Chapter 27

The sword felt he was bruised everywhere, and not just physically. He didn’t really understand how this was possible, but even his mind felt tender and a little stiff the day after the [God], Francois, apparently, had wielded him.

He had been very damaged by the end of the battle, all those shadow strikes had smashed his body with a force his bones were apparently not meant to withstand. The clinic had healed him to the point where he could walk, stuck his left arm, which was particularly mangled, hung a sling around his neck, and told him to come back in a few days when their triage list was less full.

“Did you have fun?” Arthur asked him when they’d reunited outside the gym. The sword wasn’t sure that he had. For all that he had been desperately seeking a wielder, it hadn’t felt right when the first shadow step had seized him in its grip. He wasn’t supposed to get dizzy as his perspective changed. That hadn’t used to happen when he’d been in the right body. It had felt worse when Francois had used shadow strike, he’d known with every blow that it was not supposed to be this way, that his bones and muscle were the wrong weight, the wrong material to be used with this skill. His bruises reminded him of that every time he shifted, as did the pull of the sling around his neck.

Had he been wrong this whole time? Was this body so irredeemably unsuitable that there was no point in having a wielder at all?

They had offered him rest time, especially with the sling, he was not going to do anything useful at training. But the sword wouldn’t have known what to do with the time off anyway, he couldn’t even hang around in the kitchens with Cadmarius and pretend to care about food, for the chef had been drafted by the clinic to use whatever healing powers he possessed to help process their backlog of injuries.

Everyone seemed to be talking more than usual today. He saw a lot of grins and people hopping up and down in place. At first he thought they must still be excited by the battle on the lawn, but Arthur told him with a sigh about the offer that had gone out: three skills and they could volunteer for much more interesting duty.

Haldar Brassbones was already roaring for people to challenge him two at a time.

“They will attack you especially hard,” the sword said.

“I know,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “But I’ve been bribed, so it’ll be fine. Probably.”

The sword drifted away as the first bouts began, found a wall to lean against and settled in to watch.

Suppose that he himself held that wooden sword, and then a wielder used shadow strike, what would happen? Was there a way to make the weapon the sword was holding move, instead of the sword’s whole body?

The sword didn’t know.

“You fighting today?” It was the laughing girl, looking unusually serious.

The sword looked down at his sling. “No,” he said.

“Why not?” The laughing girl asked.

The sword looked at the sling again. The answer seemed to be obvious. But then, perhaps on her world it wasn’t. “I am given to understand that it is bad to move broken bones,” he said. This matched his general understanding of human injuries, he wondered what was making the laughing girl ask the question.

“I saw you fight,” she said. “On the green. I saw you protect Mei.”

The sword winced. Had she snuck out of the gym as well? He hoped she hadn’t seen every single awkward skill. This was nearly as bad as the time he’d almost lost control of snuff. Yet another time he’d screwed up in front of a wielder candidate.

“You’ve been holding back,” she said. “You’ve been wasting my time.”

The sword blinked. “What?”

“You’re way better than what you’re doing in the practice matches. The difficulty of the fights matters too, you know? I need my last skill before I can do anything, and you’ve been wasting my time for weeks.”

The sword…wasn’t sure how to respond to this statement. There was a fierceness in her voice, a certainty, that made him want to agree with her. Even though he didn’t really think that was what he’d been doing. But how was he to know?

“Cadmarius said it will be a few more days,” the sword said, “I can…try harder when it is over.”

The girl shook her head. “The sign up for Night Patrol is open today. They might change their minds at any time. I have to get out of here, I’m so bored, I have to do something, I have to stop wasting time.” She cut herself off, and looked at the sword.

“Fight me,” she said, “today, now.”

The sword looked down at his cast. This did not seem like a good idea. Besides, he didn’t really like fighting in this body.

“If you win, I’ll be your wielder,” she said.

The sword felt as if every drop of blood rushed to his head all at once.

“I prefer knives, but a sword will do, especially if we can get your skills under control. I don’t know why the school has been holding back, I want to join the assault, I want to be there when we destroy these lizards.”

This was what he needed. Exactly what he needed. Someone driven, someone who understood weapons. Someone who would use him to the fullest. Would erase the awkward memories in his head of missed steps and too soft strikes.

“I mean it. I’ll do it.”

The sword didn’t even ask how it was that she knew that he was looking for a wielder. He was starting to understand that once one of his classmates knew something, it was only a matter of time before the rest of them did.

He didn’t ask if she knew what it meant, either, she was a [Knight], she understood.

He just said yes.

There was the awkward question of how to fight with Ms. Lopez around, who would definitely disapprove. This issue was resolved by the clangs of the first and second alarm bells, which had Ms. Lopez running out the door with the usual admonishment not to go anywhere else.

He was shifting from foot to foot by the time it was time to begin, the wooden stick in his hand slippery with sweat.

They were playing by the normal bout rules, slightly modified. First blood or first bruise was the victor.

“Hey whoa what’s going on here?” Arthur called out, jogging to them as they were about to begin.

“She wants to fight,” the sword said, “I said yes.”

“Yeah but you’re an idiot,” Arthur said, turning to the laughing girl. “He can’t fight, moron. Can’t you see his arm?”

“He said he would,” the laughing girl said cheerfully. “So get out of my way.”

Arthur glanced back at the sword. “This is some kind of wielder nonsense, yeah?” He asked with narrowed eyes.

The sword didn’t reply.

“Yeah I thought so,” Arthur drew closer to the sword, then something caught his eye. “This isn’t your doing is it?” He asked.

The sword turned, Mei was standing to one side, watching them. She shook her head.

“Hmmm,” Arthur said. “She offered to be your wielder if you win or something?”

The sword nodded.

“And what are you supposed to do?”

“Fight her.”

“That’s all?”

The sword nodded.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Seems like a bit of an imbalance in payoff, don’t you think?”

“She wants to fight,” the sword said. “That’s why she’d be a good wielder. She cares.”

“Her?” Arthur said, looking back the laughing girl, who was waiting patiently, balanced on one foot. “She’s about as classic a case of sociopathy as you’re ever likely to see. I don’t think she cares about anything.”

“She cares about not wasting time,” the sword said, thinking back on her words. “So do I.” He was surprised to find himself adding.

“Huh,” Arthur said. “Ok, maybe that’s true, but you know she could just be lying to you right?”

The sword paused.

“She is a [Knight],” he said. “Do [Knights] lie about duels?” He asked uncertainly. Everyone lied, of course. But duels, at least in the swords experience, duels meant something.

“All the time,” Mei and Arthur said in unison, then glanced at each other.

The sword looked over at the laughing girl, she really was stretching, twisting her torso back and forth with her stick held across her shoulders.

“She has no reason to,” the sword said. “I’m doing it.” He couldn’t afford to miss this chance. She was the only person he had met who seemed willing to become his wielder.

He would not lose this chance to feel like he was supposed to feel.

Mei and Arthur kept talking, but the sword tuned them out. The laughing girl caught his eyes. “Ready,” she called out.

The sword nodded.

“Ok!” Her voice boomed, louder than Haldar Brassbones even.“Let’s begin.”

The sword wasted no time.

He had come to realize in his many rounds of practice bouts that his purest advantage over his fellow classmates was that they were all moving very slowly.

His best chance was to strike before she could begin. She was used to his fast reflexes. She might not be expecting that he could sprint just as quickly when he wanted to.

He rarely wanted to, as such exhertion usually led to the generation of sweat.

For this, he would sweat.

The sword saw her expression shift as he drew closer. She could think quickly, and her mind did not shut down in the face of a threat, both gifts of experience which had not been erased by her return to Earth.

The sword saw her expression shift as he drew closer. She could think quickly, and her mind did not shut down in the face of a threat, both gifts of experience which had not been erased by her return to Earth.

In her previous body, it was quite possible she would be fast enough to stop him, but even after all her training, her new body, like all of their new bodies, like the sword’s, was going to fail her.

“Blade Storm.”

A flurry of knives emerged from the floor in front of the laughing girl.

The sword adjusted his path, there were many knives, but they were not moving fast, it was still a low level skill.

Even so one managed to rip at his pants, and his initial surprise attack was ruined.

She was already moving.

She knew he was poor at defense, that was why he was here after all.

Still, this wasn’t a practice bout any more, he didn’t have to remember to parry correctly if he didn’t let her get close enough to strike.

“You’ll have to hit me some time,” she hissed at him as he continued his steady retreat.

“How about while you’re talking?” The sword asked, already in motion, lunging in a way he was sure wasn’t right, but at least got him in reach of her torso.

She’d been ready for him.

Her grin practically split her face in two. “Sever.”

She sliced his wooden stick into two splintered pieces, leaving him far short of the distance needed to hit her.

She didn’t even need to be touching him to use that skill, though there must be some kind of range where she could use it in, and the sword had just stepped right inside it.

He tried to back away, she moved forward smoothly into her own counter attack.

He saw the wooden stick rushing towards him.

It struck him then, how unreal this all was.

This was not unusual, every day at Crossroads felt unreal to the sword.

Because of that, perhaps, he hadn’t noticed the most obvious artifice in this exercise.

He brought his hand up, caught her stick as it rushed towards his face in his palm, and twisted, hard.

She lost her grip for a crucial moment, and the sword seized it from her, raising the stick high. She stumbled, falling to the ground.

One simple strike on the cheek, and this would be over.

She flung a slender splinter of wood at him. It sliced unevenly along the side of his neck. If it had been a knife, he would have died.

He stumbled back.

Mei and Arthur were instantly standing between them, Mei facing him, Arthur standing over the laughing girl, his arms folded.

“First blood,” Mei said quietly, “you’ve lost.”