Death Flag

  “Something like that, though it is a bit older than most of the magic practiced these days—but only by a few thousand years or so.”

  More cryptic. Of course it is. “So, what are we doing here?” Madison asked. “Is there a reason we’re standing around in the cold in the middle of the woods on a snowy evening?”

  “Yes,” he answered, stone-faced as always.

  Madison sighed. It seemed like he wasn’t going to get any kind of information out of Davion. They said that there was going to be some sort of test, though this isn’t even remotely close to anything I’ve ever heard of, much less encountered before. Not that I’ve had a lot of run-ins with magic either. He was still having trouble believing that magic was real, but considering where he was and how he had gotten there, along with his inability to explain either, he chalked it up to something that he was just going to have to accept and figure out later. He was doing a lot of that lately, and he was starting to develop a rather strong distaste for it.

  “Well,” he began, watching Rae and Warren shiver, “if you’re cold, why don’t you at least come stand by the fire until we figure out whatever it is we’re supposed to figure out?”

  The two looked up at Davion as if they were unsure of what to do. He had told them to enter, but he hadn’t given them any instructions beyond that. He nodded now, however, and the pair quickly ran around the edge of the woven mat to the fire. They pressed as closely to it as they dared once they were there, and after a moment, it appeared as if they had warmed up enough to be at a tolerable level.

  For his part, Madison didn’t seem to mind the cold. It had been an initial shock at first when the temperature plummeted, but it quickly went away. He was aware of the fact that it was cold, or at least that it should be, but it wasn’t some subzero, arctic freezer that the other two made it out to be. It felt more like someone had left the air conditioner on for too long: it was chilly, but nothing worse than that.

  He wandered around on the mat as he tried to figure out what they were doing there. Nothing that was grouped along the edge of the mat made any sense to him. It looked like some rich old man had died and someone had emptied out the contents of his private study and dumped them here. The only things didn’t quite make sense were the weapons rack and the woven mat, but those could be explained away by eclectic taste. He bounced back and forth a minute, testing something. It felt like there was a bit of spring in the mat, almost like one a gymnast would use for training, but that was impossible. The mat was clearly woven and had large hexagonal openings in it that he could see the snow-covered ground through.

  “I give up!” Madison declared, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I have absolutely no idea what we’re doing, why we’re here, or where this is. Seriously, it was a good joke, but I’m getting bored with this now.” He looked to Davion for some sort of reaction, but the big man only stood stark still with his arms folded across his chest, watching him. He turned and looked back and Warren and Rae, but the pair remained silently huddled by the fire as they tried to stay warm. They were watching him as well, but he knew that they were most likely useless since they looked as curious about the objects as he was.

  “Ok, can we go home now?” Madison asked, growing exasperated. “I’m bored and could use another nap.” When no one answered, he dropped his arms to his sides again and wandered over to the weapons rack and began perusing the weapons. Seeing something he actually recognized and thought he could pick up, he withdrew a simple one-handed sword. It was fashioned with a slight curve to the blade and an edge along one side. He swiped it through the air a few times, testing its weight. It was a good weapon, as far as he could tell, and felt like it had a decent balance.

  “Oh my gosh!” Rae shrilled.

  “What the hell?!” Warren shouted at the same time.

  Curious, Madison turned to see what had spooked them and almost fell over. A creature that looked like the grim reaper had appeared in the middle of the mat. The wraith hung suspended in the air, its tattered robe fluttering under a non-existent breeze and its face hidden behind an overly-droopy cowl. One gnarled, bony hand held up a wicked-looking, blood-stained scythe that was even larger than it was, and the other clutched a flag. Whatever bit of wind affected the creature’s robes didn’t seem to affect the flag, and it hung furled on the end of its staff, so Madison couldn’t make out what was on it, if anything. The creature planted the flag in the middle of the mat and gestured to him, making a come-hither motion with one bony finger, just as the fire behind it roared to life.

  Madison studied the creature for a moment before moving. It looked exactly like every depiction of death he had ever seen, yet he didn’t feel any sense of fear when looking at it. He had always imagined that meeting the angel of death would be a terrifying experience. He had also always imagined that he would be dead when he did it. He leveled his eyes on the specter and stared at it long and hard. There was something off. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure how he knew, or why he felt it, but he was certain that something wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Then it hit him. It was the fact that he didn’t feel anything at all. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t worried, he wasn’t shocked or awed. He didn’t feel numb or distant. He just didn’t feel anything. Even the faint hint of cold had receded, and the longer he stared at the visage of death, the rest of the world began fading away as well. After several long moments, nothing remained but him and the reaper.

  The wraith sprang forward, gliding across the mat at an unworldly speed. It hoisted its scythe above its head as it came, slicing it down at Madison as soon as it drew within reach. Madison reacted just in time, jumping to the side and stepping out of the way. The reaper’s scythe slashed down in the spot he had just occupied, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Without ever taking his eyes off the creature, Madison held the sword up in front of him and gripped it with both hands.

  What the hell am I doing? he questioned, a bit of reason sneaking in to shatter his focus with doubt. I don’t actually know how to fight!

  The reaper turned and slashed at him, the curved blade on his weapon tracing a horizontal route through the air that was set to decapitate him with a single blow. Madison rolled forward and did a somersault, moving toward the wraith and away from the attack before springing back to his feet and bringing the sword up in front of him again.

  What the—? When did I learn to do that? The wraith hovered in the air, swaying slightly back and forth. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have guessed that the wraith was testing him—waiting for him to make the first move. So, he did. Madison lunged forward and brought his sword down in a short chopping motion aimed at the creature’s body.

  The wraith easily deflected it with the shaft of his scythe and floated off to the side, forcing Madison to turn to face it once again. The creature suddenly jerked back in the direction it came from, simultaneously bringing its scythe around in an underhanded blow. It was an attack from an angle that would have normally been impossible due to the weapon’s length, but the fact that the specter didn’t have any legs and was floating in the air allowed it to happen.

  Madison stepped back lightly, creating distance between himself and the undead. If he had tried to block the attack, he would have been skewered by the long blade before his own sword ever found enough purchase to stop the weapon’s momentum. If he had stepped inside the creature’s reach, he most likely would have been pulled even further forward by a quick jerk of the scythe or grabbed by a hand. The weapon’s reach was so long that he couldn’t get away to the side, so his only option had been to create distance and get out of the way.

  How did I . . .? The knowledge, the intuition, had simply appeared when he needed it. He had no idea how to calculate the trajectory of weapons or the most likely place to attack. He had no clue how to hold a sword or position a blade at just the right angle to deflect a blow. He had never stood in a battle stance and was clueless about footwork, yet his body was responding as if it did. When he ne
eded to react, he just did it without thinking about it, and he even understood why he was taking those actions.

  He circled to the side and repeated his previous chopping motion, and the wraith glided to the side once again, causing Madison to slice through empty air. He turned his sword and stepped forward, blocking an overhead attack from the creature as it backed away. Once the scythe was stopped, he shoved it away and to the side and then lunged forward, thrusting his blade out with a single arm. The tip of his weapon just barely caught the specter’s tattered robes as it flitted backward away from his attack.

  Madison held his sword up defensively and watched as the creature hovered around for a moment. It slid back and forth on invisible strings, circling him, as it looked for an opening. Madison knew that his form was simple but solid, and he wasn’t going present an opportunity for attack as long as he held it.

  It was in that moment that he realized that he could feel a strange sort of connection to the sword in his hand. It had been there the moment he grasped the hilt and withdrew it from the weapons rack, a faint string of awareness that connected him to the weapon, but it was growing strong the longer he held onto it. It was as if some long-dormant part of his brain was beginning to wake up, and with each stage of wakefulness, it brought with it some long-forgotten knowledge—it was like remembering something that he had forgotten years and years ago or meeting an old friend he hadn’t thought about in ages. He was completely unaware of it one moment, but the next he knew more and more about the connection. And yet, something about it was off. It was a pleasant sensation and a comfortable feeling, but it wasn’t quite right.

  The ghostly phantom suddenly shot forward. Its scythe came around in a heavy slash aimed at his chest, and Madison rolled forward and underneath the creature entirely, the weapon narrowly missing him for the second time. The reaper rebounded with inhuman strength, immediately changing directions and bringing the scythe high into the air before slamming it down from directly overhead on the spot where Madison was standing. He barely managed to get his sword up in time to block the attack, and he felt reverberations travel along the weapon into his arms.

  Holy shit! This . . . this har— Madison was forced to abandon his defense and dodge to the side when the shadowy figure swung a punch at him with his free hand. His sword traveled along the length of the scythe as it skidded along the haft, sending sparks flying into the cold air. Unrelenting, the wraith stabbed its wicked weapon forward, using its curved blade as if it were a sword with a pointed tip. The blunted end of the shaft and the back of the blade caught Madison squarely in the chest. He felt the air being forced out of his lungs, and he went flying back several paces before landing on his back.

  The wraith glided forward, clearly not willing to give him time to catch his breath or even get back onto his feet. The specter slammed the scythe down toward Madison’s stomach, and he wildly threw his sword up in front of him in a desperate attempt to stop the blow. His sword bounced off the reaper’s scythe with a loud clang, narrowly stopping the weapon’s blade from entering his gut. Madison struggled for a moment, pushing back against the wraith, and then used his free hand to support the blade of his sword as well. The undead specter was clearly stronger than he was, and it had the advantage of leverage in this fight, but Madison wasn’t willing to give up. He gritted his teeth and pushed back as hard as he could. He felt the hexagonal patterns woven into the wicker mat dig into his naked flesh, tearing away at his skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the creature was pushed away until, finally, it jumped back and off of him all at once.

  Madison sucked a breath of air and pushed himself back to his knees. He watched the wraith as it flitted around for a moment, dancing back and forth in the air. Despite its aggressive nature only moments ago, it seemed willing to hang back for now and let Madison recover. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed that the undead creature was somehow taunting him, showing off that it had forced him into a such a precarious position with ease.

  Taking one final breath, Madison pushed himself back to his feet and held his sword up again. He hadn’t eaten and had barely had anything to drink in days, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that his body wasn’t completely healed yet. He may have been unconscious for four days while his body repaired itself, but just because he was awake didn’t mean that he was back at full strength yet, and it was beginning to show. He had most of his range back in his movements, but his muscles lacked much of their strength. As someone who spent a lot of time moving around heavy loads or lifting weights, he knew what he should be capable of. He also knew that he was falling short of that goal.

  He eyed the specter as it rocked back and forth in the air as jovially as a harbinger of death could and then launched himself forward when he felt it was in just the right spot. He rocketed forward, aiming for a simple maneuver that would put him inside the reach of that horrible scythe and allow him to quickly put an end to the fight. He lunged toward the wraith and to the side at just the right moment, curling into a ball and rolling away from the scythe, coming up just behind the spectre. The scythe struck the shaft of the flag it had planted in the middle of the field before the fight started, and Madison grinned when he heard the contact of metal on metal. He struck out with his sword as he came up, stabbing up at the back of the wraith’s cowl. There was a loud clang as his sword struck what felt like an iron-clad skull and shattered just above the hilt. The wraith let out a wailing shriek that cut through even the trance-like state he had entered the moment the battle began and whirled about in a furious rage.

  Well shit. Madison turned and ran away from the center of the mat, looking down at the useless sword hilt and the small remaining bit of blade that was left. Whatever mental connection he might have thought he had with the sword had been severed the moment it shattered, and it was nothing more than a useless hunk of scrap metal. Furtively, he twisted around and hurled it at the wraith. It struck dead on but harmlessly flew through the creature’s cloak.

  For the first time since the fight started, Madison looked for the others. Rae and Warren were still huddled next to the fire, which had died back down at some point, watching him wide-eyed and curiously. Warren was furiously whispering something to Rae, though Madison had no clue what it might be, and she was nodding right along, her blonde ringlets bouncing in time with Madison’s labored breathing. Spinning around behind him and checking again, he saw that the wraith was coming after him at an alarming speed. Madison hit the edge of the mat and began running around it back toward the entrance to wherever this was.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now? And where did all those fancy moves come from? I know I’ve managed to hold my own in every fight since I got here . . . Well, I somehow managed to survive at least, but that was mostly luck and desperation! Eugh. Where is that bastard Davion? Shouldn’t he be—

  He glanced back over his shoulder warily and saw the creature bearing down on him. This was a test. There was no way Davion or anyone else was going to do anything for him. It was up to him alone, and he knew it. This creature is magic. This room, this snowy vision and all of this junk, everything here is magic. He knew nothing about magic or what it meant, and he wasn’t even entirely convinced that it was a good thing for someone to have, but he knew that this was magic at work.

  Madison slammed on the brakes and stopped just beside the weapons rack. Something was calling to him. He could feel that same familiar sense of kinship that he had when he held the other sword, but it was also somehow different. It whispered to him with words that were always beyond hearing, a slight itch on the back of his brain that nagged at him, an instinctive response that he had to act on.

  There. Madison trusted his gut. He grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands and jerked back. A long two-handed sword slid out of the rack and then toppled into his ready grip. He hefted the blade with both hands, feeling its weight. This is . . .

  Madison turned back to the quickly-approaching wraith and raised his new we
apon. All at once, he was back in the zone. The rest of the world faded into oblivion. All he could see was his opponent, the poor fool of a creature, and nothing else mattered at the moment.

  Sensing that something had changed, the creature suddenly glided to a stop before it reached him. It seemed wary. Unlike before, it hung in the air suspended in one spot, holding its scythe defensively and at the ready.

  Madison lowered his sword, casually holding it out to the side with one hand as he turned and walked toward the center of the mat. He was careful to never take his eyes off of the wraith, not that it would have mattered. The flag the wraith had planted in the ground began to flutter in a small wind, flapping all the more wildly by the second, and then suddenly dying down again just as he reached the center of the mat.

  Madison grinned and held the sword up in front of him. He understood now. He knew how to use this sword. It was a sword fashioned in a style that he had swung a thousand times before. That’s why he felt a kinship with it. It was an old friend he hadn’t seen in far too long, and a limb he hadn’t realized he had lost. The one-handed sword had been close, that was why it had nagged at him. It was like seeing someone who looked like your brother walking down the street: they might share a similar appearance, but no matter how alike they were, it would never be the same person. That was why he had felt a connection to the other sword, no matter how unreal it actually was.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, taunting the creature. “Are you afraid of death?”

  The creature emitted a moan, a low and baleful sound that came straight from the world of the dead.

  And Madison smirked in the face of death. He charged forward, bringing his great sword around in a fast slash aimed where the creature’s chest would be if it had one. It was a weak attack executed with only one hand, and the wraith blocked it with the shaft of his own weapon. Madison landed on his right foot and shifted to the same side, stabbing forward with the sword as quickly as he could push it in a second attack. His blade sent sparks flying as it slid along the scythe’s shaft, narrowly missing the specter’s ethereal body.