Spirit Sword

by Sam Ford

  "Oh."

  As for the Sword, I've been trying to communicate with her. It appears she is still asleep. I would say they have either just met, or the girl is an acolyte. We can ask later.

  "Wait--her? But you're a boy. Right?"

  Female Bearer, female Sword. Male Bearer, male Sword.

  "Oh, okay. That make's sense, I guess." Cale scratched his neck. There seemed to be little to do, and Cale didn't want to interrupt the girl's mourning. His eyelids were heavy. He felt so tired from Sword's fire. So he laid back, his hands behind his head, and watched the clouds pass. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the river was babbling. A few dark clouds blew in on the east, but nothing that would touch them. A hundred yards upstream, a family could be having a picnic and never realize anything was amiss. It really did remind him of home. He dozed lightly, drained from the release of his power and sure in the knowledge that Sword would keep a watchful eye out.

  The sun was much higher in the sky when he awoke, nearly noon. Cale stood, slapping the sand from his body, and looked around.

  "It would be nice if I could swing a Sword without passing out."

  You will get there, Cale.

  With a yawn and a stretch, Cale began pulling the dead Rangers to the beach and stripping them. It was easier than the villagers had been. Perhaps he really was getting stronger?

  What are you doing?

  "Checking for supplies. And laying them out. Someone will be along for their bodies sooner or later."

  Cale dragged both the Rangers side-by-side onto the sand. The male Ranger had little that Cale could use, though he did find a single gold coin in his purse. Cale swapped out his dagger for a finer antler-handle one. The blade was darker steel and much sharper. The tan palfrey was nipping at a few tufts of grass, nickering lightly. Cale calmed him down and checked the saddlebags. None of the Ranger's clothes fit, not even the duster, so Cale emptied them into a pile. There were nine arrows in a quiver, but the bow had snapped during the struggle. Cale went back to the Ranger and crossed his arms over his chest with his saber resting there. It was the least he could do.

  The pretty blond ranger fared much worse. Her flowing hair was stained red with blood and her forehead had a massive dimple where the sling stone had caved it in. Squeamishly, Cale closed her eyes. They were full of fear and pain, even in death. She had nothing of value on her person, though Cale did find a nice pair of leather riding boots. Her saddlebags were better off. She had been about the same size as the older Indian girl, though too tall and skinny for the younger one. Her quiver had three more arrows in it, and more importantly, a long bow.

  The sun was reaching its zenith in the afternoon sky. We need to get out of here, Cale thought as he cut chunks of horse flesh and wrapped them in paper. Cale wiped the viscera from his hands on the horse's blanket.

  "Aren't you going to tell me it's time to go?"

  You already know that, do you not?

  "Yeah." It truly surprised Cale how much agency Sword afforded him. Unlike his distant father or overprotective mother, Sword allowed him the freedom to make his own decisions. And mistakes. He checked the saddle and bridle on their one last horse.

  Can you ride?

  "Are you kidding me? I've barely even seen a horse before." Cale turned back to the Indian girl. "But I would bet everything that she can."

  Do you trust her?

  He swallowed hard. "We're about to find out."

  Cale approached the grieving girl, unsure of what to say. She had stopped wailing, even stopped crying. Now she just held her sister in her arms, rocking slowly back and forth. She gave no sign she knew he was there--indeed, that anything in the world existed. Cale knew that feeling all too well.

  "Um, hello? Miss?" Cale tried to remember everything he'd read about Indians. "Yatahey?"

  "I speak your foreign tongue, white boy. Do not dishonor mine."

  "Oh, right."

  The girl slowed her rocking, staring off into space. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her face was swollen. Cale thought she looked a bit like a frog. Finally, she turned and kissed her sister on the forehead. She lingered for a long time, whispering in her language that Cale couldn't hope to understand. Then she stood. The blood on her tunic was fresh, mostly from the gashes on her own slender arms and side. Her long, stringy hair was still wet and clung to everything. She stood only a few inches taller than Cale.

  Even so, Cale shied away. This was one girl he did not want to mess with.

  She picked up her Sword from the sand. Cale got a good look at it. Pitted and scarred, it was a darker color than Sword and seemed much older, though Sword said that was not true. The girl sheathed it at the scabbard upon her back, which Cale hadn't even realized was there. Now that he was looking for it, he could see it peeking over her right shoulder, and the sword belt ran across her chest, accentuating her modest breasts. He felt Sword trying to draw his attention elsewhere.

  "Help me with her body." She eyed a nearby tall elm.

  "What do you want to do, bury her or burn her? We don't have enough time for a Burial Tree. If we don't leave the Rangers will find us."

  The girl cocked an eyebrow at him. Cale stood his ground, though he didn't want to. "Bury her. I will return for her bones soon."

  Cale, owing to less exhaustion and wounds than the girl, once more did most of the digging. The sand was soft and the work went quickly, but it was still well into the afternoon before they laid the girl's body in the shallow grave. The sister said her final goodbyes in the long, golden shadows while Cale built a cairn. He felt it was nowhere near enough ceremony to celebrate such a loved life, but he also anxiously wanted to be on his way.

  "Hear this, Great Ancestors! This is Lydia Bloodmoon, beloved sister, cherished daughter. She was my strength and my shield," the girl intoned. "She pushed me aside and was ridden down. She saved my life. May she ride beneath your prairie skies forever." The girl walked to the horse. "Front or back?"

  "Wait," Cale chased after her. "What's your name? My name is Cale Tannor."

  "None of your business. Can you ride?"

  "No," Cale admitted.

  "You sit behind." The Indian girl grabbed a chunk of mane and hopped up on the tan horse, not even touching the stirrups. She offered her hand and hauled Cale up behind her. "Hold on."

  That was well enough to say, but Cale couldn't figure out where to hang on to. The most obvious place was the girl in front of him. Grab too low, though, and he'd be too close to her hips and unclad thighs. Too high up her torso and, well, best not to think of that, either. As she urged the horse into a gallop, crossing the river and onto the road, they turned right, heading east. Her long hair whipped and stung Cale's face, and the rough riding and unusual swaying motion threatened to make him fall off.

  Cale forgot the question of where to hold her and instead just held on for dear life, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. It was a stretch, but if he placed his chin on her shoulder, he could see the road ahead.

  He wished he hadn't. Wide and flat though the road may have been, the large, smelly animal beneath him was traveling far too fast for Cale's liking. So instead, he clung tightly to her girl, burying his face in her back. Sword buzzed gleefully at his hip, happy to be back in the saddle after so long.

  Cale just concentrated on not throwing up.

  Chapter XV

  After the pair made their escape, little had gone to plan. They rode east but needed to avoid Abzu, a town situated where two highways crossed the river. In the end, they circled south, avoiding the town but costing them valuable time. The clouds which had been rolling in from the sea all day built into a storm front at dusk. By the time they’d left the lights of Abzu to their rear, the storm had hit and both teenagers were soaked to the bone.

  Cale begged and pleaded to stop. The girl, too weak to continue, finally acquiesced. They rested beneath a pair of embracing oaks, seeking shelter from the storm beneath their canopies. Cale worked hard to get a fire
started, shivering from the cold and wet while struggling with the damp tinder, flint and steel. He almost resorted to using Sword when the girl, tired of watching him try and fail, merely shoved him aside and rubbed two sticks together. Cale watched in fascination as, moments later, embers began to smolder. She held out her hand, requesting more kindling. His hand brushed up against hers, calloused and wet, and when the lightning struck in the distance, Cale could see it wasn't water.

  "Blood."

  The girl's wounds were weeping. They needed to be tended to. Cale went to the horse and began rummaging around the saddle bags. He had taken to calling the horse Thunder due to his surefootedness and calm in the storm. Cale knew he shouldn't name the horse. It would hurt all the more when they had to part. But he couldn't help it. Though timid at first, Cale liked most animals, and this was a good horse.

  Cale withdrew the linen, sewing kit and wine skin and returned to the small but determined fire. "I need to dress your wounds."

  The girl looked at him, puzzled, as if he'd lost his mind. Then she glanced at the blood running down her arm. Cale could tell when the shock hit and the excitement of their escape wore off. She leaned back against the tree, struggled to rise once, then nodded at him without making eye-contact. Cale leaned forward to get a better look in the dim firelight. She had a gash on her left shoulder which would require stitches. Three more cuts on her arms could probably just be bound. Cale suspected the wound on her side would also need stitches.

  He worked calmly and professionally, cutting the linen into strips while the wine boiled. He was used to doing needlework with his mother and Tully. Never in his wildest dreams did Cale ever imagine he would be using it on people. The girl held her tongue well as he stitched her up.

  "Wait." She took a long drink from the remaining wine in the bag. "We need Totoncaxihuitl."

  "What's that?"

  The girl searched for the words. "Senna? Yellow flower, tall. Grows in clumps."

  "Oh, candle bush!" Cale ran out into the rain, took a quick look around and came back wet once more, but this time with a yellow flower. "This?"

  The girl nodded. "Chew it. For the cuts."

  Cale nodded and did as he’d been told, chewing the colorful buds in his mouth into a paste. They did not taste good. He offered the girl a stick to bite down on but she refused, instead choosing to scream when he poured near-boiling wine on her wounds. Cale quickly scooped some of the yellow paste onto her arms and wrapped them tightly with the cloth. Then he eyed her side.

  "I--I can do this one myself." She pushed him away shyly.

  Cale nodded and tended the fire, hoping it would hide his blush as he listened to the rustle of her clothes stripping off. There was a grunt, and he knew she must be trying to stitch up her left side. Cale wondered how bad it was. With no way to help, he concentrated on cooking their supper.

  After an hour, or maybe two, the storm passed. It was much colder now and the stars were just starting to twinkle between the clouds. The fire crackled and the embers burned low. Licking his fingers, Cale finished his horse steak and watched the girl sleeping across the fire from him. He thought she'd be happier when he presented her with his second dagger and bedroll and split the supplies evenly between them. Instead, she said nothing, ate her steak, drank more wine and went to sleep. Cale would be lying if he said he was not a little hurt. Thunder nibbled at the grass, his saddle beneath the tree. Sword had shown Cale how to remove it correctly.

  "You think she'll be okay?" Cale stared at her back. Her color was better than it had been, but Cale tended to worry about such things.

  She will be fine. We need to concentrate on where we are headed tomorrow.

  "Where do you want to go?"

  What you call King's Crown. That was the palace for the old kingdom and seat of power for the Imperial Knights. If there are any Swords left, they will be there.

  "But King's Crown is haunted," Cale whispered, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.

  Cale.

  "Sorry," Cale apologized, incredulous at how Sword could admonish him with simply a word.

  There may be nothing left, and I know our chances are slim. But we have to try. I need to know what happened to my siblings.

  "I understand." Cale hadn't realized until now that Sword probably missed his own family just as much as Cale missed his. "I guess we'll head for King's Crown."

  "Too close to The Mine."

  "What?" Cale wondered if he was hearing voices. Well, even more voices.

  The girl spoke up. Cale had assumed she was already asleep. "It is the big mountain, yes?"

  "The tall one all by itself, yeah."

  "There are too many guards. Too many of your Rangers and bandits and slavers. We will never make it."

  "Rangers don't work with bandits and slavers. They stop them."

  The girl rolled over, her brown eyes glowing like fire in the dim light. "Who do you think chased us? Who do you think enslaved us? Who do you think attacked my people?" Cale had no answer to this. "I knew you were crazy, talking to yourself. I did not realize you were stupid, as well."

  Cale bit his thumb. He knew that even if he took the time explaining everything, she would not understand or accept it. Her wounds were too fresh. Sword seemed to agree, as he offered no counter argument.

  "We have to go somewhere else." Cale replied to Sword, quieter this time. The girl was still staring at him.

  There was a port town near the palace. It was a small trading stop and supply chain for the capital. It could still be there, east of King's Crown, where the Tsarogota empties into the bay.

  "Uruk?"

  You know it?

  "It's the capital. Well, new capital for you, I guess. Uruk is the largest city in Ras Shamara."

  Incredible. Things really have changed.

  "If we stay on the highway, we should be there in just a few days. A week at the most."

  "Now I know you really are crazy." The girl was still watching him. "We are prey being hunted and you want to choose the main trail and head straight for the enemy's nest."

  "We have to do something. Do you have a better place to be?"

  "Away from you."

  They locked eyes and said nothing. She was still angry, but her rage toward Cale seemed to have settled on mistrust. He needed her to trust him, maybe even like him. She had a Sword. They needed to stick together. It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to travel with a pretty girl, he told himself.

  "What's your name?" Cale asked after he grew tired of staring across the fire at one another in silence. The girl rolled back without a word. "I can't just keep calling you girl and the Indian."

  "Why? I call you boy and white man."

  "I told you, my name is Cale."

  "I didn't ask."

  The conversation seemed to take an uncomfortably long time. "I'm sorry about your sister," Cale said honestly.

  "Cousin," the girl corrected after a long pause. "She was my cousin."

  "It'll be okay."

  "How can you say that?" She angrily rolled back to face him. "How can you possibly know? Do you have any idea what it is like to lose your entire family, absolutely everyone you've ever known, to discover everything you've ever thought is a lie, to be thrown into a strange land where you have no idea where you are? Do you?"

  "Yes, actually. I know exactly what that is like."

  "Oh." Cale caught her at a loss for words in her own game. Her glare turned into a questioning stare, thinking to herself more than anything. Then she only said two words. "Jazreal Bloodmoon."

  "What?" Cale looked confused. "What is Jazreal Bloodmoon?"

  "My name."

  "Pretty name," Cale marveled under his breath.

  "What?" Jazreal looked back at him.

  "Oh. I said, uh, pretty flame. I like the fire."

  Nice.

  "Shut up."

  Jazreal rolled over, her back to the fire once more, ending the conversation. "Good night, Cale Tannor."
>
  "Oh. Good night, Jazreal," Cale offered. She said nothing else.

  Cale stayed up a while, thinking about everything, watching the fire fade into nothing but smoldering embers. Sword encouraged him to sleep as his head began to nod and, reluctantly, he agreed. Cale snuggled under his blanket. It was not as warm as home, but he was also much farther south. The night wind seemed to cut through everything. Sword, who usually remained at Cale's side as the boy slept, found himself tucked half under the woolen blanket.

  Put me back. I cannot see.

  "You're warm," he mumbled

  I am not your bed warmer.

  "Yes," was the only response given.

  At least leave my hilt uncovered.

  "Okay." Cale sighed sleepily.

  The storm passed, the dead of night returning to life. Frogs croaked in chorus while insects chirped at one another despite the chill. The horse slept leaning against the tree, while water dripped from the leaves. All the while, the stars shone down on them all, keeping watch over the traveling Sword and children. They were young, so very young, but their journey to grow up fast had already begun. Though the three found themselves far from their homes, with a loss of family, they were together. Those same stars in that same night sky had smiled on all their homes, all their lives. Perhaps they were not so alone after all.

  Chapter XVI

  Alone

  The morning brought with it a deep fog. Excellent hunting weather, if one could track their prey. Jazreal slept later than usual, unwilling to forsake her bedroll. Her lungs still hurt from nearly drowning, while every bone in her body ached. As a huntress, she was used to hardships of the body, sore muscles and deep cuts. Hunting was hard, dangerous work. But this was something else. She had killed men before but only in self-defense. She was not a warrior. Facing off against that brute of a Ranger yesterday and nearly dying sent shivers of fear through her body which she could not control. She wept quietly, more from exhaustion and her brush with death than grief from the loss of Lydia. That saddened her even more and she grew angry with herself. Her weakness of body and weakness of spirit brought more shaking fits.