Valerie stepped up to the driver’s side and addressed the boy who was staring at her with his mouth agape. “Please, will you help me? I need a ride.”
The boy stammered the response. “We aren’t supposed to stop for—”
“Please,” Valerie interrupted. “In the name of chivalry. I’m being chased by a really bad man. I need your help.”
“Help her, Curtis!” the little girl said. She smacked him on the shoulder.
At that moment another set of headlights appeared on the road a half mile back.
“That’s him. Please!”
The boy glanced in the rear-view mirror but then nodded. “Okay, get in.”
Valerie didn’t wait for one of them to open a door, she simply flung a leg over the side and flopped herself into the back seat, staying low to keep herself out of sight of the car approaching from behind.
“Go! Go!” the little girl said. The boy shifted carefully back into gear and gave the car the gas. It lurched forward and began to move.
The little girl glanced in her mirror too, then reached for the automatic roof controls. The roof extended upward and over them, further protecting Valerie from view. The little girl latched the top, then slumped back in her seat.
The boy had picked up speed, but it was clear he was an inexperienced driver. There was no way he would outrun the Blackbird, even if the car stood a chance.
“Just drive normally,” Valerie said. “Take it easy.”
The boy’s hands were fixed at ten and two on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, but he kept his eyes on the road as the headlights grew brighter behind them.
The little girl was now stiff as a board, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
The interior of the car brightened as the headlights filled the space with light. Valerie could clearly make out the distinctive growl of the Blackbird.
She slid as low as she could go in the back seat, lying horizontally on the cushion and attempting to disappear into the crevices.
The Blackbird swept into the passing lane and pulled alongside.
She held her breath.
Then the rumble of the engine increased again, and the war car pulled ahead.
The boy at the wheel eased off the gas and let the Blackbird gain ground. Finally the little girl twisted in her seat and popped her head into the back. “I think it’s safe now.”
Valerie rose slowly from her position and noted that the taillights of The Reaper’s car were distant pin pricks. She exhaled.
The girl staring at her from the front seat was dressed up, attempting to look older, but she couldn’t have been more than thirteen.
“I’m Chelle,” the girl said. “This is my brother, Curtis. Why is that man chasing you?”
“He’s just a very bad person,” Valerie replied. “And a liar.”
“Why do you know him?” Chelle asked.
“Because he was supposed to be my friend, but it turns out you can’t count on anyone.”
The boy shifted in his seat. “Where are we taking you?”
Valerie oriented herself to where they were. “Turn left up here. We need to cross the Crown Bridge.”
Chelle glanced at her brother. “You’ve never crossed a bridge yet, have you?”
“It’s fine,” the boy replied. “I can do it.” He flipped on his turn signal.
“You two are very brave for helping me,” Valerie said. “I really appreciate it.”
She couldn’t help but notice the boy’s determined posture, his set jaw. The two may as well have been Henry and her younger self out for a ride. They shared so many similarities.
But she couldn’t think about that.
It was just a pair of good kids.
She stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, occasionally giving Curtis directions but otherwise letting Chelle fill the time with a rambling discourse on their friends, their school, and how much she looked forward to being able to drive herself in a few years.
When they reached the Crown Gate, she had them make the turnoff toward Tidewater, but the kids both looked concerned at the sight of the potholed road that led to the village.
“I’ll get out here,” Valerie said. “You can just drop me off.”
Curtis pulled over and parked.
“Where are you going? Don’t you need to get inside the city?” Chelle asked.
“It’s okay. I have a car close by. I won’t be staying long.”
The mention of the car made them visibly relieved. “Mom says you should never drive through the rim districts because the people there will beat you up and take all of your stuff,” Chelle said.
“It seems like that can happen in a lot of places now,” Valerie replied. Curtis opened the door and moved the seat forward so she could climb out.
The sea breeze had picked up, and a cold mist was blowing across the bridge. She shivered. “Be careful getting back,” Valerie said. “You two saved me tonight. Thank you.”
Curtis was studying her bare shoulders and seemed to notice the burns and bruises. “Wait, are you a fighter? Were you in the tournament?”
“I was,” Valerie replied. “But I’ve lost.”
She left the two kids at the highway and made her way down the twisting road that led to Tidewater. The village was quietly subdued compared to the excitement prior to the race. A drizzling rain began to fall, and the fog settling in for the night muffled the village sounds as well as the light.
As she made her way to Lexington Avenue, she could no longer hold off the weight of the depression settling in on her. The closer she got to Damon’s warehouse, the deeper she sank into the sadness and horror of his betrayal.
This entire time.
Her training. His advice. The way they’d touched. Kissed.
All lies.
She couldn’t believe it.
He had been there when Henry died. Participated in the duel.
It was true that the Red Reaper wasn’t the one who had dealt the mortal blow, but he had cleared Jasper’s path to do so. If Henry had still held his sword, Jasper could never have hurt him. It was the Reaper’s fault that Henry lost the duel.
It was Damon’s fault that she no longer had a brother.
By the time she reached the warehouse, her dress was a soggy ruin. It was torn and stained, and the edges had been dragged through the mud. Her hair was no doubt equally a mess. The heavy fog clung to every bit of her, the drizzling rain condensing into droplets on her hot skin and running down her arms. It gave her chills.
The door to the warehouse was locked.
She rattled and shook the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. The rolling garage door likewise refused to budge. The Guardian was trapped. Her only lifeline out of this infernal city and its continual labyrinth of nightmares stood beyond these doors. She picked up a rock and slammed it against the doorknob of the pedestrian door. It did nothing.
She needed something bigger.
She discovered half of a cinderblock in the alley beside the warehouse, but that proved useless as well. When she struck the doorknob, the cinderblock crumbled to pieces in her hands.
As the chalky bits of concrete rained from her fingertips, her tears began to fall as well. She punched the door, instantly regretting it. Her knuckles came away scuffed, and the door wasn’t even dented.
Valerie stared up at the sky and screamed at the clouds. “Why won’t you let me out of here!”
No response came from on high other than the steady dripping from the rain gutters.
The windows in Rico’s apartment were dark. She pounded on the downstairs gate but got no response.
Finally Valerie shuffled into the street, making her way downhill.
It took her till almost mid-block of the next street before she remembered there wasn’t even a phone to use anymore. The Twisted Tentacle was an ash heap.
The foundation of the tavern remained. There was little else of the facade. She walked up to where the front door used to be and stepped over the blackened lin
tel. The burned-out steel frame of the old car was still there, butted up against the structural support for what had once been the stage. It was hard to make out the shape of the rest of the room because the upstairs apartment had crashed down to the ground floor and subsequently burned.
Valerie’s shoes left footprints in the sooty mud as she walked, surveying the ruins. There were no more bodies visible. Someone had dragged away any remains they had found. That was a relief, but she had done nothing to help with the situation herself. She had focused only on her own goals. And what had it earned her?
As she stepped listlessly through the ruins of the bar, she reached the staircase that had run up to Janet’s apartment. This one corner of the building had fared better than the rest, and a portion of the upper story still remained. There was a patch of dry foundation beneath the stairs.
Valerie turned back to make her way toward the door, and her foot struck something under the layer of ash at her feet. The something clunked.
She reached down and pushed the debris from the top of the item, discovering it was the ornate box she had seen upstairs with Ann. She crouched low and brushed away the cinders and ash from the rest of the lid, discovering one end had been blackened to a solid hunk of charcoal.
She lifted the box and carried it back to the dry area under the stairs and settled herself on the floor out of the rain. She set the box gently on the concrete.
The lock broke away in her hand when she pulled on it. Valerie lifted the lid, the hinges making a crunching noise as they strained the charred wood.
The sword was still inside.
The wooden handle that had once been an almost purplish brown was now a solid black. Valerie lifted the sword from its case. It was still perfectly balanced. The hardwood, despite being blackened, was still intact. The leather scabbard had blackened and charred, burning completely away in places, but even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, the blade still shimmered. Valerie pulled it from the damaged scabbard. The metal had turned various colors in the heat, mostly shades of blue that seemed to change as she looked at them. The crossbar had also been marred by the heat. Its shiny finish had taken on a tarnished appearance. The tips of the crossbars and the end of the pommel were charred black.
Ten years of apprenticeship. Five years working on the sword.
A masterpiece and multiple lives all ruined in one night.
Her hand began to shake. It was as though the sword knew who held it and wouldn’t tolerate it.
The rain started to fall in earnest. Big droplets splashed off the ruins of the tavern around her and made soft thuds into the ashes. She laid the sword back in its box and closed the lid, trying to quell the shaking in her limbs. Both of her hands were quivering badly as she lifted the box into her arms and hugged it to her body. She retreated from the rain, backing into the small corner of dry space under the stairs and curling herself into the smallest possible version of herself.
As much as this night had left her broken, she couldn’t cry anymore. It was as though her soul was now as burnt out and hollow as the tavern. Her emotions had been exhausted like so much smoke from the blaze.
The sky continued to rain the tears that she couldn’t.
She wondered if the ruined building might shift in the night and come crashing down on her. From her little corner of hell, she didn’t think it sounded like the worst outcome. But as the sky continued to break open above, the building remained upright, and all Valerie could do was watch, wait, and mourn.
33
Rebirth
“Valerie.”
Valerie’s eyes fluttered open.
She blinked and wiped at her face, and a figure came into focus above her, backlit by early morning light.
Ann.
The swordsmith was leaning over her wearing a hooded, weatherproof jacket and a flannel shirt.
“You’re back,” Valerie murmured.
Dawn had come to Tidewater. Fog still clung to the street, but daylight cast the world in a steadily brightening gray.
Ann’s face was unreadable. As Valerie sat up, the folds of her dress she’d been clutching during the night shifted, revealing the box that was still laying across her lap.
Ann’s eyes widened. “You found it.”
“It . . . it was in the ashes.” Valerie pushed herself to her knees and handed the box over. “I wasn’t trying to—here, it’s yours.” She relinquished the box and rose to her feet.
Ann cautiously opened the lid. She bit her lip as she saw the sword and choked back a groan.
Valerie cringed. Was it worse for Ann seeing that it was ruined? Would it have been better if she had never found it? It was as though she just couldn’t stop hurting the people she cared about.
But as Ann lifted the sword from the box, she exhaled audibly. “I didn’t think it would survive.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t save it,” Valerie said.
Ann shook her head. “No. You saved what mattered most.”
Valerie studied Ann’s face. “How is Janet?”
Ann’s eyes stayed focused on the sword as if refusing to acknowledge Valerie’s question. Finally she addressed the words to the sword itself. “She hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors said she may not come back.”
Valerie could find no words to reply. Nothing that could come out of her mouth would change any of this. Ann’s and Janet’s lives were both in ruins.
“She really likes you,” Ann said, her eyes finally returning to Valerie. “She told me so.”
“I can’t imagine that’s true now,” Valerie said. “I’ve caused you both nothing but pain.”
“She said that she knew you’d be trouble,” Ann said. “Right from the start. But that doesn’t mean she would do anything differently.”
“This is unforgivable,” Valerie said, gesturing to the burned-out shell of the tavern around them.
“You don’t know her then.” Ann shook her head. “That’s the thing about Janet. She’ll set you straight, no doubt about it. Always has. But her capacity to forgive is one of the only reasons I’m still here. We’ve all messed up.”
“Why are you doing this?” Valerie said, unable to prevent the edge in her voice. “Why are you being kind to me? You ought to be angry.”
Ann licked her lips and lowered the sword. “Oh, I am angry. I’m furious. This fire,” she gestured to the charred remains around her. “This is nothing compared to what’s going on in here.” Her fist thumped against her chest. “But you have to be angry in the right direction.” She raised her eyes toward the bridges overhead and the high walls of the city, and her mouth hardened into a line. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the ruins. Valerie had no better option so she followed. As she passed the burnt-out car, her dress caught on a jagged edge of steel and ripped.
Valerie stared at the gigantic tear in the gown. She yanked on the fabric that was caught, but it only ripped worse. Finally she reached around her back and unzipped herself, stepping out of the destroyed dress and leaving it behind. She tried to summon the will to be upset at the loss of such a beautiful creation, but she felt as hollow and empty as the burnt-out shell of the car. The ornamentation in her hair went next. She pulled it out piece by piece, then tossed it into the rubble.
She walked out of the ruins of the tavern dressed in only her boots and undergarments.
Ann considered her briefly, then shrugged out of her jacket. She handed it to Valerie.
Valerie gratefully donned the jacket and hugged herself in it.
Ann led the way down the street and around the corner to the Otter and Oyster. The small tavern was already crowded despite the early hour.
“I invited a few more,” Ann said. She pushed through the doors of the tavern.
Valerie felt horribly exposed; her bare legs chilled with goosebumps. The last place she wanted to be right now was in a crowd.
At least it was warmer inside.<
br />
She followed Ann through the doors.
The noisy chatter inside the tavern died. Valerie looked around the room to find dozens of eyes on her. Some faces she recognized from the race the day before. Connor Kane was there too, looking bruised. Most of the expressions of the other competitors were stony, men and women with furrowed brows and set jaws. A few members of the crowd had been regulars at the Twisted Tentacle, but the rest were strangers.
Ann walked to the center of the tavern and laid the charred sword box on a table. Then she addressed the room.
“Thank you for gathering this morning. I know it was unexpected. Most of you know me because you know Janet, and many of you have asked for news of her condition. All I can say is that the doctors have done all they can for now. The rest is between Janet and God. If you’re the type to say prayers, she can use them.”
A few members of the crowd murmured to one another and offered sympathy.
Ann brushed a hand along the charred box.
“As many of you know, the night of the explosion, Janet and I were judged by the Sword Masters Guild. I spent five years crafting a sword that I hoped would be a worthy masterwork. I believe it would have been had it not been for the fire.”
More murmuring flowed around the tavern.
“But it wasn’t to be,” Ann continued. “As anyone who has lived in this village knows, once you’ve washed in here, it’s not easy to get back out. The tide is always against us.”
“They ain’t ever gonna let us up,” someone in the back said. “The fire proved it.”
Sword Fight Page 31