The bastard sword sliced through the waves of Artemises like a hot knife through butter. I couldn’t have asked for a better weapon and completed the seemingly overwhelming task of staying alive surprisingly well, clearing the way of all invading Artemises.
The last one fell, evaporating in a cloud of black mist and I let the sword rest, tip down, on the ground. While it was easy to cut through my enemies, it was still a heavy thing to be swinging around, even for a short period of ti.
I took a mont to calm my breathing, then straightened and looked more properly around .
As I’d been fighting and running, the world around had been shifting from mory to mory and I hadn’t wanted to risk paying it too much attention. But now that the imdiate threat was passed, perhaps it was best to figure out where I was.
The street was empty and the dark sky and street lamps thronging with moths and other nightly crawlies suggested it was around midnight or very, very early morning. Sowhere nearby a croaking frog in the drains send disembodied echoes up and down the street, setting a slow rhythm for the night.
I kept the sword by my side though I was very conscious that anyone looking at would imdiately be able to tell what it was and how sharp. For now there was no one, but this Coil had a way of making the unexpected happen.
I looked around and discovered that the security gate of a low-rise apartnt block was open and I headed towards it.
It was an old building in an old district with not even a hint of a CCTV cara. By the curb there were plastic bags heaped up by the overflowing, orange rubbish bins and I gave it a wide birth. It slt funny.
The state of things in the stairwell was the sa with peeling paint and naked electrical wires haphazardly nailed to the ceilings and walls, looking like a black river of plastic and tal.
At the end of the first flight, I ca to three closed and locked doors flanked by rusting security gates. They reminded of the doors I’d seen in the Walled City way back, especially from the murky radio broadcast I could hear through the walls.
What kind of a mory was this? This was Artemis’ mory Coil and so these should, and had, been his mories, so what was a place like this doing in them? He couldn’t have... lived here, right?
I began up the next flight of stairs, mulling the issue over.
Status and appearance were the two most important things to my father, I’d known that since I was small, so I couldn’t imagine him choosing to live in a place like this. Had things gotten that bad in Pearl City for him that he had to escape out here? Surely not...
I ca the top of the second flight and it was much the sa there. I rounded the corner and headed up again.
On the fourth floor, unlucky four, I finally found sothing a little different: an open door. The security gate was still closed, but after feeling about, I found the latch to unlock it and it swung open without any protest.
Should I go in?
Of course, I was going in, that wasn’t even up for debate. A better question was ’what would I find there?’
I renewed my grip on the sword and held it up with both hands like a baseball bat. Better safe then sorry, no?
The place was dark, and the light from the naked lightbulb in the stairwell was far from enough, so, after stepping over the threshold, I spent a mont searching the inside wall beside the door for a light switch. When I found it, I flicked it on, half expecting it to not work, and discovered that not only did it still work but that I knew why this place was in Artemis’ mories.
There was a long hall from the entrance and the wooden floor was covered with a thick, European-styled rug that complented the walls and the wallpaper plastered to it. The light ca from two tal lamps that flanked the entrance and for a mont I thought I’d perhaps teleported back to Pretan.
Our house hadn’t been exactly like this but it was similar enough for to know that this place was, without a shadow of the doubt, Artemis’ ho in Pearl City.
There was a neat, wooden shoe rack next to the door but I chose to instead step, with my shoes, around the rug. If I had to fight, slippers would just slow down and, besides, what needs was there for to be polite to this man, especially in an imagined space.
I continued down the hall to the combined dining and living room. Here the classical European decor continued, though punctuated with a few modern touches here and there.
In the centre of the room, and incredibly out of place, was a square sideboard with a large basin placed on it. Clearly, its position in the room ant it was significant, but to what the significance was, I had no idea. Best to check it out.
Still walking slowly, I approached the basin and discovered that it was filled to the brim with water. Or at least, it had looked like water up until I ca close.
On nearing, the surface rippled and a black plu erupted from within. I stepped back, readying the sword, but nothing happened and I stood down and watched as the liquid turned fully black.
Then purple, blue, and finally white.
Then an image appeared.
"...Bran?"
The vantage point that the basin showed was far off, like a crane shot from an action movie, but I could still tell it was you firing off your bow as Arthur went for you. You and him were running from boat to boat on a lake, a sowhat bizarre setting that would not have been out of place in a kungfu flick from the nineties, clashing each ti the pair of you ca close.
Worry ford a lump in my throat. Though you had a ranged weapon, and Arthur looked unard, it was clear that you were losing the advantage and losing it fast.
Without aning to, I reached into the basin. I think my subconscious desire had been to reach for you and pull you to safety sohow, and as I did, the image in the basin changed. For a mont I thought I’d broken the connection but then I saw that rather than mucking things up, my impulsive move had instead changed the vantage point of the ’cara’ that was showing these events. It was now far closer to you and on eye level.
You’d ntioned to that Arthur Penn had clearly been keeping close tabs on you for many years. Perhaps he did this through his minions with tools like this, it seed likely enough.
I pulled my hand from the water and saw that the vantage point did not change. If I could see you, and what I saw really was what was going on (and I had every reason to believe it since this whole thing was a plan you and I’d concocted together) then could I perhaps make it a two way connection?
Could I perhaps... My eyes fell to the sword hanging from my left hand.
--
Bran shot off another bolt, rolled forward then continued running without bothering to see how Arthur dealt with the attack.
He’d given up trying to learn from the man and was now fully focused on just keeping ahead though he could feel himself tiring.
He could generate more boats to let him continue running indefinitely, but his body had limits as did his mind. Being the master of the Coil had its obvious advantages, but one lesser known disadvantage was related to the cognitive load the master had to carry when running a space. Normally, the advantage of having near complete control ant things didn’t drag on until it beca an issue, but this was clearly what was happening now.
Bran paused his retreat to switch to a set of daggers and nearly lost his head as Arthur made a swipe for him. Bran had been right earlier about Arthur’s range likely being larger than it initially appeared.
Now it looked like the man could attack at least up to four tres away from himself and Bran bemoaned the fact that he’d never learned to fight with a shield, speed always having been his strength. Then again, even if he had a shield, it wouldn’t have been much use without a proper sword.
Bran sprung up, planting a foot against the side of a boat’s cabin and used it to launch a sudden swipe at Arthur’s back.
The latter was slightly slow in reacting and yet the blade did not find its target. Instead it seed to slide harmlessly against so invisible barrier and to the side, setting Bran off balance.
Had Arthur deployed so kind of force field around him? That seed to be the only reasonable explanation, yet it should also have been impossible given Bran’s control of the space. Did Arthur have the ability to ascend in authority?
And just as Bran was running out of energy, so too was Arthur running out of patience, Bran could feel it in the impact of each blow.
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