Bane

December 24, 1993

The rain stopped as the clouds broke in the sky. The sun crested above the woodland horizon, the evening sunset rays cut through the cloudbreak and reached across Driftwood in splenderous red-orange light.

Bart Walker sat in the comfort of his armchair, enjoying the smells of the holiday in the house. David, and Karen sat on the couch adjacent from him, and Randall Grifford stood in the doorway to the den, a steely expression on his face.

"Stop looking so maudlin, old man." Bart smiled weak at Grifford, and the judge looked away.

"Is there anything you need?" David's voice sounded young, and childlike in his own ears.

"I need you all to stop doting on me like I'm a baby, already. It's Christmas Eve. Your gifts are by the hearth."

"Grandpa, you're sick." David's voice cracked.

"I'm not sick, boy. We don't get sick."

The room was thick in silence.

"Bart..."

"Your presents, Karen." Bart gestured at the hearth. The fire was burned down its last embers.

Karen felt her chin tremble. "Okay."

Karen left David on the couch, and hurried to the fireplace. She collected the first gift. "David." Her voice cracked. "David, this one is yours."

She carried the gift back to David, and sat it on his lap.

David stared down at the wrapped box, heavy on his lap.

"Unwrap it already, boy. Christmas isn't going to wait for you forever."

David nodded with a meek expression. He peeled at the tape, pulling the wrapping paper free from the box. The box itself was wooden, ornate in design. David lifted the lid back, and stared at his grandfather's remaining dagger inside it. He stared up wide eyed at Bart.

"For you. It's getting too heavy for me."

David stared at the blades.

"Karen, stop gawking. Go open yours."

David looked up from Bart's blades.Karen held eye contact with him a moment, and released a breath. "Yessir."

Karen felt like she was floating on unsteady legs. She was holding the box in her hands, hands tearing away at the wrapping paper, tearing th box apart, and found herself holding an old bull whip. Her voice came out scarce more than a whisper. "I never mastered the whip. Hey, I thought this burned with the rowans..."

Bart waved a dismissive hand, and laughed. "Now there's a memory. No. Got a dozen of those things... but that one's my first. Made it back in the academy."

"It's beautiful."

"It's got a few stains... you could clean it if you want. Blood on there's from a lifetime of my work. Left it there."

Karen shook her head. "I'm never washing it."

Bart nodded, and coughed. When his cough died down, he cleared his throat. "Learn to use that thing. Your blades, girl... they only have so much reach. Bullets, well they can be traced."

Karen nodded.

David cleared his throat. "It's late. We have gifts for you, too."

"Christmas morning, boy." Bart yawned. "I'm tired, and the good Judge I'm sure has family of his own to attend."

Randall Griffort fought against trembling in his chin. He nodded. "I should get home. Abraham, Katarina, and the grandchildren will be missing me."

Bart nodded, and gestured to the door. He pushed himself up. He was slow to his feet, and frail looking. All uncharacteristic of the hero of The Order, the living legend with more confirmed kills than years in his life. Pale, and dark in the eyes, Bart heaved a deep breathe and led Grifford to the foyer.

Karen and David stayed in the den in silence. Karen crept close to David, Bart's coiled bullwhip in her hand, knuckled clenched white around it.

The old hunter returned to his chair and sat into it with a grunt.

"Abraham. You know, the old man would tell you he's named after the biblical Abraham..."

David and Karen waited.

"...When we attended our advamced training, the old man was obsessed with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

Karen's eyelids were half mast. "The Headless Horseman."

"The same." Bart nodded, and waved for David to get him his pipe from the mantle over the fireplace. "There was a hessian, you see. He did lose his head to a cannonball."

"You're telling us that the Legend is real?"

David brought Bart his pipe, and coughing as he got it started, and handed it to Bart.

"Don't inhale it fully, boy." Bart's amused expression urged a stifled giggle from Karen
. "Yes, the legend is real. Sort of. Abraham Martling - Brom Bones - is buried in Sleepy Hollow. Grifford always considered him the sympathetic protagonist, rather than a minor antagonist."

"He's a jock douchebag." Karen blushed, a rare occasion for the vicious young huntress.

"Maybe. Maybe not. The judge always said that Ichabod Crane was the interloper. Some new arrival comes and starts courting Brom's girlfriend. Brom enjoyed a practical joke, or two... but he wasn't villainous in the traditional sense of the word."

"...so his Honor is a book nerd."

Bart nodded. "Not a word of this to the judge. He doesn't take teasing well."

David and Karen blinked.

Bart laughed hard, laughter turning to a violent series of bronchial coughs. Bart breathed a series of shallow breaths. "Alright, alright. Bedtime."

Karen and David exchanged looks. They nodded, and stood, leaving the den in a hurry.

They ascended the stairs, listening to Bart's chuckle echo from the den as they did.

Karen paused as they reached the landing. "He knows we're not children, right?"