by C. A. Shoultz

c/o wbur.org

Killian Archibald narrowed her blue eyes and clutched her foil’s hilt that much the tighter. “Who is that?”

“Who?” asked Ruth beside her.

“That girl,” said Killian with outstretched arm, “that girl right there!”

Ruth’s own brown eyes stretched out across the gulf of the gymnasium, between the lonely corner she and Killian inhabited and the cluster of the others in St. Catherine of Siena’s fencing club. Ruth followed her friend’s finger til she saw the stranger, after which she wondered how she could have missed her.

All the other members of the club wore customary fencing clothes: padded pants and long-sleeved shirts beneath their thick vests meant for targeting. A few had all their gear on, nimble gloves and shrouding masks fronted with wire mesh. And all these girls in all these clothes were uniformly white, as clean as laundered sheets… except for one. Standing in the center like a blot of ink upon a page, one girl with mask already on was swathed wholly in black. Black pants and shirt, black vest, black gloves, her mask’s cloth swaddling was also black, even the metal mesh was colored same as pitch. The only signs that she was not some horrid extra-human thing were a brief glimpse of pale skin on the back side of her neck and one tall dark brown ponytail that blossomed out and fell onto her shoulders.

“What does she think she’s aiming at, all in that getup?” grumbled Killian.

“It is a little odd,” said Ruth.

“Odd? It’s illegal! However shall we tell when she’s been hit? Judging strikes will be impossible with her.”

“I actually reckon the switch is why they’re letting her wear that gear.”

“Switch?”

“You know, the one they announced in the newsletter?”

“There’s a newsletter?”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “The club finally earned enough money to switch over to electronic vests. No more eyeball judging, so no more need to wear white.”

“Ah, then,” said Killian. She leaned a little on her foil, puffing out her cheeks; this was accompanied by scrunching of her nose. “I still cannot abide it. She thinks she’s some special snowflake, prancing out here like the Black Knight. I bet she thinks she’s super keen, just the coolest.”

“And that makes her different from you how?”

“Because I speak from the security of facts,” snarled Killian. Flourishing her foil she advanced across the gym. “Oy! You there, blackie!”

“Me?”

“No, not you, Ebele! You!” She thrust another finger at the black-clad girl. “You and I are next!”

The girl in black said not a word; she merely brought her foil to salute, whereon she broke out from the group and walked onto the far side of a pitch. Killian next donned her mask, steps nearly a hopping as she took the pitch’s other end.

“Let’s get you turned on first,” said Anastasia, hauling the enormous scoring box toward the nearly linear arrangement. She wandered around Killian, coming to her rump and reaching for the dangling fob that drooped out of her vest. A click made its light go from red to green, and with a cheerful ping!, the left box of the scoreboard showed a double zero flashing blue.

“Ah, wireless,” said Killian. “So hi-fi. Much better than those wired dinosaur devices.”

Next went Anastasia to the girl in fuligin and turned her vest to ‘on’ as well. “Standard rules, then. First to five points wins.”

Killian surveyed her foe. Only here and now, before their mighty clash, did she observe a break in her opponent’s sable cladding. A small flower was woven through the grating of her mask, upon the upper-righthand side where her hairline would be. It was a deep red flower, nearly scarlet, and it was shaped exactly like a five-point star from art. Killian angled her head. How strange.

“Begin!”

No further time to mark the oddness of her foe. The two girls tossed salutes and bent their knees to ready. Killian, as was her habit, advanced first, and broadly, long steps directing her with strident purpose. This flicker of initiative was usually enough to pass the opposition into defense, quail them back and give her early triumph. But the sable girl, to Killian’s shock, advanced as well, every bit as swift as she. In fact, the girl moved faster, so that abruptly both were in each others’ range. Killian lunged and thrust–

The black-clad girl parried the strike and riposted so fast she was a blur. Beep!, the scoreboard flared. One to nil.

Backing up to her original position, Killian could not slow down her spinning head. She’d never been beaten to the first point before. “Go!” cried Anastasia, Killian scarcely hearing. Hastily she charged with fencer’s steps, this time the black-clad girl did not respond so swiftly. Killian lunged, but it was just a feint- she drew back near as soon as she was forward. But the other girl, it seemed, could read her mind. The moment she was pulling back the black-clad fencer stepped and stepped and lunged, bending up her foil’s blade as her tip found its mark. Beep!

“You’re not letting her come to you,” said Ruth along the sideline. “Stop trying to control the match, and just let it play out.” Around them other members of the club had pulled their phones out; pictures quickly spread across the school’s closed network.

“I’m not in need of your assistance,” rumbled Killian, her blade once more en garde.

Now it was the girl in fuligin who lunged, a black blur that advanced so fast Killian nearly jumped. She hastily assumed a guard and parried, riposting with blurring strike. The girl, however, rolled her shoulder just a bit, allowing that swift blow to shoot right by. Her torso free, the third point came too easy. Beep!

The blood was pounding swiftly through the channels of her skull. Desperately trying to calm down, Killian stayed put, stepping forward only once, allowing the dark girl to cross the distance on her own. This she did with eagerness, her blade a flaring streak of silver. Killian met the movements with a parry, then riposted, but a circle parry drove her tip away. Snarling, Killian parried the black girl’s strike, then lunged, the girl in sable faltered, Killian thrust- she overextended, a parry snapping back her blade. The black-clad girl struck next. Beep!

By this point Killian was utterly confounded. Though she had never fenced before arriving at St. Catherine of Siena’s School for Girls, she had adapted to the sport much like dolphin takes to water. She had never before surrendered four straight points so quickly; never had she been so thoroughly outmatched. She barely had the presence to assume en garde, and so the girl in sable hurtled forward, three steps taking her to lunge– Beep!

“Ugh!” cried Killian, staggering as though the tip had pierced her skin. She yanked her mask off, nostrils flaring as her black hair flared about her chin. “You!”

The black-clad fencer did not speak. Instead she brought her foil to salute, gave it a final, aggravating flourish, and then returned to whence she’d come among the other members of the club.

“Ugh!” Killian turned on her heel and stormed out of the gym, nearly leaving ripples in the air to mark her wake.

“Killian!” cried Ruth, but she was gone.

“I simply can’t believe that girl!” said Killian at lunch the following day.

They were all sitting at the table, five of them. It was Tuesday. There was Chinese food in the cafeteria today. It was very good.

“I can’t believe you,” said Ruth with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t even tell her ‘good match.’ You just stomped off like some baby.”

“But… babies can’t stomp,” said Aditi with a dreamy tone. Her hazel eyes were half-lidded in peaceful contemplation, and it was clear her mind was only partly in their space.

“The nerve of that outrageous interloper,” mumbled Killian, fork turning her fried rice angrily. “Who does she think she is, coming in with such outrageous clothes?”

Killian Archibald, our hero, was a girl of moderate height and athletic frame. She brimmed with energy; it was as if she was allergic to sitting still—and being quiet. Her eyes were almond-shaped, and blue—such a piercing blue. When she eyed you, you felt the glint of infinity.

“Considering how fast she beat you, I’d say she’s earned the right to be different,” said Ruth.

“Based on what Ruth said, you really were a bad sport, Killy,” said Cornelia. “You should have at least congratulated her.”

“I shall not congratulate some thing from the abyss,” huffed Killian. “Wasn’t she odd, Ruth? Perplexing? I don’t recall her speaking, and she moved ungodly fast!”

“Maybe she was shy!” Elizabeth said cheerily. “I was so, so shy when I first came here, being so much younger than anybody else. If I hadn’t bumped into you girls, I probably still would be!”

“There was nothing shy about that fighting style,” said Ruth. “She was a wrecking ball— against Killian, too, who’s actually really good.”

“I am not wholly convinced of her humanity,” said Killian. “There was something off and extranormal to her.”

“Oh, Killy,” said Cornelia.

“I mean it! Where did she come from? Even leaving off her pitch black gear, I don’t recall a girl her height with her hair color in our club before.”

“She’s probably a transfer student,” said Cornelia. “Saint Dominic’s upstate closed down recently, and the boys and girls there were split across the other boarding schools in the network. She’s probably from there.”

“Or she’s from the luminous aether,” muttered Killian. “Or the blackened depths of old Tartarus.”

“Oh, please,” Ruth mumbled, pinching up the top part of her nose.

“That girl… that thing… that Black Blade! I’m going to beat her!” Killian slammed her fist upon the table. “I’ll triumph if it takes all of my strength!”

“Be careful, Killian,” spoke up Aditi, startling the other girls. “Don’t try so hard to beat her that you become her.”

“How could I become some nighted specter?”

“You could start acting cold and quiet, just like her,” said Aditi, “and I suppose you could forget us. He who fights with monsters, y’know.”

“I’m not a ‘he,’” said Killian. She punched her fist into her palm. “And this monster’s going down, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Her training thus began. Killian, never one to practice, suddenly appeared each day inside the gym when classes finished, brandishing her foil at the targets on the wall. On days the club met she advanced herself to battle every member—except the Black Blade, who curiously was absent many times. She ran the other members ragged with her furious assaults, always wanting more attempts, more of matches, more of active battle.

“Ha!” she cried one day as her blade’s tip sank into Ruth. The scorebox beeped to signify the fifth and final point.

“Yeah, good match,” said Ruth, mask coming off to let her brown hair flow. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”

“Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.”

Ruth sighed.

The air abruptly chilled around them. Killian supposed it was a fluctuation in the air conditioning, but all the same her hackles rose. Swirling round, she was not evermuch surprised to see the Black Blade entering the gym, already decked out in gear and mask. “My quarry!” Killian exclaimed.

“Killian…”

“You!” She jabbed a finger as she pranced across the gym, chin length black hair billowing behind her. “I’m here to settle accounts with you, girl.”

The Black Blade cocked her masked head to one side.

“It’s time for a match,” said Killian. “Are you in?”

The strange girl brought her foil upward in salute. She headed for the nearest pitch, free hand drifting back to turn her vest on. Anastasia, reading well the growing storm, hurriedly hustled over with a scorebox. “Would you like to go for modified rules this time, Killy?”

“Nope!” Her white mask came on. “Standard Olympic guidelines, as always.” She stiffened just then. “Or… how about one modification? If either of us disarms the other, the match is automatically won by the disarmer. That sound good to you?”

The Black Blade nodded strongly.

“Good enough,” said Anastasia. She turned Killian’s vest on, then retreated to behind the scorebox. It beeped, and double zeroes flashed before they turned to solid numbers. “Begin!”

Killian raced out across the pitch, advancing with strong steps. The Black Blade moved more slowly, but she still came out with much determination. Both girls, however, hesitated when they met.

Their blades circled around each other, wavering like dancers in a tango. Then the Black Blade lunged- but Killian had caught the movement of her knees and pulled away in time. She knocked aside the foil and she hurtled forward- Beep!

She nearly staggered from her shock. “I… I did it?”

“Get on with it!” some other girl cried out.

“Yes,” she muttered, “Righto!” Retreating to her place, Killian was flush from triumph. She had actually struck the beast! She was not invincible at all. So high upon success was she that the Black Blade advanced to middle pitch before Killian noticed her. Quickly she resumed en garde and settled into defense, sword poised for a counter.

Abruptly the black-clad girl lunged. Killian pulled off a sudden parry, but the Black Blade’s foil swept across her front. The thick base of her blade slid under Killian’s soft grip, the Black Blade snapped her arm, and Killian’s foil flew into the air. It spun three times before descending. The Black Blade caught the foil in her free hand, then with both swords she lunged and bent both blades in her opponent’s vest.

“That’s match!” cried Anastasia.

“Ugh!” snarled Killian, pulling her mask off and hurling it away. The Black Blade flipped Killian’s foil in her hand, grabbing it upon the blade and offering Killian the hilt. With a bitter snarl she took her weapon back. She puffed her cheeks out, not meeting her foe’s gaze. Ruth, though, glared at her, so Killian turned round. “Good match, I gu–”

The Black Blade was already walking from the gym, heading for the exit. Swiftly she was at the doors, and then was through them, whence they closed up with a clang.

“Agh!” cried Killian, pulling at her hair. “She is a demon! A fiend in human skin!”

“Killian, calm down,” said Ruth.

“No! I can’t!” Killian swung her foil widely in frustration. “She’s been sent here from the netherworld to torment me!” She started wandering in loopy circles. “I… I can’t beat her, Ruth! I

can’t! She won’t rest until my soul is hers!”

“Okay, this is getting stupid,” Ruth said. “Killian, she’s just a girl who’s good at fencing.”

“I don’t believe it. I have a sense about her, Ruth. She tickles my notions of the otherworldly.”

“I refuse to take you seriously when you say things like that.”

By now Killian was near walking laps around the gym. She barely heard Ruth, content to mutter to herself with much disquiet. “I can’t beat her,” she whispered. The winter afternoon was wearing on, its shadows growing longer and more dark. She started at the night so swift encroaching, feeling in its blackness the approach of the Black Blade. “She’s going to destroy me.”

Killian’s four friends noticed a change in her those next few weeks. The normal boisterous enthusiasm left her, replaced by almost plodding, plowing hesitance. Killian would round a corner very gently, a far cry from the mad dash which she usually employed. She seemed to jump at sounds above a certain noise level, and when she sat she drew inward so much it was like looking at an invalid. She seemed to age ten years within a night, though outwardly she still had the smooth skin of a fourteen-year-old.

“Killy, you’re being ridiculous,” said Cornelia one day—on taco day, to be precise.

“I’m being no such thing,” she replied glumly. “I’m inches from death all the time now. You don’t understand.”

“Why don’t you help us understand, then?” said Elizabeth, tacos being doused in hot sauce. “Just what do you feel?”

Killian gave one of her taco shells a squeeze. “I feel… it’s like a presence all around me, sinking me, undoing me, plunging me into a spiritual morass. My soul is in a dark wood, girls, and the Black Blade has the branches coming down for me.”

“Okay, that’s it!” snapped Ruth. “This has gone too far. You’ve taken your tendency to go crazy over the tiniest details and now it’s actually making you miserable. We’re going to find this ‘Black Blade’,” her air quotes showed the full extent of her contempt, “and we’re going to show you that she’s just a normal girl. Well, maybe not normal- she does seem a little weird- but there’s nothing magical or strange about her.”

“How do we find her, though?” Elizabeth asked. “Does the fencing club keep a roll?”

“Of course it does,” says Ruth. “We even have a website. It’s ‘www dot stcatsfencing dot com.’”

Elizabeth slipped out her phone and punched the address in. Her small thin fingers slid across the screen with practiced ease, even moreso than most folk in this modern age. Elizabeth was something of a technic prodigy, which is why she was able to attend St. Catherine of Siena’s despite being only twelve. “Oh! You even have a mobile site.”

“Yeah,” said Ruth with no small pride. “I was the one that convinced Anastasia to get it.”

“Let’s see… here’s ‘Members,’” Elizabeth’s soft index finger tapped the screen. The webpage loaded swiftly. “Wow, I didn’t know you girls had so many members!”

“We don’t. What are you looking at?”

“The Members List.” Elizabeth held up her phone. “See for yourself.”

Four pairs of eyes were now aimed at the screen. Sure enough, the list of members that scrolled down it was… considerable. “Huh,” said Ruth. “I mean, I recognize a few of these names… there’s Consuela, and there’s Ebele. But, wow, we must just have a lot of members that don’t show up.” Ruth slumped in her seat. “Maybe we should be charging dues…”

“Why not just go to the club president?” Aditi asked, in between bites of her tacos.

“Well obviously that’s the next step,” said Ruth. “We’ll go to Anastasia’s room after classes are done today.”

The bell rang then, so all five girls got up and scattered through the school. True to Ruth’s

assertion, when classes were done they reunited, and so together wandered through the northern dormitories. These were baroque and ornate, like so much of the school; Aditi paused to glance upon a statue of the angel Uriel. They climbed a spiral staircase next, then headed down a hall lined on both sides with doors. When they reached the one numbered eleven twenty-five, Ruth rapped on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Ruth!”

The door swung open. “Oh, hey Ruth.”

“Hey Anastasia!” Ruth said cheerily. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, I was about to take a study break anyway.”

“We won’t be long. All we really need is some information on one of the girls in the fencing club.”

“Uh…” Anastasia rubbed her fingertip against her neck. “Did you check the website?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t much help. We need to know about the girl that keeps showing up all in black.”

“Oh. Her.”

“Who is she? Even a first name will be enough.”

“I… uh…” Anastasia’s eyes went shifting side to side. “I don’t really know, to be honest.”

Killian nearly collapsed behind them all. Ruth’s mouth twitched subtly. “Really.”

“The thing is, she just sort of showed up one day. She doesn’t speak much—she can talk, sure, but she hardly ever says anything. I think she told me her name once, but I’ve forgotten.”

“Oh,” growled Ruth. She put on the fakest smile anyone had ever seen. “Well, that’s just great. Thanks for all your help!”

“Don’t ment-”

Ruth shut the door on Anastasia. The five girls turned and headed for the stairs. “I think I’m going to stage a coup d’etat,” she said. “There’s no reason our club leadership should be this inept. How about it, Killian? Will you support me?”

“Oh, sure,” said Killian, sounding tired and drained. “I mean, if I live to the next meeting.”

They met a statue of St. Margaret of Antioch upon the stairs; Killian flinched back and nearly toppled over, wilting like a flower underneath the statue’s stony stare. Finally she worked up enough courage to walk by it. When she reached the bottom she said, “Look, girls, I appreciate the efforts. But I’m just going to try and enjoy what time I’ve got before the phantom calls me home.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” said Cornelia.

Aditi gave Killian’s hand a squeeze. “Remember, Killian: through death is life.” Killian thought on those words as her friends went their separate ways. 

The sky above was ugly, steely gray. The tall trees of the wood were shifting in the wind that called the storm. Lightning flickered, bursting fits of white through cloud gaps overhead. Killian drew her woolen cloak the closer round her body. Her horse rode slowly through the trees, and not a sound was heard.

At least until the clank of distant metal echoed through the wilderness. Reining in her mount, Killian’s steel-plated hand went to her sword hilt, her body tensed for any rapid strike. None emerged. Shrugging, she implored her horse to move again- but yet again the metal echoed. “Who goes there?” she cried out.

No answer was given, but the silence unnerved as no words could. Killian’s spurs dug into her horse’s side, urging the great charger to a gallop. The trees went flying by around her, still she urged on faster, faster.

In a flash her horse was jerked hard, back and up. Killian went flying off, toppling in a crash of

mail and plate upon the grass. Her horse gave out one final, awful whinny, then collapsed beside her, bleeding from a massive hole within its chest.

Hauling up her armored body, Killian’s sword flew out of its scabbard. “Show thyself!” she shouted. “In the name of God, I command thy presence, vile foe!”

With the clank of armor on the earth, a massive figure came out from behind a giant ash tree. It was a knight of formidable carriage, clad from head to toe in black steel plate. Even his great old sword, a cross-shaped weapon in the Scottish style, had been doused in ink. The black knight held the double-handed weapon with a single arm, even giving its tremendous blade a twirl to show off his great strength.

“What art thou?” bellowed Killian, leveling her own sword’s blade. “Art thou a creature of sorcery, a figment of the fairy realms? Is the Devil thy master?” Silence was the black knight’s answer. Killian was seething. “I am Calogrenant, a knight of the table round, liege man of my lord Arthur, King of Britain! Thou wilt answer my questions!”

The black knight remained silent, but not still. Sword came up and then he charged, crossing empty space with greater speed than Killian had ever seen. She only just happened to bring her sword up in defense. The blades collided, showering the earth with sparks. Killian swung her sword at the knight’s knees, but he was far too quick, dancing from her blow and smashing his own sword against her chest. Her armor did not let the blade do cutting, but that wasn’t the black knight’s intention. The sheer force of his blow made her collapse. She fell onto her back, and before she could regain her feet the black knight was upon her, dark boot pressing down into her chest. Her fear ran wild as the knight turned his sword downward. She was not wearing a helmet. The knight aimed his sword’s blackened tip straight at her head, and then he thrust–

“Ack!” coughed Killian as she shot up in bed. All tiredness was banished from her mind, though it was hours before morning. The moon shone pale and bright high in the sky, casting silver shinings through her window. “Ugh,” she groaned, slumping in her mattress. Across the room Cornelia slumbered, undisturbed by her roommate’s distress.

Killian could sense her own alertness. She had woken in that way all people wake every so often, that waking shot with nerves and tensions which prevents return to sleep for untold hours. She knew it, so she pulled her covers back and swung feet out of bed. Fuzzy slippers padded cross the room, heading for the closet where she pulled her robe from off a peg. She sat back on her bed, pondering her next move. She dared not read, because the light would wake Cornelia; likewise she could not play music, for even through headphones Nelly might be wakened with the noise.

“I could go wandering,” she whispered, but then shuddered. She hated night and shadows now, seeing the advancing foil of the Black Blade in all darkness she encountered. Just as abruptly, though, she stiffened. A spark of her old courage flared up from the ash heap. “I will go,” she said. She darted to her closet, pulling out a sweater and some corduroys. In minutes she was dressed and slipped her feet into her shoes. Taking keys but nothing else, she softly cracked the door open and slid into the gloomy hallway.

This was far from the first time that Killian had wandered through the school at night. She had been making ventures nearly since she’d gotten to St. Catherine of Siena’s, slipping like a serpent through the nooks and crannies of the grand old building. She had discovered hidden altars, secret bookshelves, concealed passageways. The school was lightly guarded in the darkness, though even now Killian backed into the shadows to avoid Headmistress Thecla’s nocturnal patrol. But their tall, dark-haired principal usually wandered round alone, with no help from other teachers or the staff. Killian sometimes wondered if the woman ever slept, but that mystery was for another day. Now she dashed down the main staircase of the southern dormitory, passing the statue of Michael with his spear and billowed wings. She headed deep into the school itself, walking past the hallways lined with portraits, through the stony archways, into alcoves quiet as a tomb.

At length, and to her great surprise, she came into the highly vaulted hall that ran along the side of the gymnasium. Through the doors the massive room was splashed in intermittent swathes of moonlight, playing silver against shadow in a field of abstract art. Killian was ready to move on after a moment, but a motion in the distance caught her eye. Someone was dancing- no, retreating and advancing with wide steps. Killian moved closer to the window of a door. The figure danced into a field of moonlight, yet remained a thing of shadow. “The Black Blade!” Killian gasped.

She moved with such a grace and power Killian was awed, for all her fear. Killian leaned forward, and the door creaked ever so slightly. Killian pulled away, dashing out of sight. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. Several nervous minutes passed. Finally, with courage rising, she turned on her heel and faced the door.

The Black Blade was standing at the window.

“Eep!” Killian shrieked out. She toppled backward, landing on her rump. The Black Blade pulled the door open. Killian went scooting backward, shuffling along until she bumped against the wall. The Black Blade, however, did not leave the doorway. Instead she stretched her free hand out and made a motion to advance. She beckoned once, then once again. Killian was nearly strangled from the tightness in her throat. Neither of them spoke. The Black Blade beckoned her a third time. That same bright spark of courage rose within her heart. She stood. The Black Blade pulled the door open considerably wide, then went back inside the gym. Killian stood and followed her. When they had made it to the middle of the cavernous interior the Black Blade stopped, half in silver half in shadow. Her foil was back in her hand somehow.

“Who are you?” Killian asked. “Where do you come from?”

The Black Blade… flinched? She seemed to shrink a little. But she stood tall instants later, and she brought her foil up in a salute. Next she leveled it at Killian.

Her meaning was immediately clear. Killian swallowed. Could she? Dared she? Ruth would say it was a simple match, not even official for the club standings. Killian knew better. Something more was now at stake, though she could not say how she knew. But for a third time this night, courage rose. If she did not settle this business now, it would torment her all the days to come. “Wait here,” she said. “Let me go get my gear on.” The Black Blade nodded. Killian turned and hurried from the gym.

Within a half an hour she returned to the gymnasium wearing all her fencing gear, foil tucked beneath her arm. Pushing the door open, she saw a scorebox ready to the right side of a pitch, its double zeroes shining neon green into the shadows. The Black Blade stood at the far end, awash in darkness. Killian took up her place on the opposing side, where moonlight bathed her white-clad body. The air was deathly still. Killian pulled on her mask. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

She recoiled. “Did you just–”

“Go.” And the match was on.

Killian and the Black Blade approached each other slowly, gradually coming right before each other; then Killian moved with sudden speed and drove her foil’s tip into the blackened vest. Beep!

They returned to their spots, resumed en garde, and advanced once again, but now the Black Blade hurried forward, waving foil wide and making her opponent flinch, allowing her to peg Killian hard. Beep!

Killian’s second point came just as quickly. They barely resumed readiness before Killian vaulted forward, the Black Blade coming up to meet her, swordtips dancing round each other until Killian attacked, was parried, attacked again and finally found purchase. Beep!

The Black Blade advanced slowly this time, allowing Killian to reach the middle of the pitch before her. Killian waited, the Black Blade lunged, Killian parried, but the Black Blade caught her on the riposte. Beep!

Killian breathed deeply, trying to tamp down the trembling of her limbs. The Black Blade came at her now, advancing strongly, seeming like a fortress unimpeachable. She thrust, Killian knocked the blade aside, another thrust, another parry, this time Killian riposted. Beep!

They moved back to en garde, and then both girls came moving slowly forward, nearly equal in their pace, until they reached the middle of the pitch. Then their foils started dancing round each other, not touching, merely tasting air where both had been; both girls were trying to discern the secret of each other’s motions, unlock the biases of weight and favored leg. The Black Blade seemed to reach a satisfaction before Killian; she knocked aside Killian’s foil and drove her black tip into Killian’s vest. Beep!

Killian then took a chance on something she had wished to try before, but not been able to. When they resumed en garde, she shockingly switched her sword hand, moving her foil from left to right, and then advancing with her right leg forward. The Black Blade seemed unsettled by this move, wary of a trick, so she moved slowly. When they arrived, Killian parried her strike, made more easy by the presentation of the wrong front to the Black Blade, and then in her riposte she drove her tip into the Black Blade’s chest. Beep!

Her sword went back to her left hand for the next meeting, but the Black Blade had been troubled, that was clear. She raced across the pitch with mighty strides while Killian advanced with careful coolness. The Black Blade thrust with all her power, Killian parried, she dodged another strike. The third attack, however, hit her on the collarbone. Beep!

As Killian readied for the final go, a gentle calm washed over her. Despite being one point from loss she felt all the world’s confidence. Now it was she who boldly strode, the Black Blade coming only timidly. The Black Blade thrust, Killian parried, another thrust, another parry, a riposte that was itself met by a parry, on and on they dueled, steely foils flashing in the moonlight. At last, however, the Black Blade drew back for another thrust, Killian snapped her foil aside, she knocked the Black Blade’s foil from her hand, and finally, with heavenly chorus singing in her head, she jabbed her foil’s tip into the middle of her shadowy foe’s chest. Beep!

Killian reared back, shaking like a leaf from exaltation. “I did it,” she whispered. She pumped her free fist high. “I did it!”

“Good match!”

Killian turned back to the Black Blade. “Oh! Um, yes, you also.” The girl in fuligin reached back to grab the rubber holder of her mask. Killian held her breath. The mask came off to reveal…

To reveal a girl, a lovely girl about Killian’s age, though taller and with finer facial features. She had no scars, there were no voids inside her eyes, she did not have a serpent’s tongue. She was, however, very pale, and her hair was so dark a shade of brown that in the night it seemed to be near black. Her eyes were gray, and piercing, but not cruel. She stretched her hand out. “Good match, really. That was wonderful.”

“Oh, yes, it was,” said Killian. She pulled her own mask off and dropped her foil, allowing her to shake the pale girl’s hand. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Ana,” she replied. “Ana Toussard.” Her words contained the ghost of a French accent.

“I’m Killian, Killian Archibald.” Her head cocked to the side. “Are you new?”

“Somewhat,” Ana said. “I transferred from Saint Teresa’s a few months ago. It was so wonderful to see this school had a fencing club that I joined up right away.”

“Heh. All this time I’ve been terrified of you, you know. Why didn’t you ever talk before?”

Ana glanced away. “I… I don’t like drawing attention to myself. Fencing is really the only time I feel confident.” She looked up toward the windows filled with moonlight. “It’s as though when I put my mask on, I… I become something bigger, something more than what I am.” She looked back at Killian. “Otherwise I’m just a girl.”

“Be prouder!” said Killian. “You’re incredible.”

“So are you. You’re the first person to beat me since… goodness, since Joshua in third grade.”

Killian flashed a smile. “Well, I am pretty good, I won’t lie.” Ana glanced away again; Killian moved to face her. “Hey, I know how hard it is to make friends in a new place. You should run with me and my girls.”

“Really? Y-You’d let me?”

“Gladly,” Killian said.

“Oh, thank you!” Ana said. She wrapped Killian in a hug that the other girl was happy to return.

“Think nothing of it,” Killian said. Suddenly she yawned. “Oof, now I’m feeling tired. I’ve got to be on to bed.”

“Me also.”

They started walking for the doors of the gymnasium. “I love the flower on your mask,” Killian said.

“It’s a cypress flower,” Ana said. “They’re my favorite.”

“You’ll have to show me where they grow about the grounds; I’ve taken a liking to them also.”

They left the gym behind then, side by side, laughing and discussing. If one had happened on them then, one might have assumed that they’d been friends for years, though of course their mutual acquaintance had but just begun.

END

C. A. Shoultz is a writer and poet currently living in Texas. His most recent feature for us was the short story, “The Names Divine.”