The Millennial Sword

The Millennial Sword

by Shannon Phillips

Dedicated to the city of San Francisco,

and all those who have found haven here.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Shannon Phillips

joshannonphillips.com

CHAPTER ONE

Viv woke to a demonic yowl, a protracted wailing shriek of outrage that rose and fell across inhuman registers of sound. Adrenaline shocked her body and she jerked upright, fumbling for the lamp that ought to be at her bedside and wasn’t. Animal panic filled her sleep-dazed brain: she didn’t know where she was, or what was beside her in the darkness.

Then her cat yowled again, and with the identification of that sound Viv’s conscious mind kicked in. She wasn’t at home, she was in a hotel room on the outskirts of San Francisco with her cat—it was Silk making that noise, and her caterwauling threatened to wake everyone on the same floor. The light fixture in the hotel was on the opposite side of the bed. Viv leaned into the darkness, found a switch and flipped it.

Silk was by the window, tail stiffened and pale fur all bristling. In the first flash of light Viv saw a misshapen face with luminous orange eyes pressed against the other side of the glass. A nightmare memory flashed into stark reality: yes, she had been dreaming of running through overgrown orchards, chasing or being chased by goblin creatures that had those lantern eyes. Viv shrieked, flinching back—and the face was gone. Only the branches of a tree tossed outside the window. And beyond it, glimpses of orange streetlamps from the parking lot.

Viv’s heart was pounding, her body still taut with terror. But it was nothing. She slipped out of bed and padded to the window, collecting Silk into her arms. The cat twisted up to her shoulder and maneuvered around the back of Viv’s head until she was standing across both shoulders like a living stole. She hissed in Viv’s ear, at the window.

No, it’s just the tree, and the streetlamps, Viv said—and having said it, believed it. Silk was all stressed out and so was she: they’d had a long plane trip to get here, and hadn’t made it to the hotel until almost midnight. Silk had hated the trip, hated her carrier, hated the crowds at the airport and the noise of the jet engines: after such a stressful journey, it was no wonder the cat was jumping at shadows and Viv was sleeping badly. She stood at the window, staring out at the quiet parking lot, until her breathing steadied and her pulse calmed. Good girl, it’s all right, it’s all right, sweetie, she murmured as she walked carefully back to the bed.

The plump cream-colored cat consented to jump back down on the bedclothes, only to turn and fix her blue eyes on Viv as she let out another wail: mrAAOOOOWWww. Like many Siamese, Silk had a voice that was far from meek.

Oh, I’m sorry, kitty, Viv said, petting her gently. You’re scared, I get it. I’m sorry the plane trip was so long, I’m sorry it was so loud, I’m sorry there were so many people. We won’t ever do it again.

They’d come that morning from Akron; the airplane flight was the longest Viv had ever taken. She was moving to California, seeking her fortune, just as many young people had done in centuries before—although, Viv reflected as she stroked her cat soothingly, the pioneers did it without coffee service, and with more fear of dysentery. And she wasn’t entirely sure how much of a fortune her entry-level job in PR was going to offer. But it was a start. She’d been living with her parents, waiting tables and sending out resumes for almost a year after graduation, before finally landing a job that wouldn’t require her to empty the grease traps when her shift was done. She told them she could start in a week. The cat, Viv’s suitcase, and her overstuffed backpack were now everything in the world that she owned.

Silk regarded Viv through disdainful, half-lidded eyes: but she’d stopped her cries. The clock on the nightstand read 1:47 AM. Viv gave Silk a final pat and padded to the bathroom to splash water on her face.

From the mirror her reflection blinked back at her, a snub-nosed, freckle-faced girl with red hair tucked behind her ears and circles beneath her tired gray eyes. What you need, Viv told herself sternly, is a good night’s sleep. She gave herself a brave little smile, switched off the lights and climbed back into bed.

Silk came up onto the pillow beside her. Normally Viv, who did not like to sleep on pillows covered with cat hair, would have pushed her away; but this night she allowed it, and eventually Silk settled, tucking her paws beneath her and rather deliberately draping her tail across Viv’s neck. They both slept, but if Viv dreamed she did not remember it in the morning. And the cat, as always, kept her dreams to herself.

Hotel regulations wouldn’t allow Silk to remain in the room unsupervised, so in the morning Viv was forced to cajole, bribe, and finally by main force shove the cat back into her carrier—an operation that Silk energetically protested throughout, and that ended with both parties glaring reproachfully at each other: the cat as she hunkered behind the wire mesh door of the carrier, and Viv as she cradled her freshly-scratched arm. Nor was Silk silent during the shuttle ride and subsequent train journey into the city.

Viv stared out the window of the train, remembering the nightmare face her rattled mind had conjured up out of streetlamps and wind. In the light of day, it should have been easy to put the phantom aside, but the memory stubbornly refused to fade. She rubbed her hands briskly over her forearms, shaking off goosebumps, and forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand.

When she emerged, cat in tow, from the concrete depths of San Francisco’s 24th and Mission street station, Viv found herself in a small plaza ringed by brightly painted murals, with palm trees rising overhead, and in the distance a high hill set with multicolored houses. The palm trees were brown and drooping, but Viv marveled at them anyway, wishing her mind could snap a picture of the scene her eyes framed. It was a brilliantly sunny day. A nearby sidewalk was busy with people, and the plaza itself held a group of young people, several scattered loners, and a man in a suit shouting at passersby to accept the Lord. Nobody paid him much attention.

Viv fished out her guidebook and flipped back to the maps, where she’d marked the location of a local kennel. She didn’t know how long it might take to find a place to live, and she couldn’t bring Silk apartment-hunting with her. She hoped she’d only have to board Silk for a day or two.

The kennel turned out to be an unprepossessing one-story building, but inside it was clean, with pictures of puppies and kittens hanging on the wall of the front room. Viv felt very much like Judas as she made her farewells and surrendered her cat. Silk gave one short, miserable meow as Viv backed away, and she was left blinking back tears as she re-emerged into the sunlit street.

Her plan was to spend one day wandering the streets, following up on some listings she’d researched online, and looking for buildings with vacancies advertised. If her footwork yielded no leads, she would spend the evening trawling through Craigslist postings for roommates wanted. She knew she’d prefer her own apartment; she’d had enough of communal living from her time in the dorms, and from being forced to move back in with her parents after graduation. But although her new salary had seemed large when she was in Akron, she didn’t think she could pay more than $800 or $900 a month for a small apartment. And there didn’t seem to be much in the city going for that price.

She had a few leads, though, and she was determined to check them out. Another brief subway ride brought her to Union Square, where a stone girl holding a laurel wreath danced atop a tall pillar. Scattered on the grass around the monument, street performers and beggars vied for Viv’s attention. A man covered in silver paint, holding still as a statue, made her shriek when he suddenly lunged in her direction, only to spin off into a short dance routine. Laughing, she gave him the change in her pocket.

The square was ringed with imposing stone facades of hotels and fancy department stores. The buildings were dignified and ornate, and surely once had housed something more important than a Neiman Marcus or a Saks. The city blocks were much shorter here in the downtown center; Viv could see apartment buildings lining the westward streets beyond the square, and it was toward these that she turned her feet. A bell jangled as a cable car rumbled past her, and when a small boy hanging off its open side waved at her, she waved back.

The buildings on the side streets proved to be lovely as well, mostly Victorian-type architecture with bay windows and fancy trim. But the streets themselves were grimy, with a startling number of homeless people curled in doorways or alleys. Viv realized she was skirting the edge of the neighborhood called the Tenderloin, which her guidebook told her to avoid. She pressed on for a couple of blocks, because one of her listings had been on Ellis Street. On the way, she stopped to admire one apartment building with a two-tone lavender paint job and gilt curlicues adorning its front. It had a FOR RENT sign hanging above the grated front door, with a phone number inked onto the sign. As Viv dug in her pockets for a pen, a man walked up to the building and, with no apparent sense of concern, began urinating on its front. Viv turned away in distaste—but not before she had jotted down the number in the margins of her book.

Viv kept walking until the sun was high overhead, veering off whenever she saw a vacancy sign, but always returning to the largest streets. She skirted a couple of extremely imposing hills and ended up in a little valley of shops and restaurants. Many of the cafés had tables set out on the sidewalk. Although it was a weekday afternoon they all seemed well-populated, mostly with young people laughing and chatting over small plates and glasses of wine. There were no children, but the café-goers had all kinds of dogs, from big complacent shepherds stretched flat on the sidewalk to little terriers with scruffy whiskers that yipped at Viv as she passed.

In the distance she could see a green hill, untouched by roads or houses, and she kept walking towards it. She’d walked over a mile, and collected four more phone numbers, when, cresting a small rise, she saw that the distant hill was in fact separated from the city by a thin strip of water glittering under the bright blue sky. Grinning at the sight of the Bay, Viv looked immediately for the famous Golden Gate bridge, but she couldn’t see it; from her vantage point only the white triangles of sailboats crossed the water.

Polk Street ended at a squat white building that proclaimed itself to be the San Francisco Maritime Museum. Beyond it was a small beach, flanked by two long piers, and a green tree-shaded park off to one side. A few gulls floated on the water, and some sort of three-masted sailing ship, webbed with rigging, was docked at the end of one of the piers. In the park a couple of young men were sparring with long, padded, duct-tape-wrapped poles.

Viv slipped off her shoes and walked down to the shoreline, letting the waves swirl up over her toes and around her ankles. The water was bitterly cold and she quickly scuttled back; but now she could tell her parents that she’d been in the Pacific Ocean.

Her parents! She hadn’t called to tell them she landed safely! Viv retreated to the grass and found a seat, taking a moment to wipe sand off her feet before putting her sneakers back on. She was already punching in numbers on her cellphone when a shadow fell over her.

There you are, a woman said: Viv looked up, startled, to see a middle-aged lady in loose batiked layers, her gray hair pulled back with a bright headscarf, its long fringes hanging over her shoulder. She had large dangling earrings, and in most respects looked the part of the hippie caricature that had been lurking in the back of Viv’s mind ever since she learned that she was moving to San Francisco. Except: this woman didn’t stink of patchouli, and her smile was knowing and warm. I’ve been expecting you, she said.

I—I’m sorry? Viv stammered.

It’s your turn now, the hippie lady said: the sword has called you and you have come. Here. It is yours. She held out—and Viv reflexively reached to accept—a long object swathed in another brightly patterned scarf. It was very heavy; Viv had to catch it in both hands to avoid dropping it, and as she did the scarf fell away to reveal the metal blade of an honest-to-goodness sword. There was some kind of pattern to the metal, intricately random, like the beading of water on an oil-slicked surface.

I’m sorry, Viv said again, in her confusion falling back on native Midwestern politeness: I don’t know what you mean, and I’m sure this isn’t mine. I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else? She held the sword out, but the older woman only smiled again, and made no move to take it back.

It seems strange to you now, she answered, but Excalibur will teach you everything you need to know. Be brave, be secret, and be wise. The sword is precious, but the scabbard is more precious. And as if their conversation had reached a natural end, she nodded a goodbye and began to walk away.

Excali—wait, said Viv, clambering to her feet and trotting to catch up, is this, are you playing some kind of a game? Because I’m actually not part of it, I’m just here by accident, maybe you were looking for them? She jerked her head at the guys sparring.

I was looking for you, said the woman, not breaking stride. You’re the new Lady of the Lake. Good luck, and quit following me. I’m retired.

Baffled, Viv stopped; the older woman didn’t look back. Viv took another look at the sword and became more certain that she had stumbled into someone’s game, or possibly an improv theater routine. She hefted the blade up, letting it rest against her shoulder, and headed towards the stick-fighters. They stopped as she drew close.

Hi, she smiled. Which one of you is Arthur? I’ve got your sword.

They smiled back, a little uncertainly. One of them was tall and stout, the other skinny with a bushy black beard. They were young men, young enough to be boys in Viv’s mind. I’m Rob, said the stocky one. He’s Noah.

Hi, said Noah.

Hi, Viv repeated. This lady just gave me this sword and I thought maybe you would know what it’s all about?

Rob looked at the sword appraisingly. That’s a nice sword.

She said it was Excalibur.

Maybe it is, Noah spoke up.

Uh huh, Viv said, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice. But it’s—it’s not mine. I don’t want to just take somebody’s...sword.

Well, you didn’t, said Rob reasonably. She gave it to you, right?

Viv sighed. You don’t know her? She looked back over at the beach, but the odd woman was gone.

Sorry, no, answered Rob. It’s just us here.

Well, Viv said helplessly. I’m—sorry to bother you? It’s just. Just really weird.

Rob shrugged. Kind of. Maybe she’s practicing for Burning Man or something.

Maybe it really is Excalibur, Noah said again. You should take care of it.

Yeah, okay. Thanks. She backed away, a little hesitantly, but the boys only resumed their sparring, and nobody else came up to offer an explanation, not even when she’d reached the edge of the park and rounded the corner of the museum. Finally, at a loss, she simply tucked the crazy lady’s gift beneath her arm and started the long trek back downtown.

CHAPTER TWO

The long slanting light of afternoon found Viv in a spacious, sunny café, where she bought a spinach-filled pastry from the counter, and tucked herself in a booth near an old pay phone. She didn’t need it, of course, but its presence made her feel better about using her cellphone indoors—everyone else seemed to do it, but she didn’t want to be rude.

She held the sword, swathed in its scarf, between her knees as she dialed. It had occurred to her to worry about the legality of carrying a real sword around the city (did the scarf make it a concealed weapon?) but nobody had given her much of a second glance as she passed, and the weight of it was beginning to feel natural in her arms.

Each of the numbers she’d collected on her walk was answered by a machine, listing prices, requirements, and open house times for the available apartments. Of the six leads she’d gathered, four explicitly forbade pets. One of the others proved to be a two-bedroom apartment leasing for more than two thousand dollars a month, but the same recording also listed other openings managed by the same realtor, and there were a couple of studios asking $1500 and $1450 a month, respectively. Viv wrote down the address and open house times for the $1450 studio, inwardly recalculating how much such an exorbitant rent would leave from her paycheck for ramen and cat food. The last spot—the building in the Tenderloin that she now thought of as the pee place—included a studio leasing for $1375, with the next showing in five days, a Wednesday evening. Her first day of work would be Monday. She felt, unhappily, the certainty that she’d been foolish to leave only one weekend for apartment hunting. But that’s all she would have needed in Ohio.

The last number she dialed was for home—no, she inwardly correctly herself, for her parents’ home. The sound of her mom’s Hello? brought a sudden lump to her throat.

Hi Mom! Viv said brightly, forcing cheer into her voice. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but it’s been kind of a whirlwind.

How are you? How was the flight? Her mom’s voice sounded distant across the line, crossed with a touch of static.

It was fine—we landed safe, no problems with the hotel. I got Silk to the kennel and I spent the day apartment-hunting. I’ve got some good leads already.

That’s good, that’s good. Are the people being nice to you there?

Some of them seem strange, Viv said. I’m still getting my bearings, I guess.

We love you, honey, her mom said. Your dad wants to talk to you.

A second later: How’s my Oberlin grad?

Viv’s parents had been so proud when Oberlin accepted her. They’d insisted that she go, even though the scholarship the school offered wasn’t enough to pay her way. Viv had taken on a lot of student loan debt, but her parents had sacrificed as much as they could, even making early withdrawals from their own retirement plans to cover the tuition costs. They told her a hundred times that a name like Oberlin would open doors for her. In the year after graduation, when she was scrounging for tips and deferring payments on her loans, Viv had wondered bitterly if they’d been wrong. But now a door had opened, and it was up to her not to botch the opportunity she’d been given.

I’m doing great, Dad, she said.

She kept the conversation short and sweet, putting the best possible spin on the prospects before her. She told her parents about the silver guy in Union Square, but not, for some reason, about the hippie lady and her sword.

Be brave, be secret, and be wise.

No, it wasn’t because of the strange woman’s ravings that she didn’t want to talk about the sword: it was because she didn’t want to her parents to worry about her, and that whole episode was just a little too weird to make a funny story. She told them instead that San Francisco was beautiful, and that she’d seen the ocean. She also told them some of the rental prices she’d seen quoted, and her father actually gasped, which made Viv feel obscurely better.

After they said their goodbyes, the lump was threatening to come back in Viv’s throat, so she headed back onto the streets with the idea of maybe being able to visit her cat before the kennel locked up for the night. But Silk would not understand why she was being left alone in what surely must seem a nightmarish gulag, and Viv would not be able to explain, so she dragged her feet as she made her way back toward the kennel. Anything, she prayed silently, I’ll take anything, but I need it now, please, pretty city, I need a home.

The sword leapt in her hands, and she nearly dropped it. Astonished, she stared down at the length of metal, certain she had not imagined the motion: it had moved like a living thing. As she stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk, it twitched again, almost tugging her off in a rightward tangent. There was a little side street leading off in that direction: Cypress, it was labeled, though there were no trees at all visible along its narrow concrete confines. It was barely wide enough for a car to edge through, lined on both sides by unpretentious buildings with fading paint.

Wide-eyed, Viv took a few tentative steps down Cypress alley, her mind running through potential explanations for the phenomenon she was witnessing. Magnetism? What were the physical principles behind dowsing? People used sticks for that, she knew, but couldn’t it be done with metal rods?

Or maybe it was magic. Maybe it really is Excalibur, the young man had said. Her rational mind scoffed at the idea; but the thought persisted.

About halfway down the alley, the sword stopped tugging. It hung heavy and inert in her grasp. Bewildered, she looked around. One of the doors facing the street was open, and she caught a glimpse of a spacious room with tiled floor, no furnishings that could see. Then a workman in paint-spattered coveralls emerged from the inside, catching her looking.

Hello, he said curiously.

Oh, hi, Viv said. I’m sorry, I was just—looking for vacancies.

Well, this is one, he said. He had his hand on the doorknob, as if to draw it closed behind him, but he hesitated. Or, it will be. We just finished spackling the bathroom. Haven’t listed it yet...

Oh! When, um. When do you think it will be available?

The man shrugged. "Really it could be now. We’ve got the wiring done, put in the carpet, the water runs—we’ve got some cosmetic stuff left to do, but do you want to have