The Blade

Chapter 5

Back at the police station, Ronson gathered his belongings, and with a grateful sigh, headed for the door.  What a day.  His only remaining plans for the evening consisted of a couple of glasses of forgetfulness and then bed.  He gave the duty officer a tired nod, as he walked past the front desk.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The detective's shoulders slumped.  Slowly, he turned around and gave the constable the most discouraging look he could muster.  "What?" he growled.

The kid saw the look, swallowed, but pushed on regardless.  "Er, we've just received a report of suspicious activity, several blocks away from the terrorist attack.  I thought you might want to know the details."

What I want is a big, fat whiskey.  He glared stonily at the constable, but relented when the kid started to actually physically squirm.  When did we start hiring fifteen-year-olds?  "Fine, hit me."

The kid rifled through his notes.  "Let's see.  Here it is, sir.  A Mrs Gennaro of Fairway Drive called in a report of a large bird, in her back yard."

Ronson absorbed this.  "A large bird?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see.  Tell me, constable, do you know what this is?"

The kid was squirming again.  "Um, your middle finger, sir?"

"No, son.  This is a bird.  And it's also my response to Mrs Gennaro.  If she calls again, you can quote me.  I'm going home."

"Um, yes sir."

Through a crack in her curtains, Florence Gennaro watched apprehensively as the colossal, cement-truck sized eagle perched in her yard finished devouring the second of her two poodles.

She really hoped the police would arrive soon.  Otherwise she'd have to call next door, and see if that nice young George would come over and shoo the horrid thing away.

The lid whirred open, and warily, George peeked out, sighing with relief when his eyeballs were greeted with the homely, familiar, dust-covered shambles of the attic.

Maybe it was a dream.  Maybe I inhaled some weird fungal dust or something and hallucinated, kinda like a magic mushroom thing.  Yeah, that's it, I reckon.

He clambered out of the trunk, and standing in the safe, calm confines of his own home, felt more and more certain with every passing second that the evening's recent events must have been some sort of sensory illusion.  An astonishingly realistic and seriously weird illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.  Relieved, if a little concerned about the possibility of brain damage, he set off towards the hatchway down to the house below.

"Hang on, lad.  Haven't you forgotten something?"

George froze.  Slowly, he turned around.  Looking small, but undeniably solid and definitely non-illusory, Lob grinned at him from over the edge of the trunk.  His heart sank.  "Ah, crap."

"Nah, no time for that now, mate.  You'll just have to hold it in.  Come and give me a hand with this."

Reluctantly, George retraced his steps.  Lob was trying to haul something long and awkward out from under the open base of the trunk, and in the dim light, it took George a moment to realise that it was a sword.   A light shiver ran down his spine, as the pristine edges gleamed, despite the gloom.  Not just any sword.

The Blade.

The magical weapon from Grandpa's stories.  The artefact that shared its name and its power with the one who bore it.  Those who wielded the Blade became the Blade.

Carefully, George reached into the trunk and took the sword from Lob, his fingers tingling as they enclosed the hilt.  Holding the weapon reverentially, hardly daring to believe it was real, he stepped back and took a few experimental swipes.

"Looks good on you, mate," encouraged Lob.  "If I was a fly, I'd be terrified right about now."

Emboldened, George swung faster and more powerfully.  The sword felt amazing, seemingly moving almost with his thoughts, without having to wait for the instructions to be transmitted through his muscles.  It sang through the air, creating a music that resonated somewhere deep in George's soul, becoming a blur as it carved out intricate patterns of shimmering light around his whirling form.

His slow, rapturous grin grew broader and broader, until abruptly it was wiped off his face by the sound of his mother screaming, from somewhere in the house below.  With a clatter, the sword fell to the floorboards.

Breathing deeply, Marie backed away from the black-clad stranger.  "Who are you?  What do you want?"

Vardun Ri smiled at her.  "Simply to talk to you, good lady.  I am looking for something, and I suspect you may be able to help me to find it."

"Whatever you're looking for, it's not here!  Get out of my house!"

"Oh, have no fear, I will.  I have no desire to linger any longer than necessary in this strange, godforsaken world, so lacking in proper civilisation.  But I will not leave until I have what I seek.  I have come for the Blade."

Marie backed up against a kitchen bench, unable to retreat any further.  "You want a blade?"  Slowly, she reached behind herself, fingers grasping, and smiled triumphantly as they found what she had hoped would be there.  "Try this!"  She flung the carving knife as hard as she could, straight at the trespasser's head.

Smile never wavering, Vardun caught the utensil by its handle, and without a moment's hesitation, threw it back, the blade just barely grazing Marie's ear, before burying itself deep in the wall behind her.  She shivered, as a tiny trickle of blood ran down the side of her neck.

Vardun continued to advance slowly, picking up another knife from the bench as he did so.  "Now, is that any way to treat a guest?  It seems as though the people of this world are lacking in manners.  Perhaps some education is in order."

Panicked, Marie made a break for it, bolting through the doorway to the living room.  Looking over her shoulder, she was so intent on the possibility of pursuit that she completely failed to see the other man in black, and ran straight into him.  One strong arm went around her waist, while the other brought a dagger to her throat.

Vardun Ri wandered into the room, idly spinning his newly acquired knife, in a way that suggested he was extremely practiced at using one.  "Now, let's have that little chat, shall we?"