by HP Mallory
“Yeah, how you like them angel apples, you little turd monkey?” he called, suddenly spinning on his heel in a Michael Jackson move. “Oooo smack!” he sang, holding his fingers out before him while a flame of white light encircled him. The demons pulled back as he approached, baring their teeth, and trying to intimidate him.
“Yeah, that’s right; smile, and say cheese, bitches,” he laughed, sounding like he’d completely lost his mind. Throwing bursts of light into the sky, he continued raving like a mad man. “Give me some lip, you little demon farts!” Then he faced the Grevels again. “Yeah, you heard me, you smell like Satan’s ass!”
One of the demons pawed the ground, snarling as Bill approached him. But Bill seemed unfazed and continued with his aerobic angel resistance tirade. He jumped up and threw out his leg like he was kickboxing. “Yeah, you want some more, you little gonad sucker?” The demon growled again, pulling its lips back and exposing rows of fierce, saber-sharp teeth. “That all you got, Rainbow Brite?” Bill asked, roaring at it, like he was attempting to impersonate The Lion King. The demon responded by further curling its lip back, to which Bill did the same, revealing his teeth that were about as intimidating as Mr. Ed’s. ”You wanna shit yer last chance undies, buddy?”
The Grevel pawed the ground again, erecting itself to its full height as it growled louder, steam filling its nostrils.
“Thoir do chasan leat!”
I heard the deep voice coming from behind me and turned so quickly, I gave myself whiplash. But the pain in my neck was a distant memory as words died in my throat. It was all I could do to stare at the stranger, fear already enveloping me. He was, in a word ... intimidating. He was huge—maybe bordering on seven feet tall—easily the tallest man I’d ever seen. And his build was just as threatening: incredibly broad shoulders, offset with bulky pecs, and abs that could have redefined “washboard.” He wasn’t wearing anything besides a black kilt and what looked like Gladiator sandals—leather straps that snaked up his muscular legs. In his right hand he held a sword with an incredibly long blade—the tip of which currently rested in the snow.
Even though his body seemed built for combat, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his face. It was a face that would be very difficult to forget—with chiseled and square lines that didn’t seem at home in the category of “handsome.” In fact, I’m not sure you could have termed this guy handsome because he was entirely too masculine for the word. His eyes, which were currently narrowed on me, were navy blue and hard, just like the rest of him. In fact, hard was a good description. There was a certain hard edge to the frown that contorted his full lips and the scar that bisected his cheek. It ran from the tip of one eyebrow and ended at his jaw line. His short, black hair and olive complexion gave him a certain Mediterranean air, but there was no question as to his ancestry. He was Scottish, born and bred. If his kilt didn’t convince me, his Gaelic did.
The demons immediately stopped their advance on Bill and cowered behind the imposing man, making it pretty obvious that we had more to fear from him than from them.
“Bill?” I asked, turning to ensure my guardian angel was okay. As soon as I peeled my eyes from the stranger, I felt the air catch in my throat as he hurled himself against me. The blade of his sword was suddenly poised underneath my chin.
“Take it easy there, Conan,” Bill said slowly, approaching us with his hands in the air in an appeal for surrender.
“Who are ye? An’ what do ye want?” the man spat out in a deep Scottish brogue, his eyes never leaving mine.
“We came to see the blacksmith,” Bill said slowly, continuing his advance, step-by-step.
“Ye can stop there,” the man barked at Bill, glaring at him before he returned his eyes to me, pushing the blade deeper into my neck. “What business do ye have with the blacksmith?”
“She needs a sword,” Bill answered, in a level and even tone.
I closed my eyes, trying to curb the panic that crested through me, and restrain the sudden sensation that I was going to pass out. I opened my eyes and found that icy, navy blue gaze studying me intently. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in his eyes. The man said nothing, but continued studying me for a few seconds. I still couldn’t find the wherewithal to even breathe, let alone talk.
“Yer name?” he ground out.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, suddenly feeling my heart pounding through my head. “Lily,” I said softly.
“Surname?”
“Harper,” I said automatically, before remembering that I was now O’Shaughnessey. I didn’t correct myself.
The stranger said nothing more. In one quick move, he pulled away from me, dropping the tip of the sword back into the snow. I rubbed my neck, half wondering if he’d drawn blood. When I pulled my hand away to check, there wasn’t any.
“Ye would know if Ah cut ye,” he said in a deep tone, his eyes still narrowed with distrust.
“You know where can we find the blacksmith, He-Man?” Bill asked, inserting himself between the man and me. I had to admit I was impressed by his protective nature. Maybe he was trying to make up for letting me get killed a few hours ago.
The man didn’t say anything right away, but managed to unnerve me with the intensity of his glare. “Ye found him.”
“You’re the blacksmith?” Bill repeated, his eyebrows reaching for the sky. I wasn’t sure why he was surprised. The more I thought about it, this guy probably could have created a weapon in his sleep. His ease while handling his sword only reiterated the fact.
“Och aye, though Ah am far more than ah mere blacksmith. Ah am ah bladesmith.”
“Bladesmith, blacksmith, potato, potahto, balls, testies, gonads, nuts—what the hell’s the difference?” Bill piped up.
The man glared at him in response. “Ah bladesmith is far more skilled than ah ‘blacksmith,’ who hammers oot or casts tools ah soft iron,” (He said it “arne.”) “Ah bladesmith has ta know how ta make ah sword from steel.”
“File that under who gives a shit,” Bill grumbled.
The man took a deep breath. “Ye got ah name, angel?”
It was Bill’s turn to regard him suspiciously, but a moment or so later, he extended his hand. “No handshake rapin’, either,” he warned. “I’m Bill.”
The man made no attempt to shake Bill’s proffered hand, but simply turned on his heel and started walking away, calling back to us over his shoulder. “Mah name is Tallis Black, boot ye will call me Bladesmith.”
“How hard a thing it is to say what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear.”
– Dante’s Inferno
FIVE
“Dude!” Bill called at the bladesmith’s retreating figure. “What the hell?” He even threw his arms up to act out his frustration. “Where are you going? We need a sword!”
But the man didn’t stop walking, the mob of demons following him like ugly sheep. Bill faced me with a frown and then shrugged, shaking his head as he muttered, “So much for customer service.”
“So, what now?” I started, glancing back at the bladesmith’s figure as it got smaller and smaller the farther away he walked. Somehow, I got the idea that we needed to follow him.
“After you,” Bill muttered, and we both jogged to catch up with the gigantic, taciturn man. When we finally managed to reach him, we were both huffing and puffing. He responded with a raised eyebrow and a frown.
“Hey, Hulk Hogan, didn’t you hear me?” Bill asked between great gulps of air, seemingly grateful when the man eventually slowed his steps and paused. He turned to face the much shorter, more out of shape angel who now tried to stand, but remained bent over, his hands on his knees as he attempted to catch his breath.
“Aye.”
“And, what? You don’t like cash?” Bill asked, glaring at the demons. They growled at him as they menacingly circled their master protectively. “Don’t tempt me again, bitches,” he grumbled. One of the demons, presumably the one who’d given Bi
ll the most attitude, started forward. The bladesmith rewarded it with a taste of his heel and it fell back in place among all the others.
“The sun is settin’. There will be nae forgin’ ah blade this day.”
I imagined he meant he only worked in the daylight—probably because it was too difficult to hammer a sword without any light. Before I could inquire, he resumed his inhuman pace again, deserting Bill and me in his wake.
“So what are we supposed to do? Come back later?” Bill called after the man’s retreating figure.
“Nae. It wouldna be ah good idea ta trespass these woods alone,” he called over his shoulder.
“Okay, so ...” Bill continued, his tone of voice becoming increasingly agitated as he hurried his steps. Eventually he broke into another jog, and I followed right alongside him.
The man stopped walking and faced Bill, his arms crossed against his massive chest—his tight lips just as unfriendly. “Ah will offer ye protection this night an’ ye will be on yer way come the morrow.”
Bill glanced at me, the frown apparently now a permanent set to his features. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Tonight we’re staying here with him, I guess,” I answered, nervous because I couldn’t predict how much more of Bill the bladesmith would willingly put up with. He didn’t seem to be a patient man. And speaking of our less than friendly host, I wasn’t certain I wholeheartedly liked this plan. In the first place, this man didn’t exactly inspire my trust. But I had no idea what the forest might have in store for us, if we did decide to try and locate the car.
“And her sword?” Bill continued, motioning to me, but his eyes were still locked on the bladesmith.
The man glanced over at me, his eyes raking me from head to toe, but there didn’t appear to be anything of a sexual nature in his gaze. It was more like he was taking stock of me—well, as far as I could tell anyway. It wasn’t like I had much experience when it came to men and their lustful appetites. Strangely enough, when he didn’t appear to regard “me” (well, the new-bodied me, anyway) in a sexual manner, I was somehow ... bothered by it. Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was bothered by his lack of interest but more that I was floored by it? I just couldn’t understand how any man wouldn’t be attracted to the body I now inhabited. I mean, as far as I was concerned, when I’d picked it, this body was model perfect, model gorgeous ...
Maybe the blacksmith, aka Tallis Black was ... gay?
I had to figuratively slap myself, irritated that such ridiculous and useless thoughts were even occurring to me. Who cared if this man didn’t find “me” attractive? Who cared if he was gay or wasn’t gay? It wasn’t like I wanted anything to do with him ... right? I mean, it wasn’t as though he was a nice person, as far as I could tell ... I shook my head, even more convinced that I was acting like an absolute imbecile because Tallis Black didn’t appear to be “nice” at all! Surly, abrupt and aloof seemed better adjectives to describe him. The truth of the matter was that this man was menacing and downright scary.
“Ahem,” Bill continued when the bladesmith made no response.
The man finally nodded. “She will have her sword.” Then he started walking forward again, the gaggle of demons trailing behind him.
Bill faced me and shrugged. “Looks like we ain’t got much of a choice.”
Figuring Bill had a point, I just nodded and took a few steps, noticing that the bladesmith maintained a good two-pace distance in front of us. Whenever we sped up, so did he. Obviously he wasn’t one for conversation. “You think we’re safe with him?” I whispered to Bill, watching the muscles in the man’s legs ripple as the incline of the path steepened, the rocks and snow acting as obstacles.
Apparently noticing the heightened difficulty of our trek, Bill grumbled something about “f-ing forests” and glowered at the bladesmith, as if this whole uncomfortable journey was his fault. “I’m pretty sure we’re safe with him. He’s got ties to AE so he has to be on best behavior where we’re concerned or good ol’ Skeletor will give ’em a rash of shit.”
“Okay,” I said, sighing deeply, and trying not to relive the feel of the man’s sword when it was up close and personal with my neck. I could only hope we were making the right decision in trusting this guy.
“Hopefully Hercules has got some grub,” Bill continued, his stomach grumbling as if on cue.
We remained quiet for the next few seconds; the only sound the snow crunching underfoot. The sun had begun its descent in the sky, bathing the forest in an orange hue, the white lights of spirits looking like stars between the trees.
The bladesmith continued to move through the forest, his footfalls barely making a sound against the snow-packed earth, which I found odd, considering how large he was.
Is trusting him a good idea? I asked myself, frustrated when I had no answer. He came very close to slitting your throat earlier ... what makes you think he’s not trying to lure you and Bill into a situation that could be even worse?
“῾He who does not trust enough, will not be trusted,’” I repeated the words of Lao Tzu to myself in an attempt to dissuade my fears.
“What?” Bill asked, glancing over at me with a pinched expression, as if he’d stubbed his toe—which was probably exactly what had just happened.
“Oh, I, uh, like to repeat inspirational quotes to myself whenever I get freaked out about something,” I admitted rather embarrassedly. “It seems to always make me feel better.”
Bill’s frown deepened as he expelled a pent up breath. “Oh, shit, you’re one ah them shelf esteemers?”
“I’m one of what?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re one ah them sorry assholes who works on your self-esteem by readin’ self-help crap.”
“Hey,” I started, feeling deeply offended. “Some people just need a little help in their lives.”
Bill shook his head, eyeing me pitifully. “You just gotta be careful not to be so busy tryin’ to learn how to get a life that you forget to have one.”
I felt my jaw drop open as the weight of his words sunk into me. It took me a good few seconds to respond because I couldn’t deny the truth in what he’d just said. Maybe I had allowed my life to pass me by because I’d been so busy burying my nose in books which were meant to teach me how to live? “That’s the most poignant statement you’ve said thus far, Bill,” I said softly.
“I know, right?” he answered, a proud smile peering out behind his lips.
“Right,” I responded, shaking my head as I reminded myself of his words again, still taken aback by his insight. The truth of the matter was that I had always lived my life and made my choices according to the books I’d read. Maybe in some ways I hadn’t allowed myself to make the mistakes in life which would have taught me life lessons I needed to know? I mean, when it came down to it, I was a twenty-two-year-old virgin with a boring job and only my mother and Miranda as friends and confidantes.
As the silence stretched between us, I decided to interrupt it. “So that was some stunt you pulled with those demons.” The hike up a small, but nearly vertical hill was in the process of taking its toll on my calves.
Bill shrugged, his huffing and puffing fully back in force. “It was all for show but, hey, it worked.”
“For show?”
He glanced over at me and thrust his hands in his pockets before nodding. “Yeah, I can’t hurt no one; just like nothin’ or no one can hurt me.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I’m an angel, which means I’m like a spirit. I can’t be killed or hurt and, likewise, I can’t kill or hurt anyone else, which kinda sucks. There have been plenty of times I woulda really liked to bust out some whup-ass.”
“You did a fine job of killing me in that auto accident,” I grumbled, frowning as I remembered the particulars.
“I didn’t kill you, bubble butt, the truck killed you.”
“But ...”
“I was just MIA, that’s all.”
That seeme
d like the argument—do guns kill people or do people kill people? But I wasn’t exactly in the mood to dispute it. “And just what the he...ll were you doing that prohibited you from seeing to your guardian angel duties?”
He glanced over at me and raised a brow. “You gotta stop nerdjacking the conversation, yo.”
“What?” I asked, frowning as I nearly tripped over a tree root, partially concealed in a few inches of snow.
“Who talks like that?” he asked as he reached out and stabilized me. “Nerds, that’s who.”
“Stop changing the subject,” I ground out, pulling my arm from him. “What were you doing at the time of my accident?”
He frowned, glancing down at the ground, and pausing as he carefully avoided another semi-exposed tree root. “I, uh, was gettin’ my rocks off with this chick I’d been after for a while.”
I shook my head and sighed deeply.
“Hey, don’t be mad,” he said quickly, offering me a smile of consolation. “I completed my probation and took all my classes and now I’m on the straight and narrow.” He held his hand out in front of him, moving it from left to right, as if choreographing “straight and narrow.” Then he motioned to his monitor. “I even got this thing, remember? I’m like a new man, honey mounds.”
There was no point in beating a dead horse. Instead, I decided to ask about his angel limitations, figuring it was a topic I should be up on. “So how would you have taken me out of harm’s way, if you had been doing your job?”
He shrugged. “Forced you to hit your brakes harder, or sooner; or created a longer buffer of space between you and the truck. Maybe even jacked your wheel to the side, to make you avoid the truck altogether. Lotsa possibilities.”
“So then you aren’t really like a spirit, if you can affect tangible things?”
