautious.
“You are right to be scared; you are right to fear me,” I said.
His only reply was a humorless laugh.
I took a ragged breath, then lifted my right foot to the next step, followed by my left foot. This time, I stayed upright. Right foot, then left. I took another step, my shoes squelching with my blood. Then another. The steps began to come easier, and I turned my gaze upward as I came within range of Beacon’s sword. He thrust downward toward my throat, a blow designed to either induce a knife block or force me back. Instead, my right hand rose and grabbed the sword by its blade.
The useless right hand, unable to grip—and yet it held that blade.
Beacon twisted the sword and wrenched. The edge was dug deep into my palm, and though most of the nerves in that hand were gone, enough were left to make the agony almost impossible to bear. Almost. With a half-scream, half-shout, I used the sword to pull myself forward while thrusting underhand, and I embedded my knife into Beacon’s gut.
He stared down in shock, then he slumped down to his knees. I stepped aside, finally releasing the sword, and Beacon tumbled down the steps. He landed in a heap, unmoving. The sword followed him down, coming to a clattering stop beside him.
I almost fell down the stairs after him; I just about managed to get an arm wrapped around a railing to stop myself from following him. The knife fell. I tottered down one step, then the next, hugging close to the railing all the way, leaving a trail of blood behind me. Once I reached the bottom, I paused to regather my breath and refortify the remaining tendrils of strength in my body. From head to toe, I was red with blood.
Beacon wasn’t dead, and he stirred as I approached, twisting around to face me. “You win,” he said.
“Not quite.” The knife was at the top of the stairs which might as well have been on the moon. My gaze fell to the sword at my feet. When I bent to pick it up, Beacon kicked it away.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said.
I lurched across to the new resting place of the sword, bent down, and picked it up.
Beacon put a hand to his mouth to stifle a coughing fit; his hand came away bloody. “You know what soldiers who continue to kill once a war is over are—murderers.”
It was likely that Beacon was mortally wounded. “I have to be sure,” I said.
“No, you don’t. I no longer have any power. I promise to put aside all my plans to rule. If I recover, I’ll live out the rest of my days peacefully as a normal citizen.”
I raised the sword.
“Reconsider,” Beacon urged. “My death might only take a moment, but you, Rune Russell, will forever be a murderer.”
“You’re always manipulating. But schemes can backfire—for instance, when you turned me into a killer.” I thrust the sword through his heart.
At the end, Beacon made no sound; I’d finally shut him up.
Epilogue
Hospital food wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. It always arrived on time, three times a day, delivered straight to your bed—that was service you couldn’t get most other places—and if the taste was hit or miss, well, if the food was the worse thing about the hospital stay, then you didn’t have too much to complain about.
I was lucky to be alive.
Or so I’d been told by three different doctors, and at least a dozen nurses. I’d lost close to half my blood before the transfusions began. I couldn’t remember anything of my first week in hospital, and most of my second week had passed in a drug induced haze. Danny, Jeroah, Persia, Jo, Konstance, even Harriet Ashley had been in the hospital room at some point, but I could only remember the visits in flashes.
After three weeks, I was being released back into the wild. I’d been told Persia would collect me, but there was no sign of her. I had no clue where I was going to go, what I was going to do, where my next meal was going to come from. I was wearing a set of clothes that had been left in my bedside locker. I knew I should be glad to be leaving the hospital, glad to be back healthy, but navigating the labyrinthine hospital halls as I headed for the exit, I felt disorientated. I was wearing something else’s clothes and walking out into someone else’s life.
At the hospital reception, I paused, uncertain. Would I be allowed to leave by myself or did someone have to check me out? I wondered. As it turned out, Persia was at the reception desk, and upon seeing me, she hurried to my side. “Sorry I’m late.” Persia gave me a quick hug. “You’re good?”
I nodded. “Healthy anyway.”
“I’ve done the paperwork so we can go if you are ready.”
“I am.” The hospital doors swished open, and we walked out to an overcast day.
“There’s a restaurant down here a little way,” Persia said. “You okay to walk a few hundred meters?”
“I can walk. I’ve eaten not long ago, though.”
Persia waved that away. “Hospital food,” she said.
Traffic was busy, and the sidewalks were thronged with people. The rest of Lusteer had quickly moved on from Beacon—from what I’d seen on television, there’d been barely any mention of him on either LNN or any of the other news networks. I’d probably missed the fallout from the first week or so after it happened; still I expected some talk of Beacon. “I thought I’d receive a visit in hospital from the police or maybe the government,” I said.
Persia shook her head. “It was handled. Harriet Ashley, among others, was able to brush everything under the carpet. You’re in the clear.”
“That’s good.” So there’d be no punishment for stabbing Beacon in the chest—no external punishment, at least.
She nodded toward my bandaged right hand. “How’s the han
d? I heard the doctors were thinking they might have to amputate it.”
“I feel no pain. I imagine that whatever sensation and mobility that remained after the first injury is now gone. I’m not sure what good it’ll be once the bandages come off. Still, I’m glad they didn’t cut it off.” What I had thought to be useless had proved key to defeating Beacon.
“Amputated of not—the use of a hand is a big loss.”
“We’ve all made sacrifices.”
“True.” Persia turned away from me. “The restaurant is just up here.”
A couple days after we’d defeated Walker, Persia and I had gone out to an eatery together. At the time, I’d thought it as a date of sorts. This time, I held no such illusions. Persia had barely looked at me since that brief hug when we met in the hospital reception.
We walked in silence until Persia stopped at the door to a restaurant. “In here.”
“It looks closed.”
“It’s open; I checked,” Persia said. “Go in. I’ll join you in a sec. I need to get something from the car.”
“Okay.” The door wasn’t locked, but the interior was dim, and no one sat at any of the tables. I took several hesitant steps forward, still unsure if the place was open or not.
A shadow moved against a far wall, and I stilled, listening and watching. Apart from distant traffic noise, everything was quiet. Then the darkened ceiling began to fall down toward me.
“SURPRISE!”
The lights came on. Hundreds of multicolored balloons were descending, not the ceiling. I allowed my heart-rate to slow back to normal as the balloons bounced off my head and shoulders.
Jo, Jeroah, Danny, and Konstance were all jumping up and down and cheering, and Persia came around from behind me to join them. Hanging from the roof was a big sign saying “Congratulations, Rune!” I wasn’t sure whether the congratulations were for not dying, or for killing Beacon, or for something else, but the smiles and cheers were infectious, and within moments, I was jumping up and down with all the rest, cheering and shouting, kicking balloons, and hugging whoever was closest. For at least a full minute, we were all swept up in mass euphoria.
“What exactly are we celebrating?” I shouted at Konstance as our jumping began to come to an end, our communal energy spent.
“Not sure. Being alive, I think!” he shouted back.
“Not a bad reason.”
“We booked the restaurant for the day,” Jeroah told me. “No servers, just us.” He gestured toward a table covered in dishes. “Various choices of food, including some delicious cakes. And look at this.” Jeroah walked to the other side of the bar and put a hand on one of the beep taps. “We get to serve ourselves whatever we want. What’ll it be, partner?”
“How about a beer?”
Jeroah took a glass from under the bar, placed it under the tap, and poured. It came out one third beer, two thirds foam. “Oops. I know that’s not how it’s supposed to look.”
“It’s perfect.” I took the glass from him. “A foamy beer is exactly what I wanted; how did you know?”
“When it comes to you, Rune, I always know.” Jeroah grinned.
I tried a sip of beer, but all I managed was to get foam all over my face and down my shirt. Jeroah poured himself a glass of half-foam, half beer, and we clinked glasses.
Danny grabbed my attention. “What do you think of the party?” he asked.
“Your idea?”
“The world just moved on as if nothing had happened. Everyone wanted to forget what you and others had done.”
“Probably for the best,” I said.
Danny shook his head. “At the end of that Star Wars movie, the heroes were cheered by thousands, and a princess awarded them medals. I couldn’t manage a princess or the cheering thousands—and I was outvoted on the medals—but I thought a celebration was called for.”
“If you’d asked me beforehand, I would have said this was a stupid idea.” I gave a wandering balloon a kick. “I mean—balloons! Jeroah serving foamy beer! Mad jumping around to no music!” I grinned. “But thanks. This is just perfect.”
“The drinks weren’t supposed to look like that,” Danny said. “Let’s get you a better beer.”
The party continued. Loud words were spoken, but nothing of note was said; nothing really needed to be said. We all laughed at things not remotely funny; we were all drunk on little but foam; it felt great.
Jo was the first for whom the effects of this heady enchantment we were under wore off.
“I’m sorry I missed Alex’s funeral,” I said, shifting away from the others to talk to her. “If anyone deserves to be celebrated, it’s him.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Jo said. “I should have visited you more when you were in the hospital. Everything’s been hectic these last few weeks.”
“What have you been up to?”
“Dealing with idiot bureaucrats who think they deserve answers when they don’t know enough to even formulate semi-coherent questions. Don’t worry; we managed to keep you out of it.”
“So Persia told me.” I chugged a large mouthful of beer. “I won’t go to prison then. Though Beacon told me I’d forever be a murderer.”
“He’s dead, so don’t let Beacon continue messing with your head,” Jo said. “You made the right choice, and never think different.”
“I’ll try. Thanks.”
“I know it won’t be easy. Take some time. We all need to heal some.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’m too young to be wise.” Jo smiled. “But I’m good at pretending.”
In that smile, I saw signs of cracks in a carefully constructed shell. “Don’t push yourself too hard either, Jo. As you just said, we all need to heal some.”
“I do best when I have work to do, when I have a purpose,” Jo said. “Harriet Ashley has invited me to continue my scientific work into the nature of magic. Is the connection to Brimstone gone forever or just temporarily? Are there other items of power like the fire summoning crystal? Is our world paired to other dimensions such as Brimstone? Some interesting artifacts have been discovered in South America.”
“You’re moving there?”
“I’ll be based in Brazil for a time,” Jo said. “Not sure where my research will take me after that. Before I leave though, we should have a remembrance for Alex. Just us two who knew him best.”
I nodded. “I’d like that.”
After Jo wandered back to the bar, I sat by myself for a time. Both the memory of Alex and the knowledge that Jo was leaving made me feel alone despite the shouting and laughing coming from the table with Konstance and Jeroah and Danny.
Persia came over to sit beside me. “You didn’t guess about the surprise party when I was bringing you?”
“You played your part well,” I said. “From your attitude, I certainly didn’t expect a celebration.”
“What did you expect?”
“What’s the opposite of a date? I expected that. An anti-date.”
“I’m not pregnant,” Persia said abruptly.
“Oh.” Even though I hadn’t thought much about Persia’s possible pregnancy, the words were a gut-punch.
“You look disappointed,” Persia said.
“No, it’s good,” I said. “No complications. We all get a fresh start. Did you know Jo’s going to Brazil?”
“Back up a bit. I didn’t say that meant there’s no you and me.”
“You didn’t have to. That’s become very clear.”
“No. Listen, it’s not like that.” Persia reached across and put her hand on mine. “If something’s going to happen between us, it’s not going to happen today among the beer and balloons.”
“Silly me.” I shook her hand off. “I thought something had already happened between us.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Sorry.” I took a breath. “It’d been an emotional day. I feel wrung out.”
“What’s love to you, Rune?”
&nb
sp; “What do you mean?”
“You once said you loved me. How did you know? Specifically.”
“When you were near, my stomach would whirl like a thousand tiny washing machines where spinning inside it. In a crowded room, everyone else would fade to black and white, and you’d stand out in bright living color.”
“Is it still like that?” Persia asked.
“At this exact moment, no. When I look at you, my emotions get jumbled up into a tight anxious ball of doubt.”
“See, I don’t want doubt. I don’t want zinging hormones or swinging moods. For me, love was a warm cocoon of safety that I could always rely on no matter what was happening elsewhere. Love was a connection that held strong no matter how far Noah and I were physically apart. That’s what I had before, and I believe I could have it again. With you.” She reached out and took my hand again, and this time I didn’t shake it off. “We are no longer in a time of war. There’s no need to rush. We have plenty of time to figure out if we are right for each other. For now, let’s enjoy the party.”
“Let’s,” I agreed.
And we did.
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Also By David J. Normoyle
THE NARROWING PATH
Fire Sacrifice Page 18