Saving Fate

by Billy Wong

  #

  They exited Sheila's home, presumably to meet an expected friend, and headed after Garrick. In order to reduce the chance of suspicion later, Mark carried his cloak in a sack. They found Garrick before the unlit beginnings of a campfire, skinning a hare for an afternoon meal. Even on that dead animal, his knife work looked unnervingly vicious.

  "Hey, Bent Sword!" Ann called. "Bet you want to talk to Sheila up close and personal, don't you?"

  "And who are you?" Garrick asked, an edge in his voice. "I would assume you Sheila's newest toys, and slay you, but I see that one of you is a midget girl."

  Ann reached for her sword. "What the fuck did you say? Who the hell taught you to be so rude? We were ready to offer you help, but it looks like I'll have to teach you a lesson first!"

  "His heart has been wounded," Mark reminded her. "We should probably give him some leeway."

  "Humph, fine. Okay, then, Bent Sword... do you want to hear our offer or not?"

  Condescendingly, "And what could you children do for me?"

  "We have a plan to get you into Sheila's fortress," Mark said slowly. "But you have to promise to control yourself first."

  "Control myself? What do you mean? Do I look out of control to you?"

  "What I mean is, it would be best if you didn't kill or seriously injure anyone."

  Garrick seemed to think about it in silence, then spat. "Can you really get me into the fortress?"

  "Yes! At least, we're pretty sure we can. Do you agree to behave or not?"

  "I will try."

  Not quite the equal of a promise in Mark's eyes, but hopefully Gerrard was right about being able to control him. "All right. Now put on this cloak, and stay quiet until he get in..."

  #

  "This is my bodyguard Kyle," Ann was shouting up to the walls quite shortly. Beside her stood Garrick, head bowed so that his hood obscured his features. "He's really ugly, so he doesn't like for strangers to see his face before they meet him. Well, what are you waiting for? Open the damn gates already!"

  After doubtful seconds, the portal began to grind open. "That was such a low shot at Kyle," Mark whispered to Ann. "I don't think he's even ugly, either."

  "Not that ugly, but would anyone call him handsome? And don't you tell him what I said!"

  Immediately after the threesome stepped through the doors, Garrick threw off the cloak. A bit premature, no? His voice was painfully loud as he screamed, "Sheila, it is I, your first and true love! Come back to me, and be rid of those two inadequates!"

  Nobody answered, but Mark guessed that someone had heard. Garrick stomped across the yard and into the front hall, where Mark and Ann followed. Waiting for them inside was Rand.

  This was looking increasingly like a bad idea.

  "You two," Rand snarled. "What makes you think you have the right to disrupt the tranquility of our home as you wish?"

  Ann shrugged. "We're just trying to help. Don't you think it would be easier to come to a better understanding of each other if you had the patience to talk? Besides, he was her first love. A first love always holds a special place in a woman's heart." She just did not know when to shut up...

  "If you still want our help, drag him the hell out now!"

  Mark inched away from Garrick. Ann was welcome to try if she wished, but he wanted no part of-

  "Drag me out? Over their dead carcasses!"

  -that.

  Garrick leveled his sword at Rand. "And where is that thieving brother of mine? I suppose I should give him some credit, for having the shame to avoid my sight."

  "You are the one who should be ashamed! Have you no qualms about causing grief to the woman you claim to love?"

  Mark wondered why Rand seemed to have no fear. He had shown no evidence of being capable of handling himself in a fight, and carried no weapons Mark saw, but perhaps anger overrode his common sense.

  "Enough! Words will not settle this. Prepare to eat my blade and die!"

  "No, he will not," Sheila said as she glided into view from a door beneath the stairs, dressed in plate armor to look even more impressive than before. She glared briefly at Mark and Ann, then returned her gaze to Garrick. "I will not allow it."

  "Why must you constantly defend this helpless piece of trash? He is soft, weak, not worthy of you!"

  "Love is not only a matter of the body, Garrick. You know that."

  He pointed at Rand like he would use his index finger to stab him. "He is weak in the heart as well as the body! Don't tell me you've forgotten how he ran from me!"

  Rand puffed out his frail chest in defiance. "I am not running now, am I?" Maybe, Mark thought, he should be.

  "No? Then stand and die like a man!"

  Garrick charged, sword high. Sheila gave a twist of her hand, and the carpets on the floor coiled up snakelike to envelop him. He leaned far back, threw his body forward in what Mark assumed a futile effort to free himself. Then he saw that Garrick had released the hilt of his sword, and said sword was flying towards Rand.

  Sheila shoved Rand aside. He tripped, hit his head on the floor, and went limp. She turned with preternatural speed—just in time to catch Garrick's sword in her chest. The hurled blade drove her back, piercing her through with such force that she was nailed against the pillar to her rear.

  Not again!

  Freed from the entangling carpet which had gone suddenly limp around him, Garrick strode as if in a daze to Sheila and reached up to stroke her face. She lifted a hand and slashed it across his, clawing four red furrows in his cheek.

  Gerrard peeked out of the door from which Sheila had entered, and his eyes bulged in horror. "Sheila..? Garrick, you idiot! What have you done?!"

  The normally placid warrior lost it then, and drawing his spear rushed his little brother. All the fight seemingly gone from him, Garrick turned and ran. Gerrard pursued him. Ann followed, and with a glance back at the slumping Sheila Mark did too. Outside, they watched brother chase brother out the parted gates, weapons clanging together as Gerrard hammered away at Garrick's halfhearted guard. They were fast, Mark saw, crossing ground swiftly mid-fight like a panther chasing a deer.

  "Like watching me fight," Ann breathed.

  She would have continued after them, but Sheila cry's from behind stopped her. Even now, it was loud and clear. "No, Gerrard, come back! Please come back!" Exchanging uncertain looks, Mark and Ann went inside.

  By the time they entered the hall, Sheila had pulled the sword free and now knelt clutching a massive wound. "Lady Sheila?" Mark asked gently. "How are you?"

  "No... time," she mumbled. "Must stop... him..."

  "Him, who? Garrick? He's already gone."

  "No, not... Garrick." Sheila looked up, and seemed to gain strength. "As I said, I am the caretaker of this land. It is my spirit that keeps the Dark Soul who hungers to devour its life at bay, and now..." Her gaze fell on Ann. "You, girl, must take my place."

  Chapter 14

  "What?!" Ann cried in response to Sheila's words. "Me, take your place? No way! I'm not going to become a guardian and stay confined to this dreary land for the rest of my life.

  "Why me, anyway? Why can't Mark take your place?"

  Um, no. Weak-willed as Mark might be, he was not going to be convinced to make that sacrifice.

  Sheila touched Ann's face. "You are strong," she rasped, "and have magic in your blood. He would make no substitute."

  Ann all but slapped the dying woman's hand away. "And neither will I. What makes it right for me to give up my life for your sake?"

  Mark did not want Ann to be stuck here, but felt compelled to say, "You are the one whose plan got her this way."

  "Yeah? And if you're so smart, why did you agree to help me?"

  He looked away. "I didn't know it would end up this badly."

  "Stop... arguing," Sheila said. "You are wasting time."

  "Look, it doesn't matter how much time I waste because I'm not doing as you say." Ann frowned. "Wait, what is this Dark Soul anyway?" />
  "I do not know its proper name, but it is the terrible being generations of my line have spent as recluses to contain. Always, it fights against our will, and its struggles are strongest in summer as now. If it... gets free, there is no telling what calamities it might bring."

  Was this the trouble that Gerrard had been reluctant to speak of, and not his brother? Mark blanched. Poor Sheila... how could she possibly have known that her prediction would come true in such quick and tragic manner?

  "Okay, so we can't let this monster loose in the world," Ann said. "Why don't we kill it instead?"

  Sheila started a bitter laugh, only to be cut off in a fit of bloody coughing. "Kill it? You speak nonsense, girl! It cannot be killed."

  "I don't believe you. I mean, even gods die in the stories sometimes, you know. How was it subdued? Maybe more of whatever did that could finish it off."

  Sheila reached towards a sword hanging on the wall, over where the back stairs parted to the sides. "That is my family's ancestral sword, which weakened it enough to be bound. Perhaps you are right, and the impossible can be done." She fixed each of them with a pleading gaze. "But you have to hurry, before it recovers its full strength."

  With that, she closed her eyes and toppled forward on her face. "Lady Sheila! Lady Sheila, are you all right?"

  "I think she's dead," Ann said.

  Mark looked to the sword on the wall. "We should stop this Dark Soul, lest too many others pay for our mistake. But where do we find it?"

  "Basement..." Sheila whispered. "Hurry..."

  "Lady? You're alive! Hold on, what is the Dark Soul like? I-"

  "I think she's really dead this time."

  Mark stood and exhaled. "Let's get the sword. Do you want it, Ann?"

  "No, I have my skills and magic blood, plus it looks a bit light for my taste. You take it, and hope it helps you keep up."

  A little standing on top of Ann's shoulders later, Mark retrieved the blade. It was thin and indeed light, even more so than he would have imagined. Maybe even too light for his taste, in fact, due to his familiarity with wielding standard military longswords. But its edge was sharp and balance fine, and its supernatural properties were what would be needed anyway.

  They found the entrance to the cellar and descended with caution, but saw nothing out of the ordinary inside the dusty storage room full of barrels of food and wine. "I don't see any Dark Soul," Ann said. "Maybe her memory failed her while she was dying?"

  "I doubt it. There should be something around here, if we check..."

  Ann sighed and leaned against a wall. Her hand brushed an unlit lamp, which turned sideways like a switch. A rack full of barrels slid aside to reveal a great jagged maw in the wall.

  "Ah," Ann said.

  They lit torches and proceeded down the sloping stone throat, from the depths of which could already be heard distant unearthly howls. Did the Dark Soul make these? Though he shivered at the sounds, Mark did not think so. Its voice, he expected to know.

  Deeper in, a nauseating scent reached Mark's nose. It smelled somewhat like the putrefaction of the dead, and yet somehow not. Like a living rot, he thought.

  The tunnel's ceiling ended at the front of a large and tall chamber, the cavern's stomach if Mark were to continue that analogy. He determined the ghastly howls were made not by anything alive, but by the hot winds which now blew against his face—winds, he realized, that should not exist.

  Nearly invisible in the dim light, but enough to make his blood run cold at a glimpse, stood a being; a vast, stooped, semi-translucent bipedal being. Its features were unclear, and might have been even in the brightest sun, yet one detail stood out with dreadful clarity. Inside its chest, where a man's heart would be, resided a hazy skull-like face.

  "You are daring," it rumbled, sending needles of cold through Mark's brain. He raised the magic sword, mentally urging it to give him strength. "Who do you think you are, to try and stop my awakening?"

  "I'm Lady Ann, and this is my friend Mark. And we're not here just to stop you, but to kill you."

  Its laughter echoed endlessly in the darkness. "Ha ha ha ha! You overrate yourselves, insects!" Not me, Mark thought. Terrified, he had no confidence in even a chance of victory. All he could hope for was a not too unpleasant death. "Let me show you what specks truly are humanity."

  The Dark Soul surged forward, like a fog bank in the warped shape of a man or ape. Its reaching hands seemed as large as wagons, its arms great trees. Mark froze in place, his whole body shaking. Ann leaped to the attack—and got caught, smashed down and crushed against the rock by a giant fist. Her sword had been perfectly timed to intercept the blow, but passed right through translucent flesh without doing damage. The sound of bones snapped like kindling flooded Mark's ears.

  Fear for Ann broke his paralysis in fear for himself and he sprang, the sword singing down. Like water the blade parted the opaque matter of the Dark Soul's being. It shrank back favoring its torn fist. "Are you okay?" Mark asked.

  Ann lurched up, spitting blood. "Just fine. Let's get it!"

  "No, you stay back. I, uh, I'll handle this."

  "Stay back?! Are you crazy? I hope you don't think you're a great hero all of a sudden!"

  "No, I think you need this sword to hurt it..."

  Again the Dark Soul came on, huge arm sweeping across like a cudgel. Mark tried to intercept the blow with his sword, but though he seemed to cut the thing its arm kept going and struck him anyway. It felt like being hit with a mattress, but a mattress swung with elephantine strength. Blood sprayed from his nose, and he choked. He flew across the room, rolling over and over when he met the ground, and fought to stay conscious.

  Ann had fared better. Her warrior instincts having allowed her to duck, she now stood within the Dark Soul's reach. "Throw me the sword!" she said.

  Shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, he did. Ann caught it and spun, slashing both the monster's ankles. It roared, flicked her away with a what resembled a kick using the front of its knuckles. She skidded on her armored back across the rock, leaving a trail of blood.

  "Sword!" Mark cried as it tried to stomp her into paste. She stabbed it through the sole of its descending foot, making it take a step back, then tossed him the blade. When it reached for her again, he jumped in and chopped through its wrist. Upon separation from its body, its hand melted away into the air. It managed to punch him away with its stump, the landing jarring his spine hard, then paused.

  "The power of teamwork!" it said, its voice dry and hollow. "It will not save you here." Its arms retracted with a squish into its body, and from its back and sides grew a score of long, flexible tendrils.

  "Just like the plant," Mark muttered. "Any ideas?"

  "Run away!"

  He and Ann split up and dashed away as fast as their wounds would let, throwing each other the sword whenever a tendril got too close to their backs. They severed eleven or twelve this way before they were both caught, squeezed about their waists and jerked through the air towards the body of the Dark Soul. Mark held the sword then, and trusting Ann to have better aim gave it to her.

  Held out before Ann, the sword plunged into the creature's facelike heart. It dropped the pair and swayed on its feet.

  Then it grasped the hilt of the sword and wrenched to the side, snapping the blade. One half rang against the ground, while the other remained in its chest.

  At this disheartening sight, Mark's forgotten terror and hopelessness came rushing back. "We stabbed it in the heart," he whispered, "and it's not dead. How are we supposed to win?"

  "Ha ha ha ha ha! You fools! I cannot die!" Indeed, it did not even seem much weakened from before, as it now retracted its what was left of its tendrils into its body and grew one enormous crab claw from its front. How had Sheila's ancestors managed to even subdue it?

  "Cannot die! Cannot die!"

  "That's not its heart," Ann said. "It has two heads."

  It barreled forward, claw snapping. Mark and Ann dove
to its sides and ran for the dropped half-sword. With implausible speed, it turned. Ann was caught, the huge claw threatening to snip her body in half. Blood dripped to the ground while her armor was crushed into her flesh.

  "Not again!" Mark grabbed up the broken sword and threw, burying it into the Dark Soul's top head. It dropped Ann and wailed, stumbling blindly from side to side.

  But it still did not die.

  Its great claw had already cut deeply into Ann front and back, and she grimaced on her hands and knees concentrating on healing the wounds. Mark watched as the Dark Soul regained its balance and sucked the crab claw back into its chest, expecting it to grow more new and deadly limbs. Instead holes opened up all over its body and it shrieked, blasting Mark and Ann with cyclone-force winds. Slammed against the walls, they tried to advance and found themselves pinned.

  "Now what?" Mark gasped, desperate.

  Ann re-drew her greatsword with effort and smiled sadly. "We can't reach the magic blades, and we don't know how to finish it even we could. All that's left to do is to fight and die like men."

  She wasn't a man, but her sentiment was admirable nonetheless. The Dark Soul closed in with no limbs besides its legs, but Mark imagined those would be more than enough to finish two immobile human beings. He drew his own sword, struggled to get it into position against the wind. The thing loomed over him and kicked...

  Mark's sword, wrestled in front of him just in time, slid between two of its toes and sank deep. It bellowed and stepped back, the winds from its body subsiding for a moment while its focus was broken by pain.

  The magic blades in its heads had not killed it, Mark realized, but they had made it vulnerable to normal damage!

  "Charge!" he cried. "It may be the only chance we get!"

  He and Ann lunged in, swinging. At this time they could only reach its legs, yet their continuous barrage of strikes kept it reeling. When it kicked one of them away, the other would carry on the assault alone until they could limp back into the fray. It grew and un-grew set after set of incredible limbs, sucking tubes and lashing whips and axelike blades, and even a pair of fleshy shields when it turned desperate. Mark and Ann avoided the attacks they could and drove their bodies on to continue punishing it. They had to win, they were too close to fail now...