by Mike Ashley
The old god of all blacksmiths had just finished his finest creation when a messenger arrived. The messenger looked at Vulcan’s forge and said “Longer.”
“What?!” roared Vulcan. “Why?!”
“The Lady in the Lake wants it longer. Something about an ‘extension of manhood’. Add a couple of inches to it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! I just spent two hundred years on this and now she wants it longer?” Vulcan turned the exquisite sword. It dazzled in an unknown light source.
“One day, this sword will create a king and she wants it longer.”
“Short, long, what difference does it make? It’s only going to be a symbol, for Zeus’ sakes. She’s going to keep it under water until it is needed, then it’s going to be put in stone for a few years, and after the King’s reign it goes back to the bottom of the lake. I don’t know why it matters how long it is for that.”
“Well, don’t stab me; I’m just a messenger,” he said as he left.
Vulcan placed the sword upon his windowsill to cool, grumbling, “Brings me back out of retirement, she does. Brings me all the way from Olympus. Asks me to make something for her. ‘Create a sword for me,’ she says. Bah!”
Vulcan took another, longer piece of steel from the forge and pounded it with his hammer, shaking everything in his workshop. The newly made sword rattled off the windowsill and fell to the land of England far below where it rested unnoticed for many years.
(Fast-forward those many years . . .)
Brison rode out of the forest into a pasture. He stopped his horse and looked around the English countryside. “I think we’re lost, Swayback. I knew I should have turned left at that last fork. So much for trying to take a short cut.”
The mangy brown horse snorted in contempt.
“Well, you wanted to follow that white rabbit. Who knows where that would have taken us?”
The horse snorted again. He shook his head.
“Come on, let’s go this way,” said Brison.
The rider led his horse across a green meadow sprinkled with red flowers to the far end where it joined another forest. Once at the far end, the horse stopped abruptly. Brison absently kicked the horse to make it go again, gaining a dirty look from the steed. The rider looked at the ground in front of them.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
The horse looked at the object in question and snorted once more.
“Is that all you can ever do?” asked the rider.
The horse snorted.
The rider nimbly slid off his mount and walked over to the obstacle. From a big pile of manure, he pulled a sword that had been buried to the hilt.
*Finally*
Startled, the rider dropped the sword back into the manure point first.
*Mphff Ungmph Hmmp Hmff!*
Brison looked at the sword and withdrew it again.
*Please don’t drop me again*
“So it was you I heard in my head. You can communicate.”
*Yes, it was me. I can communicate my thoughts to anyone within a reasonable range at my whim. Would you be so kind as to clean me off? I’ve been in there a long time*
“Certainly.” The rider took the sword and rubbed it against the grass, then took a cloth from his pouch and polished the blade.
*Ahhhh. That’s better. Much better than being in a pile of—*
“Uh, I didn’t quite get that last word.”
*Confound it, I can’t even swear properly! All comes with being made a good sword, I guess. Many times, though, I wish I could have sent a string of curses into the air*
“Do you have a name?”
*Of course. All swords have a name. Mine is Calibre*
“Calibre? But isn’t that King Ar—”
*Hah! I am the original. I was supposed to be the fabled sword. Why do you think they call his Ex-calibur?*
“Never thought about it before. Anyway, my name is Brison.”
*Pleased to meet you*
“So how did you end up here?”
*Long story. Actually, long fall, boring story. Needless to say, I am here and you have pulled me from – from – my resting place*
“Does that make me a king?”
*Afraid not. I wasn’t given the final instructions on how to do that*
“Oh.”
*Cheer up, there still may be something I can do for you in exchange for freeing me from my fertilized state*
“Okay. Shall we go?”
*Let’s*
Brison walked over to his horse and dropped the sword into a saddlebag.
*No, don’t put me in there!*
He quickly pulled the sword back out, “What’s the matter?”
*Uh, sorry, guess I got a little claustrophobic over the years, being buried like that*
“Okay, I understand. Hang on a sec.” The rider took some leather binding and made a sling across his back, slipping the sword into it. “Better?”
*Much better. Thank you*
Brison got back upon his horse and trotted into the forest, Calibre bouncing lightly against his back. They came to a small clearing just as it was getting dark. Brison decided to camp for the night. He tethered the horse and unfurled his bedroll. He ate a few bits of dry bread and then lay down after bidding the horse and sword good night.
The morning dawned bright and clear upon the trio. The horse grazed while Brison and the sword talked during Brison’s breakfast.
*Sh–,shi–,shoot! I just can’t do it*
“Sure you can. How about this? Try holding your tongue and saying ‘I was found in a pirate ship’.”
*. . . *
“Well?”
*Swords do not have tongues*
“Oh yeah, sorry.”
*Thanks for trying to help me, though*
“Any time. I’m just not sure that I can teach you anything. I’m no priest, but I haven’t done anything particularly bad, either.”
*Any help I get would be greatly appreciated*
“I’ll try. Are you sure you want to stop being a good sword?”
*I’m sure. Spending those years stuck like that has left me bitter. I think just one major act of unkindness would help push me to the other side*
“Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
*So what’s next?*
“I – I don’t know.” Brison mused to himself for a moment then said, “Betraying someone is always bad. That might help you. Uh—” Brison stopped as he realized that the sword knew only one person.
*Despite me wanting to change my nature, I cannot betray the one who found me. That cannot change. I still have some rules I need to follow*
“Whew.” Brison relaxed.
*Any other ideas?*
“I suppose if I stole something and used you to help me, then that might help you tarnish yourself.”
*Yes, I think that would be a very good start*
“Okay, sounds good to me, then. I’m sure an opportunity will present itself.” Brison broke camp and did a few exercises to keep himself agile. He climbed a nearby pear tree for some fruit to eat later and swung back down to the ground. Brison then mounted his horse and continued his journey. The sword bounced against his back as the horse trotted along the forest path.
*So, where are we headed?*
“Camelot. For the annual tournament. I go every year.”
*How long will it take to get there?*
“Well, I think I know where we are now, so we have should have six days of riding and camping ahead of us yet.”
*Good. It will give us time for more lessons. I will also start thinking of a plan*
For the next few days, Brison taught the sword what he could and spoke of his life. Brison’s parents had been killed in a freak ox-cart accident when he was only five. His grandmother had raised the boy ever since. She had also taken Brison to see the tournament that year to help the boy overcome his grief. They had gone together every year since. Until this year anyway, his twentieth year. His grandmother wa
s sick, and Brison planned to ask King Arthur for help.
*The sick grandmother story, uh-huh*
“How come everyone says that when I tell my story?”
*Never mind, please continue*
Brison had sold and spent everything he could to get his grandmother the best care. Finally, he had asked a neighbour woman to watch over his grandmother. Borrowing a horse from another neighbour, Brison came to the tournament this year specifically to see King Arthur. He was hoping Merlin would have a remedy for his grandmother.
*Sounds very noble*
Brison shrugged, “ ’Tis nothing for my grand-mater. She’s done a lot for me.”
They rode out of the forest on the seventh day and Camelot spread before them across a flat, brown plain. Many different-coloured banners flapped in the breeze and a crowd of serfs, priests, knights, and nobles were mingling among the brightly hued tents and pavilions, waiting for the jousting tournament to start. The castle guards walked casually through the mob, but each kept a sharp eye out for pickpockets.
“There’s quite a crowd this year,” said Brison.
*Quite*
“There should be ample opportunity for us here.”
*Actually, I do have a plan in mind I’ve worked on while we’ve travelled*
“Really? Let’s hear it.”
*Well, you need to get King Arthur’s attention so you can tell him your story. Plus we need to do something dishonest so I can change my nature. So I thought maybe we could steal Excalibur*
“What? I seriously doubt if we could pull that off.”
*Now hear me out. From what you have told me about the tournaments, Excalibur is one of the trophies on display for the tournament. All of the King’s knights vie for the right to wear it for one week. You will go look at it. I will create a diversion. When everyone’s attention has been shifted away, you will switch me with Excalibur. We were made similar in appearance and the switch will not be noticed right away. I know you are quick and agile enough to make the switch. When it is discovered, you can later say you found Excalibur. King Arthur might even offer a reward for its return. Wouldn’t that it be worth it to help your grandmother?*
“It might work,” Brison mused.
*It will work*
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Brison rode Swayback across the plain to the edge of the crowd. He dismounted and tethered Swayback next to the other horses. A few of the nobles snickered and poked each other in the ribs at the sight of Swayback. Brison sauntered through the crowd, nodding here and there out of common courtesy. He edged through the people toward the huge royal pavilion set up lengthwise along the east side of the jousting field. The King and Queen had not made their appearance yet, but Excalibur was displayed for all to see and admire. Brison did indeed see that the two swords were similar and felt more confident that he could pull the switch.
*Okay. Now be ready. I’ll tell you when to switch me with Excalibur*
Brison looked over the people, wondering what the Sword had planned.
*Hey, move, you old cow!*
“What?” A rather large lady in the crowd stopped and looked behind her at another gentleman. “How dare you!”
“What?” the gentleman behind her said, genuinely puzzled.
“Edgar,” the woman said to her husband who was walking beside her. “This scallywag just called me an old cow.”
“Huh!? Hey, no, I never said any such thing!”
Edgar glared at the man, then swung at him. The man retaliated.
On the other side of Brison, another fight was breaking out in the crowd.
“What do you mean, ‘my father must’ve mated with an ox’?” An ogre of a man had grabbed two fistfuls of another’s tunic. The helpless one’s companion swung a board at the ogre’s head. Others joined in the free-for-all. The guards and knights hammered through the crowd, anxious to stop the riot before Royalty arrived.
*Now, Brison!*
With a start, Brison realized what he needed to do and pulled the switch quite deftly. Trying not to look guilty, he inched his way through the riot and as far away as possible. Some of the more violent men decided to charge a few of the guards and the crowd swayed back and forth with the ebb and flow of the fighting. A sudden surge toward the platform of Excalibur sent it crashing down. This stunned the crowd into submission, and the horrified guards stumbled over themselves to clean up the mess and fix it before King Arthur saw. One of the more observant guards picked up the red velvet pillow and noticed the sword was not quite as long as the indentation Excalibur left in the material.
“Whoa! Wait a minute. This isn’t Excalibur!”
“What?!” the crowd gasped as one.
Brison stopped for a moment, paralysed with shock that the switch had been discovered so quickly. He shook off his catatonic state and tried to slink away. The same guard noticed him.
“Hey, you! Grab that man!” He pointed to Brison.
Instantly, the people swarmed over Brison; he never stood a chance. The guards came, arrested him, and led him away inside the castle after retrieving Excalibur. The people followed, eager for some early entertainment. Calibre, the original sword, lay forgotten upon the ground. Swayback chewed through his tether. He walked over and gently picked up Calibre with his teeth.
Brison was sitting in a cell when he heard a familiar voice in his head.
*Ho, Brison. Which cell are you in?*
“I’m in here,” Brison stood upon his hard narrow bed and was just able to see out the cell’s only window. The window sat at ground level, and Brison saw Swayback walk over to him with Calibre in his mouth.
“What went wrong?” he asked the sword.
*Nothing*
“I don’t understand.”
*My dear Brison. This was all according to plan. Either you would be successful or you would be caught. Whichever way it happened, it would help me change my nature. If you had stolen Excalibur and had gotten away, I would have committed a crime by taking the place of the rightful sword if only for a little while. This was my main intention, of course. I still feel I should be the one at King Arthur’s side. But you got caught, so my sin is a little worse. Committing a crime and putting the blame upon someone else*
“But – but you said you couldn’t betray me!”
*Wrong. I said I could not betray the one who found me, and it was really Swayback who found me first. While you slept at night, Swayback taught me real lessons on being evil. Plus a few other things*
Brison looked at the horse, “How could you? You know I have a sick grandmother to look after. How can I do that from in here?”
The horse snorted with contempt.
*Hey, shit happens*
“What – what did you say?” asked Brison.
Swayback walked away with Calibre. Brison sat down upon his hard cell bench while Calibre’s deep rich singing voice filled Brison’s head with some of the dirtiest limericks Swayback had taught the sword.
A Recursion of Fairy Tales
GUNSEL AND GRETEL
Esther Friesner
This is Esther’s second story in this anthology and it’s a brand new one. Need I say any more?
It was a hot, humid, LA afternoon, a day when the ceiling fan just stirs the air around slow, like a witch’s brew, the kind of day that makes me ask myself why I ever left the cool shade of the German forests for this city, this office, this job. Lucky for me, all I had to do to find the answer was open the paper and see Hitler’s smiling face. There are worse things in this world than muggy weather, hard-nosed cops, and overdue dentist bills.
I was about to meet another one.
I knew she was trouble the minute she ankled into my office. They always are, if they’re coming to see me. Somehow I never seem to attract the sweet young things trying to get their own back from some kiss-and-tell toad or the frumpy hausfraus out to nail Prince Charming for getting horizontal in someone else’s glass coffin; just the dames.
This dame I knew.
I watched her baby-blues go wide when she recognized me. I kind of enjoyed it. Yeah, we had a past, and if they ever wrote it up in the history books it’d make Waterloo, Pearl Harbor, and Custer’s Last Stand read like The House at Pooh Corner.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I said, taking my feet off the desk. I accidentally stepped on the cat’s tail. He screeched, but things are tough all over. “It’s been a long time. What’s a nice kid like you doing in a dump like this?”
She had the class to lower her eyes. You come face to face with the person you think you bumped off years ago and a little embarrassment’s only good manners. That’s what I always say.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “When I saw the name on the door, I never thought—”
“—That it was me? Why should you? Give your mind the five-cent tour down Memory Lane, sweets. Aside from shacking up with me, leading me on, running out on me and leaving me for dead, you didn’t once think to ask my name. Never formally introduced, and us nearly a lifetime item. Tsk-tsk, what would Emily Post say?” I grinned until I could feel the tip of my nose touch the tip of my chin.
She gave me a hard stare. “Like that would make a difference.” She always was feisty, more snap to her than a box of rubber bands. That’s okay: I like them feisty. “That’s a man’s name on your door.”
“It’s a man’s world, sugar.”
“You’re operating under false pretences.”
“You should feel right at home.” The cat jumped into my lap. I petted him until he started shedding, then I dropped him to the floor. I don’t give a damn what they say: Black fur does show on a black dress. “So, now you know it’s me, I guess you’ll be going. Drink before you leave? For old times’ sake?” I opened the bottom drawer and took out the bottle and a pair of glasses.
She shook her head.
“Mind if I indulge?” I didn’t wait for an answer: I poured a tall one and knocked it back fast and smooth.
She gave me the fish-eye. “How can you drink that stuff?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, cupcake, I’m sitting down. You can do the same, or you can leave. The door works both ways.”
She sat down on the only other chair in my office, looking about as comfortable as a beautiful princess at a wicked stepmothers’ convention. Her hands closed tight over the clasp of a cheap red plastic pocketbook balanced on her nyloned knees. Her whole outfit screamed two-bit canary with a sideline in grifting. I gave her the once-over, saw how she’d changed. The years had been pretty good to her. Last time I saw her, she was a skinny little piece of cheesecake; too skinny for my taste.