Spirit Sword

by Sam Ford

  Then the water hit. It was like being physically struck, and Cale staggered backwards. He never let go of Sword though, and his concentration only slightly wavered. The fire burned white hot, turning the water to steam. Cale couldn't see anything, so shrouded in fog and steam that even the wall of fire vanished from his sight. He could hear it, however, flash boiling the flood which threatened to crush the city. The intense steam washed the city clean, instantly killing and cooking almost every living thing it touched.

  All but Cale.

  It stretched on and on. Two minutes folded into five and then ten. Finally, when Cale though he could hold on no longer, did the waters slowly recede. It spread out, flooding the countryside. The waters circled the city, flowing back through the ditches, drains and canals.

  Cale could see nothing through the cloud. His skin was a brilliant pink, washed clean from the fire and water. He only hoped everyone else was okay. Rain began to fall as it precipitated from the cloud, continuing to wash the city clean.

  Cale.

  "What?"

  You can stop now.

  Cale wasn't sure he knew how, but Sword guided him through it. It was similar to turning off a water faucet. The fire of his faith still burned within his chest threatening to consume him, but Sword finally fell silent and cold. Warm rain drizzled from the sky, washing the sweat from his eyes as his chestnut brown hair curled and stuck to his face. Cale pried loose his fingers from the hilt, relaxing his white knuckles. He gripped his chest in pain from the fire within, grew dizzy and fell over.

  "Whoops! Not to worry, lad. We've got you."

  Vyk caught him and gently set him down on the stone causeway. Jazreal was there, as well.

  "You did good, Cale! You did so good!" She hugged him tight.

  "Did everyone..."

  "Everyone is fine, kid. They're all safe, thanks to you."

  "Good, good." Cale closed his eyes. "I'm just going to shut my eyes now for a bit, if that's okay with you guys. I am so tired. I think I might sleep for a week."

  "You forgot this."

  Jazreal handed him his hat. The big, floppy thing with a brim far too wide for a child his size. It kept the rain and sun off. It stayed with him all the time, never going outside without it. It was meant to keep him safe, keep him protected. Cale stared at it, thinking of all his years growing up.

  Then he heard the cheering, the screams and laughter of the quarter-million people he had just saved. He did that; he and Sword. Together.

  Yes, the outside world was dangerous. But so was he.

  Cale took one last look at his hat and then tossed it into the air.

  Chapter XXXII

  Revelations

  Galway walked the corridors, Dagger following close behind. Road weary and tired, he could feel the crushing weight of the mountain above. It felt as if the entire world was crashing down on him. He had not expected to return, not without Cale Tannor and the sword. He had been close, so very close. But close still meant failure. Mud and Fang fished him out of the river after everything settled down. Even his horse had survived. Galway was preparing to take the city again when the Phantoms informed him he had been recalled.

  "Wait here."

  "I still can't believe this is all here. You sure about this, boss?" Dagger asked as Galway handed the Ranger his saber.

  "Absolutely not." Galway strode through the heavy hewn doors.

  The audience chamber, if it could be called that, looked different than when last Galway had seen it. The bedding was gone, as was the tub with the strange, life-preserving fluid. Instead, a king's throne was present, and on it, a decrepit King Ares, white as snow. Jaster and four of the Thirteen Ranger Chiefs stood along one wall, looking distinctly uncomfortable while staring off against Mud and Fang and several of their cursed kin on the other. How many, it was impossible to say, but their burning eyes glowed in the darkness like creatures of the night. The titanic mirror hummed behind them, still and deadly.

  "Ranger Galway is here, your Majesty." Chief Ranger Jaster spoke softly.

  Galway knelt before the throne. "Your Grace."

  "You have failed us, Ranger Galway. We have heard from our Whisperers, and they have informed us of your failure. We are most displeased. You gave us your word, yet we do not have the Sword."

  "You do not yet have the sword, your Grace."

  "You presume that failure begets more opportunity for failure? No, Ranger, I think not. We shall send the Whisperers and a legion of our best Ranger Corps to deal with this boy. There shall be blood, as in the old days."

  "Your Eminence, you heard the report with your own royal ears. The tale of what Cale Tannor did outside the gates of Uruk. The city rejoiced and hailed him as a hero. If you send a mighty force, you will meet a mighty resistance. But if you send a small unit, they will be able to take him without issue, without crushing your people of Ras Shamara. Please, think of your people. Do not risk a rebellion."

  "Twice now we have sent you, and twice now you have failed. We have wasted enough men and time on you. There will be no third chance."

  Something wasn't right. Ares wanted that sword--wanted it more than anything. Why was he blocking Galway's petition? The Ranger glanced around. The Phantoms looked angry and hungry, thirsting for blood. The Ranger Chiefs also looked angry, their proximity to the Phantom lending their thoughts murderous intent. Everyone in this room wanted Galway dead.

  All except one.

  King Ares looked down at him with the eyes of a boy in the body of a man. Trapped here in this prison of his own making, he had lingered, hoping one day he would be saved. Hoping one day an Imperial Knight might come release him from the failings of his youth.

  You are my last hope, he had said. Galway's petition was a simple one and should have easily been granted. Ares could brush off the protests of Rangers and Phantoms alike. He was their king, after all. He didn't want Galway to fail, yet he couldn't grant him his request. Not here.

  For there to be whispers in the dark, someone first had to be speaking. Someone else was here with them now.

  "With respect, you have sent your people on your timeline." Galway took a gamble. He had one last card to play. "Send me again. Let me pick the men I want. Let me take the time I need. Bid me to finish the job, without micromanagement from the Rangers, or the Phantoms, or the Crown."

  "We have made our decision, good Ranger."

  Galway had no choice but to gamble and hope the right people were listening. "Then let me speak to whomever is in charge."

  "Treachery!" the Rangers cried, reaching for empty scabbards.

  "This is a game. Let me speak to the player, not the pawn."

  That sent the Rangers into an uproar. They all began talking and shouting at once, sending accusations and slander against Galway. The Phantoms, never ones to sit silently, began drinking in the anger and discord like a fine wine. They grew wild and unruly, turning on their own. Only Mud and Fang remained still. Galway still held power, if only just a little.

  "This is preposterous!" Chief Ranger Jaster shouted. "First you demand unlimited resources and time, and now you insult our sovereign? You could stall forever and never get the job done. How do we even know a treacherous Ranger such as yourself will follow through on such a great task?"

  "Sloth, greed and gluttony are your virtues, Chief Ranger, not mine. Give me this order and I swear the boy will die, even if I must pursue him halfway around the world."

  "I think we should just execute you here!" A crazed look crossed Jaster's gaze. Galway prepared to fight.

  "No."

  The rumble was loud and long, like an earthquake or gale wind. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The Rangers screamed as tiny pebbles and stones fell on them from the vaulted ceilings. The Phantoms screamed in terror, running about like rabbits in a den of foxes. Mud and Fang, though quite impossible, appeared several shades paler, shrinking themselves as small as they could. Galway looked to King Ares for the most telling reactio
n. The king slumped in his throne like a dead man, relief in his eyes and a euphoric smile on his thin lips. Ares' faith was well placed. Galway's gambit had paid off.

  The mirror quavered. It was a great, ancient slab of red steel, polished to a gloss so dark no reflection could be seen. All revered it, all feared it and no one wanted to look directly into it. The crack began to ooze a foul-smelling black liquid, an acidic drool Galway had seen before--in the jaws of a Phantom, and the preserving bath of a king. Galway grasped for his saber, too late remembering they had confiscated it at the door. It wouldn't have done any good, anyway. Galway recalled all the stabbings Malicent had received to little effect.

  Something shifted behind the mirror, a ripple of things in the dark. A skull and torso came into focus, approaching the mirror, looking out onto the world. Unlike the Phantoms, these bones were a white, muted gray, like looking at a painting at the bottom of a lake. And far more impressive than the color was the size. Malicent had been big, but this creature put him to shame. There were no glowing eyes, no light at all in the dark, murky world. Just dark voids where the pupils should have been.

  Shapes lurked in the inky darkness, tentacles from great creatures of long ago, spanning yards long and moving with frightening speed. Krakens, swimming the depths of sin. And more, things older still, long forgotten from the memory of man and minds of gods.

  Not a mirror, no. This was a door to another realm. A bare spot in the walls between worlds, a fissure holding back unfathomable evil. A seal, twisted like skin on metal, fashioned from the same material as the Spirit Swords. It was all that separated mankind from complete extinction.

  And it was cracked.

  The Phantom creature leaned into the mirror and pushed, bending the skin like a child playing beneath cloth. It was an imperfect facsimile of flesh over bone, but the sight was utterly terrifying in its presentation. Galway smelled the acidic smell of urine as one of the great and lauded Chief Rangers relieved himself.

  "Lord... Daegon," King Ares sputtered through orgasmic waves and pursed lips. He had spent nearly two hundred years in this creature's presence, his life sustaining off its psychic energy and cankerous purulence.

  "Come to me, human child."

  Galway realized he was being summoned. It had been decades since anyone had last referred to him as a child. But, he supposed all humans looked like children in the face of a god.

  "At last, the final player reveals himself." Galway bowed.

  "You please me, Ranger Galway."

  "Long have I seen your hand at work, my Lord, but I dared not hope to meet you."

  "Flattery is unbecoming of you, Ranger. You are a man of action, not words."

  "You speak truly, oh Most Formidable One. But should a mosquito consider itself an equal to stand on even footing with man?"

  "I have enjoyed watching your wit and skill, Ranger, so you shall serve me yet a little longer. I desire the boy, this Cale Tannor. It has been many centuries since I last drank the blood of an Imperial Knight. Bring him to me alive, that my thirst may be sated."

  "He is guarded, now. The sword protects him and he travels with others."

  "The girl and the traitor. Yeeeeeesss."

  "My Lord." Jaster stepped forward. "Ranger Vyk Draco was scheduled for execution some years ago, but someone failed to carry out their duty. If it is your divine will, I might have him brought here so you may witness the execution yourself."

  "Your games and machinations tire me, Ranger. Do not speak in my presence again, or not even the power of Creation will save you from my wrath."

  Jaster fell to his knees screaming, eyes wide in pure terror, while his hair turned stark white with the overwhelming presence of a god driving him to the edge of sanity. Two other Rangers dragged him back to their line before the Phantoms could feast upon him.

  "Long ago, in the age of Man, when the world was still new, we Demons walked this very earth. So great was our power that not even the Spirit Swords could stand against us. But we were betrayed. The Swords allied themselves with your kind and became our mortal enemies. Together, their power rivaled even my own. The time of heroes and empires passed, and the Swords and their Men made war on our kind. A great war raged under heaven and we, the rightful rulers of this world, were bound in this dark glass prison.

  "That was eons and ages ago, by the counting of your stars. Our time for freedom is returning and coming quickly--a time when our chains are at their weakest and the walls the thinnest. Soon, my legion shall be free to roam and rule once more. A single Imperial Knight could ruin it all, Ranger Galway.

  "It seems as if this is your day for mitigating failures. You shall have your time, and your men. Bring me the boy, destroy the Sword, kill the girl and execute the traitor. Quash this hope. Do this, and your honor shall be restored. I shall grant you your heart's desire."

  "Truly, I am undeserving of your humblest mercies, oh Daegon, Father of Phantoms and Liege of Shadows."

  "This is your last chance. Do not fail me, Ranger Galway Draco."

  Daegon receded and the mirror deflated back to its original shape, still and silent. No one breathed. No one made a sound. Not even the eternally seizing Phantoms twitched.

  Galway rose. He did not look back, nor did he run. The doors meant life. The doors meant safety. He nearly burst through them and slammed the doors shut behind him, falling against them.

  "You okay, boss?" Dag helped him to his feet.

  Galway was drenched in a cold sweat, breathing hard. His pupils were dilated more from fear than the dark. He clung to Dagger for support, hobbling down the long corridor.

  "Get me out of here."

  "What happened in there?" Dag looked back.

  Galway ignored him. "Did you put together that list like I asked?"

  "Sure did. Do we have a mission? Where are we going? Do we have another kill order?"

  Galway Draco threw open a door and walked into the sun, glad to be rid of that place. He turned to looked back at Dagger, framed by the light, a look of repugnant disgust on his face and sibylline horror.

  "We're headed back south. And this time we're going to finish the job. We're going to go kill my son."

  Chapter XXXIII

  The Imperial Knight

  The morning was a crisp, clear day in early fall. Cale had wanted to be out of the city before it roused itself, but that seemed a tall order. The sun had not yet risen above the city walls and people were already outside gathering food.

  The deluge had brought a miracle to the land. The tidal wave flushed all the diseased and rotten water out to sea. The grimy, gray-green walls of the city that had been cleansed by the steam now stood glistening white in the morning sun. When the floodwaters finally receded, they left the soil swampy, filled with millions of crayfish and frogs. Enough so the ground seemed to writhe and wriggle at night, but also enough to feed every stomach in Uruk, refugees included. After three days of crayfish pie, Cale was sick of it. The high road was clean and dry, empty of all travelers. Cale had it all to himself. Then he reached the crossroads. Thunder nickered lightly.

  If Cale turned north, he would be home in time for the fall harvest. Apples in the orchards would be ripe soon. The scent of autumn fruit would be everywhere. Then it would be the season for slaughtering hogs, smoking them in preparation for winter. The tiny village of Urt, nestled between the Fog Hills and Fire Mountains, would soon be filled with the scents of roasted pork and apples. He could return to his life of pig farming, master of his own house in a community where people went about their daily lives, never questioning the past, never wondering about the future, never looking up to the night sky and wondering about the outside world. Cale Tannor, runt of the litter, who read every book in the village and longed for adventure, would finally be home.

  To the south lay danger, adventure and peril unknown. Cale would be chased by wild animals, beaten by lawless men and hunted by demonic Phantoms, all for the sake of some rusty old Swords. There would be no safety, no t
urning back, and no way out. It was a quest Cale must follow through to the bitter end or die trying.

  The choice was his.

  "Yatahey!" a voice called from behind. Cale turned back at the two riders’ approach.

  "Ya'at'eeh!" Cale smiled back.

  "Ah, so you do speak my tongue," Jazreal grinned.

  "I'm a quick learner. What are you doing here?"

  "Well, we couldn't very well sit around after you saved the city," Vyk quipped. He had fully recovered from his wounds and was in remarkable health. "Saving a city kind of inclines them to pay off all your debts for you. I was becoming a little too well known, anyway. Hard to pull a con when everyone knows your name. And besides, all that fame was going to my head."

  Jazreal slapped his shoulder. "We're going with you."

  They were certainly dressed for it. Vyk wore his oilcloth duster and had saddle bags full of supplies. With bedroll and bow and saber, he was a Ranger once more and happier for it.

  Jazreal was likewise equipped for travel with her Sword secured to her back. The new leather jerkin and green tunic looked good on her. She’d tied her hair back in a red ribbon, though Vyk apparently still could not get her to wear boots. The black horse she sat looked fresh, fast and lean. A mule followed in tow carrying extra supplies.

  "It'll be dangerous."

  "Exactly." Vyk winked. "And I know just where we can find it, too."

  "Someone needs to watch over you boys." laughed Jazreal. "You find too much danger on your own."

  Cale turned back to the road. To the north lay the home he so desperately wanted to see, but also memories of loneliness, abandonment and rejection. To the south lay great danger and almost certain death, but the promise of eternal companionship. It wasn't even a choice, really.