Ｓｐｉｒｉｔ　Ｓｗｏｒｄ

Chapter I

The rock was unmovable. Grunting, Cale strained against the giant bolder in his father’s field. He and his brothers had been working to budge it for nearly half an hour, without success. Tired and sweaty, Cale needed a rest. Leaning his pry bar on the rock, he wiped his brow.

“Come on, Cale. We’ve got to get this thing moved.” His brother ordered.

“Give him a rest, man. He’s just a kid.” That was Aaron, the oldest. And while Cale appreciated the ‘permission’ for a respite, he bristled at being called a kid. Or at least he would have if the sweat running down his body had allowed him to bristle.

Cale Tannor was the youngest of the five children born to the Elder Tannor and his wife. Three boys, each separated by a sister. While Cale found his 13 years to be of great worth to himself, everyone else in his family saw him as the runt. Perhaps there was more truth to what they said than not, for both he and his mother had almost perished when he entered the world. As such, he had seen little of life beyond the split rail fences of his family farm. He hadn’t even been into their local village of Fairfield until he was ten; a fact that still smoldered in his gut every time his older brother Byron teased him about it.
Hearing the tinkle of laughter, Cale pushed his floppy hat out of his eyes. His mother never allowed him outside without it, lest his precious skin be singed by the sun. Tully and Regina walked towards them with cool water. Cale found his mouth parched, yet he would probably have to fight Byron off before he could drink.

“Hello, brothers.” Tully greeted, resting the water bucket on the rock. “How goes digging out this old stone?”

“Hello, Tully. Regina” Aaron smiled, taking a long draft from the ladle. “I don’t think we’ll get this budged today.”

“Yeah, we’ve been working on this rock as long as I can remember. I think father used to try and move it when he was our age.” Byron said.

“Then why are you working on it?” Regina teased

“It needs to be done.” Aaron answered, handing the ladle to Byron. “Rocks are useless. They get in the way; you can’t do anything with them. They’re good for nothing and need to be cleared before order can be achieved.”

“You sound like a crassin’ civic leader!” laughed Byron. Tully snickered as well while Regina smiled. Aaron smacked him on the back of the head.

“Well, why not? Maybe I should move into the village. Settle down, try to raise a family. And if I make a halfway decent chief, well, why not?” Aaron defended himself. He was only 19 but he already had one foot out the door, with their father’s full urging and pride. If Cale wanted to go outside he had to be reminded to wear a crassing hat!

“‘Settle down’, huh? Got any particular ideas?” asked Regina.

“I have a few ideas.” Cale rolled his eyes. They all knew Aaron was sweet on their cousin. The two had already pledged their intentions to each other, and with the foolishness of youth that Cale did not yet understand, Aaron actually thought that neither set of parents knew anything about it.

“Well, we might as well go in. We’ve wasted enough time with this rock today, and there are other chores to be done.” Aaron gave the marching orders, and they began to pick up pry bars.

“I actually thought with three of us med we’d be able to move it. I didn’t know we’d have a little sister along as ‘help’!” Byron howled, mocking Cale.

The sound made Cale’s blood boil. Being the youngest was hard enough, with his sisters always babying him and his brothers never wanting him around. His mother was afraid he’d hurt himself with something as simple as breathing, and his father seemed ashamed to look at him. Cale had taken it for 13 long years, and something about Byron’s demeanor finally set him off.

“No.” Cale locked his jaw.

“‘No’ what?” Aaron turned.

“I said no. We’re moving this thing today.”

“It isn’t going to happen, little brother. Give it up.” Aaron ordered.

“We’re not moving it. Stop being stupid.” Byron said.

“No.” Cale said again. He found his determination this time came with more ease.

“Cale…” Tully cautioned.

“All of you can leave if you want. But I’m going to stay here till I move this rock. And it will be moved before this day is out.” Cale declared, licking his lips.

“Sure. Whatever.” Byron handed him the water pitcher, only to drop it. The ground sucked the liquid into mud faster than Cale could scoop up the bucket. There were only three drops left. “Oops. Sorry.” Byron muttered as he walked off.

Aaron and Regina followed with the tools, Aaron with a sad look of pity on his face. Pity happened to be the last thing Cale wanted. He spun and threw the bucket as hard as he could, chunking it into the woods with a yell. Grabbing his pry bar, he set to work moving the unmovable again.

“What do you want?” He snapped at Tully.

They were closer in age than any of their other siblings, and had an odd bond more akin to friendship than brother and sister. She was the one person that he never minded talking to, and when she asked him a question, she didn’t demand an answer like everyone else in his life, but rather asked out of concern or curiosity. She cared about Cale as a person, not just some thing that needed protecting. They told each other all their secrets, and put up with each other as their lives began to change. Which was why Cale instantly regretted it when he sapped at her.

“I’m sorry, Tully.” Cale stopped.

“It’s okay.”

“I just hate it when he does that!”

“I know,” Tully took a small canteen of water from under her skirt and handed it to him. “I do wish you’d learn to keep your mouth shut.”

“I know.” Cale drained the water.

“Come on. If we finish our chores maybe Aaron will take us down to the river!” Tully started to run off.

“Nah, you go. I’m gona stay here.”

“You can’t be serious.” Tully turned and looked back. “I didn’t think you really meant you wouldn’t leave until you moved this bolder!”

“I’ll die out here if I have to.”

“Why? Why is this so important to you?” There was a hint of edge to Tully’s voice, but Cale knew it came from love.

“Because, I have to prove to them that I’m not some girl. I’m a man!”

“We know that, Cale.”

“Well they don’t! They treat me like I’m nothing.” pouted Cale

“Cale… you’re stronger than they are. You’re stronger than all of us. It’s what is inside that counts. You don’t need to get heat stroke just to prove them wrong.”

“That’s what you always tell me. But it doesn’t change who I am or what I have to do.”

Tully sighed. “I suppose there’s no of stopping you?”

“No.”

“Okay,“ she smiled. “I’ll try and sneak you some dinner later.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be long.”

***

Cale sat on the rock, enjoying the feeling of the evening air licking over his body after the grueling day he’d just experienced. He suffered through listening to his siblings play down at the creek, only to be joined by their cousins later on in the afternoon. He’d worked through the hottest part of the day, and at one time felt that he might pass out. For the first time in his entire life he thanked the Heavens for his ugly, floppy hat. With great effort he’d admitted defeat nearly two hours prior, but still had not worked up the nerve to return beaten to his family. And Byron.
Looking up into the sky, he could make out the faintest trace of mount Zaphon concealing High Castle. It had been nearly 200 years since the Valley people butchered the Royal family and their Imperial Knights. Almost 200 years since the last Sword Bearer was wiped out. And yet, even as far away as Fairfield, legends about the mysterious sect still abound. All of the Tannor children had played Rangers and Knights at one time or another; even Byron, though he would punch anyone who said so. The Knights were an unspoken curse, for as glorious as their adventures appeared on the surface, no one truly knew what dark secrets the religious Knights practiced. Their legendary swords were as steeped in fear and lore as they were.
Something cracked in the night. Wishing he had the hunting experience of either his brothers, he slipped low behind the other side of the rock. It was almost certainly a person. Or a small bear. Cale hoped for a person. Another branch snapped. Nope, it had to be a bear. A big bear.

“Cale?” Regina called out.

“Here.” Cale popped up after enough time to catch his breath but not enough to make her mad.

“How goes it, oh mover of worlds?”

“If you came to make fun of me, don’t bother. I’ll have you know I’m just resting and am about to make my final move.”

“I don’t doubt it. Here, Tully made me bring you supper. I don’t know why I put up with you two.”

Cale gladly took the food and drink and began scarfing it down ravenously. He was a growing boy and had had far less fuel this day than his body required.

“What’s going on?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“Oh. You know. It is a veritable party in there” Regina trailed off, sliding up next to him on the rock. “Aaron asked permission to court our cousin.”

That stopped Cale from swallowing. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. No. I don‘t know. It‘s change, and change is almost never good…” she trailed off.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He knew she and Aaron were close.

Regina’s face betrayed her contempt, wrapped in someone speaking as if to an inferior person. She suddenly remembered who she was talking to. “Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be, you little freak?” She leapt down and snatched his plate from his hands. “You need to come inside before Tully starts worrying.”

For a moment, Cale considered her words before laying back upon the rock and tracing out constellations in the sky. He had no idea how much his life was about to truly change.


Chapter II

The explosion rattled Cale from his slumber. Panicked, he could see the flames licking the sky from the direction of the village. Taking it all in with a calm placidity, he still thought he was dreaming.
After refusing requests and demands to come inside for the night from Byron and Tully and lastly his father, He’d slept on the bolder. Somehow he’d found the calm words to ask his father if he could please sleep outside. Surprisingly, his fathered agreed, much to his mother’s distress. With glee he’d slept under the early summer stars for the first time in his life, tracing out ancient battles of lore in the sky. That night he’d dreamt of fighting in the Battle of the Mountain, of becoming a great warrior and killing many Knights.
So in a dream state he stared at the burning village, and it wasn’t until his home lit aglow that he realized he wasn’t dreaming. Leaping to the ground, he sprinted towards the house. Figures poured from it. In the glare he could make out his father and uncle and brothers fighting shadows of titanic men, while others ran towards him.

“Run.” Tully snatched him by the wrist, pulling him back the way he’d come.

“But the battle’s back this way.” he protested.

“Caleb. Run.”

The maturity in his sister’s vice turned his blood to ice water and added flight to his steps that he hadn’t known himself capable of. They made it as far as the tree line before something whizzed past. Cale wanted to turn and see what it was, but thought better. They ducked behind the bolder as an explosion filled the air. Peeking their heads over, they watched their home rise into a blazing inferno. Splintered shards rained down death.

“We’ve got to run.” Tully screamed. Something like a rock clacked onto the bolder and she gasped in surprise. “RUN!” she screamed.

Cale Tannor was a man of his word. He swore that before the day was out the bolder would no longer be there. Granted, he was not directly responsible for throwing the bomb, however it had been aimed at him. So when the multi-ton bolder loosed its moorings for the sky, Cale gladly accepted credit. Only when it began cascading down slightly smaller sized boulders did he begin to regret his boast.
They managed to reach the river before stopping. They’d come out above the waterfall, and from their vantage point they could see the bodies of several of their female relatives floating face down, their backs full of arrows.

“That’s mother!” Cale shouted, starting towards the river.

“No!” Tully grabbed for him too late as arrows filled the air.

They were running again, through the trees and over a small gully. Glancing around, Cale panicked. He was alone. Backtracking as best he could, he found his sister a short ways down the trail, with and arrow in her side.

“Tully!” he cried, rolling her over in his arms. He just held her until he heard someone coming. Tully must have heard it too because she pushed him away.

“H-- Hide, Cale.” He could only shake his head. “Hide!” As Cale ran off he heard her call after him “I love you”

Past the gully again, Cale found a small grove of knee-rooted trees. Taking shelter underneath the magnificent hulks, the thought never crossed his mind that this was the dirtiest he’d ever been in his entire life. All he could think about was Tully, and his family, and seeing his father and Aaron being cut down. Several footsteps approached, the sound of leather and steel. Lying still, his hat aided in saving his life, for his hat was so large and filthy it created the perfect camouflage.
Cale had no idea how much time had passed before the sock set in. He couldn’t tell if the faint lightness to the sky was from the fires or from pre-dawn, as he’d never been up before dawn before. Taking a chance, he crept out. Walking along by himself in the darkness, he found that he was no longer scared, or in pain. The only thing he could feel was numbness. He didn’t even look where he was going, or check his surroundings. He would have passed right under the being if he hadn’t recognized the voice.

“Who’s there?”

“Byron?” Cale looked around.

“Cale, is that you?”

“How’d you get way up there?” asked Cale

“How do you think I got up here? I sure didn’t climb up. Now help me down you little crass!”

Byron was hanging upside down in the upper branches of a tree. He was hanging by one leg, pinned by the spear between the crook of two branches. It not only looked painful; it was impossible to get out of by himself.

“How did you find the time to get up there? I saw you with father and Aaron.”

“What does it matter? Get me down!”

“How did you get away, Byron?” Cale asked again, his voice still neutral.

Byron paused before answering. “I ran away, Okay? I was scared and I left them behind and I ran because I didn’t want to die. Okay? I was scared. Now would you please let me down? Quick! I can hear someone coming.”

Cale was silent before answering, but he didn’t do much thinking. Unfastening his floppy hat, he took it off and laid it at the base of the tree.

“Here. This helped me hide. Maybe it’ll help you. Or not. Either way, good luck.”

Cle didn’t really wish his brother dead. He simply couldn’t think straight. Leaving behind his hat was the best idea he could come up with right then.

“Wait! You can’t leave me here! Someone’s coming. HELP! ANYBODY! HELP!”

Cale never looked back. Walking through the night and well into a gray daybreak, Cale’s mind became numb of thoughts. As a hero of 13 he longed for adventure and romance, to fight and to die for some greater cause. He often played with Tully, rescuing her from the High Castle that was their barn loft. But as a boy of 13, his mind was unable to comprehend everything that had happened. His entire family died. Died. He recited the word to himself over and over again, but he couldn’t make it sink in.
He was fairly sure he’d left Byron behind. He didn’t remember clearly. All he knew was that Tully was dead, and if she was gone, then to Cale’s young mind there was no justice in the world.
Drinking from a stream, he had no idea how thirsty he was until the water met his lips. Yet with that realization he despaired. The creek was cloudy, and tasting of ash. Actually looking around for the first time in hours, Cale thought it was snowing. The soft flakes still gently wafted from the sky, despite the warmth. Holding out his tongue to catch one, Cale sputtered and spit once he tasted it. His mind began clicking. It had to be soot. And from the amount in the air, it came from no cleansing fire. Only Fairfax, or similar towns, could create enough ash to turn the sky hazy. Perhaps several.
Cale sat on a rock. He needed to think. At 13 he should be able to reason like a man, he told himself. Yet all he could do was think of poor Tully. No! He mustn’t think of that! If the river was flowing in one direction, than he must be downstream of whatever fire was burning. And so he should keep moving in… what direction? Tully would know.
Unable to get his thoughts off his family, he curled up on the rock and cried.

Chapter III

Jazreal moved with the lithe prowess of a natural hunter. Her copper legs surged with the promise of not-yet-fulfilled potential. Her small hands were fast and deadly, her entire body attune to life in the plains and horseback.
Which was why the metal collar around her neck was so out of place. Chained to her cousin in front of her and someone behind, she walked along with hundreds of other slaves. Capable of seeing both where they were going and what was happening, her village, and other Great Plains people were being drawn together in long strands of prisoners. They were being funneled into the mountains, a place where Indians had always been forbidden to go.
Tugging at the collar around her neck again, it bit her flesh. She began to panic as it caught her long raven hair.

“Calm yourself, daughter,” a voice behind her croaked.

“Old Mother!” gasped Jazreal.

“If you struggle, you will become even more entangled, and then these beasts will crop your hair.”

“No.” Jazreal cried. Long ago Old Mother had told her that the day a blade touched her hair, the world as she knew it would end.

“Be still, child. I will free you.” From behind, old powerful fingers quickly began pulling and working her hair free of the collar. Once she was done, her neck was quite free; 16 years growth of hair took up a lot of room.

“Thank you, Old Mother. I beg your forgiveness, but how did they capture you as well? Why did you not change into the wind and escape? Or better yet, why did you not warn us?” The memory of her father’s death six days prior was still fresh in her mind. He had been the tribe’s greatest hunter, and yet he perished like chafe in fire.

“I was battling a Shadow Dweller when men arrived to take me. I cannot battle that which is seen as well.” Old mother smiled. At least Jazreal thought she was smiling. Being behind her and all she couldn’t really tell, but it was funny because Old Mother was blind. “Now, tell me, child. Where are we going?”

“Into the mountains, which we are forbidden to go.” Jazreal answered, looking around again. Her wrists itched from the rope binding them.

“Are we going up or down, child? Answer me quickly.”

“Up, I believe, Old Mother. I can see the front of the train on a hill.”

“You’re wrong, Jazreal.” Ligia, her cousin ahead of her called back. “We are cresting that hill. There is no one proceeding upwards after that.”

“Oh! She’s right, Old Mother. We are going down!”

“Hush child! Now tell me, do you see a mountain that pierces the clouds? There should be three spires at the top?”

Jazreal studied the mountains. Her eyes were young and sharp, and she had a hunter’s instinct to know what to look for. Yet the sky was gray and the clouds were low. She was about to report this when a gust of wind blew a hole into the sky, allowing her to catch a glimpse of a peak.

“I believe I see one of the spires, Old Mother. What is it?”

“Are we headed towards it?”

“Yes!” Both Jazreal and her cousin answered. “But downwards.” Jazreal answered.

“Listen to me, both of you. Many moons ago, when my mother’s mother’s mother was Old, there was a line of mighty kings in this land.” Jazreal wanted to ask what a king was, but knew better than to interrupt Old Mother. “They ruled for more than a thousand generations, many as stewards under the Rock; some that were not. The last king was good and just, but his son was corrupt and swayed by greed. Even as a child he forged an unholy alliance and caused the people of the valley to revolt. They killed everyone, including the treacherous son.”

“I do not understand, Old Mother.” Jazreal bit her lip. She felt this was important, but there were just too many new concepts.

“Whom did the son make a pact with?” Jazreal’s cousin asked, answering what an ‘alliance’ was.

“The Shadow Dwellers.”

“No!” Jazreal gasped. “Surely he knew that was a mistake. Those of the Shadows take your very soul! We are all taught not to trust their lure, no matter how sweet!”

“Yes, my child, but the king’s son was a fool.”

They were cresting the hill. As Jazreal looked down, she could see into the valley. There was a cave further on down. It glowed red and the air wavered with heat and gas. Jazreal had never seen it, but she knew instantly what it was.
Generations ago, when the world was still young and the People of the Plains had not yet befriended the horse; there had been two men who found a pebble. They soon discovered that this pebble had great wealth when it sparkled in the firelight. They decided to dig down, and soon began finding even more. Yet the more they found the greedier they became, unwilling to share. Eventually, they found a gem larger than any of the other’s they’d ever seen. One man tried to claim it for his own, but the other man took hold of it and struck his friend to death with it. From that day forward every pit in the ground became known as a ‘Mine’.

“We’re… we’re headed into the Great Mine!” Jazreal fought to keep the panic out of her voice. Indian mothers told their children horrors of mines to get them to behave. But the worst one of all was the first one. The deepest hole in the world. The Great Mine. Even Ligia whimpered.

“Calm yourselves, both of you! We don’t have much time! Now listen. Servants of the royal family were the Imperial Knights, sworn to protect them at all costs. But they had a deeper devotion, holding to Sacred Rocks.”

“Why would they worship rocks?” Jazreal asked.

“Quiet! These Knights had powers that even I cannot begin to understand. But one thing I do know is that each was bonded to their Sword. These were weapons of great power, capable of killing from a distance like an arrow, but also creating a shield of protection both physical and spiritual.”

“Like fire weed?” her cousin asked.

“Yes.”

“Old Mother, why are you telling us this?”

“Because, child. My father’s father’s father was an Imperial Knight.” Her tongue struggled with the foreign word. “He arrived in our tribe, badly wounded, arriving only with his sword and telling tales of a great war. We healed him and he became one of us, passing his Sword to his son, through the generations, to me.”

“Could you ever use it?” Jazreal asked excitedly

“No. I gave it to my son who gave it to his son, your father.”

“You mean my father’s sword was magical?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why he was the greatest hunter in the tribe?” her cousin asked. Jazreal made a face. Her father was the best simply because he was the best. Bison and mastodon alike feared his prowess.

“I do not know. All I know is that many believe the Knights to be extinct, but there may yet be hope. The two of you need to escape and find help.”

“‘Escape?’ Escape with what? We’re chained. And defenseless. And being led into the Great Mine. How can you expect us to escape?”

“Because child. I have your father’s sword.”

Chapter IV

Walking for two days without ceasing for anything but water and rest, neither of which came without a fight, Cale was like a ghost to the world. The rivers were as pale as his skin, caked with ash. He resorted to straining the water out through his shirt just to be able to drink.
Rest was as hard fought for. Sleeping under bushed and creggs, Cale found he no longer had tears to coax himself into sleep. So instead he stared at the world. At night the sky was ablaze of orange and red, and the gray morn was often as dark as night. That week would later be known as the Night of Sorrow, for there was not a soul living that saw the sun in that time.
Eventually hunger over road exhaustion, and Cale slid under a low fir tree, eating the pinecones the squirrels had left. Wishing the pinecones were his mother’s biscuits, he didn’t hear the conversation till it was well under way.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s a rabbit.”

“A rabbit? You fool, rabbits don’t make tracks like that. Besides, would a rabbit have hopped this far?”

“You’ve never been hunting in the snow, have you? You’d be surprised, rabbit tacks can look a lot like humans. And these are far too small to belong to a human.”

“Maybe it’s a child?”

“There’s your answer. A child could never have walked this far alone.”

“I guess you’re right. Come on, the Ranger wants us back at the town before we light it.”

Cale lie still until he could no longer hear them, then he waited some more. The conversation between the two men brought several things to his attention. The first was that he was leaving a trail. He should have noticed it before, the soot blanketed everything like a fresh snowfall. Secondly, there were people looking for survivors. For what purpose, Cale didn’t know. Still, it brought up a third point to think about. There was a town nearby, which they were about to set on fire. Friendly people did not light towns on fire.
Town. Towns. Cale mouthed the word. He’s only heard about towns in stories. Apparently they were a great deal larger than villages. They even had more than one road, with shops full of elegant things. And food! Strange exotic foods. The very thought of a real meal made Cale’s mouth water.
Swallowing the last of his pinecone, he poked his head out of the branches. The two men had headed off on horseback the direction Cale had come from. He had no way on knowing which direction that was as he had no compass and ash blotted out the sun.
He bit his lip, weighing his options. There would almost certainly be more arsonists on horseback to contend with. But a town might provide food, water and shelter, albeit temporarily. He also could find more survivors like himself, maybe even someone from his village.
Considering it a reasonable risk, he set out in pursuit of his would-be trackers.

***

The town was unlike anything Cale had ever seen. It was easily five times as large as his own village, in every conceivable way. This town even had a two-story building, and more than one road!
Cale had left the horse trail once he was able to see the roofs above the trees. Taking to the underbrush, he sulked around, exploring. His plan had been to circle the town at least once before doing anything, but a large river had stopped that plan. What surprised Cale was the mighty stone bridge spanning the river, and the road continued right on top of it.
So back Cale slunk, hiding behind a semi-familiar place of a barn. He was desperately hungry, but men on horseback stood around watching with torches while other men rushed to and fro with pilfered items in their arms. Cale knew thievery, Byron had often stolen from him as a prank, only to return the items once he laughed. Still, to see looting on this scale was amazing. They took everything, not just food to stay alive. Some carried books while others carried silverware. Two men carried a piano. Almost all had their pockets stuff with jewels. It all made Cale feel a bit easier about stealing to eat.
Cale waited until no one was looking, staking out a house. Then, using speed leftover from childhood, he ran across the street and inside the front door. He was tempted to close it but was afraid one of the guards might notice the change.
Slowing his run to a meander, Cale looked around. He’d never seen such an opulent. They had actual paintings on their walls, hung with care. And their books! They must have had at least a dozen on the shelves. That was more reading than Cale had done in his entire life. Making his way back to the kitchen, he thought for a moment that one of the men may have killed him and this was the underworld. Good fresh food lined the cupboards. Apples and nuts and jerked beef! Stuffing his pockets as much as his mouth, he worked his way around the kitchen sampling everything.
Testing for staleness in a piece of bread, his eyes widened as footsteps approach. Thinking quickly, he hid under the kitchen table.

“Look at these poor blokes!” a man hollered out. “They ain’t got nuttin we want.”

“Yeah. Still, the boss says loot, so we loot.”

“Yeah, but, loot what? These people had to be dirt farmers. They ain’t got nuttin.”

“Didja check the kitchen?”

Trying not to panic, and especially trying not to choke on the already stale bread he’d almost swallowed hole, Cale looked for a way out. There was a tiny window above the counter, but most promising was the back door. It was unlatched, just beckoning him to run for it.

“Hey, look at this!” the voice caused Cale to almost bolt for it right then.

“Yeah, this table’s pure gopher wood. Gotta be, what? 500 years old?”

“200 at least. Certainly looks Old Kingdom to me. The Ranger will want this. Grab that end.”

Ranger? Even in Cale’s topsy-turvy world he couldn’t believe his ears. Rangers did not steal. They arrested thieves and championed justice.

“Crass this thing is heavy!”

Cale waited this the table was in the air before making his move. Too soon and he’d be squashed just like the squash they’d cleared from the table. Too late and the men would discover him on their own. Readying himself, he waited for the right moment.

“Hey!” one man called out as Cale made a break for it.

He dropped his end of the table, landing on his partner’s foot with a howl of pain. Cale barely noticed, he was already out the backdoor and over the tall fence in the yard. Too late he thought about the purpose of the fence as he went sailing into the confused face of a dog. Landing on the beast with a yelp, he was off again and halfway up the next fence before the dog could reach him. Luckily that fence blocked off a street, so he had a fair getaway. Somewhere in the back of his terror-stricken mind, he laughed as one of the men chasing him howled as he met the dog.
He was only about halfway around the block when the alarm went up. Horse riders began thundering towards him, swords and crossbows drawn. Cale ignored orders for him to stop as he looked for a way to escape. They were closing in from all sides but one. With the assurance born of adrenalin, Cale ran for the bridge and leapt, one again only thinking about what was below after he was in mid air.
Fortunately this time there was only water, and he cascaded into it with a great clamor. Splashing around, gasping for air, he looked up at the angry faced at the top of the bridge and was glad when the current flushed him downstream.
Almost enjoying his leisurely swim, it was several minutes before the riders caught up with him, three on one bank and two on the other. Coming to rest in a sandy knoll, Cale sank back into the mud under what he thought were the roots of a mangrove tree.

“Come out, boy. You’ll regret it if you make us come in there after you.” A Ranger ordered.

Three day’s ago that would have been the highlight of Cale’s short life. Currently he was more concerned with surviving.
His hands, clutching blindly in the mud, cut his arm on something sharp. Thinking it to be a stick, his fingers found purchase and pulled it free behind his back. Cale set his jaw. If they wanted him they were going to have to fight for him.

“Okay, kid. Have it your way. Melag, go get him. You two over there, watch him.” the Ranger ordered.

Melag landed in the river with a splash, and much to Cale’s envy stayed on his feet. As he reached between the roots, Cale sank further back out of the large man’s grasp.

“I can’t get ‘im, sir. I’ll have to cut ‘im out.” Melag looked up. Cale used that moment to strike.

Lunging forward and swinging his stick wildly, Cale connected strongly with the man’s head. The only problem occurred when he couldn’t pull back for another swing. As the mud and the water cleared, Cale stood in amazement with the other four men at the sight before them. Cale had struck not with a stick, but with a sword of burnt red, double-edged, and almost as long as Cale was tall. It was currently buried in Melag’s skull, who had a perfectly indescribable look on his face.
Falling over, Melag took Cale down with him, crashing them both into the water. Pushing the grown man off of him while struggling for air, Cale used the sword as leverage. His lungs burned. Finally he was able to stand up and breathe, the sword in his hand coming free.
Dripping wet, and no larger than a young girl, Cale had somehow killed a grown man. A bandit. Standing straighter and smiling, Cale looked at Melag’s comrade’s faces. He then felt his own face fall when he looked at the Ranger.

“Kill him.” he smiled.

Chapter V

Jazreal was no stranger to hardship. As a warrior of the People of the Plains she’d undergone the trials of the hunter, and the passage into adulthood. She’d stood on wolf rock for three days with nothing but a dagger, facing down enemies both seen and unseen. And she’d watched her own father be cut down defending her tribe. Oh yes, she knew hardship.
Yet nothing in her 16 years of life could have possibly prepared her for two days of life in the Great Mines. Her people had been brought in and separated like cattle. The chain held Old Mother, Ligia and herself had been sent underground, deeper than any Plains People knew existed. Old Mother kept muttering to herself about digging straight to the realm of the Shadow Dwellers, and Jazreal prayed for the first time that Old Mother was crazy.
Twice in as many days their captors had looked Ligia and Jazreal over in search of fresh playthings, and twice they’d chosen other girls. She was determined not to give them a third chance. Jazreal could not accept her happiness at the disgrace of other girls. Jazreal did not think herself a beautiful young woman like Ligia, yet she often told Jazreal that she was not common to behold. She’d had dreams about marrying a great hunter of the Plains. Now apparently those dreams were in vain. Still, they hadn’t cut her hair yet.

“We have to get out of here.” Jazreal muttered. The guards were always listening.

“How?” Ligia asked.

She kept picking away with the stick each had been given as a mining tool. If your stick broke, you used the smaller pieces. If those broke, you used your hands. If your fingers snapped off, you were expected to chew through solid rock.

“Old Mother.” Jazreal called. “Old Mother?”

She was chipping away at a single rock, muttering to herself. Jazreal and Ligia exchanged looks, checked for guards in earshot, and then nodded in unison.

“Old Mother!”

“What? I’m here my daughters. What is it?”

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Ligia said.

“To what end?”

“‘To what end’? Old Mother, surely you don’t expect us to die here?”

“My grandson‘s niece, I am old. Where else should I die is not here?”

Ligia looked like she was about to beat Old Mother with a stick while crying, so Jazreal decided to give it a try. “Old Mother, surely you don’t expect ME to die here?”

“Ah, there’s the spirit of the hunter. Of course not Jazreal. Ligia. You two shall yet live. You shall escape and go to the Knights for help.”

“You explained this to us, Old Mother. How do we get out?” Ligia became frustrated.

“Why, my dear. The same way we got in.” Jazreal and Ligia both rolled their eyes. Old Mother was renown for having a puckish sense of humor. “Now, there are two things you will need before you escape. Ligia, take this stone. It is priceless, older than time itself. Jazreal, here is your father’s sword.”

Ligia examined the plain gray pebble while Old Mother produced the sword in its scabbard, with a belt wrapped around it. She carefully placed it in Jazreal’s hands.

“How did the guards not take this from you? Old Mother, this sword is long!”

“The sheath protects it from unwanted eyes. But be wary, once drawn the sword itself attracts attention from far and wide.”

“This was my father’s,” Jazreal fingered the craftsmanship on the belt. Adorned with turquoise and eagle feathers, added to the hilt. As a girl Jazreal used to trace out the braids for hours.

“Yes, girl. But there is no time for that. Hide it, quickly! Keep it hidden through out your journey.”

“What ‘journey’? Old mother, what are you speaking about?” Jazreal questioned.

“Jazreal, you have a quest to undertake. Head for the High Castle. Find the Imperial Knights that remain. Return with help to free all our people. You will accomplish this. I have seen it.” the blind woman grinned.

“But Old Mother, I--”

“The guard’s coming,” Ligia hissed, her stone already concealed.

“Old Mother,” Jazreal began digging again. “You never explained to us exactly how the guards will let us reach the mouth.”

“That’s easy, child.” Old Mother smiled. “You’ll be chosen by the guards as slaves.”

***

It was as easy as Old Mother had said. The Mines employed several thousand slaves. That necessitated at least a few hundred guards, mostly male, who were always looking for something fun to do at night. So they tended to help themselves to some female slaves for a few days or so before returning them to the Mines. This ensured a steady flow of in-and-out traffic, and the probability that Jazreal and Ligia would be taken was high. Still, when three guards arrived, it was everything Jazreal could do not to ruin it for them.

“You!” The head guard pointed at Ligia. “Come here.” She got up and approached, Jazreal following close behind.

“Yeah, she’ll do.”

“What about her?” one of them pointed at Jazreal. “Wooh, look at the fire in them eyes! We’d better not take her, she’ll end up killin one of the boys.”

Jazreal let concern show momentarily in her face, but hid it once she saw the guard smile. She was in no danger of being left behind. Without another word their wrists were bound and they were lead to the main chasm. Both of the girls looked behind them at Old Mother, who waved them off slowly. She knew everything would be okay; they just needed to share her faith.
Lead along, Jazreal kept her head down but her eyes wide, passively seeing everything. She used all her hunting skills to try and learn everything at once. The mineshafts they were being lead down, or up rather, kept getting larger, like the roots of a tree. They’d been in the small roots and were heading for the trunk. Even with her senses on high, Jazreal was unsure that she could find her way back to Old Mother.
One thing she did notice though was all the different races of humans. Every verity from the globe was present in the Hellish pit. The freshest seemed to be Indians, from all tribes. Jazreal’s people were apparently among many of the tribes brought in. Also in abundance were the white people, though difficult to call ’fair skinned’ because of their filthy bodies. They’d apparently been down in the mines the longest, which made sense, as the Great Mine was located directly beneath the Old Kingdom.
Jazreal’s biggest surprise though, came when they past a giant of a man. He was pushing eight feet in height, with biceps as large as her head. At first she thought he was merely a large man covered in soot, but upon closer inspection, she realized that was indeed his true color. The sweat rolling off his near naked, midnight-black skin confirmed that this was, indeed, a Nubian. Jazreal heard a small gasp and quickly met Ligia’s eyes.

“Like him, eh? That there is a genuine Nubian, member of the last of the royal household.” One of the guards answered.

“He’s royalty? I thought--”

“No, you stupid girl! Do you think the Old Kingdom could have survived for a thousand years if the royal family was Nubian? I said he was of the royal household. I swear you Indians are as bad as they are, thinking you‘re so important.”

“He’s a descendent of the royal attendants.” One of the other guards explained with great passion. “They served the family with great respect. You see, many, many generations ago, there was a great war in a far off land. The king lost; His army was dead or scattered, and he was surrounded be the enemy.”

“Frank…. I don’t believe this guys, he’s doing it again.”

“Then, out of nowhere--”

“Out of nowhere came my fist to punch you in the nose. Frank! Quit it with the history lesson! No one likes your stories. Besides, they’re just dumb Indians. They can’t understand you anyways.”

“Excuse me, you fair skilled rat, but we understand your tongue just fine.” Jazreal snapped with all the courage she could muster. She was greeted with a backhand across the face for her trouble.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Frank continued. “Out of nowhere this giant Nubian came striding into the battle, swinging a red Sword with the might of a bear. The king gave pause as the Nubian waded towards him, killing men as he came. When he killed all his enemies and reached the king, he dropped to one knee. ‘What do you wish of me, oh mighty oak of a man? Name it and it shall be yours,’ the king asked. ‘Mighty king, I have been sent to you to accompany with you back to your kingdom, that I might be a missionary for my God.’ was all the Nubian said. ‘My friend, you shall sit beside me in my castle, and your religion shall be my religion, and you shall instruct my Knights in the ways of your God. And when you are old, and we die together, your children shall still be raised in my household forever more.’ And that’s how the Nubians came the be attendants to the royal family.” Frank finished.

Jazreal contemplated the story, wondering if it was indeed true. She was about to ask so when a great light blinded her. Cursing herself she realized they were outside. She’d become so engrossed in Frank’s story that she’d completely forgotten to keep track of their location. Old Mother was lost to her now, possibly forever. Frank’s smile confirmed that the entire story had been a set up to draw her attention away from their path, undoubtedly to break the prisoners of any hope of escaping. Well, they’d never met Jazreal Bloodmoon.
They were lead to a shack off hanging under a crag on the near side of the surface compound. The entire area was littered with shacks, and three well-built buildings. Two were long and skinny, probably the barracks and eating lodge. The last possibly an armory.

“Eyes forward, slave.” one of the guards ordered

Not eager for another teeth-rattling smack across the face, she looked towards their destination. The shack, and indeed it was that, was poorly constructed with no windows. Even at half a dozen yards off Jazreal was overcome with the nauseating stench of fear, sweat and sex. Even though she’d never experienced the latter herself, there had been enough newlyweds in her tribe to identify the smell.
Inside was unbearably worse. There were four beads in the four corners. They were of a construction Jazreal had never seen before, metal with some kind of fabric for comfort. She suspected at one time they had been white; now they were a smelly tan. One even had an old bloodstain on it.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll get the others.” The head guard left, locking the door from the outside. The two remaining guards looked at each other and smiled with the cruelest intentions of men.

“Let’s get to it then.”

Chapter VI

Cale awoke to the sound of running water, very sore. His feet were cold. Cracking his eyes open to see, he noticed the sun was past it’s apex. Only on second contemplation did he realize that he could actually see he sun, or rather be blinded by it. The smoke in the air that had plagued him for days was gone.
Sitting up with a groan, he was on the riverbank, his feet dangling in the cold water. Pulling them out, he turned to crawl further up shore. Only then did he noticed the distinct discoloration of the grass. Standing, he stared is disbelief, surrounded by four bodies. They were those of the horsemen that had chased him. And they were all very, very dead. In fact, they looked like they had been dead for several days.
He heard no sounds of looting from the town. Still, even if he was far enough downstream not to hear the city sounds, there were no more guards coming down the road. The Ranger was dead; surely they would send someone to investigate.
Straining on his tiptoes, he could see smoke from the direction of the town. He knew from burning brush that it was not the smoke of a fire starting or in progress, but of a dead fire. Had the town burned already?

“What happened?”

Cale went weak kneed and tumbled over, almost rolling into the river again. That was when he noticed it. The sword that he’d cleaved Melag’s head with. It lay not two feet from him, rust red and glistening in the sunlight. Reaching over, he touched it. He didn’t know what he was expecting, probably for it to bite him or something. Instead, all he felt was a faint vibration under his fingers.

“Weird.”

Cale hefted it, or tried to anyways. He nearly tumbled backwards in the attempt. The sword was far too light to require hefting. It was more than half the length of his body, composed of a metal he had no knowledge of. It looked like it should take a mighty arm to swing, yet it was so well balanced that Cale actually held it broadside on his finger.
Looking around, he thought about it. Had he killed five grown men armed with crossbows and swords, then passed out for a few days? Right. Even to a 13-year-old imagination filled with adventure and romance, there was no conceivable way that could have worked.

“So what happened here?” Cale asked to no one unparticular. Looking at the sword, he smiled. “Did you do this?”

Yes.

Cale was sure they heard his girlish scream as far away as the town. The guards would be on him soon. Still, he didn’t care. A talking sword elicited, no, demanded a high-pitched, girlish scream of terror. Cale made a panic stricken mental note to call that a ‘manly battle cry’ from now on.
Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself. He’d never climbed a tree so fast in his life. Here in the lower branches of the mangrove tree, he had a good view of the area. There was indeed a lot of dried blood on the ground from the dead soldiers. There were also arrows littered everywhere. And all the bodies surrounded where Cale had woken up. And there was the sword, that terrible sword, lying in the afternoon sun, mocking him.

“Hello? Sword?” Nothing. “Anyone?” Still nothing, though he would swear the sword winked at him.

Waiting as long as his patience would allow, Cale dropped to the ground. Approaching slowly, his eyes constantly on the sword, he began to wonder what he was doing. That sword was an alien thing. He should leave it alone. He had no business with a sword anyways. He could just go find another. Or take the Ranger’s. A Ranger’s weapon would fit Cale splendidly. These thoughts seemed to seep their way into his mind unbidden. Yet curiosity got the better of him. He began speaking as he reached for the sword.

“Okay. I don’t know if you can here me, but please don’t kill me. I’m sorry I used you without asking, but I didn’t know you were alive, okay? I’m going to pick you up now. PLEASE don’t kill me.” Cale paused, swallowed, and picked up the sword. It still hummed in his grip.

Yes I can hear you. No I’m not going to kill you. You never need my permission to use me. How could you possibly know I’m alive if we’ve never met before? That’s quite all right and no, I’m not going to kill you. Does that answer all your questions?

Cale blinked. He could hear the voice in his head, speaking to him. Not in his mind, but through the vibrations of the sword.

Cale?

“Y-yes?”

Are you all right?

“How… how do you know my name? What are you? Where did you come from? How did all this happen? What’s going on? Am I losing my mind? Please, answer slowly!”

The sword vibrated more and Cale once again would swear the sword was laughing at him. This truly was insane. Not only did he find a living weapon, but also he was having a conversation with it!

I assure you, this is all quite sane. I am a Spirit Sword of the Imperial Knights, and imbued with a shard of the Stone, an actual piece of the Rock of Ages. My last Sword Bearer was named Trask. He died and I was buried with him. You awakened me. Since bonding with you I was forced to tap into your own limited power to slay your enemies.

“Okay, wait. Just wait. Go back to the part where you are ‘bonded’ with me?”

I am bonded to you through blood, for life.

“And when, exactly, did this happen?”

Check your hand.

Cale looked and sure enough, there was a dried scab on his hand from where he’d cut himself. Somehow he found the sword, bonded with it, awakened it and used it, all without knowing it. He stuck the tip in the dirt, letting it sit upright. When he could no longer feel the vibrations doubt crept into his mind. This was the sword of the much-dreaded Imperial Knights, the band of evil men that caused the downfall of the Old Kingdom. Wasn’t that reason enough to leave the sword here? If he needed more proof, what would happen to him if others found him with the sword of the Knights? He’d be killed for sure.
Cale started to walk away, and yet, something stopped him. Something the sword said; that they were bonded. Tully had read him books about princesses and dragons and mighty heroes, but never anything about talking swords. Yet he knew what being bonded meant. Was he really willing to abandon the one connection he had in the entire world?
Tentatively he reached out and touched the hilt. The humming had a calming sensation on him, washing all his anxiety away.

Do NOT release me again. There is much evil surrounding you here, and I am the only thing that can repel it right now.

“You’re my last line of defense?”

I’m your basic line of defense. From this point on, the world is a much larger place, Cale Tannor.

“Okay, how do you know my name? Can you read my mind?”

No. Not yet. I can only hear what is spoken, just as you can only hear me when we are in contact. Later, when our bond is stronger, it is possible that we might communicate over some distance with each other.

“Neat. Tell me about this ‘bonded’ thing now.”

You are now my Bearer. A Sword Bearer. I am with you until you die or I am renounced. I can help you, heal you, protect you and sustain you. I can draw on the power of the Rock to perform incredible feats, all at your command.

“Interesting. What’s in it for you?”

You are a servant of the Way, walking in the ways of truth, justice, honor and love. You are bound to these just as I am bound to you.

“But I can reject this, right?”

Not yet.

“Yeah, but you said I can renounce you.”

Rejection requires knowledge. You can no more reject something you do not know than you can leap to the moon.

“Okay, so rejection is on hold…” Cale stared at the sword. “Soooo, what do I call you?”

My last Bearer called me ‘Sword’.

“What about the guy before him?”

‘Sword’.

“And before that?”

‘Sword’

“Um, is there anyone who didn’t call you ‘Sword’?”

No.

“Not very talkative, are you?”

Give it time. You shall tired of my words soon enough. All Bearers do eventually.

“How long were you down there anyways?”

I do not know. Spirit Swords are not given a sense of time.

“Where do we go from here?”

Retrieve my scabbard. It protects us from unwanted eyes.

Cale went back to the mangrove tree where it all started. After digging around in the silt and still finding nothing, he became frustrated and began hacking roots apart. Finally after a tiring strike, it bubbled up, along with part of Trask’s hand. Cale let out another manly battle cry, secured the scabbard and sheathed Sword. They could still communicate in that position, not that it helped. They quickly discovered that neither had a clue what to do next.

Chapter VII

“Okay, now we’re about to get started, so we want you two to get undressed. Don’t think about runnin’, and don’t think that we can’t beat ya within an inch of yer life just so we can get down to business. Just last week my friend here killed a girl.” stated Frank

“It was an accident.” he smiled. He was missing teeth.

“Still, it ain’t no trouble for us, so just do what we say and no one gets hurt. Well, not us anyways.”

“I wonder what ya’ll got on underneath them skins? Anything?”

“Oh this tall one looks like she’s got something, if you know what I mean.” Toothy stared at Ligia’s chest.

“I’ve seen better.”

“Yeah, but look at that other one.” he gestured to Jazreal. “Nothin to speak of up top.”

Jazreal gulped and looked at Ligia for help. While they were both virgins, Ligia was two years older and much more versed in maters of life and love and men. The only thing Jazreal knew much about was hunting and tracking and killing. So when Ligia smiled at her and touched her hand, she felt much comfort. They were going to be fine.

“Now, I always ‘ave been curious about something. You Indians have got dances for everything. What about…”

Frank whispered something in Ligia’s ear that Jazreal could not hear. She was surprised by the ferocity of her reaction though. Ligia tried to slap him, only to have her wrist caught. She screamed as Frank pushed her down on the bed, pinning her. When he tried to hike up her tunic, the other guard pulled him off.

“Hey now, She’s mine! I saw her first!”

“Like crass you did! I want this one, you take the runt.”

“I don’t want the runt, I want her!”

These two Guards were very strange. They showed no pretext of danger from the girl in the corner, and even less from Ligia crying on the bed. They acted like they had smoked the fire weed, when they clearly had not. Still, part of hunting was being thankful to the mother after the kill was made, not before.
Slowly removing the sword from beneath her buckskin tunic, Jazreal got it all the way out before one of the guards noticed.

“Hey! What’s that?”

Ligia leapt from the bed, grabbing Frank around the waist. She’s been faking all along, waiting for her cousin to get ready. Jazreal smiled, going for Toothy on the left, honing in for the kill. She swung her father’s sword like a club, sheath and all. It connected with the guard’s neck, shattering the vertebra, killing him instantly. Jazreal was on Frank before Toothy was done twitching. He had Ligia by her wrists, laughing as she struggled. With a quick kidney jab he lay gasped as he hit the floor. Jazreal calmly stepped over him, and prepared to draw her sword for the finishing blow.

“No, don’t.” Ligia exclaimed.

“Why not?”

“Remember what Old Mother said? If you draw the sword it will only bring attention to you and cause trouble to come.”

“You’re right, I’d forgotten.”

Without even the dying mercy of a glance into his eyes, Jazreal crushed the Frank’s windpipe beneath her boot. It had been a simple matter and the entire affair had taken less than a minute. Now they had to hurry though, as the third guard would be returning with a legion of his friends.

“Try to bar the door with these beds.” Jazreal instructed.

While Ligia moved furniture, Jazreal set to work on the wall. She chose the side facing the rocky cliff, not readily noticed from the front. The shack had been hastily constructed and was wrought with gaps between the boards. The builders had evidently been thought about sex when throwing the shacks together, not escaping prisoners.
Still, with the sword in the sheath, Jazreal was forced to pry the boards loose, a task that took much longer than she wanted. Ligia was done and began helping her pull boards up when they heard the first sounds outside. Redoubling their efforts, they made a hole large enough for Jazreal to fit through.

“You go! I’ll stall them.” Ligia urged.

Muttering a curse her father inadvertently taught her, she buckled the scabbard to her waist and drew the sword. It was light in her palm; well balanced. The almost-rust color seemed to have an otherworldly sheen to it. She could almost imagine she felt something inside stir. When she heard a shout of alarm go up, she swung down on the wall with her sword, cutting swaths out of the boards much easier than she should have.
Within seconds both she and Ligia were in the open air, running for their lives. They were free! The question was for how long.

Chapter VIII

Somehow Ligia and Jazreal made it out of the compound. As children they’d been told horror stories about Indians who had wandered into the mountains, and the terrors that lurked in the land of the fair-skinned men. As the sun sank lower behind the peaks and the shadows deepened, they prayed those stories weren’t true.
Good fortune smiled as they crossed a trail of sorts along the way. Jazreal argued that she no longer trusted good fortune, but Ligia insisted that they had no time to debate it.
Trotting at the pace of distance runners, they noticed between the deepening shadows that the landscape was changing. Instead of arid and mountainous, the landscape was becoming hilly and green. If it continued, there was a chance they could make it back to the plains. If that happened, no one would be able to stop them. That hope was dashed when they saw their first tree.

“Well, there goes that plan.” Ligia complained.

“Will you stop whining? We’ve got to keep moving.” urged Jazreal.

“Why bother? We’re lost.”

“Has it occurred to you, dear cousin, that we may be followed? And that they have horses?” Jazreal planted her hands on her hips.

In fact it had not. The two continued until there was no chance they could go any further. Even out of the mountains the sky was too dark to continue. They opted to find a large tree for the night. At least they wouldn’t be caught unawares.

“It’s cold up here.” Jazreal snuggled closer.

“Yeah. Look, you can kind of see the Mine.” There was indeed a faint glow to the south.

“Hey Ligia?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you scared back there?”

“Yes. That could have gone very badly.”

“Yeah…” Jazreal trailed off.

“Were you scared?”

“No.” she paused. “I don’t know, maybe a little.”

“It’s okay to be scared.” Ligia hugged her.

“Killing isn’t the same as hunting.”

“I don’t think it ever is. I’m just glad you were there to save me.”

Jazreal smiled. “You could have handled yourself just fine.”

“Not with the two of them.” Ligia countered. “You’re the warrior, not me.”

“Men are disgusting.” Jazreal spat as her memories spiraled back.

“Well, you have to trust some men. Don’t you want to be married?” Ligia teased.

“Yes.” Jazreal said shyly. “I dreamed of it for so long, of having a great warrior for a husband. But there’s no one left in our tribe now.”

“Maybe we’ll meet some of our people here?” Ligia offered.

“Don’t count on it. I doubt there are any great warriors in this land, no matter what Old Mother says.” Jazreal’s words hung coolly in the night air. “Try and get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

Sleeping on tree limbs was more difficult that it sounded, especially for two Indian maidens who had only just seen their first tree. Yet somehow they found rest between waking bouts every few minutes to make sure they weren‘t falling out.
Morning came quicker than either wished. It had been a very long night of little sleep. After eating breakfast from the fruits in the tree and completing their morning routine with a few minor hitches, they were off again, careful to stay out of sight as much as possible. They saw their first fence about midday, and it filling them with excitement and dread. Were there strangers ahead? Should they turn around?
Their choice was made for them as they rounded a bend and came face to face with mounted Rangers.

***

“I’m hungry.”

You’ve already eaten.

“I have to go pee.”

You’ve already done that too.

“I’m tired.”

You just rested not five minutes ago.

“Ha! You said you couldn’t tell time!”

I asked and you told me it was five minutes ago.

“Oh. I still don’t understand why we’re marching down this stupid dirt path.”

Because I am being drawn this way.

“But I’m the Bearer, remember?”

You have no particular direction in which you are headed. You are bearing me in this direction. Both our problems are solved and our duties fulfilled.

“Remember how you said I’d get tired of you talking?”

Yes.

“I hate it already.”

Cale had been walking since first light. Upon revisiting the town, he discovered that, yes indeed; it had burned several days prior. The fact that he’d lain unconscious for two days with no one stopping to help him or at least kill him had been unnerving. Sword said he’d caused people not to notice. Apparently it was a natural ability for sheathed Swords, for their scabbards to veil themselves.
Sword said to head south, so they headed south. He gave no reason other than citing the inner power of the Rock telling him what to do. Considered that Cale had no inner compass himself, he went along with the plan.
Cale snorted. He was taking directions from a talking sword. A sword that had belonged to a Imperial Knight, the wretched band of thieves and witches the tales of the old kingdom were built around.

“Could you not at least have found a water skin?”

My apologies. I am not psychic. My field of vision is limited, similar to yours.

“Okay, I have a question.”

And not another complaint? I’m shocked.

Great. The talking sword was being sarcastic. “No. This is about time. You say you can’t measure it. Do you know how old you are?”

I do not need to know how old I am. I saw the first dawn. Time is unimportant to Swords.

“You mean before you were buried?”

No, Cale. The first dawn of the first day. I saw the creation of the world. I was present to watch the first trees grow, and I heard the sweet sound of the very first song. My first Bearer was the first king of men, and my last Bearer died during the final stand of the Imperial Knights.

“Woah.”

Cale had only left his home and village for the first time days ago. Here was an ageless weapon that had seen and done more than he could ever imagine in a thousand lifetimes. The only context he had was how Sword was lost.

“The Imperial Knights? So you’re a witch’s sword?” Cale asked slowly.

The Imperial Knights were not witches! They were disciples of the Way, which grants powers the uninstructed are incapable of understanding. That is why they were called witches. Do not EVER presume that they communed with Demons. To say such things shows your ignorance and makes me feel as though I may rust.

“You… you rust?” The outburst had caught Cale flatfooted.

It is an expression. The Bearers I have known have called it