When the Gods of Von were strong and young, they numbered seven. Seven domains among them, they were friends, partners, enemies, and strangers. Above all, they were.
Unnamed and uncounted, there existed one separate from these seven. His domain was not given, but earned. Upon transcendental skill, he was known as Bladelord. Seven deities he fought, seven scars upon the heaven he carved, until there was none left to oppose him. At this peak, he looked upon his carnage and called to the earth below. No answer came to him. The Bladelord sheathed his sword and wept.
His tears were of no use to himself. The Bladelord returned to the earth and found an apprentice. He trained his apprentice in the ways of the sword. In the art of battle. Within his apprentice, the Bladelord found joy.
The Bladelord molded his apprentice into a Master of Swords. One final test awaited his pupil. On that fateful day, the Bladelord unsheathed his sword. Despite all the lessons, a mere Master of Swords was not enough. The Bladelord buried his pupil. Tears ran dry and the Bladelord continued to find another pupil. And another. And another. And another.
Then, one came to him. Far too young, far too talentless. Yet they were trained regardless. On the day of the exam, his youngest pupil drew their sword and challenged the Bladelord with confidence and poise. Beyond hope and beyond imagining, the Bladelord found his blade broken.
A fading smile on his face, the Bladelord congratulated his pupil and thanked them. From then on, whoever reached that transcendental peak were shapers of their age and known as the Sword Saint.
A young boy of twelve summers combed the hair of his great grandmother, the matriarch of his family. Yet to call her just his great grandmother would be an understatement. Many greats stand in between the two of them, the matriarch worn and weathered by time.
It has been twelve days since he started. Each comb through her long, threadbare, platinum, hair was slow and methodical. He teased stubborn knot from stubborn knot from their place, careful to not pull too hard. A marked difference from the first day, where the impatience of his age caused to him rush. The matriarch tried to beat his hot-blooded temper out of him. Even as his touch is light and brush steady, he did so with a
The sun started to set when the boy combed the matriarch’s hair to any satisfaction. Then, her first lesson ended.
The matriarch sent the boy back to his mother and father for the night. He grumbled and groaned and sulked at the first family dinner since the summer began. His uncles and aunts congratulated him. His cousins cheered.
The boy did not feel their cheers or their joy. All he knew and all he felt was the feeling of the comb in his hand. It wasn’t much. He didn’t know if it was anything at all.
The next day, his family sent him back to the matriarch. On his way outside of the family castle, he entertained that maybe this was a test. Maybe today will be actual training.
His hopes were dashed within moments of meeting the matriarch. She sat as usual, on the broken steps of an abandoned castle. In her hands, the same comb.
The boy didn’t know what he felt. Whether it was anger, disappointment, or something else. Multiple scenarios flashed through his mind. He would run, he would lash out. He’d disappear and train himself.
But instead, the boy resigned himself. He approached the matriarch without a word, grabbed the comb, and brushed her hair.
He had gotten a lot better, good enough to let his mind wander as his hands remembered the motions. He wondered what the matriarch was thinking. What she expected of him. Then before the sun reached it’s peak, he started thinking about silly thing as well. Like does the matriarch mess up her hair on purpose? Does hair of her length get in the way?
Not long after the zenith and a little after they broke for lunch, the matriarch taught the boy how to braid her hair. It was not easy, for every time a strand was out of place, the matriarch had him start from the very beginning and brush again.
Despite this, the process was smoother. He made fewer mistakes, the matriarch’s reprimands softer as well. Just in six days, the boy braided her hair to a braided crown. She nodded at him and sent him back. The second lesson completed.
Once more, the family hall was filled with cheers and congratulations. Not one of them asked him what his training entailed.
“Elohim Essaim, you are the pride of our family name,” his father patted him on the back close to the end of the night.
Elohim thanked him. He did not feel pride in his work. He only did what was expected of him.
On his third walk over, Elohim stopped. The forest separating the two castles felt awfully constrictive. It was a cloudy day today, not to mention the branches above were dense enough as is. He held his hand out and thought about his gift.
Twenty-one days prior, when his gift first awakened, it manifested as a sword, summoned from light. Father could scarcely believe his eyes and within minutes, he was brought in front of the matriarch.
“Elohim,” her voice was raspy and quiet. “From this day forward, you must not use your gift until you are trained.”
Without even knowing what it meant, Elohim had forgotten the feeling of his gift. Alone in this forest, perhaps now he could try to remember.
As wonderful as it was to entertain those thoughts, Elohim sighed and continued as was expected of him.
The matriarch was not at her usual spot. Elohim wondered if age had caught up with her. Then he chided himself for the same thought.
Elohim looked around the front of the castle, expecting to catch a hint of the matriarch. Or perhaps the lesson had already begun and she was watching him. The boy wandered a bit more, pacing up and down the steps and all across the courtyard. It was a small blessing, to be moving around anyway.
It was around midday when Elohim first heard it. Felt, would be a more apt word, for he couldn’t exactly mark the sound. He perked up and did another lap. It came again and again, at steady intervals. But no matter where he went outside, he felt it at the same slight sound, the same slight intensity.
His eyes drifted to the castle entrance. Elohim had heard the stories of old Castle Essaim. How it used to be the stronghold before the matriarch had the family leave for different pastures. The matriarch must be inside, but he couldn’t imagine anyone actually living in it. The wooden gate was rotting off it’s hinges and old beyond belief. The stone surrounding it was just as eroded. Yet if he wanted to, he could enter.
Curiosity won in the end. Elohim climbed the broken steps, careful not to stumble over loose stones. He made it to the gate. It was open just enough for someone to walk through and more than enough for Elohim to peer inside. The inside did not fair much better than the outside, furniture basically eaten away by time.
He stepped within, the inside colder than peak of summer outside.
Clang. He felt it strong inside. Within his chest, in time with his heartbeat. Clang. He spotted a lit lantern deeper within the castle halls. Clang. Elohim recognized this sound, this feeling. Clang. Metal striking on metal. Clang. It was the sound of a hammer striking an anvil.
Elohim found the matriarch within the castle, at a blacksmith’s forge. Back turned to him, he watched her naked back as she struck the tool in front of her. Her hair was still braided like before.
The matriarch’s age did not betray her strength. Her back was like worn leather, stretching to accommodate toned muscles underneath. It was scarred and uneven, marred by the battles she must have fought. And above all else, there was a sureness at her back that Elohim couldn’t quite place.
“Grandmother,” Elohim called out to her. “I have arrived for my lesson.”
The matriarch paused for one heartbeat. Two heartbeats. She pointed at the bellows in front of her. “We need more heat.”
And Elohim obeyed. He became an assistant to the matriarch’s work. He should have expected something like this eventually - the family house has it’s own forge and father would often have Elohim assist with his own forgework.
“An Essaim must know how to create and care for weapons,” father would say. “To use our gift is to create our gift.”
The work was steady and hard, but welcome. When the day ended, the Matriarch brought Elohim to two dilapidated rooms not far from the forge. One for her and one for him. For both of them, the bed was no more than a cot on the floor. Being slightly uncomfortable for a couple days would be fine, Elohim reasoned. So he accepted the room without complaint.
Days turned to weeks. The forge burned ever hot, the striking of the anvil loud in his ears.
“Elohim, I will tell you of our history,” The matriarch said between blows. “Remember it well.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim said, quenching a blade. He had learned of their history before. He did not look forward to hearing of it again.
Over the course of five days she recited note from note of the Essaim family while crafting weapon after weapon. She recited their gift with weapons and how they were chosen by the Bladelord to guide humanity through the dark times. She spoke of the godswar, where the Essaim family learned the way of the sword and fought by the side of the Bladelord in his crusade against the gods. The family were the Bladelord’s army, his blade in the dark when the Bladelord could not be everywhere at once. It is there where their blood was drenched with the fires of battle and their legacy began.
When stars fell from beyond the sky, the family was there. They were the shield against the falling sky, commanding blades that danced without being held. The beings within the stars were formidable, but no match against cold steel.
When the demons from below ran across surface, once more, the family was there. They were the spear at which the battle was held, cutting through their ranks and banishing them from the capital city, Selarune. Lauded by the world as heroes, the family found acclaim and continued to be the guardians of Cappagh.
And now, as dragons from the north threaten the lands, the Essaim family must once again be there for the land.
“I trust your father has told you of this before,” the matriarch asked. She sharpened a newly made knife, one of hundreds strewn about the forge, then held it for Elohim to inspect. “Of our past and your future.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim inspected the knife and found no flaw. “It is perfect, grandmother. My father could not make one of such equal.”
She snorted, then tossed the dagger to a growing pile of proclaimed defects.
“I will now tell you the truth,” the matriarch held out the hammer to Elohim. He looked at the hammer, then back at her. “Take it boy, my arm grows weary.”
Elohim took the hammer and looked around the forge. Suddenly, tools and stations that he used extensively in assistance with the matriarch were foreign and so far away. “What should I make, grandmother?”
“Daggers,” She sat down and put on a threadbare shirt. “Swords. Spears. Maces. Whatever you want. A hundred of each.”
“Yes grandmother,” Elohim said, with more confidence than he felt. Without a real goal in mind, Elohim started work forging.
“The truth behind our family, boy, is that we are a family of cowards,” the matriarch began. Elohim paused to look at her, never before hearing anything but uncompromising iron in her voice. But now it was more sullen. Tired. Rusted. “Cowards in the wake of the true hero, the Sword Saint.”
The story of the Essaim family is one of followers. They were not truly the Bladelord’s chosen, nor did they help the Bladelord in any capacity. No, the godswar was waged by the Bladelord and the Bladelord alone.
The Bladelord also chose many. The many had exactly one task; to surpass and kill the Bladelord. The first patriarch of the Essaim family was one of those chosen. And despite failing to surpass or kill his master, as was required of the task, the patriarch survived. He survived the only way the weak could - by running. Covered in his own blood, bereft of sword and skill, he ran. When he was sure the Bladelord did not follow, he ran some more. Only when his heart threatened to burst out of his chest did the patriarch stop.
In shame and guilt, the patriarch dared not swing a sword again. He settled down in a village, the foundation of which would become this castle. It would be many years before he thought about swordplay at all.
Then a foreboding came, carrying itself on an autumn wind. The way the story goes, it was a cloudy day. Then the clouds split. A moment later, the sound of thunder echoed throughout the land. The patriarch’s old scars ached. He knew that the test had begun.
Gathering the scattered scraps of his courage, the patriarch traveled to the source of the sound. It was easy to find - every so often, another crack would echo, followed by the wind. His travels brought him to the western reaches of Cappagh. There were mountains there, once. But the battle between master and student shattered them to fragments. It was by chance that the patriarch saw the final blow.
The Bladelord fell and the patriarch dropped to his knees and proclaimed the victor as the Sword Saint. He begged to follow in their footsteps and did so with pride.
“But the cowardice would forever stain him and us. That is our legacy,” the matriarch said. It has been seven days since she began telling the story. Something didn’t sit right with Elohim, the cowardice that the matriarch spoke of. Did his father have it? His mother? All the stories he heard were of bravery and valor.
And how did that relate to the task she had given him? Elohim tried hard to craft excellent weapons, taking his time and spending a day on each one. Though they were nowhere near in quality of the matriarch or his father, they were the best he could make and for that he was proud.
That pride mixed with his confusion.
“Grandmother,” Elohim placed his tools down on the start of day eight. “Father never told me of this. Why?”
“I never told this to your father. Or his mother. Or her mother. Or her father,” the matriarch said. “Only family heads know of this.”
Elohim was quiet, the only sound in the forge the crackling of coals.
“Does that make me the next family head?” He asked finally.
“You would not know of the Sword Saint if you were not,” the matriarch said. Her tone softened. “It is good you are finally asking questions. I did not ask enough when trained by the the patriarch before me. Continue with your forging. I will continue with our history.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim picked up his tools and the sound of hammers on anvil began as the matriarch continued.
The Sword Saint’s skill was beyond the patriarch’s comprehension. Though taught by the same master, there was a difference in mentality that the patriarch could not overcome. It was that difference that was prayed upon by dark force long since forgotten.
The Essaim family did not the gift back then as we do now. It was a shortcut to power that the patriarch sought.
He gained power, but lost his will. He became an instrument of the apocalypse because of this difference, this cowardice.
Yet the Sword Saint was not deterred. In the way that they cut down the Bladelord, the Sword Saint defeated the patriarch. Unlike with the Bladelord, the patriarch was offered mercy.
The darkness that took over the patriarch could not be contained no longer. Unleashed upon the world, the Sword Saint took it upon themselves to banish it, never to be seen again. The only survivor of that event, the patriarch was known by witnesses as the new Sword Saint. That is the beginning of the Essaim family and the gift.
“The patriarch knew better,” the matriarch said. “We know better.”
Elohim’s work continued as his processes smoothed out and he gained confidence in his hands.
“Grandmother, what is our gift?” Elohim asked. “I know it as weapons, but what’s so bad about it?”
“A better question for you, boy,” She gestured around the room. There were piles of weapons cluttered around the floor. “Where are my weapons?”
“Your weapons?” Elohim looked around. All of these weapons were his. He has no memory of disposing them.
The matriarch closed her eyes and held her hand out. In a flash of light, a dagger appeared, one of the many she crafted.
“Our gift is our Armory,” the matriarch said. “Weapons that belong to us can be stored and summoned as needed. You may use your gift to store, boy. You may not use it to summon.”
“But how?” Elohim grabbed one of the weapons from the floor and tried to focus. He didn’t know what it felt like, what it looked like. The memory of summoning a sword for the first time was already so far away.
“By knowing what is yours,” the matriarch pulled out the comb from the first two lessons and placed it in his hands.
Elohim stared at the wooden comb. It was familiar in his hands, he understood the purposed of the tool. He closed his eyes and gripped tight. On instinct, he let go. When Elohim opened his eyes again, the comb was gone.
“Good,” the matriarch nodded. “When you have learned our history in full, we will begin your training in earnest.”
“Yes, grandmother.”
“That Sword Saint was not the last Sword Saint, but they were much rarer than our family heads.”
For every story that spoke of the Essaim family’s bravery, a Sword Saint had a true hand in. The falling star was defeated by the single stroke of the Sword Saint Artl. The Archdemon of Mira was defeated in a fierce battle by Sword Saint Kishin. The gift of the Essaim family offers strength. That strength which came from a weakness is the same which plague the first patriarch. It has consumed many family heads, some even forcing the Sword Saint of the time to take drastic action.
“And now, in all my years, a Sword Saint has not risen to meet the dragons,” the matriarch sighed. “They have not attacked again, for my presence holds them at bay, but I am old.”
“Is our gift a curse?” Elohim finished cleaning the forge of weapons, all of them stored within his armory. “Why train in it?”
“Because we cannot wait for a sword saint to arrive and vanquish threats for us,” the matriarch said. “They might come later, but there are people in trouble now. And we have the power to act.”
“What if I fail? What if I fall to the same curse as the previous family heads?” Elohim asked.
The matriarch wore a wry smile, the first smile that Elohim had seen from her. “I have failed before, but in the gift I have not. You will be trained, Elohim. I will see to it that you do not fail this.”
Elohim bowed his head. “Thank you, grandmother. I will not fail you.”
“Now that we are in agreement,” the matriarch said. “Now continue with your weapons. A hundred of each.”
With her faith in mind, Elohim worked harder to meet her expectations. Knowing what he knows now, Elohim could envision what she saw in him. That was enough to drive away the discomfort of the forge. Enough to work past exhaustion. Enough to put all of himself towards a goal that wasn’t his.
Elohim missed a swing in his exhaustion and nearly took out his own hand. He blinked and shook his head. How long has he been here? The summer has surely gone by now.
The matriarch caught his exhaustion and gently took the hammer from him.
“Go,” She walked him out of the castle. “The Harvest festival is in three days. Recover and return.”
Elohim obeyed without thought. In a stupor of metal and fire, he traveled the forest past that was once familiar to him. He didn’t notice the setting sun, nor did he notice the long shadows of the coming winter. The trees were alien, painted in the colors of fire. Red, orange, yellow, lacking in green. Some trees didn’t have leaves at all, that was the immensity of time he spent in the castle.
When he arrived back at the home, he didn’t see the preparations for the festival around him. The family greeted him with cheers and assurance, yet Elohim did feel that. In single-minded exhaustion, Elohim found his room and collapsed into a soft, warm bed for the first time in a season.
It was not the rest he was hoping for.
Elohim woke with his body sore and his mind muddled. It was the kind of awakening where time ceased to have meaning. He could’ve been asleep for two hours or perhaps two weeks.
Judging from the dying sounds of initial preparations outside, it was still the same night. When he left his room, his cousins had already retired. His uncles and aunts were enjoying the starting embers of the festival, drinking to small blessings.
His mother was among them and greeted her young boy as the future patriarch of their family. Something about it didn’t settle with his heart. An unsatisfied twinge.
Elohim thanked her and bowed to his elders, then excused himself to find his father. He was probably at the family forge, yet the more interesting challenge was sneaking around and avoiding notice.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the others. More accurately, he just didn’t want the extra attention. That was the reason.
He did make it to the forge with no issue. With the familiar sound of hammer striking anvil, his guess was correct.
Elohim waited at the entrance, watching his father forge a weapon. Just earlier this year, Elohim watched his father and thought that the sight of his back was broad and strong. Without really meaning to, he thought back to when he watched the matriarch make weapons. Her back had a sureness to it bereft of her experience. His father’s back seemed so thin in comparison, even if his bulk was larger. He couldn’t really explain the feeling.
“Elohim,” his father called out to him. “We missed you at summer’s end. Grandmother must be working you hard.”
“She asked me to make 100 of each weapon,” Elohim approached deeper into the forge. Without prompting, he started helping his father with his weapon. It looked like he was halfway through forging a claymore. “Whatever I wanted. But a hundred of each.”
“A hundred eh?” his father chuckled. “She asked my siblings and I for fifty. Grandmother must be feeling antsy since she’s training only one person this time.”
With Elohim’s new skills, he couldn’t noticing all the imperfections in his father’s claymore. He glanced at the other weapons adoring the walls. Pieces he thought were masterworks were instead flawed in various ways.
“Father,” Elohim asked while working, “Can I see your finest weapon?”
“Of course, Elohim,” his father held a hand out. In a familiar flash of light, a hefty axe appeared in his hand. “Do you remember it’s name?”
“Carver,” Elohim said. It wasn’t the first time he asked to see it, but perhaps this is the first time he’s seen it for what it truly is. A weapon of average quality. The edge hasn’t kept, uneven seams all over the axehead. “One day you’ll make a weapon to surpass this, my son. And that weapon will be your rallying symbol when you lead armies to victory.”
“Does it have to be me?”
“Of course. It is the duty of all family heads to do so. Grandmother did so, as did her predecessor, as will you,” His father started sharpening the blade. “It’s ok if you’re unsure right now. But one day, you will be confident in yourself as we all are in you.”
“Ok. Thank you father,” Elohim said the words, but it felt hollow to him. He was sure his father was trying to be encouraging, but the answer didn’t feel like that. It wasn’t the answer to the question he wanted.
“Anytime, son,” his father finished sharpening the claymore and set it aside. “Now, let’s get some shuteye before the morning. The matriarch did not like it whenever I was late and I doubt time has softened her.”
“She said I could come back after the Harvest Festival.”
“Did she now?” his father smiled. “Perhaps time has softened her enough then. It will be good to have our new patriarch with us.”
Elohim nodded and took another look at the forge as they retired for the night. The forge seemed so small now. So incomplete. So frivolous, compared to the one in the castle.
Despite this, when Elohim reached his room, he was able to sleep sound to the next day.
___
At a earlier time, at a different place, the last embers of summer just fell before the horizon. A different boy of eleven summers toiled in the fields with his father. The harvest this year was good. Not abundant, not lacking. Just good. Like it was the year prior and the year before that.
The two worked in a comfortable silence. Whatever tricks and trades the father knew, the boy already learned. Armed with the wisdom of age and the vigor of youth, their harvest took no time at all. The father mussed the boy’s hair on the way back home, sure to tell him he did a good job.
Once home, the boy also started on dinner. The father tried to help him, but he insisted his father rested. The boy did a lot for their family of two. He didn’t think much of it, for all he wanted was to help his father. Well, that’s not entirely true.
What the boy wanted was something else. But his father needed him now.
In the future, when his father is better, then the boy will find his calling. That is the hope that he held on to, even as he happily prepared a hearty meal that was too much for two.
Eating a meal too much for two, in a house far too big for two, the boy and his father talked idly of various things. The village nearby was looking for guardsman. The blacksmith’s daughters were getting married come harvest festival. Bandits were quiet this year. Prayers for a warm winter.
Things of the sort.
In the dark of night, when his father had gone to sleep, the boy would stay up longer than he should. He grabbed a stick he carved into the shape of a crude sword from a branch. Outside of the house, he swung. There wasn’t really a technique or a method to it. He just swung the stick at the air in ways that felt right.
The boy couldn’t remember when he started or why. Perhaps it was one of those things all little ones are born with. When he still played with the villagers, they played make believe all the time with sticks and staffs they found all around the surrounding forest.
They stopped, infatuated with other games or their own responsibilities.
Not this boy. He swung until his arms were sore, until there were splinters in his hands and calluses on his palms. The splinter problem was eventually sorted out through wearing the stick out. When the boy wore himself out, he turned in to bed as silent as snow and slept.
The morning came swiftly and the cycle began again. It was a decent life. Simple and easy. And though the boy often dreamed of life beyond this farm and the village, he could not see the lengthening shadows that came a season too soon.
The harvest festival was loud and merry. As is tradition, the adults constructed an cornucopia to be filled with the years bounties. The children hunted for the largest and juiciest pieces of fruits and vegetables for use with the vegetables. Elohim was part of this hunt last year. He couldn’t quite find the largest piece, but he remembers getting close.
He watched the festivities beside his father and mother, who oversaw the events and coordinated the blessings. Once filled, the eldest of the family came up one by one to bless the harvest and stab one of their weapons into it.
Tradition demands the reigning family head to go last and set the cornucopia alight. Elohim looked around for the matriarch. While she did not partake in the festivities, she always arrived when it was time for them to take their place.
Elohim’s mother went, followed by his father. The matriarch had not appeared. Elohim shifted in his seat. She had not ordained him to use his gift to summon. When his father returned, all eyes looked to Elohim.
Something prickled on the back of his neck. The beating of his heart in his ears. He tried gulping down the lump in his throat. He got up and looked around. Looking for some sort of comfort. He was looking for the matriarch.
He felt a hand on his back - his father smiled and said, “Do what you think feel is right.”
Elohim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remembered the previous years and in his minds eye, watched the matriarch. He held a hand out and looked at this father, hoping he would understand.
His father nodded and summoned a spear for him, placing it in Elohim’s hand.
One step in front of the other. In his memories, the matriarch walked by all the bonfires, her weapon dancing across the flame. He copied her, movements stiff and unwieldy. At the last bonfire, he remembered her weapon burning with fire. With nothing else to do, he held the spear over the flame.
He stayed there a little longer than he’d hoped, but eventually the spear tip became red hot, the wood around it beginning to burn.
“For the harvest,” Elohim repeated the words he heard before and spun the spear. “For the family.” He stabbed the cornucopia. Thanks to the construction and the heat of the spear, fire encased the cornucopia. He took a couple steps back, not expecting the sheer heat.
One breath. Two breaths. He couldn’t bear to turn away from the flame, lest he instead see the disappointed faces around him.
“For the new patriarch!” Someone cheered. And everyone else cheered with them.
The tension released from his shoulders, Elohim walked back to his seat. Close to his father, he stumbled and almost collapsed.
“You did good,” his father said. “You’ll do an even better job next year.”
Elohim nodded.
“Father, where’s the matriarch?” He asked. “Why wasn’t she here to do it?”
“Who knows what’s going on with grandmother,” his father shrugged. “Perhaps she has already begun passing the mantle to you. But that is for later. Be merry and eat hearty. You will be able to ask her soon enough.”
The festivities were in full swing now. The true magic of the cornucopia is that the eat from the construct cooked the harvest within. Within moments, the cooked smells of autumn filled the air.
Elohim watched and wondered. Whatever he thought was right. All he did was copy what he already saw. Is that enough? All of these elders, who has seen more than twice his lifetime. They all looked to him.
For not the first time, Elohim felt the pressure of being family head. He looked at his cousins, most younger than him. Brats some, kids all. Some of them were only a year younger than him. He knew them well enough to not trust him with a forge hammer, let alone an actual weapon.
That night, Elohim woke before dawn did. He got up and wandered the house; everyone else was still sleeping or just getting there.
Before even being aware of where he was going, Elohim found himself on the path to the old castle. The path was quiet, as it always was. In the dim silence before dawn, as light began to peak over the horizon, he clenched his fists.
Elohim breathed deep, his pulse quickened. He puffed his chest to yell. Then, without starting, he let go. There was nothing to yell about.
The matriarch was waiting for him at the steps to the castle. Her eyes were closed, but when his footsteps reached her ears, she tilted her head in recognition.
“Was the harvest plentiful?” She asked.
“It was heavy, grandmother,” Elohim said.
If she acknowledged it, the matriarch didn’t let it show. Instead, she got up slow and gestured for Elohim to assist her.
At her side, Elohim helped the matriarch to her feet. The two of them walked into the castle and back to the forge. Elohim had been away for a couple days at most, but he was surprised at how alien he found the castle still.
The forge itself had died, not even embers heating it up.
“I trust you have been taught how to start a forge,” The matriarch said.
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim helped the matriarch to her seat and began his work. Once the forge had started, Elohim couldn’t help but ask, “grandmother, why weren’t you at the harvest festival this year?”
“It was heavy,” the matriarch echoed his words back to him.
“Even for you?”
The matriarch sighed. Elohim had never seen her look her age. She didn’t look like the proud matriarch of the Essaim family. Instead, she looked like his great, great grandmother, a weary woman who lived too long.
“Your training, boy,” the matriarch said. “I would prefer for you to be completed within my lifetime.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim said.
Hours turned to days. Days turned to weeks. Time ceased to matter to Elohim. He forged weapon after weapon, taking this task with single-minded focus. It was easy, in a way. Forging a weapon had set steps and by now, he knew them as well as the back of his hand. Repeatable, with a defined finish.
At first he started small, with daggers that anyone could use. They weren’t masterworks, not all of them. Some days, they were so brittle they shattered once quench. Elohim did not count those in his total. He had forgotten his count on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, when Elohim had his fill of daggers, he moved on to other weapons on a undefined list.
Spears were a simple affair - compared to the shaft, it was just like making another dagger. Once, he made one of full metal, just to see if he could. The results of that experiment was mixed. If he was older and stronger, perhaps it would actually be good. But at his age, a full metal spear was far too heavy and unwieldy.
Elohim thought about doing swords. Instead, he worked on maces. It was heavy at first, not something he often worked on. But it was a good exercise in blunt weapons. As he worked, a thought came to him.
“Grandmother?” Elohim thought about his question, then asked, “Do you name your weapons?”
She scoffed. “Of course not. Do chefs name their knives? Farmers their sickle?”
“Father named his,” Elohim said.
“Mmm, witless boy,” The matriarch said. Elohim winced, though he knew she wasn’t referring to him. “What did he name that prized axe of his?”
“Carver, grandmother,” Elohim remembered the axe and all of it’s flaws.
“His finest weapon, he called it,” The matriarch shook her head. “No, an axe is an axe. There is no point to naming them.”
“Of course, grandmother,” Elohim resumed his work. Then, out of nowhere, he heard a sigh and the summoning of a weapon. He looked over and the matriarch held onto a platinum greatsword. The blade shined within the dark and ashy forge. Runes were inscribed onto each part, an ancient language that Elohim felt stirring within his conscious. The hilt was of worn leather, the cross guard jeweled with a diamond. “Grandmother?”
“This weapon is known as Eden,” the matriarch held it aloft. She struggled to get the sword off the ground, but when she held it with two hands, there was a confidence in her stance that suggested she was intimately aware of every facet of the sword.
“You named it Eden?”
“I do not name my tools,” the matriarch said, her voice soft and sure. “The patriarch before me had given me this. Though he was fond of naming, he did not name it either. No. A coward named this sword.”
“Then…” Elohim trailed off, thinking back.
“Then this sword belongs to our family, as sure as our gift does,” the matriarch set Eden down. After a pause, she offered the hilt to Elohim.
He looked at the sword, then back at the matriarch.
“Go on boy,” the matriarch urged. “It’s only a sword.”
Elohim put his hammer down and wrapped a hand around the hilt. Eden was tall, almost as tall as he was. The leather grip fit his hand as if he swung the sword a million times before. Above all else, it was heavy. Even with two hands, Elohim struggled to lift the tip off the ground.
The matriarch chuckled, then took the sword back. It disappeared into her armory.
“It’s heavy,” Elohim said.
“It’s heavy,” the matriarch agreed. And then it was back to business.
Winter came and with it, the bitter cold and snow. Even at the peak of summer, the castle was cold. The matriarch often asked Elohim to bring in firewood. They shared a room, to better tend to a single fire. Sometimes, Elohim would hear the matriarch’s breath rattle in her sleep.
He hated that sound.
He held his thoughts close on the matter, the one time he expressed concern was met with a stern look and a veiled threat. So the days went one.
The matriarch kept track of the days, even if Elohim did not. On one such day, she sent Elohim back to the family. He protested stronger this time, focused whole-heartedly on his work. But the matriarch did not budge.
“It is the responsibility of the family head to guide oversee the festivals,” was her response.
Elohim didn’t know what festival it was. He was about to protest that he wasn’t the family head yet. The matriarch sent him away regardless, to do his duty.
The winter festival was to celebrate the ending of the year and the start of a new one. On the shortest day and the longest night, it was known as the Calling of Dawn. The custom was silence for the day, to reflect on the past. At night, there was no sleep. Only feasting and merriment to herald the sun. Elohim remembered being excited for the games and the shows; there would be friendly spars among the adults, mock battles of heroes and villains among the children.
He was not among those who sparred this year. He was far too old to join the children in their games of make believe. Instead, he was the master of ceremonies, guiding his family through the dark. He had the foresight to bring a weapon from the forge this time, instead of summoning his own. It was a mace, a rarer weapon among his family. The adults who used them came to him in solidarity, commented on the craftsmanship, and more.
It was an exceptionally made, according to them. Elohim could only see the flaws.
As the dawn rose and the family cheered, Elohim slipped away in the commotion. He returned to the castle, where the matriarch was once again waiting for him. He slipped inside and slept in the uncomfortable room, the fire still burning strong.
The work continued apace, until the matriarch told him of the festival for spring. The Rainbringer must be brought, and Elohim lead the celebrations for that as well.
On his way back, Elohim realized he stopped thinking about the family. He stopped worrying about what to do. In his minds eye, he just copied what he saw the matriarch did the year prior. Was that how she learned her own role? Elohim did not ask that of her, preferring to stew within his own thoughts.
The thirteenth summer for Elohim came. By now, he crafted weapons of all kinds. Arrows, axes, halberds, all flavors of swords. They weren’t exceptional by any means, but they held an edge or did their job. In this way, he thought he understood what the matriarch requested of him.
The day after his thirteenth summer began, the matriarch asked out of the blue, “Boy, are you a blacksmith?”
The question caught him by surprise and his hammer missed it’s mark. “Grandmother?”
“For weeks and months you have done naught but forge weapons of average make,” she said. “Is that all you are worth?”
“This is the task you have given me, grandmother,” Elohim said, confused.
“I have given you a task to make a hundred of each weapon,” the matriarch spat on the floor. “Do you know how many I have seen you create? Do you know what even is the point?” She grabbed sword he was making. A single edged falchion. Though it was decent, that was all.
Elohim stared at her for a while. Her platinum gaze was piercing and he could not hide from it.
“The point is for me to become patriarch of the Essaim family,” he said.
“Phooey,” the matriarch spat on the floor again. “You are already patriarch of the Essaim family. Do you know why am I training you?”
“Because I am…” Elohim started, but struggled to finish. He recalled the story of the sword saint. “Because we cannot let ourselves be cursed by our betrayal of the sword saint.”
“And do you think that purpose is achieved by forging weapons?” the matriarch didn’t shout, far from it. But there was an iron in her voice that Elohim had forgotten. “Where was the inquisitive boy who asked about our curse? Who asked of names? Do not tell me the hammer in your hands has beaten it out of you?”
“Why do I have to be family head?” the words spilled out of Elohim before he really thought about it. Once those words left his lips, more followed. “Why am I gifted? Why not my cousins? Why not my father? He knows the traditions and the histories! I’ve followed your training to the letter! Your stupid brush, your stupid braids, and now your stupid weapons!”
“You are patriarch because of your gift!” the matriarch summoned a wooden sword and brandished the weapon.
“I don’t even know that this gift is!” Elohim threw the hammer away. “Because you won’t teach me it, you’ve told me nothing of what it is!”
“You weren’t ready,” the matriarch raised the sword to strike him.
“This is supposed to make me ready?”
The matriarch swung. Before knowing anything else, he felt a searing red pain on his cheek. He was on the floor suddenly, blinking back stars. His ears rang.
In the dim crimson of a adrenaline, Elohim pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t find the matriarch. There was another strike behind him. He stumbled and fell over the anvil.
Then, he saw her. The matriarch was at the doorway to the forge. The ringing in his ears didn’t stop him from knowing what she said.
“Disappointment.”
Elohim saw red. Some part of him was glad he dropped the hammer, the other wished he held onto it. He charged at her and grabbed something. He swung. He swung again and again, his strikes not finding purchase.
Then, Elohim felt the wind knocked out of him. There was a breeze, a tumble, then he found himself on the ground, looking at the blue of the sky. They made it outside. The dirt was softer than he remembered. He caught his breath as he stared at endless blue. When was the last time he looked at the azure above?
The matriarch entered his view, resting on the wooden sword. With a bony finger, she pointed away from her.
Elohim looked and saw weapons scattered on the steps to the castle. They were his weapons, the ones he stored away.
“You know part of our gift is storing what is ours in our Armory. The next part is summoning them,” the matriarch said. “Get up, boy. Pick up the fruits of your labor. You are ready. I will now teach you our gift.”
Still out of breath, Elohim pushed himself off the ground again. His cheek and back still stinging, he picked up his weapons and stored them again. His third lesson ended and so began the long awaited fourth.
The matriarch had Elohim sit across from her, outside of the castle walls. She stared at him, her piercing gaze looking for something that Elohim couldn’t place.
He shifted, a little uncomfortable. It has been three hours since she had said he was ready.
“Grand-”
“Hush, boy,” She hit him with a straw she picked up from somewhere.
So it went until sundown. When the sun fell before the sky and night came, she finally stood and summoned a spear. The tip of it glowed, then burned with white fire. Elohim recognized it as the same spear she used for the harvest festivals. Then, she stuck it into the ground, shaft first, so that it functioned as a torch.
“Finally,” the matriarch cracked her back. “Now, we can begin.”
Elohim got to his feet and nodded. It was finally time to learn what it takes to become the patriarch.
“You have stored and in your frustration, you have summoned,” The matriarch said. “Now, you will summon one weapon until it becomes second nature. Go on.”
Elohim held his hand out and focused. To be more accurate, he closed his eyes and thought hard. He thought of one of his weapons. Keeping it simple, he thought of an average dagger he made. He gripped and felt nothing. His brow furrowed. He tried again.
Something started to build somewhere, pressure that needed to be released. Elohim grunted, passing some air. When he opened his eyes, still there was no weapon.
“Grandmother, I don’t understand,” Elohim said. “I want to do it in my head, but it’s not happening.”
“If our gift was solely about wanting, then my wants would be enough to rule the world,” the matriarch mused. “No, there is no wanting here.”
“Then what is it?” Elohim thrust his hand out and tried to summon the dagger again. He copied the movements of his father, his aunts, even the matriarch’s in hopes that movement was the key. The matriarch summoned a wooden stick and poked Elohim’s shoulder. He fell back, caught by surprise.
“You lack conviction,” The matriarch looked down at the boy, then leaned on the stick. “Call to it and it will answer you.”
“I’m… trying,” Elohim held his hands in front of him and held onto the air as best he could. “Come on, work.”
“Up,” The matriarch jammed the stick underneath his arm and dragged Elohim to his feet. Then, like a whip, there was a searing pain on his thigh. He couldn’t track her movements.
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim did without outward complaint. Within him, emotions churned. He wasn’t allowed to use and practice before, at her mandate. Now, at her whim, he needed to do something he can’t even begin to conceptualize.
Whack, another on his other thigh. Elohim winced, but he did not buckle.
“You’ve done it before,” the matriarch said. “Now do it again.”
He steadied his breathing.
The matriarch hit him again. Elohim knew what she was doing. She was testing him. If she truly wished to hurt him, Elohim had no doubts a strike from her can break something, even at the matriarch’s age.
Whack, whack.
Though Elohim knew she was testing him, it still stung so much. He lost track of time. The only reason he knew time was passing was because of the dark clouds above traveling across the night sky.
The matriarch was not silent throughout the endeavor. At first, she was somewhat soft. Telling him to use the gift and reminding him that he has used it before. As the night went on, her words were harder, the strikes sharper.
Both of them were getting frustrated.
“I am not asking you to try, boy,” the matriarch said after another strike. “I am telling you to do.”
“I…” Elohim’s hands shook at the strength he tried putting into it. “I’m…”
The matriarch hit him again.
His frustration peaked, and Elohim threw his hands to the side. “I’m trying grandmother! I’m trying as hard as I can!” There was a white hot searing in his chest that Elohim gripped onto. “I can’t do it!”
“Elohim,” The matriarch called out to him, though her voice was a faint whisper in Elohim’s outburst.
“What?!” Elohim pointed a sword at her, ready to fight back. A sword that was not in his hands moments ago. “What?”
The matriarch willed the spear’s fire brighter, illuminating their surroundings a little more. The two of them were surrounded by weapons.
Elohim looked at them in awe. “Was I doing this the whole time?”
“No,” The matriarch let the light fade to what it originally was. “Anger and frustration is easy fuel. At your limit, you called and the gift answered you.”
“Ok,” He held onto the heat within him, but trying his best to remember how it felt. But it faded fast as his emotions calmed. Elohim growled and stamped his feet, working himself up to that anger. He thought of the last night and felt the storm stirring within. Gripping onto that heat, Elohim yelled and thrust his arms out, summoning weapons and sending them into the ground. “I did it!”
“Yes, you did,” The matriarch slipped past the daggers and swords she dodged. “But do you see me use my gift in anger? Do you see your father?”
Elohim paused for a moment, storing his weapons into the armory again. They did it naturally. Just hold out their hand and it would come to them.
“While easy, it is restrictive,” the matriarch started walking into the castle. “When you are able to summon one weapon without anger, then we will continue.”
With that task ahead of him, Elohim stayed outside with the flaming spear as company. Though soon, the fire on that went out, the matriarch gone to bed.
He spent the rest of the night trying to summon at all. He succeeded a couple more times, but each time was with several weapons thrown out of his armory. Or he did so in frustration, practically throwing them with no precision. After the first night, his only learning for sure was that heat in his chest.
The next day, Elohim did not fare much better. The matriarch watched him from the steps, silent and hands off. Apparently, it was enough for her that what he’s done was repeatable.
A week has passed and Elohim was no closer to calm than before. The other members of his family made the gift look so effortless. But now, Elohim spent more time with his back on the ground than on his feet. He watched the drifting clouds.
“Grandmother,” He called out between catching his breath.
“Yes, boy?” the matriarch called back.
“Do you feel heat when you use the gift?” He asked.
He heard her chuckle and Elohim couldn’t help but look up for the rare sight.
“When I overexerted myself, yes,” she said. “Our gift is inherently a magic, but it can also be considered a muscle. The more you work it, the hotter you become.”
“Oh,” Elohim felt his chest. Physically, it didn’t feel any hotter. “That’s good to know.”
“Keep at it, boy,” the matriarch said. “You have tasted the gift and you will get it in time. Almost all of your predecessors needed more assistance.”
“Did you hit them as well?” Elohim asked, but as soon as he did, he wish he didn’t. With the way everyone talks about the matriarch, of course she did.
“Mm,” The matriarch affirmed. “If there was a different way to stimulate need, I do not know it.”
Elohim didn’t respond and reached towards the sky. A bird flew past in the distance. He mimed grabbing it, then let his hand fall. He sighed deeply, then sat up to continue.
Summer had ended before Elohim could summon a weapon. To his chagrin, the only weapon type he was able to summon were swords. All the spears and daggers and axes and more were stuck in his armory unless he worked himself up to it.
“It’s natural,” the matriarch said when he asked about it. “Our gift was obtained in the wake of the Sword Saint, after all.”
Though the explanation made sense, Elohim stayed dissatisfied. He must’ve let it show on his face when he was presiding over the harvest festival.
“You look like you’ve got a chip on your shoulder,” he asked his son. “Grandmother treating you as everyone else?”
Elohim nodded, but it was more of a noncommittal shrug.
His father patted the boy on his back. “Don’t worry, son. You’re doing great.”
“Mm,” Elohim got up for his part in the festival. Unlike the last year, Elohim summoned his own weapon. A sword, since it’s the only one he could summon on command. He did utilize an open fire again, but doing something a second time was easier than doing it the first.
The family cheered for him when they saw that Elohim could summon his own weapon, but all Elohim focused on was the fact it wasn’t the one he wanted. He felt a little silly that it was the only thing he could think about, but there was a part of him that felt that it wasn’t enough.
Elohim continued his training with the matriarch with more aplomb that before. Summoning, storing, summon again. The same sword, different swords, two at a time. Yet he couldn’t figure out how to branch beyond swords.
At the start of the new year, sat down with the matriarch.
“I should be able to summon other weapons as easily,” Elohim told her.
“Your progress is good,” the matriarch refuted. “Other members of the family that I’ve had took much longer to get to where you were, your father included.”
Elohim was quiet, but then he spoke up. “It’s not enough to be like everyone else. I’m supposed to be the patriarch of the family. There are only things that the patriarch should know. Things that the patriarch should be able to do.”
“You are young, boy,” the matriarch said. “You will get there with time.”
He grumbled, but dropped the subject.
The next day, the matriarch told Elohim to summon a single sword. He did as she said, but when the matriarch summoned a sword of her own, something in his body tense.
“Ready?” She asked. Without waiting for his answer, she attacked him. Elohim blocked, though it was clumsy and Elohim staggered to the side. The matriarch held the tip of her sword inches from Elohim’s throat. She took it away and then motioned for Elohim to be ready again.
“Are we to the next lesson, grandmother?” Elohim asked as he raised his sword against her.
“Yes and no,” the matriarch charged again, her strikes too heavy for Elohim to defend against. “But it’s not good enough for the patriarch to be like everyone else, isn’t that right?”
Elohim couldn’t help but smile. Though, that smile was quickly replaced with focus. He shouldn’t be surprise that the matriarch’s age didn’t seem to impede her skill. Though her arms were like weathered twigs, each swing of her sword looked effortless and Elohim was reeling after each hit.
“Your elbows are too far apart. Keep one foot in front of the other. Put your body into it, not just your arms,” each bout brought a new piece of advise for Elohim to keep in mind while the two sparred. While he learned how to fight, he also learned how it felt to get cut.
It wasn’t enough for Elohim to bleed much, but after a particular intense spar, the matriarch sat Elohim down and taught him how to bandage wounds. She did not say sorry. Elohim did not expect her to, though he did hope.
Despite the harshness of the training, Elohim rose to the challenge with grace and aplomb. Blow by blow, strike by strike, the matriarch sharpened the young boy’s skills. Blows were deflected, he was able to strike back. No longer did the matriarch had a bored look on her face - in some cases, Elohim won their bouts. It was rare, one win out of a hundred. It encouraged him regardless. Soon it’ll be one out of fifty, then twenty-five, then twelve. He hoped for that, worked for it. He thought that was the way to becoming the patriarch.
On one particular bout, Elohim fought hard, harder than he ever fought before. He saw victory in his eyes and the only thing denying him that was the weapon in the matriarch’s hands. He focused on it, watched how the matriarch used it. Then-
“You’re focused on the wrong thing,” her voice cut through his thoughts like a bell in silence.
Their weapons clashed, but Elohim didn’t feel the usual resistance of blocking something. His swing kept going, then he felt a knee to his chest. He fell back, winded. His head landed next to a shattered blade. As he caught his breath and looked at the blade embedded in the dirt, he looked at the sword in his hand; more specifically, the now broken sword in his hand.
“What…?” Elohim got up, in a slight daze. “How did you…?”
“Your technique has gotten sloppy,” the matriarch said. “If you look at my weapon, you will see where it goes. But if you look at me, you’ll see where I want to go.”
“But grandmother,” Elohim looked at her sword. In terms of quality, Elohim judged it to be slightly worse than his. “How were you able to break my sword?”
The matriarch sighed and took her position. “I will show you how.”
Elohim summoned a new sword and got ready. Their weapons clashed and before Elohim could comprehend what happened, the matriarch shattered the sword in Elohim’s hands.
“Again,” the matriarch said.
His brow furrowed as Elohim looked inside his mind for his better swords. No matter how well made, the matriarch shattered his swords in a single blow. With more stubbornness than sense, Elohim fought harder. At best, he got to two blows before losing the weapon.
When Elohim finally ran out of swords, the matriarch held the one sword she had to his throat. Perhaps closer than she intended.
“Breath, boy,” the matriarch said. “Patience.”
Elohim took a step back and breathed as she commanded. He looked around at all the swords he forged, all made by hand, all shattered by something the matriarch probably whipped up without a care in the world. It stung at his pride, though Elohim bit his tongue until his breathing calmed.
“Shall I tell you your failings,” the matriarch asked, her voice gentle.
“Yes grandmother,” Elohim said. “Please.”
“A sword and a swordsman is a partnership,” the matriarch explained. “If one is lacking, the other can supplement. But the swordsman is infinitely more important. A skilled swordsman can use anything to cut anything. If you held Eden and I still had this sword…” The matriarch paused, realizing the sword she picked. “Perhaps I would not be able to break Eden, but the end result will be the same.”
Elohim looked at his hands. A lot of words to say he wasn’t good enough.
“I have run out of swords, grandmother,” Elohim said.
“Indeed,” the matriarch nodded. “Shall you make more?”
“Of course, grandmother,” Elohim walked back into the castle and started the forge. It was mechanical, without any real thought aside from needing more weapons. His mind was instead on the matriarch’s words. He was doing better, or at least, he thought he was. But it was just her holding back.
At first, Elohim tried making excellent swords. Just a handful that he could rely on. Then he was a lot more lackadaisical with the others. Some duds, most average, but Elohim started looking at something new. For the duds he made, he studied the flaws a lot closer. There was an answer in the flaws, something he was overlooking.
With this in mind, his routine changed a little bit. His mornings was about practical training with the matriarch. Despite the matriarch being more prudent about breaking Elohim’s swords when he wasn’t paying attention, it happened less. Elohim forced himself to take no pride in it- after realizing the the matriarch held back, a part was constantly on the lookout for signs that the matriarch wasn’t giving it her all.
It frustrated him. Not complete frustration, but enough to serve as fuel whenever his hammer crafted a new sword. Speaking of new swords, his evenings consisted of making one after the other.
That was his cadence well into his fourteenth summer. Train with the matriarch, forge swords on his own, then on select festivals, preside over the proceedings as family head. On some level, he got used to it. On most, it spent moments of silence wondering if he was doing the right thing. No one had told him otherwise. In fact, his family showered him with praise at how well he was doing.
Elohim pondered it in silence. It never felt like the right thing. It just felt like a thing. They cheered and congratulated him on a job well done, but all Elohim did was a job. It was to be expected.
Perhaps that was why Elohim had no complaints anymore when sparring with grandmother. Her praise was sparse, if she praised him at all. It was always about something Elohim could improve on, something to improve in. While his pace frustrated him greatly, she was refreshingly straightforward. The questions he asked her had answers, though sometimes he couldn’t see them.
In addition to his trainings, the matriarch began training his younger cousins. She roped Elohim into these sessions often, interrupting his forging on some days to have Elohim teach his juniors. They looked at him with wide eyes and hung onto his every word.
It was a strange feeling for Elohim, even stranger listening to himself repeat what the matriarch had taught him. He did not tell them the story of the Sword Saint or the cowardice of their family’s ancestors. But he spoke of the heroics he heard, of the battles they won. On sessions where the matriarch left Elohim to his best judgment, he spoke of her heroic tales that he heard from his elders. Her gleaming steel against dragon fire as she singlehandedly retook the capital city Selarune from the dragon king.
They were brought into the forge as well, Elohim teaching how to make their own weapons. Though they were the same age as Elohim when he started training, the cousins did not have the same experience he did with the forge. So Elohim taught them safety, taught them how to be useful. He liked having help.
“Ohim,” one of the younger cousins tugged on his sleeve. “If great-grandmother won against the dragons, do any exist anymore?”
“Of course they,” Elohim said. “She won, but didn’t kill them all. That would be barbaric.”
“Then does that mean we’ll have to fight too?”
“No. I’ll make sure of it,” Elohim surprised himself with the confidence he said that with. Just moments before, the back of his mind was thinking how he was going to best the matriarch in a spar, let alone a life or death battle against a dragon.
The cousin smiled, satisfied with the answer given. But when they could not see him, Elohim frowned.
On a different day, his back on the ground as Elohim had once again lost the spar against the matriarch, he had a thought.
“Grandmother,” Elohim called for the matriarch. “Why didn’t you kill all the dragons?”
She froze.
“Grandmother,” Elohim sat up, surprised she didn’t answer right away.
She heaved a deep sigh and sat down next to him.
“Must I tell you the story today, Elohim?” she asked him. “Can it wait for another day?”
Elohim looked at her. He had never seen her so down before, so defeated. He didn’t have the heart to push on further.
“It can wait, grandmother.”
“Good,” the matriarch nodded slowly. She breathed out in relief, then got up, recollecting herself. “Tell you what Elohim. The day you fully surpass me as family head, you will know my full story. My successes. My failures. My regrets. It will be your weapon against our shared legacy.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim bowed.
Though Elohim dropped the subject, he collected that knowledge as additional fuel. Another goal to reach.
The year came and went, Elohim improving by leaps and bounds. He held his own against the matriarch, though he wouldn’t call any of their bouts a victory for him. He learned how to summon weapons outside of swords as well.
Once he learned to do so, the matriarch brought his uncles and aunts for Elohim to spar with. They had more vigor and outward strength than the matriarch did. He handled them better than he thought he would, all things considered. They weren’t as skilled as the matriarch. The one wrinkle in his growth was that he had to use the weapons his sparring partner used.
Uncle Elatha used axes like his father - it was heavier than Elohim was used to. Aunt Elbaba used twin daggers and their bouts were in close quarters. Aunt Ellis used swords, same as he did, but she was more acrobatic. There were so many openings as she darted around Elohim, but at the same time, she moved way too fast for Elohim to take advantage of it. He understood the point of this training as well. Aside from learning other weapons, Elohim learned how people other than matriarch fought. Their strengths, their weaknesses, how they leveraged each to become formidable.
Spar to hone his skills. Teach to hone his knowledge. Forge to hone his weapons. Elohim ended every day more exhausted than the last. But he woke with the energy of purpose. His role was making more sense to him with each skill learned.
When each festival came around, Elohim repeated the motions he made prior. He would often be asked to say a few words at each one and the words came easier to him. Perhaps, this feeling is the growth he sought.
By his fifteenth summer, Elohim could hold his own against everyone in his family, even his father. The matriarch stilled eluded him, but Elohim accepted that it will take a lifetime before he had a tenth of her strength.
Which made him a little nervous when the matriarch called for him and dismissed his juniors from a lesson.
She bid him to follow her into the forest, well off the beaten path.
“Where are we going, grandmother?” Elohim asked, helping her over great roots and fallen trunks.
“To your next lesson,” the matriarch said. She did not elaborate.
After an hour or so of walking, the matriarch brought the two of them to an abandoned house. Nature has overtaken stone walls, a wooden door rotting off it’s hinges. In fact, a tree was growing out of the one story ceiling.
Behind that house, a wide and open clearing overlooking a cliff. Elohim treaded close to it, seeing a vast landscape that he’s never seen. He couldn’t tell how far down the cliff went, but he saw forest as far as the eye could see. A river cut through from the left to the right, a mountain jutting out in the far distance as it barely cut through a storm that passed them.
“What is this place, grandmother?”
“It used to be my home,” she said. “I am too old to live here on my own, but this will serve as a good spot to teach you.”
“Teach me what, grandmother?”
“Why your gift makes you the next family head,” the matriarch said.
Elohim’s interested peaked and he waited for the matriarch’s next words with bated breath.
“No doubt you are aware of our gift as an armory of our weapons,” the matriarch began. She walked to the cliff’s edge.
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim summoned a sword to hand as he followed along. “We can use it to store or to summon.”
“Of course,” the matriarch said. “Have you noticed what’s special about our gift?”
Elohim caught her use of our. He shouldn’t have been surprised, since he was meant to succeed her, but something about the way she used that word stirred something in Elohim. A reminder that the two of them weren’t like everyone else.
“My cousins couldn’t store as much as I could,” Elohim said. “Our armory has more room?”
The matriarch nodded. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Elohim opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He thought about the gift before, but he didn’t think about the actual space being the key.
“It’s because our gift is more than just an armory, boy” the matriarch closed her eyes. Elohim could see her concentrate as she summoned swords around her. First four. Then there were five, six, eight, ten. They orbited her, then Elohim’s eyes widened as he figured out what was happening. Then, she stepped backwards off the edge of the cliff.
Elohim jumped after her, but was a second too slow. That second a blessing, he was thrown back by a strong gust of wind as shadows covered the sun. When Elohim regained his bearings, a solid wave of weapons flew up the cliff and around. Carried aloft by sheer mass, the matriarch was unbothered and flew through the air as if she had done this thousands of times before. Perhaps she had.
He glanced at the sword in his hand. He summoned it for use, but for the matriarch’s weapons didn’t even have to be grabbed. Her weapons flew behind her and danced across the skies, a veritable storm that Elohim could imagine cutting anything caught in it to shreds. He watched with awe.
The matriarch dismissed many of the weapons as she reached solid ground again, letting them fade into scattered light. She kept a few out, willing them to her side as they continued to orbit her at a slower pace. She breathed out, letting the others fade as well.
“Now, it is your turn,” the matriarch said.
Elohim gulped and looked at his hands. All of his efforts, all of his training, were leading up to this moment. He remembered when he first started his training, where he summoned many and needed to control to one. Now he needed to do the opposite.
He visualized a handle of weapons, picking out a few to use. He growled, not in frustration or anger, but to tap into that energy. He stomped and reached within. Five weapons he summoned. Five weapons hung in the air. Elohim reached for them, keeping his breath steady as they floated. They wobbled, traveling through the air in uncertain arcs as Elohim tried to figure out the knack.
A bead of sweat, the pounding of his heart. Then, a gust of wind broke Elohim’s focus. The weapons fell wobbled once more, then clattered to the ground.
“Not bad, boy,” the matriarch said. “Your training has given you a good foundation, as I hoped it would.”
“Thank you, grandmother,” Elohim caught his breath. His muscles didn’t ache, but he wiped the sweat from his brow. The matriarch made it seem effortless. Elohim looked up at her, then past her to the landscape. With the sun fading behind him, her shadow casted a long dark over the forest. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she seemed to cast a shadow past the river and all the way to the mountains.
The matriarch hobbled past him and entered the abandoned house. “We shall stay here tonight. I will show you the way back, but afterward you will have to practice here on your own.”
“Why can’t I practice back at the castle?” Elohim asked her as she turned in.
“Less chance of an errant sword hitting someone,” the matriarch said, in a tone that suggested that very thing happened to her.
Elohim practiced throughout the night. He tried a couple things. Summoning into controlling them, just controlling them off the bat, trying his hand with one, then two, then three.
By the time exhaustion took him, Elohim had a handle on controlling up to two swords, but he made extensive use of his hands as gestures to support his control. He took it as a small victory, going to sleep satisfied.
True to her word, the matriarch showed Elohim the way back. She did not come with him on further trips. He didn’t go often either, twice a week if he was lucky, once a week if not. His responsibilities grew as his skills did. But both grew at an every increasing pace.
One day, his mother asked for Elohim’s assistance. She brought him to a room stacked with papers and cabinets.
“It’s time you know what our finances look like,” She said. And soon, Elohim was seated at the desk, leafing through sheets of numbers and statements that made his head swim.
“Mom, this is a lot,” Elohim sighed as he rubbed his eyes. “ How do you and father keep track of it all?”
She chuckled and rubbed his shoulders. “By having help, my child. Your father and I aren’t the only ones who keep track of all of this. But since you will be the patriarch, you have to at least know what it all looks like.”
“I’ve never seen grandmother talk about this,” Elohim said.
“I’m not surprised,” She chuckled again. “From what your father tells me, the moment she saw your father had talent, she pawned off the responsibilities all to him.”
“Oh,” Elohim squinted at the numbers.
“Oh yes. By the time I met him, so many years ago, he’s been juggling figures in his head enough to make his hair become stark white. I’ve managed to convince others to share the work as well,” his mother smiled. “Back to it. At the very least, you should leave this room knowing what makes us money and what spends our money.”
As his mother promised, she explained where and what the family did for money. Their expenses were both easy and difficult to explain. It was easy because it was general upkeep. Materials for forging, food and resources, commissions for the house, things like that. Easy to understand, but the granular details within were extensive. There were also many requests from the family based on their personal preferences. Uncle Elatha had a preference for ice pollen, as an example.
When Elohim had their income explained to him, he spent most of it with his brow furrowed.
“Mom, what’s this statement here?” Elohim leaned close to the page. “Ruins of Lowen?”
“Ah, that takes me back. You wouldn’t remember this because you were so young at the time, but your father was an accomplished adventurer,” she smiled as she reminisced. “These ruins were a request from the archaeologists over at Selarune. Every so often they’d come to us with a request to explore something from the godswar.”
“Is it the same for these other ruins?”
“That’s correct. Good eye,” his mother said. “We also entertain other requests as well. Guarding important convoys, quelling unrest around Cappagh. Our name carries weight, so in some cases we have to use that weight to keep the peace.”
“I see,” Elohim tapped his finger on the desk. Now that he’s thinking about it, there were periods where certain family members were gone for awhile. He never gave it much thought, but perhaps they were off on those missions.
“You know, now that I think about it, we haven’t told you about the pilgrimage,” his mother poked his cheek. “You’ve been so busy training with grandmother, we haven’t had the time.”
“The pilgrimage?” Elohim tilted his head.
“From how your father explained it to me, once you come of age, you are to embark on a journey. Leave a boy, return as a man,” his mom said. “It was how he got his start adventuring.”
“Grandmother hasn’t made any mention of it to me,” Elohim frowned. “I wonder why.”
“I’m sure she’s got a lot on her mind,” his mom pointed at another slip of paper. “Ah, we can’t forget our steady breadwinners either. We also serve as blacksmiths and sell our weapons to traders.”
Elohim continued to absorb the knowledge as best he could before excusing himself. He had the gist and there was a part of him felt like he should be more involved in this conversation. The bigger part of him was more concerned with mastering his gift.
He went to bed with numbers on his mind and pennies to his thoughts.
When he went back to sparring with the matriarch, a thought occurred to him.
“Grandmother, was I supposed to know about the pilgrimage?” Elohim asked her. “I heard from mother that all members of our family do it when we come of age.”
“Ah,” the matriarch nodded slowly, as if remembering something. “The pilgrimage. I didn’t think it was important.”
“Do I… not get a pilgrimage?”
The matriarch held a soft, rueful smile. It was the kind that looked like a frown. “I am afraid that we will be too busy for you to get a pilgrimage. I am sorry.”
“Busy because of my training?”
“Busy because of what comes after,” the matriarch said. “You are close, boy. Not long now.”
“Really, grandmother?” Elohim said. “I don’t feel close to being as good as you.”
The matriarch smiled true. “It will be half a lifetime before you will be as good as I am. But even before then, you will be ready to take your place as patriarch soon. It will serve as a poor substitute to your pilgrimage, I must confess. But it is necessary regardless.”
“I understand, grandmother,” Elohim stood up straight. “I will do our family proud.”
“That is all I can hope for, boy,” the matriarch summoned a sword. “Continue. Being close does not mean being there.”
“Of course, grandmother,” Elohim responded in kind.
At a different time, at an different place, a boy of fourteen summers overlooked the last embers of his family’s farm. After seven days and seven nights of burning, the only thing left of the field were coals still crackling in the fading daylight.
The boy sighed and leaned on his blackened shovel, wiping the sweat on his brow. The silence of forest deafened him. Just a week ago there were birdsong and the chirping of insects. His muscles ached from the firefighting and as he looked up at the darkening sky, there was only the barest hint of rainclouds coming.
After a breath, he took his shovel and continued dumping scorched earth over whatever still flickered. It was numbing work, done with the mechanical consistency of someone who wasn’t all there. Going through the motions. Stab the dirt, lift the dirt, dump it on fiery dirt.
When the crackling stopped and all the boy saw was illuminated by the red half moon of Pala, lamented the past couple days. Pala’s sister, the blue moon known as Ewa, was nowhere to be seen for the entirety of it, surely adding to his misfortune.
He slapped the rest of the dirt off of the shovel and just carried it home on his shoulder. He passed by a mound, then the mound got longer and larger as he walked beside it. The mound continued to grow and expand, becoming a tail. Then legs. Then a body. It was large, larger than his house. It had torn, leathery wings that the boy didn’t bother to bury. He climbed over arms thicker than tree trunks and paused next to the head of the beast.
The neck was serpentine and long, armored by clay-red scales. Several deep gashes traveled up the neck and met a collar of wicked and jagged horns. Some were shattered, but others were as long as his forearm. The head itself was a mass of reptilian malice, jaw cut off, revealing rows of sharpened teeth that were each as long as swords. The maw bled a black blood, boiling the dirt underneath it.
The boy had heard stories from his grandfather. Winged creatures of fire and death. Scales stronger than steel. Dragon.
The boy shivered at the sight of it. He can still see the beast uprooting trees in a blind frenzy as liquid fire spilled from it’s neck and jaw. It tore through and flapped it’s broken wings, forelegs and hindlegs churning up earth with each jump into the heavens.
He looked up behind the half-buried dragon - there was a path of charred forest where it came from. From the direction of the village.
Once he collected his thoughts, the boy turned towards the house. It was startlingly pristine compared to how burnt everything else is. The house was untouched by fire. On either side of it in a perfect V, smoldering black ashes where fire touched.
He waited outside until dawn peaked over the horizon. The light broke a portion of the boy’s stupor and he started towards to the door of the farmhouse, leaving the shovel by the door. He walked through the kitchen and fashioned food for two. He felt odd as he made a simple meal made of the last available harvest. His body made the actions, but his mind was watching from outside. A soft, dreamlike haze as he took the meal up to his grandfather’s room.
The stairs creaked and groaned in the same, familiar spots it always did. The boy didn’t know why he expected them to buckle after all this time, but he walked soft anyway.
“Grandpa?” the boy knocked on the door and then let it squeak open. “Are you up?”
In an old, dusty room with an old, dusty bed, his grandfather lay. His breath was soft and ragged, awful rattles rocking through him. The boy knew where the planks would creak and avoided them with silent steps.
“Is that you, Sami?” his grandfather whispered as the boy approached his side.
“Yessir, I’ve got some food for you,” Sami said. “It’ll do you some good.”
“Thank you,” his grandfather sat up and took his portion, taking small bites as he could. “Did you finish burying the beast?”
“I did. Took awhile,” Sami puffed his chest out.
His grandfather looked the other way, outside of the window. Sami followed his gaze and found that the mound was suspiciously dragon-shaped, with the head and wings still uncovered.
“Hm, that’s good enough,” his grandfather folded his hands on his lap and closed his eyes. Sami knew he was thinking of something deep, playing with something in his head. It was the way his eyebrows moved up and down. “When I was a youth about your age, I saw a fair bit of dragons in my time. My own parents saw more of course, but the stories between then and before were plenty.”
“What sorts of stories? The hero saving the princess from the evil dragon?”
“Something like that,” his grandfather chuckled. “There were also deals of wisdom and trickery. Noble beasts, these. Magic made flesh and the closest to nature outside of the gods themselves. In all of my years, I’ve never seen one as deranged as this.” His face darkened. “I do not like this, Sami. Dragons do not go mad on their own.”
“It’ll be ok Grandpa,” Sami put on a brave face. “We’ll make it somehow.”
His grandfather sighed. “Your hands, Sami.”
“What about my hands?” Sami showed them to his grandfather.
“They’re burned and blistered,” his grandfather took them in his own. Sami winced and for the first time, he took a look at his arms. He hadn’t noticed how bad they were. “How did the dragon die?”
“It fell and stopped,” Sami said.
“Do you remember how it stopped?” his grandfather asked.
“I…” Sami thought back. Seven days ago. An entire lifetime ago. “I remember fire, my legs hurting.”
“The dragon was going to die on it’s own,” his grandfather said. “I was our house to go with it. Yet here it is, here you are. Where’s your training sword?”
“Cinders,” Sami said instantly. “I remember that much.”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” his grandfather pointed outside. “I saw it, you know. I remember telling you to run and you did. I’ve lived a long life, Sami. I was, am ready to join your parents. But then there you were, your training sword in hand.”
As his grandfather spoke, Sami didn’t remember running at all, nor did he remember coming back. But something tickled his mind.
“The dragon breathed deep and I couldn’t bear to watch, to lose another one before me,” his grandfather said. “But then-”
“Then I swung,” Sami looked at his blistered and burnt hands. He stood and made an experimental swing. “I swung as if my life depended on it.”
“That’s because it did,” his grandfather leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes. “As did mine.”
Sami was quiet at that. He walked to the window and stared outside of it, listening to the rattling of his grandfather’s breathing. Not quite outside of dawn yet. There was a storm on the wind, bringing the promise of rain.
“Samidare,” his grandfather called with Sami’s full name. “Come here, child. Let me get one last look at you.”
“Don’t talk like that, grandpa,” Sami said. “You’ll see me tomorrow and the day after that.” He followed his request, however, at his grandfather’s side in a moment.
“Of course, but I need you to promise something for me,” his grandfather kept his eyes closed.
Sami held his grandfather’s hand.
“Promise me this,” his grandfather gripped and gripped as hard as he could. Sami did not like how soft the grip felt. “Promise me that when I die- perhaps tomorrow, or the week, or the month after- promise me that you will leave this house.”
“What are you saying?” Sami furrowed his brow. “I can’t just leave our family here.”
“Don’t lie to either of us,” his grandfather coughed. “Do you think me blind? Are you looking for the next caravan when you look for the horizon? Will swinging your wooden sword in the dead of night bring you contentment?”
“It’s just a way to pass the time, grandpa. Our home is here.”
“Samidare, I am telling you this three times,” his grandfather opened his eyes and locked eyes with Sami. “This house is too small for you.”
“But grandpa-”
“No buts, Samidare. I have told you three time,” his grandfather coughed and closed his eyes again.
“Yes, grandfather. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Sami grumbled.
“When I die and I find out you’re still here, I’ll convince both your mother and father to haunt you with me,” grandfather grumbled back.
Sami smiled, the room brighter with the sun rising higher.
“Now, I have some tasks for you,” grandfather said. “Underneath this bed, there is a case. Go, open it now.”
Doing as told, Sami found the box underneath the bed. It was brown and dusty, an incredibly thick layer covering the faded paint as if this thing was under there for decades. It probably has. It was also long - if Sami didn’t know any better, he’d say it was roughly the same size as his training sword.
He opened it, then let our a low whistle. It was a single edged sword.
There was a heft to it and it was long enough to be a little more than half of Sami’s height. The blade itself was tarnished, the leather-bound cracked with dry rot. He was unable to help himself and picked up the sword.
The length made it a little unbalanced towards the tip, the metal slightly too heavy for Sami to swing comfortably.
“That was my father’s sword, many years ago. I kept it in case our family needed it, but for a blissful spell, we did not,” grandfather explained. “Go. Take it to the smith’s boy in the village to have it cared for. When he is done, the sword is yours.”
“Sure grandpa, but that can wait until you get better,” Sami put the sword back in it’s box and set it to the side.
“I am not so frail that I need to be looked at-” A hacking cough interrupted his sentence, a harsh, grating sound.
Sami rushed forward, but grandfather just held a hand out, riding out the fit.
“Alright, we’ll do this,” grandfather cleared his throat. He looked Sami in the eyes. “Just as you’ve promised me, I’ll promise you.”
“Grandpa, the village can-”
“Did any of our harvest survive?”
Sami quieted at that, the two of them already knowing the answer.
“Go on, Sami,” grandfather leaned back into bed and closed his eyes. “I will still be here breathing when you return. That’s a promise.”
There was no rebuttal to be had, Sami taking one last look at his grandfather before taking the sword and heading towards the village. The sun was almost at its peak today. Plenty of daylight to make the trip and back. That didn’t stop Sami to take off in a spry jog, the sword tucked underneath his arm.
The path used to be straight and true, well trodden and well maintained. It was still straight, but there were uprooted trees all along it, isolated fires still burning. Right next to the normal path was one of ashes and ruin, where the dragon bulldozed its way through the forest.
He didn’t like that the only sounds he heard were the crackling of flames and his own footsteps. It occurred to Sami that the dragon must’ve ran through village. He picked up his pace.
It didn’t take long for Sami to approach - only when he heard signs of life did he slow down.
The entrance to the village was scorched like all the rest of the path the dragon took, but the houses on either side of it were still standing. In fact, there were already people on it working to replace the scorched wood with something less damaged.
They paused their work for a spell and watched Sami pass by. There were a couple of boys around his age that waved at him. Sami waved back, a little awkward for it was obvious that they recognized him but he didn’t recognize them.
He hurried out to past the square and surveyed the damage. The dragon carved it’s way through the village, yet everyone looked in high spirits. No major frowns, no downcast heads. Already there were the skeletons of foundations being built on the ashes of a different house. On the fountain square, a robed woman in a wide brimmed hat sat. Sami saw a bandaged hand holding onto a lit pipe. Sami caught her attention- he saw her brown eyes dart down to his own bandages, the edges of her face wrinkled in a knowing smile. She tipped her hat slightly down in and blew some smoke out.
Sami nodded as well, without really knowing why. He continued on his way.
The smithys was right by the square, an open air stall with a boy only a couple summers older than him hammering away at a forge. The boy was tan and muscled, growing well into a man much taller than Sami. Because of his work, his arms were like trunks and bulged with each strike of the hammer.
“Buille,” Sami greeted him. One of the few names he did know around these parts.
“Samidare, it’s been awhile,” Buille stopped for a spell to stretch his hammer arm. “When the beast started to peel in your direction, I feared the worst. Your grandfather still kicking?”
“Yessir,” Sami dropped the box on a nearby table and leaned back on it. “Crops are gone, but both the house and hearth made it out ok.”
“That’s good,” Buille continued what he was working on. He hammered a red-hot blade into shape.
“How’d this place make it out? Nothing aside from the path it took looked really bad,” Sami asked.
“Our mage,” Buille nodded in the direction of the woman sitting on the fountain.
“She fought it?”
“That’s how it looked. But the way she tells it, it was fighting itself. With a word and a wave of her staff, she directed it out of the village and kept the damage from spreading forward. Took a lot of her too; not only did her staff break, but she took the brunt of bad dragonfire.”
“It’s good she’s still alive then,” Sami said. “I’ve seen what it’s still doing to our land. Can’t imagine what it’ll do to a person.”
“Thought you didn’t have to imagine,” Buille looked at Sami’s bandages.
“I got lucky,” Sami wrung his wrists. “Is your mother ok?”
“Aside from fainting at the sight of the beast, she and I got really lucky too,” Buille quenched the blade and inspected it. Satisfied, he placed it down and sat down on a stool. “How far did it get after you?”
“Well after it torched our farm and nearly burned our house down, it died,” Sami said.
“Yeah. And you killed it,” Buille chuckled. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t double back.”
“Didn’t kill it, but I did bury it,” Sami said.
Buille was silent for a moment, staring at him. His eyes narrowed, he leaned forward, then his eyes widened as Buille leaned back. “Really now? That’s one piece of good news. Definitely don’t have to worry about it doubling back then.”
“Luck abound,” Sami held a wry smile. The two of them sat in silence for a bit, just listening to the sounds of life in the village.
“Alright Samidare,” Buille said after a couple moments. “I’ve known you long enough to know you only come by these days looking to either sell your harvest or have some work for me. Seeing as you don’t have the regular wagon, what’s in the box? It’s suspiciously sword shaped.”
“Something I hope someone of your skills can take a look at,” Sami opened the box and held the sword aloft for Buille to look at.
The smith blew a low whistle of his own. He got up and touched the blade, running a finger down the metal.
“If you don’t mind…?” Buille asked.
Sami handed him the hilt and Buille studied it close. He gave it an experimental swing, then tapped it with a tiny hammer.
Buille placed the sword down in it’s box then rummage around his forge for something. He found what he was looking for, a collection of metal plates and stepped outside his booth to set up some targets.
Taking the sword again, he swung at the plates. The sword got halfway through, but did the cut was not clean. Sami watched Buille test a couple more things, inspecting both the cuts he made on the plates and the sword itself.
“Where’d you find this thing?” Buille asked, a hint of awe in his voice. “It hasn’t held an edge worth a damn, but I’d say it’s ten to twenty years out of being maintained.”
“Grandpa got it from his father,” Sami explained. “He had it for a rainy day, but it hasn’t rained quite as bad as it did today.”
“I’ll add a zero to the estimate then,” Buille placed the sword back onto the box and rubbed his chin. For the first time, Sami noticed the faintest outline of hair on him. “Guessing you want me to fix it up?”
“Yessir,” Sami nodded. “Grandpa seems to think he’ll be kicking the bucket soon. He wants me to take the sword and go far. Whatever that means.”
“It means that you’ll be a safer traveler with a sword than without,” Buille said. “Want the full damage report?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sami waved at him to continue.
“So the sword is pretty good, if unorthodox. Like I said earlier, it’s not well maintained so the edge is gone. Despite that, it can still cut decent metal in the hands of the greatest swordsman in the world. In yours, it’ll do just fine,” Buille grinned at his own joke. “Now, blade itself is relatively fragile compared to other swords I’ve made- it’s thinner, so while that makes it sharper, it’s more prone to shattering. You’d also need a new hilt in general. The leather felt kinda sticky when I held it. Not something I’d put my life on the line for.”
“How long would it take?” Sami asked.
“Working day and night?” Buille crossed his arms. “It’s a new design for me, but I’ll have to reforge the blade and refashion the hilt. The metal is already there and I could add some from my own stock to reinforce.”
“I want the sword exactly as it was meant to be,” Sami said. “No need to change the blade.”
Buille shrugged. “No reinforcing then. Won’t have to figure out what alloy this thing is made out of, though I’m guessing it’s some flavor of steel. In any case, three days and three nights of nonstop work. Do you need it that soon?”
Sami shook his head. He looked around the village.
“It’s not that important,” Sami said. “Probably have your hands full with the rebuilding efforts.”
“Probably,” Buille said. “We’ll call it a full month. Let me know if you need it any faster.” He glanced at the box. “Did this come with a sheathe?”
It was Sami’s turn to shrug as he threw his hands up.
“Month and a day then,” Buille held his hand out to shake Sami’s.
“Thanks Buille, appreciate it,” Sami shook Buille’s massive hand.
“Anytime Samidare,” Buille said. “Though I suppose I can’t expect any pumpkins this year.”
“Afraid not.”
“That’s too bad,” Buile smiled then tilted his head towards the village square. “They relocated our shops to the north side. They’ll probably have some things for you if you ask.”
“I’ll do that,” Sami smiled back and went on his way. As Buille said, he was able to get some supplies for a couple weeks from the village shops. They even lent him a wagon for the trip back. In high spirits, Sami headed home as the sun started to fall. Halfway through, ice gripped his heart as a thought wormed it’s way into his head.
Much like how Sami hurried to the village, Sami hurried back at a half-run, half-jog, the wagon in tow. Once he saw the house, he dropped the wagon and broke out into a full sprint. Sami rushed through the door, up the stairs and found his grandpa still in bed.
“No,” Sami whispered between breaths. He was about to yell when he saw his grandpa’s chest fell. Then after a second that lasted for a lifetime, it rose. Then fell, then rose again. He was still breathing. Sami sighed in relief, then collapsed at the doorway.
“It’s fine,” he told himself. “He promised. He promised.”
Sami breathed deep again, then got up to get the wagon he left behind. So much to do around here.
_
Elohim’s seventeenth summer was an eventful one. His mother had promised that he wouldn’t have to know exactly what was going on, but Elohim made it his mission to know for sure. Some days that meant overseeing shipments of weapons being created. He wanted to know what was made, where they were headed, the price, things of that nature.
His family humored him at first, answering his questions as jokes. But as Elohim persisted and continued to ask, they took him seriously. They started asking questions as well.
He didn’t see catch anything wrong with where they were going; at least, not that he could tell. But now he kept a map in the main office of the house to where their weapons went. Selarune was their most frequent customer.
Elohim was also there when the family asked for their bodies as well as their swords. His father brought him to the negotiation tables under the truthful guise of learning what it was like. But as Elohim asked more and more questions, some requesters looked more and more uncomfortable, preferring to focus on his father. Elohim didn’t like those. Once negotiations were finished, he denied the requests.
He was more lenient with those who asked about dungeon-delving. They were often more upfront with Elohim’s questions, so he had no problems with them.
It surprised him, how easily he was able to make these decisions. He also asked his parents if it was supposed to be this easy- their only response was that the ease was proof of his qualifications as the patriarch.
With these added responsibilities, Elohim had less time to dedicate to his training. His visits to the matriarch’s old hut was cut down to a few times a month, if that. Even visiting the matriarch herself was something he had to carve time for. She often commented on his progress, but her secrets were still her own.
On one particular night at the old hut, he had a random thought. It was after launching a collection of swords towards a tree. He learned that there were two ways to call them back- by having them travel back to him or by simply unsummoning and resummoning them. The second was much faster, but that made him think of the nature of the gift.
What would happen if he tried that on himself? Instead of calling the sword to him, he would call himself to the sword. Elohim launched another sword at the tree. When it was truly stuck and embedded in there, he focused and felt the for leather grip in hand. He thought of motion, of movement. He closed his eyes and visualized himself appearing next to the sword. Elohim felt a pull in his gut, a weightlessness, then he heard the familiar sound of lights twinkling as the world went white.
Then there was grass on his face and Elohim ate dirt. He coughed and opened his eyes, turning his back to the night sky in a very familiar sight. Looking around, he moved a bit from his initial position, but not anywhere near the sword.
Still, despite how dizzy he was and how much he wanted to throw up, he moved. Elohim laid there while he fought back his nausea. When it subsided, Elohim stood and tried again. The result was the same, except he threw up that time.
He wiped the sick from his mouth and squinted at the sword in the tree. There was something here, he knew that in his gut. He just needed his stomach to hold on. The rest of the night was spent trying his new trick, to some sort of success. In the morning, he made it a point to ask the matriarch about it.
Finding the time to actually ask her proved to be difficult, as usual. She was training a new set of young ones in their gifts, stern and steady with them. He dared not interrupt her from that.
After, Elohim found himself busy with another requests for bodily assistance. Selarune was the requester this time. Though they were very firm in talking about a rebellion, Elohim was not interested in their family acting as an extension of Selarune’s armies. He sparred with his family as well, honing his skills in training combats. It has gotten to the point where Elohim asked to take on several members at once. Like many things Elohim requested, they thought he was joking at first. It didn’t take long for Elohim to show why the gift was strong within him. Now it was a game for the family- can Elohim fight everyone at once and win? While Elohim encouraged this to get stronger, it pulled a lot of time away from training on his own.
It was a week before Elohim could ask the matriarch his question. He caught her climbing the steps to the castle after she finished today’s lessons.
“What’s this, boy?” the matriarch now walked with a cane and a slight limp, her age catching up with her. “What’s this trick you speak of?”
“Not a trick, grandmother,” Elohim said. “Just a thought. Instead of calling the sword to me, I thought about calling me to the sword.”
“Ah,” the matriarch nodded in understanding. “Warping.”
“Warping? So it is possible. Can you show me how it works?”
“No, boy. I cannot.”
“Because I’m not ready?”
“No,” the matriarch shook her head. “I did not say ‘I will not.’ I said, ‘I cannot.’ I am unable to teach you this.”
“Why not?”
She stopped walking in front of the castle forge. “Because I never learned it.”
“Oh. Huh? Wait, it was something you never learned?”
“Unfortunately,” the matriarch sat down inside the forge. “My predecessor was very good at it. Very poor at explaining it. Never figured out the knack and the few times I’ve tried, I became violently ill.”
“It does make me sick,” Elohim mused.
“I was always exceptional at commanding our gift anyhow,” the matriarch said. “It served me well, even when I was missing a tool.” She smiled at him, an approving smile. “It is good that you figured it out the possibility without teaching. It bodes well. Perhaps this will be another thing you will surpass me at.”
“I see,” despite the praise, Elohim frowned. “Thank you, grandmother. I’ll try my best. Though I would like it if you knew any remedies for nausea.”
The matriarch chuckled. “Go see your mother. No doubt she’ll have something in mind.”
Elohim bowed and left, a little dissatisfied. It hadn’t occurred to him that the matriarch would not have the answer for this. It unsettled him. It surprised him at how much it unsettled him, actually. With that on his mind, Elohim tried to focus on his work with various levels of success.
On the day he went to the hut, Elohim spent the entire time learning about warp. What it felt like, how it started. Doing it with his eyes open and closed. The world melted away when his eyes were open, causing him to vomit on the spot. Every so often, Elohim cleaned up his sick from the dirt, moving it somewhere else. If nothing else, he’d rather not land in those spots. It was a lesson to learn exactly once. He continued until the end of the day, having made no more progress than at the start.
There was a trick, a knack to it, that Elohim could feel was right there but he couldn’t figure out.
On his back, once again staring at the sky, Elohim caught his breath while waiting for the nausea to subside. If he stopped being distracted by being sick, perhaps he could crack it.
“Vertigo,” he said aloud. “I have to stop the vertigo.”
Elohim got to his feet and called the sword to hand. He looked at it, feeling it pretty light. Then he dropped it and summoned a heftier sword. A two-handed greatsword with some weight on it. Still holding onto it, Elohim willed the sword up. This was a different exercise, based on his control. With his feet dangling a foot off the air and still holding on to the sword, Elohim stayed like this until his arms burned and he was forced to let go.
He had another idea and commanded the sword in front of him so that it was horizontal and the flat of the blade faced the sky. Lowering it so that Elohim could stand on the weapon, Elohim balanced with one foot, then two. He waved his arms around as he tried to steady himself, then squatted to bring his core closer to center of balance.
“Weight holding,” Elohim nodded to himself, then willed the sword to move.
He rode the sword across the field, around the hut. It was wobbly, Elohim having a hard time keeping his balance. But he kept at it, getting to a point where he could ride the sword around the field without falling off. Throughout the night, Elohim picked up speed and maneuvered around trees, using the forest as his obstacle course.
His confidence went up with his speed and Elohim found the courage to climb higher. Elohim circled the hut one more time and saw the cliff in the darkness, lit up by the blue moon of Ewa. Comforted by the good omen, he breathed once, twice, then rode off towards it.
Dead-set and jaw locked, Elohim flew off the cliff and sailed through the air. One moment, Elohim had the comforting dirt and grass below him. The next, the tips of faraway trees. There was just enough light for him to make out the shapes, but not enough to gauge the distance.
“Here we go,” Elohim said to himself. Then he willed the sword higher. The rush of the wind grasped at the strands of his hair, buffeting him and threatening to push Elohim off his ride. In fact, the sheer speed of his ascent threatened to do the same. How his feet stayed on the sword, Elohim didn’t know, nor did he question.
Elohim climbed and climbed. A dark mass appeared in front of him and Elohim didn’t stop. He braced, charging through darkness. He got soaked by something, most likely a cloud. On the other side, the stars greeted him. Countless and unending, more than a million lights that were behind Ewa.
Committing the sight to memory, Elohim closed his eyes. He was no longer going up. Up became down, his stomach rising to his throat. The sword disappeared. The clouds opened up once more and covered him in darkness.
There was probably a better way to do this. Learn how to better control his swords while he was up here. Maybe practice some aerial movements a little closer to the ground like when he used the trees as a course. Ah well.
The clouds let him go and Elohim oriented himself in a skydivers pose. The ground was approaching fast. Elohim turned back towards the sky and pointed. He launched a sword upwards. It disappeared in the dark cloud.
Visualizing it in his mind, Elohim reached for it. Light appeared on his fingers, crawling up his arm. It engulfed his shoulder, his chest. It traveled up his neck and Elohim saw white. For the briefest of moments, the rushing wind was hushed. Still there, but muted. Blowing from a couple rooms over. Then darkness.
The wind rushed forth beside his ears again, howling at him once again. His hands closed on the leather hilt of the sword he made. Falling out of the clouds again, Elohim couldn’t help but laugh. It was just that easy. He turned and launched more swords through the air.
As Elohim willed it, he appeared next to each one. He warped through the air, reveling in his newfound freedom. In the coming dawn, it occurred to Elohim; he got himself up in the air and he didn’t have a plan to getting back down. He got his sword and aligned himself back on it. Slowing his descent was tricker than he had planned. Since he could make the sword stop itself on a dime, but not himself, he fell off and almost cut himself on his own sword.
It took a couple of tries to get that right.
In the end, Elohim settled for gliding back to the clearing, willing two swords to carry him there. When he was a decent distance up, Elohim threw another sword into the dirt in front of the hut. He dismissed the ones carrying him and warped to the ground, landing on his feet in flash of light.
Looking himself over, Elohim found nothing of note.
“Whole and hearty,” Elohim said. In a cocky flourish, he picked up the sword and flipped it.
While it was still in the air, Elohim’s legs buckled and he fell. His strength left him and his body ached like it just ran for several days and several nights with no rest. The sword fell back to the ground on its side, harmless.
“I might have overdone it,” Elohim said to himself, sighing deep. His eyelids were heavy, already nodding off as he saw the sun peek over the horizon. Before they closed completely, Elohim bit his cheek and forced himself awake. “Come on Elohim. Get home first.”
Using the thrown sword as crutch at first, Elohim then leaned onto the hut for support. Body burning and legs wobbling, Elohim began the long walk home. Though he was tired and perpetually seconds away from collapsing, his recent success kept his spirits high.
A technique that the matriarch couldn’t do, but he can. The smile carried him far.
This victory boosted Elohim’s confidence and subsequently, his growth. At eighteen, he became a fighter without peer amongst his family. He mastered warping and could even warp to spots without a clear line of sight, only that his weapons where there.
Yet there was something he knew he missed. For how well he could fight his family and learn techniques, Elohim had no experience outside of them. Several of his younger cousins had went on adventurers, with battles against brigands and beasts. Each of them had come back with their backs a little straighter, their eyes sharp.
He envied them for that, if slight. His responsibilities demanded that Elohim oversaw the home. Like with many things, he asked the matriarch about it.
“When a matter of significance appears, then you will have your chance,” was her response. In a way, Elohim expected it. The answer was similar enough to other questions he had about his role.
With the years of training that Elohim had, as well as the promises of his purpose, Elohim wondered if it would ever happen. He started getting impatient. On some days, he wished anything would happen at all. On those days, he’d rebuke himself just as fast.
He got into a rhythm with training and responsibilities. A rhythm that saw him with some free time. On those free days, Elohim traveled a little ways down the valley to the nearby town.
It was of decent size, large enough to not know everyone’s name, but small enough to not spend days walking from end to end. The roads were paved with stone, buildings of brick. There were enough taverns and pubs far enough from each other to have their own little rumors and sayings.
He frequented those the most. Just to listen and hear. On rare occasions, he watched the odd bar fight break out. Patrons would join in to oust the offender. Elohim stayed just long enough to consider joining, but he never stayed long enough to scuffle.
On a day much like those, he watched the passing crowds outside as a gruff voice caught his ear. It was less the voice and more what was said.
“So ye fashion yerself a swordsman, eh?”
Elohim looked over. At the center of the pub, a burly mercenary in leather armor loomed over a young man that Elohim guessed to be roughly his age, maybe a little younger. He had short, black hair, with tanned skin which suggested he worked many long days in the sun. His build wasn’t particular impressive either, wearing simple travelers clothes.
“I dabble. Better swordplay than yours, I’m sure,” the young man said. He drank from his cup with a carefree confidence, even as the mercenary got in his space.
The mercenary knocked the cup out of his hands and slammed his fist on the table.
“Sword that small? Bah,” the mercenary had a drunken slur in his words. “My pecker’s got more width than that puny thing.”
With his hand still open like he was about to take a drink, the young man shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the table like he was about to say something, then stopped.
Abruptly, he got up from his chair and made for the door. The mercenary looked down on him, a whole two heads taller.
“Ye that’s right,” the mercenary said. “Ye better run.”
“Oh I figured you wanted to take this outside,” the young man said, brandishing the sheathe at his hip. It was rather thin, maybe half the width of the swords Elohim would make.
The mercenary wore a sadistic grin, itching for any fight. He followed the young man out the door, already drawing the greatsword from his back.
Elohim watched from the window, the two squaring off in the street. The mercenary held the greatsword with both hands. Though his words were slurred, the mercenary had a sure grip and focused eyes that Elohim had to give him credit for.
Despite this, Elohim watched the young man with interest. At first, he thought it was just a passing traveler with a sword for simple defense. But now that the young man stood opposite of the opponent, Elohim watched him take a relaxed stance, one hand resting on the hilt and the other on the sheathe.
Now that Elohim could see the young man in his entirely, he rescinded his initial thoughts about his build. Though not built like a strongman, Elohim could see the slight muscles on his arms and the peculiarity of his stance.
More specifically, the young man’s build reminded Elohim of his own.
Onlookers gathered at a safe distance, excited for the show.
The two of them stared at each other, the mercenary adjusting his stance ever so often to look for an advantage.
The young man was relaxed and didn’t move as much, though he did yawn. That careless confidence of his made Elohim sure of who the victor would be. The only question would be how that victory would look like.
The standoff continued for a moment more. From what Elohim could guess, the two of them were waiting for an unspoken signal, an agreement between the two of them.
Elohim decided to be that signal.
Above the pub was a wind chime. There was no wind today, the chimes silent. With a deft and sneaky hand, Elohim summoned a dagger and tapped the chimes, soft bells ringing throughout.
The mercenary struck first and he struck fast. Using reach and size to his advantage, he closed the distance in a single step, cleaving down with his sword.
Instead of drawing the sword, the young man also stepped close. He dodged the strike by stepping to the side and struck upwards with the sheathe. He continued walking and brought the sheathe back to his side, the tip of it catching the mercenary’s pants and pulling it down.
Gasps rung out through the crowd watching.
The young man turned back to his opponent with a grin. Enraged, the mercenary tried to turn, but with his pants around his ankles, he nearly tripped and fell. The young man suddenly tensed and gripped the hilt of the sword, starting to draw.
The mercenary fell back, in no position to respond. His small clothes ripped, another gasp rippling through the crowd.
“Not bad for a small one, if I do say so myself,” the young man chuckled, the sword not even a fourth of the way out of its sheathe. Without waiting for a response, the young man turned to leave, letting the mercenary try to pull up the remnants of his broken pride.
Elohim thought about it for one second, two seconds, then he chased after the young man.
“Excuse me!” Elohim called out to him. “Do you have a moment?”
“Hm?” the young man glanced back, but he did not stop walking. “Need something from me?”
“Yes, I mean, no,” Elohim caught up to him and walked at his pace. “That was a good maneuver back there. Using his size and pride against him.”
“Yessir,” the young man grinned. “His belt was also an easy target. Made it very simple.”
The two walked a bit out of the town.
“Mind if we also have a spar?” Elohim asked once the paved roads turned to dirt.
The young man glanced at Elohim again. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve only got one sword on me, but I’m sure I can lend you it.”
Something ticked in Elohim. Wordlessly, Elohim summoned a broadsword.
The young man stopped for the first time. With sword in hand, Elohim could see that the young man was appraising him the same way Elohim did at first.
“Well now,” the young man reached for his hilt. “This might be a little fun.” He looked around. “Do you know where we can do this away from the road?”
“Here isn’t fine?”
“It would be easier if there weren’t the possibility for travelers butting in,” the young man said.
“You have a point,” Elohim released the sword and thought for a moment. The hut is secluded enough, but it was very out of the way. “If you don’t mind a trek through the forest, I know a spot.”
“Lead the way,” the young man gestured onward, still wearing that carefree smile. “I’m just wandering at this point.”
“What should I call you, wanderer?” Elohim asked as they started walking again.
“Wanderer sounds good,” the young man said, a hand on his chin. “But you can call me Samidare. Sami for short.”
“Nice to meet you Sami,” Elohim said. “I am Elohim Essaim.”
With those pleasantries exchanged, Elohim lead Sami back to the Essaim home, going straight past the house and reaching the abandoned castle. Every so often, Elohim glanced back at him; though silent, Sami had wide eyes as he took in the sights, like everything was new.
“Nice castle,” Sami commented when they reached it. “Anyone inside?”
“Just the matriarch of my family,” Elohim said. “No one really goes in it anymore. I’m surprised she’s comfortable in there.”
“Surprised who is comfortable where, boy?” the matriarch called out from the entrance. She hobbled down the stairs, a few young ones behind her. “And who is this with you?”
“This is Samidare,” Elohim introduced him. “A swordsman I met in town.”
“Hi,” Sami bowed slightly at her.
“And why do you bring a stranger into our home?” the matriarch asked, though it was more curious than accusatory.
“A spar,” Elohim said.
“A spar,” Sami nodded his head and repeated in agreement.
“That’s it?” the matriarch came in close to Sami and studied him. She squinted. “I see. A good enough reason as any, I suppose. Less messy than collecting a crowd in town.”
“I was thinking of the old hut, grandmother,” Elohim said. “It’s a good and open space.”
“Not here?” the matriarch asked.
“I thought there’d be less questions from the others there,” Elohim confessed. “There’s plenty space here as is.”
Sami looked around, still admiring the castle. “I wouldn’t mind here. That castle looks cool.”
“I’m glad you like it, young man. Our family used to live there back in the day,” the matriarch said. She hobbled back to the stairs and sat down. The young ones followed her, whispering among themselves to enjoy the show. “Elohim, consider this part of your training. You are not to use your gift, understand?”
“Of course, grandmother,” Elohim said. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Gift?” Sami tilted his head.
Elohim summoned a sword. “This, among other things.” He stepped a fair back away from Sami and held the broadsword with two hands in front of him, waiting for Sami to take his own stance.
Sami appraised Elohim once more and took a few steps back. With a methodical slowness that Elohim didn’t expect, Sami drew the sword from its sheathe. Like a ritual being performed, Sami gripped the sword with two hands as well. His stance was different, holding the sword by his face with the edge pointing towards the sky.
Now that the sword was out, Elohim studied it. Slightly curved, a single edge sword. It was thinner than his broadsword, probably sharper because of it. But in terms of quality, it was an average sword. Maybe above average, considering the design.
Sami started testing the waters, walking in a circle towards Elohim. Elohim took the other way, the same, but opposite. Just from the start of this dance, Elohim could tell Sami had good fundamentals. How far though, Elohim wondered.
As Elohim studied Sami for an opening, Sami moved first. He closed the gap and struck for Elohim’s arm. Elohim blocked the strike with ease, pushing Sami away, but Sami was relentless, already going for another strike.
Defend, defend, attack, defend. Elohim wasn’t used to being on the back foot for so long. He couldn’t spot an opening large enough to strike back either.
There was a moment where Elohim caught Sami’s expression. The same smile as before. Careless, due to his confidence.
Elohim needed something to break this dance- he slammed his foot down and stepped forward. A move as brazen as that caused Sami to step back. Elohim took that chance to go on the offensive. To his satisfaction, Sami’s smile faltered and was replaced with a focused frown.
Their bout continued.
For the most part, the two of them were evenly matched. Elohim could tell that Sami had actual battle experience and that made him have a slight edge, but Elohim fought with all his might to keep up. From the intensity and their weapons, it was inevitable that the two would gain some cuts. For each one that Elohim received, he dealt back with twice the ferocity.
Then, on an unspoken cue, the two of them stepped back and stopped. Elohim fought to catch his breath, Sami doing the same. Then, with a massive grin, Sami sat down and laughed.
“You’re not too bad!” Sami exclaimed. “I haven’t had to focus that much in a hot minute!”
“Likewise,” Elohim let himself smile as well, sitting to catch his breath.
There was a part of him that was satisfied. He held his own against this stranger, someone outside of the family. Someone who was skilled. Another part of him still doubted. Sami sat back and supported himself on his palms, eyes closed and enjoying the sun. He recovered much faster than Elohim did.
When Elohim caught his breath, he got up again, flourishing his sword and stretching his shoulders. Taking a couple steps away, Elohim experimented with a couple of swings as he replayed the bout in his mind. It felt like Sami was so much faster.
“Another round?” Sami called out, one eye open.
“If you don’t mind,” Elohim said. “It seems I have a lot to learn from you.”
“Oh yeah?” Sami got to his feet as well, jumping on the balls of his feet. “Like what?”
“Speed,” Elohim recounted the amount of attacks Sami got off. “For every strike I did, it felt like you could do three more after.”
“Oh that,” Sami raised his sword and swung it around. “Well my sword’s lighter than yours, so I’m sure that helps.”
“Could be,” Elohim tried mimicking a three strike attack that Sami did. Above, then one on each side. The first two strikes were somewhat fast, but he found himself losing time trying to do the third.
“It’s his efficiency, Elohim,” the matriarch said. Elohim had forgotten she was here as well. “As you just tried. I’ve never seen that style before, did you learn from the Rainbringers?”
“Rainbringers?” Sami raised an eyebrow. “Not sure who or what that is. Truth be told, I just do what feels right.”
“The Rainbringers are a group of monks in the far west. Supposedly, as their name suggests, they can call down storms,” the matriarch explained. “In any case, I am interested in your second bout. Fight hard, Elohim. We will unlock the secrets of Samidare’s skill together.”
“Of course, grandmother,” Elohim raised his sword and made ready.
“There’s no real secret, but if it’ll help you two,” Sami assume his own ready stance, then relaxed. The tip of the sword pointing towards the ground, Sami took a deep breath. “I’ll be kicking it up a notch. Ready?”
Elohim nodded. This time, Elohim took initiative. He struck fast and he struck hard. The thought was to create his own openings through powerful strikes instead of the natural ebb and flow of battle.
It started really well for him too. Sami was pressured to stay on the back foot, conceding ground as Elohim pressed forward. The sword advantage also played into his favor. Any block Sami attempted, Elohim bulldozed through.
In the dim of battle, Elohim caught the first hint of Sami’s smile. The same, unbothered confidence. He heard the clanging of metal, his sword being pushed back. Then, Elohim couldn’t see him anymore.
“Don’t get too tunneled now,” Sami said from behind Elohim.
Elohim turned, Sami already a few steps back. His sword was resting on his shoulder. Elohim cursed at himself- he must’ve pulled a similar trick to when he made a fool of the mercenary. It shouldn’t have worked on him. In response, Elohim dropped his sword and summoned a one handed shortsword.
Power didn’t work out, so maybe a lighter weapon will help with finesse.
The two of them both attacked at the same time, dodging each others strike as their dance continued. Elohim could somewhat keep up with Sami now. Now just a half step behind, Elohim could track his movements a little better than before.
Being able to see Sami in battle, it clicked somewhat. Efficiency was what the matriarch said. That was partially true. The way he moved from ‘starting position’ to ‘strike’ was done with tiny optimizations that saved on time and energy.
He moved with smooth and planned grace from one step to the next. No, Elohim couldn’t call it moving. Rather, it would be closer to flowing.
Elohim couldn’t hope to mimic him after just watching, but he did try. Tiny adjustments to his stance, his form, even the way Elohim breathed. The results weren’t huge. He gained half of a half step in tempo. Those results were enough for Elohim to realize what Sami meant. The way he moved felt right.
At this point, their bout was even. Strike, block, strike, parry. Unlike before, the two of them matched each other and the tiny cuts weren’t as severe. Elohim had matched Sami.
Or so Elohim thought.
Their swords clashed from Elohim’s strike. Elohim thought Sami would return with a strike of his own after blocking, but instead, Sami pushed forward. Blades still locked, Sami twisted his sword in a way that Elohim couldn’t catch, taking Elohim’s sword with it. The hilt fell out of his hands and with a final spin, Sami had the edge of his sword by Sami’s throat.
Before Elohim could process what happened, Sami retracted the sword and sheathed it, clapping Elohim on his shoulder.
“Not bad, Elohim,” Sami beamed. “I think you found what you were looking for.”
“Amazing,” the matriarch said. “Your fundamentals are immaculate.”
Elohim broke himself from his shock at being disarmed and nodded in agreement. “I get what you mean now. There is a right way to move and it’s much faster.”
“Kind of?” Sami shrugged. “The way I figured, if I move the right way, I conserve energy and use it where it counts.”
“A simplistic way of looking at it,” the matriarch said. “But not wholly incorrect. I have seldom seen such fundamentals in one as young as you, Samidare. You are close Elohim, but I trust we are in agreement here.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim said. “I still have much to learn.”
“Oh it’s not that impressive,” Sami shrugged again. “Beside, I could tell you’ve got more left in the tank.”
Elohim and the matriarch exchanged glances. He’d never seen the matriarch look flustered before.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Elohim spoke for her. “Our gift is not one to be used lightly.”
“Oh don’t give me that Elohim,” Sami grinned. “I know what you’re thinking. You think you could beat me if you used it.”
“That’s…,” Elohim paused. It wasn’t untrue.
“Don’t, Elohim,” the matriarch said. “And you, Samidare. Do not provoke my grandson. He is correct, our gift is beyond the scope of this spar.”
“I don’t think so,” Sami walked around and sheathed his sword. “And besides, I won’t lie. With as much emphasis you two are putting on it, it sounds like it’ll blow me away.”
“It will,” the matriarch said. “Even for a spar, it is too dangerous.”
“When you put it like that,” Sami locked eyes with Elohim, his grin growing wider. “I’m dying to know how I stack up.”
“Samidare, I ask you to believe me when I tell you that it is not meant for a simple spar,” the matriarch slammed her cane on the ground to emphasize her point. “I am not having either of you injured to satisfy something silly as pride.”
“Neither of us will get hurt,” Sami said with bulletproof confidence. “I’ll make sure of that.”
That ticked at Elohim. Sami will make sure of it. As if Elohim wasn’t able to.
“Grandmother,” Elohim started slow. “How will I know if I’m ready, if I don’t test.”
“Boy,” the matriarch’s voice was firm, the same tone it was when Elohim first started brushing hair. “I will know and tell you when you are ready. This childish bout is proof that you’re not.”
“Ma’am, there’s a difference between knowing and knowing,” Sami said. “The first is with our head. The second is with our heart. And the only way I’ve ever learned with my heart is through getting burned.”
The matriarch squinted at Sami.
“One minute, grandmother. We’ll only need one minute,” Elohim said. “I’ll be careful.”
“Bah,” the matriarch sighed. “A childish lie. The moment the two of you get heated, it will not end well.”
“You can stop that, right?” Sami asked her. “You’re already thinking how.”
That took Elohim and the matriarch aback.
Sami looked at the two of them like they were crazy. “Actually, now that I think about it, what is this gift? It’s not like a killing spell is it? One word and I drop dead?”
“No, no,” Elohim said. “Nothing like that. It’s an armory.” Elohim summoned swords around him and waved them around.
“Fancy,” Sami tracked each of the swords. “Can you make them appear anywhere? At anytime?”
“Within reason,” Elohim said. “I do line of sight to be safe.”
“But you can make them appear outside of line of sight and it’ll be unsafe,” Sami nodded to himself then looked around. He started turning. Dipped and dove. Every couple of steps, he looked behind him.
Elohim realized Sami was imagining a fight.
“Ok, I think I can handle it,” Sami looked up and offered a thumbs up.
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” Elohim said. The words surprised him, spilling out of his mouth before he could even think of something else.
“Could be,” Sami took it in stride. He placed a hand on the hilt. “Come on, Elohim. I’ll fend off your gift and you can see how much higher the mountain is.”
Elohim’s eye twitched. He glanced at the matriarch, but she did not respond. Instead, her weathered hands were white knuckled on her cane. He took one breath. Then two.
“You’re trying to rile me up,” Elohim said.
“Is it working?” Sami chuckled a little bit. “One minute ma’am. That’ll be enough to figure out where we stand.”
Without waiting for a response, Elohim drew a sword then dropped it. It hovered in the air. Twirling around him, he added more to the mix. Sami responded in kind. He kept his sword in its sheathe.
Quickdraw.
“On your mark, ma’am,” Sami said.
Elohim didn’t hear her. He didn’t turn to look. But in the middle of the two of them, a dagger appeared. It fell to the ground at an agonizing slow speed. The tip touched the ground and Elohim subjected the swords to his will. They flew at Sami, who finally drew his sword.
The swords flew at him, but with precision and grace, Sami parried them with ease. He moved faster than he did when Elohim and him crossed swords directly. There was a part of Elohim that couldn’t believe it. No matter how much Elohim tried to catch him unawares, Sami spun around just in time to catch a sword.
In the bout, Sami found the time to look at Sami and grin the same confident grin.
Elohim saw red and gripped a sword of his own and charged Sami with his own swordplay. Dancing in between the blades and avoiding his own strikes, Elohim pressured Sami.
The two swordsman danced and danced for moments that seemed to go on and on. Elohim couldn’t believe that he couldn’t find an opening from Sami to exploit. His opponent flowed from sword to sword, not wasting a single movement. He turned away from Elohim to parry a summon sword; in the same motion, he used that blade to block Elohim’s swing. It was maddening and Elohim pushed harder.
“Elohim.”
In order to create a bigger opening, Elohim had to risk a little bit more. He had to pull more from his bag of tricks.
“Elohim!”
He jumped up and swung down, Sami parrying his strike as Elohim knew he would. Using a sword as a foothold, Elohim launched himself into the air and warped out. From his birds eye view, Elohim saw an opening. By overwhelming one side with pure force, Elohim would force Sami to put everything in defending his front. With the back exposed, Elohim can warp in and find his mark.
A wave of swords attacked Sami from one side. As Elohim expected, Sami had no difficulties mowing down the weapons.
“Elohim, that’s enough!”
There! Elohim summoned a dagger right behind Sami and warped to it. He struck down, but as he got out of warp, Sami was already turning to him to defend.
Then Elohim wasn’t there anymore. He warped a second time to the main assault, already swinging. He was going to score a blow.
“The both of you!”
There was a ding, like a bell sounding out. There was a blinding light in front of him. Then a rush of air as Elohim felt the flat of a blade push him back to a nearby tree.
When the light faded, Elohim was pinned to a tree by gleaming swords. On the opposite end, Sami was in a similar position. Elohim recognized his own swords outlining Sami’s body.
Standing at the bottom of the castle stairs, the matriarch held Eden aloft. She did not look impressed.
“Phew,” Sami breathed in relief. “Nice save! One minute on the dot!”
“Silence, Samidare,” the matriarch growled. “If not for me, the two of you would’ve been maimed for a silly reason, maybe even killed.”
Elohim freed himself from the tree with his own swords, dropping down with a sigh. One hand, the matriarch was right. He got too heated, far too focused on winning. He looked at his hands as he approached the castle again.
“I’m sorry, grandmother,” Elohim said. “You were right.”
“Hmph,” the matriarch let Eden fade. “Let this be a lesson then.”
Sami approached with his sword sheathed. As always, he had that carefree smile.
“Have you nothing to say?” the matriarch said to Sami. “Speak.”
“Nothing important,” Sami bowed his head slightly to Elohim, then to the matriarch. “Thank you, for not holding back. I’ve learned a lot. The mountain is high.”
“Likewise,” Elohim bowed his head as well, feeling a little sheepish. Now that Sami had no ill will, he felt silly for being so frustrated and angry. “I have also learned much.”
“You are exceptionally skilled, Samidare,” the matriarch said. “I ask you do not pick fights just to test your mettle.”
“Would you believe me if I told you this was the first time?”
“No,” the matriarch was firm.
“What’s next, Sami?” Elohim asked.
“Don’t know,” Sami shrugged. He found the sun to the west and pointed at it. Then he tilted his head adjusted a little to the north. “I came from that way, so I figured I’d go the opposite way and just see what I find.” He then pointed the opposite direction.
“A wanderer,” the matriarch scoffed. “Very well. The southeast puts you on the path to Selarune. Perhaps you will find what you are looking for there.”
“Selarune,” Sami repeated the name out loud. “Sounds magical.”
“Are you already off? Why not stay the night,” Elohim said. “I can’t be the only one tired.”
“Well I don’t want to overstay my welcome…” Sami glanced at the matriarch.
She closed her eyes and sighed. With that sigh, she seem to deflate, the gravitas she had while holding Eden fading. “Very well.” She turned to go back into the castle. “Come with me Samidare. If you are to stay a night, I would ask you some questions before you retire. And I will not give you two the chance to kill each other again.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Sami bowed and followed.
“Oh and Elohim,” she stopped at the entrance.
“Yes, grandmother?” his brow furrowed.
“Do not be deluded into thinking you were the victor had I not stopped you both.” She disappeared into the castle. Sami took one glanced back to wink before chasing after her.
Out by his lonesome, Elohim thought for a moment.
“Deluded?” he couldn’t help but ask himself. On his way back to the house, Elohim mulled over what the matriarch said. He replayed the fight in his mind. It was true, Sami had the upper hand for most of it. But with his gift, surely Elohim managed to overpower him.
Lost in thought, Elohim rubbed his neck. As he rubbed the front of his throat, he felt something odd. A line so thin, he could hardly feel it. Much lighter than the actual cuts he sustained. Once home, he hurried to find a mirror.
Elohim baited Sami’s blind spot with his first warp. Then he capitalized with a second. Sami couldn’t have responded so fast. Physically, it would be like spinning twice while responding to someone who did a half spin.
When Elohim reached a mirror, he saw a thin red line on his throat. A cut, like a fingernail that absently scratched skin while asleep. But it was there. When was it? When did this happen?
“He couldn’t have done this,” Elohim reasoned. “With magic maybe, but with no magic…”
One deep breath. Two deep breaths in. Elohim retired to his bed and closed his eyes. When the matriarch stopped their fight, Elohim was pinned to the wall by her swords. On the other side, Sami was pinned by his swords.
In the heat of the moment, he must have fired more at Sami, even as Elohim struck right after warp. Done on instinct, such that he didn’t realize at the time that he did so.
Threat. That was it, he felt threatened by something. Sami did something that caused Elohim to respond in kind. The last dredges of adrenaline faded from his system. Sleep and exhaustion weighed on his mind.
In those seconds of fading consciousness, Elohim replayed the fight one last time. He warped behind Sami. Sami responded, expecting it. Elohim warped again, thinking that Sami had his hands full with the initial counter. At the very start of Eden’s light flaring, a thin blade gleamed. It cut through the air, not too fast, not too slow.
It would’ve cut. Before it could connect, the blade pulled back.
Elohim’s eyes bolted open. It was the dark of night. He felt his neck again. The matriarch was right. If it was a matter of life and death, Elohim would have failed.
The thought of it kept him up well into the morning.
His spirits in the dumps, Elohim awoke the next morning and headed straight to the matriarch’s abandoned hut. Catching the first cousin he saw, Elohim bid them to tell whoever went looking for Elohim that urgent matters have arrived.
The urgency wasn’t untrue in any sense. But to Elohim, there was nothing more important. If Sami, a normal swordsman without any gifts of his own, could beat Elohim, he was not prepared for opponents that did have gifts.
He rode on summoned swords, prioritizing speed over subtlety. At the hut, he took a lap around the dilapidated building. He took another one.
Elohim took deep breaths as he continued obsessing over the bout in his mind. There wasn’t a significant difference in skill. Yet as they escalated, that difference payed dividends that shouldn’t be there. With Elohim’s gift, that difference should have been nullified.
Perhaps he needed more practice. To fully understand how far he can take the gift and the limits thereof. He thought he had that pretty figured out.
With just the smallest explanation, Sami was able to understand that Elohim took advantage of blind spots and made precautions. So Elohim had to figure out how to exploit someone who covered their blind spot.
“I need more,” Elohim looked to the edge of the cliff. He broke into a sprint, launching swords to the edge and creating a staircase. He called for more, sending them to circle in the air into a ball of blades.
He got the edge, tensing to jump. But just as he was about to jump, an errant sword came a little too close. He lost his nerve, and skidded to a stop just at the edge. The blades still spinning, they began to slow as Elohim deflated. That was something he didn’t think about. How to not cut himself when in a position like that.
Now that he’s thinking of it, it was a miracle he didn’t cut himself when attacking Sami when he jumped into the storm. If it was an unconscious thing, he had to figure out a way to make it conscious. Or at the very least, be aware of how. Just trusting that he wouldn’t cut himself in a storm of chaos is something that didn’t sit well with him.
The swords slowed to a stop, a score or two still hovering. He remembered the consecutive warps he did, though those memories in particular were dimmer than the rest. He warped to each of the hovering swords. Warp, pick out a landmark, warp again and pick again. Elohim repeated the process for a bit. At first, he was completely disoriented. Not in a nauseous way. Closer to the dizziness from spinning around in circles.
However, he was able to find his mark faster and faster. The world spun less after each warp. It got to the point where Elohim could warp up to six times in a row and spot his mark with no issues.
On his attempt for seven warps, he saw the matriarch waiting for him at the hut.
Elohim tried for seven warps one more time; with a satisfied warp to the ground, Elohim breathed easy knowing that he was well on his way to adding one more trick to his arsenal.
“Your friend was looking for you before he left,” the matriarch said as Elohim approached her. “Wanted to thank you one more time for showing him how far he had to go. Something about ‘the mountain.’”
“‘The mountain is high,’” Elohim recalled what Sami said yesterday. “He also showed me my shortcomings.”
“Of course,” the matriarch nodded in agreement. “How did he beat you?”
“He was faster than me, stronger than me,” Elohim said. “Smarter too, I think. Even just knowing the basics of our gift, he was able to understand how to counter it.”
“All of those things are true,” the matriarch said. She frowned. “But you’re missing one crucial thing.”
Elohim sat down on the grass in front of her and looked down.
“You know, don’t you?”
Elohim nodded. “Fundamentals.”
“A particular word,” the matriarch sighed. “For everyone holding the sword, the fundamentals are the most important thing. But it’s also the thing we lose the most as we learn and grow. Taking it for granted.”
“Is that really all it is, grandmother?” Elohim asked. “I knew there was a difference, but it can’t be that large, can it?”
“If I were in your shoes, I’m sure I would ask the same thing,” the matriarch smiled a rueful smile and looked past Elohim, past the cliff. On these occasions, Elohim knew she was looking at something from long, long ago. “In all my years, you were the most dedicated to learning the basics, as that is the foundations that inform every move we make. I’ve never seen sharper movements. Until yesterday.”
Elohim ripped up some grass and fussed with it.
“Is that what you two talked about yesterday?” Elohim asked.
“Among other things,” the matriarch closed her eyes and sighed. “I asked who taught him. Why he was traveling. Why the sword.”
“And? What did he say.”
“He shrugged,” the matriarch mimicked the motion. “He just picked up a sword and practice till his hands bled. No one told him how or what. He picked out a direction and started walking. No destination in mind.”
Elohim was silent. He tied the blades of grass into knots.
“I even asked him to show me how he practiced. So he showed me that he just swung his sword. For half the night, I watched as he practiced exactly one swing to perfection. He talked about tiny ways where the way he swung was bad, or good. Using too much power in his forearm. Maybe too little.”
“Grandmother, do you think he’s a better swordsman than you?”
“Oh of course,” the matriarch said. “I am old and unable to swing swords like the two of you do.”
“No, I mean even with the gift.”
The matriarch paused and thought for a moment.
“I will tell you like this, Elohim,” the matriarch opened her eyes and stared into Elohim’s. “If Samidare was my enemy and it was him or our family, I would stop at nothing to make sure our family is safe.”
“But you don’t think you’d win? What if you were younger?”
The matriarch was silent again, then squinted.
“I’m the more experienced swordswoman,” the matriarch chuckled. “I should be able to win against Samidare. However-”
“It feels like there’s an uncrossable chasm between me and him,” Elohim said.
“An entire mountain,” the matriarch agreed.
“It’s him, isn’t it,” Elohim said. “He’s the Sword Saint.”
“The thought crossed my mind, yes,” the matriarch said. “But I would not put labels on him before either of you leave your marks on Cappagh. The two of you are still young. Though his fundamentals are flawless, they are just the fundamentals. They can be practiced. They can be taught. They can be learned.”
“Just do what feels right,” Elohim said. “That’s what he said.”
“I will not lie to you. Though he does not have our gift, Samidare is gifted. Anyone who can pinpoint the tiniest flaws with swinging a sword and adjust to it are prodigious by nature and are on a different wavelength than any of us,” the matriarch rested a hand on Elohim’s shoulder. He was surprised at how earnest she sounded. “It will be difficult for us. For you. But if you could shore up your fundamentals to his level, if you are able to be his equal without the use of our gift, imagine how much greater you will become with it.”
“Will it be enough, grandmother?” Elohim felt an additional weight thrust upon him.
“It is enough for everyone else.”
“We can’t be like everyone else,” Elohim stood. “There are things that only Sami sees. That only a Sword Saint could see. Neither of us can see it.”
“Elohim Essaim,” the matriarch summoned Eden. “Samidare is only a boy. Not even a man. I have come across several thousand walls in my life, each higher than the last.” She placed Eden in Elohim’s hands. “You will as well. Just as I have. Just as before me, and before that.”
Elohim gripped Eden at the matriarch’s insistence. The sword was well balanced, but it felt heavy in his hands. The matriarch took a step back.
“I thought you would berate me more for losing my temper, yesterday,” Elohim said.
“If you were younger, yes. But you are berating yourself enough,” the matriarch smiled. “I also wished to see Samidare a little more pressed than he was.”
Elohim smiled as well. “Could you believe that he thought he could handle our gift before even seeing it?”
“The nerve of that boy! But he had the skill to support him, so I will not fault him for his confidence. Now,” the matriarch turned to leave. “Remember to practice your fundamentals, Elohim. I see you have learned warping like I never could. While that is good and I applaud you for it, I trust you know that it will not be what brings you victory against Samidare.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Elohim bowed. Then he realized he was still holding onto Eden. “Ah grandmother, wait. You forgot-”
“Right, right,” the matriarch came back. She held onto Elohim’s arm- the arm that wasn’t holding onto Eden. “The trip here has exhausted me, Elohim. Take me back to the castle, if you would please.”
“No grandmother, I meant-”
“I did not forget anything else,” the matriarch said. She was firm in this, Elohim could tell.
He looked at Eden again. With a deep breath, Elohim dropped the sword. It fell into light, becoming a part of his armory.
“I will go my best, grandmother,” Elohim said, his back a little straighter.
“You will do as you need with it,” the matriarch said. “It is just a tool after all. Now hurry along, Elohim. I am weary.”
“Yes grandmother,” Elohim summoned many swords around the two of them. He brought several to carry the matriarch, a few to carry himself. Elohim brought the two of them back to the castle without incident. The matriarch bid Elohim goodnight while Elohim returned to the house.
There were certain things he needed to catch up on, new requests for the family as always. But even as he did so, he thought about what the matriarch told him. About what he said. About what Sami did.
It’s not enough to be like everyone else. Elohim looked around at his family. At his uncles who expected much from him. At his aunts who supported him. At his father and mother, who believed in him.
Elohim didn’t want to be like everyone else. To carry the weight of his family, he needed to be the best.
When Elohim caught up with his responsibilities, he practiced one swing. A simple overhead strike. He practiced it again and again. When his palms ached and blistered, he swung. When his arms turned to lead and burned like fire, he swung again. Over and over, trying to figure out what exactly these fundamentals were. On and on he practiced, until the fated day.
It took awhile before Elohim made a breakthrough with his practice. Not a day went by where his arms weren’t sore. That was the key if he wanted to keep practicing, Elohim realized. If his arms were sore, but he still needed to swing, needed to find a way to involve his whole body. He was using his whole body before, but the onus was on his arms.
So he played with the swing. Where it burned the most. How to make it burn less. How best to leverage his entire body to swing his sword for the most strength with the smallest use of energy.
The energy was another part. From Elohim’s memory, Sami was efficient. The less he used for the same amount of power, the better.
Elohim was practicing as normal at the castle when his mother rushed to him.
“Elohim! Where’s grandmother?” his mother called out to him, out of breath from running the entire way.
“In the castle mother, what’s wrong?” Elohim let the sword fade and helped his mother. “Grandmother!” Elohim called into the castle.
“I am here, Elohim,” the matriarch walked out of the castle. “Ah. What is it, child?”
“Selarune has requested all of us. No, not requested. They demanded all of us,” his mother said. “Not a contingent, not a group, all of us. They say it’s an emergency.”
“It’s always an emergency with Selarune,” the matriarch said. She started to walk back into the castle.
“Grandmother,” his mother ran up to stairs and grabbed the matriarch’s hand. “They asked for you. They asked for the Sword Saint.”
Sword Saint? Elohim thought there wasn’t a Sword Saint in this age.
“What could be so pressing that they asked for a fossil like me?”
“They’re under attack by dragons.”
Silence. Elohim wondered if he heard correctly. First calling the matriarch a Sword Saint, then dragons?
“Child,” the matriarch turned to mother. “Hurry back. Call for everyone. We are having a family meeting. Go.”
“At once, grandmother,” mother rushed down the stairs and grabbed Elohim.
“Wait, the patriarch and I have much to discuss,” the matriarch said.
“Of course,” his mother held onto Elohim’s hands for a moment and locked eyes with him. “This is it, Elohim. We’ll be by your side the entire time.”
“Yes, mother,” Elohim nodded. She let go and ran back towards the house. Elohim rushed to the matriarch’s side.
“Sword Saint,” the matriarch scoffed and spat out the title.
“You told me you weren’t the Sword Saint, grandmother,” Elohim supported the matriarch’s arm as the two of them walked to the house.
“I am not,” the matriarch said. “But Selarune will call me what they wish. I was the best swordswoman they knew, so in their eyes, I am the only one who could be that.” She looked at Elohim. “Make no mistake, Elohim. It does not matter what you are called. Our family will never be the Sword Saint. It is both curse and blessing.”
“I’m not sure I understand, grandmother,” Elohim said.
“I will explain soon,” the matriarch took a deep breath as they approached the house. The courtyard was filled to the brim with their entire family. Over fifty members. Lots of aunts and uncles, as well as grandparents up to four generations back.
There were murmurs as they approached, some of the more experienced family members decked out in armor and weapons. The murmurs stopped when the matriarch took the center of the courtyard, Elohim at her side.
“Grandmother,” Elohim’s father approached. “Selarune is talking of several wyrms approaching the city. They will be there within the week. How can we help them?”
“It’s simple,” the matriarch turned to the rest of the family. “Essaim. It has been several generations since I have waylaid the dragon king. I have left the dragons alive because I deemed it not my place to decide the fate of an entire species.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Hoping beyond hope, I wished this day would never come,” the matriarch continued. “But all of you listen and listen well. Battling a wyrm, no matter juvenile or ancient, is dangerous. I promised myself that my family will no longer die fighting them.”
The murmurs changed. They were more unsure.
“Grandmother,” Elohim whispered.
“This is my last decree as matriarch of the Essaim family,” the matriarch said. “Let Selarune’s battles belong to Selarune. We are not to engage with dragons. Not now, not ever. The only exception is if our home is under attack. Otherwise, I will not tolerate attacking.”
“Grandmother!” Elohim couldn’t believe what he heard.
Neither could anyone else. Murmurs turned into full on shouting matches, disbelief rippling through the crowd.
“Silence,” the matriarch said once, in the familiar tone of authority she used on new trainees. “I will not repeat myself. Failure to follow this edict will result in banishment from the family and revoking of the gift.”
In that exact moment, silence took over the courtyard. Elohim looked at the matriarch, mouth agape.
“With me,” the matriarch said, turning to leave. Elohim looked around. The family weren’t looking at the matriarch anymore. They were looking at him. He followed the matriarch.
“Grandmother, what… what was that?” Elohim asked once they were out of earshot. “Isn’t this what I was training for.”
“Yes and no,” the matriarch said. “I am buying us more time.”
“Buying time for what?” Elohim stopped walking. “Selarune is under attack and we’re supposed to sit by and let this happen?”
“Until the dragons appear on our doorstep, that is correct,” the matriarch stopped as well. She did not turn to face Elohim. “Selarune aren’t helpless, either. I will not risk our family when they have an army of their own.”
“But grandmother, they’re dragons!”
“What do you know of dragons, Elohim?” the matriarch said. “What do you know of Selarune’s defenses. Aside from an army of soldiers, they also have an army of mages. They will be fine.”
Elohim was silent. He didn’t know how to react. Nor did he know what to say.
“Do not worry, Elohim,” the matriarch started walking again. “You do not have to give them the bad news. They asked for me, so I will deny them.”
“Grandmother, this isn’t right. We shouldn’t let this happen. The Sword Saint wouldn’t let this happen,” Elohim pleaded with her. “And how can you take our gift away? How could you threaten us as well?”
“Oh Elohim,” the matriarch shook her head as she left. “I will have answers to your questions. It is almost time. When it is, you will understand.”
“Forget the right time,” Elohim pushed and chased. “People’s lives are at stake! What better time is there than this?!”
He grabbed the matriarch’s shoulder and forced her to look at him.
Elohim had never seen the matriarch look so old. She was so small, Elohim hadn’t realized he could tower over her now. Through sunken eyes, Elohim had never seen the matriarch cry.
“I have already told you,” the matriarch said, voice firm. “I will not risk my family unless absolutely necessary.” Then, she used her cane to push Elohim away.
Elohim watched her leave, completely at a loss.
He wandered through the forest for a long while after.
This is it. The big moment where Elohim trained his entire life for. To pick up where the matriarch left off and rid the world of the dragon threat once and for all.
He balled his hands and slammed one against the tree.
It wasn’t right for him to stay here. It wasn’t right for his family to stay here and hide while the rest of the world burned.
Elohim found himself at the abandoned hut once again. He found himself at the cliff edge, eyes on the mountain to the far east.
Traveling to Selarune is pretty easy. It was just south of the largest landmark as far as the eye can see. Mount Lugh, it’s called. Elohim learned that whenever he had to visit Selarune on certain high-profile negotiations.
He weighed his options in his head. The matriarch threatening to take away gifts of the family is a harsh sentence. They built their lives around something that was theirs. The fact that she knew how to take it away is something Elohim couldn’t wrap his head around.
But Elohim is the new patriarch of the Essaim family. His gift far surpassed everyone else’s. And as Elohim took a couple steps back for a running jump, he only hoped that the matriarch saw Elohim’s gift as too valuable to lose.
“Ancestors protect me,” Elohim whispered. Then he ran for it. Leaping off the cliff, Elohim made a beeline towards the mountain. On swords and will, he cut through the skies.
On foot, travel to Selarune took the better part of eight days. If Elohim went all out, he could make it in half that time, with a day or two to recover.
Half a day in, Elohim’s mind was already starting to flag. He figured out a way to glide, using just enough mental strength to coast in the air, but not enough to strain himself.
Thoughts elsewhere, he almost didn’t catch the giant shadow that passed him. Elohim skidded to a stop and looked around. It didn’t look like a bird’s shadow, instead it looked like-
A massive roar ripped through the him. A dragon’s roar. He had never heard one before, but when he looked up, it was unmistakable.
Like a meteor hurtling through the sky, by the cloud layer, a dark, reptilian shape cut through the air with incredible speed. By the time Elohim realized what it was, it was shrinking in the distance.
Not only that, but it was moving south, perpendicular to the mountain. Not in the direction of Selarune. Elohim looked at the mountain again, then at the shrinking threat in the air. He changed course.
The dragon moved fast. Maybe faster than Elohim going at full speed.
What Elohim knew and the dragon didn’t was that Elohim could warp. So as the wind ripped through his air and howled at his speed, Elohim warped the swords further, then warped to them, in a stepladder which closed the distance at small increments.
The closer Elohim got to his target, the more his heart pounded. It was larger than he thought, not as large as the castle, but definitely larger than their house. Fire coated its brown scales and at regular intervals liquid heat would slough off of it and burn into the sky behind. The fire rained above him and Elohim had to either rise above or be directly under to avoid it fully.
He chose to climb higher.
Elohim cut through the clouds and kept chasing. He was close, close enough to hear the flapping of wings. The dragon snarled and roared.
Boiling black blood spilled from it’s maw, it’s forked tongue lolling out as well.
He warped to above the dragon, keeping pace but barely. Elohim could no longer hear the wind howling. Just his heart in his ears. He did not see the sky below. Just the spiky spines of the dragon, each one a dagger that could stab a would-be rider.
It’s flight was erratic, jumpy, each snarl and jump almost hitting Elohim. Aside from that, Elohim didn’t think it noticed him.
He summoned a sword to hand, one of his finest. Elohim scanned the dragon for where best to strike. Some part of him wished he asked the matriarch on dragon-killing tips when things were calmer. Wings. That has to be weaker part.
He looked at large, leathery wings keep the dragon afloat. That’s the first time he spotted it.
The wings were already damaged, holes in the canvas.
Then Elohim spotted gashes in it’s neck. He couldn’t tell how deep they were, but they were deep enough for Elohim to see boiling black blood spilling out of it.
A target as good as any, Elohim took a deep breath and pointed.
Before Elohim could will the swords to its mark, the dragon disappeared below him. Elohim’s eyes widened and he spotted the dragon descending fast.
He threw a sword down and warped with it. It occurred to Elohim that the dragon wasn’t descending. In actuality, it fell. The damaged wings were no longer keeping it up and it roared as it couldn’t keep itself in the air. It fell faster and faster, truly hurtling towards the ground like a meteor.
The dragon roared again. This time, it roared with fire. Elohim ducked around the column spinning around him. Just as Elohim was about to be engulfed, he threw a sword through the flame and warped through with nothing but instinct. He came out of there with the sword burned to nothing but molten metal. Elohim was singed, but alive.
Ground was approaching and it was approaching fast.
Swords appeared around Elohim and he made the only decision that made sense. Just before the dragon hit the ground, Elohim skewered the swords in.
The dragon hurtled through trees, ripping them off their trunks and skidding across the dirt. A crater appeared where it landed, kicking up dust and flame.
Elohim didn’t let up his sword, throwing them at the dragon until the dust stopped. He dropped to the ground, feeling his strength leave him as the need for flight went away. His adrenaline faded and he almost collapsed on the spot.
“Phew,” Elohim raised his hand and called the swords back. Something about it didn’t feel right. There was a certain weight that Elohim developed with inventorying his weapons. Between summoning and recalling, Elohim could tally how much is in use. He used over three fourths of his armory, over a thousand swords. None of them returned.
He gripped again. Nothing. “Return!” Elohim called out, though he didn’t need to in years. Still nothing.
Thump. A footfall. Thump. Another. Wood bent, cracked, and splintered. A brown-scaled tail whipped faster than Elohim could see. It hit multiple trees, turning them to stumps. The force of it put Elohim on his rear. He scrambled back, out of the crater.
The dust settled. Fire didn’t. Elohim’s senses became acutely aware of the smell of sulfur.
All of the swords and weapons that Elohim made by his own hand were just molten steel, sloughed off of the dragon’s hide. It writhed in the dirt, snarling and spitting its black blood.
Then, it stopped. The dragon turned and looked at Elohim with brown eyes the same color as its scales. Elohim saw thought behind those eyes.
There was a hum in Elohim’s chest. No. It wasn’t a hum. It was a growl. A growl so deep that he felt it more than heard it.
The eyes turned black and rolled into the back of its head. Blood poured out of the gashes on its neck. Then, it picked a random direction and charged.
Elohim breathed heavy, eyes wide and heart pounding. The dragon saw him. All of his training, all of his weapons. Elohim didn’t make a scratch on it. He couldn’t even capitalize on the wounds. He stumbled to his feet, picking up the sword he used to fly.
“So much for patriarch of the Essaim family,” he scoffed to himself, knees still weak. Elohim staggered to where the dragon landed, the crater still on fire. Elohim surveyed the wreckage, seeing puddles of black blood and puddles of molten metal.
Elohim knelt next to his ruined handiwork. Holding a hand over it, Elohim willed the metal to take shape. It wibbled and wobbled, but did otherwise, did not move.
He shook his head and looked in the direction the dragon charged. Towards the west.
There was a town that way. It served as a good trade hub for people coming to and from Selarune and was the checkpoint before the south west wilds of Cappagh.
Elohim didn’t know the people there. He didn’t know their names, or what any of them did. But while traveling through, Elohim often ordered fresh bread for the trip. The bread was warm and some of them had sweet cheese inside.
There was an herbalist there, that smoked from funny pipes. A tavern with dancing and music. He saw the faces of people. He saw the dragon looking at him.
“Ancestors protect me,” Elohim took off in the direction of the dragon. He jumped on his sword and willed it forward, surfing the blade despite his exhaustion. Elohim yelled as he rode, hoping for any modicum of strength.
Following the dragon was easier than he hoped. Follow the path of upturned trees, black blood, scorched earth, and upturned ground.
Part of him wanted to go faster. He needed to catch up like he did before. Another held back. Even when Elohim was most prepared to fight, he couldn’t scratch the beast. He had no idea what he was going to do when he comes face to face with it again.
He saw the town. The buildings were already on fire. Elohim picked up speed.
As he got closer, he could hear the screams as he saw people run away from the town. Elohim gained altitude for a bird’s eye view. The tore through the town and bulldozed through buildings.
He didn’t see bodies and he wasn’t about to start looking for them.
Elohim dove towards the dragon, summoning swords around him. Despite it charging around and spewing fire, the dragon itself was no longer wreathed in flame like it was when flying.
He had a simple plan. Instead of using his gift to launch the swords, Elohim would have to go and stab the wounds himself.
Which would mean getting in melee with a dragon.
It was a stupid plan. Stupid, but simple.
The dragon roared and broke through another building. As it snarled and looked around it for the next threat, Elohim took his chance. He cut through the air. Holding a sword in both hands, Elohim hit the dragon’s neck at full speed.
The sword he rode on shattered on impact, hitting the scales. Still reeling from the momentum, Elohim just jammed his sword into the first wound he saw. The dragon roared and shook Elohim off, launching him into a building.
Bricks collapsed around him. The dragon didn’t even hit Elohim directly and Elohim’s body ached all over. The hope Elohim clung to was that the wounds on its neck is a viable plan.
He just needed not to get flung into another building.
Elohim warped himself out of the rubble with a sword, then warped again to the top of the ruined building. The dragon ran amok, paying no mind to him. From what Elohim could see, the swords he jammed into its neck wounds were already melted into molten scrap.
He needed something stronger. Elohim needed something with more punch.
“Eden,” Elohim reached deep within himself and summoned the jeweled sword. Like the first time he held it, the sword was heavy in his hand. The weight reassured him.
The dragon roared and breathed fire across the town, setting fire to streets. It charged through the flames of its own creation, then as it ran across another street, it hit an invisible wall. It gnashed at an unseen force, then with a swipe of its claws, shattered the air.
Elohim squinted and found why; on the streets below, running through fire and death, was a robed figure wearing a pointy hat and wielding an oaken staff.
With a flourish of their staff, water spewed from the tip and doused the dragon, steam kicking up.
The mage paused, then dropped a knee to the ground. Out of the steam, the dragon charged them, about to rake them with its claws- Elohim took his chance and already sent a sword there and warped. Right out of warp, he gripped Eden with both hands and swung as hard as he could at the claws.
Eden bit into scales, a cut across the dragon’s arm. The muscles flexed from beneath the scales, no blood coming out. But he hurt it and drove it back for a moment.
A second claw flew at him, lightning quick. He needed to dodge it. The mage was still behind him, he needed to block instead. Elohim couldn’t get back into position fast enough.
The claw slammed against an invisible wall, then the wall slammed into them both. It sent the two of them flying down the street, skidding down the cobblestone and into a shattered fountain.
With water spilling onto them, Elohim groaned and pushed himself to stand. The mage also staggered to his feet. About two blocks away, the dragon roared and breathed fire into the air. It was no longer looking at them, instead rampaging with reckless abandon.
There was a part of Elohim that wanted to fly back in there and stop him. But before he could take a step, his legs failed him and Elohim dropped to a knee.
“Boy, what magic do you have in that sword of yours?” The mage stepped limped next to him and began an incantation around them both.
“This is the sword of my ancestors,” Elohim used Eden to prop himself up. “Eden.”
“I couldn’t care less if it was called hogs,” The mage slammed his staff against the ground. The magic complete, it swirled around Elohim. Some warmth returned to his limbs. Aches faded and there was a sureness in his legs that wasn’t there a moment ago. “There’s serious ancestral magic in there; can you use it or not?”
“Of course I know how to swing a sword,” Elohim scoffed. With newfound strength, he gripped Eden in two hands and summoned two swords to flank either side of him.
“Not what I meant,” The mage said, but he didn’t say further. Instead, he pointed at the rampaging dragon with the tip of his staff. “I’ve already bought enough time for the townsfolk to evacuate, the only thing left is to put that dragon down. Here’s the plan, boy. You take the lead and I’ll support you. From what I can see, the only thing that can punch though it’s hide is a monstrous spell and your sword.”
Elohim took a step forward, but the mage stopped him before he could run.
“One last thing,” the mage summoned an orb. “I have one such monstrous spell up my sleeve. Exactly one. It’ll take me some time to cast. If you can kill it before then, great. But if not, I need you to get away from the dragon as far as you can, as fast as you can.”
“Understood,” Elohim nodded.
“Be fleet-footed and be brave,” the mage said. “Now go!”
At the mage’s urging, Elohim dashed towards the dragon. It must’ve sensed him, for before Elohim could even get halfway to it, the dragon paused it’s rampage and turned to the boy, smoke billowing from it’s maw and the wounds on its neck.
Swords flew far to the left and to the right. Before the first hints of flame made it past the dragon’s mouth, Elohim already warped to the side, sending another sword towards the sky above it.
Fire spread and spit as the dragon’s flame followed him. Despite his speed, the edges caught Elohim. Arms singed, he pushed past the stinging pain and warped above. From the skies, he scattered even more blades.
The dragon looked up.
Elohim saw eyes glow with a deep, abyssal hue. Then it loosed another jet of flame. Elohim launched Eden straight down and through the fire. He warped beside the dragon as Eden pierced the dragon’s back. It roared and howled at the sword stabbed into the scales.
Not giving it a moment to breath, Elohim summoned Eden to his side and swung again, this time at it’s side. Black blood bled from the cut, oozing and steaming as it hit the cobblestone below.
The dragon writhed and slammed where Elohim was, but he was already on the other side of the dragon. After each strike, he warped to another sword. Eden sliced into the foreleg, onto the back spines, cutting into a wing. There was no room for pause or caution.
A shadow appeared over him. Before Elohim could process, he came face to face with a wall of scales. On reflex, Elohim warped to a different spot on the dragon.
Just as he came out, the dragon’s tail caught him in the stomach. Elohim couldn’t breath, black spots in his vision as random swords pulled him all over. His head spun, seeing the blue of the sky, then the black of the dragon, then a glint of a blade.
He saw another glint, then something wet, as Elohim realized at the last second he was seeing teeth.
A clap of thunder peeled through the air, deafening one ear. The dragon roared, a blasting boom that deafened the other.
Elohim was dimly aware of the dragon collapsing beneath him, using that opening to send a sword away and warp to that. He found himself on a rooftop of a nearby house, though half of it was collapsed. Though the ringing in his ears didn’t go away, his vision did clear as he caught his breath.
The dragon writhed on the ground, lightning sparking from it. It struggled to move, but as the moments passed, the lightning weakened and each limb twitched less.
On the far end, past the dragon and nearer to the fountain, the mage continued to cast. Lightning also arced from him, but he was not bothered.
The wind picked up. Far as the mage was, he locked eyes with Elohim as the dragon rose again. A magic circle appeared under it, but from the mage’s gaze, Elohim knew he needed more time.
Time that Elohim had and needed to continue buying. He scanned the dragon. There cuts all over it from Elohim’s attacks, but none were deep or debilitating.
His hand gripped for Eden. Maybe it was just his exhaustion talking, but the sword felt heavier than it did just earlier.
The dragon recovered from the lightning, swinging it’s head around for the next target even as black bile spilled from it’s maw. It pointed towards the mage.
Elohim threw Eden straight for the dragon’s head. Right out of a warp, he cut off a horn before the dragon could charge, drawing the dragon’s ire again.
Something within him pulled tight as Elohim attempted another warp. His body flickered, yet he stayed where he was, staring down a claw attack.
Elohim thought fast, summoning a sword as leverage as it pulled him over the strike.
“Eden!” He called for the sword and the sword responded to his need. It appeared in his hand and as the claw passed, Elohim swung with both hands.
He felt heat. Incredible, searing heat, as the sword cleaved the claw straight off the dragon’s arm. Blood and liquid fire spurted from the wound, the dragon roaring in pain.
Elohim fell to the floor as the dragon limped back. The palms of his hands felt like they were on fire from holding Eden, the gleaming light fading.
But the dragon did not pause for long. The fire which pooled around the wound began to solidify, taking shape into another claw.
“Ok Eden, we’ll have to do that again,” Elohim panted. But the sword did not respond.
“Boy!” the mage called out. “To me! The spell is ready!”
In the heat of battle, Elohim defaulted to warping to a sword by the mage. Like moments before, he flickered in place. He stumbled backward just as the dragon started to charge.
“Health. Whisper. Ashroot.”
With one hand, Elohim launched Eden towards the dragon. With the other, he summoned a sword to carry him back. Eden glanced off the scales; the sword couldn’t pierce as well as before.
The dragon stumbled with it’s lame arm, though it picked up speed. The magic circle followed and began to spin faster and faster.
“Entropy. Darkness. Forgotten Memories.”
Elohim passed the mage.
“Fifty-six years without folly,” the mage spoke soft. “This’ll do me.”
The dragon was almost upon them. The air turned foul and the skies darkened.
“Death,” The mage tapped the head of his staff against the air. The sound of a water echoed through the air, followed by shattered glass.
The dragon went limp, color fading from it’s eyes and the luster leaving it’s scales. It skidded to a stop in front of them both, the body still and the flames extinguished.
“And that’ll be fifty-seven years,” the mage breathed a sigh of relief then took a couple steps back to stand beside Elohim. “Excellent work, boy.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Elohim sat up, calling Eden back to him. “Thank you as well, sir mage. I was not prepared to take him down on my own.”
“Dragons are difficult creatures,” the mage said. “On a different day, it would take multiple mages and a small platoon to keep this busy. We were lucky that this one was already…” the mage trailed off, eyes squinting at something. He used the head of his staff to point and Elohim followed.
Dripping from every orifice and pooling beneath the dragon was black blood. It boiled and steamed in the air.
“That’s the blood the dragon was bleeding,” Elohim said.
“That can’t be right,” the mage frowned. “Dragon blood is like aether. It should crystallize and turn into dust when a dragon dies.”
The maw twitched.
“Boy, start running as far as you can away from here,” the mage spoke calm, but firm.
“What?”
“Both of us are already exhausted,” the mage swirled his staff around as a new magic circle appeared underneath him. It spun fast, picking up more speed until the glyphs within it were a blur. “But I, as a mage, am more effective in last rites.”
“I can still-” Elohim tried to stand, but there that tight feeling in his gut returned, forcing him to stay down.
“You cannot,” the mage used the butt of his staff like he was sweeping. Wind blew Elohim back into the ruins of a house.
“No!” Elohim tried to push himself out of the rubble, but wind continued to buffet him.
The dragon’s body rose, the black bile pulling at it’s limbs like strings. A torrent of black engulfed the mage, swallowing him until there was nothing left.
“Aether. Sunny. Fire,” Even as far as Elohim was from the mage, he could hear the sound of his chant, as clear as a bell.
With a soundless roar, the dragon bit through the bile.
“Polar. Fierce nails. Eyes of the forgotten.”
Light broke through the black, the mage’s spell shining as an orb in front of him. The air sparkled around him.
“Nova.” The orb exploded. The wind stopped. Still blinded by light, Elohim felt for the rubble around him, getting to his feet.
When the light faded and Elohim blinked the spots from his eyes, the dragon was still standing. The mage was as well, but the both of them were still.
The difference was that parts of the mage were translucent. He was fading.
The dragon stepped forward, spurred by black bile that was already regooping. Elohim did the same, his stomach turning into knots. Two incredible spells and it still wasn’t enough.
The mage turned to Elohim, then tilted his head, as if to ask, “You’re still here?” Then, even as parts of his body turned to light and was blown away into the air like dust, he pointed his staff at Elohim. “Go.” He mouthed. The dragon charged through the mage and he was no more.
The light followed the dragon, then streaked past it to Elohim. Unlike before, where warmth returned to his limbs and Elohim felt lighter, he had no added strength. Instead, all of the light went to the arm holding Eden. He wasn’t even aware he was still holding on to it.
Elohim could no longer see the eyes of the dragon, black blood sloughing off of it until it was more bile than beast. As it approached, Elohim did not have the strength to warp, nor did he bother trying to run. Instead, he gripped Eden with both hands.
“Come on Eden,” Elohim spoke soft. The sword seemed to grow heavy in his hands. “I need you now.”
Then, an idea came to him. He dropped the sword, warping it to the sky. With as heavy as the weapon was, he’ll just drop it and let gravity do the work. It was simple and seemed so obvious.
Something on his mind lifted.
Just before the dragon could be in striking distance, Elohim pointed at it. “Eden.”
As if it came from the heavens itself, a sword the size of a house cleaved the dragon in half, halting it’s body as the neck flew past Elohim. Utterly massive, the blade stabbed hilt-deep into the ground, the hilt itself almost as tall as the dragon.
Elohim recognized the sword as Eden. His vision faded as the blade did, the battle won.