Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  “Word of this gets around the horse community, I’ll be out of business, you think of that?”

  Of course, I hadn’t been thinking at all. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked at me, disgust and pain battling across her features. “Damn it, Sarah. I liked you.”

  And the fat lady began singing. I felt that I might just slip out of my body again, like I’d done at the bar. The pain and anguish were so sharp, so visceral, that I felt I could float out of my body and leave the hurt for just a moment.

  Instead I bowed my head and sobbed. “I’m so . . . so . . . sorry.” And as I said it, I knew it didn’t matter.

  “Get out,” she said, her voice frigid.

  I couldn’t look at her, I just laid the broom on the workbench, knelt to pick up my pants, and shuffled around the anvil, touching it with the side of my hand as I passed. “Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry . . .” I kept repeating, thinking that this was not happening. This was the one safe place, the one true place.

  As I reached the door, my hand on the knob, she called out to me.

  “Sarah, wait . . .”

  And I turned, hope blooming in my chest for a moment.

  But when I saw her, the hope fell to embers.

  She pointed at the safe. “Get your shit out of my shop.”

  I just wish she’d hit me. Hell, I deserved it. But that last was worse.

  I opened the safe, took out two short swords and a dagger. I laid them on the table and turned to get the case for Gram, but she’d moved to stand in front of the workbench. She leaned forward, placing both hands on the surface with her head sagging down. She was crying. I could hear her sobs, feel each racking breath like a spear in my heart.

  I couldn’t get Gram’s case without asking her to move, so I unrolled my pants on top of the safe, and rolled Gram, the swords, and the dagger all together, tucked them under my arm, and walked out.

  I dumped the lot in the back of my car and opened the driver’s door. I hesitated, looking back at the shop, wishing that she’d come out. But she didn’t, so I got in and drove away. I’d done a lot of leaving lately. Caused a lot of pain. The universe, or karma, or whatever the hell you think keeps the balance, well, as far as I’m concerned, they could all take a flying leap.

  I was sick of crying.

  Forty-two

  I DROVE AROUND A WHILE, NOT REALLY CARING WHERE I ENDED up. Drove over to Seattle and wandered around Gas Works Park for a few hours, then drove out toward Black Briar before I realized Katie could be out there. And I couldn’t really face that lot yet, not with everything that had happened.

  So, I drove out to Tiger Mountain, parked the car, and hiked up onto the plateau. Getting lost in the green felt right.

  At first, there were a ton of people, but the farther I walked, the less crowded it got.

  Eventually I was alone with the trees. I found a nice secluded spot with a trickle of water, far off-trail, and sat against a tree. I cried a while, but felt I was running out of tears. I dug my hands down into the humus, stirring up the dry smell of decay, and the rich moist smell of growth. Death and life intermingled to provide fertile ground for the next generation of trees and plants.

  I drew strength from that earth, from the roots of the trees and the living energy that surrounded me. I sat there for hours, just letting my mind empty of everything except the cool wind and the deep richness of the soil under my fingers.

  The temperature dropped by a good ten degrees when the sun set, and I felt the transition of the day into the mystery of twilight. The woods felt different suddenly, quieter, like a moment before the world wakens.

  I was only slightly surprised when my cell phone rang. This was the Pacific Northwest. Somewhere on one of those ridges nearby, one of the trees was really a cell tower in disguise.

  I looked at the number, and almost didn’t answer since I didn’t recognize it. But something compelled me. I answered on the third ring.

  “Blessings and victory,” Rolph’s voice said into the phone. “Where are you?”

  “Out,” I said, annoyed. “Why are you calling me?”

  “You must come to the smithy,” he said. I caught a hint of panic in his voice.

  “I seem to not work there any longer,” I said, but the bitterness I half expected did not arise. Somehow I’d let it drain from me, let it fade into the earth, and be replaced by a more peaceful energy. “And since I don’t work on the movie any longer, Rolph, I’d say we don’t have anything in common.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” he hissed. “Someone has broken into the smithy. The safe is empty. They have the sword.”

  His anguish flowed through the phone, in the inflection of his voice, the quality of his tone.

  “It was not in the safe,” I said. “And why would you be looking for the sword in any case?”

  He stammered a moment, making excuses of concern. I tuned it out, frankly. The exhaustion of the last few days had not been purged by my time in the green. Just pushed back around the borders.

  “And besides,” I said, cutting into his ranting, “the sword is in my car.”

  “Father of crows,” he breathed. “Where anyone can see it? Are you mad?”

  “As a hatter,” I assured him. “I’m done in, Rolph. I have nothing else to lose. I’ve lost my love and my livelihood. All I have is this stupid sword, which, frankly, I’m beginning to think is cursed.”

  “Cursed? Why would you think such?”

  “Yeah,” I said, sitting up from the tree. “Didn’t you say if the sword was forged incorrectly, the smith would be cursed?”

  “Yes, true,” he said, hesitant. “But I witnessed its remaking. It was done with grace and skill.”

  I must have finally hit rock bottom in the last few hours, because that small compliment buoyed me. Gave me a modicum of hope. “Thank you, Rolph. That means a lot to me.”

  “You are quite welcome.”

  I stood up and brushed the pine needles and dirt from my jeans. “Is there anything else?” I asked. “I’m going to hike out now, and I don’t know how good this signal will be.”

  “If you are sure the sword is safe,” he said, the worry thick in his voice. “I am afraid.”

  “What’s got you spooked, Rolph?”

  “The dragon has begun to move into the open. He will not be long dissuaded from his prize, unless you act.”

  “I’m not gutting an investment banker, no matter how creepy he is,” I said. “Dragon or no, I don’t relish spending the next forty years in prison for a bad feeling.”

  “Then you are a fool,” he said, and hung up the phone.

  I hiked out; the cell lost signal as soon as Rolph hung up, funny that.

  Rolph’s call had spooked me, though. I’d been here a long time. What if someone had broken into the car? What the hell was wrong with me, leaving it out where anyone walking by could see it?

  I chafed at the pace to get out of the woods, but it was getting harder to see as the light faded. When I got back to my car, it was full-on dark. I stood and looked back toward the city, toward Bellevue and Seattle, enjoying the lights.

  To my relief, no one had broken into the car. Time to take the damned sword home, hide it under my bed or something.

  Somewhere to the west, fireworks exploded into the sky. Too early for the Fourth of July, I thought.

  Then this wave of anger and fear washed over me like the blow-back from a nuclear explosion. Fireworks over the city? Was that more east?

  I got in the car and drove down the access road as fast as I could. No one was left on the mountain. When I hit 90 West, my phone rang.

  “It’s too late,” Rolph cried into the phone, not even waiting for me to say hello.

  I could hear explosions in the background, and sirens.

  “Rolph, what’s going on?”

  “The dragon has awakened,” he said. “You must act, or face the consequences. No one is safe.”

  Then the line went dead. A mushroom cloud appeared
over what I assumed was Redmond. The explosion sent fire high into the sky.

  Damn, was Katie in trouble, too? I flipped the little car across the median at a NO U-TURN sign favored by the cops, and headed east to 18. That was a more direct route to Kent.

  I punched Katie’s number into the cell and called.

  The phone rang, and rang, and rang.

  Forty-three

  EIGHTEEN IS NOT THE SAFEST ROAD TO DO A HUNDRED MILES per hour on, but I was pushing it. I tried calling Katie over and over, but she did not answer.

  I called Evergreen Hospital, but Melanie wasn’t on shift, and they wouldn’t give me her number.

  I had no one else to call.

  Julie wasn’t speaking to me, but if the smithy was in trouble . . . I punched her number and a recorded message informed me that all circuits were busy.

  I stared into the night, watching the white lines flash under my car, and prayed to whomever was listening that Katie was okay.

  No one stopped me when I careened through downtown. I parked in front of a fire hydrant and jumped out, heading for Katie’s door.

  “ ’Ware, smith,” Homeless Joe yelled at me as he hobbled around the corner. “Flee, child, before it is too late.”

  I spun around. Joe was nearly running with a large staff in his hand, limping along with a bad knee or hip, I never knew which. I took a step toward him, curious about his sudden outburst, when two very large bodies came out from the alley and hit Joe. The first man, whom I recognized as Ernie from the other night, clipped Joe on the back of the head, sending the old man sprawling onto the sidewalk.

  The second thug, Bert, kicked the staff away and stomped down on Joe’s elbow. I heard the pop from the street. Joe let out a guttural cry, and Ernie kicked him in the chest.

  “Leave him alone,” I shouted, balling my fists at my sides.

  Ernie kicked Joe again, and Bert turned to me with a feral grin. “You again,” he said. “I’ll squeeze your head until it pops.”

  He took a step toward me, and Joe lunged forward, grabbing him by the ankle and causing him to trip.

  I turned to the car, fumbled the keys a moment, and then got the hatch opened. My hammers were in the back, along with the rest of my personal smithing gear.

  I found the first hammer, and at the same time, found the roll of pants and swords. My left hand fell on Gram’s pommel and the world shifted slightly. The grunting and yelling of the two brutes took on a more rough and grinding quality, like the sound of a landslide.

  I spun around as Bert ran up to me, and I stepped aside, swinging the hammer back to clip him in the elbow. I didn’t stop, but ran forward and launched myself at Ernie, hammer in my right fist, Gram in my left.

  That was when I got a good look at them. With Gram in my hand, the glamour that hid their true appearance fell away, and I saw them for who and what they truly were.

  Giants. That’s what Rolph had said. These guys were twelve feet tall and as wide as a bus. How they managed to fit in even a Hummer astounded me. I leapt at Ernie, landing to his left side, and brought the hammer around. He dodged at the last moment, and instead of me catching him in the head, he absorbed the blow on his shoulder.

  If felt like striking a granite wall.

  However, he felt something, because he stumbled away from Joe and grunted with the blow.

  Bert rushed me from the rear, sounding like a freight train. I spun, letting him come to me, and feinted with the hammer, only to bring Gram around in a short thrust, and then a quick flip of the wrist.

  The blade bypassed his outstretched arm, and flicked against the side of his neck, sending a spray of blood into the cooling night.

  He grabbed his throat and fell to his knees, his eyes as big as lamps.

  Ernie had not been idle, however. The whistling sound of a large object being swung was the only thing that saved my life. I jumped backward as a full-on street post came crashing into the spot I’d just vacated.

  Unfortunately, I did not avoid the blow altogether. It clipped my right arm, and the hammer fell to the ground. That arm went numb.

  I rolled across the ground and back to my feet in time to parry a clumsy swing of the pole. Ernie did not slow, just swung that pole at me, over and over, pushing me back toward the alley.

  Bert lurched up, his hands and jacket covered in blood, but he was not down. He punched me in the side, knocking me to my knees. He would have brained me, but Ernie swung the light pole again, only this time he ripped down the power lines overhead and electricity arced down the pole, which hit Bert as I ducked. Both giants fell back, stunned.

  I struggled to my feet, pain shooting up my right arm from the elbow, and staggered over to Joe, who sat against the front of Elmer’s Gun Emporium. Bert began to rise from where he’d fallen. Ernie struggled to his knees, reaching for the post that he’d flung away.

  I knelt down, looking at Joe. “Can you stand?” I asked. I held the sword to my left, glancing back over my shoulder to the two giants.

  “I will survive, child,” Joe said.

  I turned to look into his weathered face. His beard was encrusted with filth, and his eye did not focus. He grinned and I could see several broken teeth. “Sorry, Joe,” I said. Bert was on his feet, but staggered. He’d taken the brunt of the electricity, and he wasn’t looking too good.

  This was ugly. They were much slower, but had enormous strength. I would lose in a game of attrition.

  “ ’Ware the Jotuns,” he said, brushing the hair from my eyes.

  Energy flowed from his touch, drawing a line of fire along my scalp.

  I looked up, shocked by an intense moment of clarity and peace. A blackness had been burned from my mind.

  In the reflection of the storefront, I saw Ernie swinging the lamp, and I spun around, raising the sword with both hands.

  My right arm no longer hurt.

  I deflected the energy of the blow, redirecting it upward. Unfortunately, it crashed into Elmer’s window. Alarms shrieked into the night.

  “See if you can get away,” I said, rising and spinning on my left heel. “I’ll hold them as long as I can.”

  “You are a brave one,” Joe said in his slurred, drunken voice. He placed a hand on my left calf and said, “Wodiz.”

  The night glowed like the day as power and strength surged into me. My calf throbbed with pain and a euphoria flooded through me. I could feel each rune like a fiery brand. My numb arm felt as right as rain. Every inch of me vibrated with power—seeking release.

  I glanced down at Joe and he glowed as well, the color of bruises.

  Ernie lunged in at me with the pole, like a lance. I batted it aside with Gram and lurched forward, smashing the blade along the post, only stopping as I cut through flesh and bone. Several fingers on Ernie’s right hand fell to the ground, wiggling like maggots.

  He dropped the pole, bellowing in pain, and held his hand to his chest. I took that moment to lunge forward and pick up my hammer.

  When Bert rushed me, I cried out, screaming something in a language I didn’t recognize. Ernie spun around, shock on his face, and Bert stumbled. I swung the hammer, catching Bert on the side, just above the floating rib, and he grunted from the impact.

  I brought Gram around at the same time and felt it bite into his left arm, the blade slicing deep before sliding free.

  Ernie turned and ran, leaving his fingers to flop around on the sidewalk. Bert fell to the ground, bleeding from several wounds, his breath rushing in and out like a bellows.

  “Finish him,” Joe said, sitting up. Blood ran down his face, and he held his left arm at an odd angle. “Send him forth to Hel.”

  I did not hesitate, but leapt forward, slipping Gram into Bert’s chest, just over the left breast. He cried out as the first six inches of the blade sank into him, and he fell back, nearly wrenching Gram from my hand.

  I spun, looking for Ernie, but he had already fled around the corner of the building.

  Only then did I walk over and
step on the flailing fingers. They popped like overstuffed sausages, but they stopped moving.

  I wiped Gram on Bert’s shirt and watched as his movements slowed, and then stopped.

  “Police soon,” I said in Joe’s direction. I walked to the hatchback, dropped the hammer inside, and carefully wrapped Gram inside the jeans once again. Then I walked back and helped Joe up, helped him into the narrow backseat of my car, where he collapsed, perhaps losing consciousness.

  I desperately needed to find Katie. Power surged through me as I pushed Katie’s door open and bounded up the stairs. At the top of the stairs I didn’t stop, but smashed through her door.

  “Katie,” I called out, running through her place.

  She wasn’t there.

  Okay. No Katie. She was likely out at Jimmy’s or something. I ran back to my car, taking the stairs three at a time. Soon I was speeding up 167 toward Renton. “Next stop, the smithy,” I called back to Joe, who may or may not have heard me.

  About Exit 5, on northbound 405, the adrenaline crash arrived, and I started shaking.

  Forty-four

  I’D JUST KILLED A MAN. WELL, A GIANT, BUT THE EMOTION WAS the same. My hands rattled on the steering wheel and I found I was breathing in short gasps.

  I pulled over to the breakdown lane and put on my flashers. “Hyper . . . ventilating,” I said aloud, looking over to Joe. He had not moved since I’d put him in my car. How badly was he hurt?

  “Here,” he grunted, handing me an empty fast-food bag. I held it over my mouth and breathed, feeling the panic slow. Luckily I had the window open, because the stench of old french fries and Joe’s special odor combined with the thought of those fingers, and Bert kicking on the sidewalk as I pierced his heart.

  I leaned out my window and vomited.

  This was not a good habit to get into. I rested my head against the window frame and tried to keep my breathing even and slow. “I killed him,” I said.

  “Aye.”

  I sucked in exhaust and grit as the southbound traffic whizzed by on the other side of the divider, but I couldn’t move. It was like something popped in my head . . . this shit was really happening. The sword, and giants. Holy Mother of God. Was I losing my mind?