by Brom
“The drug dealer? I remember. I thought you said that was all your mother’s mess?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s in trouble. And if I don’t get back there…well, they’re going to hurt her. Maybe already have.”
Peter could hear the strain in Nick’s voice, could see the growing agitation in his eyes, caught the boy clenching and unclenching his fists.
“If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I have to get back. Okay? Okay?”
He’s on the edge, Peter thought, need to be careful. Maybe Sekeu’s right. Maybe it would be best to kill the boy before it went too far. “Okay, Nick,” Peter said calmly. “We can work something out.”
Nick’s face flooded with relief. “Really? Good. Good. When can we go?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Nick narrowed his eyes at him.
“You have to do me a favor first,” Peter said. “You help me, then I help you. How does that sound?”
“You want me to fight.”
“No, you don’t have to fight. I’d never ask that of New Blood. But I need you there, need you to help in other ways.”
Nick stared at him. “This isn’t one of your games? One of your tricks?”
Peter acted wounded. “Nick, of course not.”
“I want you to swear. Swear on the Lady’s life that if I stand with you, you’ll help me get back through the Mist.”
“I swear,” Peter said, knowing very well the odds were against either one of them ever seeing the human world again. “Heck, I’ll go one better. I swear I’ll come home with you and help you take care of Marko.”
Nick searched Peter’s face, clearly seeking any sign of deceit. Peter now saw the resolve and determination, the same qualities that brought this boy through the Mist. There’s deep strength in this boy, Peter thought. If anyone can beat the darkness it’ll be him.
“You would do that?” Nick asked. “Come back with me?”
“Only if you promise I get to be the one who slits their throats,” Peter said.
A grim smile snuck across Nick’s face.
Peter spat into the palm of his hand and stuck it out to Nick. “Deal?”
Nick spat in his own hand and they shook. “Deal.”
NICK, DANNY, CRICKET, and Leroy gathered around Peter in the chamber. Peter hefted his short sword and twirled it from one hand to another. “Flesh-eaters are made of hard stuff,” he said, his voice dropping down low. “The magic has twisted them. Perverted them. Turned them into monsters, into…demons. Their skin has turned into thick scaly hides, hard to cut or penetrate. Their vitals have shriveled within their bodies, hard to find.” He clutched his stomach. “I’ve seen them take a stab in the gut and keep on coming. They’re strong too. If they catch hold of you they can rip your innards right out of your bugle hole. Sound scary? It shouldn’t. Because fighting is about being fast and clever, and they’re neither. The faster fighter will always beat the brute. So all you have to do is learn the right tactics, keep on your toes, and you will take the day. Shall we get started?”
The kids looked at each other, unsure.
“Good,” Peter said. “Then line up.”
Leroy, Nick, Cricket, and Danny all lined up.
“We’re not asking you to fight tomorrow. We need your help in other ways.”
There were several audible exhalations of relief.
“But war is unpredictable. So we’re going to show you some basic tricks in case you find yourself in a bad spot.”
Sekeu and Redbone handed each of them a short sword.
“In times past,” Peter said, “New Blood would never be given swords. But dire times call for dire measures. Swords and spears have always been our weapons of choice. The live wood of Avalon is too soft and fleshy for accurate arrows. We use short swords and light spears as they play best to our strengths of speed and cunning. And by cunning I mean we play the game our way. We use their height against them. We get in and out, low and fast. We do not engage them. We do not try to kill them. Our goal is to maim. We go for their weakest spots.” Peter pointed to his own limbs. “Their legs and arms, especially their ankles and knees. Ankles are thin and close to the ground, hard to protect. This,” Peter pointed to the long tendon on the back of his foot, “is your Achilles tendon. If you cut this tendon, they cannot walk. Once they can no longer walk, they’re done.”
Peter pointed to the straw dummies. “We’ve lots to show you. Find a straw man and let’s get started.”
Sekeu paired with Nick, Peter with Danny, and Redbone with Cricket.
Nick hefted his short sword, swung it about, getting the feel of it in his hand. The blade was heavy but well balanced.
“Okay,” Sekeu said, and pushed the straw man toward Nick.
Nick prepared himself. Keeping in mind all the things Sekeu had taught him about proper footwork, he sprang forward and back, timing his strikes. He found that many of the same principles of the staff and spear applied to swordplay. He was able to stab the dummy several times without losing his footing.
Sekeu raised an eyebrow. “Good footwork,” she said. Compliments were hard won from Sekeu, and Nick was surprised at how much her approval meant to him. He couldn’t help but smile. “But you must focus on using the edge of the sword. Not so much stabbing. A Flesh-eater can take many stabs and keep coming. If you must stab, be aware. Your blade can get caught in their hide. So it is best to make quick, strong strikes. You want to cut muscle, sever tendons.”
Sekeu spent most of the day with Nick. Nick found it impossible to think in terms of cutting flesh, of actually fighting, but instead lost himself in the craft of swordplay, determined to master the disciplines Sekeu was teaching. He’d be fighting for more than his life tomorrow; he’d be fighting to get back to his mom. Nick went at the straw man with a zeal and vigor he’d not known before, determined to learn all he could.
He also found himself amazed by how much his speed, dexterity, timing, even his endurance had improved. The hiking and training was some of it, but he knew the porridge was playing its part too. Danny’s right, he thought. If we could bottle that gunk and take it back, we’d make a fortune.
Peter called for a break for the kids to don pads and helmets. They were given wooden swords wrapped in cloth.
As they waited for Danny to finish tying his pads, Nick watched the Devils sparring. He was still amazed at their mastery, but found he could now see the technique beneath the speed, could recognize the forms and tricks for what they were. Could sometimes predict or read a move before it was even acted upon.
“It’s one thing to hit a moving target,” Peter said, “quite another to hit a moving target that’s trying to hit you. Leroy,” Peter pointed to one side of the round sand pit. “Over there.”
Leroy hopped up and took his place.
“Danny, here.” Peter pointed to the opposite side of the ring.
Danny looked around as though there might be another Danny in the chamber.
“Move it, Danny,” Peter called and clapped. “Quick. Quick.”
Danny pushed himself up with a huff and shuffled over to his place.
“Leroy here is a Flesh-eater and it’s your flesh he’s after,” Peter said.
Leroy flared his eyes at Danny, grinned, showing all of his teeth, and nodded.
Danny slumped his shoulders, looked up at the ceiling, and let out a long groan.
“That’s the spirit, Danny,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Look, this is fun. It’s like tag. All you have to do to win is whop the lunkhead over there on a leg, arm, or head. Fun, huh?”
Danny groaned again.
“Leroy, remember,” Peter said. “You’re a Flesh-eater. You’re only to respond to his attack. Light contact. We’re not trying to hurt each other. Got it?”
Still wearing his sadistic grin, Leroy nodded agreeably.
“GO,” shouted Peter.
“Get him, Danny Boy!” Cricket cried. “Go get him!”
/> Danny gave her a baleful look, let out a loud sputter through his lips, and began circling Leroy.
Leroy put up his guard and waited.
Danny circled and circled, and would probably have continued all day if Peter had let him.
“Danny, you trying to make him dizzy? Get him,” Peter shouted. “ATTACK!”
“C’mon wuss,” Leroy said. “Let’s see what you got.”
Danny lunged. Leroy easily sidestepped and smacked Danny hard on the shoulder with the side of his sword.
Danny dropped his sword. “OWWW!” he cried. “Dammit, Leroy. Peter said light contact. What part of light contact don’t you understand?”
Leroy shrugged. “Sorry, dude.”
“It’s your life, Danny,” Peter shouted while clapping his hands. “Grab the sword! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”
Danny picked up his sword and charged, clenching his eyes shut and swinging wildly in all directions. Leroy knocked Danny’s sword down and hit Danny hard on the butt as he barreled past. Danny went sprawling into the sand.
Nick caught the dispirited glance between Peter and Sekeu. Redbone put his face in his hands and shook his head. Leroy was laughing so hard he could hardly stand.
Danny’s face was bright red. He punched the sand with his fist, picked up the sword, and got slowly back to his feet.
“Danny, remember your training,” Peter said. “You can’t charge a Flesh-eater. You have to find his weak spots, use cunning.”
Danny’s eyes grew large, his mouth dropped open, and he pointed at something behind Leroy. “Whoa, what’s that?”
This time Peter put his face in his hands.
Leroy smirked. “You’ll have to do better than that, fat-ass.”
Danny dropped his guard, looked defeated, and started to turn away, then, with all the grace and cunning of an armadillo, he spun back around and made a low swing at Leroy’s ankle. He missed completely, and Leroy delivered a solid whack to the side of Danny’s helmet.
Danny made a weak bleating sound, dropped his sword, and cradled his head in his hands. His face cinched up and Nick could see he was trying not to cry.
“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Leroy said. “I barely touched you.”
“GO TO HELL!” Danny yelled and threw his sword at Leroy. The sword missed by a wide berth and Leroy started laughing again.
Peter gave Leroy a dirty look.
“What?” Leroy said, and shrugged. “I’m a Flesh-eater.”
“You’re an asshole,” Cricket said.
Peter pulled Danny to his feet and threw an arm around him. “What’d you say we let someone else have a turn?”
Danny tore off the helmet, threw it in the sand, then plopped down heavily next to Cricket.
“Nick,” Peter called. “Ready to give it a shot?”
No. Getting into the ring with that psycho is about the last thing I want to do. Nick let out a long breath, strapped on his helmet, and got to his feet.
Nick met Leroy’s eyes. Leroy cocked his head back and smirked, but below that smirk Nick saw something else, something dangerous. He’s out to get me, Nick thought.
“Okay, Nick,” Peter said. “Tag him. Leg, arm, or head. Got it?”
Nick nodded.
“Leroy,” Peter said sternly. “You keep the contact down. Got it?”
Leroy only grinned.
Nick slipped around the ring, keeping light on his toes. He made quick jabs and short jumps in and out, testing Leroy’s defenses just as Sekeu had shown him. Leroy followed his every move.
“GET HIM NICK!” Cricket called.
“Yeah,” Leroy laughed. “Get me, twinkle toes.”
Nick lunged, making a low slash for Leroy’s ankle. Leroy countered, blocking the blow with such force as to knock Nick off-balance. Leroy followed around and caught him on the arm, a solid smack that sent Nick into the sand. Even though the swords were padded, Nick had to grit his teeth not to cry out.
“Up, Nick!” Peter called. “Back on your feet. QUICK!”
Nick rolled to his feet. There was no doubt now, Leroy meant to hurt him—would hurt him. Nick felt old fears and self-doubts assail him. No, Nick thought, I won’t let him intimidate me. I’m the one that stood and faced the barghest. If I can kill a barghest, I can take this jerk. Just need to focus. Stay focused.
Nick met Leroy’s eyes and held them. Leroy must’ve seen something in that look, because his smirk fell away.
“Okay,” Peter said. “Keep it light and fun.”
“Go Nicky!” Cricket yelled. “Get him!”
Nick saw Leroy slide into a wider stance, planting his feet in the sand for leverage. He noted how tightly Leroy clutched the sword and knew Leroy planned to really clobber him this time.
Okay, Nick thought. He’s stronger than me. I’ll never win with force. Sekeu had shown him a simple maneuver: a feint and counterattack. She’d said it was very effective against an aggressive opponent. But it was one thing to execute the maneuver on a straw man, quite another on some shit trying his best to break your bones. If it doesn’t work, Nick thought, he’s going to nail me. He glanced at Sekeu. She seemed to read his thoughts. She smiled and nodded.
Nick used his eyes and body language to telecast a low attack. He made sure Leroy caught him eyeing his ankles. Then Nick went in quick and feinted a low swing. Leroy bought it completely. He swung down hard, anticipating Nick’s attack, his full momentum behind the block. The instant he committed, Nick switched, surprised by his own speed. He had a second to catch the stunned look on Leroy’s face, the utter disbelief, as the boy stumbled forward off-balance. Then Nick struck. A tremendous crack echoed across the hall as his sword hit the back of Leroy’s helmet, sending him face-first into the sand.
There followed a long space of silence as everybody just stared.
Peter blinked a couple of times and finally managed a breathless “Wow.”
“WOOHOO!” Danny cried. “You killed him!”
No, Nick thought. No such luck.
Leroy sat up, face red and covered in sand. He spat and looked stunned, but not as stunned as Nick. Nick was amazed, not so much by the fact that he’d managed to outplay Leroy—Leroy, after all, was just a big lunkhead—but that he’d once again pushed fear from his mind and focused on what had to be done.
Peter recovered his spirit. “Did you guys see that? That’s exactly what we’ve been talking about. You have to rely on your speed and trickery. You have to make them fight your fight.”
Redbone pulled Leroy to his feet. “You all right?”
Leroy jerked away. “Of course I’m all right,” he said harshly. “Little prick barely touched me. Lucky shot. No big deal.”
Nick thought that it was a big deal, and judging from Leroy’s face it was a very big deal.
Peter clapped his hands together. “That’s enough for now. Time for grub.”
The Devils all headed for the table, leaving Leroy and the New Blood behind. Leroy shucked off his arm pads, untied his helmet. He walked over to them and pointed at the sparring equipment. “Clean this shit up,” he growled. Then he pushed his face into Nick’s, glaring into his eyes. Nick held the bigger boy’s eyes, determined to stand his ground. A slight smirk nudged the corner of Leroy’s mouth. He shoved his helmet into Nick’s chest. “Put it away,” Leroy said, and stomped off.
In the movies or on TV, that would’ve been the end of it. The bully gaining a little respect for him, and, if not eventually becoming his friend, at least leaving him be. But Nick knew that’s not how things worked in the real world. In the real world, you might get a lucky lick in, but boys like Leroy, they never forgot, never forgave, and then somewhere, somehow, boys like Leroy always got you back.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Nick sat as far away from Leroy as he could and watched the Devils prepare for the raid. He’d had the dreams again, as bad as before, maybe worse. Each morning the darkness in his heart was harder to shake off. He studied his arms, expecting to find some sign of the dark scales and claws
. It was all too real in the dream: the screams, the blood, the carnage. Nick put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. I don’t want to turn into a monster.
Cricket came along with her breakfast and sat across from him.
“How you doing there, Nicky?” Cricket asked, worried.
“Never been chipper,” Nick mumbled.
Danny wandered over, a bowl in one hand, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other. “What’s the plan?”
“Don’t know,” Cricket said. “Nobody said.”
“Sure are up early,” Danny grumbled. “Still dark outside.”
A low, tense murmuring filled the chamber as the Devils went about strapping on weapons, applying war paint, and dressing for battle. Nick noted the rather eclectic assortment of arms and armaments. Alongside the more traditional medieval styles, there were a German kaiser helmet, a tank helmet, an old-style leather football helmet, aviator goggles, at least two samurai swords, a Civil War cavalry saber, ninja stars, a pitchfork, and several pairs of brass knuckles. Most of the kids wore the one-piece, rawhide leathers with the pointed boots sewn into them, but several also had on leather jackets from Nick’s world, customized with spikes and studs, looking to Nick like a gang of psychotic punk rockers.
Sekeu came over. With her war paint on, she truly looked the part of an Indian on the warpath. “Come,” she said.
Nervous, the New Blood followed her to where the Devils were getting dressed.
Peter had two short swords strapped on his back, the belts crisscrossing his chest bandito style. A black splash of war paint covered his face, and his golden eyes gleamed out from the paint. He pulled his swords free, clanged them together, and all the Devils lined up on either side of him. Including Peter, there were twenty-three warriors.
Peter took a step forward, crossed his swords upon his chest, and set his gleaming golden eyes on Nick, Danny, and Cricket. “Today the Devils go into battle. We go to stop the burning of Whisperwood. There’ll be bloodshed. Oh yes, plenty of death to go around this great day.” He smiled wickedly. “But a soul simply has not lived until they’ve heard the screams of their dying enemies.” Peter cocked his head and looked deep into their faces. “Who among you will make the Flesh-eaters scream?”