Chapter 23 #3
Seymour dropped, sliding back down the crystal with a grunt.
He bolted toward the fight, his chest burning with every step.
He saw the broken handle of the paddle he’d had earlier and grabbed it as he ran by.
He raised it over his head, running right to the wyrm’s middle section.
He aimed the sharp end between the squirming lantern men and then stabbed into the wyrm’s thick flesh with all of his might.
“Seymour!” Sariel called out in warning.
It came too late.
The wyrm’s long body coiled and snapped, hitting Seymour square in the chest. He flew backward, flipping head over heels and landing flat on his face.
The paddle rattled as it landed somewhere off in the distance, and Seymour’s head spun from the violent collision.
He tried to get up, but he was too disoriented, the agony too great, and he fell right back down.
This wasn’t it.
He wasn’t going to die here.
Everything hurt so much, his mouth was full of blood, but he struggled once more to get up. He had to save Sariel. He had to do this. He was going to change his fate, and he didn’t give a shit what some stupid cards said.
“Seymour!” Day cried as she bounded up to him. She slid under his side to help him, meowing worriedly.
“H-hey… Go help Sariel, lil’ girl.” Seymour didn’t want to lean on Day and fought to stay on his knees. Even breathing hurt like hell right now, and blood dripped into his eye. “Go on! Get!”
“No!” Day snapped. “I am not leaving you!”
“He is gonna die! We… we have to do somethin’!” Seymour fell forward, barely catching himself on his hands. “I… I don’t know what to fuckin’ do. I don’t have…” He patted at his pockets, and his chest heaved as he fought to swallow back a sob. “I don’t have fuckin’ anything left. I don’t—”
Phone.
Wallet.
Keys.
Inro.
Pouch.
The pouch from Marsha.
He ripped it out of his pocket and tore at the string, pulse pounding in his ears. He opened it up, staring stupidly at a bunch of…
Tobacco?
Really brown and crusty basil?
He didn’t know herbs, and he had no idea why Marsha would have given him—
“Matatabi!” Day yowled as she snatched the pouch away. She promptly shoved it in her face, wheezing and inhaling deeply. She then dumped the entire pouch in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back, her pupils dilated, and she meowed.
“What in the fuckin’ fuck?” Seymour demanded.
“Silvervine! These are the vines of a plant that’s been enchanted, dried, and all ground up! I’d know that smell anywhere!”
“And what the hell does it do?”
“Do you remember the sword? The great sword of protection my grandfather made? And how I said I knew where to find a magical sword?”
“What? Yes, but what does—”
“I am the sword. The soul of the blade was passed to me, and when I died, it died with me. This plant gives me the power to reach inside myself and summon it. Do you understand?”
“No!”
“Hold out your hands, grab me, and then use me to go kill that damn wyrm and save our family!” Day yowled as tears ran down her soft cheeks. “Now!”
Seymour grabbed Day and hugged her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve fuckin’ got you. I got—”
Day shifted, shrinking in his embrace. There was no more fluffy fur or silky kimono, only something thin, hard, sharp.
A sword.
Seymour fumbled to get a hold of it, cutting open the pad of his thumb. He cursed as he grabbed the handle and then stared in wonder at the incredible weapon he now held.
It was a long, slender sword—maybe a katana?
It looked like the one from the murals inside the Inro.
The hilt was elegantly wrapped with white silk, and the blade appeared to be made out of glass.
As Seymour tilted the sword, the glass twinkled with a strange prismatic light all its own, and he knew this was something powerful and great.
There was a hint of something green dancing in that light too, and he immediately thought of Day’s green eyes.
He didn’t understand how it was possible, but he knew this was her.
And they had a wyrm to kill.
“Let’s go, kitty girl.” Seymour forced himself to rise, heart racing, and he took a deep breath.
Well.
He was now one of those assholes who used a sword.
Seymour lifted the blade over his head as he ran toward the wyrm, screaming, “Hey! Gyarados! Come get some of this!”
“Seymour…?” Sariel sounded weak. He was struggling to stay aloft, and golden blood gushed from countless wounds. “What are you doing?”
“Savin’ you this time, Daddy!” Seymour shouted back. “Stay the fuck out of my way!” He hurled himself at the wyrm, again being mindful of the army of lantern men, and stabbed the blade into the wyrm’s flesh.
A hot knife through butter wasn’t even this smooth.
The sword went all the way in to the hilt, and Seymour sliced a long gash up as high as he could reach. Blood gushed out from the wound like a busted fire hydrant, completely drenching him, but he didn’t stop. He stabbed and stabbed, running and slicing, and the wyrm screamed and convulsed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sariel recovering and flying out of the wyrm’s reach.
It was happening.
He was doing it!
He was going to save Sariel because those stupid cards and all of Marsha’s predictions didn’t mean a damn thing, they were going to be together, all of them, they were going to be family, and—
The wyrm’s tail swung.
Seymour suddenly couldn’t move, and he couldn’t figure out what had happened until he looked down and saw the spike at the end of the wyrm’s tail sticking out of his chest. It had stabbed him through his back and out through the sunflower pinned on his vest.
Oh…
Fuck.