The Blade

Chapter 1

"George!  Your grandfather's on the phone!"

George dove under the ninja's flashing blade, somersaulted between his legs, and in one smooth motion, regained his feet and beheaded the black-clad warrior, before his foe even had time to turn around.  "Tell him I'll call him back!"

"George!"

Muttering under his breath, George parried the blow of a second ninja, disembowelled a third, and hit the pause button.  Pushing himself out of the George-shaped impression on his bed, he tossed the controller on to a pile of laundry and negotiated his way to his bedroom door, a journey rendered somewhat tricky by the dim light and his stubborn refusal to tidy his room.  He cursed as he stumbled over a pile of textbooks.

His mother frowned at him, as she handed over the phone.  "Please don't hurry on our account."

George rolled his eyes.  "What does the old guy want now? Probably got his dentures stuck in the toaster again."

Grandpa had been in the nursing home for over a year now, but still seemed to think George should be as much at his beck and call as when they lived in the same house.

"Be nice. You know how lonely he gets.  But don't be too long—you need to get back to studying."

"Studying—right."  With a sigh, George lifted the receiver to his ear.  "Hello, Grandpa."

"Georgie, my boy.  Is your mother there?"

The teen shook his head.  The old man is really losing it.  "Yes, Grandpa.  You were just talking to her a second ago.  Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember.  Don't take that tone with me, boy."  George blinked in surprise.  He hadn't heard that fire in Grandpa's voice for years.  "I mean is she still there, with you?"

"Er—yes, Grandpa."

"Well then, take the phone to your room.  We need to talk."

Giving his mother a here-we-go-again look, George did as he was told.

"You know, Grandpa, you could have just called my phone."

"What are you talking about, boy?  That's what I did."

"No, I mean my mobile phone."

"Your what, now?"

"My mobile—never mind.  Okay, Grandpa.  I'm alone."

"Good lad.  Hang on a second."  George heard a series of muffled thumps, followed by a crash, before his grandfather came back on the line, sounding slightly breathless.  "Right, that should hold the bastards for a while.  Now, where was I?"

George felt the first tingles of genuine concern.  "Grandpa, what's going on?"  The old man had been acting erratically for a while now, but had never caused any actual harm; George really hoped that was still the case.  "Who are you talking about?  What have you done?"

"They've come for me, boy." The old man's voice wavered, and broke.  "After all this time, they've come.  I thought I'd fooled them—I thought I'd made us safe.  Turns out I was the fool, Georgie."

"Grandpa, I don't know what you're talking about.  Look, I'll come down to the home, okay?  Whatever you've done, I'm sure we can sort it out."

"No!  That's just what they want.  You stay away, Georgie.  Promise me, you'll stay away.  They'll be coming for you, soon enough."

"Grandpa, you're scaring me."

"Scaring you?"  The old man gave a hollow laugh.  "Boy, if you don't do as I say, you'll soon know what being scared is all about."

"I'm coming down there."

"Dammit, George!  I said no!"  Grandpa's voice was firm again.  "I can hold them here for a while.  It's the last and only thing I can do to help.  I can give you a chance to get away.   Don't waste that chance.  Now, shut up and listen."

Running his hand through his hair, George sat on the edge of his bed.  The old man was clearly agitated, and it seemed best to humour him, at least until he calmed down.  "Okay, Grandpa.  I'm listening."

His grandfather paused, before speaking again.  "Georgie, do you remember the stories I used to tell you, when you were little?"

George blinked in surprise.  "Stories?  Um, I guess so."

"Well, my boy, what would you say if I told you that those stories were true?"

"Well...I guess I'd say that sounds a little crazy."

"A little crazy?  Georgie, it sounds batshit bonkers, I know.  But you need to believe me, boy.  Those stories were true.  Hell, they are true.  And they're coming for you."

"Goldilocks and Rumpelstiltskin are coming for me?"

"No, idiot.  Not those stories.  I'm talking about the stories from the Far Lands.  The stories about the reluctant king.  You know—the stories of the Blade."

Faded memories stirred in the recesses of George's mind.  "Oh yeah, those ones.  I haven't thought about those stories in years."

"But you remember them, don't you?"  The old man's voice was urgent.  "You remember those stories?"

And to George's surprise, he did.  His young mind had thrilled to Grandpa's stirring tales of bravery against insurmountable odds, of victories snatched from the jaws of defeat, and of heroes plucked from obscurity to save the day.  "I do Grandpa, I really do.  I loved your stories.  But that's all they are—stories."

His grandfather swore under his breath as more crashing sounds came down the line.  "Tell that to the assassins trying to break down my door."

"Assassins?  Grandpa, I really think—"

"Shut up, George.  Just shut up.  I'm running out of time here, and you need to listen.  Those stories weren't just for fun.  They were also your education.  An education I never thought you'd need, but an education nonetheless.  I wish I'd done more, but it's too late for that now."

"Grandpa, I—"

"Shut up, George.  I'm not done yet.  I know you think I'm a crazy old man with dementia, and I know how hard all of this must be to believe.  But for your safety, hell, for the safety of millions, you have to believe me.  Actually, forget that, you don't even have to believe me.  You just have to do what I say.  Will you do that, George?  Will you humour an old man who loves you, and do what I ask you to do?  Promise me."

George swallowed.  "Okay, Grandpa."

"Good lad.  Now listen very carefully.  In the attic, there's an old trunk of mine.  I want you to look inside that trunk."

"The big old wooden one, with the bronze clasps?  Grandpa, that trunk is empty.  I know, because it was one of the best hiding places for hide and seek, when I was a kid."

"That's the one, Georgie.  But it's not empty.  Press the back right-hand corner of the base three times, and you'll release a latch.  A latch that holds down the base.  Lift it up and you'll discover a secret compartment."

George was intrigued, despite himself.  "Grandpa, what's in the compartment?"

The crashing sounds were back, louder than before.  "Oh shit.  Georgie, they're almost through.  I've gotta go.  Look in the compartment, boy.  It's the only hope.  Georgie, I'm really—"

The line went dead.