the tuesday following

THE METAL MONK by Matt Barton

Jacob drew steel, the sound echoing through the tavern and drawing every pair of eyes. Zane’s face went stony for a moment, but then avalanched into laughter and mirth. “You’d kill me, then, monk?” spat Zane. “You must have forgotten your own book. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I’m not afraid of your threats.” The drunken brawler suddenly pulled two long knives from his belt, twirling them like ballerinas. “I’m going to kill you now and take that book from you. Ought to be worth something to somebody.” Zane leaped forward, and Jacob’s sword flashed in the torchlight. A split second later, Zane’s blades clanged against the far walls. But Jacob did not stop at disarming his opponent—he was too deadly, too proud. No, Jacob’s weapon swung through the air, the razor tip scraping Zane’s neck, slitting it. The metal monk knelt beside his dying opponent. Quietly, he prayed over the man, begging his Lord to forgive him his sins and wing this soul to heaven. When he was done, he caught a last flicker of light in Zane’s eyes. He whispered: “If you had been more familiar with my book, you might have known another verse: ‘I come, not to bring peace, but a sword.’ I did not seek a fight with you. But I am through running.”