POV: Baggage (formerly Mio)
Everything was her fault and people were going to die because of it.
She had noticed the fuzzy nature of Drake-dono’s soul. The magnitude of the complications had never happened in their history. So what? That did nothing to absolve her responsibility.
The library archivists didn’t have any ideas either. Two of them didn’t believe her that the summoning ritual could draw forth a hero with attachments. They claimed Drake was lying and they said Ethan and Lily were doubtless the names of pet dogs.
Baggage said, “no! The attachments are real! He was in prison for seven years and it was drilled into him that he had no parental responsibility or authority!”
They talked over her. She was ignored. Baggage knew they weren’t stupid, just not used to problems they didn’t know how to solve quickly. She was supposed to be the patient one in the room. Still, she found it vexing.
Other archivists were performatively concerned, and told her everything would work out for the best. That’s what people said when they meant “you’ve got trouble”.
“Why did you tell him to call you ‘Baggage’?” Asked another archivist, an older man who had just walked into the room and missed half the conversation.
Baggage fought to keep her breathing under control. “I didn’t. He called me that because he believes eromancy is silly and I am useless.”
The man stopped and regarded her, nodding his head slowly. “He’s wrong on both counts. Facilitator, this will be hard on you. If you want extraction, I will support you, even at the cost of my own position.”
A generous offer. She thought about it momentarily and shook her head. “I trained for this. Studied long hours. And the prophecy-“
“I don’t care,” he interrupted. “I won’t be derivative and say it your forced participation makes humans as bad as demons; it doesn’t, they’re still much worse. But it will make me just as bad. Do you want my help?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Sometimes jobs are hard. I choose to do this.”
The older man nodded. “Very well, in that case I will spend the next few weeks with the artificers. I look forward to your return.” And with that he left, leaving her with some extra moral certitude, a rare commodity at times like these.
Then everyone ignored her and debated if the so-called “dog attachment” or if the violence on his arrival interrupted any part of the ritual and hinder his ability to return home. Baggage was stunned into silence and she reflexively grabbed one of her beaded braids.
“You don’t know if he can return?!” Baggage was ignored. The archivists rolled out a blackboard and were excitedly discussing a failed return and what that meant for universal travels.
“I’m glad you are all learning and making discoveries,” she said loudly, some of the archivists ignored her and kept talking, “but if one of you doesn’t tell me what to do, I’m going to inform Drake-dono that you’re unhelpful.”
One of the archivists who had been talking over her was not impressed, “he’s not your boyfriend, Facilitator Baggage-san. You’re his whore.”
Two or three other archivists in the room thought that was very funny. Baggage didn’t. The word stung, not because it was true, but because it was easier than admitting they had failed herself and Tenka.
She kept going, “I thought there would be no problem sending him back home. I’ll tell him you aren’t sure. He’ll believe me before you because I’ve given him bad news, even of my own failures.”
The archivist was not impressed, “And what do you think will happen? We’re archivists. If he does anything to us, his reputation will suffer.”
“He shot two men as soon as he arrived. He won’t care. The only thing he thinks about is going home.”
“That isn’t possible,” blurted out a different archivist, who was one of the small group that had laughed at her.
They weren’t willing to communicate. Baggage was done here. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m going to tell my ‘pimp’ you weren’t sure about getting him home and that you made fun of me.”
“What do you want us to do?” The man’s voice dripped with scorn.
“I’m sure everything will work out for the best,” she replied throwing their phrase back at them and left the archivists to their panic.
She deliberately walked slowly down the hall away from the library. The fear of Drake-dono had gripped them. A different attitude might surface.
Sure enough, an older woman chased after her and called out, “Facilitator Mio! Wait!”
Baggage waited, when the woman caught up she didn’t quite apologize. “Facilitator! Don’t pay attention to what those others say. I’m sure something can be worked out.”
“Me too,” replied Baggage. “That’s why I’m going to talk to the hero about it.”
“Facilitator, you know that you have been given… special training to placate the hero.”
“Yes, I sat in the front. Many inquisitive women seemed interested in attending. Runa asked inappropriate questions. Sayaka fell asleep.”
“Then you have already pledged consent and you know what to do,” the archivist said primly.
“Yes, he’s not interested.”
“Is he gay?”
“No. Divorced.”
The Archivist thought for a moment, “Yes, that would do it. Still, you have a duty as Facilitator-”
Baggage interrupted, “I've had my title thrown in my face more in the past twelve hours than in the past twelve months. The hero hates me for existing. If the prophecy didn’t mandate my participation, I’d have stepped down. I’m probably going to be dead in the next two weeks. Drake-dono insists on going as fast as possible and skipping traditional waypoints. We won’t be prepared.”
The archivist frowned and shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, “Are you suggesting this castle may be ransacked?”
“No, I’m telling you that you better have good answers when Drake-dono comes to the library with a sword made of an alloy that our best smiths can’t begin to understand.”
Huh. That made her sound kind of tough. Did it feel like this to have a boyfriend? Aside from the humiliation and verbal abuse, it felt pretty good.
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She walked away from the archivist, faster this time.
“We can explode the bullets in that gun of his!” the archivist yelled as she left.
“Ask the wizards and ritualists how well that worked for them. Earth isn’t using regular gunpowder anymore.” Baggage yelled back.
Baggage still had problems. She knew her quick adoption of the name ‘Baggage’ was abrupt and a sign of psychological distress.
Still, her damage was only in her own mind. The archivists had more immediate concerns.
- - -
POV: Sayaka
Drake wasn’t happy after Baggage told him the news of an uncertain return to Earth. He hadn’t yelled, maybe because he was occupied with cleaning his gun.
Runa said, “Don’t worry. Returning there is not that bad. Getting you here is hard. You’ll get pulled back like a spring after a few months. Keeping you in Tenka would take work.”
Drake shook his head, “Not good enough. I shouldn’t have to get that news from you. Archivists been studying this for hundreds of years and should be ready with a confident, accurate answer. I’ll talk to them and meet you outside.” He strapped on his sword and gun.
“Drake-dono? If it helps, they called me your whore.” Baggage said.
Drake glowered and clenched his teeth as he left. “Those mother…”
He slammed the door. For once, the loud noise didn’t bother her.
Runa said, “Nicely done, Baggage. I understand we’ve been given an air sled. Let’s take a look.”
- - -
Their air sled was a long enclosed coach carriage with runners along the bottom. The driving bench was exposed to the elements and was driven with reins that simply reattached to the front, no animals involved. It had several expensive support enchantments. The castellan had spared no expense, good news for all of them.
Drake returned, catching up with them. Nobody asked him what he had done to the archivists. Sayaka figured they were all right. Probably.
Drake sat up front on the driver’s bench with Sayaka. “How do you steer this?”, he asked.
“Just like a coach without horses. Air sleds can’t go very high. The speed is good though.”
“How fast does it go?” he asked.
“A little under eighty furlongs per horae.”
He stared at her, waiting for an explanation.
Sayaka stared back, having already given one.
“Runa? Can you translate that?” he asked, behaving as if his patience was tested.
“Yes, Drake-san. It’s about seven and a half ri per daytime hour.”
“‘Daytime hour’? Seriously? Are you guys trying to piss me off?”
Sayaka didn’t understand the problem. Everyone knew daytime and nighttime hours were different and changed during the year, that was just common sense.
“Baggage?” Drake asked in exasperation.
“About twenty kilometers per hour, that’s the best I can do. My hours are normal-length ones, like yours. It’ll take us about a week to get there, assuming we aren’t attacked.”
Drake looked disgruntled, likely because he thought Baggage had given him the only clear answer.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine! Anything else I should know?”
“Yes,” said Runa. “Both day and night hours are from nine to four. Backwards. We don’t use numbers one to three due to historical reasons.”
“We name ours,” added Sayaka.
“Great,” moaned Drake. “Let’s leave.”
They hadn’t even lifted the air sled from the ground when the castle's main courtyard erupted with armored boots pounding flagstone. Six guards, four in reinforced leather-and-chain, two in light officer mail, burst from the side archway at a dead sprint, spears lowered, one already drawing a short sword mid-stride. Their faces carried the particular mixture of fear and duty. Sayaka had faced that look often.
The sergeant yelled, “Drake-san! The captain wishes to speak to you regarding the… health of the archivists! Come with us.”
Sayaka sighed. They used “San” instead of “Dono”, the captain wanted him, and not the castellan. Insulting. They should have at least tried ‘please’. The whole situation reeked of a man looking to enhance his reputation by pushing around an ornery hero.
Maybe she could salvage this.
“No one wants a fight, boys!” she yelled.
“Yeah, they do.” Drake muttered. “And they found one.”
Whelp. She tried. She pulled out a dagger, just in case, and sat back to see what the hero could do.
Drake stepped down from the driver’s bench in one fluid motion, coat flaring. His right hand rested near the grip of his ‘Glock’; his left hovered beside the hilt of the katana. No words. No posturing. Just anger.
The lead guard, she recognized the sergeant, raised his spear and bellowed something official-sounding. Drake did not wait for him to finish.
He exploded forward.
The first spear thrust was straight and obvious. Drake slipped left, blade still sheathed, and drove a rising elbow into the sergeant's jaw. The man's head snapped sideways, and he dropped hard. His weapon clattered when his head hit the ground at an awkward angle, and there was a familiar crunch. Two other guards closed from Drake’s right flank, spears leveled.
Drake drew and the katana hissed free in a clean arc. No flourish, no posing, just a low diagonal cut that met the closest spear shaft. His advanced Earth steel parted the wood shaft like silk. The spearhead spun away, leaving the guard staring stupidly at the circumcised pole for half a heartbeat before Drake reversed the blade and drove the tip under the man’s left clavicle. The guard gargled, knees buckling. Drake ripped the sword free in a spray of arterial red and pivoted.
The second spearman lunged. Drake parried with the flat, stepped inside the reach, and slammed the hilt into the soldier’s nose. This sound was wet snap. Before the guard could react, Drake hooked the back of his knee with a boot and shoved. The man went down on his back. Drake delivered a follow-up stomp to the throat. Sayaka heard Baggage gasp; that girl really shouldn’t be watching this.
The remaining three guards fanned out, wary now. One tried to circle left toward the sled; Sayaka made a small warning hiss and shifted her weight, but did not throw. Drake didn’t look like he’d appreciate the help.
The boldest of the trio, a tall corporal with a sword, charged with a two-handed overhead cut meant to cleave Drake head to sternum. Sayaka winced. Runa said, “Oh, that’s disappointing.”
Drake met it edge-to-edge. Sparks flew. The corporal was younger, fresher, armored. Drake was furious.
Drake stepped back two steps, let the man overcommit on his next swing, then Drake slipped left again and slashed across the corporal’s hamstring. The corporal screamed and dropped to one knee. Drake stepped behind him, reversed grip, and-
“No!”, Baggage screamed.
Drake spat and his eyes narrowed when he looked at her. Yeah, Baggage shouldn’t be watching.
The last two guards hesitated. Bad decision. This was not a lover’s quarrel. The guards should have moved when they had a chance.
Drake lunged. His whole body committed to the task. He tackled the nearer man low, shoulder into stomach, driving the soldier backward into his partner. All three went down in a clattering heap. Drake came up on top, discarded the katana for a moment, and began to work with fists.
Drake struck clinically. Temple. Jaw. Eye. Repeat.
“Yes!” breathed Runa. If that woman approved, it was time to pull the mayhem to a stop.
Sayaka casually threw her dagger in the arm of Drake’s current victim. She held her hand out and the dagger returned.
“Leave a few alive, Kai. Demons will be coming.”
He breathed heavily. Ferally. Not really in control of himself.
He stood up and kicked the second soldier in the balls. Then he relaxed his body and landed with both knees in the man’s gut. Drake forced the soldier’s head to the side and shouted into it, “I’m not gonna hear the word ‘whore’ from you shitheads, ever! Am I?”
The soldier was too terrified to speak. Drake boxed his ear and shouted again, “Am I?”
“N-No hero-dono.” it was more a prayer for forgiveness than a promise. Drake accepted it anyway.
Still breathing hard through his nose, blood dripping from split knuckles, Kai Drake rose. He retrieved the katana, wiped it once along a mortally wounded guard’s surcoat, and sheathed it.
The Glock had never left the holster.
Six bodies lay in various positions of ruin. The guards occupied maybe fifteen seconds Drake’s time. Snowflakes were already settling on open eyes and pooling blood.
Drake turned back toward the air sled.
He climbed up onto the driver's bench without looking at the women.
“Go,” he told Sayaka. His voice was rough.
Was this his first time killing people on purpose?
No one spoke.
The castle’s main gate was still open. No alarms or yelling so far. Perhaps the sight of six crumpled guards had convinced the watch that pursuit could wait a few minutes.
The sled picked up speed, runners hissing over fresh powder then rising a handspan into the air, carrying four passengers and leaving one fresh crime scene from the only fortress still standing between humanity and the Demon King’s next wave.
“T-Thank you, Drake-dono.” said Baggage.
Drake was quiet, his face was openly contorted in disgust. “I’m amazed you guys weren’t wiped out long ago.”
The air sled sped away from the castle.
By unspoken agreement, all three ladies had reached the same conclusion: this was not the time to tell Kai Drake that humans and elves were both close to extinction.
