Most of all, she focused on how badly she wanted her sword back.
She had read about how botanists could combine plants by splicing them together. In her mind, she pictured the Blood Lotus’s roots seeking the blood on the tendril. The magic from the Blood Lotus going into the root, and the silver acting as a magical catalyst. Willow had been born of wood, metal, and magic; why not again?
Something stirred in her fist. Kimberly opened her eyes. The tendril was pulsing like an artery; each surge causing the lotus to glow even brighter. The tendril shifted and started thickening.
Clenching her teeth, she summoned her magic, focusing it all in her fist. The mass began to expand. The lotus petals solidified and the brush began to melt. Exhausted, Kimberly let go as the process continued on its own.
The blade was silver in color. Instead of a guard, a circle with a blooming lotus flower formed. On the other side, the hilt spiraled like a unicorn’s horn. Purple fire danced all along its length as it heated, then cooled.
Kimberly looked at the sword under the moonlight. She reached out her hand and picked it up.
Vines expanded out from under the lotus circle, spiraling around Kimberly’s arm. They crept all along her body, expanding in places to form pieces of armor. The blade hummed steadily, a gentle sound.
“Willow?”
She felt a mental presence, cautious yet curious. It flitted around in her head, looking for something to grab hold of. A picture of Willow’s tree appeared. Next to the tree was a much smaller tree. Lotus blossoms bloomed in its branches.
“Not Willow. So… Willow’s offspring?”
Pictures of butterflies circling the lotus flowers. Kimberly took that as a yes.
“If you are not Willow, then what should I call you?”
The blossoming lotus filled her mind, the image strong.
“Lotus.” Pictures of butterflies again. “That’s a perfect name.”
Kimberly placed Lotus at her hip, watching the vines wrap it away in a protective sheath. She smiled and curled up in front of Elurra’s tomb, debating her next move.
Her eyes grew heavy as she fell asleep.
Captors
Matlin Delaeus strode confidently toward the gateway to the Wizard’s Forest. He ran a few fingers through his long blond hair and sighed.
Retrieval duty was such a bore.
Yesterday, they had finally recaptured Serra. Jokingly referred to as their “darker sister,” their leader Griklin had made Matlin a deal he couldn’t pass. By capturing her, his position as the Captain of the Holy Raiders was certain. They had covered her in a silver net, trapping her when she had transformed last night. They had debated killing the little fox, but Matlin could tell there was something special about it.
Over the night, however, sentries reported several explosions in the Wizard’s Forest. Matlin recalled the tales of a girl who wielded a magical blade travelling with Serra. Believing it was his duty to investigate, he had Serra and the beast taken to the port. The wizard they had used for gating had been killed in an encounter with the group; it would be awhile before they replaced him. Until then, they were back to traveling by land and boat. What a pain in the saddle.
Matlin waited at the entry of the forest, in hopes his hunch would pay off. He touched the amulet of Zor he wore around his neck, calling on his god for patience. If he could take this dark creature too, his time with the Brotherhood would be far more comfortable.
The sun was directly overhead when he saw a shadowy figure stroll from between the distant trees.
She was comely, like most denizens of evil were. Her clothes were in tatters, likely to entice Matlin. He smiled to himself. He was not easily moved by the flesh.
Her bare feet caught his attention first; how odd. Tangled, waist-length hair billowed out around her head. From beneath those tangles, an intense set of purple eyes appraised him. He had expected black or red. Her arms and legs were well toned and her skin reminded Matlin of moonlight.
She walked just beneath the wooden arch and stopped. Crossing her arms, she frowned at him. He readied his shield and placed one hand on his sword.
“My name is Matlin Delaeus. I have come to bring you to justice before the Brotherhood of Zor. Do you yield?”
She did a strange thing, then. She drew a blade from her waist, the sheath unraveling and vanishing into the hilt. Reaching over her shoulder, she grabbed a handful of hair, pulling it tight. With a single stroke, she cut it free. Letting go, they both watched as the breeze took it.
“You are all by yourself?” she asked.
“As are you. Your friend is on her way by boat to the Temple of Light for judgment.”
“What about the fox?” A dangerous glint crossed her eyes. “Is he alive?”
“For now.” It was a strange question, but it confirmed his suspicions. The fox was more than it appeared.
The girl sighed and rubbed at her neck.
“Look, I’ll level with you. I’m not interested in fighting. Just tell me how to get to the Temple so I can rescue my friend and we’ll call it a day.”
“Ha. Your words shall not dissuade me.” He drew his blade, Lightbringer, and held it before him.
“You know what? You guys suck,” the woman said, holding her sword up. “I’m tired of decisions being made for me. I’m tired of fighting you because of your strange beliefs.”
Matlin spoke the command word, summoning Lightbringer’s magic. They had embedded a giant prayer stone in the guard, capable of knocking all but the most powerful demon to its knees.
The woman was before him, immune to the light. His eyes went wide as she swung once, sundering Lightbringer’s blade. With another hit, she knocked his shield away too.
Matlin turned to run. Something wrapped around his leg and pulled him back. Rolling over, he saw that vines had sprouted from his attacker’s sword. The vines snaked through his armor and clothing, tugging at the material.
The vines splintered outward, leaving him naked.
“Foul creature! The Brotherhood will find you!”
“Blah, blah, blah.” She walked over and picked up his shield. “Hopefully they won’t talk my ear off when they do.” She tossed him his shield. “It’s dangerous out here, you might need this. Oh, and don’t follow me. I’m tired of killing.”
Slack-jawed, he watched the witch leave.
* * *
Kimberly stood in the clearing where she had left Serra and Ip. It was clear several men had been through here; there were footprints everywhere.
She walked over to the cliff’s edge and looked at the waves beneath. She willed the Black Knight to reappear, wishing she could see Trey return. She knew it was impossible.
She laughed, feeling a vine tickle at her ear. Touching Lotus’s hilt, she reminded herself that nothing here was impossible. Off in the distance, she could see a small fishing boat.
It was her life now. Every decision she made was her own. She was going after them, going to rescue her family. She looked at the small fishing vessel and wondered how she was going to afford a ticket to wherever it was they took Serra and Ip.
She heard the sound of hooves on rocks. Turning, she was stunned to see her horse, followed by Serra’s and Trey’s.
She thought back to her grandfather’s books and smiled. Getting to the end always left her sad, because it meant the adventure was over. With this kind of luck, her adventure was just beginning.
Epilogue
Lance was standing outside the tall apartment building in the rain, his shoulders hunched as he squinted at the address he had written on a piece of office stationery. Staring up at the old brick building in front of him, he verified the numbers on the front and walked up to the door.
Letting himself in, he nodded to a man stationed behind a desk. The man was listening to a music player and writing something down, but stopped to give Lance directions when he introduced himself.
The elevator ride up to the apartment was slow and smelled like sogg
y mothballs. Sighing, he wiped moisture off of the package he carried, a large manila folder. Water had pooled under his feet and when the doors opened, he almost slipped in his own tracks.
Walking down the hallway, he was struck by how quiet it was. The building itself wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and this was further demonstrated by the fact that a series of holes alternated along the walls like somebody had gone mad with a sledgehammer. The devastation terminated at a now-open doorway. Looking in, he saw a dirty living room covered in children’s toys and splinters of wood. He checked the apartment number in his hands and sighed in relief and continued down the hall.
Arriving at the end unit, he could feel a difference in the very atmosphere of the building. This door looked different than the others, and the surrounding walls had been cleaned and repainted. The current owner had likely spent his own cash to replace the cheap, contractor-grade doors with something far sturdier. He noticed the lack of a doorbell and knocked. It was solid wood, perhaps oak, that his knuckles rapped and he winced at the puddle of water he was leaving under his feet.
He saw the light of the room beyond the peephole disappear as its occupant looked through.
“Yes?”
His voice was almost too familiar. Lance felt a shiver go up his spine as he cleared his throat.
“Benjamin Peterson?”
The door opened and a young man in his mid-twenties stood in the doorway. Wearing only a pair of black sweat pants, he was maybe two inches short of six feet tall. Every one of those inches looked like it was composed of liquid steel. Lance’s eyes traveled to the mop of black hair on top of Benjamin’s head, the only part of his physique that wasn’t perfectly in place somehow. Benjamin regarded Lance with the gaze of a predator, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Lance stared into those eyes and muttered a quiet prayer to himself.
There was no longer any doubt in his mind.
“We spoke on the phone? About the legal thing?”
“Please, come in.” Kindness replaced the edge in Benjamin’s eyes and he stood aside. “I thought you might be someone else.”
“Are you expecting company?”
“Not in the formal sense, no.” Benjamin took Lance’s coat and hung it up in a closet that had very little inside. “May I get you something to drink?”
Lance couldn’t help but stare at the young man as he moved across the apartment. It was similar to seeing a ghost in some ways, but he put his own feelings aside.
“No, thank you. I’ve had my fill.” He gestured to the state of his clothes.
“I see.” Benjamin walked over to a switch on the wall and flicked it. The rush of gas and the whooshing noise of ignited flames revealed a fireplace to Lance’s left. “See if that helps. I just got out of the shower, so if you’ll excuse me.” Benjamin stepped around a corner and into the depths of his apartment.
Lance moved over to the lazy chair by the fire and sat down, taking care not to crush his parcel.
Lance stared around the room in awe. The apartment itself was sparsely furnished; the floors were made of hardwood and the room itself only had a couch and the seat he sat in. Looking around the space, he noticed several wall scrolls written in Asian characters; a few thick steel hooks were screwed into the ceiling. It was obvious that the room was used mainly for training, and from all written accounts, that was no surprise to Lance.
Benjamin reappeared, dressed in jeans and a tight black sweater. He offered Lance a glass of water. Lance found he really was thirsty, and drank half of it down right away.
“Okay, Mr.…”
“Please, it’s just Lance. I prefer it that way.”
Benjamin grinned and sat down across from him. “Okay, Lance, what can I do for you?”
Lance cleared his throat and held the package up for Benjamin to see. “To begin with, before we continue any further, I need you to take and open this package.”
“Is this the legal thing you mentioned on the phone?”
Lance nodded. “It is.”
Benjamin shrugged and opened the parcel, sliding out a long, thin device. He flipped it over and stared at it with curiosity.
“It’s a laptop.” Lance felt stupid saying it.
“Indeed.” Benjamin arched one eyebrow up. “You know, I think I saw a movie that started like this once. Am I going to get sucked into a series of intriguing spy games?”
“No, nothing quite as serious.”
“How boring.” Benjamin flipped it open and hit the power button. It only took seconds to boot up. Staring at the device in his hand, he frowned. “There aren’t any programs on here, just a file.” Benjamin clicked the mouse on the board. “It says ‘To my son.’”
“I don’t understand.” Benjamin looked up at the man sitting before him, a man who regarded him with curiosity in his eyes. “My father died before I was born.”
“No, he didn’t.” Lance stared into Benjamin’s eyes, those same blue eyes he had looked into so many times before in the face of a friend. “He died last month.”
Benjamin stared into Lance’s face as the lawyer stood up and thanked him for the drink. He handed Benjamin a card with a cell phone number on it and retrieved his coat from the closet.
“I am in town for the next week on your father’s wishes. You are instructed to watch that video in its entirety at which time you will be given a choice. You are to inform me of your decision by week’s end, at which time…” Lance spread his arms out in a shrug. “Let’s just say we’ll both find out.”
Benjamin sat there and stared at the thing in his hands and at the man in his living room. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“Depends on the question. I’m bound by a contract.”
“Who is my father?”
Lance’s voice caught in his throat for just a second. He would know soon enough, anyway.
“Your father was a great man by the name of Hal Stone. I am sure you have heard his name?”
Benjamin laughed. “Who hasn’t? Is this a joke?”
Lance said nothing and let himself out.
* * *
Benjamin stared at the device in his hands in wonder, overwhelmed by so many questions all at once.
His father had died in a car accident right before he was born. At least that was what his mother had told him.
He thought briefly about his mother. He was long overdue for a visit; it had been two months now. Maybe it made him a bad son, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been busy. They had been close before her death three years ago. Visiting her grave always helped ground him.
He looked up at the scroll over his fireplace. It was written in Chinese, the old flowing kanji from before the Great Quake of 2040. Roughly translated, it said ‘No Unnecessary Motion,’ words that Benjamin tried to live by every moment of his life.
Sitting around with questions violated that credo.
His hands shook. He clicked on the file. The screen went black, only to be replaced by a video clip of an older man with sparkling blue eyes. He was sitting on a chair, holding a tiny little fox on his lap.
“Hello Benjamin. I was hoping to someday meet you in person and tell you everything you need to know. Suffice to say, it was not meant to be.
“My name is Hal Stone. I am your father.”
END
Acknowledgements
First, I would like to acknowledge you, the reader. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to keep doing this. Thank you.
I wouldn’t be here without the help of a few people. I spent a lot of time making sure you hold a quality product in your hand, because you deserve the best. There were plenty of good people who helped at www.critiquecircle.com, but specifically I wish to thank Mysti, Tindal, and Kirstenb. They didn’t hesitate to tell me when I was wrong. I also have to thank Anne Victory at www.victoryediting.com. She found all the errors I thought weren’t there at all (I was a little embarrassed).
About the Story
This book started out as a short story I wrote back in
the summer of 2000, right after I lost my grandfather to cancer. The story was rejected by Realms of Fantasy, at which time I stuck it in a folder where it sat for almost ten years. Though the story may be different than the book in your hand, at heart it is still a tale about the loss of a loved one.
About the Author
I live in Colorado with a beautiful wife and lots of pets. I currently go to school for physics, but writing is my number one passion.
Growing up, I used to think of books as windows that allowed me to peek into other worlds. In kindergarten, I cut my teeth on the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. Terry Brooks was waiting for me in 4th grade, and I have traveled many other places since. I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip to the worlds of my creation and would love to hear about your journey.
www.jrleckman.com
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