After a few seconds, the stare was eclipsed by a blinking yawn, before Dragon turned and padded back into the room where Kira was studying. Matt let go of the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, wondering if the cat had reacted to his stumble, or were the beast’s senses sharp enough to pick up the energy involved in what he had to assume was the first locus he had - what’s the word… - attuned to?
Shaking off the residual ache from process of connecting to the locus, Matt turned back to the table, set the loom aside and opened a notepad. There were so many possibilities opening up to his imagination, he was eager to get them down on paper and not forget a single idea. Minutes passed as he listed out his inspirations and remembered his successes
- Stainless steel – hard, armour? - Cutlery
- Glass shards – hard brittle, sharp, clear – weapons, create windows?
- Knife – sharp – weapons
- Wool – warm, soft – cold weather clothes?
- Wood – flammable – fuel?
- Ice – cold, slippery – fridge, traps? Air conditioning?
- Sunlight – light, heat – light and heat, duh!!
- Metal – weight, strength
- Feather – light – FLIGHT???
Remembering the first patch he had created, that had probably kept him alive on the first night, realisation set in that he was thinking with an eye on the past, trapping himself in mundane and logical ideas.
Time to start thinking like a wizard, Matty! He thought with a wry smile, dredging his distant memory for the game he had played in his younger years, and the special effects saturating modern movies.
- Fire – light, heat, fire! – flamethrower, heating
- Electricity – power – lightning? Static from cat fur?
- Blood – recovery, healing?
- Poo – smell, fertiliser?
- Ivy – growth, poison, tangles?
- Air – wind, breath, light – force? Reduce weight?
- Darkness – shadow, concealment?
- Voice – sound – MESSAGING???
- Oven gloves – heat protection – flamethrower necessity?
- Muscle/tendon – strength, power – err, yuk, butchering animals?
Over time, his distinctly messy scribble covered a couple of pages, with lots of crossings out, arrows connecting different materials and ideas, and Matt was buzzing with excitement to try them out. This could be a real game changer for them – even for others as well! He envisaged a shop with racks of patches to replace technology in the new life that people had been forced into. Friends and strangers lining up to….
Woah there, Matt thought, bringing himself back down to earth from the excitement-fuelled high. Practicality was a very useful character trait that he had in abundance, and it served now to cut off the flights of fancy and focus his attention on where – he – was, hmm? What – he – was – doing!
Great, he thought. Now I’m thinking like Yoda. The analogy was apt though, and he picked a likely first candidate from his list of ideas. From a kitchen draw he retrieved a set of cutlery, from another a couple of candles and a lighter. He set the loom on the table, and beginning to weave.
The process of producing the patch engaged him fully, and once again the passage of time around him faded into irrelevance. At one point he was vaguely aware of a question being asked, but it registered to his perception as a slight distraction, and it went away after a few seconds. Holding a stainless-steel spoon in one hand as he used fingertips to wind the threads back and forth. Back and forth.
The sensation he had been looking for began much earlier – don’t wait until the end to introduce the material… essence – and there was a discernible difference between the intensity when crafting his prior two efforts, and the thrilling surge that he experienced on this occasion. Focusing his mind on the strength of the steel, it was as if his arms held a core of energy that flowed through his fingers into the weave, drawing the essence from the visibly shrinking spoon, transforming it into a silvery gleam that suffused the threads of the patch.
Finishing the patch and sealing the edges, Matt stared at the small piece of rough cloth in his hands. The process had been smoother, more intense, more powerful. He could feel the difference that the locus had made to the act of creation – just as Kira’s notes had seemed to promise. Looking outside at the mid-afternoon sun, he estimated that roughly an hour had been spent in this project, and although he ached to try out another idea, confirmation was needed that the process was producing the right results.
Thinking back to the first patch, he pressed the new creation onto the chest of the hoodie that he was wearing. There almost seemed to be an eagerness to join, and the slip of cloth settled onto the chest over his heart and shone briefly, before taking on a more regular appearance. Taking a deep breath, Matt picked up the knife and lightly stabbed down into his arm.
“Ow, dagnammit! Aarrgghh! Nnnnnnnhh!”
“Dad, what are you doing? Did you kick the fridge again?” Kira’s disembodied voice floated through from the next room.
“Yeah, something like that.” Matt replied, grimacing as he rolled up the sleeve and clasped a wadge of tissue over the small wound in his forearm.
A non-committal grunt sounded, acknowledging the inevitability of fatherly incompetence, before the rustle of pages could be heard once again. Matt kept pressure on the cut for a few moments, grabbed a plaster from one of Arlee’s prescient caches of simple medical supplies and awkwardly stuck it on, covering the sign of his failure.
Idiot he scolded himself, remembering the common method of activation that had been used so far. Reaching up and tapping the patch on his chest, he was gratified to see a silvery sheen flow out of the patch, slowly spreading like an oil slick over the surface of the hoody, until it finally covered from the waist up to the top of the hood, down the arms to the wrists. Matt stood and marvelled at the effect, the way the light seemed to shine off the forcefield-esque coating that his top now exhibited. There was no separation between cloth and sheen, it was as if the clothing itself had been created with a pleasing shiny aesthetic. Now it was time to see if it was only that, or if his idea was borne out in actual protection.
Picking the knife up once more, muttering at himself for possible repeat stupidity, be brought the point down on his sleeve-covered arm.
It stopped dead, not even denting the surface of the cloth.
Matt’s breath caught, and he pushed down a little harder. The point of the knife slid across the surface of the cloth, not catching at all. Still holding his breath, wincing in anticipation, he brought the knife up and stabbed downward again using more force.
The sharp point again stopped abruptly as soon as it met the sleeve.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he laid his arm on the table and – before he could realise what a terrible idea this was – he stabbed down, HARD.
The knife point struck his arm just off dead centre, the hard impact jarring his hand. There was a feeling of pressure, as if a finger had poked softly into his flesh, but no pain, no blood, no reason for massive regret.
A feeling of elation overtook him and Matt whooped as he held the knife aloft and brought it down repeatedly, stabbing a few more times, before changing to a cutting motion with the edge instead. Even leaning all his weight down on the blade, the most he felt was gradually increasing pressure, and even then…
“MATT, NO, YOU IDIOT!”
Matt froze, caught in the headlights of her anger and shock.
Arlee’s voice rang out in a shriek, as she stood in the doorway, hands clasped over her chest. A look of horror was etched on her pretty features as she watched her husband maniacally attacking himself. In the next room, a flurry of movement signalled that embarrassing struggle that everyone experiences when trying to get up out of a bean bag gracefully, as well as scratches of claws on wooden floorboards as the napping cats came to full wakefulness, seeking out the source of danger.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Ah, okay, I know what this looks like, but it’s fine Arl…”
“Fine? Fine? I walk in and you’re trying to cut your arm off! What kind of damn fool are you, Matt?”
By this time, Kira’s wide-eyed and scared face had appeared in the doorway, and both the females in Matt’s life stood silently, waiting for what had better be the best damn explanation ever.
“I’ve been thinking about all the things I can do with my weaving – my patches.” Matt said in calm, measured tones, trying to diffuse the situation. “It works perfectly. I added stainless steel to a patch...” He pointed to the silvery square on his chest. “…and it made the whole hoodie as tough as steel.”
Kira looked intrigued and moved to Matt’s side, running her fingers over the sleeve Matt had been attacking so ferociously. Arlee stood, mouth gaping as she struggled to come to terms with the terrifying sight she had beheld, tempered by the explanation which would have been dismissed out of hand only three days earlier. Calming somewhat, she moved closer and reached out hesitantly. Then she froze.
“If it works perfectly…” She said in a voice half frightened and half angry. “…what is that?” She pointed a finger at the small bloodstain on the arm, the sheen giving the red splotch a glittery look.
“I.. err…. mumble mumble mumble.”
“I didn’t catch that, darling.” Her voice could have cut through Matt’s handiwork at that point.
“I forgot to turn it on before I tested it for the first time.” He mumbled, barely audibly.
There was a momentary pause, before Kira burst into gales of laughter, pointing at her father and convulsing in uncontrollable mirth. Arlee took this in, before sinking down into a chair and putting her head in her hands.
“I can’t… I can’t… what am I going to do with you?” She moaned. Her shoulder shook and Matt was filled with enormous regret. Considering the trauma they had all been through over the last few days, how could he forget to prepare them before embarking on this wild and by no means guaranteed course of action? Dropping the knife on the table, he sank to his knees, wrapping arms around his wife and trying hard to ignore the ongoing giggles of his daughter.
“I’m sorry Arl, I got caught up in the moment. I should have told you before I did it. I promise I won’t do that again.” He spoke softly into her ear as they both laid their heads on the other’s shoulder.
As he comforted her gentle weeping, he noticed that the sheen over the hoody had faded somewhat. No longer shining as brightly as when he had first activated it, he wondered if this was due to time that had elapsed, or the punishment he had inflicted on it during the course of his testing.
Another time, he thought, as Arlee gathered herself and pummelled his shoulders with furious impotence, wringing her hands as they bounced off his armoured top.
“Sorry, but at least you can see it works now, right?” He said with a grin, prompting a laser-like glare.
“Sorry.” He repeated, drawing her back gently and kissing her forehead.
“Well, at least you should be safer in that. That’s something.” She sniffled, wiping tears from her cheeks before blowing her nose. “Just please let me know before you need to test any other inventions, alright?”
“I promise love.”
She huffed, temper spent, and looked over at the corner, where Kira was regaining some measure of composure. Without another word she left the room, and the father and daughter could hear her footsteps thumping upstairs, as she muttered imprecations at men in general.
“That is so cool Dad!” Kira said quietly, not ready to risk motherly wrath just yet. “You made yourself a forcefield!”
“That’s what it looks like, yup.” Matt replied, a grin widening across his face. “I do recommend testing these things in a more sensible way though.”
Kira giggled merrily, turning back toward the other room. “I’ll leave you to it then Dad. Let me know if you want to… I dunno… shoot yourself in the foot, or set fire to your bum!”
The sound of her giggles faded away in the other room, and Matt turned back to the table. He felt exhilarated, adrenaline running through his veins, and the residual energy from the surge that had empowered his latest creation tingled in his arms and hands. His previous efforts had been useful – essential even, in keeping food fresh – but they fundamentally weren’t as cool as forcefield clothing.
Still examining the ongoing effect, he thought about the faded sheen coating the cloth. Playing a hunch – after carefully making sure that no family members were about to enter the room – Matt picked up the knife again and started a sawing motion over his arm. Rather than be distracted by the invulnerable awesomeness, he focused on the slight radiance covering his top half. Within a minute of constant cutting, his experiment confirmed that the glimmer was fading the longer he kept up the damaging attack.
Another minute passed, and Matt barely distinguish any remaining radiance, so stopped sawing with the increasingly blunt knife, and started a light, tapping stab. He was able to tell immediately when the protection expired, as in the space of two strikes, the knife went from stopping dead, to tenting the cloth downwards into his flesh. Thankfully he had learned his lesson, and the minimal force was not enough to break his skin.
He sat back, flexing his fingers to get blood back flowing after too long spent gripping the knife handle. A silly grin creased his features as he admitted to himself that the list of potential ideas was no longer a silly dream – it could become reality. He had produced and tested the equivalent of a Kevlar vest in a couple of hours. Thinking on this, he mentally berated himself.
I’m getting caught up in new toys and losing sight of the situation. What are the priorities?
They were okay for food for a few more days at least, and the two families were gathering tomorrow to start preparing and planting the seeds they had collected in their trip to the garden centre. Light would be useful – particularly if there were any more intrusions to deal with – but with the cats’ protection and the daylight hours getting longer, this was a lesser concern.
Heat might become a concern if the weather turned cold again. With five bodies and four large felines in the Brands’ house, body heat had taken over for the now non-functional central heating, and in the worst case they could go back to a good old-fashioned campfire…
Fire!
The looming threat of a possible flood of rats weighed heavily on his mind, and he had forgotten to ask Kira about researching the mutated rodents. From mankind’s earliest days, fire had been a saviour – both for warmth and defence from predatory animals. Some way to project fire would be a powerful deterrent – maybe even a plausible weapon.
Glancing outside to see that the sun was still well above the trees and there was daylight to burn, Matt got back to work.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Matt. Matt. Wake up darling, time to finish now. Come up to bed.”
Arlee’s voice gently caressed his ears, as her hands rubbed life back into shoulders stiff from falling asleep at the table. Blearily he raised his head, seeing a patient smile on his wife’s face as she gazed down lovingly. She had obviously forgiven his earlier foolish enthusiasm. His mind felt drained, a fatigue not of body, but a diminishing for the roiling energy inside from the locus.
“You’ve been busy, haven’t you.” She sounded amused, but with a tone of wonder as well as she glanced at the array of patches on the table.
Matt had realised that unless he ran into an unknown limit to the number of patches it was possible to create, he needed some way to tell the function of the patches apart. A silver square adorned three more of what he was calling Armour patches. He figured that with one on a hooded top or jacket and another on a pair of trousers, a person was effectively wearing a temporary set of plate armour, which would offer good protection.
A circle of red thread graced the surface of another, and even before it was activated, there was slight warmth to the air around the square of cloth. This one he had thought about hard before creating, trying to capture the portion of the essence of a candle’s flame to impart heat, but not burn.
This has the effect of optimising mental clarity…
Matt recalled the line of text clearly, and it seemed to bear out in the increased ability he was displaying in the acts of creation. There was a slight, but discernible intuitive feel to working with essence. Not exactly knowledge, but like a gentle nudge in the right direction. Drawing his fingers through the outer corona of the small flame and onto the thread as he wound it using his other hand had resulted in the same sense of completeness. He stretched, rising from the chair and as Arlee looked on questioningly, stroked his fingers over the red circle patch.
A low red glow radiated steadily from the patch, and the couple could feel the air warming up in the room, as regular waves of pleasant heat pulsed outwards. Within a minute, the room was noticeably warmer, and Arlee laid her head on Matt’s chest and held him.
“That’s nice and snuggly. It’s so easy to be overwhelmed by everything, especially the fear, but this… magic of yours is a wonder.” She tensed slightly and looked up with a stern look. “But no more stabbing yourself, understood?”
Matt squeezed her briefly in affirmation, looking back down at the last patch, a red line standing out clearly in the otherwise plain grey square. That one would wait, fashioned as it was from the heart of the flame, and Matt was not testing that inside for the first time.
There had been several false starts, muted strings of profanity, burned-through threads, and singed fingers dunked in a mug of water before he had settled into the right focus – the right intent. The now familiar surge of energy had made the flame follow his fingers in a stream from the inner core around the candle wick, onto and around the thread he steadily wound. It burned neither his guiding digits or the fine filaments but caressing them, lining them in flickering radiance before settling as each thread was set into place.
The surge of energy had come slowly, requiring more focus, as if lessened by his repeated uses. He wondered if it would recover, or if it was finite, but was too tired to worry about it now.
As he took Arlee’s hand and let her pull him upstairs to bed, he sleepily noticed a dark feline figure, sat tall on its haunches, keeping a silent, unblinking vigil out into the night from the back room. Entering their bedroom, they found Kira fast asleep in the large bed, breathing gently. They lay down around her, blowing out the lone candle before falling into slumber.
Is the story progressing at a pace which keeps you interested?