Golden Void, page 23
part #3 of Black Blade Series
“Bull.” Tyson says, “How’d you even know that? It’s not like you got this thing, right? You did this Quest thing once before, and that’s it? You don’t know.”
“We do,” Kendrick says, straightening up as Marion tries to slow slide his uniform back on over the spider’s web of bandages and pads Kendrick tied into place. I guess there’s more than guns in her bag. “You selfish little troll,” she says as she stalks toward Tyson, her bag hitting the ground with a heavy thud. “You…” she jabs a long, bony finger into his chest, and he’s pinned against the cave wall, “you are nothing, understand? You’re baggage, you’re an item of inventory, not a @#&^ing hero, ken? No-one ever said you were, and they certainly won’t say that now, so,” she spins around and shouts into the abyss, “much as I’d like to pitch you into this promisingly bottomless chasm to make sure your friends and family are never again inflicted with your inflated head and endless @#(*ing whining, I’ll just tell you to shut the @#*& up and do as I tell you, because I promised I’d do this a long time ago. I’m still holding to it, and my honor’s worth more than the satisfaction I’d get from listening to you wail as you tumble forever out of sound and mind, understand?”
She coughs, just a little, as she turns back to Marion who is rising to his feet.
“So…” Tyson starts. It’s hard to tell, but I think here could be tears in his eyes. He glances over at me, then back at her. “What are you guys here for?” he asks, “If putting this back doesn’t, like, do anything except, what, grant wishes, then why did I get it?” He frowns down at the sword which somehow glitters in the dark. “It doesn’t make any sense. At all. What’s this about, really?” He points the sword at Kendrick, who’s still helping Marion to his feet. “You’re telling me a magic sword chose me, for, what, no reason? Meg,” he looks over at me, “the last guy beefed it, now I have to do it, I guess that makes me sloppy seconds, but still, I’m here for a reason.” Another grin is forming on his face. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Actually, since I’ve got the sword, shouldn’t I be calling the shots? Especially since it seems like I’m the only one actually interested in fighting evil. What are you guys gonna do, lecture whoever’s at the end of this Quest, yell at them, and then say, ‘by the way, here’s the guy you actually picked?’ Like, is this for real?” He scoffs as he looks over at me again, “Meg, tell me the last guy didn’t fall for this crap.”
I really, really don’t know what I should say to him.
Maybe Castor could convince him, but he’s still standing off to the side, shuffling his feet and staying quiet.
“Thus far, you’ve had my sympathy.” Marion rolls his shoulder and pats the spot where his uniform bulges from the bandages. “Continue in this manner, and our relationship will change.”
His breathing’s heavy, and his arms, slightly raised, loosen and fall to his side as he breathes out, eyes losing their narrow slant.
“Whatever,” Tyson grunts, “you guys’d be screwed without me.”
Marion stops his turn, stares out at the village in the dark. His silhouette bows with pressure, and then faster than I’ve ever seen him move, he whips around, smashes Tyson against the cave wall and holds him there with his massive hands. Tyson shrinks back.
“You are not a hero,” Marion roars in Tyson’s face, “you’re a victim! You’ve been lied to and exploited. We’re trying to help you!”
He closes his eyes, heavy dark brows knitting together and falling as he pulls back, his face twisted with pain.
Castor’s taken a step back. I think I did too. Even Kendrick’s eyes are flicking back and forth between us, as if wondering if she should step in.
“Okay, so…” Tyson’s hands come up, like he’s trying to protect himself too late, “…maybe I don’t get what’s going on. Whatever, nobody has to get all psycho over it.”
“O-on the contrary,” Castor steps out of the darkness at Tyson’s side, “Tyson, Lord Reinhardt’s beliefs a-aren’t necessarily based on facts. The truth is, no-one knows why Excalibur appears or how its wielder is chosen.”
“So you do have a backbone?” Kendrick asks, looking over at Marion as he turns his back on us. “I couldn’t help but notice your absence on the front line, so as far as I’m concerned, now that we don’t need your map, and since you won’t use your @#&^tty chamber magic or whatever the #&$^, you don’t get a say.”
Kendrick jerks towards him for a second, Castor flinches, and she turns, takes a step towards Marion like she’s going to talk to him.
“I d-don’t see what m-m-my relative powerlessness in the f-face of d-danger has to do w-with Tyson’s moral character,” he says “Tyson’s a strong young man, who are y-you to judge him unworthy?”
Kendrick’s neck whips back around and she takes a step forward as Tyson sticks his chin out, but Marion’s hand brushes against her arm, holding her back for a moment. She stops in her tracks.
“He’s right,” Marion says with a sigh, “we have no way of knowing why the Quest begins or how Excalibur is gifted, except in this case, where we know that the last Quest was not properly concluded. For our purposes, the reason the Quest has begun again is irrelevant.”
Kendrick scowls at the back of his head, but only for a second.
“Aye, fine,” she grunts, “he’s not worth the breath I would spend putting him down. You all know where I stand on the boy. Where are we going?”
“We follow this slope.” Marion raises an arm, flinching a little as he extends a finger to follow the silhouette of a ridge that winds throw the shadows. “There should be shelter there, among the natives.”
“Cool,” Tysons sighs, “they have food there? Or, like, beds? Showers?”
“I s-should think so,” Castor nods, following along behind Marion and Kendrick, “although, down here, t-there’s no t-t-telling what standard they’re up to.”
“So these guys are like, what, Amish?” Tyson laughs, “But, like underground.”
I walk behind Marion and Kendrick, just ahead of Tyson and Castor.
There’s no point in looking around anymore, my feet are still padding through that same gray gravel, blasting up the same clouds of dark dust. All I can see ahead is dancing lights and a suggestion of buildings.
I never paid attention before, but what stings my ears now is the quiet. Nobody’s speaking, all I can hear is the sound of footsteps. I walk faster, trying to keep up with Marion’s huge strides.
My head’s down, I’m watching the ground and listening. I can hear Tyson’s plodding footsteps, Castor’s light tapping, and Kendrick, who barely makes any sound at all.
Are they wrong?
Mom always told me not to judge other people.
Yeah, it sucks to think about her again, but this time the tightening gut and restless hands are worth it.
Does it matter what I think of Tyson? It’s not like I haven’t done dumb things.
That’s why my mind’s so restless. It’s not because Marion got hurt, or seeing him lose his cool like that.
I glance back and see Castor and Tyson still keeping their distance. If I were watching us from a long way away, I wonder if we’d look like one group or two?
Fly Through Space
Castor Campbell
“Castor Campbell!”
I rise with applause filling the hall and washing over the high table.
Picking my way past the adoring throng, I glance down at the crystal and silver glittering in soft candlelight.
“We couldn’t have done all this without our groundbreaking architect,” a heavy hand comes down on my back and a shriveled, sagging gray face beams down at me. “I just wanted to thank you, my boy. We had a lot of lazy, good for nothings in here, determined to tell us what we had planned for the manor was impossible!” He laughs, clapping me on the back again, “Impossible!” Rows of people raise their glasses, “You showed them, my boy, and I think everyone here is very interested in your future. The Guild’s forever in your debt.”
“Y-yes,” I can’t help but shift a little, try to escape from his grip. “T-thank you, milord.”
“No need to be shy, boy,” he bellows in my ear, “the wife and I have been following your designs for quite some time.” A woman by the head of the table smiles at me, running a long, pale claw of a hand across her gilded plate.“We see a very, very bright future ahead, and we encourage all of our esteemed guests,” he sweeps his arms down the table, “to do the same!”
“Y-yes, milord, c-could…” My eyes bounce off them, like staring into a bright light, and my breath runs out.
“What is it?” he shouts, “Speak up! Who knows, you may not get another chance to speak your mind to a room like this!” He laughs and the rocking, hacking motion sends champagne dribbling down his chin.
“M-my astromancy, milord,” my chest stings the moment I say it. I pause, staring into his red, sunken eyes. Of course, he has no idea what I’m talking about. “A-an account of past events, discovered with…” his eyes are narrowing, the crowd silent. I glance back over my shoulder at the long table of skeptical eyes.
“Well, I’m sure that’s…very fine, but-”
“But you’d r-rather discuss your n-next reading room?” He draws back, the dribble of champagne has reached his patterned waistcoat. He has no idea what I’ve said, not yet, but he reads the tone.
Nothing is said, but I know how this must go.
No, I will not let these people determine what happens first. I remember where the door is, so without another word or glance, I stride for it, almost stumbling as I push footmen out of my way.
The impulse has always been there, to dismiss lesser minds as unimportant.
This is the first time I’ve done it, and without conscious effort. Instinct.
I should be appalled. Disgusted and despairing. Over the smallest possible slight.
Could I run back in, shame them for their reaction?
There’s no doubt my contracts will be canceled. My career may well be over.
The family will expel me. Nothing reduces the elation that carries me down the stairs towards the foyer of the grand, expansive, ugly manor two at a time.
I must go home. Secure my research, and funding. No more time for caution.
It’ll be difficult and dangerous. I may not be able to feed my family, or myself.
But for now, I’m free.
Megan
Dunno what I was expecting from the people down here, but so far, it’s been pretty crummy.
It’s probably mean to say that about someone’s home.
I’m resting my head against a wooden wall.
You can’t really tell what anything is, there’s not much light. This place kinda looks like a stable, not sure what it’s doing all the way out here on the edge of town.
Maybe town’s not the right word.
I’m so tired I don’t remember most of the journey. We went through a cave and arrived in a big square with a huge bonfire in the middle. Lots of people ran away slamming doors and windows. At least it sounded like that’s what happened, the fire ruined my night vision.
From where I’m sitting, I can see the far end of the stable, drooping like a slinky down a slope of crumbling dirt, the far end dangling over the darkness.
There are big roots, clods of dirt, even heavy stones that look like they’ve been here for ages.
I think Kendrick’s looking at Marion’s wound. It did look pretty bad.
Castor’s here too, and Tyson.
We haven’t really talked since the big argument.
Part of me thinks they might be mad. It’s true, I didn’t stick up for them.
“Fuck, dude!” Tyson stretches his arms, “I’m hungry. This place sucks.”
“S-s-ame here,” Castor says, “it was inevitable, I’m afraid. Any provisions I had were l-lost when I absorbed that a-awful gas on the surface.”
“Like, I get the people here don’t wanna talk to us,” Tyson pouts, “but they gotta eat something, right? Why don’t we just go get some?”
Is there any point in telling him not to?
I mean, I’m hungry too. Not hungry enough that the old tricks don’t work, though. Counting, making up stories. Trying to tell jokes to myself.
“Marion and Kendrick are probably hungry too. I think the plan was we’d get some supplies here, so we’re probably going to get something, we just…”
“We just don’t know when.” Tysons sighs as he picks himself up, “they’re probably hogging it all to themselves or something. Like I said, I’m hungry, I’m gonna go get something.”
“Please don’t.” When did my brain switch to Wimpy Megan mode?
“Look, I’m gonna do it,” Tyson says, “Castor’s super tired too. We need food.”
“Yeah, I know.” I get up, wiping the dead stalks of old hay from my pants. “Compromise? Let’s go and ask them first, okay?”
“Sure,” Tyson says, “but it’s not like if they say ‘no’ it’s gonna make any difference.”
“But you’re good with asking?” I lead him out of the broken stable to the side of what might’ve once been a house.
“Whatever,” he says with a shrug, “like, how long did you hang out with them before you met me? Shouldn’t you be in there with them?”
He points inside the ruined mansion. Collapsed and caved in it looked like it had fallen from up above and stayed mostly intact apart from the rear which looked like a cake somebody sat on. The whole thing teetered on the edge of yet another weird, infinite chasm.
Is it dumb to knock?
I reach out but Kendrick must’ve seen me. She pulls the door open.
“Meg?” She looks over my shoulder to see Ty standing behind me, “What?”
“Uh…” How do I phrase it? I’m not sure I want to sound like I’m on Tyson’s side. Especially when it might not be true. “Tyson and Castor are really hungry. And you mentioned there might be stuff to eat here, so…”
“We’re taking a break,” Kendrick grunts. “Marion needs to rest. So do I, for that matter.”
“You don’t have to go, I’ll take Tyson, bring some stuff back,” I tell her, “maybe enough for everyone?”
She looks back at Ty, and then to me.
“No fights. See a Dreamer, or anyone else after you, for that matter, run back.” She squints over at Tyson again, and then closes the door on us, creeping back into the old house.
“Huh.” Tysons cuts through the new quiet. “Didn’t think she’d actually okay us.”
“Me neither.” I shrug as I step down from the porch. “Got a plan?”
“Nope. Ask some people, hassle them if they don’t hand over whatever they’ve got, maybe dumpster dive a little,” he laughs, “I’m pretty hungry. We probably need to hydrate, too.”
“Should we check on Castor?” I ask him, “see if he wants to come?”
“Nah,” Tysons shrugs, “he’ll slow us down.”
“Okay, I guess we’re going.” It’s not far up to that big bonfire, and he seems to be in an okay mood. “Can I just…” I’m not sure if I’m ready to, you know, go on another Tyson Adventure.
“Sure,” he laughs, “you take all the time you need, I’ll go talk to Castor.”
Maybe it’s because he pats me on the shoulder so hard I almost trip, or maybe it’s because I don’t believe him, but there’s nothing reassuring in his smile.
I wait until I lose track of his back in the darkness and head back to the crumpled mansion. I raise my hand to knock and then stop. I can’t do this, either.
Why do feelings come and go?
A second ago I thought I’d get some more advice, make sure Kendrick knows where I stand
I couldn’t handle it if she thought I’d side with Tyson over her.
Now I’m just standing here in the dark, by myself.
Without really thinking, I step forward, hands against the door.
The air smells of damp.
I sigh, close my eyes, and turn my head to rest on the door.
What is this, day two? How long did it take last time? Have I been down here forever? I must be the missing sunlight.
“Wading.”
The word echoes, muffled, through the wood.
It’s low, almost a rumble, probably Marion’s voice. There’s a tinny buzz along with it, something totally electronic.
It has ups and down, too. A voice.
I squint through the hairline cracks in the door, but I can’t see anything. I press my ear against the wood.
“I have my suspicions. We’ve been discussing the best course of action.”
Another long creak, and then quiet. More tinny whispering.
“No. I prefer not to involve her, if possible. I’m sure you agree.”
“Hey!” Tyson’s harsh voice cracks through the quiet, “we going or what?”
“Yeah, okay.” I hop down from the porch and follow the path of broken soil towards the flicker of the bonfire.
Is it self-centered to think he might’ve been talking about me?
They don’t want me to know something. It wouldn’t be the first time. Am I dumb? I thought we were past this, with Kendrick, at least.
Maybe… I’ve been wondering. What if I’d taken the gun she offered me?
“So, like, what do you think we do?” Tysons asks, as kicks a pebble.
“Ask someone nicely for food?” I ask him, “I think that’s the best place to start.”
“I guess,” he sighs, “probably a waste of time. When we showed up they all ran off. I thought boss man said they’d be friendly.”
“Well…” He’s right, there are piles of little cottages lying on top of each other. Terraces of broken wood, banners swaying in the wind, but no people. Every door’s closed, every window barred. “It might not be us as much as, y’know,” I point at it, “the sword?”
“Huh?” Tyson looks down, “guess I forgot I was holding it. Even if it is, I can’t exactly put it down.”
“Why not?” It’s an honest question, “It’s not even in a sheath. You’re walking around like you plan to chop someone’s head off.”
