by Chloe Garner
Only then did Carter look up. The scale was balanced, and his sword lay on the table between him and Swordmaker. He stood, unwrapping the leather he’d carried in his jacket pocket and holding it out between his hands. Swordmaker stood and lay the sword across Carter’s palms with a bow.
“May it bring you great glory,” Swordmaker said.
“I have no doubt,” Carter said. Samantha was fussing with his arm, tutting and clucking, but he ignored her, just looking at the sword for a moment.
He needed to move.
“Water,” he said.
“Only after I’ve gotten the bleeding to stop,” Samantha said, wrapping his arm.
“Water,” he said again, closing the leather around the sword and wrapping it, then strapping it to his back with a cord.
“Here,” she said, stooping and putting a bottle on the table with more opinion than was strictly necessary.
He twisted it open and downed it, feeling the power of the fluid surge through him.
“Another one,” he said.
“Carter, you’re still bleeding.”
“Another one,” he said.
“Get it yourself,” she said, tying something around his arm. He pulled away and went to stoop over her backpack, stumbling badly. She had her hands on her hips when he straightened with a new bottle of water. He sucked it down and tossed the bottle into Swordmaker’s forge, then stood straight.
“It’s time to go,” he said. She shook her head.
“You need a few minutes to recuperate. You aren’t supposed to draw that much blood at once, ever.”
“I’m not going to recuperate, Sam,” he said. “That’s not how it works, here. We’re going now.”
“You aren’t armed,” she said.
“I’m armed enough,” he answered. “Besides, I’ve got you, right?”
She didn’t appreciate the humor, but she picked up her backpack anyway and drew Lahn. There was a moment of silence as even the fire in the forge drew breath.
“May I?” Swordmaker asked. Carter saw the flash of protectiveness in her eyes and Swordmaker laughed.
“Oh, I can’t touch her,” the demon told her. “I’ve just never been this close to an angel blade.”
“And he never hopes to be, again,” Carter said, starting for the door. He stuck his head out, finding the hallway empty.
“You’ll be safe in the sect house,” Swordmaker said from behind him. “The artistry is impressive.”
“She’s beautiful,” Samantha agreed. Carter glanced back, finding Swordmaker curled around Lahn as close as he could be without touching her.
“I’m not waiting,” Carter said. Samantha looked over at him, then stepped away from Swordmaker and dropped Lahn to a carrying level.
“I’m following,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ll figure that out when I see the problem,” Carter muttered. They wound their way out of the building and up to the front door.
“Water,” Carter said.
He was hot. And tired. And muzzy headed, which was completely unlike him. He couldn’t use a sword, because it would scorch his hands. All he had was a wooden staff a foot and a half long tied at his waist and the magic he had in his head.
And Samantha.
He didn’t like being that reliant on her, but there it was.
“I’m going to open this door, and I want you to knock them all back,” he said, sharp, short. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t know how,” she said. He gritted his jaw and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Don’t think. Just do it. All right?”
“Carter,” she warned, but he was already pulling the door toward them. She stepped through, just to be ahead of him, a defensive motion, and opened her mouth.
Nothing happened.
Well, damn.
He’d really thought that was going to work.
There was a long silence, and Carter moved so he could see past her.
That was less of a surprise.
Thousands of demons were congregated in the little passageway between this building and the next, standing, waiting.
“Move away,” Samantha said simply. In English, no less. She knew as well as Carter that there would be some demons here who didn’t even speak a language like that.
There was jostling, and Samantha took a step forward. Carter moved to stand at the top of the stairs, not cowering, but standing… back. It was awkward, and he didn’t know where to be. He was always, always supposed to be the one in front.
What the hell happened?
“You don’t want this fight,” Samantha said, her voice still cool, even. “If you take it up, I will end you.”
Well, that was overselling it just a bit, Carter thought. They should have been running by now, punch a hole in them and slip through in the confusion.
Not that he was going to blend in, like this. Pale human skin with a perfect black suit? Not a chance. Every demon here would spot him the instant there was nothing between them and him. Claws weren’t a great tool in an even match, but this wasn’t supposed to be an even match. If they tore him open, there was nothing he could do to stop the bleeding for the entire two and a half hour march back out to the range, and that was only if he took the direct route. Like an idiot.
He was thinking he was going to take the direct route.
There was more shuffling as Samantha took another step forward.
“Do you know this sword?” she asked, raising Lahn slightly. “I bet many of you have met her before. I trained with the angels, and I have killed demons. You will not beat me.”
“We don’t want you,” someone called. “You haven’t got any blood.”
All right.
All right.
That was enough.
Carter drew on his tattoos, on his magic, on his bull-headed stubbornness, and he stepped down and in front of Samantha.
“Here I am,” he said, putting his palms out to either side. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The wood rod broke in the first minute. He’d seen that coming, but he’d been willing to go into this completely unarmed. After that, he was just calling down the wrath of the dark magic he held, a literal whirlwind around him as he stood, angry, defiant. Somewhere off to his left, Samantha was cutting a waft through them, hoping he would follow, but for now he stood his ground.
He was Carter.
He didn’t back down and he didn’t fear.
They would feel his power before he left, even if he did leave with demons chasing him. He wouldn’t just run.
There were big pitlords there, demons he’d known, waiting to see what happened to him. They were the types who understood how to capitalize on the labor of others, and they were hoping someone would strike a critical blow and knock him down enough that they weren’t taking any risks, stripping the demons off of him and coming to claim his blood for themselves.
He wondered if they’d figured out what they were going to do about each other.
Probably split him up evenly. That’s what he would have done, and he was pretty good at games like this.
The backstabbing would come after the prize was secured.
He called down more, wider curses, stimulating actual weather out of the hell atmosphere, red and blank. Wind, lightning.
Real live lightning. In hell.
They were going to talk about this for thousands of years.
He didn’t know it could be done.
He called down more of it, standing taller again.
Somewhere someone was shouting, but everyone was shouting, everywhere, anyway, and he didn’t pay any attention.
A bottle of water hit him in the side.
He looked over, holding his hands firm where they were, and gave Samantha a scathing look.
She tipped her head to the side, exasperated.
Said something.
He tipped his hand up sli
ghtly to mime putting it to his ear, not far enough to really do it justice, because he needed that arm-shape to maintain the storm, but enough that she knew what he was going for.
And to get angry at him about it.
He grinned.
This was more fun than he’d expected.
He called down more lightning, then ducked in the flurry of sand and wind and chased after her.
She cut down demons to either side as they ran, Lahn splitting through them as she moved, as if the demons hadn’t been there. Earthside, that wouldn’t have been that impressive. Here, the demons didn’t necessarily ash. If they had the power to regenerate from the wound, they would - she was hitting solid flesh with each stroke.
He wanted a sword.
It wasn’t every day you got an opportunity like this to really go at a mass of demons, and she was getting to have all of the fun.
Well.
Not all of it.
He’d saved a few tricks.
He pulled a glass out of his pocket, ignoring how it burned his fingers. He was going to have blisters after this, but it was worth it. Letting it drip along behind him, he stirred up the atmosphere again, watching with some glee as a small demon went flying overhead.
It was too bad the New York demons weren’t here to see it. He was the most powerful man who had ever lived, but this was outside of what he could have done, earth side, and damned cool to boot.
Finally the glass emptied and he dropped it, kneeling and pulling a field of focus around himself, a dome. His space. He gritted his teeth, feeling the hot power ripple along his shoulders and down his arms, then he shot his hands forward, indicating the path that the liquid in the bottle would have taken.
It exploded.
Oh, it was better than he could have imagined.
The ground ripped open to either side and flew apart, tossing demons and hunks of rock in each direction. He swiveled on his toe and ran after Samantha again, tossing demons back with flicks of his hands.
He wasn’t going to have a lot left after this, but boy had it been fun.
They reached the upslope to climb out of the Hellcity bowl, and he charged after Samantha, hoping she knew that there would absolutely, definitely be an ambush at the top of the hill.
She stopped just before their heads got into view of the rest of the hellplane and she looked back.
Hellcity was a mess, in writhing chaos as demons tried to decide whether they wanted to continue the chase or not.
He thought she was simply admiring her handiwork, but she planted Lahn pommel-down into the looser ground there and stood.
“Hit her,” Samantha said.
“No,” Carter said, grimacing. “I’m not falling on your sword.”
“With lightning, you idiot,” Samantha said, taking another big step back.
Huh.
Okay, he wouldn’t have thought of that.
He stepped down the slope, too, then took another big step away as Samantha did the same.
Maybe one more?
Yeah.
He closed his eyes and breathed, pulling the chaos and the wind and the fury back into himself, feeling the way the world stirred around him. There. He pulled a jolt of energy out of the sky and there was a gratifying crack as a narrow bolt of lightning struck the sword.
The light was…
He would have had dreams about that light for the rest of his life, if his mind had been able to understand it well enough to remember it.
It was intense. It was overwhelming. It was purifying.
The demons at the top of the hill actually boiled.
There was nothing in them, by the way of water or fluid, but he heard the violent hissing as they dematerialized into ash above his head.
He and Samantha stood, stunned, for just a second, then she pulled Lahn back up out of the soil and they ran.
They scattered another group of demons, this one lead by a half-decent power demon who was hard-pressed to finally give up and head back for Hellcity. Carter thought that that one might circle around and try it again closer to the range.
“What are you wearing, by the way?” he asked as Samantha put Lahn back away.
“What?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting to go hellside today. I was just working out back.”
He raised an eyebrow at her jeans and light sweater.
“You know you’re handicapping yourself like that,” he said.
“I told you I wasn’t planning on being here.”
“Not like you to be unprepared like that,” he said, floating it out to see what reaction he’d get.
“Not doing this with you right now,” Samantha answered.
“So does this count as saving me?” he asked.
“I’ll check when we get back,” she answered. “If you do, indeed, survive.”
“They’re going to put a good push in at the end,” he agreed. “Water.”
“Last two,” she said. “How do you not have to pee?”
“You don’t understand how hot it is,” he answered. He was depleted. He could feel it everywhere. The bandage on his arm was beginning to peek through with blood that had never stopped seeping out of the hole in his arm, and he had a scratch on his cheek that was dripping blood onto his collar.
He should have worn a second-tier shirt, today.
He took the water, looking over his shoulder to gage the distance along Samantha’s radius they’d traveled. Probably another twenty minutes of walking.
He wouldn’t have described himself as ‘in shape’, because the concept implied that he tried. He was powerful, and it reflected in his body, though, and a two-hour hike over rough terrain, one way, wasn’t enough to even begin to wear on him, under normal circumstances.
The idea of climbing over more boulders, crossing more gravel-and-sand pits where your feet gave out below you, not just back, but unpredictably to one side or the other, of hyper-vigilance because he couldn’t afford any more injuries, any more blood loss; it was exhausting. He didn’t want to think about it. Twenty more minutes was a long, long time, and the sword on his back was beginning to burn him through his suit jacket.
And then there would be the fight to get out.
He sighed.
“You should go ahead,” he said.
“What?” she asked. “You aren’t giving up on me, Carter. I’m getting you out.”
He shook his head.
“I have to do this one on my own,” he said. “It’s part of making this sword the most powerful one that’s ever crossed the boundary.”
She stopped.
“What are you taking about? You’re down to nothing. If I leave you, they’re going to kill you.”
“Or they won’t,” Carter said, “and I’ll cross the hellsgate bloody and victorious and I’ll ordain this sword with one of the highest costs I know of.”
“Is this about your ego?” Samantha asked.
Yes.
“No.”
“I’m not leaving you to die,” Samantha said.
“No, you’re leaving me because I’m not going to take another step until you do,” Carter said, setting his feet even and giving her a wan look. That was all there was to it.
“Then I’m going to kill all of them on my way out,” she said.
“On your own?” Carter asked. “You’re that sure you can do it?”
“More likely than you,” Samantha said.
“You remember if you get yourself knocked back across the boundary, I die here, immediately. Can you live with causing my death?”
“That’s blackmail,” Samantha said. “It’s better that I try and fail than just walk away and let you die.”
“Is it?” he asked, then shook his head. “There aren’t many times in the world that the value of something is actually proportional the sacrifice it cost to get it, but this is one of them. You aren’t going to steal it from me because you don’t want me to die.”
He grinned.
“So long as I put on a good show.”
“Bastard,” she said. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m bleeding,” he said, touching his cheek with his thumb and rubbing it across the other palm.
“You’re unarmed,” she answered.
“Go,” he said, firm, no longer negotiating. “This is how it will be.”
“I’m going to kill them on the way out,” she said. He nodded, dismissive, and waited as she shook her head fishing out the last bottle of water and throwing it to him, then going on without him. They wouldn’t be where she could find them. They’d get word that the two of them had split up, and the demons would vanish. They didn’t want to mess with her if waiting meant they could get him.
He found a rock and sat down, shifting to try to take the weight of the sword off of his back, not because it was heavy, but because it would help keep the heat away from his skin.
He checked his fingernails, finding the cuticles were beginning to crisp.
He was vain. There was no question of that. But he had learned to check his fingernails for signs of weariness as a sign that it was time to head out. As he ran out of moisture, they dried out and began to crack and peel away.
He was past that point, now.
He would have liked the last water to be a bit closer to the end of the journey, but if he held on to it, it would start to boil and eventually melt or explode the plastic, so he drank it now, tossing the bottle to the side. He let his head hang.
It would have been the time to regather his energy, on the earth plane, but here he knew from hard-won experience that that wasn’t how it worked. In his own body, it was more significant than it had ever been when he had just crossed his awareness, but it was the same rules. The longer he stayed the drier and more exhausted he was going to be. There was no such thing as catching his breath.
And yet.
He sat, the part of him that would never condescend to listen to logic or reason insisting on just a moment more, just a moment more.
He imagined this was a trap that a lot of men and women had fallen into, over the millennia. It isn’t going to be any better a minute from now than it is now, but you keep waiting and keep hoping it’s going to be easier to get up in a second.
