Fiddler paused. “It’s a little late for that,” he said, his voice trembling with sadness and loathing.
He swung at Kirwyn’s head. Kirwyn blocked the blade with his sheathed sword. Fragments of parchment fell to the floor. The two blades slid to the hilts. Fiddler released and stepped back. Kirwyn stood up.
“I don’t want to fight you Fred,” said Kirwyn.
“THEN DIE,” screamed Fiddler, swiping at Kirwyn’s ribs. Kirwyn deflected the blow, sending more of the parchment fluttering in the wind.
Fiddler swung again, and again, Kirwyn deflected. Parchment fluttered to the wind. The scabbard was stripped bare. Kirwyn stepped back, battered by the force of the blows. He crept onto the bridge. Fiddler lunged at him, and they locked swords in place, juddering with the effort.
“You’re gonna break your last vow. You’re going to unsheathe that sword. It’s the only way you’ll stop me.” He broke the deadlock, and sliced Kirwyn’s cheek – it ran ruby red.
Fiddler paced back and forth on the bridge, pointing at Kirwyn with his sword. “You’re going to try and kill me, just like you murdered the others. But you’re gonna fail. Because I’m better than you.” He lunged again. Kirwyn parried the sword away, he walked backwards off the bridge, dabbing his cheek with the backside of his hand.
They clashed swords again. Fiddler kicked Kirwyn in the ribs, sending him back, winded and coughing.
Fiddler stood and watched him. “I used to look up to you,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I was a fool then.” He advanced.
“Please Fred,” said Kirwyn weakly. “Please don’t do this.”
Fiddler paused, breathing heavily, his shoulders low. But then her pulled his sword above his head and swung it down with all his strength. Kirwyn held his scabbard with both hands and withstood the blow. Fiddler swung the sword back and poked at Kirwyn’s belly. Kirwyn deflected, just in time. He ran backwards, Fiddler was after him, sword outstretched – just a few inches away. Kirwyn stopped suddenly and batted it out of his hands.
Kirwyn swung at Fiddler’s head. Fiddler bent back unnaturally, barely dodging the blow. Fiddler elbowed Kirwyn in the face, sending him staggering backwards. Fiddler leapt for his missing sword and retrieved it, breathing heavily. Kirwyn stumbled to his feet.
Kirwyn hacked away at him. Fiddler blocked admirably, but was staggered by the force. On the final swing, Kirwyn connected, batting the side of Fiddler’s face savagely. He was sent backwards to the floor, his helmet and mask removed. He got up. His big eyes were moist, he looked at Kirwyn with terror and loathing. He fumbled around on the floor looking for his mask.
Kirwyn saw the terrible scars and his heart dropped. He stood and watched Fiddler who still scrabbled rat-like trying to strap on his mask and helmet again. He did so at great length. Kirwyn looked to the ground in shame.
Fiddler got up and screamed. He ran and swung madly at Kirwyn’s head. Kirwyn ducked and grabbed Fiddler’s wrist, holding his sword at bay. Fiddler panicked and reached for his revolver. Kirwyn dropped his sword and grabbed the gun by the barrel. Fiddler fired into the ground. Kirwyn tried to head-butt Fiddler, but Fiddler jerked away. Fiddler fired another four times, burning Kirwyn’s hand. Kirwyn released, tried to grab hold of the gun with both hands, snatching it, and did so, but Fiddler dug his sword into Kirwyn’s side.
Kirwyn clubbed Fiddler squarely in the face with the butt of his own revolver, sending him tumbling backwards. Kirwyn threw Fiddler’s gun as far away as he could. He felt his side. The cut was deep. Little rivers of red poured down his abdomen, soiling his once-white clothes. He picked up the sword of Barabbas and leaned on it like a cane, breathing raggedly.
Fiddler leapt to his feet in one motion. He swung his sword in the air, slicing imaginary enemies. He raised his sword above his head and screamed. He appeared to swing high again, and Kirwyn raised his sword in defence, but Fiddler ducked down with unexpected speed, going past Kirwyn and stabbing him in the back as he did so. Kirwyn hunched over, knelt on the ground, coughing. He slowly turned to face Fiddler. Fiddler sauntered, not seeing his work but satisfied in its success. When Kirwyn finally rose again – Fiddler turned on his heels and went in for another attack.
He swung down, Kirwyn intercepted the blade, and they were locked once again, very close, hilts clinked. Kirwyn leant forward and pushed Fiddler around, back onto the bridge. Fiddler dug his heels in and pushed back, grunting. The blood was draining from Kirwyn’s face, he gritted his teeth and gave it his all.
Fiddler let go suddenly. He bounced backwards, struggling to untie his breastplate. It was glowing with heat. Fiddler screamed like a pig, he bent over, trying to untie a clasp, and Kirwyn saw Loma on the other side of the bridge, taking aim, readying another shot. Kirwyn screamed for her to stop, ran past Fiddler, blocking her shot, his arms in the air.
Loma was puzzled, but eventually stood down.
Kirwyn smelt burnt meat. And heard the clatter of the breastplate finally leaving Fiddler’s body. There was a hole melted into the metal, the size of a coin. Fiddler was steaming. He leapt into the river crying, a great quantity of steam erupted from the surface of the water. Kirwyn looked over the edge of the bridge, but once the steam had cleared he could make no sight of Fiddler. He crossed the bridge and jumped down to the river bank looking for Fiddler, a trail of blood followed him. He was shaking now, as the adrenaline left his body. He searched the river frantically. “Frederick!” he shouted. Loma walked up behind him.
“What the hell is going on?” said Loma.
“He is my brother,” said Kirwyn, sadly. He walked along the river bank a while. There he collapsed.
30
“So,” said Alana, over the roar of the engine. “What happened?”
Saburo looked uncomfortable. “I got ambushed. By those savages with the bows and arrows. I was outnumbered. I made a run for it.”
“Why didn’t you warn us – with the holodisk.”
“I dropped it, ok? I still have the plane parts, that’s all that matters. What happened to you and the others?”
Alana looked uncomfortable. “We got attacked. We had to run for the tunnels. We got… separated. I left them. I met… someone. He handed me his weapons, got my guard down. He was after Loma, he put a gun to my head, I told him where Loma was headed.”
“Where? Where is she headed?” demanded Saburo
“Etria. It’ll be a day before they get there. We still have time.”
“So he wants to kill her?”
“I don’t know. He said he was from Avalon and just wanted a trip back.”
“And you believed him?” said Saburo.
“I don’t know. He only got violent when I lied to him. I said I didn’t know Loma.”
Saburo lifted one hand from his bike to smooth his hair back. “What do we do then? I’m running low on fuel.”
“I don’t even know where Etria fucking is. I lost my holodisk”
“I don’t know either,” said Saburo. “And the savages took my holodisk.”
“No,” said Alana, hope returning. “It was – it was still there in the fountain. They didn’t loot it.”
“Maybe it’s still there?”
After returning to the fountain, and retrieving the holodisk, the two left Lundun as fast as they could. They headed east, following the holodisk’s direction.
As night fell the bike began to slow. Saburo was only vaguely familiar with the area, they kept their eyes peeled for a refuelling station – one that was not controlled by the Yellowjackets. After a while, the engine ran dry completely, Saburo had to push the bike along while Alana walked beside him.
Alana made conversation, discussing potential plans for reaching Avalon – should the generator prove unusable. Saburo’s answers were monosyllabic. He would mutter angrily to himself that they should have passed a refuelling station by now. He was sure there was one nearby.