Page 8

“The Ninth what, now?”

Aurelia tossed her head back and laughed. “The Serpent’s Sting of Moonguard. Sister Naya. Captain Fremont. Any of these names . . . mean anything to you?”

Kazuo finally turned to look over his shoulder. An odd look was on his face. Half-smile, half-grimace. “Well, now. I underestimated you, didn’t I? All right. Guess this changes things. If that sword is from the other side, you definitely have my attention.”

“One-hundred percent, Grade-A Avorah, Kaze.”

“. . . Saying all the right things. I got one more question, then. This mission. It can be anything?”

“Anything he thinks you can handle. Yes.”

Kazuo sighed, drew in another breath, then ran his hands through his hair again. He walked back over. “All right, then. Woodsbane. You listening? ‘Cuz here’s my mission: to protect the people I love. From everything.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow this time. “Everything?”

“I know what’s coming. End of the world. Apocalypse. Ragnarök. Whatever you want to call it. My mission is to end it, and to see my people live through the storm. I will stop Avorah from unraveling. I will stop that backlash from ruining Earth. And I will keep my friends, and my family, alive.”

“That . . . is certainly ambitious, Kaze. All on your own?”

Kazuo smirked. “Of course not. I’ll have Woodsy with me.”

Aurelia laughed again. “All right, then. All that’s left . . .” she held out Woodsbane again, hilt toward its new prospect, “. . . is to shake on it.”

Kazuo reached out, and gripped the devil by the wrist. He pulled the sword from another world out into the air, and raised it up.

The pentagons in Woodsbane’s eyes were glowing.

Aurelia let out a low whistle. “. . . You really are special, Kaze. I can see where your reputation comes from. The bargain is struck. Enjoy working with your new partner.”

She bowed low at the waist.

Kazuo sheathed his weapon, and was nearly out of earshot before the woman in white spoke again.

“You won’t die until the mission’s over, Kazuo Tanaka. Whether it takes two months, ten years, or a millennium. He won’t be satisfied until it’s done. Remember that.”

Kazuo grinned fit to split his skull.

“. . . I’ll remember. Darling.”

Page 7

“The more ambitious the mission . . . the more fervently he wants to see it done.”

Kazuo licked his lips. “Right. So, assuming I believe in this stuff, I’d have to tell him my mission? Deal-with-the-devil style.”

“Yes.”

“So here’s a question, then. What’s to stop me from telling ol’ Woodsbane that my mission is to be the first man to live on Jupiter? Live out the rest of my days with a fancy pig-sticker. Die old, fat ‘n happy without ever paying the debt?”

It looked like Aurelia suddenly had fangs. “If he doesn’t think you’re capable of the mission you want to partner up for . . . he’ll end it before it ever starts. You’re not the first to think of that. Chances are, you won’t be the last.”

Kazuo chuckled. “All right. I think I’ve got this figured out.” He started to walk away. “Nice talking to you, Aurelia.”

Aurelia watched him walk for a moment.

“. . . I’ve seen what you can do,” she called out after him. Kazuo stopped. “My employer is very talented at digging out truth from rumor. You work wind, don’t you? Isn’t that where your nickname comes from?”

Kazuo didn’t turn back around. “Let’s say it is. What’s your point?”

“You can use magic, but you don’t believe in spelled weapons?”

“I know where the wind comes from, Aurelia. Don’t know that sword of yours from Excalibur.”

“. . . This sword is an heirloom from the Ninth Guard, Kaze.”

Page 6

“Legend has it, Woodsbane is . . . finicky. He only takes on a wielder with a mission. And he only keeps a wielder until that mission is done.”

Kazuo frowned. “Make it sound like I oughtta take that thing up to Mount Doom.”

Aurelia’s devilish grin softened. “That’s one way to look at it. It is the same old story, isn’t it? Another story, for your consideration: he once partnered with a nobleman, during a civil war. That nobleman had rebelled against his lord father. Turned traitor. His mission . . . was to make it out of his own country alive. A bargain was struck. And that nobleman did make it out.”

“Guessin’ he didn’t last long after that, did he?” Kazuo guessed.

Aurelia winked. “No. He did not.” She waited a moment; Kazuo didn’t speak again. “A second story: he was given as a gift to a young lady who was fascinated by the articles of war. Her most fervent wish was to be a hero. Her homeland crumbled at her feet. She became a legend . . . as the last living remnant of a forgotten empire. Bereft, and alone, she used Woodsbane to slice open her own guts.”

“So as soon as the mission’s done . . . Woodsbane here takes his payment.”

“Yes.”

“When are these . . . bargains struck?”

Aurelia’s eyes were twinkling. “As soon as you touch him.”

Kazuo grunted. “And you? You exempt or something?”

“. . . Or something.”

Page 5

Kazuo’s hands sought the safety of his coat pockets again. “I’m listening.” His eyes, and the entire set of his body, said he wouldn’t be listening long.

“I’m going to get a tad superstitious on you again. This sword . . . assuming, of course, you believe in local folklore . . . grants wishes. After a fashion.”

Kazuo raised an eyebrow. “After a fashion. Regular old genie in a bottle, huh?” He heaved a long-suffering breath. “Pretty sure I should head home. I got a thing.” He stood up, made to leave. “Take care of that car.”

Another flip, another flourish, and Woodsbane leaped into the open air. The blade, shining in the meager moonlight, was pitch black. Something about that blade—which could have been made of pure, liquid midnight—made Kazuo stop dead. He stared at it.

“Pretty boy, isn’t he?” Aurelia asked. She ran a finger along the quicksilver edge—the only part of Woodsbane that wasn’t as black as a witch’s heart. “I don’t really think you have to believe in the stories I could tell you about this weapon, if you’d rather not. Still worth a spot in your collection . . . don’t you think?”

“You wouldn’t approach me with this if that sword wasn’t worth a fortune,” Kazuo said. “I’m pretty much the only nutcase in this state who’d be willing to pay what that thing is worth. Why would you get rid of it?”

 “If it were my choice, trust me when I say I wouldn’t.” Aurelia sheathed the sword. Kazuo let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “The decision to offer you this deal comes from a place so far above my pay grade that it scratches the ceiling of Heaven.”

Kazuo wiped his hands on his jacket. “Fine. I’ll bite. Let’s talk superstition.”

Aurelia grinned toothily. “. . . Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Page 4

“This . . . is Woodsbane.”

The sword Aurelia offered was an old-fashioned katana. The gleaming scabbard had a wood finish. The handle was wrapped in black. Its pommel proudly bore a skull, grinning up at the world; nestled in its sockets were two twin, pentagonal-cut, red gemstones. Kazuo screwed up his face. “This a joke? Figure hey, the Japanese kid must like the emo ninja sword?”

“He didn’t always look like this,” Aurelia said, completely unruffled. “The jury’s out on how much of the original metal is actually still in him, to give you the . . . honest-to-goodness.”

“Him?” Kazuo’s irritation vanished in idle confusion. “Heard of giving weapons personalities before, but . . . always figured they were like ships. ‘She.’ ‘Her.’ That whole deal.”

Aurelia grinned. “I don’t do typical. Especially regarding the gender norms of weapons.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that.” Kazuo sighed again, ran his hands through his hair again, clenched both hands into fists again. “So . . . Woodsbane. Sounds like an old soldier.”

“He’s been around.”

Kazuo strolled over to the car, leaned against the hood. “Tell me, then. Aurelia. First time you talked to me, you said you had something that would help me. I’m assuming you were talking about the same thing you’re talking about now.”

“I am.” Aurelia suddenly tossed the weapon in the air with the flourish of a trained performer, caught it, and presented the hilt to Kazuo. He hesitated. “Smart man,” she said. “You’re going to want to wait before you take this from me. There’s some red tape.”

Page 3

Kazuo ran his hands through his blue-streaked black hair. “All right. Let’s assume for a minute here that I know what you’re talking about. You wanna tell me why we’re standing here at a crossroads? You didn’t strike me as superstitious, last time we talked.”

“It’s only superstition if the information is wrong.” Aurelia spread out her arms again. “This is always where deals get made, isn’t it? It’s romantic. But it’s also powerful. So, if you’re actually interested, why don’t we have a seat? I’ll explain.”

Kazuo turned again to stare at his new companion, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a screeching ring sounded in his pocket.

Aurelia gestured. “Please. Attend to your business. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kazuo jammed his phone against his ear. “Talk to me.”

“Kaz.” A nickname Kazuo hadn’t heard in sixteen years. “He’s back in town. Your info, wherever your guys got it. It was . . . it was good.”

Kazuo closed his eyes. “Fuckin’ hate it when I’m right. Shit! Okay. Okay, Maxie. I’m with you. Gimme an hour. Whatever you gotta do, I’ll back your play. Just wait for me. You hear? Wait for me.”

“. . . Thanks, brother. Will do.”

“Good luck, kid. If you’re right about this jackoff, you’re gonna need it.” Kazuo terminated the call, pocketed the article of his undoing, and stared into a pair of ice-rimmed eyes. “So’m I.”

Page 2

Aurelia looked like a seductress and a nun at the same time; it was a contradiction that Kazuo couldn’t figure out, but also couldn’t shake. She was a schoolboy fantasy given flesh, and she was without a doubt the most terrifying woman Kazuo had ever met.

A waterfall of jet-black hair, sky blue eyes; dressed in a custom-tailored, blinding white suit that Kazuo was sure had cost more than his first car, if not his first house. 

Kazuo himself was still dressed for a show: motorcycle boots, leather pants, leather trench coat loaded down with chains, and entirely too many belts to be legal. It was a costume, but it sold tickets. 

Kazuo had long ago decided that if he was going to make himself look like a clown for a living, he may as well be a well-dressed clown. He’d spent more money on the getup he was wearing than anyone would have wanted to admit.

This woman made Kazuo feel like a cheap fake.

“So . . .” Aurelia said, letting the word slither out of her mouth like poison, “. . . have you reconsidered my offer?”

Kazuo crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t know. You haven’t been exactly clear what you’re offering.”

“It’s nothing nefarious.” Aurelia raised her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I just heard from a few folks at your latest concert. You collect swords. Isn’t that right?”

Kazuo raised an eyebrow. “This is about wall decorations? Are you serious?”

Aurelia’s expression could have frozen a summer heatwave.

“Are you serious? You’re going to tell me you don’t know how to use your own weapons?”

Page 1

"Fancy seeing you here again, Superstar."

The woman was seated on the hood of the car like she was posing for a photo shoot. 

Kazuo Tanaka, for all his glam-rock narcissism, didn’t have the best luck with the so-called fairer sex. He kept his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat—jingling his chains like a ghost from a fairy tale—and wondered, not for the first time, what in hell he thought he was doing.

“. . . Fancy’s one word for it,” he said.

The woman adjusted her pose, ready for the next shot. “Listen, Kaze—do you mind if I call you Kaze, actually?”

Kazuo shrugged. “Wish more people would, you want the honest-to-goodness. Look, I don’t know what I’m doin’ here. I don’t know what you’re doin’ here. Can we skip this part? I suck at small talk.” He waited a beat. “You got a name you like?”

The woman smiled. “The name would be Aurelia, darling.”

“All right, then. Aurelia.”

Kazuo’s hands came out of their impromptu holsters.

He tried his best to stop himself from clenching them into fists, but didn’t succeed.

Introduction

We've been here before.

The only thing I have to say about this time is . . . well, I hope that my habits are actually changing, and that they have changed enough that this time will be different. In any case, let's set out the groundwork.

This is The Three Shields, a project that had its beginnings a handful of months ago, when National Novel Writing Month (once known as The Office of Letters and Light) put on their main November event.

I'm treating this one a bit differently.

I've always done better writing work in the morning; I haven't habitually woken up early for two years now. But, that's changed. Mostly it's because of a new gym membership, and a few other little things. My hope is simple: that morning work will be easier work.

I suppose we'll find out together.

Camp NaNoWriMo starts up tomorrow.

Let's make it count this time.