Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons)

by Jacobs, Teddy

  Again, I slept.

  And I dreamed.

  I was in my own bed, the sun shone through my room, and my mother Andrea was calling me. No. That wasn’t right. Something was strange — her voice sounded foreign. When I looked at her, her face was cloudy, blurry, her features shifting. I shook my head to clear it and my mother was gone, and I heard nothing but the echo of her voice.

  Was I awake, now?

  The dark and silent room gave no answers. Was it my room? I had to do something. What was it?

  Wake up, maybe. I was floating on my back. The salt water underneath held me up. I floated effortlessly, and I could taste the salt in the air. Far away I heard someone calling my name. Was it my mother again? I didn’t know. I felt unsure of everything.

  Where were my mother and father?

  Why didn’t they come wake me up? I had to get to practice. I was making great progress with the staff. One day soon we would battle for real. Giancarlo was kind to me, but vicious on the battlefield, people said. I felt a shiver. I sank into the water, opened my mouth, and tasted salt. I felt at home, and swallowed the water eagerly.

  No, that wasn’t right. I didn’t swallow the water. I breathed it in. I wasn’t drinking it, I was breathing it, and the water was going, where? My hands reached out and touched my neck. I felt sharp slits there, and water rushing out through them, in my mouth and out of my neck.

  Was I a fish? A fish-boy? A mer-boy, rather?

  Why wasn’t I upset? I looked at my hands. They were conveniently webbed. I swam swiftly through the water. Never before had I felt so at home. The water was warm, or at least I felt warm in it. I twirled around in the water, flipped, and swam farther. Far off I could see a light down deep in the water...

  I wanted to go there, but a voice behind me was calling out a name, my name, Anders Tomason.

  I awoke for the second time with the taste of salt still in my mouth.

  “Anders, it’s me.”

  I opened my eyes.

  Kara stood over my bed, looking down at me.

  “The council needs you, Anders. They want to see you, the three-blooded prince. They say the Dark Lord is approaching, and he may be strong enough this time to enter the city. They are forging your sword as we speak, but they need the hilt.”

  I sat up, and couldn’t keep from groaning. I’d never been this sore.

  “Yesterday I was locked in my room with green gunk all over my face, preparing for a birthday banquet. And now, I’m a prince? I mean, I’m sixteen years old and a day.”

  Kara sighed. “Look,” she said. “Life has thrown me my share of surprises too. Not all of them pleasant, either. Anyhow, you’ll have a real sword. Isn’t that exciting?”

  I smiled wryly. “I just received the wooden one. That was supposed to be my first step to manhood. My face is still pimply. If I get a steel blade, and I become a prince, will my face magically clear up? Will my voice deepen? Will I suddenly grow chest hair? I mean, what are they going to call me, the pimply prince?”

  Kara sat down next to me on the bed.

  “It doesn’t really look that bad, right now.”

  “What?”

  “Your face. Maybe if you tried the charcoal soap? Or some goat’s milk?”

  “Any other ideas?”

  “Well…”

  “I was kidding,” I said. “I’m actually sick of talking about it.”

  Kara smiled. “You know, a lot of the Kriek have problem skin.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder, and I felt suddenly warm in the face. All she had to do was touch me and my stomach started doing flips.

  Kara smiled and kissed me lightly on the forehead.

  It was fireworks once again. My body was ablaze. I felt her sending me energy through her kiss.

  She pulled back and sat there, looking at me silently, waiting for me to speak.

  “I just don’t feel ready,” I said finally, surprised I could still speak. “Everything is happening so fast.”

  “Great changes come quickly in times of trouble,” she said. “You may be a prince or even a king before your body is really ready. Your mind and your magic will grow faster, and your body will have to wait to catch up. That’s how it was in the times of the ancients.”

  I felt a lot of doubts. I wondered if maybe I was just delirious, if Giancarlo had hit me too hard on the head in practice and I was really in the infirmary. A day ago I was just a slightly out of shape boy who knew a little magic and wasn’t too bad at swinging a staff.

  But was that even true? How many boys did I know who were locked in at night? Who was I, really?

  My body ached. I had gotten more exercise in the last twenty-fours than in the last month. Twenty minutes of swinging a staff every morning hadn’t prepared me for this. No wonder I felt so sore.

  I decided not to share any more of this with Kara. I didn’t want to her think I was just some whining kid.

  So instead I just smiled at her.

  “So, the ancients. Did the ancients have bad skin too?” I asked.

  She nodded. “And green clay, charcoal soap and goat’s milk.”

  I laughed, looking away. I felt Kara grab my hand.

  Again came a rush of energy: I felt so alive, and I felt myself plunging into her eyes, falling into her, and then she spoke:

  “Ask me whatever you like, Anders.”

  “Whatever I like?”

  She nodded at me, and kept my hand in hers.

  “Do you believe in me? In all this?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Do you believe things will ever be the same again for me? Will I ever return home to my parents, to my home in the South?”

  Kara shook her head. “You know, I used to want to grow up as fast as I could, but now I miss my childhood. But I can’t go back. My parents are dead. I’ll never be their little girl again. These are desperate times, my friend.”

  I felt warm in the face for the second time as I looked Kara in the eyes.

  “Are you my friend, then?” I asked.

  She nodded. “No matter what happens, Anders, I’ll try to always be your friend.”

  “You promise?”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  I tried to smile. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll be more than friends.”

  She looked away, and I felt her pull her hand off mine.

  “What?” I said, feeling hot in the face. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

  This time it was Kara who blushed. “No, Anders, it’s not you. It’s me. You’re sweet. But I already have a boyfriend.”

  “But you kissed me,” I said, feeling stupid.

  She still wasn’t looking at me, and I didn’t blame her. “Anders, there’s kissing, and kissing.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  Kara sighed. “You make it sound so simple. I like you as a brother, as a friend.”

  “But not…”

  She shook her head. “Not like that, no.”

  I took my head in my hands. But I wasn’t going to cry in front of her.

  She reached out for my hand, then, but I pulled it away.

  “Anders, I promise you I’ll be your friend, no matter what.”

  I nodded. But right then I didn’t care about that. It was my skin, I was sure of it. Who could love my face?

  She must have sensed my thoughts.

  “Anders, it’s not your face.”

  I shook my head. “Then what?”

  “Anders, we barely know each other. You’re a nice boy. You’re a wonderful boy. But that doesn’t mean every girl is going to fall in love with you.”

  “I don’t think any girl will every fall in love with me.”

  She grabbed my hand then and wouldn’t let me pull away.

  “You’ll see soon how wrong you are. I can feel it. I know there are other girls out there waiting for you.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t care about other girls.

  She pulled on my hand.

  “
You need to get up now, Anders. There’s work to be done.”

  I stood up, trying to forget about my embarrassment, then sat back down in confusion.

  I didn’t know what to think. Kara was staring at me. I didn’t really feel like talking to her now, but I didn’t want her to leave either.

  “What?” she said, finally. “What else is bothering you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Am I really him? The prince who will unite the bloodlines? My mind refuses to accept it.”

  “But your blood doesn’t deny it. Anders, blood can’t lie. You withstood the test, yesterday. Your blood spoke, and sang along with the hilt of the sword you bear. We cannot deny our birthright. Look, it’s hard for me too. My father...”

  She bit her lip and fell silent.

  “Your father?”

  “My father was the leader of the Kriek. My people.” She stopped for a moment, looked at me and blushed again. “Our people, I guess. It is hard to remember that you share our bloodline. My father, Karl Hendrickson, was our King. And the Dark Lord killed him and my mother when I was nine.”

  “I’m sorry, Kara.”

  She nodded, silently, then continued. “When I was little, nothing short of perfection was ever good enough. Every morning I woke at dawn to a day full of training in the arts of our people. Now I see you, and I see things that all that training didn’t bring me. I believe in you, Anders. We need you, now.”

  “Now?” I said.

  She nodded. “They’re all waiting for us in the dining hall.”

  “Can you just leave me alone for a minute?” I asked.

  She bit her lip, looking embarrassed. “They’re really waiting for you. All of them. And Woltan’s worried you may be weak still.”

  “Just give me one minute,” I said, sounding angrier than I’d intended.

  “Okay,” she said, biting her lip again, and walked out the door.

  I stood up. Unsteady on my feet, I wobbled slightly. The world turned around me.

  Great, now I was going to pass out. That would definitely change Kara’s mind about me.

  She found me braced against the wall, and helped me stand up straight. I felt energy flow into me again. I couldn’t help scowling — I wanted to push her away, but I needed her. Without her I was afraid I’d fall on my face, make a fool of myself in front of her once again.

  “You’re still weak,” Kara said. “You’ve gone through two tests of manhood in less than that many days: first the portal with me, now this proving of the blood here in the old city. That’s enough to exhaust anyone.”

  I thought it wasn’t worth pointing out that it was actually three tests, if you counted my sparring with my blademaster. Where was Giancarlo? Suddenly, I missed him fiercely, rubbing my side where Giancarlo had hit me with the flat of his blade. I could have talked to him about Kara. He would have known what to do.

  “You must be sore as well as tired.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t just my body that hurt, but I didn’t want to talk about that. She could feel it anyhow, I knew that. Maybe I should have appreciated that she was changing the subject and not trying to embarrass me any more. But it still hurt, to keep all the feelings in.

  “We still have to go. You’ve slept for a whole day, and sleep will do you no more good now. You need to eat and drink.”

  As if ready to agree with her, my stomach growled.

  Kara smiled. “I heard that. Sometimes I lose all touch with my body. I think I’m only spirit, aura and essence. But we have to remember, it’s our physical body that feeds the spirit, until the spirit is freed and leaves us forever.”

  She smiled again, and pulled at my hand.

  I let her lead me away.

  Chapter X

  We walked down a stone hall and out through a door, out into the open. The sun shone down on us, and it felt good on my face. My skin felt not exactly smooth, but the swelling was gone, for the first time I could remember. Maybe it was the green clay, the running, or the sun that shone down on me, but for once my face felt wonderful under this northern sun.

  I had known for ages that it was the same sun that rose in every part of the world.

  Now I knew it felt different, depending on where you were.

  I had barely traveled before, no farther than Montepulcino and Firenze, but now I was here in this ancient city that had been forgotten by the other peoples of the world.

  But not apparently, by the dark lord.

  I shivered in the sun, looking down at the magical stone pavement, wondered at the swirling eddies of green and gold. There was so much power here.

  But why had the keiler called me Herr?

  “Anders! Kara!”

  I looked up.

  Kalle was walking up to meet us. He came up and greeted me with a slap on the back. I smiled.

  How could I feel so bad when I had such kind companions?

  “You slept a long time, Anders.”

  “I had some strange dreams. I’m tired of sleeping, if that makes sense.”

  “I bet you’re hungry,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “They’re preparing a feast for us. But first Kara and I need to take you to the armory, where the forge and smith are waiting. For you, and for your sword.”

  I nodded. It felt good to see Kalle, to distract myself from my confused feelings for Kara. The sun kept warming me. If only I wasn’t so weak from hunger.

  I let Kalle lead us now.

  I heard the sound of a hammer and anvil as we approached a large limestone building. Carved into its walls were images of swords, and weapons, and strange machinery. And pictures of fire and a forge.

  The smithy.

  Looking with my third eye I could see magic here, the older, wiser magic of the master craftsman, of the smith at his forge as his father and grandfather the smith had been before him.

  This was ancient magic — nothing that I had learned with my tutor, nothing that had been recorded in my books.

  We entered through an old stone door, and the heat buffeted my face. The room was large, and the heat was everywhere. I didn’t need my third eye to see where it was coming from: a huge forge in the corner of the room, circular in shape.

  In front of the forge lay a glowing hot blade being worked by a man, short and muscular. The smith.

  His back was to us, and the sound from the hammer was deafening. Sparks flew from the blade as his hammer struck it. I didn’t think the smith could possibly hear anything over all the noise. Even so he turned to us as we entered.

  “Hail, Anders, son of Tomas. I am Cullen, son of Johan son of Gregor, and farther back my mind refuses to go in this heat.”

  He wiped sweat from his brow, and grinned.

  “My grandfather told me that his great great grandfather forged a sword like this, but I will tell you something: if I die after forging this sword, I will die happy. Such a thing has never been attempted in my lifetime.”

  “Will it work?”

  “Does she look like a good clean blade to you?”

  I looked at the blade. It glowed orange, was straight, and looked sharp and keen. “To me, the blade looks perfect.”

  “To even an eye as sharp as yours, young Anders, she would. But look with your third eye, and you’ll see. We’re not quite there yet.”

  I looked with my inner eye and blinked the other two in surprise. The blade looked broken, as if put together from different parts.

  “Aye, it is quite a sight to see, still. Only when the hilt is on it, and your hand upon it, will the three blades become one, just as the three blood lines become one in you. That’s the theory, anyway. Today we will see if holds true.”

  He made a few more blows at the blade. “Do you have the hilt, Anders?”

  I nodded.

  Cullen grabbed some tongs and put the red-hot blade into the fire. The fire seemed to get hotter.

  “Hand it to me, then.”

  I held out the wooden blade and metal pommel.

  Cu
llen whistled. “Such a beautiful blade. What a shame her wood must be burned next to the steel which will replace it.”

  Cullen stopped, and turned to me. “She is your blade, so I must ask you, young Anders. Do I have your leave, to burn your blade? She is a beautiful, magical wooden blade, the likes of which I would be proud to make.”

  I sighed. “I barely used her. But she served me well. She saved my life and took that of a keiler, and it was with her that I defeated my blademaster.”

  I grabbed the hilt of the sword and felt the blade almost leap towards the fire.

  “But the blade longs to burn,” I said. “And be replaced with wizard’s steel. Here. Let the burning begin.”

  Cullen nodded, and then he did the strangest thing. He took out a pair of cups, round and shiny with a bar between them, which went over his ears. Then he put on a kind of helmet, which covered his eyes with dark brown glass. Cullen took my sword, and plunged in into the fire, on top of the red hot metal blade.

  There was a blinding flash.

  I thought I was going mad: music surged up, louder and louder, and it was as if there were two different songs, playing at once. My blood joined in. Three songs blended together, the three songs of the blade made one: the song of the wooden blade, the song of its hilt, and the song of my blood.

  As the music grew louder, I thought my ears would burst. The sound seemed to come from everywhere: from my own body, from the blade, from the magical stone that surrounded us. Kara and Kalle covered their ears, while others fell to their knees.

  The light was not white, but multicolored, and so dazzling that my two normal eyes were overwhelmed.

  So I closed them. The light was still dazzling, but my third, lidless eye would not blink. Now I could make sense of the scene unfolding before me. I brought my hands up to my ears, and then I could hear the songs clearly, and distinguish them one from another.

  I quickly found that as long as I pressed my hands to my ears the sound was clear inside my head. If I took them off, though, it was overwhelming.

  My eyes closed, I looked around me and found the smith. He was a clean blue outline of fire, holding golden tongs. In the tongs’ grip was a sword, made up of three different colors. There was the gold of the Kriek; blue, from the old city in which we stood; and green, the color of the sea people.