by S T Branton
“You are not the only one who thought this way,” he replied. “Eventually, a hero rose up among the gods, defeating them and banishing them to their own kingdom, where he ruled as both king and shepherd. He believed that humanity should be left to their own devices, and that mortal men deserved a chance to weave their own fates independent of the whims of gods or other creatures. From among your ranks, he handpicked the worthiest to help him guard Carcerum so that these banished gods might not escape.”
“Okay, first, I was joking. Second, still not clear on this whole Carcerum deal.” I stifled a yawn. It was a pretty incredible story so far, but also, totally unbelievable—just another crazy in the NYC. Experience taught me that it was best to just let them wear themselves out, but I was quickly losing the battle against unconsciousness myself.
“Carcerum was designed to be a paradise.” Marcus glanced away, looking troubled. “It turned out more like a prison.” The corners of his mouth turned suddenly downward. “King Kronin’s beliefs were good and just, but they were too idealistic. Those gods who dwelled in darkness resented his rule and forever sought to find a way back to the land of vice and exploitation. The comforts Kronin gave, though they were plentiful, could not satisfy an appetite for cruelty.”
“Mhmm. And let me guess, for $29.99 I can buy a book that will explain the rest of the story and show me the true path to happiness and inner healing.” My capacity for humoring him was running low.
He eyed me warily. “You need no such book. I know this firsthand, for I am from Carcerum.” He spoke without a trace of dishonesty. His eyes and tone were deadly serious. I didn’t know what to think. He had to be shitting me, right? Except he sure didn’t look like he was.
“You?” I sighed. “So you’re not just some nutjob who likes late night swims, you’re also an angel or something. Explains the armor I guess. But I’m pretty sure I saw this in a movie once, and you’re supposed to show me what the world was like if I had never been born.”
“I’m not an angel, nor am I a…nutjob—as you say—and I am quite sure your birth and existence has had little impact upon this world. None of that matters to me. I am a warrior. Among those chosen by Kronin to safeguard the palace for all eternity. It was an honor to serve the Hero-King. The greatest of my life.”
I grimaced, but sat up a little straighter. “You said ‘was.’”
Melancholy shrouded Marcus’s face. “I did. Kronin has been killed, and Carcerum is thrown into disarray. I fear that the gods, kept at bay for so long, are now beginning to infiltrate this world anew. Perhaps they have already done so.”
“And, what? You’re here to stop them?”
I sank back down. Stories of tragedy and loss always aroused my interest. When you’re an orphan, you sort of get attuned to that kind of thing. Still, I was way less on board with the rest of his insane story. I couldn’t figure out his angle, which meant that either he was totally over the moon or he was trying to outsmart me. I wasn’t thrilled by either prospect.
“Yes. But I cannot hope to stop them alone. I have come to find a warrior to answer King Kronin’s call.”
And there it was. The pitch. What the hell had I gotten myself into here? I did one good deed for the year, and now I had this crock of shit to sort through—on top of everything else that had gone wrong with my life so far. Great. Good going, Vic. This is just what you needed.
“Look man, why don’t you just give me your pamphlet or whatever and we can say our farewells.” I looked toward the door, hoping he would take the hint.
“Kronin was killed,” Marcus said patiently. If he was getting the hint, he ignored it like a pro. He reminded me of the math tutor I had in high school. That poor kid must have walked me through the order of operations thirty times—but I just couldn’t have cared less. “This means the gods have been unleashed. His last words to me were thus: ‘Protect my people.’ So that is what I intend to do.” He leaned forward. “But in order to fulfill my duties, I need the help of a great warrior…”
Oh, hell no. Bringing him into my house, that was my mistake. I just had to save him from the river. Would-be murderer or no, I still had my morals. But once the guy in Roman armor was inside and on my bed, there was no way not to hear the whole spiel. I made a mental note to learn from this bizarre experience.
“Man, look. I’m sure this king of yours was really great or whatever, but I’ve got things to do. People to find. A guy to kill. Despite how that makes me sound, I don’t think I’m your warrior.”
Marcus opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut sharply. He stared at me for a second before a smile crept across his face. The smile cracked, and he let out a full body laugh that shook my lamp.
“What?” I demanded. “The hell is so funny?”
“No, no.” Marcus held up his hands, stifling the laughter. “You are not the one I’m looking for.”
“No?” I paused just long enough for foolish pride to get the better of me. “Why the hell not?”
“Well, because,” he waved his hands toward me and then around the room. “Just look at you, and look at…this. You’re a mess. I need someone to avenge the greatest being to have ever lived. Someone that can lead humanity in defense against the monsters poised to devour them. I need a warrior, not…you.”
My blood heated up a degree. For some reason, this Caesar’s Palace washout was able to cut me to the core, and by accident, no less. While he stared down in judgement upon me, I couldn’t help thinking of the true failure tonight. It had nothing to do with this man’s quest, but my own. The moment came. The one I had dreamed about for years. And instead of doing what I had sworn to do, I balked. I let that slimy rat bastard Rocco Durant slip through my clutches.
He may have been insane and homeless, but he was right. I wasn’t a warrior.
I turned and grabbed an unfinished bottle of whiskey and took a long pull. I might have been a failure, but at least I had alcohol.
The soldier in my bed seemed to notice my mood change. He stopped laughing, then held up a hand.
“My apologies. I should not have laughed at your expense. You suffered a great loss tonight by choosing to save me, and for that I am grateful. And as it turns out, I do need your help. But perhaps it would be untoward of me to rely solely on your generosity. Let me propose a trade.”
“You mean like you wanted to trade life stories? Or, how about this? I go to sleep, and you get the hell out.” I was trying hard to indulge in my natural instinct to be pissed at him, but for some reason, the annoyance wasn’t surfacing. There was something bizarrely endearing about the way he seemed so enveloped in his mythos. It had been awhile since I had believed in anything that fully. And besides that, he wasn’t budging from the bed. A little smile crept over my lips. “Fine. Let me hear it.”
“This place has changed much more than I anticipated in the years of my absence. You may not be a warrior, but I think you would be an excellent guide.”
I laughed. “Look, no worries about tonight. As far as I see it, we’re even. But I can’t get wrapped up in whatever delusion you’re selling. I’ve got my own problems.”
“And in return,” he continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I will help you kill your villain.”
That made me stop drinking. “And how will you do that?”
“I will teach you to fight.”
For a second, my pride got the better of me again. “I know how to fight. Did pretty well for myself tonight, as a matter of fact, before you showed up.”
Marcus gave a full-bellied laugh. “I’d wager luck carried you further than skill. Next time, your mark will be waiting for you, and without proper training, you will fail. Your temperament is too rash. You speak without thinking. You act without awareness of the consequences.”
“Geeze, okay. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“But you have a good heart. I am grateful that you chose to save me at the cost of your quest. That is a debt I feel obliged to repay.”
/> “Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then I sighed and shrugged. “I can always kill Rocco another day. I can’t bring back the dead.” I inhaled sharply as I realized what I’d said. “What about that?” I asked quickly, indicating his injury. “Doesn’t look like you can teach anyone to fight right now.”
Now it was his turn to puff up his chest. “I was a Centurion soldier in my time, First Cohort. Then I was defender of Carcerum by King Kronin’s side. I have honed my discipline over eons, slain all manner of creature.”
“I don’t know. You really should go to a hospital. Can’t have you dropping dead on me.”
“My wound is of no concern.” Marcus patted the flask resting by his hand. “I have the means to neutralize its progress.”
He had an answer for everything I threw at him. I could tell he wouldn’t easily accept rejection.
“Tell you what. Let me sleep on it, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow. Does that sound good?” Clearly, the guy was deranged, but I had seen him mow down those guys at the docks as if they were paper dolls—and he did it without a glowing sword. I almost hated to admit it, but maybe he could teach me a thing or two, and if all he needed in return was someone to show him the sights, well…that wasn’t such a bad trade.
He’d get his warrior, or whatever the hell he was looking for. And I’d get Rocco Durant.
But whether or not he agreed, I was going to let it go until morning. My whole head spun with everything I had seen and heard and experienced over the past few hours.
Fortunately, he was accommodating. “I find this arrangement satisfactory.” A yawn stretched his mouth wide. “And now, I must rest. Your hospitality is extremely appreciated, Vic.”
I hesitated. “You’re welcome…again.” It surprised me that he remembered my name. I wondered if he’d still know who I was when he woke up. Part of me was still convinced that he was nothing more than a delusional homeless person I had managed to pick up during my little brush with the mob.
Despite my doubts, there were enough oddities about Marcus’s mere existence that I had a hard time completely brushing off the things he said. What about the sword, or the thing that had almost fallen on me just before he appeared? Why was he so insistent that the tale he told was real? Who was the warrior he wanted to find?
I had meant to ask him all these questions before we broke for the night, but I didn’t have it in me. I gave him a blanket, and he passed out almost immediately on my bed. I retreated into the corner by the minifridge. Moonlight spilled through the single giant window onto the scarred surface of my only table.
Sitting down, I sighed and got back up to rummage in the fridge for a beer. Now that I had the chance to fall asleep, my brain wouldn’t shut down. A thousand thoughts rushed through my head at once. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw the mangled bodies of Rocco’s three underlings. Killing with a sword felt so different from killing with a gun.
It was much more personal. More intimate.
Did I want that? I didn’t know. Instead of trying to figure it out, I threw myself into the bottom of my beer bottle. After that one was gone, I got another. And another. Eventually, the torrent inside my head slowed to two alternating thoughts. This can’t be happening. This isn’t true. This can’t be happening. This isn’t true. Over and over.
My head fell back on the exposed brick. My eyes dropped closed. At long last, sleep was coming.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t true.
Down into the deep, soft dark.
CHAPTER SIX
A sharp crack jolted me awake from dreams of blood and cold, black water. I gasped, and my nose filled with the acrid stench of smoke. What the hell? I bolted into an upright position, immediately wide awake. Everything from my neck to the soles of my feet hurt, and it took a minute to remember why. Then it all came rushing back.
Rocco Durant. The chase.
The pier. Marcus in the river.
The sword.
None of that explained why my place stunk of smoke. I turned, searching for the source of it and was met with the sight of Marcus tending a small fire in the middle of my loft. I recognized the pieces of one of my chairs feeding the flames.
“Hey!”
He looked up. “Greetings, Vic. How was your rest?”
I frowned extra hard at him to make sure he felt my displeasure. “Why are you burning my shit? This is a hazard on so many levels! Also, I liked that chair.”
Marcus glanced at the fire as if he had no idea what I was talking about. “The fire is for cooking. Was that not apparent?”
“Cooking? Cooking what?” How was this my life now? I saved one weirdo, and bam, I was living in a whacked-out sitcom. “You don’t need an open fire to cook in here.”
“How else am I to do it?” he asked. His consternation was real and profound. He picked up a bundle I hadn’t noticed off the floor, and he set about unwrapping it. I heard a muffled sound.
“Wait.” I shook my head vigorously. “No. No, no. First of all, where the hell did you get a cat? And secondly, we are not eating it for breakfast. Absolutely not.”
“It was wild.” Marcus shrugged. “Do you not hunt for your food?”
The cat popped its head out of the bundle. It was devastatingly cute. Unaware of how close it had come to death, it meowed again. I could not believe he’d wanted to eat that.
“It’s not wild, dude. It’s just a stray. It was probably someone’s pet once. Anyway, we don’t eat cats or dogs or anything like that. We just go to the store.” I grabbed a cup from amid the wreckage of last night’s beer, walked to the tub on sore feet, and filled it. The water helped to clear the sludge from my mind. “So, put that damn fire out before I get evicted, will you?” I pointed at the table. “I have a hot plate. We can use that.”
“I see.” There was some remorse in his eyes as he regarded the cat in his lap. “I would not have captured this animal if I knew it to be a pet.”
“I’m sure it was abandoned.” I refilled my cup. “But, like, don’t do stuff like that. And maybe don’t go outside on your own. You don’t exactly look like a local.” Seeing that it was a hopeless case, I gave up trying to explain. “I’ll take care of the food, okay? You stay here. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t set anything else on fire. And please don’t jack my stuff.”
Before I could help myself, I cast a longing look at the burned remains of my chair. Then, I shook it off, went behind my makeshift bathroom wall to use the toilet, and braced myself for another day. I had the feeling things were only going to get stranger from here on out. It was not reassuring.
***
I left Marcus and the cat to have some bonding time alone in the loft. I didn’t exactly trust him not to somehow cause major property damage by his sheer ignorance, but the idea of bringing him out in public was laughable at best. Drawing enough looks on my own, the last thing I needed was some guy in armor following me around, although maybe it would get the neighborhood creeps to lay off.
I hung around the bottom of the stairwell for a few minutes, listening at the door for any approaching footsteps. Technically, I was paying for the space in the loft, but it was all under the table, and the arrangement might not have been exactly legal, so I did my best to stay on the down-low. Another reason not to be parading a Roman Centurion around right away.
Most of the time, the precautions I took were unnecessary; the only people around were homeless folks, junkies, or both. Some of them were nice. I had a personal favorite. Sam camped out in a little alcove right outside my building’s front door, and usually when I passed, he was sleeping under a floppy hat. This time, he peeked out from under the brim and smiled at me.
“Mornin’, miss.”
I smiled back. In a world where everyone I met looked for ways to take advantage, this man had never done me any wrong at all. It was a small spark of blue in my otherwise gray world. I wished I could return the favor. “Morning, Sam.”
“Hope you have a real nice day.” He lowered the brim of the
hat. I went on my way, but I couldn’t get the warmth of his crinkly, salt-and-pepper smile out of my mind. He ought to be meeting his kids at the corner diner for breakfast, not passing the day under a hat on the street.
Alright, look. I’m willing to admit that most of the people I see sitting at curbs or holding signs at bus stations don’t inspire much charity in me. If I give them money, there’s a good chance they’re headed straight to the liquor store. It wouldn’t really be helping them. But if I could pick one person to save, it would be Sam, the guy with the floppy hat. Hands down.
Too bad I never had anything to give.
My first stop that morning was at a newsstand, the same one I’d been frequenting since I was a kid. It was run by the same seller, too, a man named Mac who was old twenty years ago. Now, he was ancient, but his face retained its deeply settled kindness. He had always been a tranquil spot in my life, even during times of the worst upheaval.
So, I was more than a bit surprised when I walked up to find some asshole yelling his face off over the counter at Mac. The asshat was so worked up that spit flew from his lips.
“You’re running a racket here, old man!” he screamed. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t get away with it no more!” I walked up casually behind him, just another patron getting in line. He turned to me. “Hey, sweetie, take my advice. Don’t buy shit from this crackpot. He’ll rip you right off as soon as you can say please and thank you!”
I looked past him, made eye contact with Mac. “Oh, really? I’ll keep that in mind.” Mollified, the jerk stormed off in a huff. I stepped up to the counter. “How’s it going, Mac?”
He grinned. “You saw. It’s nothing new. Jackasses like that are a dime a dozen. I’ll get ten more of ‘em before I close up for the night, guaranteed.” He straightened the packs of gum arranged on the edge of the counter.
“If it’s any consolation, his day is about to get a lot worse.” I held up the guy’s wallet in my left hand. He hadn’t felt a thing. “Think of it as karmic balance.”
