The Glass Blade

by Ryan Wieser

  “Likely so that Bane could deal with me himself,” Jessop snapped at Daro, flicking her gaze between him and Marsda, who remained motionless at the end of her blade.

  Daro took a step closer to her. “Then why wouldn’t they be ordered to capture you?”

  “I don’t know—” Jessop began, but he cut her off angrily.

  “You may have blinded my brothers, but I know better! I know you’re nothing more than a wh—”

  The crackling snap silenced the room, and with a heavy thud, Daro’s body hit the ground. His knife skittered across the floor, landing at Jessop’s boot. She stared at the weapon, her gaze travelling over the filthy ground, over the lifeless hand of Daro Mesa, to the man standing behind him, whose hands were still poised from the snap.

  Falco Bane.

  Falco smiled as he brushed his hands together, as if dusting them off. “That’s no way to speak to a lady, now, is it?”

  His dark hair was shorter than before, clipped nearer to his ears, and his gray eyes were somewhat brighter, as if the mere sight of her in Okton Radon brought an unknown amount of joy to his life. Her eyes trailed over him, over the long, silver scar that went through his brow, over his eyelid, and down his cheek. She had seen the scar for so long, she had almost forgotten that it was the result of a wound that nearly cost Falco his eye. He wore all black, dressed like a Hunter, as he always had. What was most different about him was his lack of a blade—for it was now resting in her hand.

  He smiled at her, just at her, and her heart felt as though it had caught fire, as though the flames sucked at her oxygen, her ability to move, to think, to feel anything other than his presence.

  And then Kohl moved—and it spurred her into action. She grabbed at his shoulder, pulling him back from his bold step towards Falco, and forcing him behind her. She stood in front of him so that no one was between her and Bane.

  She watched as his broad shoulders heaved, a large sigh escaping his lips. “Jessop, you look so well,” he spoke softly.

  She cleared her throat as discreetly as possible, concerned that she wouldn’t be able to speak. To her surprise, her voice was clear and convincing. “I am well.”

  He took a step towards her, and she felt Kohl and Trax come up closer behind her. He noticed their protective nature, and smirked. His gray eyes traveled past her, over her shoulder. “Kohl O’Hanlon, it has been a lifetime.”

  “Not quite,” Kohl spoke, his voice deep and filled with anger so hot it emanated from his body.

  Falco turned his gaze past her, and Jessop knew he was studying Trax, looking him over as if he compared the man before him with the man he remembered from many years ago. “Hada’na nei hey’wa, DeHawn?”

  “Dand’e dore dona, Falco Bane,” Trax answered, sure to keep his voice as low and menacing as possible. Jessop was the only one in the room capable of understanding what they said to one another, and it did not need to be translated.

  And then his eyes were back on her, and she felt her whole body tremble.

  He ran his hand through his dark hair, and slowly knelt to the ground. Reaching out near her boot, he wrapped his fingers around Daro’s blade and began to twirl it, as expert as its former owner, as he looked up at her. “Ready to come home yet, darling?”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you,” Kohl hissed, and she struggled to keep him behind her.

  Falco nodded, and then laughed softly, rising up. “He speaks… for my woman,” he murmured softly under his breath. He moved so quickly that it stunned her—she had almost forgotten the skills that he had, the ones that had left a mark on nearly every person in that room. He had flung the blade directly at Teck Fay’s face, and not even the expert mage possessed the skill or foresight to shield himself. But somehow, in the way that set her apart from all others, in the way that she knew Falco Bane better than anyone else, Jessop did. Her arm flung out before her, her fingers curled as if holding the very blade. She froze the weapon in mid-air, its point just grazing the Oren Hunter’s cheek before stopping.

  “Very good, Jessop, I see they haven’t slowed you down,” Falco beamed, clapping his hands together.

  “Not him, Falco,” she spoke, ordering him to leave Teck alone. She could hear Kohl’s voice dying in his throat, inaudible, behind her. Was the quick maneuver too much to show him? Would it be just one more instance that she would have to wipe from his mind, because the extent to which she had a grasp on Sentio was too sensitive a subject to him? It mattered not. Not with Falco in the room, not with so much at risk.

  Falco gauged her seriousness, and nodded. With a wave of his hand, he cut through her intangible, supernatural grasp on the blade, and forced the weapon to the ground, where it fell with a chiming clink at Teck Fay’s feet. The young man exhaled loudly.

  “You should leave, Falco,” she advised, her voice tense and her heart racing. Emotion ran through her like a fire, trailing from the dark knots of her heart and zipping through her tight veins. He was truly there, right before her, dangerous as ever, with a temper unlike any other. And behind her was Kohl. And Trax. And to her side, poor stunned Teck. And at their feet rested dead Daro.

  So many lives he could take, bodies to add to the pile.

  “Falco, please,” she urged, lowering her hand slowly.

  A playful smile crossed his face, his eyes alight with dark intention. “If you’re not ready to come home yet, darling, I understand. It hurts, but I can be patient. You’ll come back… But you know I have a bone to pick with your little friend.”

  At his words Kohl brushed past her, standing squarely before Falco. “I’m here, Falco. I wasn’t afraid of you then—”

  Jessop grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back. “Kohl!”

  “—and I’m not afraid of you now.”

  “Kohl!”

  He was in Falco’s face, fist clenched around blade. “So, have at it, Bane, do your worst.”

  Jessop wrenched the young Hunter back with all her might, forcing herself, once again, between him and Falco. Falco’s eyes fell to her, his smile still there, but somewhat tighter. He did not fear Kohl O’Hanlon. He did not fear anyone. “He taunts me, Jessop.”

  “Falco, please,” she begged, raising her hand slowly, knowing all the ways she could calm his temper.

  She took a low, deep breath. Then, very slowly, she touched the back of his hand, trailing her fingers over his skin. His eyes dropped to watch her touch him, and he breathed deeply, seemingly calmed. “Just go, Falco,” she urged, his blade still tightly clenched in her spare hand.

  “Okay,” he sighed, dropping his shoulders, convinced. He nodded, slowly looking back into her green eyes. “Okay, I’ll go, and we will do this another time, you and I,” he offered, grabbing her hand tightly in his.

  She stared at him intently—she heard his words, but she knew him, and the words did not match the man. She could feel the watchful eyes of his loyal raiders, of the Hunters, on them both. She studied his dark face, his piercing gray eyes, his scar, and his shadow of a beard and knitted dark brow, the small curve of amusement pulling at the corner of his lip. They both knew what was going to happen.

  Suddenly, his grip on her hand became wicked, wrenching her closer to him with force. She knocked into his large body, air catching in her lungs, as he turned his attention to his raiders. “Kill the Hunter party.”

  “NO!” Her voice bounced around the large, decrepit place, surprising even herself. Falco looked at her, perplexed, but still he pulled her closer. In her periphery, chaos had broken out.

  Falco’s strong arms locked around her, forcing her against his broad chest, her neck craning back as she looked up into his gray eyes. He studied her face thoughtfully, his brow twisting as he spoke. “Are you ready for this, darling?”

  She could feel his hand travel over her arm; she could feel his adrenaline as if it were her own. They were born to fi
ght—to feel more in violence than they ever could in affection. “Yes.”

  She spat the word out, angry and defiant. Without further warning, he shoved her back, lashing out quickly and smacking her across the face with the back of his hand. She fell to one knee, nearly colliding with Trax and Marsda as they fought. She tightened her fingers around her sword as she looked up to him. She could feel the bruise already forming, but she knew it could have been worse.

  His arm was outstretched, and she darted her gaze in the direction his hand pointed, and watched as the sword, stuck in the wall by the errant raiders, flew across the room to him. He caught it with ease, spiraling it about his body with an artful flair, testing its mobility as a weapon. Satisfied, he took his stance, and pointed his blade directly at her. She rose to her feet, prepared to fight him. She couldn’t pay attention to Trax, as he skewered Marsda through. She couldn’t watch Teck Fay, using powers unknown to them all to disappear and reappear in different spots around the room, like a shadow. And she definitely couldn’t pay any attention to Kohl, who fought several raiders at once, blood trailing down his face.

  She could only watch Falco.

  CHAPTER 15

  They circled one another, blades extended. They held one another’s stares, unblinking, each as fixated as the other. He inclined his head slightly to her, “We both knew this day would come, darling.”

  She said nothing, taking one measured step after the next.

  “You can put a stop to all of this, whenever you want—you can ensure their survival for now,” he reminded her.

  “They can ensure their own survival,” she snapped back, readjusting her grip on her hilt.

  He smiled, staring at her with skepticism. “Against my raiders, maybe, but against me?”

  “Leave them be, Falco,” she ordered, turning in their circle once more.

  “I know what he means to you.”

  “Falco…”

  “It’s fine. Just mark my words—I will kill him. Perhaps not tonight, but in the future, he will die at my blade.”

  “Falco, just—”

  He shook his head at her, warning her off the topic. “Let’s just get this over with, I have plans with Jeco to attend to.”

  Jeco.

  Her knees faltered, her step clumsy. She had fought so hard; she had tried, every day to ignore the name pulling at her mind. She did all of this for something greater than herself. She was the way she was—so secretive—for a reason. Jeco. She stared at Falco’s gray eyes, and fought back a tear.

  “Fine, let’s do this,” she answered, her voice cracking. She forced the tears back, and she could see Falco falter in his movement. He was surprised by how much the words had hurt her. Before he could say anything more, she made her move.

  She turned in and pivoted on her left foot, bringing her right leg out high above her, and kicked him in the jaw. She regained her footing and, using his momentary incapacitation against him, stepped into a forward kick, connecting with his solid chest, sending him flying back several feet.

  She flicked her blade about her, closing the gap between them, but he was ready for her. He sliced the air between them with a far-reaching semi-circle, grazing her tunic with his blade. He lunged and she parried. Their swords clashed, an echoing orchestra of sharp violence around them. She ducked under his arm and wove about his strong body, avoiding connecting with him as much as possible.

  Their fight was a spectacle; as the raiders died all around them, as the Hunters prevailed over their enemy, Jessop and Falco fought. She was faster, he was stronger, and she knew that to all who saw, they were seemingly matched in skill. She knew they also saw wrong—Falco was still the superior fighter. They had simply fought so many times, they could telegraph one another’s next moves with ease.

  “We are running out of time, love,” he smiled softly, regarding his fallen comrades.

  “You mean you’re running out of time,” she snapped, ducking under his blade. She could see Trax, freeing his blade from the gut of a raider, his eyes already on her. She could see Teck, perched atop the bar, the blood of his enemies dripping from his bare hands like raindrops onto the wood beneath his feet. He watched Jessop duel the greatest fighter of all time with a dark interest. And then she heard the dying gasp of air, puffing through the cracked lips of Kohl’s opponent. She saw all of this, and so did Falco.

  “Just one last thing then,” he hissed, dropping his blade abruptly. She curved her arm up and brought her sword down, aiming at his collarbone. He caught her wrist with his strong, quick hand, and sharply turned it outward. Her blade fell to the ground beside his boot, but she couldn’t move for it. He turned until her shoulder cracked and her back twisted, and she fell to her knee before him. The strong, scarred fingers ran over her forearm. She stared up to him, trapped and immobile, and watched as his fingers grabbed at the corner of the tracking device.

  “NO!”

  The thunderous shout came from Kohl, and it nearly concealed her own cry as Falco ripped the metal device off of her flesh.

  The metal clinked at her side as he held her arm up high. Falco extended his bloody fingertips, using Sentio to stop Kohl and the others from being able to move, from being able to help her. She bit into her lip, cursing silently. She was immediately light-headed as the blood rushed down her arm, over her tunic, around her neck. There was only one person who could have taken the pain away, like she had done for Kohl the day the devices had been fixed to their arms, and he was the one responsible for the agony. He freed her wrist, staring down at her with pained eyes.

  She rose, weakly, to her feet, and watched as he turned to the Hunters, fixed in their positions by his overwhelmingly powerful abilities. He stared at Kohl.

  Bloodied and beaten, she stepped in front of him, blocking the path between him and her comrades. “You won’t touch them, Falco,” she ordered, holding her wounded arm tight against her chest.

  Anger flashed across his eyes. “You would die for them?”

  She knew the truth though, and so did he. He wouldn’t kill her to get to them.

  She looked from his gray eyes, to her bloody arm, to Daro’s body, to her sword beside Falco’s feet, and she knew this had gone exactly as he had intended it to go. He knelt slowly and picked up his sword. He took slow steps towards her, but she remained still, ready for whatever else he had planned. When he was not an inch away from her, he locked his hand at the base of her neck, pulled her near, and kissed her forehead.

  As he kissed her, the pain in her body dissipated; she felt his strength travelling over her skin, absorbing the bruises and cuts and grazes, healing her. She let her arm fall between their bodies, and felt tears in her eyes as the pain completely disappeared.

  He pulled softly away from her. “I’ll be seeing you soon, my darling.” His words swelled through her, and she felt paralyzed with fear, terrified at the thought of what would come next for them. He stepped away from her, and before she could do anything to deflect, he froze her with his abilities, rendering her as motionless as her Hunter comrades. She followed him with her eyes, and felt horror consuming her every thought, as he slowly approached defenseless, paralyzed Kohl.

  She watched as Falco studied the star scar. She knew what he thought, she knew what he could do, and she felt terror trembling throughout her body. With fierce aggression, and no hesitation, he grabbed Kohl’s arm, and ripped the tracking device off of him.

  Kohl’s forcibly shut lips muffled his scream, but his eyes were on fire. Falco dropped the metal device to the ground and grabbed Kohl by the neck. “If you touch her again, if you fix any other torture devices to her, I will rip your arm off before I kill you.” His voice was deep and loud, louder than the muffled agony of Kohl O’Hanlon.

  He squeezed tightly around Kohl’s neck, as though he contemplated killing him right then and there. And then he dropped his hand, stepping away from his f
ormer friend, his former brother, his enemy. He glanced over the fallen raiders and surviving Hunters, over the blood and mayhem. He turned his gaze back to her, and spoke to her with his eyes, as he had always done. With a slow nod, he voiced one word.

  “Soon.”

  And just like that, Falco Bane turned and walked out of the weigh station, disappearing into the night.

  * * * *

  Several minutes passed before Jessop felt the sensation of mobility return to her. Her legs flailed underneath her, and she fell. Catching herself, she was reminded of her healed wounds. She studied her forearm, searching the skin for a wound that was no longer present. He had healed her, like no other could do. It was part of what made him Falco Bane. He had a grasp on his abilities that no Hunter or tribe could conceive. He could reanimate the flesh… and you didn’t need to be a medic to know what possibilities that opened up.

  She could hear the men behind her, regaining control of their bodies. But she didn’t turn to them. Even though she knew she should—she knew she should run to Kohl’s side, she knew she should embrace Trax, and check on Teck. She knew what she should do; she knew what she was supposed to do. But she was as immobile as she had been minutes before. She could see only those gray eyes, think only of Jeco and all that had happened since she left him behind in Aranthol, feel only the numbness that came when Falco had removed the pain he caused.

  “Jessop. Jessop,” Kohl’s pained voice fell over her. He knelt at her side, covered in blood, and pulled her into his chest with his one good arm. She rested her head against him, feeling the slick of blood—his blood. Falco had let him live… but not because he had spared his life, or forgiven past trespasses. He let him live so he could hurt him more, later. So that he could truly wound him before killing him.

  Because of her.

  He knew. Falco knew everything that had transpired, and there would be no reasoning with him. He would kill Kohl O’Hanlon because she had cared about him. It would be her fault.