“You’ve gone to a lot of galleries, you’ve done your own art. You’ve offered the critiques for good ideas and bad ones, and you’ve trained yourself to interpret.”
“You need the power of bullshit interpretations?” Ty asked.
“Yeah, that’s basically it,” I said. I picked up the Hyena by the pommel, then stabbed it into the coffee table, one finger resting on it to keep it from falling over and gouging the surface further. “You’ve each read the basics regarding implements. Symbolic meanings and interpretations go a long way. Here, I have the Hyena’s corpse. I’m considering it for an implement. Anything you could say, positive or negative, would be a help.”
“It’s metal,” Alexis said.
Ty groaned. “No puns.”
“No pun intended. You could put this on an album cover for some rock band or other, and it wouldn’t look out of place at all. If I had to say… I don’t think it suits you from an aesthetic perspective.”
I nodded. “Thanks, that’s the kind of thing I need to hear. That’s not as minor as it sounds.”
“Maggie knows about goblins, doesn’t she?” Tiff asked.
“I do. Goblin sects have traditions,” Maggie said. “Taking the form of a weapon started off, if I remember right, when goblin warlords dueled the toughest bastards on the battlefield, and offered a choice between servitude or death. But even bound goblins wanted a chance at shedding some blood and furthering their reputation, especially when the binding was short-term. Becoming a weapon became a way to achieve that, while the conquering goblin got a symbol of victory, something he could hold in the air to convince the defeated goblin’s followers to follow him.”
I’d already read something on the subject when I’d been considering the sword as an implement. I waited while my friends quizzed her.
“Why the spikes on the handle?”
“That’s kind of a fudge-you,” Maggie said. “Except with more colorful language. A grudging sort of surrender, where using your power and reputation costs the victor something. Failing to acknowledge the grudging surrender means bleeding yourself, the goblin drinks the blood, and can, given a few decades, drink up enough to buck the bondage and get free.”
I nodded.
“Is that a risk now?” Tiff asked.
“No,” Maggie said. “The goblin is dead. The artifact remains, and it’s, I guess, pretty mundane now. Want to file off the spikes? Might lose authenticity, but you could.”
“Maybe,” I said.
She shrugged.
Alexis leaned forward, looking closer at the sword. “What does it mean, then, if you’re carrying something that has a metaphorical ‘fuck you’ as part of the design?”
“Could mean something bad,” I said. “Could mean I don’t give a damn what others think, I’m moving forward all the same.”
“Could mean both,” Alexis said.
I nodded.
“What do you want it to mean?” Alexis asked.
“That’s a loaded question,” I said, “One I was hoping to answer later, so I didn’t color your impressions.”
“Trust us and say it anyway.”
“I look at it, and I think of one time when I acted to better the world and I did. Undeniably, even. I think of victory, and I think I could maybe achieve more victories. But it’s not just about me,” I said.
“Other people will have their own impressions,” Alexis said.
“Implements are supposed to be badges,” I said. “When I talked to the lawyers, I was told that the various choices we make here represent broader questions. The familiar question is about who we want to associate with, our sphere. In the books, the case studies and examples tell us about practitioners who decided to live among Others, eschewing human contact and relationships. There were people who fucked up, and cut themselves off from everything, outside of the master-familiar bond. Laird picked something that could be largely hidden, that wouldn’t interfere with family or career – a familiar that was content to be a watch a good portion of the time.”
There were a few nods.
I looked down. “The lawyer strongly suggested I take something powerful as a familiar, something ugly, and ignore the fact that I’d have to live with its company for the rest of my life. I took Evan instead.”
“Damn straight,” Evan said.
“Felt right,” I said.
“What about this?” Alexis asked. “Does this feel right?”
I grabbed the sword, positioning my fingers not so I could wield it, but so I could hold it, each finger resting between spikes.
“I’m not as sure,” I said.
“Maybe this isn’t the path you want to take?” she prodded.
“I think the lawyer was wrong about my choice of familiar. I’ve walked a fine line, getting further away from being me, and having a good companion, having you guys, it’s a way to hold on to myself. Connections. But I’m not so sure she’s wrong about my need to grab power sooner than later.”
“Do you want to compromise?” Alexis asked.
“Yes,” Rose said, before I could answer.
She was reflected in the window, and it was dark enough out that the image was clear. She sat in the mirror-world version of my living room, alone, surrounded by stacks of books.
“That’s not your call,” Alexis said.
“Yeah, actually, it is,” Rose replied. “I’m attached to him, and his decisions affect me.”
“Let’s not get into this,” I said. “Let’s just say that Rose’s opinion counts for an awful lot here, and she thinks I should compromise.”
“Thank you,” Rose said. “That’s all I wanted to put out there.”
“I think you shouldn’t,” Alexis said. “Something about this feels… wrong.”
“What I was saying before, about the familiar and the meaning of the decision? It applies here. Choosing an implement means deciding the one tool you’ll define yourself by for the rest of your life. That adage, ‘if all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail?’ I think that holds true with implements. This is a kind of commitment to a path in life, so maybe that’s what feels wrong. I’m committing to something… less than pleasant.”
“You’re committing to breaking swords?” Ty asked.
“I’m committing to stopping things like the Hyena. You don’t take an implement like this if you don’t plan on fighting, and continuing to fight for a long time.”
“One of the example implements in the book was a sword, wasn’t it?” Tiff asked.
“Yeah,” I said. I kept my mouth shut, rather than volunteer more that could color their impressions.
“This isn’t a sword though,” Ty said. “It’s a broken sword. The handle is almost longer than the remaining bit of blade.”
I nodded. He’d basically said what I was going to say before I stopped myself.
“An icon or symbol,” Tiff said.
“Yeah,” Ty replied. “I’m not sure if I like the implications. A sword’s a phallic symbol, right? The equivalent of great gleaming steel penis. The bigger the sword, the more they think you’re overcompensating. And a broken sword? I’ll be blunt. You shouldn’t define yourself like that.”