A Touch of Magic
6 The Swordmaster and The Iron Gate
13 September 1974, nearly noon, Minneapolis
WAYNE AWOKE SLOWLY, careful not to disturb his slumbering lover. He needn’t have worried. Judith was silently weeping against his chest. She had been out prowling the neighborhood until nearly five o’clock after checking to see that Serepte got home from her impromptu date. Lissa reassured her that everything was fine, but Judith could not shake the cold chill that told her they were exposed and Serepte was at risk.
Exhausted, she had fallen asleep on Wayne, letting her tears of frustration fall on his bare chest.
“Hey, baby,” he whispered as he stroked her short blonde hair. “Come tell me what has you upset. You crept into bed just before sunrise.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she sniffed.
“No such thing. You know I didn’t settle down until she was home safe. If Lissa hadn’t called from the restaurant, I’d have been out prowling around, too.”
“We’re quite the pair of surrogate parents, aren’t we?” Judith asked, her soft English accent spreading across him like a warm blanket.
Judith shook the tears from her eyes and crawled on top of her long-time boyfriend, planting kisses all over his face before finally landing on his lips. As their mouths opened and tongues sought the passion of each other, their naked bodies seemed to be of one mind. Neither ever wore bedclothes, nor did most of the women in the duplex. They were all intimately familiar and Judith could have chosen any of the other five to join in bed for comfort. But five years ago, as a foreign student at a small Indiana college, she had met and accidentally fallen in love with this unpredictable theater tech.
Their relationship had always been volatile, a strange mixture of passion and ritual, but when they came together like this, it was a crashing of the surf on the shore. One could not exist without the other. He soon found her entrance with his prick and slid easily home. The increasing heartrates of the two lovers presaged a violent climax.
“Protect us, Unbound,” Judith whispered. Wayne instantly called from within himself a warded circle that closed in a dome of sparkling light around them. Judith began the rising keen of her orgasm while he felt the earthshaking tremors of his own. The noise they made would have been enough to wake the entire house had he not enclosed them in this protective dome. It was one of his best skills as a practitioner of the craft. Other than that—and the making of tools—nearly all the ritual and power of the small circle lay in the hands of his four priestesses, guarding and protecting their charge.
With their climax, stars and sparkles seemed to bounce and reflect from the dome around them and Wayne watched the patterns they made, trying as he caught his breath to catch their significance.
He did not release the wards as Judith struggled to regain her breath and composure, his pulsing cock still buried deeply in her grasping pussy. She kissed him passionately again and pulled back far enough that their eyes could meet without crossing. Tears were still wet on her cheeks.
“What is it, Swordmaster?” he whispered. “What has my warrior so upset?”
“Something about last night,” she said through her shaky breath. “Something in her playing breached the veil and the demon escaped.”
“What? The one supposedly sealed up with her father?” Wayne asked in disbelief. Judith nodded.
“I think… I’m afraid… Unbound, I may have to kill my father.”
Judith carried her anger and her fear with her outside town where a small group met in a field near Shakopee. The festival had ended the previous weekend, and a few cast members were out to ‘walk the grounds’ and make sure everything was buttoned up for the winter. More importantly, though, it was an opportunity for some of the more devoted role players to test their mettle against each other in less structured combat than the carefully staged fights of the festival.
For Judith, it was time to hone and sharpen skills that might be needed in actual combat soon.
Her second bid at the Olympic title in fencing had died early. Renewed competition among younger fencers had pushed her out of the running. By that time, though, the rigid rules of Olympic fencing had already begun to grate on her nerves. She trained to fight as if she were a knight of the middle ages that this festival celebrated.
Of course, her real blade, the one Wayne had given to her for Christmas nearly six years ago, was peace-tied in its scabbard. Unknown to the other actors, however, a wrist sheath concealed beneath her long sleeves could release a razor-sharp blade she could use to sever the peace-ties in seconds. But in this battle, she would be using a practice sword like the others. She smiled to think that her own Props Master had supplied the order for most of the decorative blades used at the festival.
Judith wore her favorite costume, that of the infamous Highwayman of Noyes’s poem, though she had no intent of being shot down on the highway by the king’s men. In this elaborate game of capture the flag, opposing armies could not be simply ‘tagged out’ but had to be defeated in combat. And no one paid attention to the fop with a long rapier as they held their broadswords and staves.
At her right hip hung a stage dagger, officially checked by the Sergeant at Arms and approved for use in the competition. The teams were selected and she was relegated a low post, intended for sacrifice early in the game. Most of the others wore some form of armor and thought little about her cape and rakish hat.
The teams were gathered at their opposing field positions where their flags were raised. The objective was to lower the opponent’s flag, preferably with as few injuries to one’s own side as possible. A trumpet sounded—in a reenactment like this, one could not simply blow a whistle—and the armies moved toward each other, ten to a side.
“Highwayman, flank left with the Musketeers. The rest, engage at the head and drive them toward the light swords,” commanded the actor who had taken charge of their team. It was obvious that he knew little of strategy. This was simply an exercise to play swordsman. The ‘musketeers’ on Judith’s right rolled their eyes and left her standing as they collapsed toward the center of the fray with swords swinging.
Judith’s first opposition was a man with a stave who swung in wild arcs. It was a stage prop that didn’t weigh enough to knock her out, but getting hit by it would still hurt and put her out of the competition. She slipped beneath his second wild swing and placed her dagger beneath his ribs. “Die!” she said. He dropped his staff.
“Dammit. This was supposed to be easy,” her opponent complained. He sat where he was, a dead body to be avoided by other combatants, and watched in disgust as Judith moved toward the next opponent. And so it went. Both sides had ‘casualties’ and no one really noticed when Judith lowered the flag. She had left a string of ‘bodies’ where only three other members of her team still stood with two other enemy fighters. When the trumpet blew, the five stopped swinging to look up.
“Where did she come from?” one of the guys asked. There was a string of ‘bodies’ sitting on the grass, including their last line defender.
“She’s a sneaky one. Probably followed behind someone better and stabbed him in the back at the last minute,” her supposed captain sneered.
“Now I’m going to take the other flag, ” Judith said. “The five of you can choose two more to resurrect and help you defend. That should even the odds.” There were a lot of catcalls and hollering to be chosen as the five remaining huddled and chose two others to join them.
“Really?” the Sergeant at Arms asked as he and the trumpeter came to the middle of the field. “She must be getting tired if she’s only allowing you seven to oppose her. Last time I saw her do this it was ten to one.”
“Wait! She’s done this before?” the captain said.
“She’s slumming to play with you guys,” the Sergeant laughed. The team stood about fifty feet down the field from Judith who had the high ground on the platform with the flagpole. “On the trumpet blast!” he yelled, and he and the trumpeter stepped back off the playing field. The trumpet played its charge and the battle was on.
Judith’s disadvantage this time was that they all knew she was the one and only enemy. There had been many distractions in the initial foray and she’d taken most of her opponents by surprise, except the one near the flag who had seen her coming as she cut a swath through his team. Seeing her coming hadn’t done him any good as he was way outmatched. Unfortunately, seven focused on her could simply overwhelm her by all rushing in together. Of course, none of them wanted to be the one or two sacrificed to bring her down, so their charge lacked the berserker mentality that would have been needed. She waited for them on the platform, using its height to rain down blows as they approached.
Her break came when the man on her left jumped up onto the platform. This was the opening she wanted, and she made short work of parrying his broadsword strokes. As light as the weapon was, he still had trouble controlling its arc and descent. With her rapier under his chin, she shouted out, “Die!” and in a surprise to the others climbing onto the platform, she pushed the defeated player with her foot and he stumbled back into his mates, knocking two over and bringing confusion to the others. Judith leapt off the stage, taking only enough time to ‘kill’ the flanking soldier as she raced by him, headed for the flag at the other end. The remaining five turned to run after her, and one stumbled onto her sword as she surprised them by reversing and passing through their ranks back to the stage. And then there were four.
A haze settled over Judith, coloring her vision. It was not unusual for this to happen and had caused her disqualification at the final Olympic trial. She had warned Mercutio, Tybalt, and Romeo about it in the last Shakespearean show she’d choreographed at Indianapolis City College. If they allowed themselves to get too heated in the stage fight, someone could get seriously hurt. It had almost happened when Tybalt made his final stage thrust under Romeo’s arm at Mercutio and drove his fist into the other actor’s side.
Mercutio had screamed and Judith could see the bloodlust descend over him. But in the play, this was a killing blow and Mercutio was supposed to collapse into Romeo’s arms as Tybalt ran away. Romeo had struggled to get Mercutio down, leaving the other actor time to run offstage. Jim had loved it, even though it took Mercutio several tries to get his line out.
No, ’tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve.
Mercutio had actually wept when his servant led him offstage and Jim applauded.
But here in the game field, she’d allowed it to descend again and reacted in a flurry that took her four opponents so much by surprise that they fell beneath her repeated cries of “Die! Die!” The trumpet blew as the last opponent fell and Judith walked to the other end of the playing field to claim the flag. All the others stood to salute her.
Claiming the flag was not to be. Not yet.
“Kind of hard on them, weren’t you, Swordmaster?” the apparition dressed in black laughed haughtily. She stood on the stage between Judith and the flag.
“Lil,” Judith responded, catching her breath. “What can I say? They’re only men.” The woman laughed. The other players had begun to draw nearer.
“Who’s this?” her erstwhile captain asked. “Why weren’t you on the field to even our odds if it takes a woman?”
“Gentlemen, be nice,” the Sergeant at Arms said. He’d been around for quite a while and knew both women well. He’d even sparred with them. He wasn’t about to come between them or tolerate anyone else shouting insults. “There are various competitions held around the world that do not make, shall we say, national news. The sports are not covered by network television and the athletes are anonymous. Of course, in the case of The Swordmaster who so handily defeated two armies today, most of you probably weren’t paying attention to her two Olympic bids in fencing. However, epee and sabre are not Olympic sports for women, so Lil Szabo and Judith Harmon met for an epic battle in the first Women’s European Martial Arts Competition in Belgium two years ago. Gentlemen, you are looking at the two greatest swordswomen in the world. The Swordmaster and The Iron Gate.”
“Who won?” asked one of the guys, their own swordplay forgotten now.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Lil responded. She fingered a thin scar beneath her left eye. “How about it Swordmaster? Want to release your peace-ties and see who is really the best?”
“Somebody go get some shovels and start digging a hole,” the Sergeant said. “Make it deep. We’ll have to bury one of them. At least.”
Both women laughed and Lil sprang off the stage to embrace Judith as they danced around.
“You made it! You made it!” Judith gasped as the taller woman swung her around. “I’m so sorry… about this.” Judith raised a finger and touched the scar.
“I told you I would. And this was the ticket. It got me to the emergency room where I told the Belgian that I wanted to defect. He got me to Rotterdam. They gave me asylum and then decided no one was really after a dangerous swordswoman, so they turned me over to the Yankees. Those guys have such a hardon for the communists that they welcomed me with wide open arms to match my wide-open legs. The result was that I got passage to America, a new name, passport, and green card. I’m so happy to see you, Judith.”
“And I you, sister.”
13 September 1974, early evening Minneapolis
Serepte had, indeed had classes on Friday and rode the bus accompanied by Meaghan in time for her ten o’clock class. She accepted the fact that she needed at least one of her guardians with her most of the time. And they were as unobtrusive as possible, she supposed. Serepte’s classes were mostly in Fergusson Hall on the West Bank. Wayne’s grad school classes were next door in Rarig Center, the theater building, and Lissa was taking a couple of acting courses, though she wasn’t looking for a degree. Elizabeth worked across the mall in Wilson Library. Meaghan worked as an administrative assistant in the Social Sciences Building. They were all near, but not overbearing. They simply watched out for her.
Judith had declared openly that she had enough of college life when she got out of Indianapolis City College, even though Serepte’s mother, Rebecca, had encouraged her to continue her education. Judith’s focus was on her crafts, both the circle of witches and medieval armory. She had joined organizations like the Society for Creative Anachronism and the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. She had also found a good training center in St. Paul where she taught. The household was by no means rich, but they survived by pooling their resources. Rebecca, of course, contributed to Serepte’s portion of the expenses, even though she was now eighteen and technically independent of her influential mother.
Still, Serepte depended on Judith more than the others, it seemed. There was a three-point bond between Rebecca, Judith, and Wayne that Serepte did not fully understand, but accepted as the key to her freedom. All three wanted her to grow in her talents, both musical and occult, but Judith was more challenging. Like a best friend rather than the big brother that Wayne presented or the mother that Rebecca was.
Serepte spent her day immersed in her flute lessons and music theory. Early in the afternoon, she rehearsed with her trio and finally prepared to leave for home. She glanced at her watch and put away her instrument to join her friends for the trip home. Lissa and Wayne joined her in the tunnel from Rarig as she stepped into the hall. They continued around to the Social Sciences Building to collect Meaghan and then went across the skywalk into the library to pick up Elizabeth. They headed to Riverside to pick up their bus.
“We’re just like a big happy family,” Serepte said as she put her hand through Wayne’s arm. The other three women laughed at her.
“We’ve tried to tell you that for five years,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, Momma,” the girl laughed. “But I’m a rebellious teen. What can you expect?”
“That you do the best you can, sweetie,” Wayne said softly. “That’s all we’ve ever expected.”
“Thank you, Wayne. Where’s Judith?”
“She had a Ren Faire meeting this afternoon.”
“Who was she going to fight?”
“All of them.”
They all laughed as they boarded the bus on Riverside and fell into seats. Serepte kept hold of Wayne’s arm and he dragged her into a seat with him. She laid the flute on her lap and her head on his shoulder.
“Wayne,” she said just loudly enough so that only he could hear her, “when did you first know you were in love with Judith?”
“The first day I met her,” he said dreamily. Then he straightened suddenly. “I mean it took a long time. We worked together on shows. We didn’t do anything for, like, months. I mean, it isn’t like we were both head over heels the moment we met.”
“Wayne?”
“You’re thinking of the guy you met last night. Never should have suggested you come to the show. But you looked so stressed out.”
“It was really nice, Wayne. I’m thinking I should go to the show tonight.”
“I think you might distract him. Better wait till your date tomorrow when we’re all… you know… ready,” Wayne said. Serepte sighed. “Sweetie, I think he’s a good guy. I like him. But, after the other things that happened last night, things are pretty tense right now. Give us a chance, sweetie.”
“I will, Wayne. I know I was a little impetuous last night. I needed to get the music out. You understand?” Wayne nodded to her. “I’m thankful Judith was there. But he was just like… another savior.”
“He pulled up in a Yellow Cab, not a white charger,” Wayne chuckled. “At least you took him to where Lissa could let us know you were okay.”
“I’ll wait until tomorrow, but I really really like him. You know?”
“I know, sweetie. I know.”
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