Deadly Wands

by Brent Reilly

CHAPTER 8

  Dueling obsessed Billy, forcing the family to visit hundreds of big cities so he could exhaust the world’s best video libraries at night while exhausting dueling arenas during the day. He even squinted at the oldest videos that had decayed so much they had more gray than color. Billy lived, breathed, and bled the sport like the worst fanatic. He spoke of ancient duelers like they were neighbors and ran librarians ragged by demanding obscure recordings buried in deep basements. He argued for hours with other enthusiasts over the smallest of details or the silliest of dueling philosophies.

  William thought he had a solid Top 10 list of favorite duelers until Billy cruelly picked them apart. Not content with just ten favorites, Billy constantly reshuffled his Top 100 and speculated in detail over theoretical matches between fighters who lived in different centuries. William spent less time offering constructive criticism of Billy’s dueling and more time defending his own victories in the arena. The boy showed more mercy in the stadium than in his analysis of his father’s duels. William became a much better dueler, but Billy turned into a perfectionist. Liz had to forbid the topic in her presence.

  To salvage his self-respect, William tried teaching Billy about war. They bought maps, read books, and studied geography. William took Billy to battlefields to show how terrain affected campaigns. They debated old war slogans like “An air force flies on its stomach” and “Tactics win battles, while strategy wins wars.” They studied the greatest generals of the ancient world -- Hannibal, Scipio Africanus, Alexander, Gaius Marius, and Caesar. Billy wanted to become the world’s best dueler, but William wanted him to become the world’s best general.

  Armed with Millennial Wands, father and son dominated twice as many arenas. Billy would stay until he ran out of challengers, then take on teams of two. And who feared a six year old? Billy dueled ten times as many opponents as his father simply because he could, and in the process made a fortune. They hired more of Liz’s family to open up more bank branches. Global Bank gave interest-free loans to France and Spain to keep them afloat.

  Speed is thrust versus weight. Given the same wand power, a twenty-five kilo boy could maneuver four times as fast as a one hundred kilo man -- it was like boxing against someone who could punch four times as fast.

  For his 7th birthday, Billy wanted to visit American University, a famous flight school founded by American Jack in San Francisco. Global Bank already had branches on the American east coast, so William sent employees to start their first branch on the west coast. Meanwhile, they loaded down every Siberian quad with gold and flew them to San Francisco to fund their newest branch.

  William walked into American University with thousands of great wand sets and offered to employ every American marathoner, near-marathoner, and near-marathoners that they could train.

  A marathoner could fly a thousand kilometers a day, a near-marathoner eight hundred clicks, and a half-marathoner five hundred. The University had been training quads for two centuries, so they could find them all from their graduates. It’d still take a year for their best veterans to become proficient at maneuvering together in formation.

  To get the best fliers, William offered double the normal salary, plus half of the spoils from raiding, but he only wanted those who could fly the minimum distance one hundred days straight, instead of just ten. The best wands would go to those who could fly the farthest.

  To spread the word, William sent Billy with their recruiters to show off at America’s biggest cities. Meanwhile, they showed William their ten lines of fortifications, stretching from the Bering Strait, which separates Siberia from Alaska, to Anchorage.

  Unimpressed, William paid the University to construct hidden bunkers capable of housing a battalion within a few hundred clicks of the coast. He ordered ten million bombs to distribute among these bunkers. William spent a month flying from the Strait to determine the Khan’s likeliest invasion route before taking the family back to work.

  The downside of constant dueling was it put Liz in a state of perpetual fear. Her husband and son suffered serious wounds weekly. Billy got hurt so much he sucked wand in his sleep -- something that William did not know was possible. The few hundred Siberians who could pass for Mongols became his golden air mules. They’d fly their winnings to Siberia, where other Siberians would haul it to San Francisco.

  What William really needed was Global Bank branches throughout the Empire. Or a faster way to move tons of wealth to the Americas. Or both.

  Billy celebrated his eighth birthday with the pack's other boys in the leader's ger. His parents took advantage of having their hut to themselves. The next morning, when they looked for Billy, they were told he went on one of his long distance endurance exercises. Because they could not fly as high, as far, or as fast, Billy had to push his limits alone.

  However, he did not come home. A few weeks later, a messenger arrived with an urgent message asking for them by their latest aliases, which terrified them.

  The more the Empire expanded, the more it relied on frequent communication, so Genghis Khan founded a postal service. An urgent message could travel 24 hours a day, day after day. But William and Liz never received a message before because nobody was suppose to know who or where they were.

  The messenger closed his eyes to select the message, then tapped William's wand to transfer it. He and Liz rushed back to their ger to watch it in private. A recording of Billy's three-dimensional head sprung out at them. His nose looked enormous because he was pointing a wand at his face.

  "Mom, dad. I just beat the dueling champion at the Peking Arena. And several thousand other guys just to reach him. I’m sorry I worried you, but this is what I want to do with my life. I’ve been dueling for almost two years and I’m so much better than anyone else it’s barely challenging anymore. If you can support my decision, then visit me, but I don't want to hear any lectures. I love you two so much."

  Liz collapsed in her husband’s arms. William felt responsible because he told Billy that good men are rarely great and great men are rarely good, so those with great abilities need to decide early on whether they want to be good or great. Apparently, Billy decided at age six.

  "He set us up. We're practically in Moscow. Even at a thousand kilometers a day, it’ll take us over a week to get to Peking."

  Nine days later, they went directly to the Peking Arena, a huge open-air stadium that held one hundred thousand people, the most in the world. They were surprised to find the place packed on a Tuesday afternoon. Didn't anybody work? William knew Peking had long been the world’s most populated city, but he still couldn't believe his eyes. On the steppes, he could go a year without seeing a thousand people. Now he felt like an ant on an anthill.

  "Is that him?" Liz shouted over the crowd.

  William put his wand to his eye, but the duelers were too far away. Billy had left his old armor behind, so William asked a cheering fan what he had missed, only to have the mob yell "97" at the top of their lungs.

  "Three more and I make a fortune," the merchant told William. "Not as much as I lost last week betting against the boy, but enough to scab the financial wound." He pointed into the arena at the victor, who quickly slew his 98th victim. "Yesterday he finished all one hundred before lunch! Can you imagine killing a thousand super-quads in just ten days? And that’s not counting how many he got before beating the reigning champion.”

  "Just how many duelers does this city have?" William asked.

  "We’ll soon find out. Did you see the huge posters outside? They’re all over the Empire. The boy posted one ton of gold with the arena to go to the fighter who beats him. Duelers are flying in from everywhere. I've never seen a feeding frenzy like this before."

  The arena erupted again and the merchant held out a finger. Someone started chanting, "one more kill, one more kill." Soon everyone took it up and stomped their feet to the rhythm. The whole stadium shook.

  "Billy is a
bout to score his 1000th kill in ten days," William yelled into Liz's ear, not counting those Billy got before the championship.

  Sure enough, a scared man in expensive armor flew wildly at Billy, shooting like crazy. The boy let him come, moving as needed to dodge his fire, acting almost bored. Billy let him shoot at point-blank range. Instead of avoiding the blast, the prodigy simply crouched down and shielded himself with both wands. The flame smacked harmlessly off the small wall of steel. Astonished, the man did not flee quickly enough and Billy speared him like a fish, without even leaving the ground.

  The crowd went wild.

  William tried not to show how proud he was, as his wife glared at her disobedient son.

  Billy took off his battle helmet to show he was now a brunette, and his mother swore under her breath for teaching him how to die hair. Billy lined his face with black streaks, which started a new fad, to make identifying him harder.

  Everyone now jumped to their feet to celebrate the Empire's new champion. Fights broke out and fans spilled an unseemly amount of liquor. Liz pulled on William's arm, who reluctantly followed her downstairs.

  "We need to find management."

  She asked someone selling wine sacks, who pointed out someone in a security uniform, who brought them through several doors to a woman behind a desk.

  "We’re the parents of your wonder boy," Liz told her.

  "Boy Wonder. That's what they call him," the clerk replied.

  "If the authorities discover you’ve been letting a ten year old fight a thousand quads without his parent's commission, well, I imagine some heads could roll."

  The woman's face changed color and gestured for them to follow her down more stairs until they reached someone of obvious authority. William placed a restraining hand on his wife, then spoke first.

  "Our son, your Wonder Boy, ran away and sent us this message." He replayed the video sent via the postal service. "Here we are celebrating his tenth birthday with him,” he said, playing another video. “I assume you do not want problems with the police for letting a ten year old duel without his parents' permission. I also assume our son lied to you in order to duel. However, we expect your cooperation."

  The guy took the news well. He sent a beauty after Billy who returned totally unsurprised to see his parents. By now a small crowd of employees gathered, hoping to get an image taken with the youngest champion in history.

  "You came!" Billy shouted, as if he didn’t expect them. He hugged them to avoid getting screamed at.

  His mother, in tears, brought herself to eye level so Billy could see her anger. The boy wisely appeared suitably contrite. Once she concluded it was contrived, she rotated her upper body to slap him silly. After several years living a hard, nomadic life, her wiry muscles could pack a punch. The smack knocked the boy clear across the room to astonished silence. The manager looked shocked at anyone striking a champion with a thousand kills to his mantle. Liz was less impressed.

  "I've been crying myself to sleep! Did you even think of me at all?"

  Billy got up warily and kept his distance. “Mom, if you ever hit me again, you’ll never see me again.” He then addressed his father. "Dad, the betting here is unbelievable. I’m a counter-party to almost a million bets a day. I’m no longer getting bets against specific duelers, but against one hundred a day. A week ago nobody believed I’d survive a thousand duels, so practically everyone with two coins to rub together gave me ridiculous odds. Despite monopolizing every money transfer service, I’m still accumulating more coin than I can move.

  “There are more Mongols here than in Mongolia, and they’re all rich. More fans bet on dueling than on every other sport combined. This is a dream come true, and you’d have stopped me, so I decided it’d be better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

  As if any mother would let her child have the last word: “I’ve yet to hear you ask for either forgiveness or permission.”

  “Let’s settle this in private,” William suggested.

  "Will you return tomorrow?" the arena manager gently asked during the awkward silence.

  "I can use an abacus faster than you. Three days ago you agreed to pay me 5% of admission and concession sales, but I have yet to see that reflected in my totals. Will this problem be corrected by dawn?"

  William taught Billy about business, but had no idea the kid paid so much attention. The manager sure looked nervous, before nodding his head in agreement.

  "Then I’ll be back tomorrow," he promised, walking out, forcing his parents to follow him like puppies.

  Once they returned to his hotel, and past the bodyguards he hired, his mother broke down and cried in his bed.

  "We need to talk," his father told him.

  "What’s there to talk about? You trained me to kill Mongols, I’m collecting the world’s most powerful wands, and I’m giving literally tons of gold to Free Europe. I don't think I should be punished for doing what you raised me to do."

  "What we want most is for you to live until you have children."

  "I’ll never be safe, so I need to do as much as possible, as fast as possible. I’m the world’s best dueler. You once told me the most important thing you ever did was figure out how to live life on your own terms. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Doesn’t killing people bother you?” his mother unjustly demanded.

  Billy didn’t change his position, but he seemed to grow up as he stared his mother down. “You told me people are either fighters or victims, and that you wanted me to become the greatest fighter ever. Someone so terrible he scared even Genghis Khan. I may be eight, but I’m a warrior, and I have the scars and body count to prove it. And this is what warriors do. We kill. I’m not murdering innocents. I’m killing the world’s biggest killers. No one makes them enter the arena; they’re all volunteers. Trying to make your own son feel guilty for doing what you trained him to do is beneath you, mother. When I put your father on the English throne that he lost because of you, I’ll expect an apology.”

  As William closed his eyes, Billy’s voice sounded just like his own father’s.

  “Mongols started this war. One hundred million civilians have already died, and a million more die every year from starvation, disease, or homelessness. Every Mongol millennial that I kill saves a thousand innocents. The Empire employs the world’s best super-quads, who’ll assassinate me when they discover my true ability. Who will stop them? You?” Billy laughed harshly. “Really, mom. Grow up. We’re surrounded by death. Enemies wanted to snuff me out literally from the moment of my birth, so I don’t understand why you don’t want me to kill those who want me dead. All I’m doing is practicing pre-emptive self-defense.”

  It was a good speech. He clearly spent some time on it. Liz stopped crying as soon as Billy left the room.

  "Well crying doesn't work, anymore," she concluded, disappointed. "Guilt, shame, threats. What can we do?"

  "He won. He beat us at our own game. He's been thinking of this ever since he killed the Third Millennial. He won’t back down, even if we threaten to leave him. Besides, he needs us. We need to ensure his personal security and manage the money. And we need a lot more of your family for protection and coin transfer. How long will it be before his own bodyguards kill him in his sleep?”

  "He's just a child."

  William gave her a tired smile. "But we never treated him like a child. We were so scared of failure that we never thought to fear success."

  "Billy will die in the arena."

  William disagreed. "He’s more likely to die of poison. Plus, removing twenty thousand of their best quads a year will cripple the Empire. Billy could be the key to ending this world war. And all he has to do is win duels in the arena, which is much safer than in battle when anyone can shoot him in the back."

  Liz sighed deeply, and William knew he won. "He gave up his childhood for war."

  This angered William. "Don�
�t go soft on me now. You’ve told him that this war is not just worth killing for, it’s worth dying for.”

  Liz did not look convinced. “Genghis will soon launch another offensive in France. Stopping that is more urgent than hallowing out their reserves. All the coin and wands we’ve sent Free Europe may not be enough.”

  William suddenly looked sheepish. “Genghis can’t start the offensive until after the Olympics for publicity reasons. By then it’ll be too late.”

  His wife suddenly stood up. “William, what have you done?”

  “I bought a small logistics company so the Siberians can show authorities they work for Mongols. They’ve been driving herds north and stockpiling food, medicine, and tents for the Americans.

  “The marathoners have spent all winter building underground bunkers on the tallest mountaintops across Central Asia. They brought tons of food that won’t spoil quickly -- dry beans, sugar, wheat, pasta, rice, legumes, dried fruit, and raisons -- but they need perishables like fruit and vegetables that only Siberians can get safely. I need the Siberians to help feed ten thousand marathoners and one hundred thousand near-marathoners, and guide them around patrols.”

  Liz looked stunned. “You’re really gonna loot the capital?”

  “The Khan must station a lot of troops in Peking during the Olympics, so we’ll sack the Mongol capital on opening day. That will force the Mongols to station a million troops across Siberia -- Genghis may actually have to take troops from Europe.”

  His wife looked both exhilarated and horrified. “But sacking cities means slaughtering women and children. You’ll be as monstrous as the Mongols.”

  William sighed. More people have an eye for war than a stomach. “One hundred million, mostly women and children, have died over the last three centuries because Mongols refuse to accept their borders. They won’t stop until they conquer the world because they see themselves as conquerors. And, given the length, depth, and breadth of their success, I can’t blame them. Unless stopped, world war will kill another one hundred million over the next century. So we must choose between terrible alternatives: kill millions of Mongols and their allies now, or let them kill one hundred million people later.”

  Liz didn’t look convinced. “But kids?”

  William stood strong. “My little brother was younger than Billy when they killed him, and my sister was just a baby. Yet some Mongols smashed their heads against a rock. Mongols get away with a million murders every year. We can stop them. But sacking cities is the price to pay.”

  “We’ve trained Billy to be a monster.”

  “No. We trained Billy to be a warrior. And a warrior does what must be done to protect his people. That child of yours will stop the conquest of France. Not just by donating money and wands, but by stretching the Empire thin. The Mongols will be too busy chasing Americans in Siberia to finish conquering France. And England is safe as long as France remains free.”

  William held up her chin. “Winning this war is the most humane mission we could possibly dedicate our lives to.”

  “Do you really believe we can win this war?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

  William gave her the smile that melted her heart years ago. “I believe Billy can win it. And winning will justify everything else.”

  His wife’s face hardened. “Then make sure he wins. Whatever it takes.”