by B.J. Keeton
***
The next week passed in a blur. During the day, Ceril did what he could to help with the garden, despite his injured hands, and at night, he and Gramps settled in and discussed the technomages who had made the golden sword. The stories weren’t all that different from what he had heard in school—ballads of soldiers going to war, stories of kings and nobles working with the Charons to advise the quickest path to peace, epics about technomage heroes using their Flameblades to fight off monsters or bandits. He learned that the swords were called Flameblades because of the fiery aura the technomages could summon around them. The biggest addition to the stories he knew was Gramps’ explanation for why some cultures viewed the technomages as gods. Gramps told Ceril that the strongest technomages were able to build whole cities using nothing but their hands and their minds. One technomage, Vennar, had apparently built Ennd’s Academy by himself, just by thinking about what he wanted it to be. Ceril was sure there was more to it than that. Some kind of technology had allowed him to do it (he was a technomage after all), but Gramps didn’t mention any of that.
And no matter how far-fetched it all sounded, Ceril absorbed every word of it. Gramps knew what he was talking about when it came to history.
Eventually, the morning came for Ceril to head back to Ennd’s Academy. Ceril was rushing around the cottage, frantic to make sure that he was not forgetting anything important that he needed to bring with him. He stacked the last of his bags by the door and turned toward his grandfather.
“Can I bring the sword with me?” he asked. “I want to show Swarley!”
“No. And it would probably be better if you didn’t tell Swarley or anyone else about it, either.”
“Why not?” Ceril asked.
“It’s complicated, Ceril. Just remember that not everyone understands the Charon legends like I do. Not everyone has the same stories about them. That mythology class should have taught you that.”
“What does that matter?”
“It just does,” Gramps said. “Just don’t tell people about finding the sword. Please.”
“Not even Swarley?”
“Not even Swarley.”
“Okay, if you say so.” Ceril agreed. He didn’t like it. He told Swarley everything. But if Gramps said he shouldn’t brag about finding a Charon’s Flameblade in the garden, then he wouldn’t. Probably.
The shuttle descended from the Skylane just then, as if to punctuate Gramps’ request. Ceril grabbed his bags and handed them to the shuttle’s pilot, who put them in the luggage compartment.
“Is that all?” the tall, skinny man asked him.
“I think so,” Ceril said. “Let me go back in and check one last time.”
“Make it quick,” the pilot said.
Ceril nodded and ran back into the cottage. He found Gramps in his bedroom. His back was to the door, but he looked like he was holding the sword, the Flameblade. The light in the room looked funny. “What’s that?” Ceril asked.
Gramps whipped around, but he wasn’t holding anything after all. The light in the room was normal now. Ceril blinked. Maybe he had imagined it.
“What’s what?” said Gramps.
“I thought I saw the sword. The room looked funny.”
“Afraid not,” Gramps said. “I packed it away last night after you went to bed. May contact one of the museums about it; see if I can donate it.”
“Really?” Ceril asked.
“Just a thought. Anyway, are you ready now? All loaded up?”
Ceril nodded. “I think that’s everything. Unless I can take the sword and show Swarley.”
“Not a chance,” Gramps said with a smile. “You be good, okay? Write me when you can, and have a good year. This is going to be Phase II for you, right?”
Ceril nodded again. “I’m nervous about it.”
“No need to be. It’s still the same school. Just a different part of the same old thing you’ve been doing.”
“I guess,” Ceril said. He let his grandfather lead him through the house and out to the waiting shuttle. Neither of them was fond of long farewells. They both knew how the other felt. And they both knew that while they would miss each other, they would have another summer together soon enough.
Gramps leaned down and hugged Ceril tightly, gave him a firm handshake, and whispered some sage-like, grandfatherly advice in his ear. Ceril then stepped onto the shuttle that would zip him back to Ennd's Academy, away from the only place in the world where he honestly felt happy.
