Viking Sword

Mallory had just put his Dr. Pepper down and un-paused the Xbox, 23 flavors dancing on his tongue. Silently, maybe a little creepily, Zack opened the unlocked front door and crept behind the intently focused lump of young adulthood.

“Shay Patrick is the ish, bruddah,” said Zack, his mouth mere inches from Mallory’s ear.

Mallory didn’t flinch. “Where have you been?” he asked flatly.

“I thought I had you,” said Zach, laughing.

“Not even close. My senses are acute, Zack. The world is my nightingale floor.”

“Lemme get a turn, Mal. You suck,” said Zack grabbing at the controller. Mallory leaned back and gave Zack a push, using his brother’s momentum to send the younger Bishop flying into the glass topped coffee table. It creaked but held firm.

“You suck,” said Mallory, guiding the Morrigan through unfriendly waters. Zack hopped up off the floor and plopped down next to Mallory, jostling the fine leather couch. “Fatass,” said Mallory, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“All muscle, Mal,” said Zack.

The two boys didn’t speak as the Morrigan slipped along the River Valley’s waterways. After a minute or so, Mallory broke the silence. “I want the Viking Sword.”

“Which one?” replied Zack, a little bored.

“Old Growth.”

“I know where it is,” singsonged Zack, suddenly interested.

“Don’t tell me.”

Zack thought about this for a few seconds. “Go to Fort Soleil.”

“Shut up,” barked Mallory.

“Don’t go straight to the forest.” Zack was undeterred.

“Zack, I want to do this on my own.” Mallory sounded a little less insistent.

“Get the boat at Otentiani.”

“I hate you.”

“Cross the river and go through the cave. Then dig.”

“You’re a little punk, Zack.”

“Don’t suck so much.”

“Seriously, where were you?” said Mallory, pausing the game and taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper.

“Out and about. Doin’ my thang,” said Zack, maybe a little ironically.

“Is this where I go?” asked Mallory, ignoring the answer to his previous question.

“Yeah,” said Zack. “Off to the left a bit.”

“Okay,” said Mallory, guiding Shay Patrick to glory.

“I got a couple forties stashed in the bushes. Are mom and dad home?”

“Zack, I’m twenty-three.”

“You’re old. Why’d college take so long, Mal?”

“Red shirted, remember.”

“Oh.” Zack picked up Mallory’s Dr. Pepper and took a gulp. Then he belched.

“I’m out. Fuck college.”

Mallory continued maneuvering Shay Patrick, occasionally vanquishing a foe or two. It was the Seven Years War. There was much killing to do. “It’s only half way through your first semester. You’re on the football team.”

“You wouldn’t get it. You were a pitcher,” said Zack.

Mallory looked confused, but blew the comment off. “Wait, what do I do?” he asked, motioning to the flat screen with his head.

“Get the boat at Otentiani.” Shay Patrick moved nimbly across the screen. “Juco sucks. The team sucks.”

“Well, my team won the College World Series,” said Mallory.

“You pitched three innings the entire tournament,” said Zack, fiddling with the speaker system. The death and destruction was now visceral, a hidden subwoofer palpitating.

“That’s beside the point, Zack.” Shay Patrick shot someone with a firecracker dart just because. It was loud. “You’re boy is on tonight.”

“Hell yeah. B gone light ’em up.”

“You don’t like Las Palomas?”

“You went to Vandy, bro. Paly sucks.” Zack had a point.

“Okay, here’s the cave,” said Mallory.

“Just go through. No, don’t stop yet. Okay, see? There. Dig.”

“Then what?”

“Just dig,” said Zack, exasperated.

“No, dumbass. No Paly? Then what?”

“Army Ranger, bro,” said Zack, as if this was somehow obvious despite his family’s complete lack of military tradition.

Mallory looked at Zack. Shay Patrick stopped digging. “Really?” said Mallory, scrunching his face.

“Fuck yeah.”

“Like, seriously?”

“Keep digging. Get the sword.” Zack gulped Mallory’s soda.

“Noice! Got it,” said Mallory.

“Go to New York. Kill some gangsters.”

“Nope. Gonna’ sack some ships.”

“Sack,” said Zack, chuckling reflexively. Mallory rolled his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re thirty and live at home.”

“My program starts in the spring. What should I do?”

“Not be a little bitch,” said Zack.

“What would mom say about your mouth?” said Mallory, trying to hold a straight face. He cracked. “Wanna’ put the game on?”

“Yup.” Zack pressed a number of buttons on the remote.

The boys eyed the screen, looking for the slot receiver. “There he is,” said Mallory.

“Lookin’ good out there,” said Zack. “Already involved.”

“Think they can beat the Beavs?” asked Mallory. Zack laughed again. “Jesus you’re stupid.”

“No,” I don’t think they’ll win,” said Zack. “Desmond and Tompkins. Unstoppable.”

Mallory nodded. “Tech needs a secondary.” They watched a play. Andre Chance behind the right guard for six. “Zack, how about those forties?”

“Oooh, I’m twenty-three,” said Zack. Andre Chance. Right guard again. Two more yards.

“Go get the forties.”

“Fine, fine. I’m getting them.”

Zack hustled outside to his beer stash. As he dug through the bushes, Mallory screamed, “Oh shit! You’re boy!”

“Pause it, bro! Pause it!” yelled Zack, stumbling toward the door, an Old E in each hand.

Mallory turned around and looked at Zack. “Just kidding. They’re punting.”

Zack, crestfallen, sat next to Mallory and handed him a forty. “That was messed up.”

“You have much to learn,” said Mallory.

The two of them sat watching OTech get trounced, drinking malt liquor and Dr. Pepper, thinking about nothing but right then and right there.

Shay Patrick sharpened his sword.