[Just take it. See how it feels,] the creature said. I think I was trying its patience.
“Fine,” I said. “But if I chop off my own leg, I’m hopping after you.”
The creature stayed silent as I reached out my hand. As soon as my fingers made contact with the haft, all my nerves—and my magic—sang. It felt like the ax had been made for me. The wood felt perfect against my skin, but it’s also like I recognized the weapon, on some primeval level.
Holy shit, I marveled, as my hand closed around the ax’s handle. Power surged through me and the wood of the handle seemed to mold itself to my hand.
What is this thing? I marveled.
I drew my arm back, taking the ax from where it hung in the air before me. But instead of falling to the ground with a thunk as my arm lost to its weight, like I thought would happen, the ax seemed to weigh nothing at all.
[Now give it some power,] said the creature. [Make it yours.]
I concentrated, somehow knowing exactly what the creature meant for me to do. It was like the weapon itself was whispering to me. I shut my eyes, letting my shields absorb Phaedra’s attacks, as I opened myself to both my power and the labrys…
Voila, I thought, as I opened my eyes to discover that I held in front of me a weapon made of both pure energy and steel—something to rival Blondie’s own fearsome sword.
Phaedra’s attacks stopped, and she looked at me with horror.
I took a few admittedly awkward swipes with the ax. I remembered Ryu elegantly dueling with Jimmu, the naga prince, at the Alfar Compound.
I’m not quite that elegant, I thought, as I chopped away with my new toy. The good news was that Phaedra, at least, was looking even more vexed than I was.
“I’m full of surprises,” I informed the little Alfar, as I took a step toward her, brandishing my new weapon. “Which you should keep in mind, as I repeat myself: We don’t have to do this.”
Phaedra pulled hard on the earth, creating her own forest-green sword.
“Yes, we do,” she said, twirling her own weapon elegantly. I frowned.
Add ax-fighting lessons to the list, I thought wearily.
“Why keep going, Phaedra?” I asked, trying to stall her. While the labrys felt great in my hand, and my body was singing with power, I still didn’t want to have to fight the little Alfar. “The creature’s not going to kill for you,” I said. “What part of ‘it’s not a weapon’ are you not understanding?”
Phaedra shook her head. “It does not matter whether it will kill for us,” she said. “Merely waking it will destroy that which we most want destroyed: you, the barghest, your baobhan sith, and hopefully all the other traitors still squatting in that compound.”
“How are they traitors?” I asked. “It’s your master who killed the true king.”
“Orin was no king. He was a puppet. The weakness of such leaders is what has brought down my people.”
I pursed my lips. “Actually, no. Did you guys not get the part about magic and babies?”
Phaedra looked at me, confused. Our subsequent conversation must have been private, even if the creature had shared its memories of that day. Phaedra hadn’t the truth about magic and fertility.
“It’s your magic that does that. The no-babies thing? It has to do with how strong you are, with the mojos. How much you use it.”
“Again, you lie,” she spat out.
“Do I?” I asked. “Think about it. Nahuals, magically your weakest people, still manage to procreate. Alfars, magically your strongest, are almost entirely barren. Everyone else gets filled in somewhere on that spectrum.”
Phaedra shook her head, either in denial of my words or denying she’d even heard them. She beefed up her shields and took a step toward me, her sword a blur as she did some fancy ninja moves.
“Besides,” I said, wondering why on earth I had thought “take the weapon” was a good idea, “you don’t even know how to free the creature. It’s already awake, so that can’t be the answer.” I was trying to distract her while I thought to the being in question.
Um, a little help here, I thought. About the whole “ax-fighting” thing.
[I am here to help you,] it told me, and I felt a wave of reassurance—both my own and the creature’s—wash through me. Phaedra’s next words, however, were not so reassuring.