Empyreal (The Earthborn Series Book 1)

by Spencer Helsel

  Five floors up and the swords began. Mastema settled on an outcropping, which had a rounded rack of shorter blades.

  He reached out and retrieved the nearest one. “You have shown remarkable adeptness with short swords as opposed to long swords, though I leave it to you, Novice. The question is: which type? We have the xiphos like this,” he held out the double-edged straightsword to her grip first, “which is an excellent personal weapon of the Greeks.”

  She lifted the blade. It felt comfortable, but wasn’t right. She handed the weapon back.

  “Falcata or kopis.” He handed both over. They were of similar design; slightly curved with a single edge, meant for slashing. Both were heavy. Too heavy. She handed them back. “Very well. There are others.”

  Mastema took her to dozens of platforms. There were some twohanded weapons she didn’t mind, but swinging them felt awkward. She’d never been good with double-handed blades. She looked at the gladius and spathe, one-handed Roman swords which felt right but were meant for either thrusting or from striking from a horse. They didn’t feel comfortable to her in a ground fight.

  She favored the scimitars on the next pedestal; light, quick, and meant for someone of smaller build. She could move better with them. Still, she wasn’t convinced any of them were her weapon.

  There were more modern ones: cavalry sabers, intricate straightswords designed to be tactical, even a Chinese Jian meant for graceful strikes. None of them fit, either.

  Mastema didn’t disapprove of her pickiness. In fact, he looked like a proud parent helping her pick her first car. He explained each weapon’s design and purpose. And the more she tried and the more she disliked, the happier he became. Who knew someone so demanding and picky would approve of her being picky as well.

  Well, not picky, she told herself. I’m selective. Selective sounds better.

  They were about halfway up, floating to a higher platform, when Dani spotted something off to the left.

  “Wait!” she said. “There! What are those?”

  Mastema paused in the air. The platform she pointed to was small, with swords facing tip-in into the middle of a circular table. Unlike the other platforms, this one didn’t have dozens of blades; only a few.

  Mastema floated near. “You do not want those blades.”

  “Why?”

  They drifted down to their feet and Dani walked over. There were only about six or seven. The weapons were thinner and more elegant than the others. Most of the blades were single-edged, with flowing saber-like curves. They were meant to be single-handedly wielded, with small guards and hilts; used for slashing and hacking.

  But most amazing about them: they glowed. Each blade had a luminescent quality to it. She touched the warm metal. The blades radiated their own light, mixing with the sun’s. They were breathtakingly beautiful.

  She withdrew a sword. The light faded once she picked it up.

  “This doesn’t look like adamantine steel.” She said, looking down the spine of the blade. The metal was a lighter shade of silver.

  “Empyreal steel.” Mastema said, picking up another sword. “It is a pure form of adamantine called lightsteel.”

  “Light-steel?”

  “The blades glow.” He told her, putting the sword down. “They radiate their own energy. Those who wield them are said to ignite them in divine fire, but I have never seen such a thing.”

  “Totally cool.” She gushed.

  He snorted. “The blades give away your position when they kindle, making them impractical. The metal is also soft. They are weak and flimsy.”

  “They do feel lighter.” She raised the sword. It felt half the weight of a normal adamantine weapon. “So why make them?”

  “Most often they are accidentally forged and the metalsmith does not wish to waste the steel, but empyreal steel is good for those Numen who can channel their power.”

  “Channel?”

  “Just as a Numen can use the arche, they can channel their power into a blade. Adamantine is resistant to influence. It is why our armor and weaponry are made of it. Empyreal steel is the opposite. It absorbs it. It makes it stronger than a normal weapon with half the weight.”

  “Totally cool.” She repeated, touching her finger to the tip.

  “And useless if you cannot channel your power into them. Which I remind you, you have not mastered.”

  She glowered at him. “Way to rain on my parade.”

  “I only speaketh the truth.”

  “Speaketh to mine rear end.” She liked the swords. She liked how light they felt in her hand. She tried out a few, going down the row until she came upon one in particular. The sword wasn’t wide, no more than two- thirds her hand-width. The blade curved forward in a single, flowing arch. She picked it up, feeling it in her hand. She practiced, slicing back and forth. She could move with it. It felt better to her than any weapon she held today.

  And the best part was it came with a small dagger of similar design. She picked it up, saying halfsarcastically giddy, “Oooooo, it comes with accessories!”

  Okay, more than half-sarcastically, but was it girlie if she got excited about an instrument of death?

  Mastema frowned. “Only fools fight with two weapons.”

  “Haven’t you called me a fool multiple times?”

  “You cannot be in earnest want of these blades.”

  “You mean am I serious? As serious as the Tigris with the case of the munchies. I want them.”

  “Very few wield empyreal steel. Many deride them as glow sticks.”

  “Well,” she said playfully with a twirl of her new blades, “where do I sign up? Because I’m ready to party.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  She chose a scabbard for the sword to go on her right side where her left hand could reach it; belted on with a single leather strap and buckle to move tightly with her. Mastema refused to get her a bandolier to carry it on her back. Some things, apparently, he wouldn’t allow her to do because it would, as he said, make her look “brainless.” In laymen’s terms: stupid.

  She got a sheath for the dagger to go at the small of her back within easy reach of her right hand.

  “Do not think for one second you will use both at once.” He told her. “I will not have my Novice acting as if she were in some fantasy pulp fiction comic.”

  “How do you know what a comic is?”

  “Empyrean is above California. I have seen conventions in my travels.”

  Mastema at Comic-Con. She could picture it, odd as it was.

  She chose armor, too. Since she was on her own for the foreseeable future, she couldn’t be burdened by thick, heavy armor. Dani was too small for thick plate armor and it wouldn’t allow her to move quickly or run if needed. She chose a pair of bracers and greaves similar to Mastema and Ethan; simple adamantine covers for her forearms and shins, with protrusions that went out over her elbows and knees for added protection. Gauntlets strapped across backs of her hands in order to further protect her, the straps sliding over her palms. And with a few Corinths to a gifted engraver, Dani made one last addition: twin symbols of Arn eagles etched into the metal.

  Mastema approved.

  They returned to training. Her Trial was days away. She would return to Los Angeles. She would hunt demons. She needed to know how to fight. And now that she wielded real swords, she realized just how little she knew.

  “Again!”

  Dani’s hand flew to the grip of her weapon, the other to her scabbard, and drew her blade. In one sweep, the sword shot out and sliced upward.

  “No! Again!” Mastema ordered. It was the umpteenth time in as many days. “You are too slow on the draw and you do not use both hands. Your sheath is weighted to support pulling forth your weapon into a strike without holding it. That is the function of a scabbard!”

  “Quit yelling.”

  “I am not yelling!” he yelled.

  She re-sheathed the sword. At least she could do that without looking. It’d taken about a hundr
ed attempts and a cut hand, but it pleased her Guardian enough to tone it down a few decibels.

  Still… “Again!”

  She grabbed the scabbard and stopped, cussing.

  “Wrong! Again!”

  “Why the hell are we even doing this?” she asked. “I already know how to use a sword.”

  “No, you know how to duel with a sword, and poorly at that.” He stalked over in front of her. “But when a demon attacks, you have seconds to defend yourself. No opportunity should be wasted. Your first strike should be from the draw. Surprise your enemy. Take the advantage!” he stepped in front of her. “Again!”

  “You’re standing in my way.”

  “I’m aware.” He said. “Do not worry. You will not hit me. You are terrible in combat.”

  Dani bared her teeth and grabbed the grip to draw. Mastema’s hand shot out, palming the pommel and shoving the blade back in. He stumbled Dani backwards and before she could react, struck her hard in the nose.

  She saw stars and dropped to the floor.

  “Ugh!” she grabbed her mouth and nose. She could taste blood. “You broke my nose!”

  “Panacea will heal it.” He said callously. “Again!”

  She glared at him from the ground. “Screw off!”

  “Insults later. Again!”

  Dani shot to her feet, blood dripping down her chin. She was farther away now, so it wasn’t as easy for him to get to her. She tensed. His hands remained at his sides.

  She moved. The sword sung out of the scabbard. It whipped in an arc at his neck. She was going to take his head off.

  Except she didn’t. Mastema stepped in, blocking her wrist. His other fist came up and even with the close-quarters strike, he sent a shock of nausea through her gut and up into her chest with a hard blow. She doubled over, dropping her sword.

  “Better. Again!”

  “Get knotted!” she croaked from the fetal position on the floor.

  “Again.”

  She heaved in anger, glowering at him. She wanted to kill him with a stare.

  “I said again!”

  “I don’t care what you said!”

  He kicked her hard in the shoulder, sending her sideways onto her back, then stepped away several paces. “The enemy is a demon. Pure evil. It is murderous in nature and will give no quarter, so do not quiver like a child. You are better than that. Rise and fight. Again!”

  Her arm hurt. Her sword lay between them, hilt to her.

  “Rise! Again!”

  She grabbed the blade. Mastema moved towards her at the same time. In a split second she chose not to stand. Instead, she rolled. She rolled over her own weapon, using her motion as she came over her shoulder to bring the sword up. The momentum swung the blade right at his midsection. Mastema saw it and jumped over the strike. He sailed past her, rolled and came to his feet.

  But by the time he was up, so was she. She charged.

  Dani sliced. He ducked under. She came around, striking low. He spun to avoid it, nearly taking the edge of the blade across his back. He spun, striking out with his foot but Dani back-stepped, sword coming up and for the first time thrusting down with the point. Mastema leapt backwards deftly.

  When Dani came up for the fourth strike, he was ready. He seized the back of her wrist, stopping the blade’s path. He twisted, yanking her hand and sword up and around, bending her back. She lost her balance.

  But her other hand held the dagger. She drew it from her back and brought it up to his neck. The point pushed against his jugular.

  They froze.

  Dani breathed hard, dripping blood. So did Mastema, at least as far as breathing. They stared at one another over Dani’s weapons. His face was the usual detached, cold stare she came to expect, but this close—this time— something was different. It was in his eyes. She almost missed it.

  Surprise. She surprised him!

  “I should kill you for that.” She snarled.

  “Good. You are learning.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You are learning a little, at least.”

  His hand shot up, batting her dagger away. He in-stepped and knocked her footing out with his heel, releasing her wrist and dropping her to the floor.

  “Very well done, Novice.” He said, leaning down and tapping her forehead. “You utilized your resources without thinking. You acted. Your instincts are your true weapons. The sword is useless without them.” He turned and walked off.

  “You ass!” she cursed, but smiled with stained-red teeth.

  “Wench.” He gave away nothing, but she could tell he was being as playful as Mastema got.

  “Culus!”

  “Harlot.”

  “Asswipe!”

  “How very modern of you.” He retrieved his own sword, the khopesh, from where he laid it. “Now we must see if you can channel enough of that defiance to use your swords.”

  She got to her feet, returning the dagger to its sheath but keeping her blade handy. “What does that mean?”

  “Your power comes from your aura,” he said, holding his sword with both hands, “just as the power of Aer, Fyre, Erthe, Water and Aether do. An empyreal blade gives its wielder unparalleled strength in combat. I do not doubt it, but I doubt your ability to use it. In the heat of battle, we are not focused on ourselves. We are only focused on our enemy. That could mean your blades are useless.”

  “So how do I use them?”

  “It is pure emotion. Have you ever done something you normally could not? As when a mother lifts a car off of her child, have you called on a power within yourself?”

  She remembered her hands; burning hot, nearly blinding Michael. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I was pissed off. Or scared.”

  He nodded. “Rage. Fear. They are forms of passion. In and of themselves they are useless and distracting, but channeled they are power.” He raised his sword. “Are you ready?”

  “To do what?”

  “Defend yourself.”

  He swung. Dani raised her sword but the blow from Mastema was so powerful it tumbled from her hand.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “Pick up your blade. Do not un-learn your lesson.” He warned. “I will attack again.”

  “Aren’t you going to teach me first?” she snatched up her sword, backing away.

  “I am teaching you.” He told her. “I will strike at your head. Are you prepared?”

  “No.”

  He swung. Dani ducked and brought her sword up. The blades sung off one another.

  “Stand your ground. Move with the battle. I will strike the other side of your chest. Are you prepared?” He didn’t wait for an answer and swung.

  Dani blocked again, barely. She nearly fell over from the sheer force of the strike.

  “Overhead.” He raised his sword high in both hands. “Move with it this time.”

  He came down. Dani blocked and swung his sword away to one side, then slashed with her own. Mastema dodged, batting her blade with the flat of his own. Then he sliced long ways. She dodged this time, striking at his legs. She forced him to back-step, parting them.

  He paused. “Very good.”

  “Not bad, huh?”

  “How did you feel?”

  She shrugged. “Scared. Angry you’re being a douche-nugget.”

  He made no show of emotion. “Use it. Channel that fear and anger and…douche-nuggetry…into your blades. Feel it within them. Make them a part of you. Focus. To your mid-section. Are you prepared?”

  “Maybe.”

  He stabbed up with the point. Dani swept it away.

  “Again.”

  He stabbed again. Again, she blocked. Nothing happened with her swords.

  “I said focus.”

  “I am!”

  He stabbed. She barely blocked it.

  “I thought you were going to warn me!” That one got close.

  He stabbed a fourth time. She felt the tip snag her tunic and she cut with
her sword. “Cut that out you freak!”

  He stabbed up and the edge of his blade ran along her outer bicep, slicing it open. White hot pain opened her arm. Blood spilled out. She howled, knowing from experience it was only going to hurt worse the more blood that flowed to the wound.

  Mastema drew back. “Fight, damnation, fight!”

  He swung, full-arc baseball swing, around to cut her in half. Dani didn’t have time to think. Fear spiked up her spine. She angled her sword down and around, bringing their blades edge to edge and blocked.

  Mastema yanked back, the hook of his khopesh yanking her sword to stumble her. He brought his high and down to cut her in half. Dani’s sword came up. Her other hand drew the long dagger. Her feeble-thin blades met his in an X.

  And they stopped his sword.

  They drew down together, staring at one another over their weapons. She panted in anger and fear. He cut her arm open! He nearly killed her! But then she saw her swords. Both blades glowed. Light shimmered through the metal.

  “Very well done, Daniella. Your mind is focused, your instincts sharp. The best honed weapon is here.” He tapped her forehead. “Never forget that. Fight with your all.”

  She looked back at him speechless. It took her a second to realize that was first time he ever said her name.

  He unhitched his sword from hers, stepping back. He cautiously paced, raising his weapon. There was a glint in his eye as he brought his blade into both hands.

  “Are you prepared?”

  She nodded.

  Mastema attacked, hacking with his blade. She blocked, swept it aside and struck. He brought his weapon up and sparks flew as they collided. He parried, spun and swung, but she dodged back, cutting once with her sword and then leaping forward, attacking with the dagger. He barely avoided it.

  They fought across the pavilion; blades colliding, parrying one blow and delivering another. She didn’t think. She moved. She went with what felt natural. Everything she needed to do came to her. Muscle memory took over. Any anger fueled into her fire. Any fear she pushed down into her swords. She used it. She embraced it.

  She battled with both blades, something he swore she could never do, but as fast as Mastema was, his weapon was slower.

  He caught her sword with his, throwing it aside and flipping it into a strike to her neck. But even as his blade came to her throat, her knife came to his. They stopped, edges inches from taking each other’s life.