The Seventh Spirit

by Adam-Clay Webb

  “Lex!” Blade called, “Lex!” The boy opened his eyes suddenly, almost abruptly enough to frighten Blade. They flashed black for an immeasurably short while. Blade looked at the boy’s pale, sunken eyes. The confused, weary boy looked at Blade, struggling to stay awake. Blade started jamming keys from the packed bunch into the locks. The prisoners began to make even more noise than before. The fifth key did the job, and Blade went into the cell. In a hurry, he used the same key to unchain Lex. The next second, he untied the tight ropes. Lex just sat and stared at Blade hazily.

  The swordsman glanced far up the corridor, seeing a solder rising and slowly making his way toward the door. Blade stood up quickly and hurled the bunch of keys over the length of the aisle with tremendous force. The keys blasted the solder in the back of his head and he fell. In a few seconds, Blade was helping the same man to his feet. He grabbed the man’s collar. “No-one leaves until we’re all free!” Blade said. The prisoners roared in agreement. Blade locked the door and hurried back down to where Lex was. The boy hadn’t even the strength or awareness to crawl out of the cell.

  “What… are you doing?” he finally asked faintly.

  “Building a makeshift army.” Blade grabbed the boy and flung him over his shoulder.

  “Who are you?”

  “Blade.”

  The sword master threw the bunch of keys into the cell closest to him from where he was. “Hurry! Pull and pass!” Blade commanded. In a brawl, with surprising speed, the prisoners found their keys and freed themselves, passing the bunch of keys along. Blade was already at the door, the fallen guard still at his feet. Prisoners still bound made the most noise, hurrying the others to send up the keys. Men jumped out of cells with vigour and flexed their muscles.

  “Blade the hero!” one man shouted, and a chorus of praise followed.

  Blade glanced around at the criminals with combing, narrowed eyes. Hope these bastards don’t make it too far out. He recognized some of them, and knew that all in all, they were some of the worst criminals in the entire Magmalian prison. “Can you walk?” Blade asked, putting Lex down. He crouched to his hands limply like his feet had no life in them.

  “I’ll try,” the boy said, struggling to stand.

  “Hm. This won’t do,” Blade said, not sounding worried or very concerned though. “In any case, I should need the use of my hands.” He crouched down. “Get on… Hurry.” Lex jumped on Blade’s back without further hesitation.

  “Why?” the confused boy asked, “Why go to such lengths to save me?”

  Blade stood and wordlessly waited for all the prisoners to be freed.

  “Save your strength, kid,” he answered. “We move out as one!” he commanded, then unlocked the door and kicked it open. As expected, a company of soldiers had surrounded the compound. Blade’s men were hidden in the shadows, waiting for their leader to appear. In the noisy chaos, Blade and the men he came with fled the premises quickly. The confused soldiers fought the escaping prisoners, detaining most of them. Blade and his followers moved quickly though the darkness, Kyle’s hideout already in sight.

  The men in black cloaks stopped suddenly, realizing they were surrounded by tens of armed men.

  “You’re not going anywhere!” one of the soldiers declared; he was dressed differently from the others— and even they weren’t dressed like the ordinary soldiers either— they wore full blue suits, and carried black and red scabbards with the Magmalian emblem on them, blue handles jutting out from them.

  Blade looked around quickly, counting the men, assessing them quickly. These men…

  “This is Under-supreme General Marco, leader of the Magmalian Army!” the man introduced, sounding like he was the king himself. “A prison break?! This is unacceptable, and punishable by death! Whoever you people are, you’re well-trained, but my team of special operatives does not know the meaning of defeat. We will crush you criminals like the insects you are!” A look of disgust and fierce arrogance reddened the man’s eyes. He was in a full-black suit, and carried a black sheath with the red insignia of his army.

  Blade put Lex down, and the circle of cloaked swordsmen surrounded him, facing the special ops and their infamous leader. “The pile of rocks… Kyle awaits you there. Make a run as soon as you see an opening, then return to the hideout with him.”

  As if coordinated, everyone drew their swords at once. The two circles of men clashed suddenly, and Lex took a sprint toward the pile without looking back, an enemy sword nearly grazing him.

  “Jason! Get the boy!” Commander Marco belted, and one of the soldiers gave chase. Lex, weakened by hunger and aches everywhere, with half the chaser’s speed, struggled toward the checkpoint. Even from the darkness, he saw Kyle’s eyes, and he somehow knew he would be alright. Kyle ran around the rocks and attacked the frightened soldier suddenly. Special Operative Jason Pertroski, and former captain didn’t see his death coming. Kyle rammed his sword into the man’s side. As blood gushed from the middle-aged man, he stumbled and fell, Kyle’s sword still deep inside him. He wouldn’t have wished to live to see the boy who killed him after he had taken down some of Magma Town’s most wretched criminals. Kyle ran up to the floored man, not feeling the same heaviness he felt when he had killed the royal guard. He pulled his sword from the body. Lex ran up to him quickly and hugged him tightly, panting, grabbing the back of his head as his muscles weakened.

  “Oh God… Kyle…”

  Hearing swords clashing just yards away, Kyle grabbed Lex and quickly ran with him in the direction of the hideout.

  Kent’s bellow of pain screeched through the cold night as one of Marco’s men drew his sword from his chest. Blade took a quick glance in his direction, his teeth tightly clenched and eyes wide. Blood gushed from his friend’s chest with no end. Blade watched, with no time to mourn, as his friend fell with a hole in his chest that the greatest sorcerer alive couldn’t heal. He turned his attention back to his own duel that same second, defending against another of Marco’s powerful attacks. By now, there were five distinct duels that didn’t disrupt each other, and no clear winner could be seen in any of them. Marco sent another heavy, downward swing at Blade. Quick reflexes allowed it to be dodged. Blade had noticed, from Marco’s very first strike, that his opponent was physically stronger than him, just slightly, but enough to be taken into consideration. His blows were some of the heaviest he’d ever encountered, and each of his attacks was accompanied by dead-on accuracy and sharp movement.

  Blade took another swing at Marco, using more effort than he was accustomed to. Marco blocked the never-failing strike and delivered a quick and forceful kick, sending Blade around seven meters away; he landed skilfully on his feet and skated back for another half meter, but his sword not in its rightful place. With impressive speed, Marco ran toward Blade and delivered a flying kick, sending him on his back to skate roughly on the hard ground. He then rushed on to the fallen Blade and dived down at him, his sword held by both hands. Blade rolled out of the way of the deadly attack. Marco recovered quickly, standing, sword in hand. Blade took the opportunity and recovered his sword, facing the under-supreme general and the strongest fighter of the most feared army on the continent.

  So he managed to land two attacks of that calibre in such quick succession, Blade thought, his face not showing any worry or uncertainty. Cost me some dirt on my coat, but his fighting technique is fully analyzed. I’ll end this quickly.

  He recovered that quickly? Marco thought, impressed. “You fight like a Zakatian,” Marco said, a slight smirk on his face, “and you seem a bit too experienced for a boy your age… You must be Blade of the Land of the Sword… prodigy of Zakashi Village.” Even a man like Marco sounded honoured to fight Blade, but there was no sound of fear or uncertainty, only interest and excitement.

  With that, the army man charged at Blade again. With a sidestep, he evaded Marco’s attack, then he managed to trip him. With heavy force, Blade used his right foot to sweep Marco’s feet off the ground. Marco fell f
lat on his back, still not fretting about losing the fight. Moving to stand, Marco defended against Blade’s vicious swing. Marco’s eyes widened as his sword was knocked from his firm grip, landing meters behind him. He watched as Blade sneeringly cased his sword.

  “Insolent!” Marco blasted, rising quickly. Blade easily evaded Marco’s close combat attacks. His eyes glared in annoyance as he tried with all his strength to land even half a punch. Blade jumped back as Marco jumped at him, kicking at him several times in the air. Marco spun quickly, swinging at Blade with knives he withdrew the tiny moment his back was turned to Blade during the revolution. Blade’s blue-grey hair flashed in the dark, bouncing off moonlight as he skilfully dodged Marco’s strikes. “Keep still!” Marco’s teeth clenched tightly and his eyes bulged as he struck at Blade with increasing speed, but decreasing accuracy.

  “Your emotions are obscuring your judgement, General,” Blade said, like he was training the soldier. This further riled Marco, and his attacks became even easier to dodge.

  “I’ll slice that cool look off your face!” he bantered, kicking and swinging at Blade, who seemed to be dodging each attack with less effort used to dodge the last. Blade sunk his hands down into his pockets, and there was a languid look of boredom on his face. Blade kicked away one of Marco’s daggers as he stabbed at him. With a loud cry, Marco gave his next strike all he had. Blade jumped and spun in the air, kicking the other blade from the soldier’s hand. Marco stepped toward Blade with a fast and slightly more accurate than expected punch, not accurate enough nevertheless. In one quick movement, so sudden and unseen it baffled the soldier, Blade slithered behind Marco and held his glistening blade a few millimetres from his neck. What?!

  Blade held Marco in the hostage position for a moment long enough for the soldier’s mind to process his new reality. “Make them surrender,” Blade told him calmly.

  “You will not get away with this,” Marco said, a red anger and shame in his tone. Blade pulled the cold blade toward Marco’s neck, that he could feel the chill, the breath of death. “Battalion Zero! Floor your weapons!” his command rang out. The puzzled men seized fighting and drew back in defensive positions. The eight swordsmen that made the four duels instantly realized the situation.

  “Took you damn long enough,” one of Blade’s men muttered under his breath. What was left of Battalion Zero was stupefied by what they saw. Blade looked down at his dead teammate with cold eyes.

  “Blade, take his head off! We’ll handle the rest of them! They killed Kent!”

  “Enough blood has been shed by our blades for one night,” Blade said calmly. “Get them to surrender,” he told Marco, sounding annoyed of having to repeat.

  “I said floor your weapons, dimwits!” the man belted. The soldiers released their swords to fall on the ground.

  “Now make them leave.”

  “What?!”

  “You heard me.”

  “And why the hell should I trust you?”

  “… You shouldn’t.” Blade pulled his sword back slightly. Marco didn’t even feel the slight slice; he just felt his blood running down to his chest. He shivered mildly.

  “Battalion Zero, head back to the base!” he commanded.

  “Commander—”

  “That’s a goddamn order, dammit!” the man raged, no room for argument left by his tone of voice.

  The soldiers turned and headed away from their leader’s dilemma. They were soon out of Blade’s sight, but Blade knew they were lurking close by. Blade moved his sword from Marco’s neck and pushed him off. Marco turned to face Blade, who made a swift an unavoidable strike at his face. The very tip of Blade’s sword ran down Marco’s right cheek. The army man grabbed on to his bleeding face, staring into Blade’s cold, apathetic, lazy eyes.

  “You’re getting old, General,” Blade said. “This scar will help you remember Blade, the Zakatian legend. You have a lot of cleaning up to do; you should leave my sight as quickly as your feet can take you.” Marco’s eyes were sunken in dishonour and disgrace. He could find no words. He turned from Blade, hoping he would deliver a fatal blow, but there was none to rescue him from his humiliating defeat. He slowly walked away, passing the bloodshot-eyed men in black cloaks who itched to kill him. He breathed heavily as he walked past the last one, and then hastened his steps.

  Blade glanced down at Kent’s body again. The men were grim-faced and red inside. “I knew this was a bad idea,” Mizuki muttered. “Kent died, and for what?! Strangers!” the man raged, tears settling in his eyes. “What have you done, Blade?!” Mizuki rushed on to Blade with his sword thoughtlessly. Blade didn’t as much as fidget, and his dim expression remained. His eyes were cast down on the bloody ground. Henry and Shawn grabbed the raging man, whose eyes were redder than Kent’s blood. Turner silently stooped and wrapped Kent’s body, and took it out of the pool of already thickening blood slowly and reverently. Blade glanced quickly as he heard a low rustle in a nearby bush.

  “I’m sorry…” Kyle sobbed, guilt flowing down his face in salty streams.

  One of the men hissed.

  “Go back to your friends and celebrate Lex’s return,” Blade told Kyle.

  “You might as well go with them,” the now much calmer Mizuki said in a cross and bitter tone, walking over to Turner to help him hold up Kent.

  “Leave us,” Blade said to Kyle, glancing at him with a look that made Kyle leave without argument.

  “I’m taking him home,” Mizuki said, and he and Turner walked past Blade with the body. Henry and Shawn looked at Blade for a moment more, then grimly walked past the unmoving man. Dark rainclouds covered the moon. The ground where Blade stood alone dampened a little more.

  Chapter 9: Quiet Waters

  “I’ll go get Kyle,” Mike bade Lex and Clover hastily, hoping he would get to chat with Blade. “It seems he doesn’t remember the Magmalians are on the watch for us.” Clover was sitting opposite Lex. The boy looked like he had just finished battling a creature more dreaded that Trium for a hundred years. He was dirty and bruised, and his hair was more ragged than a ruffian. His head hung down droopily.

  Clover touched his face softly with her warm, gentle hand, and raised his head. She looked into his eyes, and she felt a strange feeling, a fluttering sensation. “When you were taken…” she whispered. Tears flooded her delicate face. Lex raised his hand slowly and feebly held her smooth neck. “I felt so lost,” she told him. He stared deep into the infinite depths of her green eyes.

  “I’ll die before I let you get taken again,” he promised.

  The wind howled as they stared at each other for a moment that felt much longer than it was.

  “Won’t you kiss me before they return?” she finally asked, smiling slightly.

  “The very thought of it was what kept me alive in that hell hole,” he confessed. Her eyes widened and her heart hammered her chest even harder. Their heads slowly drew closer together like faint, averse magnets. Lex closed his eyes and tasted her lips. They felt a strange feeling of completion and victory, and there was no slight doubt. It felt right, perfect. He caressed her lips with his, and he felt a sweet bliss that he had long imagined.

  They moved apart promptly as they heard nearing footsteps. The moon suddenly showed itself, and shone brightly through the small holes in the cave. “It’s time we leave this place,” Kyle said, barely entering the dim cave.

  “Magmalian soldiers are on their way here for certain,” Mike said. Clover stood quickly, offering Lex her hand. He grabbed on to it with a smile made faint by his weariness, nearly pulling her down on him as he stood.

  “We’ll avoid using the main roads,” Kyle told the group, “no doubt soldiers are on patrol.”

  “That’s right. We should head to Central River through pathways we make ourselves,” Mike added, “the current will lead us out of Magmalian grounds.”

  Kyle nodded, seeing the river clearly in his head, having studied his map thoroughly.

  Mike led the group through a
wet, grassy pass. Kyle constantly checked his map and compass, and with no complaint of being led the wrong way. Though he never said it, he looked up to Mike in more ways than one, not that he was anywhere near the ‘Legend of Zakashi Village’ in Kyle’s esteem anyway, who had defeated quite easily the strongest of Magmalian soldiers.

  Small, thorny scratching shrubs made the path tedious and seem much longer than it was.

  “I can’t go on,” Lex panted after a short while, and crouched in the low, wet grass.

  “We’re almost there, Lex,” Mike assured, “and we can’t stop here anyway.”

  Lex nodded, not finding the energy to argue.

  Kyle helped him to his feet; he could see the hunger printed out on the boy’s face.

  “SHH!” Mike shushed them, and went down low, signalling to them to do the same. They followed Mike’s order, thinking he might have spotted soldiers nearby. Mike pointed easterly. They looked and saw a man in huge, heavy boots, long dirty trousers, a tattered shirt and a straw hat walking in their direction. He was only a few yards away, and seemed to be following the trail they left behind. “Fisherman,” Mike whispered, “maybe his boat’s stashed away near the river bank. It must be hell to bring a boat back and forth through this thick bush of thorns.” They stayed low until the fisherman turned and leisurely walked out of sight. “Come,” Mike whispered, and signalled to them, carrying them through more chunky bush. After a few minutes of slow, watchful movement, the four reached over to the bank of the river.

  “Wow…” Clover mused and stared as the river took her by surprise. As far as their eyes could see ahead, crisp water calmly reflecting and rippling the pleasant moonlight gently flowed.