Dark City

13.

"I don't know if I can handle all that uneven terrain," Nathan said.

"Come on. I've seen videos of amputees doing backflips."

"I couldn't do a backflip even when I had both my legs," Nathan muttered.

The leaves of Ghost Woods rustled under the force of the wind. Even after the incident with Alex, Tom and Nathan continued to venture into the woods. The animal sacrifices had stopped once Jacob went into therapy, and without an adversary, however, their quests reverted back to being just pretend, until they got older and started going into the woods to spar or get drunk.

As they traipsed through the brush, slumped branches caressed their shoulders, welcoming them home. The forest took the stuff of imagination and made it tangible. Tabards materialized on their chests, bearing the black broadsword crest of their guild. Tom imagined a flickering of shadows between t he trees, a spirit of the forest that watched. Even after all these years, the magic of childhood still existed in this place.

As they travelled deeper into the woods, they passed beer cans stomped into the dirt. Tom cringed when he saw an empty syringe lying next to a felled tree. He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. They found a clearing and Tom started pulling out gear. He zipped his jacket tight and handed Nathan a mask.

"I have a foil and a saber. We're supposed to use the same, but this is all I have. Which one do you want?" Tom asked.

"Doesn't matter to me."

Tom handed him the foil. He showed him how to hold it and how to stand. Each had a glove to protect his sword hand. Tom's other hand remained safely tucked behind the back while Nathan's gripped his cane. He demonstrated a few basic blade moves, and Nathan picked them up quickly. When he was ready, they pulled down their wire mesh face guards and began.

The sounds of the forest melted away as Tom focused intently on the tip of Nathan's weapon. He steadied his blade, inhaled and advanced on his opponent, adrenalin propelling him forward. They danced back and forth.

Nathan played defensively. He seldom lunged, because when he did he often fell short on his attack. When he parried, his force would knock Tom back, but Tom's blade flipped and darted like a composer's baton and the tip soon made a touch against Nathan's jacket.

Tom read each of Nathan's moves and had the ideal counter programmed into muscle memory. Nathan's height gave him an advantage, but Tom knew how to compensate against a taller opponent. He used complex blade work to sneak little pokes into his friend's jacket. By the end of the round, Tom had poked enough holes to bleed him dry.

"I'm not built for this sport," Nathan heaved. Tom found a couple of water bottles in his duffel and handed one to Nathan. They stowed their blades and shed their thick jackets, catching their breath and taking a minute to rehydrate.

"You did great, but you're swinging that foil around like it's a broadsword."

Tom felt a charlie horse in his calf muscle and tried stretching it out.

"You okay?" Nathan asked. Tom winced and nodded as he waited for the cramp to release. "I get those too, always in my left leg."

"In your left leg?" Tom asked, confirming that Nathan meant the leg that was no longer there.

"Yeah."

"Fuuuck, man." Tom took one last swig of water before packing up. Tom breathed in the smell of the tree sap and closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say. Maybe it was better just to be quiet.

Nathan sighed. "I'd like to think I'll be doing backflips someday, but it's hard to imagine that when your knee swells up every twenty paces."

"Dude, remember in tenth grade, when you stood up to Ninja Franco and his gang?"

"Vaguely."

"They wanted to kill me. I did this amazing impersonation of Franco in first period, and he said him and his ninja gang would beat me within an inch of my life, stuff me in their trunk and bury me alive in the middle of nowhere. And I know I always said they were full of shit, but one of those guys ended up stabbing a dude after school."

"Those guys were posers. That 'stabbing' was a five finger filet accident."

"Anyway, you told them that if they touched a hair on my pretty gold head, you'd steal Franco's girlfriend."

Nathan laughed. "What? I'm pretty sure I just told them not to mess with you."

"No! Dude! You were totally like, 'You should be paying more attention to your girl.'"

"Yeah, because he ignored her. He was so fixated on his stupid fake gang. I wasn't going to try and date her."

"Okay, well, Franco took it the way I did. We all thought you were going to steal her. 'Cause she had the hots for you."

"Amber did?"

"Uh. Yeah! Lots of girls did." Tom laughed, patting his friend's shoulder. "Remember when we used to watch Hercules? In my head, all through high school, you were Hercules. And I was Iolaus." There was a momentary tick of resentment in Tom's expression, but he guised it with a smile. "You made me the cocky prick I am today, because with you around, I knew I could say whatever I wanted to people and Hercules would always have my back. And you'll always be Hercules, Nate, even all cut up and lopsided."

Cool breezes came down through the treetops. Tom couldn't remember how he met Nathan. He had always been his best friend in the house across the street, his brother in arms in the knightly order of Ghost Woods. He remembered Nathan and himself as children, playing games of make-believe, collecting forest critters and bringing them to their clubhouse.

"We should find the old headquarters," Tom said.

"Yeah. All right."

They marched through the brush, Tom leading the way and clearing it as much as he could for Nathan. Their hideout was a dark hole carved out of a hill, covered in layers of roots and reeking of moss and mildew. Battle axe, halberd, rapier—in actuality a collection of walking sticks—all remained untouched. Tom brushed off their old bench and took a seat.

"I don't know what you've been through and I can tell you don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do, I'm here to listen."

Nathan's eyes glazed over. Silence ensued. "Let's get back. My leg's killing me."

Tom nodded. He grabbed his bag and they headed down the hill.

"Hold up." Tom ducked under some low hanging branches. Something glistened amidst the leaves. He pinched a small green earring stud in the shape of a beetle. Nearby was a pile of sick mixed with leaves and dirt.

"Gross," Tom whispered.

"Do people use these woods for parties now?"

Tom shrugged. They peered down into a nearby clearing from elevated terrain. This scene had such a profoundly dark energy about it. Tom remembered it well. "This was his spot. Damn psycho."

Nathan nodded. "Look at what someone did to the tree."

Painted into the trunk of the ancient oak was a strange symbol: a circle within a circle with sharp triangles pointing out all around, much like an iris or a sun-star. At the roots lay a little cloth daisy, one of those that Alex often wore in her hair. Tom swallowed hard. A flashback of a little girl tied to the tree shot through his mind.

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Music: "Butterflies and Hurricanes" Muse