She gazed into the dark recesses of the cave. The firelight flared, revealing a portion of the one thousand identical swords leaned against the stone walls. She held her skirt off the dirt floor and moved toward the weapons, bending to keep from hitting her head on the sloping ceiling. Reaching out, she traced her finger along the engraved flame in the hilt of one of them, then followed the thin metal vine that wove down its hilt and around the arms of its guard. The three-foot-long blade extended to the floor. Its broad side mirrored her surroundings on either side of a thin fuller.
To each of these swords she or one of her sisters had sacrificed a drop of their dragon blood.
The hammer rang against the sword again, and she retreated to the smith’s forge. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face.
Linsair’s biceps rippled under his rolled up sleeves as he clanged the hammer against the flat of the sword’s blade. The blade bent, and he flipped it, struck the other side, and flipped it again. The man cleared his throat, though she thought it sounded more like a growl. She fastened her eyes on his face.
“It is time, young one.” His pink eyes gazed back without blinking, and his chest heaved a deep breath.
She stepped deeper into the scalding air. The forge burned hotter. She wondered that the smith did not flinch in its heat. To her it was tortuous. But she had come to deliver a gift—one final gift.
Extending her arm, she hovered her wrist over the sword. Linsair’s last creation. “Do I proceed in the same manner as with the other swords?”
Linsair nodded.
“But I want this weapon to be special.” She pulled back her hand to wipe the sweat from her eyes. “I want Ombre to have a superior sword, something that will preserve his life as the sword of living fire has preserved Ilfedo.”
“Thou art certain of thy decision then?” He furrowed his brow. “In order for this to be done, thou must be willing to give up part of thy gift, part of the life that is in thy blood.”
Her mind flashed back to a moment not long ago when Ombre happened upon her alone in the forest. She’d tripped and he had caught her. Her cheeks flushed at the memory. “Linsair, I do know what it is I am asking you to do.”
“Then so shall it be.” Linsair grabbed her hand in his enormous one and forced her wrist against the searing metal.
She screamed in pain and tears streamed down her face, but through her tears she saw the smith raise her skin away from the blade. Large drops of her dragon blood remained on the blade and the sword began to glow with pure white light. Linsair released his hold, took up his hammer, and beat the blade with new vigor. A smile spread across his face and his pink eyes sparkled.
Caritha wept in the agony of her wound. She felt weak—too weak to use the power in her blood to attempt a healing. Instead she drowned her arm in the smith’s barrel of water. When the pain eased and she drew out her arm, she regarded the crisscrossing scars which remained. As she twisted her wrist, pain knifed up her arm.
The smith plunged the sword into the water. Steam rose in clouds around him. He reached out and caressed her wound. From his touch, a sensation of coolness spread through her arm. The scars vanished, and she looked into his eyes with sudden recognition. “It is you!”
Footfalls sounded in the cave. Though she peered into every corner she saw no one. Then a voice spoke from the cave entrance. “Hurry, my master, the child has collapsed.”
Linsair dropped his work. “Did you not watch over her as I instructed?”
“Indeed. It was not my doing. Her father returned home and Evela—”
“Say no more, Specter. Return to the hollow and wait for me there.”
In the dimness a gray-robed figure congealed and bowed in Linsair’s direction. Caritha thought her eyes were deceiving her, for the figure held a scythe blade in his hand.
The figure vanished, and Linsair rushed from the cave.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Caritha raced after him and up the slope, through the forest in the direction of home. She stumbled on a stone, but he raced ahead of her, flitting over bushes and around trees.
Not wishing to lose him now and eager to know what caused him to act this way, she picked up her skirt and ran with all her strength. Before long her breaths came with difficulty, yet she kept him in sight.
He slipped into the clearing before Ilfedo’s house and ran to the door.
As the door crashed open, Ilfedo looked up. Linsair stood on the threshold. The sword smith glanced around the house, then his eyes rested on Oganna. He ripped the hammock off the post, making a direct path to her.
“What hast thou done?” Linsair’s pink eyes flared as he pulled the child from Ilfedo’s grasp and tenderly laid her on the hearth. “Tell me now, thou Lord of the Hemmed Land. What hast thou done?”
Such fury burned in the smith’s eyes that Ilfedo shrank back. “I … I was distraught, and she came to me.” He strengthened his voice. “The next moment she collapsed, and I no longer had any tears.”
“Fool! Thy daughter’s veins are mixed with the blood of humanity and dragonkind. Thy need called out to her, and her dragon side answered.” Linsair rubbed Oganna’s chest and closed his eyes, whispering a prayer as he did so:
“Father, holy Father, tend now this child I pray.
Father, heavenly Father, now our fears allay.”
At that moment, Caritha burst into the room, her hair askew. Uttering a startled cry, she knelt next to Oganna. “Ilfedo, what has happened to her? Did she fall?” Linsair glanced at her with sharp eyes, silencing her.
“Too young, she is too young to manifest these abilities.” Linsair’s lips moved in prayer.
Ilfedo closed his eyes and sent up his own plea for his daughter’s life. Had he broken Evela’s heart and slain his own child in the process? He opened his eyes and found Linsair gazing back at him. “What did I do?”
“Nothing except plead for an easement of thine own suffering, Lord Ilfedo,” the sword smith said. “The power in thy child’s blood is beginning to manifest itself. I believe that when she touched you, she took on your pain; your sorrow, your grief, your tears all became hers. But it was too great for her tiny body to handle. And now I must take the portion of thy suffering or risk losing her.”
The man’s pink eyes brimmed with tears, and his chest quaked. He sobbed and wept until his tears sizzled on the hearth. Oganna sat up, her face red, yet a smile appeared on her face as she watched her rescuer. Linsair continued to weep. He caressed Oganna’s face and smiled through his tears, then glanced at Ilfedo. “How truly deep, how truly vast is thy love for both the dead and the living.” Then he rose and looked down at Caritha. Tears had formed in her eyes as well, and her lips started to form a word.
Linsair touched the side of her head. “Remember no more what thou sawest in me. Remember only my craftsmanship and this deed of healing. Pass this to thy sisters for me so that they will remember no more.” He withdrew his hand. “Farewell, child.”
Without another word Linsair fled the house.
Ilfedo didn’t know what to think of the man’s charge to Caritha. He clutched his child to his chest and laid kisses all over her head until she giggled and begged him to stop.
“Caritha, are you all right?” He watched the eldest sister rise to her feet.
“I think so.”
He frowned. “What did Linsair mean by all that?”
“What are you talking about?” She wiped her forehead with a cloth.
“He told you to ‘remember no more.’”
She sat on the floor, shaking her head. “Honestly, brother, I have no idea.”
THE GHOST OF MATHALIAH HOLLOW
The shadows deepened under the tall trees, and a gentle, warm breeze rustled the leaves. Dry leaves of red and brown crunched under the feet of a young girl as she skipped through the forest. An owl hooted in the darkness. The breeze strengthened, swirling the leaves around her legs, then weakened, allowing them to settle back on the ground.
&nbs
p; Oganna glanced over her shoulder, watching the glowing windows of her father’s house. She was ten years old now. Old enough to let her curiosity pull her outside while causing her to dismiss her fear. No one knew she’d snuck away. Aunt Caritha had been the last one awake, cleaning the kitchen. Her father was taking a deserved nap by the fireplace, swinging in his hammock with Seivar nestled under his arm.
She looked into the darkening woods. For the past several months something had felt amiss. Even when the house should have been empty, someone else seemed to be nearby. When she shared her feelings with her Nuvitor companions, Seivar and Hasselpatch, both agreed that sometimes, when only they and Oganna remained at home, something felt downright spooky. As if an extra set of eyes gazed upon them at all hours.
This evening she had been standing by the window, watching darkness fall beneath the forest branches. A chill had coursed through her body. She hadn’t known why—until a cloaked human figure coalesced in the trees and then vanished.
Now she turned away from the house and stretched her hand toward the forest, feeling for … she knew not what. Suddenly her hand glowed, and she let out a little cry, quickly clapping her hands over her mouth and glancing back at the house. The door remained closed and the house silent.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she bit her lip and stretched out her hand again. It did not glow. Once more she felt drawn into the forest toward Mathaliah Hollow.
For years now, childish superstition had maintained that Mathaliah Hollow was haunted. The isolated narrow valley was part of Ilfedo’s generous property. Actually it bordered the old cabin site where his parents had been killed. In recent months long blue stalks had grown in Mathaliah Hollow, stalks that glowed at night. People called it Night Grass, but its appearance in the hollow only seemed to confirm the local children’s suspicions.
It took Oganna a long while to reach the hollow, but when she stood at the forest’s edge, looking down into the meadow with its patches of glowing blue grass, she saw a shadow race to the opposite side and halt. Total darkness fell. She glanced up at the clouds covering most of the stars. The moon rose as a bright glow behind the trees. The shadow, if she had really seen one, blended into the larger, darker shadows.
She hesitated. Fear should give her caution, shouldn’t it? There was no such thing as a haunted hollow, was there? Suddenly a hooded figure glowed into existence in front of her, as if waiting for her. A scythe rested in the figure’s hands. No, that could not be. The Grim Reaper was only a myth—but there he stood in glowing gray garb—unless she was experiencing a dream.
Pinching her face confirmed that she was awake. She turned, prepared to run, but struck her forehead on someone’s belly.
“Slow down, child,” a familiar voice rumbled. “There is nothing to fear.”
She craned her neck to see into the pink eyes of a man who, for the life of her, she could not name. Yet somehow, he was a friend—a long lost friend. “Sir, I … I think I should go home now.”
The man knelt in front of her and smiled gently. He looked like a ghost, too—his skin so pale and his hair so white. “Do you not remember me, my dear child?”
Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out. “Linsair!” She leaped into his arms and giggled as he laughed with her. The memory of him, which had seemed buried, came back in a blizzard of knowledge awakened. He had worked for so long for her father and then, after saving her life, he’d left. No one had been able to venture a guess where he’d gone.
She’d always felt he was the grandfather she wanted to know. The dragon father of her mother—her real grandfather—no one interacted with him, they only knew of him or had met him. Every memory involving Linsair spoke of kindness to her; sometimes a coldness toward others, an austerity, but a decided softness to her.
Linsair stood, raising her off the ground, holding her away from him. His grin encompassed every corner of his face. “How you have grown, my child! God has been good to you. Oh, and I have missed you.”
“Linsair, where have you been? Father and Aunt Caritha and Rose’el—they wanted to know why you left—”
“My task for your father was done,” he interjected. “And, child, I had other things to attend to. But,” he carried her down into the hollow and nodded at the Grim Reaper, “I always kept a watchful eye on you through my friend.”
She shook with fear, seeing the scythe blade with greater clarity. The long shiny blade seemed poised to slit someone’s throat. Thankfully the cavernous hood hid the immortal face of Death from sight. She clung to Linsair, wishing he would turn her away from the horrible scene.
Oganna, do not fear him. It is not the Reaper.
She glanced up into Linsair’s soft face, startled. Had he spoken to her mind?
He looked at the cloaked figure and growled like a lion. “Specter, cannot you see that the child is afraid of thee?” He set her on the ground and crossed his arms, looming beside her. “Remove your hood and set aside your weapon!”
“Of course, my master. Forgive me; I had not realized.” The hood slipped off the man’s head, revealing his handsome features, albeit his sober face.
“Specter.” Oganna bit her lower lip and then took a step forward, dipping a curtsy with her nightgown. If Linsair said this was not the Reaper, then she would trust him.
The man leaned his scythe against a nearby rock face and bowed to her. “At your service, princess. I have watched you all your life, and I continue to do so. Today, I’m afraid, you discovered me against my strongest attempts to hide myself.”
“I do not think”—she cleared her throat and held her head high—“I do not think I understand.”
The sword smith’s pink eyes mirrored the moonlight, sparkling. “My child, you are special to me, and so I have given you into Specter’s charge until the day that you are able to stand on your own. Until the day you surpass your aunts in mastering the power in your dragon blood and your father’s skill with a sword.”
“Does father know?” She pointed a finger at Specter.
“No. And you must not tell him.”
She frowned. Linsair would have to give an awfully good reason if he wanted her to keep this from her father.
“Listen to me, my child.” Linsair knelt in the wet grass. “The death of your mother broke your father’s heart, resulting in a fear that threatens thy future. You must be safeguarded from all that would harm thee, but not sheltered from the storms that will come against you. Specter is my loyal and trustworthy friend. He once saved your life, and he may yet do so again.”
She shook her head. “I know he trusted you, Linsair, but that is not a good reason for me to keep this secret. I have to tell him.”
Linsair growled and stood back. “You are strong like your mother, little one. I shall have to convince you in another manner.” Then his skin glowed pure white and transformed into scales. His arms and legs thickened and he grew. His head elongated, his neck lengthened, and a fin cut through the clothing on his neck while horns grew from his head. Suddenly there he stood in full majestic power, and she knew him for what and who he was.
Her father had told her the story of Albino: “A magnificent creature and the father of your mother.” Oganna clapped her hands and laughed as the creature towered above her.
“Now you know me, child. The command that I now give you I charge thee to keep: Specter is a friend to you and me. I appeared to your father and to his people in human form to prepare them for things that will come. Tell no one of Linsair’s true identity and keep thy hidden guardian a secret. Both of these things are for thy benefit and safety.”
Soberly she nodded and, just as she thought of hugging the dragon’s leg, he sprang into the air, his wings beating wind into her face. She fell against Specter, and he held her steady until Albino shot westward into the night sky.
Cold air filled the hollow, and the clouds thinned. Stars multiplied in the heavens. “Come, princess.” Specter took her hand and led her to the rock face close by. He held
aside some wet vines and waved her into a dark chamber.
“I … I can’t see.” Her hands glowed momentarily, but the light lasted only an instant.
A torch blazed from the darkness, and she looked up at Specter. His face was less sober now. More relaxed.
Down into the cave he slowly led her until it opened into a chamber some thirty feet wide. He stooped where the portions of ceiling dipped and let go of her hand when they reached a dry section of stone. A heap of sand formed an upgrade in the floor.
He stood to the side and motioned her to step up. As she did, a shaft of moonlight blazed through a hole in the ceiling and spotlighted a sword leaning against the stone in front of her. She caught her breath. The blade had rusted, perhaps from sitting in the moist cave, and the leather along the handle appeared to be peeling. She reached out and touched the blade. It glowed rusty-orange for as long as her skin made connection with it.
Something else lay half-buried in the dirt next to the sword, and she dusted away the dirt with her hand, uncovering a boomerang made of some sort of crystal. The elbow had been fashioned like a handle, yet the wings had been honed to cutting edges.
“Whoa there,” Specter said, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Be careful now.” He sighed and his eyes filled with tears that would not spill.
“Are they yours?” She gazed into his face, wondering what brought about such sorrow in this man.
“The sword was. A very, very long time ago.” He stood and forced a smile. “But now it will belong to you.”
She jumped up and down. What a gift! But the man laid a hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the cave’s exit point. “The dragon said that one day you will have need of a sword, and when that day comes, you may return to this place and claim it.”
“I want to show it to everyone!”
“Now, now.” He raised his pointer finger. “Tonight’s events are a secret between you and me. No one, and I mean no one, must know of my presence here. Understand?”
Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 13
