Scott Mariani - The Sacred Sword

Ben instantly knew which of them was Robbie from the name emblazoned across the front of his red sweatshirt. He was maybe twenty-one, twenty-two, overweight and trying five years too early to grow a beard.

Sitting next to Robbie at the table, leaning his athletic frame back in his chair and laughing at something his friend had just said, was the young man whose picture Ben had seen at the vicarage. Jude looked just as he had in the photo, except that his unruly mop of hair was bleached blonder by the New Zealand sunshine and the wetsuit had been exchanged for a fleece jacket. Still laughing, he went to pick up the pint glass containing the lethal concoction his friend had just poured.

Ben didn’t want to have to break news like this to someone half blotto. Stepping brusquely into the candlelight, he reached out and stopped Jude’s hand before it could get to the glass.

‘Oy!’ Jude said, looking up at Ben in surprise and anger. His eyes were only a little glazed over from the drink, which made him by far the soberest person at the table. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded.

Robbie swayed up out of his seat. ‘What’re you doing in my place, man?’

‘Sit down, Robbie,’ Ben said.

Robbie sat down.

‘Jude, my name’s Ben Hope. I’ve been leaving messages for you all day. Didn’t you get them?’

‘I don’t know you. How did you find me?’ Jude blustered. Even the drunkest of his friends were beginning to take notice of what was going on.

‘Never mind how I found you. We need to talk.’ Ben glanced around at the others and shot a warning look at Robbie. ‘In private. Can we step outside?’

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Ben.’

‘These are my friends, Ben. Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say it to all of us.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ben said.

‘Really.’

‘Listen to me. I’m a friend of your family and this is much more important than you realise.’

‘Oh, I get it,’ Jude interrupted him. ‘You’ve come to take me home? Did he send you?’

Robbie let out a belch, then leered wolfishly at Jude. ‘The reverend wants his baby boy home for Christmas.’

‘Fuck you, Robbie,’ Jude said. ‘Who was too chicken to get in the water with the great whites?’ He made another grab for the drink, amid a chorus of laughter from the others at the table.

Ben stopped his hand again, a little more firmly this time. The laughter died away abruptly.

Jude flushed. ‘You do that to me once more,’ he warned Ben.

‘You can come outside with me the easy way, right now,’ Ben said softly, ‘or I can drag you out by the hair. Either way, I’m going to tell you what I came here to tell you.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ Jude said. ‘I’m not interested. And you can tell my father to stick his Christmas tree up his…’

Before he could finish the sentence, Jude was out of his seat and travelling through the air over the top of the table. His feet barely touched the floor as Ben manhandled him through the door and out into the hallway.

‘Let go of him!’ Robbie yelled, making a feeble grab for Ben’s arm.

‘You stand down, boy,’ Ben commanded him, with the full force of a British Army major’s authority. Robbie instantly backed off, deflating like a punctured ball.

Jude put up a spirited resistance as Ben dragged him outside, struggling wildly and trying to lash out with his fists. Ben blocked three pretty good punches before he lost patience with the kid and trapped his wrist in an Aikido lock that very quickly subdued his fighting spirit.

‘Aaagghh! That hurts! Please!’

‘Have I got your attention now?’ Ben asked, keeping the pressure on the wrist.

‘Yes!’

‘Promise to behave?’

‘Yes!’

Ben let go. Jude tore away from him, nursing his hand and about to make some furious retort when the sight of the Mazda parked across the yard stopped him dead. ‘What’re you doing with my mum’s car?’ he asked in a hollow voice.

Ben guided him towards the car. The music in the barn had stopped, and a silence thicker than the mist hung over the farm. ‘Listen, Jude. There’s something you need to know.’

Inside the car, the dog barked at the sight of Jude and started scrabbling at the window.

‘Why is Scruffy here?’ Jude said.

Ben opened the passenger door. ‘Get in.’

‘Not before you tell me what this is about.’

‘Get in the car, Jude.’

Jude looked at Ben, realisation dawning on his face that this was serious. Without another word, he climbed into the passenger seat. The dog clambered all over him and licked his face. Jude cuddled him affectionately, as if he knew something bad was coming and he had to cling to someone for support.

Ben quietly shut the passenger door, walked around to the driver’s side and got in beside Jude.

‘I came here to tell you some news,’ he said.

And told him.

As Ben talked about the crash, the colour left Jude’s face and his jaw hardened. He closed his eyes. Finally he whispered, ‘May I get out of the car, please?’

Ben nodded, waiting to see how the young guy was going to respond. He’d had to break bad news before. It was never nice, but it was always different. Sometimes the reaction was complete shock, physical illness, collapse. Other times it was denial — sometimes furious and aggressive denial. Shooting the messenger brought some kind of relief. Ben could understand that. He’d been through it himself, more than once in his life.

Jude hurled open the Mazda’s passenger door and staggered out. He paced in a circle on the frosty grass. Let out several gasping breaths, his face contorted in pain. Turning back towards the car he yelled hoarsely at Ben, ‘How the fuck do you know this? Tell me! How come you’re telling me this?’

‘Because I was there when it happened,’ Ben said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

Jude shook his head wildly. ‘No, no. No. It can’t fucking be.’ He ripped open the zipper of his fleece jacket pocket, took out a phone and started stabbing at it.

Ben knew what number he was calling. ‘There’s nobody at home, Jude.’ He watched as the young man stood there with the phone clamped to his ear, shoulders bent, waiting for an answer, willing with all his might for this to be just some cruel, crazy joke being played on him. After a few moments Jude gave up, then an afterthought hit him and he thumbed more buttons on his phone. His eyes brightened momentarily. ‘No, no. Wait. I’ve got messages.’

‘They’re all from me,’ Ben said.

Jude waved at him to shut up. Listening intently to each message in turn, his face grew steadily more and more pallid, as if hope was a colour that was slowly draining out of him with every passing moment.

The hand clutching the phone fell limp at his side. He leaned against the stone wall. His shoulders sagged. Then he bent over and was violently sick.

Ben got out of the car and walked over to where Jude was doubled up by the wall, gasping and gagging. Ben laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Jude croaked through his tears. ‘I’m never going to see them again. It’s just not possible.’

‘They’re in a better place now,’ Ben said.

Jude spun around to face him, red-eyed. ‘You believe all that shit about heaven, do you?’

Ben said nothing. He didn’t know whether he believed it or not. He said no more, and let the young man be for a few minutes. Leaning against the side of the Mazda he lit a cigarette, watched the smoke whip away on the cold wind and wondered how the hell he should break the rest of the news. Telling Jude that the crash had been no accident was going to be even tougher than just telling him his parents had died.