that led to a small river. It was there that he thought, thought about the world that he had been forced to experience, thought about his fall, his death. It was there that Jim realized that all that he had run from was nipping at his heels. And, it was there, that Jim decided that Floydd would be his final contract.
"I'm sorry if I worried you." Jim said.
"Worried?" Colter exclaimed. "Jim, I thought you were dead. I heard you'd been shot half a dozen times and thrown from the highest floor of the tallest tower. The way Floydd tells it, he stripped you of your Hero blood and danced upon your lifeless corpse."
Jim stayed quiet.
"Well?" Colter pushed. "Nothing you want to tell me? Jim…I thought I'd lost my friend. And when you showed up this morning…."
"I died, Colt." Jim said, in barely a whisper. "Floydd caught me off-guard. He shot me and…and I fell."
"You…?" Colter started, but stopped suddenly. "You're serious?"
"Yes."
"Jim…." Colter started, but his words faltered.
Jim looked at his friend. "I'm going to Salix. Floydd has a home there." From the contractor, Jim could feel his questions radiating, but he continued without explanation. "I could use your help."
Without hesitation, Colter answered. "You have it." He turned, grabbing at some loose papers and reading through them rapidly. "I don't know much about Salix, but I'll send feelers out immediately. It'll be an expensive ask…but I'll make it work."
"Thanks." Jim said, turning to exit the room. "I'll scout the city for a few days – lay low, stick to alleys and rooftops – that sort of thing. I'll reach out to you when I'm ready - our usual parameters?"
"I'll be there." Colter said with a smile. "Just…don't keep me waiting this time."
Jim returned the smile. "Wouldn't dream of it." He said, then opened the door and entered the streets of Indrasmos.
It would take a few days to get to Salix, Jim knew, so he stopped to fill his water pouch at a decently clean and cheap pump. He visited a few shops, restocking his tinderbox and snagging a piece of dried meat to settle his grumbling stomach. Then, he left, leaving through the Western gate and wandering toward the forest that he'd once called home.
4: Emeralds and gold
A calm breeze swept through the forest, causing the treetops and grass to sway and dance. The smell of pine and soil mingled in Jim’s nose. It brought cold memories to the surface of his mind. Cowering behind boulders and large trees for shelter; he had needed to rely on his sense of smell and sound in the black of night. It was the first time Jim had been forced to struggle and it was the first time he had chosen to live.
Walking here, in the middle of an unforgiving forest, felt right to Jim. He had struggled, fought through a hellish world of smoke, and emerged in a place that had tried to kill him before. But often the places that had tried to kill him only succeeded in shaping him, honing his body and mind into a razor sharp enough to survive. There is a pattern to places, Jim. You will either succumb, or you will overcome and be all the better for it.
Is that what he had done? Overcome Hell, climbed through the surface of the world to wake beneath the sun once again? That place, with its shadows and screams, had it molded him into a stronger being simply by allowing him to live? And the man who hid himself in shadows, had he….
A crack from behind sent Jim’s reflexes to work. Crouching low, he found the hilt of a dagger in each hand. His eyes swept the forest, scanning the trees and ground for signs of people or husks. Another crack rang from his left, and Jim let his dagger fly towards the noise. The dagger sliced at a cloaked figure hiding behind a tree. The blade caught the hood of the cloak, forcing it off and pinning it to the trunk.
A girl stared at Jim, her eyes and face contorted in a fierce expression of rage. She seamlessly shed the cloak and sprinted forward, closing the gap between them in moments. A thin sword extended from her hand, angled to sweep at Jim’s throat. Jim easily caught the sword with his own blade, redirecting it to the ground.
The girl moved quickly, jabbing a small knife from her other hand at Jim while her sword soared. Jim stepped past the blade, allowing it to brush against the fabric of his shirt but never allowing it to contact his body. He kicked at the girl’s leg, trying to force her off balance to gain a quick victory. His foot made contact, and she began to fall.
The girl leaned into her fall and, using her hand to push off the ground, smashed both feet into Jim’s chest. Unprepared for the attack, Jim staggered backwards. The kick was faster than he had anticipated. No human could match the speed and grace that had caught him off-guard. She had to be a Hero.
Jim knew the fight just got dangerous. To fight another Hero meant he would have none of the advantages that he had relied on so heavily in the past years. He slowed his breathing and reached for the calm place that would allow him to win. The girl rose to her feet, breathing heavily. She looked up at Jim, locking eyes.
A panic began to grow in Jim as he stared. Her eyes were green, emeralds contrasting her dark hair. She was no Hero, only a human. A human that moved so quick that a Hero couldn’t avoid an attack. The panic continued to bloom, moving into Jim’s arms and legs. If he didn’t do something, cut down his opponent now, the panic would consume him. He needed to move, to attack, to be rid of this girl. Now.
Jim and the girl lunged forward at the same time, each adjusting to the other’s course. Metal screeched as weapons collided, each threw their entirety into their attacks. The girl’s sword came fast and often, forcing Jim to parry and defend. I need to end this quickly! Jim attacked back, putting a force into each swing that sent a ripple through the girl’s arms and into her chest. I’m getting tired. My attacks are slowing.
Jim continued to catch each attack, predicting the next with practiced precision. The girl’s breathing had quickened, and a sheet of sweat had formed on her forehead. Jim pushed forward with a sweep, his blade catching the girl’s arm. She allowed herself a glance at the wound, the bright crimson stained through her shirt. The cut was long but shallow, starting at her shoulder and working its way towards her elbow.
A desperation overtook Jim. He wanted to run but knew that by turning his back he would ensure his death. So, Jim began another onslaught, forcing his blade to contact and overcome his enemy. He drove down, using his desperation as strength with each blow. The girl parried, and Jim found one of his daggers stuck in the ground at her feet. He let go of the hilt, forgetting the weapon immediately, and attacked with his single blade. My arm is killing me.
Jim saw an opening as he jumped towards an attack. His blade sang against his opponent’s while his foot kicked at her outstretched leg. The girl fell again, trying to replicate the kick she had landed once before, but this time Jim was ready. He sidestepped quickly, grabbing at the girl’s ankle. With her leg in his grip, he pulled her up into the air and slammed her against the trampled soil.
Jim’s head suddenly became clear and calm, the desperation and panic disintegrating in an instant. The lack of fear and emotion caused him to stop and evaluate his fight. Constantly, the battle was in his favor. There was no reason behind his fear. There was no reason to panic. Victory was always his.
Confused, Jim looked down at the girl. She lay dazed. Sweat had mixed with dirt from the fall, covering her face in a muddy sheen. She lay so still, so calm, no panic or fear anywhere in sight. Why had he attacked
