Spawn And Axe

Asher's dark cloak ruffled in faint gusts as he paced toward a familiar lot of land; land riddled with purple light. A scent of salt wafted as he whiffed at the rivulet of sweat that streamed down the tip of his nose.

He had walked for half an hour and it was for a good cause. However, he wished he had eaten at the bar or at least taken the doctor's cup of water. 

I'm so hungry, he thought, as he neared his destination. But I'm here. All I have to do is ask for a weapon. Should be simple enough. All the talk about spawns … everyone should be equipped for monstrosities like those … right? 

He had no chance of getting through Barry and his henchman with merely his fists. He needed something to fight with, especially now that his chances of getting help grew slimmer. 

He walked up to a wooden door. Wooden doors were, of course, not the norm. They were expensive but if not thick enough, they did not provide a lot of protection from spawns. Limber extraction also proved to be a perilous undertaking. 

Asher knocked a knuckle into the door. Once. Twice. Then, he paused amidst the third knock when the door clicked. The handle turned and the door swung open. 

Gunther stood at the door, his eyes dilated. "Asher! You're back!"

"Hey," Asher scratched at the back of his hood, "Gunther. How's it been?"

Gunther stepped aside. "Been alright. You should come in!"

"No thanks, I'm … I'm … not here to visit." Asher said. 

Gunther cocked his head, gaping. "Why'd you come then? Father's not home."

Asher pursed his lips. "Shoots."

"You just missed him," Gunther said. 

"Do … do you know when he'll be back?"

"Couldn't say," Gunther said, "Father doesn't tell me his business. If there's anything I can help you with in the meantime though—ask away."

"I, uhh, need a …weapon," Asher said.

Gunther grimaced. "A weapon? You've come here for that?"

"Yeah," Asher said. "I remember you mentioning … tools. Was wondering if I could borrow one."

Gunther had been taught to stay out of people's hair and not to be curious. He put a hand on his chin. "Hmm … we do have a lot of tools in our arsenal." He smiled, stroking an imaginary beard. 

Asher smiled. "You think your father would mind if I happened to borrow one?"

Gunther frowned. "Definitely. However, I'll take the blame for it. I'm sure it's for something meaningful," he looked at Asher, "sitting in a house doesn't strike as meaningful to me."

Asher smiled. " I agree…"

"But where's Zya," Gunther asked. "I've seen her sword. It's amazing."

"She's …" Asher trailed off. I want to say she's busy but, he thought,  I can't lie to the kid. Look at that face. He looked into the awe-brimmed eyes of Gunther.  I just can't. "She's in a little bit of trouble, Gunther."."

Gunther frowned. "Father says she's always in some trouble."

Who is this woman anyway? Asher shook his head. "This is a bigger kind of trouble, unfortunately. I need a weapon."

"Well, come in," Gunther said. "They're in the house. We moved them from under the shed because people steal a lot here."

Asher walked into the house. He looked around as Gunther shut the door behind him.

The interior walls were painted. There were depictions of children playing, Gods towering over worlds, a depiction of a sea.  Red, blue, green, orange, brown, white. The palette used was not shy of the divine, forbidden colors. 

There was a wooden table with three wooden chairs set close to it, and for a rather pristine house, blatant dust specks spanned across the seat of one such chair. 

Gunther looked at Asher as he marveled at the walls. "Ohh … that? Don't mind those. Father …" he smiled, "paints. Just a little."

"A little?"

There was a fresh, meaty stench as Asher moved through the house, following Gunther who right then had said, "If you smell something … it's the meat I was gutting." After that remark, he had started up a flight of concrete stairs. 

Asher followed him, one step after the other up the spiraling staircase until he stood on the second floor. It was a room of two beds, tools scattered across the patterned carpet on the floor: fork, hoe, shovel, leashes. 

"I know it's a clutter," Gunther put his hand on his waist as he looked down at the tools, "but we haven't figured out where we'd put them. Father also wanted to be … weaponized … in case someone breaks in."

Asher knotted his brows. Why would someone break in? "Breaking in, is it … normal here?"

"Well," Gunther said, "there's lots of trespassing … everyone's so close — that's why. But our trespassing is … different," he frowned. "Some bad guys trouble my father at night."

Asher looked at him. "Do you know what they want?" 

"Well …" Gunther said. "Father's in some odd business. I don't think it's good business … but that's not my business … I … I shouldn't have said anything. It was … silly."

"It's okay," Asher said, "I asked." Looks like daddy's strict about poking noses. 

Gunther looked at the tools. "Pick your weapon …" 

"Well," Asher said, a hand on his chin, "I think anything that's sharp would be excellent."

Gunther turned to Asher, tilting his head. "You're not planning to kill someone, are you?" He knotted his brows. 

Asher held his arms up and his palms forward. "No," he shook his head, "I wouldn't. Just a little defending—that's all."

"Hmm," Gunther went down to his knees, clutching his hand to an axe, "if it's to hurt, this is your best bet," he held it in his hands as he stood. "I know you wouldn't tell a child your actual intentions. Why, as long as it's good-natured, I'm glad to kill."

Asher grinned, taking the axe. "Thanks but not to kill, my friend, not to kill. Killing's … bad."

Gunther clasped his hands behind his back. "If you can, please bring it back … it's the one thing I could call an actual weapon.."

Asher frowned, looking at Gunther's face. "That's not an issue … I'll bring it back."

"My friend, Lucas," Gunther said, "he gets to use his father's sword. Can't even lift the thing. He's at least three years younger than I am! Could you believe that?"

"That sounds impressive," Asher said. 

"No," Gunther said, "not cool. If father catches me using his farm tools for training … I'm getting the belt.

Asher's smile fell. I have to get going. He looked down at the stone axe. I have a weapon—I know where they're keeping them. I shouldn't waste anymore time. 

"Something wrong with the axe?" 

Asher looked at Gunther. "No, it's … perfect." He looked down at the axe again. "But this is where I take my leave, okay?"

Gunther frowned. "Okay … but I'm seeing you tomorrow. If father's got wood to lumber, he's going to need that axe."

Asher smiled. "I'll bring it back. And—by the—way, now that I've seen your father's paintings, I think it's even more okay to have one of your own. Tell him training's one."

"What is going on here?" George stormed into the room. "Is it what I think it is … my word …" he paused, "it's you …" he looked Asher up and down, "Zya's friend."

Asher waved. "Hey …"

Gunther quailed. 

"What are you doing here?" He looked down at Gunther, "In my house?" He looked at Asher after Gunther averted his eyes. "Is Zya here too?"

"Gunther was just showing me some of your tools," Asher said, setting the axe on the ground.

"Why, by the gods, would he do …" George trailed off. "I overhead some of your conversation up the flight—talk about … training." He scowled at Gunther. "It's you again, isn't it? You pestered the poor people into—"

"No," Asher said, "it wasn't his idea. I … I came alone," he said, frowning. "Zya's in a lot of trouble … it looks like she's a little important to you and I could really use your help."

George sucked his teeth. "What trouble now? I've had it with Zya. Doesn't she know she's getting fed for a simple task! Eat my food and sleep with my animals and never help with anything."

Asher narrowed his eyes. "Well, she won't be able to do that … that simple task—whatever it is, if she's dead." He glanced at Gunther. "I just … need a weapon."

"I've got as many weapons as there are visible stars here, boy," George said. 

"I was thinking one of your tools might be sufficient," Asher said. 

"I don't know of the kind of experience you've got under your belt but," George said, "if she's in trouble and can't rid herself of it—it's big trouble. Not the kind that a fork or hoe is going to fix."

Asher frowned, clenching his jaw. "It's … worth the shot."

"Get the rest o' Conquerors involved," George said, "though I really doubt they'd  care for the cold bugger."

"They don't," Asher said. "That's besides the point—I need to borrow an axe at least. I'll bring it back. If I'm dead, I won't and that's your cue to go pay Barry a visit and ask for it yourself."

George scoffed. "Barry? That's the trouble? He could try and buy her back all he wants—but she's bad for business. Nobody wants to have a go with someone who wields Void power—in both ways. 

"Zya's got no business going up there. All the ruckus ain't worth it. Maybe she stole from the man. He's got tough people workin' up there but who, again, wants to have a go at someone who wields—"

"He locked her up," Asher said, "in a bunker. She'll starve to death or worse—who knows what's down there!"

"Give a rest son, get some help—"

"I went to the Conquerors—there is no help," Asher took up the axe again, "which is why I need to do something."

Gunther shook his head, looking down at Gunther. "See, Gun, this is why you can't be a Conqueror—for as long as my blood runs through your veins. They're all suicidal … they-they wield the very thing that's destroying us and because of that, they do whatever they want. They're dictators!"

Asher nodded off with the axe in his hand. 

"Hey—"

"I'll bring it back," Asher said, starting down the stairs.

"That's not borrowing—that's theft!" 

George deflated as Asher disappeared down the stairs. To him, Asher's efforts were fruitless. He stood no chance against Barry's henchmen. George deemed this moment the very last time he would see his axe.