The Blackbird's Song

by Billy Wong

  Chapter 3

  "Do you not like Blackbird anymore?" Henry asked Andrew as they walked across a field towards the closest town, hooded cloaks donned to reduce the odds of being recognized. Many of the crops were yellow and drooping due to lack of water, and Henry said a quiet prayer for God to help the people soon.

  "Hearing what she did made me angry. But if it happened when she was eight or nine years old, you can't fault her as much as if she'd been an adult. She didn't do anything to me, and she did save our lives a few times, so I guess I forgive her."

  "That's good to hear. After punishing herself so much, I think she deserves a fresh start. I just wish she would see it that way." Feeling sad, he tried to lighten the mood. "How do you think she got so strong? Killing monsters before age ten really is unbelievable."

  Andrew pondered it for a while. "You know how they say warriors sometimes go berserk and gain immense strength while not feeling pain? I think maybe the stress of being thrown into that environment made her body somehow change so she was like that all the time. And maybe over the years, she learned to control it better so she doesn't always have to be in a rage, but can still use more of her physical potential than the rest of us."

  "That's a pretty decent theory."

  "You think it's right?"

  Henry shrugged noncommittally. "It could be. Might be better off going with less specifics, though—'her situation forced her to change to survive, and she did by tapping into more of her potential than typical.' How does that sound?"

  His friend gave a quick eyeroll. "Too general. With so little detail in your explanation, you'd basically have to be right given what we know."

  "So I'm right then."

  They laughed together and continued on to the village consisting mostly of small huts. Night had almost fallen, so they headed to the larger cabin with a picture of a bed on the sign and entered the mostly empty dining hall of a drab inn. Only one couple, weathered-looking though probably in their thirties, sat drinking at an off-center table. The ale smelled strong. Henry waited at the counter. When a balding man with loose skin flapping below his chin appeared to greet them, he said, "Not great business, eh? If you have a room available, which I assume you do, looks like we're both in luck."

  The innkeeper retrieved a key from the rack behind him. "Room five upstairs. Three durples a night."

  Henry paid him the coins and also bought two bowls of hot salty soup, which they finished before making their way up. The room looked fairly well furnished if small, with a closet, dresser and even a small table, but... "One bed, huh? You take it since you got injured before."

  "It looks wide enough for two, you can use it if you want."

  "With how much you move around in your sleep? No thanks, I'll settle for the peacefulness of the floor."

  They chatted for a few hours and then enjoyed a restful slumber, falling asleep easily with the weariness built up from their adventure. But when they went downstairs in the morning thinking to shop and replenish their supplies, they soon realized something was off. "Nobody's around," Andrew observed.

  "There weren't many people here yesterday either. Maybe the innkeeper is just away doing something." Yet Henry too felt a sense of foreboding.

  The door rested slightly ajar, taunting them. They began towards it. Henry reached for the knob. Just as his fingers brushed it, it swung forward. He jumped back as a large man in scale mail holding an axe barged through the door, followed by another stubbly bruiser with a mace. "Shit, they found us!" Granted, he didn't know who "they" exactly were, but they were probably agents of the church or people seeking a reward from it.

  Henry blocked an axe swing with his shield, slashed at the attacker while backing up. He saw Andrew jab his spear into the mace man's thigh to little effect, aim at the throat and miss. More warriors entered behind the first two, most smaller but wielding no less deadly weapons. Henry parried another axe stroke, leaned away from the sword cut of a man coming in from the side which grazed his mail shirt. He struck down another attempting to flank him, his edge denting a helmet and possibly skull underneath. Looking at the mob harrying them across the room, though, it seemed like they would soon be overwhelmed. Andrew knocked a man down and raised the spear to finish him, only to yell as someone slashed his arm, stumble sideways and trip.

  "Run!" Henry said as he lunged to slice deeply into the chest of a man who raised his sword over Andrew, only to feel the impact of a spiked morningstar to his back and wetness run down it.

  Andrew scrambled up and drove his spear through the ribs of the attacker who had wounded Henry. The red-haired... woman, Henry noted with surprise, didn't die right away and punched Andrew with a furious sneer, making him reel. Henry slammed his shield into the face of the stubborn warrioress and dropped her, grabbed Andrew's arm and dragged him towards the closest window. "There are more outside!" Andrew warned.

  Henry looked. A ring of men with axes, spears and clubs surrounded the inn, moving restlessly in place with anticipation. But the interior was no more friendly an environment... The first big axeman pushed through the crowd and struck, cracking Henry's shield and sending daggers of fire through his arm. He landed a solid blow to the man's side in return and breached the scale, drawing blood. The brute only snorted. Behind him, his mace-wielding comrade was trying to help the redhead up, but the blood pooling around her suggested it to be futile. He looked with furious eyes at Andrew, who desperately tried to hold back multiple opponents with quick spear pokes. Suddenly one of the men slapped his pole out to the side and rushed, slashing Andrew down the shoulder. He staggered back, bumping into the wall next to the window, but managed to keep the attackers off him with a wild, high spear swing that made one grab his cheek. Henry locked weapons with the axeman, kneed him in the gut and drove forward, pushing him back. He headbutted him and gave one last big shove, throwing him into a group of men and knocking them down.

  The mace wielder was here now, holding the redhead under his right arm while blood dribbled from between her parted lips. At first Henry thought he dragged a corpse into battle, but then she came to life, looking up to swing the morningstar at him. He blocked, yet one of the spikes pierced through his shield and into his arm. He gasped, and the mace man grinned. We aren't going to win... His male foe's weapon came down from the opposite side. Henry raised his sword, but was too slow to manage a proper deflection. The blade met the force of the heavy bludgeon full on and broke as he was smashed to his butt. The axeman ran in and kicked him in the temple, making the room spin as he tried to prop himself up on his arms. Everyone stopped.

  Mace man set down the redhead, who coughed wetly on her hands and knees. "Now for hurting Mandy, you die." Mandy? That wasn't a very imposing name for a... mercenary or whatever she was, he thought dazedly. The man raised his mace and brought it down.

  Henry closed his eyes, expecting maybe an instant of blinding pain followed by nothingness. Instead he felt something heavy fly into him from the side, but not much pain beyond the jarring of his existing wounds. He heard a scream that was probably not his. When he looked, he saw he was no longer in front of the mace man, and that Andrew lay whimpering on top of him. He moved his gaze down Andrew's body, then his breath caught in his throat.

  His friend's arm had been completely mangled, shards of bones sticking out from the blob of pulverized flesh that was once his elbow.

  Looking at them with glassy eyes, Mandy wiped blood from her chin. "Sacrificed himself for 'im," she said softly.

  "Maybe we shouldn't kill them yet," the axeman suggested. "The boss did ask to catch them alive if possible."

  "But he hurt Mandy!"

  "And will you pay what your little vendetta will cost us?"

  "I'm... fine," Mandy put in. "Extra coin will... let me buy more booze for the pain anyway."

  The other mercs stood by and watched. While they were all distracted, Henry grasped Andrew's face and shook him gently. "Andrew, can you hear me?"

  "Hurts like... noth
ing I've ever felt. I think I'm going to die."

  Henry swallowed. He very well could die from infection, if not blood loss before then. But while he lived, there was still hope. "You have to run. Get help. Save yourself first, and then if you can get somebody to come rescue me too."

  "Run? Why me? I'm in so much pain... I can't move... why don't you run and I'll wait for you?"

  "I'm too dizzy. I wouldn't make it ten steps before falling." Heck, he wasn't certain he could get off the floor at all. The big man's running kick had nearly taken his head off, and he wouldn't be surprised if his skull was cracked. "You need to go—I'll attack the woman, and while they're busy beating me you make a run for it. Please."

  Andrew shifted slightly with an anguished moan as if preparing to move, then said, "But there are men outside..."

  Henry glanced towards the window. "Not many now. Most of them came inside after hearing we lost. See, there aren't any that way. I know you can run faster than me, and most of these guys are weighed down. So if you can not think about the pain and do your best, you should be able to get to the woods and..." Finally, Andrew nodded. "On three. One, two-"

  As soon as Andrew's weight lifted off him, Henry brought up what was left of his sword and hurled it at Mandy. She caught the broken blade, watched blood flow from her hand where it touched the edge, and fell over. "Why you..." the mace man snarled. A second later, two pairs of large boots were stomping on Henry over and over again.

  "Guys, the other one's running!" somebody said.

  "Well, why don't you go catch him?"

  Run Andrew run, Henry thought—the last one he had before darkness took him.

  #

  "So all the drama's finally over, eh?" a marginally familiar voice said as Henry came up slowly from the depths. He opened one eye, the other swollen shut, and tried to move his arms to find them tightly trussed up. He was still in the dining hall, though now sitting tied to a chair, and the mace man cradled Mandy begging her not to leave him. Meanwhile the axeman was talking to a new arrival... the innkeeper? "Wait, I don't see the smaller one—shouldn't you be chasing him?"

  The merc crossed his arms. "We're paid by the half-day, and since traveling here and fighting already took half a day, you'll have to pay extra for that."

  "What?! You charge by half days and count travel time? I calculate that the extra reward for him won't be worth it, so once I pay you you may leave."

  "Don't know what you're whining about. Seems fair to me."

  After the innkeeper handed the axeman a bag of coins and he checked it, the mercenaries filed out of the inn. The way the mace man held Mandy against his side, he couldn't be sure if he supported her while she walked or carried her dead body. Either way, Henry addressed his captor. "You of all people hired all those mercs?"

  The innkeeper shrugged. "Only ten of them are actual mercenaries. The rest, like the ones outside, were just concerned citizens. As you might have noticed, this town has been struggling. When I heard the church was offering a reward for you and your friend, I figured investing in the services of those bargain sellswords to catch you would be a good value. The payout for the spear is more than twice as much as their fee for a half day's work, you see." So Andrew must have dropped the spear then—Henry just hoped he wasn't dead. Thinking about it, he began to doubt the wisdom of telling him to flee. He didn't know where he could go for help in his condition, and at least if he'd been captured, he might get some treatment. Well, Henry's brain had been severely rattled when he made that decision. "You and your friend are apparently an afterthought as you're worth less, hence my seeming cheapness."

  That explanation was pretty... complete. "But how did you know we were the ones they're looking for?"

  "Two young men, one tall one short, one carrying sword and shield the other a spear, coming from the direction of the mountains... I mean, it was somewhat smart of you to wrap the shaft to hide the carvings, but you can still see it's freshly wrapped. I couldn't be one hundred percent sure, but it appears the gamble went in my favor."

  He felt growing rage at his captor's nonchalant demeanor. "So you'll just go after people for being targets of the church, without knowing anything about them or why it's that way?"

  "What do I need to know other than that you're heretics who defy the will of God? In addition to the set reward, perhaps the church will show its gratitude further with additional help for our town. Good deeds should be celebrated, after all."

  "I know you won't believe me, but the church is wrong! We're just trying to help everyone; they want to destroy the tools for doing so." And, your motives would be a lot more sympathetic if you weren't so arrogant about it.

  "The heretic tries to convince me to see his side of the story and... perhaps... let him go? Why, I would never have predicted that." The innkeeper put a finger to his chin. "I could drag you into a back room and open up shop, but being distracted might give you a chance to escape. I think I'll just sit here and wait for the proper authorities to come pick you up."

  #

  Andrew lurched towards the foot of the mountain, so weak by now he could barely see out of blurred eyes. Searing pain lanced constantly through his elbow and the part of his arm above it, but below it he felt nothing. As he couldn't stand the sight of it, he had wrapped up the gruesome wreckage of a limb in his cloak. He didn't expect her to still be here, but there was nowhere else he could think to look for help that he would make it to before collapsing. If she had already gone, he would go on hoping to catch her, and more likely die trying. Against all probability, he spotted her, in practically the same spot as when they'd last seen her. Had she really been sitting here for nearly a day, or was this a final hallucination?

  "Blackbird! Blackbird!" he called, almost choking on each word.

  "Andrew? I been thinking, maybe I should-" She must have noticed the deathly color of his face as her tone became full of alarm. "Andrew, what happened? Where is Henry?"

  He made it next to her, which he would have considered a miracle if he believed in God, and leaned against the nearby rock wall. "He was... captured by mercenaries in the inn of the nearest town. I don't know if he's still there now, but the villagers should know where he's gone if not. You need to... help him, Blackbird. Even if you're afraid to hurt people, these are bad people who deserve to be hurt."

  She took on an ambivalent expression. "I've thought I should try visit society. But if it's just to kill..."

  "Now's not the time to ponder your morals! The church—or people working for the church—have Henry. If you don't save him soon, he'll probably be executed!"

  Her eyebrow twitched. "The church, like that old man and the young one? I don't like them. Okay, I go with you."

  "I don't... think I'll be able to go. You should probably just... tie my arm to stop the bleeding and come back for me later."

  "Your arm? Your arm look fine—wait, you mean other one." She reached over and, before he was ready for it, pulled away the cloak. He shrieked in unbearable agony which made him want to die for an instant, turned away pressing his face against the rock as tears poured forth. Feeling hot wetness run down his legs, he realized he'd pissed himself. He quietly sobbed until Blackbird said, "Here, eat berry."

  He looked at the tiny pink fruit she held in front of his mouth. "What's it?"

  "It help the pain." With more zeal than he'd believed he should have left, he devoured it. His hurts grew a little numb. Then she grasped the wrist of his bad arm and pinned it against the wall. He saw that her other hand held her sword.

  "What are you doing?!"

  "You have lose that arm."

  "No, no, please, there has to be some other way! Can't it be healed with magic, or I don't know, healed with magic? You can't... I can't..." His words trailed off into crying.

  "No time. If keep arm you die. Close eyes."

  This couldn't be. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his arm was hanging by a thread, and couldn't be saved, but reason held no sway right now. In
his panic, half unable to believe what was happening, he attempted to break free by punching her in the face. She ignored several blows which he thought had desperate strength behind them and brought her sword up. No no no no no! He tried to gouge at her eyes, but she headbutted his fingers jamming them painfully and swung the blade. The next thing he knew, he saw his arm come away in her hand. The pain he felt wasn't really all that much more intense than a moment ago, but it was... higher up.

  Naturally, he fainted.

  #

  After searing the stump of his arm, Blackbird lifted the unconscious Andrew and scaled the mountain until she found an out-of-the-way ledge with a convenient alcove which she tucked him into. She felt sad about what had happened, knowing he would never be the same, and realized it was partly her fault. These bad people who did this had fit inside an inn—she probably could have ripped them all apart. Maybe she didn't deserve to think of herself as strong if she was weak enough to not act out of fear and let people she wanted to be safe get hurt like this. In the past she had met others whose cause she found admirable and she could have helped, yet refrained from it for the same reason. How many of them were dead for the lack of her aid now? She also wondered if that mangaka, as the eastern artist called himself, had lost inspiration after they parted.

  From now on, she told herself, no more being strong in body yet weak of mind. Instead of fearing she'd lose control, she would make herself stay in control. And if she couldn't? She pushed that out of consideration entirely. She simply would enforce her will and do what she, and not her instincts, wanted. That was all there was to it.

  #

  Marcus winced as a pang shot through his flank, which hurt more now than when he'd first received the wound in battle. His broken front tooth made him feel squeamish too, and unlike the cut it wouldn't heal. He halted and looked back at the rest of the slow-moving group of mercenaries. Himself, Ian, and Greg were all hurt, and Mandy was... almost dead. "You boys want to take another break?" Granted they already had one half an hour from town, but...