by Drew Hayes
“Aren’t we all? No one knows what will happen when he uses that sword. He could get really hurt.”
“Highly unlikely.” Amy had been sitting on her own cot, digging through a bag for some misplaced object. She kept burrowing through her belongings as she spoke, not bothering to look up. “Though zombies may not have wielded a weapon of destiny before, there have been enough cases of vampires and Ghoul Lords doing so to make it unlikely that the sword’s magic would react badly to being in undead hands. Zombies are different, it’s true, but not so different that we should expect to see some giant reaction.”
“Oh. The way Arch and Krystal have been treating it . . . I just sort of assumed . . .”
“Krystal and Arch are agents, and neither of them have the knack for weaving magic,” Amy said, face still half-buried in her bag. I wondered if I’d be able to make out her words so clearly without my vampiric senses. “They see magic as some big, unwieldy beast. They know it can be useful, but they also know it can suddenly go wild and turn on them. Every time they encounter some new aspect of it, they’re immediately wary, which isn’t necessarily the wrong reaction for people tasked with ensuring others’ safety. But it means they tend to make mountains out of basilisk hills. If they’d bother to read the higher theories on necromantic displacement and theoretic—aha!”
Amy pulled a small stone—dark in color, with a clearly etched rune in place—from the depths of her bag. She deposited it into one of the many pockets on her strange jacket (which looked like a mix between a lab coat and a patchwork quilt), and snapped the bag shut. She looked at me for a moment, then to Bubba, then back to me, then finally around the whole room, before speaking.
“Sorry, what were we talking about?”
“You were tellin’ Fred why Albert will prolly be fine from using the sword,” Bubba reminded her.
“Really? I have the faint sensation that I was about to dive into some truly complex and meaty magical theory.”
“No, Bubba is right, definitely just assuring me that Albert will be fine.” Amy was a lovely woman in her own right, but she could go off on technical tangents that may as well have been in another language, for all the understanding we took from them.
“If you’re both sure . . .” Amy squinted her eyes for a moment, clearly trying to redirect that odd brain of hers toward the function of memory. After a few seconds, she gave a small shrug and abandoned the endeavor. “Anyway, the odds are that Albert won’t have any negative reaction to wielding the sword. That it chose him at all practically serves as proof.”
“Personally, I’m more worried about what’s waitin’ for him after the test,” Bubba said.
“You know about that?” I asked.
Bubba shot me a strange glance. “Course I know about it. I grew up with it. I’m a little surprised that you do, though.”
“You’re talking about different things,” Amy chimed in, producing a water bottle that I was fairly certain she’d taken from the plane and sprinkling in some strange powder.
“Are we? I was talking about how Krystal thinks Arch is going to try and recruit Albert into the Agency.”
“I think we all saw that coming,” Bubba said. “I was more talking about what life will be like for Albert after he’s free and clear to be a Weapon Bearer. It’s a hard thing, getting a lot of power and duty dumped in your lap like that. We have to run whole counseling programs just for newly turned therians to help them cope with the change.”
“Albert already handled dying pretty well,” I pointed out.
“That’s different. This is him being handed a mess of power, a sense of obligation, and no direction. Turning therian isn’t a perfect metaphor, but it runs close. We get incredible bodies, but also a tangled snarl of culture, etiquette, and obedience,” Bubba said. “Albert’s a good kid with his head on right, but that can be a real sticker bush for anyone to push through.”
“It’s curious to me how all of you are worrying in the wrong direction,” Amy said. She’d finished her sprinkling and taken a few sips of water. “But that might be due to the fact that I can’t remember how much I know versus how much you do. Either way, trust me: you don’t have to worry about Albert.”
“You say that, but you still seem a bit wound up yourself,” Bubba pointed out.
“Of course I’m wound up; I’m all kinds of worried,” Amy replied, her expression somewhere between confused and aghast. She added a few more sprinkles of powder to the bottle before twisting the cap back on tightly.
“I have to admit, I expected to see Neil in here with you, trying to find some way to get the sword to let go,” I said, trying to steer the conversation into waters where Amy made a bit more sense.
“He’s headstrong as a drunken bull, but Neil knows the right thing to do when it matters,” Bubba said. “My money says he’s over in their room doing all he can to make sure Albert feels calm going into the trial.”
“Should we go over and help?”
“No,” Amy said, voice strong and word quick. “Leave them be. This is important. Their bond needs to be as strong as possible.”
Though I had no idea what she was talking about, I trusted Amy’s judgment, especially when it came to her apprentice. She’d turned an overly ambitious sociopath into a tamed student, and from what I saw, she’d done it mostly with kind words and careful discipline. If she thought they were best served by being alone, then I wouldn’t be the one to break them apart.
“So, do we just sit around until it’s time for the trial?”
“Welcome to ‘hurry up and wait,’ the basis for every form of combat since the first caveman realized he could stake out a watering hole,” Bubba said. “It’s why I always keep a book on me, and I got a hunch it’s why Amy likes to have cards on hand.”
I had neither of those things, but I was carrying a smartphone preloaded with various apps and games. Though getting a signal in a place like this was laughable, I could still manage to whittle the time away with the things already on the phone. I pulled out my device and checked the battery.
“Over eighty percent,” I noted. “Well, hopefully that will last me through an hour.”
“That’s what I admire about you, Fred,” Bubba told me as he reopened his book. “You’re a damned hopeless optimist.”
6.
By the time Arch came to get us, Krystal had woken up and wandered over, with Albert and Neil joining us about fifteen minutes later. We were in the middle of a spirited game of Hearts when I first picked up the scent of his cigarettes wafting down the hall. When he finally arrived, we’d put the cards away and were on our feet, waiting for him.
Arch lifted one of his eyebrows carefully when he saw our united front. “You all thinking of jumping me?”
“What?” (It is my unfortunate burden to admit that I may have yelped that word just a touch. My already healthy fear of agents had been compounded by Krystal’s assessment of Arch’s abilities.)
“You’re all up, looking like you’re ready to throw down.” Arch took a long drag of his cigarette as he eyed each of us. “Of course, you’d have had to take out Agent Jenkins first, and at least one of you would have been smart enough to ambush me when I came through the door. Wouldn’t have worked, obviously, but it would have been the smart play.”
“Enough,” Krystal said, using the voice she generally reserved for dealing with people she was arresting—and cable companies. “Everyone is playing along real nice, Arch. Don’t push it.”
“Sorry, just thought I’d try to lighten the mood. All right, Weapon Bearer Albert, you’re coming with me. Technically, the contract holder and the necromancer have the right to oversee this, so Agent Jenkins can lead them to the observation area.”
“As the necromancer’s master, I am permitted to follow him anywhere I deem my presence to be needed,” Amy said. I wasn’t sure what she’d taken in the last hour or so, but her hair was shining like long strands of tinsel and there was a soft purple glow around her eyes.
“What rule are you invoking for that one?” Arch asked.
“Section fifteen, paragraph twelve. It’s the one titled ‘fuck you; it’s happening because I say so.’ Surprised you didn’t know that one, Arch. Most agents invoke it all the time.”
I could actually see Arch consider pushing back on Krystal, but evidently, he decided he had better ways to spend his energy than slamming it against the brick wall known as arguing with my girlfriend. My regard for his intelligence rose a few more notches.
“Fine, screw it, the whole gang can come.” Arch stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it into the bag at his side, immediately producing a new one. Whatever brand of parahuman he was, I hoped it was one that didn’t make much use of their lungs. “No sense in taking you out of the room to explain things then. Albert, I’m going to lead you down into the testing arena, where you’ll be wielding that sword of yours for a bit. We’ve got it set up with various inanimate objects for you to break, so you’ll have time to get used to the thing. Given that it’s a weapon of destiny, you shouldn’t need more than a couple of swings. Once all of those are broken, you’re going to fight a small chimera.”
“You’re making him fight something?” Neil interrupted.
“Not sure how else you thought we’d see how the magic affects creatures that aren’t Albert,” Arch said. “Besides, he won’t be in any real danger. We had the thing de-clawed and de-fanged before bringing it over.”
“I . . . I don’t know how I feel about killing something that’s helpless,” Albert said.
“Respectable, but chimeras like this are happier dead,” Arch told him. “They’re creatures formed by mages, bound together from all sorts of animals. If it’s done right, you get some pretty incredible beings. If it’s done wrong, like the one waiting for you was, it just becomes a mass of fear, hunger, and most of all, pain. Weaving flesh isn’t easy. Do it poorly, and you create something that lives in constant agony.”
Albert looked at Neil, who gave a small nod.
“That’s pretty much exactly what Amy taught me about chimeras. It’s also why she doesn’t make them.”
“Still . . . isn’t there some way to help it?”
“If there were, we wouldn’t be doing this,” Arch said. “Thing’s not even truly sentient, just a mass of instincts. And if that doesn’t put you at ease, know that we picked this thing up for a reason. I did mention that they were made of pain and hunger.”
“Oh,” Albert said, comprehension dawning.
“Like I said, this thing needs to die no matter what, and it will. While you do all the sword swinging ,we’ll have some Agency mages watching you with their fancy vision, making sure the magic is flowing well. Once everything is done, assuming there are no problems, we’ll talk about the results and you’ll be free to go. Got it? Good. Now keep up.”
I found myself doubting the last part of Arch’s speech, but whether it was something in his tone or just suspicion aroused by Krystal’s theory would be impossible to say. At the moment, my greater concern was for Albert, who still looked quite nervous. As Arch walked out of the room, motioning for us to follow, I made my way over to my dear assistant.
“Holding up okay?” I didn’t try to whisper (pulling that off while following Arch through the stone hallway would have been a fool’s errand), however I did try to keep the discussion as quiet as possible.
Albert looked at me and managed a genuine smile, the sort of thing only he could do in a situation like this. “I’m kind of just ready for it to be over. But I guess it never really will be, will it?”
He rested his hand on the sheath of the sword, and I wondered just how heavy it had already become. I could only imagine the weight it would accumulate as time went on. Perhaps it would have been kinder to lie to him, to ease his burden just a bit, but it wouldn’t have been right. And at that moment, Albert needed clarity about what lay ahead, not words full of hollow comfort.
“No, Albert. It probably will never be over, not how you mean it. For better or worse, drawing that sword changed things, and they’ll never go back to the way they were.”
“I’ve been afraid of that.” Albert’s ever-present cheer seemed to slowly—finally—evaporate.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, Albert. I’m saying things won’t be the same anymore, but that isn’t the same thing as saying they’ll be bad.” I let out a sigh and tried not to wince at the subtle irony of my being the one to say what I was about to. “Life, and unlife for that matter, is constantly changing. Sometimes it’s going to be bad, but sometimes it’s going to be good. I understand wanting things to stay the same—I spent the majority of my time alive trying to keep everything stable, balanced, and unchanging—but, Albert, changes comes regardless of what we do. Without change, I never would have been killed getting groceries, and as terrible as that was, it led to me meeting Krystal, and Bubba, and Amy, and you. The place in time you want to go back to didn’t always exist; it came about because of change. Things won’t stay the same, but you may just have some incredible experiences waiting for you over the horizon.”
“Thanks, Fred,” Albert said, looking at me with a strange spark in his eyes. “I needed that.”
“Just the speech I wish someone had given me before I spent most of my twenties being a shut-in,” I told him.
“This is where we part,” Arch announced from up ahead. The stone hallway split off in three directions, and Krystal was already standing in front of one of them. “Albert comes with me, the rest of you go with Agent Jenkins.”
“Good luck,” I whispered to Albert as he began heading toward Arch. He gave me a nod, then stopped in front of Neil. For a moment, the two seemed unsure of what to do, but Albert pushed forward and embraced his best friend in a firm hug. I truly hoped he didn’t do any damage to the young necromancer; zombie strength is nothing to sneeze at. When they finally released the embrace, Albert made his way past the rest of his friends, getting a handshake from Bubba and hugs from Krystal and Amy.
I sidled up to Krystal as Arch and Albert began walking down their hall and slipped my hand around hers. I could still hear them talking as they walked, even if my vampire ears could only barely pick up Arch’s steps.
“You seem pretty composed for someone going into a trial like this,” Arch told him. From the tone of his voice, I felt reasonably sure he meant it as a compliment.
“I’m really scared,” Albert admitted immediately. “It’s all I can do to keep walking right now. But I don’t want to let being afraid stop me. I want to be like my hero.”
He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, to where Krystal and I were standing. I could hardly fault Albert’s taste in role-models—Krystal was a very impressive person in every regard. She was a great hero for him to have, though I was certainly glad he hadn’t taken that as cause to emulate her more aggressive personality traits.
“Come on, let’s get up there and cheer Albert on,” Krystal said, giving my hand a quick squeeze.
“Damn right,” Bubba agreed.
Neil was clearly too nervous to talk, and Amy seemed to be mentally preoccupied. That wasn’t strange in itself, in fact, it was closer to the norm. What struck me as odd was the subject of her preoccupation. While the rest of us had been focused almost entirely on Albert, she’d had a different concentration point.
For some reason, Amy had scarcely taken her eyes off Neil.
7.
Though I’d only seen gladiatorial arenas in movies and documentaries, I immediately recognized Albert’s testing area as one. True, it was carved of stone like the rest of the underground base (as was the viewing platform we stood on fifty feet above him), and all the light came from those same cheap yellow bulbs instead of from the sun, but it was an arena all the same. Round and wide, with a floor composed of loose dirt atop what was likely more stone, each end held a single gated entrance. Albert came in from what I took to be the southern one, based
solely on my viewing position. The northern one still had its gate down, though I could hear sounds of strained movement coming from the shadows behind it. I tried to ignore such disconcerting noises as I watched Albert wander through the arena.
Around him were various minor obstacles—small stacks of boards, a few panes of glass, and even a metal rod or two. I was reasonably certain that no normal sword or wielder could be expected to slice through metal; however, given Albert’s undead strength and the presumed power of a weapon of destiny, it might actually be a manageable, if difficult, challenge.
Albert seemed at a loss for what to do, merely wandering around and inspecting each of the different things he seemed expected to cut. A pair of what I presumed to be mages sat on either side of the viewing arena, opposite from our group’s position, watching without comment as he stood around. Clearly, their job was simply to witness, not instruct.
“What’s he doing?” I whispered to Krystal.
“Probably waiting for some kind of signal,” she said, not bothering to whisper in the slightest. “I’d bet Arch is doing a quick tour to make sure there’s no one near Albert, and then getting clear himself. Safety first, and all that shit.”
“I wish they’d just get on with it,” Neil muttered, staring down at his friend. Amy reached over and rested a comforting hand on her apprentice’s shoulder.
For once, Neil and I were on the same page. Albert looked so small, so lonely down there all by himself. Our group had been through some rough situations before, but we’d always been together. Albert having to face a challenge like this alone just seemed . . . wrong.
“Everyone is now clear. Whenever you’re ready, Weapon Bearer.” Arch’s voice boomed through the stone coliseum as he jogged up behind us, emerging from the entrance tunnel. To have dropped off Albert and then run back up to meet us was no mean feat, yet Arch didn’t even seem to be out of breath. In fact, he pulled out a new cigarette as soon as he came to a stop. I found myself wondering once more what on earth Arch was. He didn’t seem to have the mystical appearance mages favored, he lacked the bulk and presence of a therian, and he was too well-tanned to be an undead. My best bet was that he was like Krystal, hiding a supernatural power that only manifested under certain conditions. Curious as he was, I quickly turned my attention back where it belonged—on Albert.