Chapter 4

4.
         Tristian could see the sword thrust was powerful but not all that skilled. It still was effective, especially since the Agent made no move at all to avoid it, in fact acted like he didn't even know it was there. In those brief fevered moments, Tristian only had a few seconds to think about such thoughts. His main concern was keeping anyone from getting killed. Almost in slow motion, Johan was starting to lunge forward toward the woman who was presumably his wife. With one arm, Tristian grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around and down so that his back slammed against the table. He stared up at Tristian in panic, already struggling as he tried to regain his bearings during the flurry of motion.
         "Stay there!" Tristian barked, a little more harshly than he had intended but there was no telling what anyone was going to do and he didn't want anyone getting hurt. "They can't be hurt!"
         Meanwhile Agent One hadn't made any move at all as the sword entered his body from the back and went right through him, exiting from somewhere slightly below his chest.
         Without even looking down or turning around, he said to the woman, who was now backing away slowly, her hand covering her mouth to bite back a muffled scream, her face as pale as a ghost, "While I firmly believe in your right to defend your home, as well as your life and that of your unborn child, I highly doubt that the sword is doing you any good where it is right now."
         Reaching his arm behind his back, the limb seeming to bend at angles that bones wouldn't let it bend, he grasped the hilt of the sword and smoothly slid it out of his body. There was no mark that his body had even been pierced. Turning around to face the still frightened woman, he looked the sword over, pressing his thumb firmly against the blade to test the sharpness. Smiling slightly, he reversed the sword and handed it back to the woman hilt first.
         "It's not your fault that weapons like that aren't any good against me and mine, my dear." The woman took the sword back with trembling hands and the Agent bowed to her, his robes swirling around him grandly. "I believe it is we who owe you an apology for barging into your home without first asking permission. That was an unconsciousable action on our part, I'm afraid."
         Seeing that the situation had now appeared to calm itself, Tristian released his hold on Johan and let the man stand up. With barely a glance at Tristian he began to cross the room toward the woman, who had now let the sword drop to the floor while she was still holding it, almost seeming numb by events.
         "Mari," he whispered but even as he was saying it, she started to turn toward him, as if sensing him there.
         "Oh my . . ." she started to say and then was moving as she released the sword, which hit the floor with a low clang and then both met in the center of their respective pathways, arms around each other tightly, words vanishing into silence.
         "Moments like these make the job worthwhile, eh?" Agent Two whispered, having sidled over to Tristian. He grinned and his hands threw a flickering red cartoon heart in the air which pulsed for a minute before fading into shimmering motes.
         Eventually the pair separated but only slightly. Mari was the first to speak. Brushing some of her moderately long brownish hair out of her face, she said, "Johan, how . . . how did you get here and who . . ." she glanced around, trying to hide her shock that the three new visitors looked facially exactly alike. "Who are these people?"
         "Friends," Johan replied. "They rescued me along the road when highwaymen attacked me. Saved me, Mari." He indicated Tristian. "You should have seen this one fight, he went after four armed men without any weapons at all, without even thinking about it." He made no mention of the two Agents, but they didn't seem too concerned about that. Agent One had gone back to looking at the window and Agent Two was starting to poke around at various shelves that were adorning the walls.
         Tristian only shrugged at the praise though. "Trust me, the no weapons thing was an oversight, I generally don't rush into combat bare handed." A sudden thought occuring to him, he addressed the Agents. "Hey guys, speaking of that, are you going to ever do anything about my sword? I don't plan on getting into a lot of fights but I'd feel a lot safer if I had something to defend myself with."
         "You don't need the sword, you know," Agent One replied, not turning away from the window. "You were trained to use whatever was at hand, or nothing if need be. The sword is just a tool."
         "And what am I?" Tristian asked suddenly, feeling a coldness enter his voice. "Am I just another tool as well, in some other little game of yours?"
         Agent One turned away slowly from the window, his hands still clasped behind his back. His robe swished gently against the floor. The face that stared back at Tristian gave him a shiver. So much like his and yet completely alien. "What makes you think this is a game?" the Agent asked simply.
         Tristian was taken slightly aback but recovered. "All of this. First you take me here, to this, to this place and then I find my sword is gone and you're wearing this odd clothing and . . . nothing makes any sense." He felt his finish was a bit lame but he was fully aware of Johan and his wife staring at him with strange glances, as if he had started speaking another language.
         "Then the game makes no sense, is that your problem?" Agent One asked coolly. "That it has no point, that you're just wandering around aimlessly without purpose, without reason."
         "Are you admitting that this is some test you're putting me up to?" Tristian's stare was level.
         Agent One shrugged dismissively. "Merely an interpretation. Perhaps your discomfort comes from the fact that the scenario I just described mirrors your life at this current stage of things."
         Tristian seemed to flinch visibly from the words. He hadn't expected that. "Are you saying that I want something definite, that I need some sort of point to everything to feel right?"
         "You've said so yourself, Tristian. You feel that there's no purpose to anything anymore. That everything you do has no impact." The Agent's eyes seem to glow in the minimal dimness of the room. "Here, you'll find that everything everyone does has an impact."
         "What's that supposed to-" he started to say but then the other Agent strode over, pushing Tristian aside.
         "You know, what amuses me about you people is that a simple question can turn into a huge philosophical discussion," Agent Two exclaimed, giving them both withering looks. "I mean, the boy only asked for a weapon. If you don't want to give him the damn thing just say go, I swear you like your runaround answers way too much. You make me wonder if we can ever give anyone a straight answer anymore."
         Agent One only smiled humorlessly. "But I did answer his question."
         Agent Two gave an equally humorless grin in return. "Well, now, you know that and I know that but if he doesn't get the point, then it'll all be lost on him now, won't it?"
         "So you're saying?" came the blunt question.
         "Give him a damned sword!" Agent Two nearly screamed.
         Agent One narrowed his eyes. "I believe I've made my thoughts on that perfectly clear. If you feel so strongly about it, then you obtain one for him. I'll do nothing of the sort for him." And then without another word he stepped through the wall and vanished in a shower of glittering red sparks.
         Agent Two watched his brother leave and then turn to Tristian with a shrug. "Oh well I tried at least. He's hard to reason with when he's in one of his stubborn moods. This place tends to do that to him. I'm sure he'll come around later."
         Johan stepped forward, seeming to find the courage to speak. "Tristian, if you wished for a sword . . ." Letting his sentence trail off he reached down and plucked the dropped sword from the ground, holding it out to Tristian hilt first.
         Tristian stared at it like the weapon it was, like he had never seen one before. Like it was hot to the touch. "No, really I couldn't . . . how would you defend yourselves?" He turned away, gently pushing the sword aside. "I'm sorry I can't. I didn't come here to take things from people."
         "Tristian, you saved my life, gave me the chance to come home to my wife, to continue living. The least I can do is give you something that might give you the same chance."
         He stared at the two of them, husband and wife. He stared at the sword that hung in the space between them. The weapon looked so much more natural to him than the couple and he felt damned for even thinking that way. He ached for something else other than the way his life had been, fighting, running, on to conflict again and watching someone else die. It all fell to pieces again and again and he was the last one standing. As always. As ever. He wanted it to end, he felt that way deep down inside and knew that he needed something to jump start his numbed senses again. This place didn't seem to be it.
         "Please. Tristian," Johan implored.
         Tristian slowly shook his head in the negative. "I'm sorry, Johan, but I came here for magic, not for fighting."
         "Magic?" Mari whispered, as if Tristian had spit out something forbidden. "Is that what you thought you came here for?" In one motion she knocked the sword out of her husband's hand. He stared at her, shocked, opening his mouth to say something, when she waved her hand slowly and then faster, in ever widened circles.
         Like a puppet with invisible strings, the sword gently lifted off the ground, hovering up and up, point down. It floated right at the level of Tristian's face but he wasn't staring at it, but Mari. Her face was a model of intent concentration. Purple light glistened around the sword.
         "Magic," she continued, "is everywhere. It's the color of everything. It's as common as the grass we walk on."
         In one swift jerk, she sliced her hand down. The sword slammed into the wooden floor with a loud thunk that made everyone except the Agent jump. The sword trembled in the wood for a second and then stopped. Nobody moved to touch it.
         Mari wiped a bit of sweat off her forehead. "But that's not real magic. It's just something we can do, something we can all do. I'm sure you can see things like that where you come from."
         "Perhaps," he said evasively.
         She gestured toward the Agent, who was standing there with an innocent look on his face. His face seemed to say that he knew what she was going to say already and that he couldn't stop her from saying it. "This one and his brother, they know about real magic. They cloak what they do in the mundane things that we can do but they know, they've touched it."
         Agent Two wiped a fake tear from his eye. "How sweet, I . . . I think I'm going to cry." Then he blinked. "Or not." In a blur of motion he snatched the sword from the floor, spinning it in his hand. It caught the light and flickered. "So we've touched it, huh? You seem pretty confident about that, little lady."
         Mari just stared at the Agent, a sly smile on her face. "You don't hide yourselves at all."
         "Best place to hide something is in plain sight," the Agent responded and suddenly closed his hand. The sword was no longer there. "Because they never think that it's going to be there. Too blatant they say. The real folks would never show themselves out in the open. The real magic would be buried under portents and musty books and wizards muttering gibberish, they claim when the entire time the means for it is right there. Right in front of them. Like that sword in your hand, Johan."
         Johan started to say something and then stared down at his hand as he felt an unaccostumed weight there. Right in his hand was the sword, as if he had been holding it the entire time. Perhaps he had been.
         "It's slight of hand and illusion and everything else you might think it is," he said, grinning like some sort of trickster. "And it's everything you don't think it is, either."
         "That tells me nothing," Tristian said, crossing his arms.
         "No, Tristian," Agent Two replied, laughing quietly, "I've just told you everything."
         And then someone kicked the door in.