The Blade of Shattered Hope
Page 17Frazier barely heard her. He was down on his knees, studying the Blade. Or, more accurately, a part of the Blade. One of thirteen parts, it was a beautiful piece of work. Made of the blackest stone—a substance that did not even exist in any Reality, at least not naturally—it had no measurable shape or dimensions. Twisty, curvy, and slightly elongated, it was like a beautiful, abstract sculpture, with dozens of thin strands connecting two bulky end pieces, all of it harder and stronger than the toughest metal or stone. And blacker than the deepest, starless night.
Jane had made this. She’d created it. He’d begged her to explain how she’d done it, explain what the material was, explain the science behind it. But she always refused, saying it was on such a deep and complex level he’d never understand. A lot of it, she finally told him, came about purely on instinct, a result of her digging through the wonders of quantum physics and spacetime. But on several occasions, when she otherwise seemed asleep or lost in thought, he’d heard her whisper two words:
Dark matter.
He was sure of it. She’d said dark matter. Whether or not it had anything to do with the Blade, he couldn’t be sure. He certainly had no idea if what lay in front of him now was made of dark matter or contained it somehow. But his gut told him that his boss had stumbled upon a discovery that would alter the Realities forever if she ever chose to share it with her fellow scientists. But that, he knew, would never happen.
Dark matter.
He shivered, and feeling the chill in the brutal heat ripped him out of his wandering thoughts. He snapped his head up to look at the Alterant, who stood quietly, everything from her face to her hands to her clothes seeming to wilt toward the ground, a display of misery. He felt truly sorry for her, and knew it was because of how much she looked like Mistress Jane.
“I’m sorry this has been so rough on you,” he said, positive she’d think he was up to something and not being sincere. He didn’t care. “Sometimes I lose myself in the amazing things we’re trying to accomplish. Sometimes I . . . forget that the people we hurt along the way are human.”
The woman stared at him, disgust wrinkling up her face. Then she spat on the twisted black stone. “You can take your sick voodoo toys and shove ’em up your nose. Go ahead and kill me. Do whatever. I don’t care.”
Frazier couldn’t take his eyes off her for a long moment. She looked so much like his boss, it hurt his heart to hear her say such things. He felt a sudden surge of something between pain and love. He wanted to go to the woman, hold her, kiss her. In that instant, he didn’t want to hurt her like this.
That ended his brief flare of weakness. He reached out and grabbed the rope around her neck. He stood up and made her sit on the roughly flat surface of the Blade’s top bulky section. The thin strands of hard, black stone twisted and curved their way down until they connected with the bottom section. They looked like a clump of wires. Maybe, he thought, somehow that’s what they were.
“Sit there and don’t say another word,” he said as he wrapped the rope around her body twice and then strung the rope through the tight spaces between those strings of dark rock. Once he’d tied that off, he took a set of metal shackles from his pack and clamped them around the Alterant’s ankles, securing them to a couple of strands that bent out more than the others. There was no way she could get away, and the stone was far too heavy for her to drag and shuffle along in tiny steps.
Everything was set.
“Are you going to leave me here?” she asked, having lost her bravery from a minute before. “Let me die?”
“Yes and no.” He loved giving that answer, loved seeing the perplexed look that came over the Alterant’s face when he said it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responded.
Frazier placed the prepared sack of food and water next to her feet. “Just answering your question.” He stood up, then turned and started to walk away.
“Wait!” she screamed. “Please! I can help you. I’m the best of the best! Please don’t leave me here! Please!”
The Blade of Shattered Hope was almost complete.
Part 2
The Black Tree
Chapter 12
Sweet Digs
Mothball had to grab Sato and physically pull him away from the spectacle. The sight was just too hard to believe and had put him in a daze. Luckily the fighting clowns didn’t seem to notice them.
“Come on,” she yelled at him, dragging him across the field as easily as a sack of raked leaves. “Soon as those lugs take notice we’ve got one the likes of you, we’ll be the ones they be fightin’, not themselves—bet your buttons. Come on!”
Sato finally got his feet under him and regained his composure, walking quickly alongside Mothball as Rutger struggled to keep up. “What was that? Who are those people?”
Sato forced out a chuckle. “They’re dressed like clowns and trying to stab each other with sharp swords. What makes you think they’re crazy?”
Mothball seemed to miss his sarcasm. “Not right in the head. Been crazy ever since the war ended, not knowing what to do when there’s no one to fight. Rutger, chop-chop, little man!”
Sato turned to see Rutger a good twenty feet behind them, pumping his short little arms as he tried his best to run. “Slow down!” the short man yelled. “Before I croak!”
They topped a small, sparsely wooded rise and headed down the other side. Once they were out of sight from the odd group of battling clowns, Mothball finally stopped and allowed Rutger to catch up. The poor man’s face was blood red—a cherry on top of a black ball. Sato expected a blur of insults and smart remarks from Rutger, but it was all the guy could do to breathe, heaving air in and out.
“I still don’t get it,” Sato said. “Who are those people?”
Mothball rolled her eyes, in a rare bad mood. “’Tis a long story and no time to tell it. Once we make it to me mum’s house, you can ask your questions. Can we go now?” She loomed over Rutger with her hands on her hips.